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diff --git a/old/51988-0.txt b/old/51988-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8aa1ed7..0000000 --- a/old/51988-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8949 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Well, After All, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Well, After All - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 3, 2016 [EBook #51988] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WELL, AFTER ALL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -WELL, AFTER ALL - -By F. Frankfort Moore - -New York: Dodd, Mead and Company - -1899 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -|It was an interesting scene, beyond doubt,” said Mr. Westwood, the -senior partner in the Bracken-shire Bank of Westwood, Westwood, Barwell, -& Westwood. “Yes, I felt more than once greatly interested in the course -of the day.” - -“Greatly interested? Greatly interested?” said Cyril Mowbray, his second -repetition of the words being a note or two higher than the first. -“Greatly int----Oh, well, perhaps you had your own reasons for feeling -interested in so trivial an incident as a run on your bank that might -have made you a beggar in an hour or two. Yes, I shouldn't wonder if I -myself would have had my interest aroused--to a certain extent--had -I been in your place, Dick.” Mr. Westwood laughed with an excellent -assumption of indifference, a minute or two after his friend had spoken. -Cyril could not understand why he had not laughed at once; but that was -probably because he had not been brought up as the senior partner in a -banking business, or, for that matter, in any other business. - -“The fact is,” said Mr. Westwood thoughtfully, when his laugh had -dwindled into a smile, as a breeze on the water dwindles into a -cat's-paw, “the fact is, Cyril, my lad, I've always been more or less -interested in observing men--men”-- - -“And women--women,” said Cyril with a laugh. “You had a chance of -observing a woman or two to-day, hadn't you? I noticed that Mrs. -Lithgow--the little widow--among the crowd who clamoured for their -money--yes, and that Miss Swanston--she was there too. She looked twenty -years older than she is, even assuming that the estimate of her age made -by the women in our neighbourhood is correct.” - -“Yes, I was always interested in observing my fellow-men,” said Mr. -Westwood musingly. “I noticed those women to-day. They were worth it. -Women always give themselves away upon such an occasion. Men seldom do.” - -“By George, Dick, there were some men in the crowd that filled the -bank to-day who gave themselves away quite as badly as the women!” said -Cyril. - -“No doubt; but some of them met me with smiles and made a remark or two -regarding the extraordinary weather we have been having for May; they -wondered if the good old-fashioned summers were gone for ever--some of -them went so far as to express a sudden interest in my pheasants, before -they came to business. But the women--they made no pretence--they wasted -no time in preliminary chatter. 'My money--my money--give me my money!' -was what each of them gasped. They showed their teeth like--like”-- - -“Wolves?” - -“Vampires rather, man. Isn't it wonderful that a woman--a lady--can -change her natural expression of calm--the repose that stamps the -caste of Vere de Vere--to that of a Harpy in a moment? It makes one -thoughtful, doesn't it? Which is the real woman, Cyril--the one who -smiles pleasantly on you and insists on your taking another hot -buttered muffin as you loll in one of her easy-chairs in front of her -drawing-room fire, or the one who rushes trembling into your office and -stretches out a lean talon-like gloveless hand, glaring at you all the -time, with a cry--some shrill, others hoarse--of 'My money!--give me my -money!'--which is the real woman?” - -“They are not two but one,” said Cyril. “Thunder and lightning are as -natural as sunshine and zephyr. Revenge is as much a part of a woman's -nature as love; constancy does not exclude jealousy. A woman is a rather -complex piece of machinery, Dick.” - -“What! Has Lothario turned philosopher?” cried Mr. Westwood. “Has Mr. -Cyril Mowbray become a student of woman in the abstract and an exponent -of her nature?” - -“Mr. Cyril Mowbray isn't quite such a fool as to fancy that he knows -anything about the nature of woman beyond what any man who keeps his -eyes open may know; only, when he hears a cynic such as Dick Westwood -suggest that a woman can't be sincere when she asks you to have another -piece of toast--or was it cake?--because he has seen her anxious to -get into her own hand her own money that is to keep her out of the -workhouse, Mr. Cyril Mowbray ventures to make a remark.” - -“And a wise remark, too,” said Westwood. “I've noticed that women -believe in the men who believe in them. They believe in you”-- - -“Worse luck!” muttered Cyril. - -“And they don't believe in me--shall I say, better luck?” - -“They believed in you sufficiently to place their money in your bank.” - -“But not sufficiently to be confident that I would refrain from -swindling them out of it, should I have the chance. There's the -difference between us--the difference in a nutshell. If the bank was -yours and the rumour came, unaccountably as all such rumours come, that -you were insolvent, the women whose money you held would say, 'Let him -keep it and welcome, even if we have to go to the workhouse.' But the -moment they hear that there is a chance of my not being able to pay my -way, down they swoop upon me as the Harpies swooped down upon Odysseus -and his partners. And yet I have been quite as nice to women as you have -ever been--in fact, I might almost say I've been rather nicer. After -all, they only entrusted their cash to my keeping, whereas to you they -entrust”-- - -“Worse luck--worse luck!” groaned Cyril. “That brings us back to the -matter we talked over when we were last together. Poor Lizzie Dangan! -You told me that I should confess all to my sister; but, hang it all, I -can't do that! I tell you, Dick, I can't bring myself to do it.” - -“Psha! Let us talk of something else; I haven't much inclination to -give myself up to the discussion of such trifles after what I have come -through to-day. Heavens! how can you expect a man who has passed through -such a crisis as only comes into few men's lives, to discuss the love -affair of a boy and girl? Do you suppose that the men who had walked -over the red-hot ploughshares would have made a sympathetic audience to -the bard who had just composed a ballad about Edwin and Angelina? Do -you think it likely that the three young men who passed through the -seven-times heated furnace of King Nebuchadnezzar, or somebody, were -particularly anxious, on coming out, to discuss the aesthetic elements -in the Song of Solomon?” - -“A few minutes ago you were referring to the run on the bank as if -it was the merest trifle; you were making out that you took only an -academic interest in the incident.” - -“So I did, so I did; yes, while it lasted. I'm convinced, my friend -Cyril, that a man who is being married, or hanged, or tried for some -crime, regards the whole affair from quite an impersonal standpoint. -Don't you remember how the Tichborne Claimant, on being asked on the -hundredth day of his trial something about what was going on, said, 'My -dear sir, I've long ago ceased to have any interest in this particular -case'?” - -“Yes, but the Tichborne Claimant was the most highly perjured man of the -century.” - -“He drifted into accuracy upon the occasion to which I refer. -Psha! never mind. Here we are at the gates, safe and sound, thank -Heaven!--yes, thank Heaven and your sister. Cyril, you should be proud -of her. I'm proud of her. What she did went a long way toward saving the -bank.” - -“If those fools who were clamouring at the desks had only paused for -a minute they would have known that the lodgment of a cheque could not -save the bank.” - -“But Agnes was clever enough to know that panic-stricken men and women -do not pause to consider such things. When they knew that your sister -had lodged a cheque for £15,000 they became reassured in a moment. You -saw how the men who had drawn out their money at one desk relodged it at -another? That's what's meant by a panic: the sheep that rush wildly down -one side of a field will, if turned, rush quite as wildly back.” - -“Anyhow, it's all over now, and the credit of the bank is stronger than -ever. I wish mine was. What's that man doing at the side of the gate?” - -Cyril's voice had lowered as he asked the question. He touched his -friend's arm as he spoke. - -“Why, can't you see that that's Ralph Dangan? What's strange about a -gamekeeper being at the entrance to the park?” said Westwood. Then, as -the dog-cart passed, the man in corduroy, who was standing just inside -the entrance gates, touched his hat. Westwood raised his whip-arm -replying to his salutation, and cried, “Good evening to you, Ralph.” - -Cyril also raised his finger, and nodded to the man. But having done so -he drew a long breath. - -Westwood laughed. - -“'The thief doth think each bush an officer,'” he said, shaking his head -at his companion. - -“I've been an awful scoundrel, Dick,” said Cyril. - -“I'm a polite man. I'll not contradict you,” said Westwood. “You have -every reason to be afraid of poor Lizzie's father, especially as his -employment makes it necessary for him to have a gun with him at all -times. An angry father who is a first-class shot with a gun is a man to -be avoided by the impulsive sweethearts of his daughter.” - -“I can trust Lizzie,” said Cyril. - -“At any rate, she trusted you. More's the pity!” - -Cyril groaned. “What am I to do, Dick--what am I to do?” he asked almost -piteously. - -“I think the best thing that you can do is to go out to Africa in -search of Claude,” he replied. “Such chaps as you should be sent to the -interior of Africa in their infancy. You're savages by nature. I suppose -we are all more or less savages; but you see, some of us become amenable -to the influences of civilisation and Christianity, so that we manage -to keep moderately straight. But, really, after the example we have had -to-day of savagery, I, for one, do not feel inclined to boast of the -influences of civilisation, the foremost of which should certainly be -the power to reason. Heavens! the way those men and women glared at -the clerks--the way they struggled to get to the cashiers. By my soul, -Cyril, I believe that if they had not got their money they would have -climbed over the counter and torn the clerks limb from limb--the women -would have done that--they would, by heavens!” - -“I believe they would, all except Patty Graves. She is engaged to young -Wilson, and she would have protected him with her life,” laughed Cyril. - -“The savage instinct again,” cried Westwood. “Alas, Cyril, my lad, I'm -afraid that our civilisation is nothing more than a very thin veneer -after all.” - -Then the dog-cart pulled up at the entrance to the hall, where a groom -went to the horse's head while the two men, whose thoughts had clearly -been moving on lines that were far from parallel, got down and entered -the old house. - -Cyril turned into the cloak-room of the hall whistling, for his troubles -did not weigh him quite down to the ground; and Richard Westwood, also -whistling, went up the shallow oak staircase, followed by a couple of -small spaniels, who had responded with lowered muzzles and frantic tails -to his greeting. - -But when he had entered his dressing-room his affected nonchalance -ceased. He dropped into an easy-chair and wiped his forehead with -trembling hands. Then he leant forward and stared into the empty grate, -as if he saw something there that demanded his most earnest scrutiny. - -He gazed at that emptiness for a long time, the dogs inquiring in turn -what he meant, and assuring him that it was impossible that a rabbit -could be in any of the dark corners. When he paid no attention to them -they retired to the window to discuss his mood between themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -|For three hours Richard Westwood had been subjected to a severer strain -than most men have to submit to in the course of their lives. He was, as -has already been stated, the senior partner in the chief banking house -of Brackenshire--an old and highly-respected establishment. In fact, -there was a time when the stability of the house of Westwood, Westwood, -Barwell, & Westwood was regarded as at least equal to that of the county -itself. Only an earthquake could, it was thought, produce any impression -upon an English wheat-growing county, and a cataclysm of corresponding -violence in the financial world would be required to shake the stability -of Westwoods' Bank. - -But in the course of time the importation of wheat in thousands of tons -from America and elsewhere caused the most earnest believers in the -stability of an English agricultural county to stand aghast; and then -a day came when a bank or two of quite as great respectability as -Westwoods' closed their doors and stopped payment all inside a single -week. In a country where people talk about things being “as safe as the -bank” such an occurrence produces an impression similar to that of -a thunderstorm in December or a frozen lake in June: people begin to -question the accuracy of their senses. If the bank where they and their -fathers and grandfathers have deposited their money for years back -beyond any remembrance, closes its doors, what is there on earth that -can be trusted? - -It was toward the close of this phenomenal week that the rumour arose in -brackenhurst that Westwoods' Bank would be the next to fall. No one knew -where the rumour originated--no one knew what foundation there was -for such a rumour--no one who had money lodged in the bank seemed to -inquire. - -Even up to noon on the day when the run upon the Brackenhurst offices -took place, nothing occurred to suggest that a panic was imminent -among the customers of the bank. For two hours the business of the -establishment was normal; Mr. Westwood was in his own room, discussing -with his solicitor the validity of some documents offered as security -for an overdraft by a local firm; the cashier, having received a few -small lodgments, was writing a letter to the Secretary of the Styrton -Cricket Club regarding the visit of the Brackenhurst Eleven on the -Saturday; two of the other members of the staff were considering the -very important question as to whether they should have their cups of -coffee at once or wait for another halfhour, when, with the suddenness -of a quick change of scenery at a well-managed theatre, the swingdoors -were flung open and the bank was filled to overflowing with an eager -crowd, crushing one another against the mahogany counters in their -endeavours to reach the stand of the cashier. - -Panic-stricken were the faces at which the cashier looked up from his -half-finished letter--faces that communicated their panic to all who saw -them. The cashier caught it in a moment: he glanced hastily round as if -seeking for a way of escape. - -The men and women, perceiving that he had lost his head, became wilder -in their attempts to get opposite his desk. Outside, the crowd, striving -to reach the doors of the bank, had become clamorous. The High Street of -Brackenhurst was in an uproar. The two clerks had ceased to discuss the -great coffee question. They were thinking of their revolvers. - -As the panic-stricken cashier stood looking vacantly into the pale faces -before him, but making no effort to attend to the three men who waved -their cheques across the counter, Mr. Westwood came out of his room by -the side of his solicitor. He was smiling as he shook hands and said -goodbye. There was an instantaneous silence in the place. - -“We shall see you at the cricket match on Saturday,” were the words that -came through the silence from Mr. Westwood, as he shook hands with the -other man. “If the weather continues like this it will be a batsman's -day.” - -He waved his hand as the solicitor went out into the crowd. The crowd -that had been almost clamorous a minute before were now breathless with -astonishment. They stared at the man who, when ruin was in the air, was -talking of cricket. A batsman's day! A batsman's day! What did it mean? -What manner of man was this who could talk quietly of a batsman's day -when over his head the sword of Damocles was hanging? - -The silence was unnatural; it became terrifying. Every one watched Mr. -Westwood as he walked round to where the cashier was standing. He paid -no attention to the clerk, but glancing across the counter, nodded -pleasantly to one of the men who had been waving the cheques, like pink -flags, in the direction of the desk. - -“Good day, Mr. Simons,” said he. “What a dry spell we are having. They -talk of the good old-fashioned summers--how is it you are not being -attended to?” He turned to the cashier. “Come, Mr. Calmour, if you -please; I fear I must ask you to stir yourself; it's likely to be a busy -day. You want a cheque cashed, Mr. Simons? Certainly. You also have your -cheque, Mr. Thorburn, and you, Mrs. Langley?” - -“We want our money, sir,” said Mrs. Langley. She was a tall, bony lady, -who had been the first to enter the bank. She was the principal of the -Ladies' Collegiate School. - -“So I understand, my dear lady,” said Mr. Westwood. “You shall have -every penny of your money.” - -From every part of the crowd hands were thrust, each waving a pink -cheque. The people were no longer silent. One or two men of those -nearest to Mr. W'estwood nodded to him. One made a sort of apology -for asking for his balance at once--a sudden demand from a creditor -compelled him to do so, he said, with a very weak smile. Another hoped -Mr. Westwood's pheasants promised well. But beyond these actors were men -with staring eyes, women with white faces become haggard within a few -minutes, small tradesmen bareheaded and still wearing their aprons, -artisans who had saved a few pounds and had placed all in the keeping -of the bank, clergymen as anxious to draw their balance as their -churchwardens, and painfully surprised that their parishioners should -decline to give away to them in the common struggle to reach the -counters. - -The banker ceased to smile as he glanced across the crowd. He turned -to the cashier, who had already got into action, so to speak, and was -noting cheques preparatory to paying them. - -“We shall have a busy hour or two, Mr. Calmour,” the head of the firm -was heard to say. “Pay away all your gold without the delay of a moment. -I shall bring you another ten thousand from the strong room.” - -One could almost hear the sigh of relief that passed round the crowd -as Mr. Westwood hurried into his own room. Two clerks had come to the -cashier's desk bringing their books with them, and now the three -members of the staff were hard at work, paying away gold in exchange for -cheques. Within the space of a few minutes the bank porter, followed -by Mr. Westwood, entered the cashier's cubicle staggering beneath the -weight of turn large leathern bags, strapped and sealed. He threw them -on the counter with a dull crash--the sweetest music known to the sons -of men--and to the daughters of men as well--the crash of minted gold. - -Mr. Westwood broke the seals of one, and in view of every one who had -managed to crush near enough to see, sent a glittering stream of yellow -gold flowing from the mouth of the bag into the cashier's till. He -pressed the sovereigns and halfsovereigns flat with his hand and -continued pouring until the receptacle could hold no more. Then he laid -the bag, still half-full, in a deep drawer, and by its side he placed -the second bag with the seal still unbroken. - -This second bag was apparently even heavier than the first, for Mr. -Westwood had to put forth all his strength to lift it from the counter -to the drawer. An hour afterwards one of the clerks was able to lift it -between his finger and thumb, and was astonished beyond measure at Mr. -Westwood's cleverness in suggesting to the clamorous crowd that the -second bag was like the first, full of gold, when it was quite empty. - -But when the business of replenishing the cashier's till had been gone -through, Mr. Westwood retired to watch the operations incidental to the -cashing of the cheques. The technique of the transaction was much more -tedious than it usually was; for as every cheque presented was drawn for -the balance of an account, the cashier had to verify the figures, which -involved the working out of two sums in compound addition, whereas the -normal work of cashing a cheque required only a glance at the figures. -Rapidly though the cashier now made his calculations, several minutes -were still occupied in comparing the figures, and in more than one -instance it was found that the drawer of the cheque had made a mistake -in his addition through his haste in writing up his pass-book. It became -perfectly plain to every one, especially those applicants who were still -very far in the background, that only a small proportion of the cheques -could be paid up to the time of the bank closing its doors. - -Dissatisfied murmurs filled the office; outside there was a clamour of -many voices. - -At this point Mr. Westwood came forward. - -“It is quite plain, ladies and gentlemen,” said he, addressing the -crowd, “that at the present rate of cashing your cheques, not a tenth -of you can be satisfied to-day. I will therefore instruct my cashier to -give you gold for your cheques without going too closely into the exact -balance. I will trust to the honour of the customers of the bank to make -good to-morrow any error they have made in their figures, and I have -also given instructions for the doors of the bank to remain open an hour -longer than usual.” - -There was a distinct brightening of faces in the neighbourhood of the -cashier's desk, and a cheer came from the people beyond. It was plain -that the production of the bag of gold and the dummy bag had done much -to allay the panic, but it was also plain that the confidence shown by -Mr. Westwood in the resources of the bank to meet the severest strain, -had done much more than his adroit handling of the gold to restore the -shaken trust of his customers. Fully a dozen men pushed their cheques -into their pockets and left the bank. - -Their departure, however, only served to make room for the entrance of -an equal number of the crowd who had not been able to crush their way -into the bank previously. - -Mr. Westwood leant across the counter and chatted with one of the -tradesmen who had been in the front rank of those who wished to draw -out their balance. He now said to the banker that he had come to make an -inquiry about a bill of his drawn upon a trader in a neighbouring town; -he was anxious to know if it had been honoured. The bill clerk had given -him the information, and now he was doing his best to respond to the -friendly chat of Mr. Westwood. - -Some clever people who watched these intervals of comedy in the course -of the tragedy which they believed was being enacted, said that Mr. -Westwood had nerves of steel. Others of the visitors to the bank, not -being clever enough to perceive that Mr. Westwood was acting a part with -great ability, felt that they were fools in doubting the solvency of a -concern the head of which could treat such an incident as a run on -his bank as an everyday matter. They did not press forward with their -cheques. They pocketed their cheques and looked ashamed. - -Mr. Westwood would have been greatly disappointed if they had continued -to press forward. He had been a good friend to many of them. He knew -that they would not have the courage to draw their balances under his -very eyes, as if they believed him to be a rogue. - -And then his personal attendant came to tell him that his midday cup of -coffee awaited him, and he said a word about Saturday's cricket match to -the tradesmen before nodding good-bye. Before returning to his private -room, however, he stood beside the cashier for a moment, and his smile -changed to a slight frown. - -“Oh, Mr. Calmour, can you not contrive to be a little more expeditious?” - he said. “We shall never get through all the business in the time if -you are not a trifle quicker. Could not Mr. Combes make up rouleaux -of ten and twenty sovereigns so as to have them ready for you to -distribute? Come, Mr. Combes, stir yourself. Every cheque must be paid -within the next hour.” - -Mr. Combes stirred himself--so did Mr. Calmour--yes, for a short -time; then it seemed that he shovelled out the sovereigns with more -deliberation than ever; for he had felt Mr. Westwood's toe pressing -upon one of his own as he had given him that admonition to be more -expeditious. The cashier had long ago recovered his wits. He was well -aware of the fact that, although Mr. Westwood's style was calculated to -allay distrust, yet every minute's delay might mean hundreds of pounds -saved to the bank. He understood his business, and that was why he -thought it prudent to count one of the piles of sovereigns passed to him -by his assistant, young Mr. Combes, and to declare with some heat that -it was a sovereign short, a proceeding that necessitated a second count, -and the passing of the rouleaux back to the clerk. - -And this waste of time--this precious waste of time that went to save an -old-established house from ruin--was watched by Richard Westwood from a -clear corner half an inch in diameter in the stainedglass window of -his private room door. He was not drinking his coffee. The cup, with -a liqueur of cognac, stood on his desk untouched. He had fallen on his -knees below the glass of his door, not to pray--though a prayer was in -his heart--but in order to get his eye opposite that little clear space, -which enabled him to observe, without being observed, all that went on -outside. - -He made up his mind that if his cashier only wasted enough time to save -the bank he would give him an increase in salary from that very day. - -He returned to the public office munching a biscuit, in less than half -an hour; and he saw that once more his affectation of unconcern was -producing a good impression. While he was absent there had been a -good deal of noise in the public office. Men who had just entered were -shouldering women aside in their anxiety to reach the cashier, and the -women--some of them ladies--had not hesitated to call them blackguards -and rowdies--so shockingly demoralised had they become in the race for -their gold. Half a dozen police constables entered the public office, -but not in time to prevent a serious altercation. - -The nonchalance of Richard Westwood when he once more appeared caused -the newcomers to stare. How could he continue munching a biscuit if -his business was at the point of falling to pieces? “Men do not munch -biscuits when they know themselves to be on the brink of a precipice,” - the people were saying. - -And then there came a sadden shriek from a lady who was fainting; and -when she was carried out, there came a shrill cry from another who, with -a wild face and staring eyes, declared that her pocket had been picked. -She stood shrieking as if she had lost her reason with her purse, and -then she clutched the man nearest to her by his collar, accusing him of -having robbed her. A couple of constables struggled through the crowd -until they got beside her, and Mr. Westwood leaped over the counter and -pushed his way toward her. - -He hoped that a few more exciting incidents would occur within the hour; -every incident meant a certain amount of confusion and, consequently, -delay in the cashing of cheques. Delay meant the saving of the bank from -utter ruin. - -He was disappointed in this one promising case: before he had reached -the woman a constable had found in her own hand the money which she -accused the man of stealing. She had never loosed her hold upon it, -though with the other hand she still clutched the unfortunate man's -collar, and could with difficulty be persuaded to relax her grasp, -protesting that the constables were in a conspiracy to rob her. She was -forced into the street in a condition bordering upon insanity. - -The atmosphere had become charged with excitement as a cloud becomes -charged with electricity, and in a few minutes some other women were -crying out that they had been robbed. Richard Westwood was becoming more -hopeful, though he saw with regret that, in front of the cashier, there -were a dozen stolid tradesmen, every one of whom had a balance of at -least a thousand pounds. They were waiting their turn at the desk with -complete indifference to the scenes that were being enacted behind them. -Within half an hour twelve thousand pounds would be paid away, Richard -Westwood perceived. His only hope was that the panic would be diverted -into another channel--that the fools who had lost their heads over -their money might go on accusing one another--accusing the -constables--accusing any one. In such circumstances the police might -insist on the doors of the bank being closed at the usual hour--nay, -even before the usual hour. - -But while he was pretending to be exerting himself with a view to -reassure a frantic lady, who declared that she had been robbed of a -hundred pounds, though she had never been half-a-dozen yards from the -entrance, and had consequently not received a penny from the cashier, -the swing doors were flung wide, and a lady with a young man by her side -stepped out of the porch and looked about her. Richard Westwood saw her, -and his face, for the first time, became grave. - -Then the lady--she was a handsome woman, tall and dignified--gave a -laugh, and in a moment there was silence in the place where all had been -noise and confusion. All eyes were turned toward the newcomers. - -“Great Scott!” cried the young man--he was perhaps a few years over -twenty, and he bore a strong likeness to the lady, who was certainly -several years older. “Great Scott! Whats the matter here? Hallo, -Westwood, I hope we don't intrude upon a Court of Sessions. My sister -has come on business, but if you've let the bank”-- - -“If you have a cheque to be cashed,” began Mr. Westwood gravely, “I -shall do my best to”-- - -“But I haven't a cheque to be cashed,” said the lady. “On the contrary, -I have some money to lodge with you; fifteen thousand pounds--it's -too much to have at home; it wouldn't be safe there, but I know it's -perfectly safe here.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -|Your money will be perfectly safe here, Miss Mowbray,” said the banker -quietly. “But I'm afraid my clerks are too busily occupied to have a -moment to spare to receive it to-day, unless you wait until my customers -get their cheques cashed. You're getting well through your business, Mr. -Calmour?” he added, turning to the cashier. - -“Slowly, sir. I haven't touched the second bag of twenty thousand,” - replied the cashier. - -“I'm sure Cyril will be able to reach the desk,” said the lady, “and -it will only occupy a clerk half a minute entering the lodgment. Good -heavens! Mr. Westwood, it takes a clerk no longer to receive and enter -up a cheque for fifteen thousand pounds than it does for a single note.” - -Mr. Westwood gave a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders. - -“Give me the cheque,” said Cyril. “I'll lodge it or perish in the -attempt.” - -The good humour with which he set about the task of forcing his way -through the crowd, spread around. The people who a few minutes before -had been struggling with eager faces and clenched hands to get near the -desks, actually laughed as the young man, holding the cheque for fifteen -thousand pounds high above their heads, made an amusingly exaggerated -attempt to shoulder his way forward. He had no need to use his -shoulders; the people divided before him quite good-naturedly. He -reached the cubicle next to that of the cashier's in a few seconds, and -handed the cheque and the pass-book across the counter to a clerk who -had stepped up to a desk to receive the lodgment. - -The silence was so extraordinary that the scratching of the clerk's pen -making the entry was heard all over the place. - -And then--then there came a curious reaction from the excitement of the -previous two hours: the tremendous tension upon the nerves of the people -who fancied they were on the verge of ruin, was suddenly relaxed. There -came a clapping of hands, then a cheer arose; every one was cheering -and laughing. The cashier found himself idle. He availed himself of the -opportunity to wipe his forehead with his handkerchief; until now he had -been compelled to shake the drops away to prevent them from falling on -the cheques or the leaves of his ledger. - -He stood idle, looking across the maghogany counter in amazement at the -people who were laughing and cheering the tradesmen, poking their thumbs -at each other's ribs, others pressing forward to shake hands with Mr. -Westwood. The cashier, being happily unaccustomed to panics, looked -round in amazement. How was it possible that the people could be so -ignorant as to imagine that the stability of a bank which has only a -small gold reserve to meet the demands of a run upon it, is increased by -the fact of a cheque being lodged? - -This was what he felt inclined to ask, Mr. Westwood could see without -difficulty, when he glanced in the direction of Mr. Calmour, but he knew -something of men, and had studied the phenomena of panics. He would not -have minded if his cashier had protested against so erroneous a view of -the situation being taken by the people who a short time before had -been clamouring for gold--gold--gold in exchange for their cheques. Mr. -Westwood knew that his cashier's demonstration, however well founded it -might be--however consistent with the science of finance, would count -for nothing in the estimation of these people. He knew that as they had -originally been moved to adopt the very foolish course which had so very -nearly brought ruin to him, by an impulse as senseless as that which -compels a flock of sheep to leap over a precipice simply because one -very silly animal has led the way, they had, on equally illogical -grounds, but in keeping with the habits of the sheep, allowed themselves -to be moved in exactly the opposite direction to that in which they -had rushed previously. A cheque! If the crowd had been sufficiently -self-possessed to perceive that the mere lodging of a cheque in the -bank did not increase the ability of the bank to pay them the balance of -their accounts in gold, they would certainly have been able to perceive -that, to join in a run upon the bank, simply because some other bank a -hundred miles away had closed its doors, was senseless. - -Richard Westwood knew that the action of Agnes Mowbray had arrested the -run and the ruin. He saw that already some of the men who had cashed -their cheques, but who had not had time to reach the doors, were -relodging the cash which they had received. The panic that now -threatened to take hold upon the crowd was in regard to the security -of the money which they had in their pockets. They seemed to be -apprehensive of their pockets being picked, of their houses being -robbed. Had not several ladies been clamouring to the effect that their -pockets had been picked? Had not Miss Mowbray declared that she could -not consider her money secure so long as it remained unlodged in the -bank? - -While he chatted to Miss Mowbray and her brother Cyril, Richard Westwood -could see that his cashier was closing and locking the drawers of his -desk; the busy clerk was the one who was receiving the lodgments. - -He laughed, but in no more audible tone of exultation than had been his -an hour before, when he had emptied the bag of sovereigns into the till -and had lifted, with a great show of fatigue, the dummy bag from the -counter to the drawer. He felt that he could not afford to give himself -away in the presence of the mob. He knew that the clutch for gold makes -a mob of the most cultivated people. - -“How good of you! how wise of you!” he said to Agnes in a low tone -when the crowd had drifted away from them and the office was rapidly -emptying. “But the cheque--how did you get the cheque?” - -“You did not see whose signature was attached to it?” said Agnes. - -“I only saw that it was a London & County cheque.” - -“It was signed by Sir Percival Hope.” - -“I do not quite understand how you could have a cheque signed by Sir -Percival Hope.” - -“He gave it to me; he trusted me as I have trusted you. He would have -done so without security if I had accepted it on such terms. I declined -to do so, however. I placed in his hands security that would satisfy any -bank--even so scrupulous a bank as Westwoods'. I handed over to him all -my shares in the Water Company.” - -“They are worth twenty-five thousand pounds at least. Great heavens! -Agnes, you never sold them for fifteen thousand pounds?” - -“Oh no; I did not sell them. I only deposited them as security with Sir -Percival. You see I had not long to make up my mind what to do. Only an -hour and a half ago I heard of this idiotic run upon the bank. Oh no; -neither Sir Percival nor I had much margin for deliberation. He told me -that unless I lodged gold with you it would be no use. He laughed at the -idea of my fancying that a cheque would be as useful to you as gold. But -you see”-- - -“Yes, I see; I see. And I believed that it required a man to understand -men, and that only a clever man understood what was meant by a panic -among men and women. I was a fool. For the past two hours I have been -trying to stem the flood of that panic--the avalanche of that panic; I -have been smiling in the faces of those fools; they were fools, but -not great enough fools to fail to see through my acting. I have been -pretending that dummy money bags were almost too heavy for me to lift. -That trick only got rid of half-a-dozen men, and not one woman. I -came out from my room munching a biscuit, to make them believe that I -regarded the situation as an everyday one, not worth a second thought. -I bluffed--abusing the cashier for the time he took to count out the -money, promising to pay the full amount of all the cheques without -taking time to calculate if they were correct to the penny. It was all -a game of bluff to make the people believe that the bank had enough gold -to pay them all in full. But I failed to deceive more than a few, though -I played my part well. I know that I played it well; I like boasting of -it. But I failed. And then you enter. Ah, my dear, I am proud of you; -you are the truest woman that lives. You deserve a better fate than that -which has been yours.” - -“I am content to wait, my dear Dick. I have come to think of waiting as -part of my life. Will it be all my life, I wonder?” - -“No, no; that would be impossible. That would be too cruel even for -Fate.” - -Agnes Mowbray looked at him for a few moments. He saw that the tears -came into her eyes. Then she gave an exclamation of impatience, saying: - -“Psha! my friend. What does it matter in the general scheme of things -if one woman dies waiting to marry the one man on whom she has set her -heart? My dear Dick, what is life more than waiting--a constant waiting -that is never repaid? Is any man, any woman, ever satisfied? No matter -what it is that we get, do we not resume our waiting for something -else--something that we think worth waiting for? Psha! I am beginning -to preach; and whatever women do they should not preach. Good-bye, Dick. -Why, we are almost left alone.” - -“My poor Agnes--my poor Agnes!” said he, looking at her with tenderness -in his eyes. “Never think for a moment that he will not return. Eight -years is a long time for him to be lost, but he will return. Oh, never -doubt that he will return.” - -“I have never yet doubted the goodness of God,” said she. “I will wait. -I will accept without a murmur my life of waiting. He will not mind my -grey hairs.” - -She gave a laugh--after a little pause. In her laugh there was a curious -note that sounded like a defiance of Fate. The man laughed also, but she -saw that he knew very well that as a matter of fact there were several -grey threads among the beautiful brown of her hair. - -That was all the conversation they had at that time. She went away with -her brother Cyril, who had been trying to get Mr. Calmour to listen -to his views regarding the bowling policy to be pursued at Saturday's -match. Cyril had his own views regarding the slow bowling of young -Sharp, the rector's son. It was supposed to be very baffling, and so -it was on a bad wicket. But if the wicket was good--and there was every -likelihood that the fine weather would last over Saturday--the batsmen -would simply send every ball across the boundary, Cyril declared with -great emphasis. - -He was in some measure put out when Mr. Calmour turned to him suddenly, -saying: - -“I beg your pardon. What is it you've been talking about?” - -“What should I be talking about if not the bowling for Saturday?” cried -Cyril. - -“Oh, the bowling. What bowling? Saturday--what is to happen on -Saturday?” said the cashier. - -“You idiot! Haven't we been discussing”-- - -“Oh, go away--go away,” said Mr. Calmour wearily. “Heaven only knows -what may happen between to-day and Saturday. If you could have any idea -of what I've gone through to-day already--bless my soul! it all seems -like a queer dream. Where are all the people gone? Why have they gone, -can you tell me? I haven't paid away all my gold yet. I've still over -two thousand pounds left. Have they closed the doors of the bank? They -were fools--oh, such fools! But I could have held out. I had three -or four tricks left. And now what's to become of me? I support my -mother--she's an old woman; and I have a sister in another town--she is -an epileptic. We are all ruined with the bank.” - -The cashier put his hands up to his face and burst into tears. The -strain of the previous hour had been too much for him. It was in vain -that Cyril Mowbray slapped him on the back and assured him that the bank -was safe and that his mother and sister might reasonably look forward -to a brilliant future. It was in vain that Mr. Westwood shook him by the -hand, promising never to forget the way in which he had worked through -the crisis. Mr. Calmour refused to be comforted. He continued weeping, -and had to be conveyed to his home in a fly. - -Richard Westwood had begged Cyril to drive to Westwood Court and dine -with him; and now the banker was sitting in his bedroom, staring into -the empty grate as he recalled the incidents of the terrible day through -which he had passed. - -The boom of the gong which came half an hour later aroused him from -his reverie. He started up with a great sigh, and was surprised to -find himself as weary as if he had had a twenty-mile ride. He went to -a looking-glass and examined his face narrowly. It looked haggard. He -remembered having heard of men's hair becoming grey in a single night. -He quite believed such stories. He thought it strange that his hair -should remain black. He was thirty-six years of age--four years older -than Agnes, and he had noticed that she had many grey hairs--she had -talked of them when they had stood face to face in the bank. - -He wondered if waiting for an absent lover was more trying than being -the senior partner in a bank during a severe financial crisis. - -He went downstairs to dinner without coming to any satisfactory -conclusion on this rather difficult question. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -|Westwood Court had been in the possession of the family of bankers -since the days of George II. It had been built by that Stephen Westwood -whose portrait was painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. In the picture the -man's right hand carries a scroll bearing a tracing of the plans of the -house. Before it had been completed, however, Sir Thomas Chambers -had something to say in regard to the design, the result being sundry -additions which were meant to impart to the plain English mansion the -appearance of the villa of a Roman patrician. - -It was a spacious house situated in the midst of one of the loveliest -parks in Brackenshire--a park containing some glorious timber, some -brilliant spaces of greensward, and a trout stream that was never known -to disappoint an angler, however exacting he might be. It was scarcely -surprising that love for this home was the most prominent of the -characteristics of the Westwood family. Every member of the family, -with but one exception, seemed to have inherited this trait. The one -exception was Claude Westwood, the younger brother of Richard. - -During his father's lifetime he had been in a cavalry regiment, and -while serving in India, had taken part in a rather perilous frontier -campaign against a strange set of tribesmen in the northwest. He had -become greatly interested in the opening up of the conquered territory, -and as soon as his father died he had left the regiment and had done -some remarkable exploration work on his own account, both in the -northwest of India and in the borderland of Persia. - -He returned to England to recover from the effects of a snake-bite, -and to stay for a month or two with his brother, to whom he was deeply -attached. But when in Brackenshire he had formed another attachment -which threatened to interfere with the Future he had mapped out for -himself as an explorer. He did not notice any change in his brother's -demeanour the day he had gone to him confiding in him that he had fallen -in love with Agnes Mowbray, the beautiful daughter of Admiral Mowbray, -who had bought a small property known as The Knoll, a mile from the -gates of the Court. Richard Westwood had found it necessary for the -successful carrying on of the banking business, which he had inherited, -to keep himself always well in hand. If his feelings were not invariably -under control, his expression of those feelings certainly was so; and -this was how it came that, after a pause of only a few seconds, he -was able to offer his brother his hand and to say in a voice that was -neither husky nor tremulous: - -“Dear old chap, you have all my good wishes.” - -“I knew that you would be pleased,” Claude had said. “She is the sort -of girl one only meets once in a lifetime. I have lived for a good many -years in the world now, and yet I never met any girl worthy of a thought -alongside Agnes. How on earth you have remained in her neighbourhood for -a year without falling in love with her yourself is a mystery to me.” - -A sudden flash came to Dick's eyes, and he was at the point of crying -out, “Have I so remained?” But his usual habits of self-control -prevented his showing to his brother what was in his heart He had merely -given a laugh as he said: - -“I suppose it must always seem mysterious to a man in love that every -one else in the world does not display symptoms of the same malady.” - -“I daresay you are right,” Claude had answered, after a pause. “Yes, I -daresay--only--ah!--Agnes is very different from all the other girls in -the world.” - -“You recollect Calverley's lines: - - “'I did not love as others do-- - - None ever did that I've heard tell of? - -Ah! you lovers are all cast in the same mould. But how about your -projected exploration--you can scarcely expect her to rough it with you -at the upper reaches of the Zambesi?” - -Claude Westwood looked grave. For some weeks he had talked about -nothing else except the splendid possibilities of the Upper Zambesi -to explorers; and his brother had offered to share the expenses of -an expedition thoroughly well-equipped to do all that Livingstone and -Baines left undone in that fascinating quarter of Africa. - -“Perhaps she will refuse me,” said Claude. - -“Ah! perhaps; but if she does not refuse you?” - -There was a long pause. Claude rose from his chair and walked to the -window. He looked out over the sloping lawns and the terraced Italian -garden; the blue swallows were skimming the surface of the huge marble -basin where the water-lilies floated. He seemed greatly interested in -the movements of the birds. - -At last he turned suddenly round to his brother, and laid his hand on -his shoulder, saying: - -“Dick, I should like to win her. I should like to offer her a name--the -name of a man who has done something in the world. Whatever happens I am -bound to make the expedition to the Zambesi.” - -***** - -Dick Westwood had, while sitting before the empty grate, recalled all -the incidents of eight years before--he recollected how a level ray of -the red sunlight had flickered through the leaves of the copper beech -and made rosy his brother's face--he could still feel the strong clasp -of his hand as they had separated to dress for the dinner which Admiral -Mowbray was giving that evening. He remembered how Agnes had looked at -the head of the table--oh, he had felt even then that she was not for -him, but for his brother--how could he have fancied for a moment that he -would have a chance of her love when Claude was near? - -The expression on Claude's face when they met to go home together told -him all; but he did not need to be told anything. He knew that it was -inevitable. Agnes had accepted Claude: she had accepted him and told him -to go out to Africa; she would wait for him to return, even though he -might not return for ten years, she had said, laughingly. - -Alas! alas! the lover had gone at the head of his expedition to the -Zambesi, and for seven months news had come from him at irregular -intervals--for seven months only; after that--silence. No line came from -him, no rumour of the fate of the expedition had reached England, though -at the end of the second year a large reward had been offered to any one -who could throw light on the mystery. - -Eight years had now passed since the expedition had set out from -Zanzibar, and there was only one person alive who rejected every -suggestion that disaster had overtaken Claude Westwood and his -companions. It had become an article of faith with Agnes that her lover -would return. The lapse of years seemed to strengthen rather than to -attenuate her hope. Her father had died when Claude had been absent for -two years, and almost his last words to her had been of hope. - -“Fear nothing for him; he will return to you. I know what manner of man -it is that succeeds in the world, and Claude Westwood is not the man -to fail. I shall not see him, but you will. Whatever happens, whatever -people round you may say, don't relinquish hope for him.” - -Those had been her father's words, and she had obeyed their injunction. -She had not given up hope, although no one in the neighbourhood ever -thought of mentioning the name of Claude Westwood in her hearing. It -seemed that the very memory of the man had died out in Brackenhurst. She -had not given up hope although now and again she had been startled to -see a grey hair where a brown one had been. - -And for eight years Richard Westwood had watched her, wondering what -would be the end of her devotion--what would be the end of his own -devotion. People in the neighbourhood could not understand him. They -took the trouble every now and then to invent a theory to account for -his singular rejection of the delicate hints that had been thrown out -to him by mothers of many daughters--hints that the head of the house -of Westwood had certain duties in life--social duties--to discharge. -The theories were more or less ingenious; but even when some of them had -come to his ears he remained as obdurate as ever. He merely laughed, and -the man who laughs is well known to be the most discouraging of men. - -But Cyril Mowbray did not find him very discouraging as he sat with him -on this evening after dinner, for the dinner had been an excellent one -and his cigars were unexceptional. They were in their easy-chairs in -front of a French window, the leaves of which were open. The square -of the window enclosed as in a frame an exquisite picture of the dim -garden. The sound of cawing rooks in the distant elms was borne through -the tranquil air. The scents of the earliest roses stole within the room -at mysterious intervals. It was a perfect summer's night, and Cyril felt -that though there were troubles in the world, yet on the whole it was a -very pleasant place to live in. - -There had been a pause in the conversation, which had related mainly to -a very pretty young girl named Lizzie Dangan, the daughter of the head -gamekeeper at Westwood Court--the man who had touched his hat as the -dog-cart drove through the entrance gates. The silence was suddenly -broken by Cyril's exclaiming: - -“You are a first-rate chap, Dick. Why shouldn't you marry Agnes?” - -Dick's eyes flashed upon him for a moment, and it seemed to Cyril that -he detected a certain curious drawing in of his breath that sounded like -the stifling of a sigh. The exclamation which came from him immediately -afterwards seemed incongruous--it was an exclamation that suggested the -putting aside of an absurdity. - -“Oh, you may say 'psha!' as often as you please,” said Cyril; “it will -not alter the fact that Agnes and you would get on very well together. I -know that she thinks a lot of you--so do I.” - -“That's very kind of you,” said Dick. “But you're talking -nonsense--worse than nonsense. Agnes has given her promise to marry my -brother Claude. Let us say no more about it.” - -“It's all very well for you to say, 'We'll say no more about it,”' cried -Cyril, with an air of responsibility--the responsibility of a brother -who refuses to allow the affections of his sister to be trifled with. -“It's all very well for you to say that; but when I think how long this -sort of shilly-shallying has been going on--well, it makes me wild. -Agnes is now over thirty--think of that--over thirty, and what's more, -she's not getting any younger. I'm anxious to see her settled. I think -I've a right to ask if she's engaged to marry Claude. Where's Claude -now? Does any sane person believe that he is still in the land of the -living?” - -“Your sister believes it, and she is sane enough. However, I'm not going -to discuss the question with you, my friend; or, for that matter, with -anybody else.” - -“That's all very well; the fact remains the same. Here's a fine house -thrown away upon a bachelor, and there's Agnes, who would suit you down -to the ground, waiting”-- - -“Waiting--waiting--that is exactly her position.” - -“Waiting--yes; but for what? For what, I ask you as a man of the world? -Your brother is dead, beyond a shadow of a doubt, and here you are alive -and hearty. Doesn't it say something in the Bible that when a chap's -brother dies”-- - -“Cyril,” said Dick Westwood, rising with an impatient jesture, “we'll -have no more of this. I won't allow you to talk any longer in this -strain. Shall we finish our cigars in the garden?” - -“All right,” said Cyril, rising. But before they had taken a step toward -the open French window, there seemed to arise from the earth the figure -of a man, and he stood in the window space looking eagerly at each of -them in turn. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -|The stranger stood with his back to whatever light there was remaining -in the sky, but Dick Westwood and his guest could see what manner of man -he was. He wore a short beard and moustache. His clothes were shabby, -and so was his soft hat. He might have been a foreman of mechanics just -left off work. - -Westwood stepped to the wall and switched on a lamp. Then he scrutinised -the stranger closely. The man had entered the room through the French -window. - -“Who are you, and what do you want, my good fellow?” said Westwood. “It -is customary for visitors to pull the bell at the hall door.” - -“I pulled the bell. They told me you were at dinner and could not be -disturbed, sir,” replied the man. - -No one who heard him speak could think of him as an ordinary mechanics' -foreman. He spoke like a person of some culture. - -“And they told you what was true,” said Westwood. “Allow me to say that -it is most unusual for a total stranger to force himself into a house -in this fashion. I must ask you to go away at once unless you have -something of importance to communicate to me; unless--good heavens! is -it possible that you come with some news of my brother?” - -Dick had given a start as the idea seemed to strike him. Cyril also -started, and looked at the stranger narrowly. - -“I know nothing of your brother, Mr. Westwood,” said the man. “But I -know you. I know that it was into your hands I put my money a year -ago, and I have come to you for it now. I tried to come before the bank -closed, but I missed the connection of the trains at the junction. I -live in the North now. I want my money, Mr. Westwood.” - -Mr. Westwood turned upon the man. - -“You should know well enough that this is not the time or the place to -come about any matter of banking business,” said he. “I don't remember -ever seeing you before, but even if I did remember you, I could only -give you the answer I have already given. I shall be pleased to go -into any business question at the bank. I decline to hold any business -communication with you at this time or in this place. I have had -business enough and to spare for one day. I must ask you to come to the -bank in the morning.” - -“I've no notion of being put off in that way, Mr. Westwood,” said the -man. “How am I to know that your bank will open to-morrow or any other -day? I got a telegram at noon telling me that Westwoods' would be -the next of the county banks to go to the wall, and I hurried up from -Midleigh, where I am employed, hoping to be in time to pluck my savings -out of the ruin; but, as I told you, I missed the train connection. But -here I am and here”-- - -“I do not wish to hear anything further about you or your business at -this time, my good sir,” said Richard. “I have been courteous to you -up to the present. I must now insist on your retiring. It would be -insufferable if a man in my position had to be badgered on business -matters at any hour of the day and night. Come, sir.” - -He had gone to the side of the window and made a motion with his hand in -the direction of the garden. - -“Look here, Mr. Westwood,” said the man, “you know me well enough. My -name is Carton Standish, and I lodged with you just a year ago the six -hundred pounds which I had saved for my wife and child. You know that I -speak the truth. Psha! What's the use of going over the matter again?” - -“That's what I ask too; so I insist”-- - -“It's not for you but for me to insist,” broke in the man. “It's for -me to insist, and I do insist. Come, sir, hand over that money of mine -without the delay of another minute. It's my money, not yours, and -I decline to be swindled out of it by you or any other cheat of a -bankrupt.” - -“You have mistaken your man,” said Richard Westwood quietly. “Stay where -you are, Cyril.” Cyril had taken an angry step toward the stranger. -“Stay where you are; I think I am equal to dealing with this gentleman -alone. Come now, Mr. Stand-ish, if that is your name, the last word has -passed between us; if you don't clear out of my house inside a minute I -shall be forced to throw you out.” - -“You infernal swindler!” shouted the man. “This is your last -chance--this is my last chance. Hand me over my money or I'll kill you!” - -He had drawn a revolver and covered Dick Westwood with it in a second. -At the same instant the door of the room opened and a footman appeared. - -Cyril had sprung toward the man, but Dick Westwood restrained him by a -gesture, and then turning to the servant, said quietly: - -“Bentley, show this gentleman out by the hall door.” - -The man had lowered his revolver--it had only been pointed at -Westwood for a moment. He looked at the weapon strangely, then with an -exclamation he tossed it out of the open window. It fell with a soft -thud on the grass border of the terrace, but did not explode. - -The footman drew a long breath. He did not seem to relish the duty of -showing out an excited man with a six-chambered revolver in his hand. -He felt that that was outside the usual range of a footman's duties. He -went to the door and stood beside it in his usual attitude. - -“If you have swindled me, you need not think that you will escape,” said -the visitor, striding across the room until he faced Dick. “I have -not been a good husband, or perhaps father, at times; but I was making -amends for the past. I had saved that money for my wife and child, and -now--now--if it's lost, I swear to you that I'll kill you.” - -“You'll not do it to-night, at any rate,” said Dick. “Are you so sure? -Are you so sure of that?” said the man in a low tone, going still closer -to him, his hands clenched in an attitude of menace. - -Then he suddenly wheeled about, and walking to the door, left the -room without a word. His steps died away up the hall, followed by the -soft-treading servant. The sound of the closing of the hall door reached -the room before either Westwood or Cyril spoke. Then it was the former -who said: - -“Is it possible that you have allowed your cigar to go out? Oh, you -young chaps; good cigars are thrown away upon you!” - -He was smoking his own cigar quite collectedly. Cyril gave a laugh. He -did not feel quite so much a man of the world as he had felt when giving -his friend the benefit of his advice some minutes before. - -“I fancied that something exciting was about to take place to rouse this -stagnant neighbourhood,” said he. “Like you, Dick, I'm interested in -men. That chap looked a desperate rascal. Do you remember anything of -him? Did he actually lodge money with you a year ago?” - -“Yes; what he said was quite true,” replied Westwood. “I can't for the -life of me recollect who recommended him to the bank, but I'm nearly -sure that he opened an account with us. I felt that his arriving -here to-night was a sort of last straw so far as I am concerned. Good -heavens! haven't I gone through enough to-day to last me for some time, -without being badgered by a fellow like that--a fellow whose ideas of -diplomacy are shown by his calling one a swindler--a cheat! That was the -best way he could set about coaxing a man like me to do him a favour.” - -“Is he a dangerous man, do you think? There was a look in his eye that I -did not like,” said Cyril. - -“A man is not dangerous because of a look in his eye, but rather because -of a revolver in his hand; and you saw that that poor fool was more -afraid of it than I was,” said Westwood. “Oh, he's a poor sort of fellow -after all. No man shows up worse than one who tries to be threatening -in a heroic way. He sinks into the mountebank in a moment. He'll be all -right in the morning when he handles his money--assuming that he will -draw out his balance, which is doubtful. Most likely he will have -recovered from his panic, and will apologize. Take another cigar, and -don't spoil this one by letting it go out.” - -Cyril helped himself from the box, and immediately afterwards the -footman entered with a tray with decanters. Cyril took a whisky and -Apollinaris, and Dick helped himself to brandy. - -“The first spirituous thing I have handled to-day,” he said with a -laugh. “And yet before I left the bank I could hear my clerks inquiring -anxiously for brandy.” - -“What nerves you have!” said Cyril. “I suppose they run in your family. -Poor Claude must have had something good in that line.” - -“Yes,” said Dick, “he has good nerves.” - -Cyril noticed that he declined to accept the past tense in regard to -Claude. - -“Do you mind testing mine by playing a game of billiards?” asked the -younger man. - -“I should like a game above all things--but only one. I must be early -at the bank in the morning, if only to receive our friend Standish's -apology. Come along.” - -They went off together to the billiard-room, which was built out at the -back of the dining-room; and they had their game, Finishing with the -scores so close together that Westwood, who, when Cyril was ninety-seven -and he only eighty, ran out with a break of twenty, declared that he had -felt more excited by the game than he had at any time of the day--and he -confessed that he had found it a rather exciting day on the whole. - -It was past eleven when Cyril set out for home, and the night being one -of starlight and sweet perfumes, Dick said he would stroll part of the -way with him and finish his cigar. They went along together through the -shrubbery and across one of the little subsidiary tracks that led from -the broad avenue to a small door made in the park wall, half a mile -nearer The Knoll than the ordinary entrance gates. Cyril unlocked the -door, for the year before Dick had given him a private key for himself -and Agnes in order that they might be saved the walk round to the -entrance gates when they were visiting the Court. For a few minutes -the two men stood chatting on the road, before they said goodnight, and -while the one went on in the direction of The Knoll, the other returned -to the park, pulling-to the door, which had a spring lock. - -The night was wonderfully still. The barking of a dog at King's Elms -Farm, nearly a mile away, was heard quite clearly by Richard Westwood, -and now and again came the sharp sound of a shot from the warren on Sir -Percival Hope's estate, suggesting that a party were shooting rabbits in -the most sportsmanlike way, the chances being, on such a night, largely -in favour of the rabbits. After every shot one of the peacocks that -paraded the grassy terraces of the Court by day, and roosted in the -trees by night, sent out a protesting shriek. - -All the nocturnal creatures of the woodland were awake, Dick knew. As -he paused for a few moments on the track he could hear the stealthy -movement of a rat or a weazel among the undergrowth, the flicker of the -wings of a bat across the starlight, the rustle of a blackbird among -the thick foliage. He had always liked to walk about the park at night, -observing and listening, and the result was that none of his gamekeepers -had anything like the knowledge which he possessed of the woodland and -its inhabitants. - -When he reached the house and had let himself in with his latchkey, he -went to the drawing-room where he had sat with Cyril after dinner. He -threw himself back in his easy-chair, and he seemed to hear once again -the voice of Cyril asking him that question: - -“Why shouldn't you marry Agnes?” - -He asked himself that question as he sat there now. He had put it to -himself often during the past two years. Was there any treason toward -his brother in the fact that that question had come to him, he wondered. -Could any one fancy that his brother was still alive? Could any one -believe that the insatiate maw of tropical Africa, which has swallowed -up so many brave Englishmen, would disgorge any one of its victims? - -He might still pretend that he believed that Claude was still alive, -but in his heart he could not feel any hope that he should return. He -wondered if Agnes had really any hope--if she too were trying to deceive -herself on this matter--if she were not trying by constant references to -his return to make herself believe that he would return. - -Had Fate ever dealt so cruelly with two people as it had with himself -and Agnes? He believed that if any direct evidence had been forthcoming -of Claude's death, Agnes might, in course of time, have listened to him, -and have believed him when he told her that he loved her--that he had -loved her for years--long before Claude had come to tell her that he -loved her. Even now.... He wondered if he were to go to her and ask her -for his sake to leave the world of delusion in which she was content to -live--the atmosphere of self-deception which she was content to breathe -and to call it life when she knew it was nothing more than a living -death--would she listen to him? - -He sat there thinking his thoughts until the sound of the church clock -striking the hour of midnight came to him through the still air. - -He rose with a long sigh--the sigh of a lover who hopes that hope may -come to him before it is too late to dissipate despair, and he was about -to switch off the light, when he was startled by the sound of a footstep -on the gravel of the walk between the grass of the terrace and the -French window. The sound was not that of a person walking on the path, -but of one stepping stealthily from the grass. - -In another moment there came a tapping on the window--light, but quite -distinct. - -He switched off the light in an instant, and stepped quickly to -one side, for he had no wish to reveal his whereabouts to whatever -mysterious visitor might be watching outside. He slipped across the room -to the switch of a tall pillar lamp standing close to the window, and -when the tapping was repeated, he turned on the light, and looked from -behind a screen through the window. - -He quite expected to see there the man who an hour and a half before had -threatened him, and he was, therefore, greatly surprised when he saw the -figure of a girl peering into the room. He hastened to the window and -opened it. - -“Good heavens, child, what has brought you here at such an hour?” he -said. “Lizzie, I'm ashamed of you; it is past midnight.” - -“Every one is ashamed of me, sir,” said the girl; she was a very pretty -girl of not more than twenty. She was a good deal paler and her features -had much more refinement than the face of an ordinary country girl. - -She stepped through the window as she spoke. He knew that she did so -quite innocently--she would not keep him standing at the open window. - -“You have made a little fool of yourself, Lizzie,” he said; “and I fear -that you have not learned wisdom yet, or you would not have come here at -such an hour. What have you got to say to me? Let us go outside. We can -talk better outside. But I hope you haven't got much to say to me. I -have to get up early in the morning.” - -She stepped outside, and he followed her. They walked half-way round the -house until they came to the rosery, which was at the side opposite to -that where the servants' rooms were situated. - -“I don't want you to fall into worse trouble, my dear,” said he. “Now -tell me all that you think I should be told.” - -“I knew that I had no chance of speaking to you in an ordinary way, -sir,” said the girl, “so I slipped out of Mrs. Morgan's cottage and came -here.” - -“That was very foolish of you. Well, what have you to say to me?” - -“You know my secret, sir. Cyril--I mean Mr. Mowbray, told me that -you knew it; but no one else does--not even my father--not even Miss -Mowbray--and I'd die sooner than tell it to any one.” - -“Yes, yes, I know. To say you were both foolish would be to say the very -least of the matter. But you at any rate have been punished.” - -“God knows I have, Mr. Westwood.” - -“Yes, it is always the woman who has to bear the punishment for this -sin. I wish I could lighten yours, my poor child.” - -“You can, sir, you can!” The girl had begun to sob, and she could not -speak for some time. He waited patiently. “I have come to talk to you -about that, sir,” she continued, when she was able to speak once more. -“Sir Percival Hope's sister has promised to give me a chance, Mr. -Westwood; but only if I agree never to see him again.” - -“And, of course, you agreed. You are very fortunate, my girl.” - -“Yes, sir, I agreed; but--oh, Mr. Westwood, he has promised to marry me -when he gets his money in two years, and I know that he will do it, -for I'm sure he loves me, only--oh, sir, I'm afraid that when I'm away, -where we may never see each other, he may be led to think different--he -may be led to forget me. But you, Mr. Westwood, you will be on my -side--you will not let him forget me. That is what I come to implore of -you, sir: you will always keep me before him so that he may not forget -that he is to marry me?” - -“Look here, Lizzie,” said he, after a pause; “if I were you I wouldn't -trust to his keeping his promise to you. But I'll tell you what I'll -do. I have been talking to Cyril, and he knows what my opinion of his -conduct is. He has told me that he would marry you to-morrow if he -only had enough money to live on. I advised him to confess all to Miss -Mowbray, and if he does so I have made up my mind to send him off to a -colony with you, making a provision for your future until he gets his -money.” - -“Oh, sir--oh, Mr. Westwood!” cried the girl, catching up his hand and -kissing it. “Oh, sir, you have saved me from ruin.” - -“I hope that I have saved both of you,” said he. “Now, get back to Mrs. -Morgan's without delay. I hope that it may not be discovered that -you were wandering through the park at midnight. Why, even if Cyril -discovered it he might turn away from you.” - -After a course of sobs mingled with thanks, the girl went away, and -Richard Westwood strolled back toward the house. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -|It was rather early on the next morning when Agnes Mowbray was visited -by Sir Percival Hope. Cyril, who had returned home late on the previous -night, and had not gone to bed for nearly an hour after entering the -house, was not yet downstairs; but his sister was in her garden when her -visitor arrived. - -Sir Percival Hope was one of the latest comers to the county. He was -the younger son of a good family--the baronetcy was one of the oldest in -England--and had gone out to Australia very early in life. In one of -the southern colonies he had not only made a fortune, but had won great -distinction and had been twice premier before he had reached the age -which in England is considered young enough for entering political -life. On the death of his father--his elder brother had been killed when -serving with his regiment in the Soudan campaign of 1883--he had come -to England, not to inherit any estate, for the last acre of the family -property had been sold before his birth, but to purchase the estate of -Branksome Abbey in Brackenshire, which had once been in his mother's -family. He was now close upon forty years of age, and it was said that -he was engaged in the somewhat arduous work of nursing the constituency -of South Brackenshire. There were few people in the neighbourhood who -were disposed to think that when the chance came for him to declare -himself he would be rejected. It was generally allowed that he might -choose his constituency. - -He was a tall and athletic man, with the bronzed face of a southern -colonist, and with light-brown hair that had no suggestion of grey about -it. As he stood on the lawn at The Knoll by the side of Agnes, and in -the shade of one of the great elms, no one would have believed that he -was over thirty. - -“I got your letter,” said Agnes when she had greeted him with -cordiality, for though they had known each other only a year they had -become the warmest friends. “I got your letter an hour ago--just when -you must have got mine, which I wrote last night. I hope you are able to -give me as good news as I gave you.” - -“You were able to tell me of the saving of the bank; I hope I can tell -you of the saving of a soul,” said Sir Percival. - -“I hoped as much,” she cried, her face lighting up as she turned her -eyes upon his. “Your sister must be a good woman--as good a woman as you -are a man.” - -“If you had waited for half an hour when you came to see me yesterday, I -could have told you what I come to tell you now,” said he. “But you were -in too great a hurry.” - -“I had need to make haste,” laughed Agnes. “Every moment was worth -hundreds of pounds--perhaps thousands.” - -“And the good people were perfectly satisfied with my cheque? Well, -they are a good deal more confiding than the colonists to whom I was -accustomed in my young days: they would have laughed at the notion of -offering them a cheque when they looked for gold, although in the bush -cheques are current. Oh no; when they make a run on a bank nothing but -gold can satisfy them.” - -“I knew what I could do with those people yesterday. They only needed -some one to arrest their panic for a moment, and then like sheep they -were ready to go off in the opposite direction.” - -“And you saved the bank?” - -“No, not I. You saved it: the cheque was yours. And now it is through -you that that poor girl is to be saved. How good you are. What should we -do without you in this neighbourhood?” - -“The neighbourhood did without me for a good many years. Never mind. -I have come to tell you that my sister will be glad to take your young -_protégée_ under her roof and to give her a chance of--well, may I say, -redeeming the past? You are not one of the women who think that for one -sin there is no redemption. Neither is my sister. She is, like you, a -good woman--not given to preaching or moralising in the stereotyped way, -but ever ready to lend a helping hand to a sister, not to push her back -into the mire.” - -“After all, that is the most elementary Christianity. Was there any -precept so urged by the Founder as that? Christianity is assuredly the -religion for women.” - -“It is the only religion for women--and men. My sister will treat the -girl as though she knew nothing of her lapse. There will be no lowering -of the corners of her mouth when she receives her. She will never, by -word or action, suggest that she has got that lapse forever in her mind. -The poor girl will never receive a reproach. In short, she will be given -a real chance; not a nominal one; not a fictitious one; not a parochial -one.” - -“That will mean the saving of her soul. Her father has behaved cruelly -toward her. He turned her out of his house, as you know, because she -refused to say what was the name of her betrayer.” - -“You mentioned that to me. All the people in the neighbourhood seem -to be most indignant with the poor girl because of her silence on this -point. They seem to feel that their curiosity is outraged. They do not -appear to be grateful to her for having stimulated their imagination. -And yet I think it was hearing of this attitude of the girl that caused -my sister to be attracted to her. That's all I have to say on this -painful matter, my dear friend.” - -Agnes Mowbray gave him her hand. Her eyes were misty as she turned them -upon his face. Several moments had passed before she was able to speak, -and then her voice was tremulous. A sob was in her throat. - -“You are so good--so good--so good!” she said. - -He held her hand for a minute. He seemed to be at the point of speaking -as he looked earnestly into her face, but when he dropped her hand he -turned away from her without saying a word. - -There was a long silence before he said: - -“We have been very good friends, you and I, since I came back to -England.” - -His words were almost startling in their divergence from the subject -upon which they had been conversing. The expression on Agnes's face -suggested that she was at least puzzled if not absolutely startled by -his digression. - -“Yes,” she said mechanically, “we have indeed been good friends. I knew -in an instant yesterday that it was to you I should go when I was in -great need. I knew that you would help me.” - -He looked at her gravely and in silence for some moments. Then he -suddenly put out his hand to her. - -“Good-bye,” he said quickly--unnaturally; and before their hands had -more than met for the second time he turned and walked rapidly away to -the gate, leaving her standing under the shady elm in the centre of the -lawn. - -For a moment or two she was too much surprised to be able to make any -move. He had never behaved so curiously before. She was trying to think -what she had said or what she had suggested that had hurt his feelings, -for it seemed to her that his sudden departure might be taken to -indicate that she had said something that jarred upon him. - -She hastened across the lawn and through the tennis-ground, to intercept -him on the road. Only a low privet hedge stood between the road and -the gardens of The Kroll, and she reached this hedge and looked over it -before he had passed. She saw him approaching; his eyes were upon the -ground. - -It was his turn to be startled as she spoke his name, looking over the -hedge. He looked up quickly. - -“Did I say anything that I should not have said just now?” she asked. -“Why did you hurry away before our hands had more than met?” - -“Shall I come back?” he said, after looking into her eyes with a curious -expression in his. “Will you ask me to return?” - -“I will--I will--I will,” she cried. “Please return and tell me if I -said anything that hurt you. I would not do so for the world. Nothing -but gratitude and good feeling for you was in my heart. Oh yes, pray -return.” - -“If I were wise I should not have returned when you made use of that -word 'gratitude,'” said he when he had come beside her, through the -small rustic gate which she opened for him from the inside. “Gratitude -is the opposite to love, and I love you.” - -With a startled cry she took a step or two back from him, and held up -her hands as if instinctively to avert a blow. - -“I have startled you,” he said. “I was rude; but indeed I do not know of -any way of saying that I love you except in those words. I have had no -experience either in loving or in confessing my love. I came here this -morning to say those words to you, but when I looked at you standing -beside me under the elm--when I saw how beautiful you were--how full -of God's grace, and goodness, and tenderness, and charity, I was so -overcome with the thought of my own unworthiness to love such a one as -you, that”-- - -“Oh no, no; for God's sake, do not say that--do not say that,” she -cried, holding out her hands to him in an appealing attitude. “Alas! -alas! that word love must never pass between us.” - -“Why should not the word pass, when my heart and soul”-- - -“Ah, let me implore of you. I fancied that you knew all--all my story. -I forgot that it happened so long ago that people in this neighbourhood -had ceased to speak of it years before you came here.” - -“Your story? I will believe nothing but what is good of you.” - -“My story--my life's story is that I have promised to love another man.” - -He gave a gasp. His head fell forward for a moment. Then he clasped -his hands behind him and looked at her in all tenderness and without a -suggestion of reproach. - -“I had a suspicion of it yesterday,” he said. “The man who is more -fortunate than I is Richard Westwood.” - -“No, not Richard Westwood, but Claude Westwood,” she replied, in a low -tone, and with her eyes fixed upon the ground. - -A puzzled look was on his face. - -“Claude Westwood--Claude Westwood?” he said. “But there is no Claude -Westwood. Was not Claude Westwood the African explorer killed years -ago--it must be nearly ten years ago--when trying to reach the Upper -Zambesi?” - -“Claude Westwood is the man to whom I have given my promise,” said she -in an unshaken voice--the voice of one whose faith remains unshaken. “He -is not dead. He is alive and our love lives. Ah, my dear friend”--she -put out both her hands frankly to Sir Percival and he took them, -tenderly and reverently--“my dear friend, you may think me a fool; you -may think that I am wasting my life in waiting for an event that is as -impossible as the bringing of the dead back to life; but God has brought -the dead back to life, and I trust in God to bring the man whom I love -back to my love. At any rate, whatever you may think, I cannot help -myself; it is my life, this waiting, though it is weary--weary.” - -She had turned away from him and was looking with wide, wistful eyes -across the long sweep of country that lay between the road and the Abbey -woods. - -He had not let go her hands. He held them as he said: - -“My poor Agnes! my poor Agnes. I had some hope--yes, a little--when I -first saw you. I had never thought of loving a woman before, but then... -ah, what is the good of recalling what my thoughts were--my hopes? I am -strong enough to face my fate. I am strong enough to hope with all -my heart that happiness may come to you--that--that--he may come to -you--the man who is blessed with such a love as has blessed few men. You -know that I am sincere, Agnes?” - -“I am sure of it,” she said, and now it was her hand that tightened on -his. “Ah, my dear, dear friend, I know how good you are--how true! If I -were in trouble it is to you I would go for help, knowing that you would -never fail me.” - -“I will never fail you,” he said. “There is a bond between us. You will -come to me should you ever be in trouble.” - -“I give you my promise,” she said. - -Her eyes were overflowing with tears as she put her face up to his. He -kissed her on the forehead very gently, and without speaking a good-bye -turned slowly away to the little gate. - -While he was in the act of unlocking it, he started, hearing a cry from -the spot where they had been standing a dozen yards away. - -He looked round quickly. - -Agnes was being supported by a servant. He saw that her face was deathly -white, and in her hand that fell limply by her side there was an oblong -piece of paper. A telegraph envelope had fluttered to the ground. - -He rushed back to her. - -“What has happened?” he asked the servant. - -“A telegram, sir; I brought it out to her--it had just come, and knew -that she was out here. She read it and cried out--I was just in time to -catch her. I don't think she has quite fainted, Sir Percival.” - -The maid was right. Agnes had not fainted, but she was plainly overcome -by whatever news the telegram had conveyed to her. - -She opened her eyes as Sir Percival put his arm about her, supporting -her to a garden chair that stood at the side of the tennis lawn. - -“I think I can walk,” she murmured; and she made an effort to step out, -but all her strength seemed to have departed. She would have fallen if -Sir Percival had not supported her. - -“You are weak,” he said; “but after a rest you will be yourself again. -Let me help you.” - -“You are so good!” she said, and with his help she was able to take a -few steps. But then she gave a sudden gasp and became rigid when she -caught sight of the telegram which was crumpled in her hand. She raised -it slowly and stared at it. Then she cried out: - -“Ah, God is good--God is good! It is no dream. He is safe--safe! Claude -Westwood is alive.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -|What were his feelings as he read the telegram which she thrust into -his hand--the telegram sent to her by a relative, who lived in London, -acquainting her with the fact that an enterprising London paper had in -its issue of that morning announced the safe arrival at Uganda of the -distinguished explorer, Claude Westwood? “Authority unquestionable,” - were the words with which the telegram ended. - -Had he for one single moment an unworthy thought? Had he for a single -moment a consciousness that she was lost to him for ever? Had he a -feeling that he was being cruelly treated by Fate? Or was every feeling -overwhelmed by the thought that this woman whose happiness was dear to -him, was on her way to happiness? - -She was leaning upon him as he read the telegram; and when he looked -into her face he saw that the expression which it wore was not that of -a woman who is thinking of her own happiness. He saw that her heart was -not so full of her own happiness as to have no place for a thought -for the man who in a moment had all hope swept away from him. Her eyes -showed him that she had the tenderest regard for him at that moment; and -that was how he was able to press her hand and say: - -“With all my heart--with all my heart, I am glad. You will be happy. I -ask nothing more.” - -She returned the pressure of his hand, and with her eyes looking into -his, said in a low voice: - -“I know it--I know it.” - -As he helped her to walk up to the house she kept putting question after -question to him. Was the news that this paper published usually of -a trustworthy character? She had heard that some newspapers with a -reputation for enterprise to maintain, were usually more anxious to -maintain such a reputation than one for scrupulous accuracy. Would -Claude Westwood's brother be likely to receive a telegram to the same -effect as hers, and if so, how was it that Dick had not come to her at -once? Could it be that he questioned the accuracy of the news and was -waiting until he had it confirmed by direct communication with Zanzibar -before coming to her? And if Dick doubted the authentic nature of the -message, was there not more than a possibility that there was some -mistake in it? She knew all the systems of communication between Central -Africa and the coast, she did not require any further information on -that point; and she was aware of the ease with which an error could be -made in a name or an incident between Uganda and Zanzibar. - -Before she reached the house, the confidence which she had had in the -accuracy of the message had vanished. With every step she took, a fresh -doubt arose in her mind; so that when she threw herself down in the seat -at the porch she was tremulous with excitement. - -What could he say to soothe her? She knew far more than he did about the -romance of African exploration, and being aware of this fact, he felt -that it would be ridiculous for him to refer to the many cases there had -been of explorers reappearing suddenly after years of hopeless silence. -She was more fully acquainted than he was with the incidents connected -with these cases of the lost being found. All that he could do was to -assure her that no first-class newspaper, however anxious it might be -to maintain a reputation for enterprise, would wilfully concoct such an -item of news as that of which Agnes held the summary in her hand. It was -perfectly clear that the newspaper had good reason for publishing in -an authoritative manner the news of the safety of Claude Westwood, -otherwise the words “Authority unquestionable” would not have been used -in transmitting the substance of the intelligence. - -This Sir Percival pointed out to her; and then, after a few moments of -thought, Agnes rose from her seat, not without an effort, and announced -her intention of going to Westwood Court. - -“Dick cannot have received the news or he would surely be with me -now,” she said. “Ah, what will he think of it? He never gave up hope. -Everything he said to me helped to strengthen my hope. You have heard -how attached he and Claude were?” - -Sir Percival, seeing how excited she had become--how she alternated -between the extremes of hope and fear, dissuaded her from her intention -of going to the Court at once. - -“You must have some rest,” he said. “The strain of going to the Court -would be too much for you. You must not run the chance of breaking down -when you need most to be strong. You will let me do this for you. I -will see Westwood myself, whether he is at the Court or at the bank, and -bring him to you.” - -“I am sure you are right, my dear friend,” she said. “Oh yes, it is far -better for you to bring him here. I cannot understand why Cyril has -not come down yet. He should be the one to go. But you do not mind the -trouble?” - -“Trouble!” he said, and then laughed. “Trouble!” - -He had gone some way down the drive when she called him back. She had -left the porch of the house, and was standing against the trellis-work -over which a rose was climbing. He returned to her at once. - -“Listen to me, Sir Percival,” she said in a curious voice. “You are -not to join with Dick in any compromise in regard to the news. If he -believes that the report of Claude's safety is not to be trusted, you -are to say so to me: it will not be showing your regard for me if you -come back saying something to lessen the blow that Dick's doubt of the -accuracy of the news will be to me. You will be treating me best if you -tell me word for word what he says.” - -“You may trust me,” he said quietly. - -His heart was full of pity for her, for he could without difficulty see -that she was in a perilous condition of excitement. - -“I will trust you--oh, have I not trusted you?” she cried. “I do net -want to live in a Fool's Paradise--Heaven only knows if I have not been -living there during the past years. Paradise? No, it cannot be called a -Paradise, for in no Paradise can there be the agony of waiting that -was mine. And now--now--ah, do you think that I shall have an hour of -Paradise till you return with the truth?--the truth, mind--that is what -I want.” - -He went away without speaking a word of reply to her. What would be the -good of saying anything to a woman in her condition? She had all the -sympathy of his heart. As he went along the road to the Court he began -to wonder how it was that he had not guessed long ago that the life -of this woman was not as the life of other women. It seemed to have -occurred to no one in the neighbourhood to tell him what was the life -that Miss Mowbray had chosen to live--that life of waiting and waiting -through the long years. He supposed that her story had lost its interest -for such persons as he had met during the year that he had been in -Brackenshire; or they had not fancied that it would ever become of such -intense interest to him as it was on this morning of June sunshine and -singing birds and fleecy clouds and sweet scents of meadow grass and -flower-beds. - -He was conscious of a curious feeling of indignation in regard to the -man who had been cruel enough to take from that woman her promise to -love him, and him only, and then to leave her to waste her life away in -waiting for him. He fancied he could picture her life during the years -that Claude Westwood had been absent, and he felt that he had a right to -be indignant with a man who had been selfish enough to bind a woman -to himself with such a bond. Of course most women would, he knew, not -consider such a bond binding upon them after a year or two: they would -have been faithful to the man for a year--perhaps some of the most -devoted might have been faithful for as long as eighteen months after -his departure from England, and the extremely conscientious ones for -six months after he had been swallowed up in the blackness of that black -continent. They would not have been content to live the life that -had been Agnes Mowbray's--the life of waiting and hoping with those -alternate intervals of despair. - -The man had behaved cruelly toward her, for he should have known that -she was not as other women. It was the feeling that the man was not -worthy of her that caused Sir Percival Hope his only misgiving. He -wondered if he himself had chanced to meet Agnes before she had known -Claude Westwood, what would her life have been--what would his life have -been? - -He stood in the road and tried to form a picture of their life--of their -lives joined together so as to make one life. - -He hurried on. The picture was too bright to be looked upon. He found -it easier to think of the picture which had been before his eyes when -he had looked back hearing her voice calling him--the picture of a -beautiful pale woman, with one hand leaning on the trellis-work of the -porch, while the roses drooped down to her hair. - -“The cruelty of it--the cruelty of it!” he groaned, as he hurried on to -perform his mission. - -And these were the very words that Agnes Mowbray was moaning at the same -instant, as she fell on her knees beside the sofa in her dressing-room. -This was all the prayer that her lips could frame at that moment. - -“The cruelty of it! The cruelty of it!” That was the result of all her -thoughts of the past years that she had spent in waiting. - -She and God knew what those years had been--the years that had robbed -her of her youth, that had planted those grey hairs where the soft brown -had been. All the past seemed unfolded in front of her like a scroll. -She thought of her parting from her lover on that chill October day, -when every breeze sent the leaves flying in crisp flakes through the -air. Not a tear did she shed while she was saying that farewell to him. -She had carried herself bravely--yes, as she stood beside the privet -hedge and waved her hand to him on the road on which he was driving to -catch the train; but when she had returned to the house and her father -had put his arm round her, she was not quite so self-possessed. Her -tears came in a torrent all at once, and she cried out for him to come -back to her. - -He had not come back to her. Through the long desolate years that had -been her cry; but he had not come back to her. Oh! the desolation of -those years that followed! At first she had received many letters from -him. So long as he was in touch with some form of civilisation, however -rudimentary it was, he had written to her; but then the letters became -few and irregular. He could only trust that one out of every six that -he wrote would reach her, he said, for he only wrote on the chance of -meeting an elephant-hunter or a slave-raider going to the coast who -would take a letter for him--for a consideration. She had not the least -objection to receive a letter, even though it had been posted by the red -hand of the half-caste slave-raider. - -But afterwards the letters ceased altogether. She tried to find courage -in the reflection that the rascally men who had been entrusted with the -letters had flung them away, or perhaps they had been killed or had died -naturally before reaching the coast. Only for a time did she find some -comfort in thus accounting for the absence of all news regarding him. At -the end of a year she read in a newspaper an article in which the -writer assumed that all hope for the safety of Claude Westwood had been -abandoned. The writer of the article was clearly an expert in African -exploration. He was ready to quote instance after instance since the -days of Hanno, of explorers who had dared too much and had been cut -off--some by what he called the legitimate enemies of pioneers, namely, -disease and privation, others by that cruelty which has its habitation -in the dark places of the earth, and nowhere in greater abundance than -in the dark places of the Dark Continent. - -She recollected what her feelings had been as she read that article -and scores of other articles, dealing with the disappearance of Claude -Westwood. She had not broken down. Her father had pointed out to her the -extraordinary mistakes so easily made by the experts who wrote on the -subject of Claude Westwood's disappearance; and if they were able to -bring forward instances of the loss of intrepid men who had set out in -the hope of adding to the world's knowledge of the world, the Admiral -was able to give quite as many instances of the safe return of explorers -who had been given up for lost. Thus she and her father kept up each -other's hopes until the question of Claude's safety ceased to be even -alluded to in the press as a topic of the day. - -She had never lost hope; but this fact did not prevent her having -dreams of the night. She was accustomed to awake with a cry, seeing him -tortured by savages--seeing him lying alone in a country where no tree -was growing. And then she would remain awake through the long night, -praying for his safety. - -That had been her life for years, and now she was still praying for his -safety--praying that the day of the realisation of her hopes had at last -come. - -She started up, hearing the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. She -was at her window in time to see Sir Percival in the act of entering -the porch. He had not been long absent. He could not have had a long -conversation with Richard Westwood. - -She met him while he was still in the porch. They stood face to face for -a few moments, but no word came from either of them for a long time. She -seemed to think that she was about to fall, for she put out a hand to -the velvet portière that hung in an arch leading to the hall--that was -her right hand--her left was pressed against her heart. - -“You need not speak,” she whispered, when they had stood face to face -in that long silence. “You need not speak. I know all that your silence -implies.” - -“No--no--you know nothing of what I have to tell you,” said he slowly. - -“What have you to tell? Can you tell me anything worse than that Claude -Westwood is dead?” - -“It is not Claude Westwood who is dead.” - -“Not Claude?--who--who, then, is dead?” - -“Richard Westwood is dead.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -|She continued looking at him after he had spoken, as though she failed -to grasp the meaning of his words. It seemed as if they conveyed nothing -definite to her. - -“I don't think I heard you aright, Sir Percival,” she said at last. -“There was no question of Richard Westwood's being alive or dead. You -went to find out about Claude.” - -“I went to find out about Claude, but I did not get further than the -lodge,” said Sir Percival. “At the lodge I heard what had happened. It -is a terrible thing! The events of the day must have affected him more -deeply than we imagined they would.” - -“You mean to tell me that Dick--that Richard Westwood is dead?” said -Agnes. - -“He died this morning.” - -“Dead! but I was with him yesterday. My brother Cyril dined with him -last night.” - -“I tell you it is a terrible thing. Poor fellow! His mind must have -given way beneath the strain that the run upon the bank entailed upon -him. Dear Agnes, let me help you to reach your chair. Pray lean on me.” - -She did not seem to hear what he had said. She was dazed but striving to -recover herself. - -“I cannot understand,” she said. “It appears strange that I cannot -understand when you have spoken quite plainly. But we were talking about -Claude--not Dick. You were to find out what Dick thought regarding the -rumour of Claude's being alive--so far I am quite clear. But here you -come to me saying: 'It is Dick Westwood and not Claude who is dead.' -What on earth can you mean by saying that, when all i wanted to know was -about Claude?” - -“My dear Agnes, I can say nothing more. This second shock is too much -for you. In a few minutes, however, you will be able to realise what has -happened. Where is your brother? I must speak to him.” - -“No--no; do not leave me. If he is dead--and you say that he is dead--I -have no friend in the world but you. Ah, you must not leave me. I do not -think I have any one in the world but you.” - -She spoke in a tone of pitiful entreaty, holding out both her hands to -him, as she had done once in the garden. - -He took her hands and held them for a moment, but he did not press them, -as another man might have done, when she had spoken. He said gently: “I -will not leave you--whatever may happen I will be by your side. Now you -will sit down.” - -He had just helped her to one of the chairs that stood in the porch, -when the portière was flung aside, and Cyril, in the art of lighting a -cigarette, appeared. - -“Hallo, Agnes, I'm a bit late, I suppose,” he began, but seeing Sir -Percival helping her as though she were as feeble as an invalid, to the -chair, he stopped short. “What's the matter, Sir Percival?” he said, in -another tone, but not one of great concern. - -“Tell him--tell him; perhaps he will understand,” said Agnes, looking up -to Sir Percival's face. - -“You do not mind my speaking to him for a minute in the garden?” said -Sir Percival. - -“Go; perhaps he will understand,” said she. - -He held up a linger to Cyril, and they went outside together. - -“What's the mystery now?” asked Cyril, picking up his straw hat from -a chair. “I shouldn't wonder if it had something to do with Claude -Westwood. My poor sister is overcome because she has received -confirmation of his death probably. But you and I know, Sir Percival, -that there has not been the smallest chance.” - -“I do not want to talk to you about Claude Westwood just at this minute, -but about his brother,” said Sir Percival. “The fact is, that I have -just returned from the Court. The dead body of Richard Westwood was -found by a gardener this morning not twenty yards from his house. He had -shot himself with a revolver.” - -Cyril turned very pale, but the cigarette that he was smoking did not -drop from his lips. He stared at Sir Percival for some moments, and then -slowly removed his cigarette. He drew a long breath before saying in a -whisper: - -“Shot himself? Then he was bankrupt after all, and Agnes's money's gone. -Why the mischief did you give her that cheque yesterday, Sir Percival?” - -“I thought it well that you should hear this terrible news at once,” - said Sir Percival, ignoring his question. “I believe that you dined -with him last night, and so you were probably the last person to see -him alive. You will most certainly be questioned by the Chief Constable -before the inquest.” - -“The Chief Constable or any other constable may question me; I don't -mind. I don't suppose it will be suggested that I shot poor Dick,” said -Cyril, somewhat jauntily. - -Sir Percival made no reply, and Cyril went on. - -“Good heavens! Poor old Dick! I'm sorry for him. I have good reason to -be sorry. He was the best friend I had. He understood me. He wasn't too -hard on a chap like me. The people in this neighbourhood think that I'm -a bad egg--you probably think so too, Sir Percival; but poor Dick never -joined with the others in boycotting me, though he knew more about me -than any of them! And to think that all the time he was playing that -game of billiards--all the time he was crossing the park with me when I -was going home, he meant to put an end to himself.” - -“You will probably be asked some questions on this point by the Chief -Constable,” said Sir Percival. “He will ask you if you can testify to -his state of mind last evening. You drove back with him from the bank, I -believe?” - -“I drove back with him, and dined with him. We had a game of billiards, -the same as usual, and then he walked across the park with me, as I say. -That's all I have to tell. I know nothing about his condition of mind; -but he admitted to me more than once that he had had rather a bad time -of it while those fools were in the bank clamouring for their money--it -appears that they weren't such great fools after all. Poor old Dick! He -took me up quite seriously when I suggested that he should marry Agnes. -He pretended to believe that Claude was still alive, as if he didn't -know as well as you or I, Sir Percival”-- - -“There is every likelihood that Claude Westwood is alive,” said Sir -Percival. - -“What--Claude Westwood alive and Dick Westwood dead?” cried Cyril. -“Pardon me if I seem rude, Sir Percival, but what on earth are you -talking about?” - -“I have told you all that I know,” said Sir Percival. “Your sister got -a telegram an hour ago telling her that a London newspaper contains a -piece of exclusive news regarding Claude Westwood, and the information -is described as accurate beyond question.” - -“Great Scott!” said Cyril after a pause. “What's the meaning of this, -anyway? One brother turns up alive and well after being lost in Africa -for eight years, and the other--Good heavens! What can any one say when -things like that are occurring under our very eyes? Why couldn't Dick -have waited until the news came? He would not have shot himself if he -had known that Claude was alive, I'll swear. And as for Claude--well, -when he gets the news from Brackenhurst, he'll be inclined to wish that -he had remained in the interior.” - -“They were so deeply attached to each other?” - -“Well, of course, Sir Percival, I can't say anything about that from my -own recollection, but every one about here says they were like David -and Jonathan--like Damon and the other chap. Nothing ever came between -them--not even a woman; and I need hardly tell you, Sir Percival, that -the appearance of the woman is usually the signal for”-- - -“Here is Major Borrowdaile,” said Sir Percival, interrupting the -outburst of cynical philosophy on the part of the youth, as a dog-cart -driven by Major Borrowdaile, the Chief Constable of the county, passed -through the entrance gates. - -Cyril allowed himself to be interrupted without a protest. His -nonchalance vanished as the officer jumped from the dog-cart and went -across the lawn to him. Sir Percival took a few steps to meet Major -Borrowdaile, but Cyril did not move. - -“You have heard of this nasty business, Sir Percival?” said the officer. - -“I have just come from the lodge at the Court,” replied Sir Percival. -“There's no possibility of a mistake being made, I suppose? It is -certain that Mr. Westwood shot himself.” - -“It is certain that the poor fellow was found shot through the lungs,” - said the Chief Constable cautiously. “I hear that you dined with him -last night, Mowbray,” he continued, turning to Cyril. “That is why I -have troubled you with a visit.” - -“Why should you come to me?” said Cyril, almost plaintively. “I -dined with Dick Westwood, and parted from him at the road gate before -midnight. That's all I know about the business.” - -“That means you were the last person to see him alive. He must have been -shot on returning to the house after letting you through the road gate.” - -“Must have been shot?” cried Cyril. “Why, you said he had shot himself, -Sir Percival.” - -“He was found with a revolver close to his hand,” said Major -Borrowdaile, “and the undergardener, who discovered the body, took it -for granted that he had committed suicide. You see the fact that there -was a run upon the bank yesterday induces some people to jump to the -conclusion that he committed suicide, just as the assumption that he -committed suicide will lead many people to assume that the affairs of -the bank are in an unsatisfactory condition. They are bad logicians. Did -he seem at all depressed in the course of the evening, Mowbray?” - -“Not he,” replied Cyril. “He was just the opposite. He ate a first-class -dinner, and we discussed the fools who made the run upon the bank. It -seems that they weren't such fools after all--so I've been saying to Sir -Percival.” - -“You are another of the imperfect logicians,” said Major Borrowdaile. -“I want facts--not deductions, if you please. If there are to be any -deductions made I prefer making them myself. I promise you that I shall -make them on a basis of fact. Dr. Mitford saw our poor friend, and -he has had, as you know, a large experience of bullet wounds--he went -through four campaigns--and he declares that it is quite impossible that -Mr. Westwood could have shot himself. The bullet entered the lungs from -behind. Now, men who wish to commit suicide do not shoot themselves in -that way. They have the best of reasons tor refraining. That is fact -number one. Fact number two is that the revolver which was found at his -hand was not Mr. Westwood's--his own revolver was found safe in his own -bedroom.” - -“Then the deduction is simple,” said Sir Per-cival. “Some one must have -shot him.” - -“I am afraid that is the only conclusion one can come to, considering -the facts which I have placed before you, Sir Percival,” said Major -Borrowdaile. “This view is strengthened by Mowbray's testimony as to the -condition of Mr. Westwood last night: he was not depressed nor had -he any reason to be depressed, the run upon the bank having been -successfully averted.” - -“But who could have borne him a grudge? He was, I have always believed, -the most popular man in the neighbourhood,” said Sir Percival. - -The Chief Constable glanced toward Cyril saying: - -“Perhaps Mowbray here will be able to give us at least a clue.” - -“I?--I know nothing of the matter,” said Cyril. “I have told you all -that I know. We parted at the gate in the wall of the park--it saves me -a round of more than half a mile--that's all I know, I assure you.” - -“Then I'm disappointed in my mission to you,” said the Chief Constable. -“The fact is that one of the servants came to us with a singular story -of a visitor--a man wearing a rather shabby coat and a soft hat. He says -he entered the room when this man was having an altercation with Mr. -Westwood, at which you were present, and the revolver”-- - -“Great Scott!” cried Cyril. “How could I be such an idiot as to forget -that! The man came into the drawing-room through the open window, and -called Dick a swindler. He pulled out a revolver and covered Dick with -it just as the servant entered the room. Dick took the matter very -coolly and the fellow threw the revolver out of the window, and walked -out by the door himself--but not before he had threatened Dick. Oh, -there can be no doubt about it; the shot was tired by that man.” - -“Did he mention what was his name?” asked Major Borrowdaile. - -“He did--yes, he said his name was--now What the mischief did he say -it was? Stanley?--no--Stanmore?--I think he said his name was Stanmore. -No! have it now--Standish; and he mentioned that he had just come from -Midleigh. Oh, there's no doubt that he fired the shot. Why on earth -haven't you tried to arrest him? He can't have gone very far as yet.” - -“He was arrested half an hour ago,” said the Chief Constable. - -“Heavens above! He didn't run away?” cried Cyril. - -“On the contrary, he walked straight into the bank the first thing this -morning, and tried to make a row because the cashier hadn't arrived,” - said Major Borrowdaile. “He waited there, and when the news came that -Mr. Westwood was dead and the doors of the bank were about to be closed, -he refused to leave the premises. That was where he made a mistake; for -he was arrested by my sergeant on suspicion, though the sergeant had -heard that Mr. Westwood had shot himself. And yet we hear that there is -no intelligence apart from Scotland Yard!” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -|The London evening papers were full of the name of Westwood, and the -pleasant little country town of Brackenhurst was during the afternoon -overrun with representatives of the Press, the majority of whom were, to -the amazement of the legitimate inhabitants, far more anxious to obtain -some items relating to the personal history--the more personal the -better--of Claude Westwood, than to become acquainted with the -local estimate of the character of his brother. The people of the -neighbourhood could not understand how it was possible that the world -should regard the reappearance of a distinguished explorer after an -absence of eight years with much greater interest than the murder of a -provincial banker--even supposing that Mr. Westwood was murdered, -which was to place the incident of his death in the most favourable -light--from the standpoint of those newspapers that live by sensational -headlines. - -The next morning every newspaper worthy of the name had a leading -article upon the Westwoods, and pointed out how the tragic elements -associated with the death of one of the brothers were intensified by -the fact that if he had only lived for a few hours longer, he would have -heard of the safety of his distinguished brother, to whom he was deeply -attached. While almost every newspaper contained half a column telling -the story--so far as it was known--of the supposed murder of Richard -Westwood, a far greater space was devoted to the story of the escape of -Claude Westwood from the savages of the Upper Zambesi, who had killed -every member of his expedition and had kept him in captivity for eight -years. - -The people of Brackenhurst could not understand such a lapse of judgment -on the part of the chief newspaper editors: they were, of course, very -proud of the fact that Claude Westwood was a Brackenshireman, but -they were far prouder of the distinction of being associated with the -locality of a murder about which every one in the country was talking. - -Cyril Mowbray found himself suddenly advanced to a position of -unlooked-for prominence, owing to the amount of information he was able -to give to the newspaper men regarding the scene during the run on the -bank, and the scene in the drawingroom at the Court, when the man who -called himself Standish had entered, demanding the money which he had -lodged the previous year in Westwoods' bank. Only once before had Cyril -found himself in a position of equal prominence, and that was when he -had been finally sent down at Oxford for participating in a prank of -such a character as caused the name of his college to appear in every -newspaper for close upon a week under the heading of “The University -Scandal.” Before the expiration of that week Cyril's name was in the -mouth of every undergraduate, and he felt, for the remainder of the -week, all the gratification which is the result (sometimes) of a sudden -accession to a position of prominence after a long period of comparative -obscurity. - -But his sister Agnes was completely prostrated by what had now -happened--by the gladness of hearing that her lover was safe--that -her long years of watching and waiting had not been in vain, and by the -grief of knowing that her gladness could not be shared by Dick Westwood. -It seemed to her that her hour of grief had swallowed up her hour of -joy. She could not look forward to the delight of meeting Claude -once again without feeling that her triumph--the triumph of her -constancy--was robbed of more than half its pleasure, since it could -not be shared by poor Dick. A week ago the news that her lover was safe -would have thrilled her with delight; but now it seemed to her a barren -joy even to anticipate his return: she knew that he would never recover -from the blow of his brother's death--she knew that all the love she -might lavish upon him would not diminish the bitterness of the thoughts -that would be his when he returned to the Court and found it desolate. - -She read with but the smallest amount of interest the newspaper articles -that eulogised Claude Westwood and his achievements. She seemed to -have but an impersonal connection with the discoveries that he had -made--suggestions of their magnitude appeared almost daily in the -newspapers; and the fact that an enterprising publishing firm in England -had sent out a special emissary to meet him at Zanzibar with an offer -of £25,000 for his book--it was taken as a matter of course that he -would write a book--interested her no more than did the information that -an American lecture bureau had cabled to their English agent to make -arrangements with him for a series of lectures--it was assumed that he -would give a course of lectures with limelight views--in the States, his -remuneration to be on a scale such as only a prima donna had ever dreamt -of, and that only in her most avaricious moments. She even remained -unmoved by the philosophical reflection indulged in by several leader -writers, to the effect that, after all, it would seem that the perils -surrounding an ordinary English gentleman were greater than those -encompassing the most intrepid of explorers in the most dangerous sphere -of exploration in the world. - -The foundation for this philosophy was, of course, the coincidence -of the news being published confirmatory of the safety of one of the -Westwoods on the same page that contained the melancholy story of what -was soon termed the Brackenshire Tragedy. - -And this melancholy story did not lose anything of its tragic aspect -when it came to be investigated before the usual tribunals. But however -interesting as well as profitable it might be to give at length an -account of the questions put to the witnesses at the inquest, and the -answers given by them to the solicitors engaged in the investigation, -such interest and profit must be foregone in this place. A reader -will have to be content with the information of the bare fact that the -coroner's jury returned a verdict of “Wilful Murder” against the man who -had, under the name of Carton Standish, lodged some hundreds of pounds -the previous year in the Westwoods' bank, and who, according to the -evidence of Cyril, corroborated by the footman, had threatened Mr. -Westwood with a revolver. - -Cyril described the incidents of the entire interview that Standish had -with Mr. Westwood, up to the point of his throwing the revolver out of -the window. He was not, of course, prepared to say that the -revolver which was found at Mr. Westwood's hand (deposed to by the -under-gardener) was the same weapon, but he said that it seemed to him -to be the same. He had not seen the man pick up the revolver from -the grass where it had fallen. The man had left the house, not by the -window, by which he had entered, but by the hall door. In reply to a -question put to him Cyril said that if the revolver had been left on the -grass it might have been picked up by any one aware of the fact that it -was there. Neither he nor Mr. Westwood had picked it up. They had not -walked together in the direction of the Italian garden, but through the -park, which was on the other side of the house. They had not discussed -the incident of the man's entering the drawing-room, except for a few -minutes, nor did it seem to occur to Mr. Westwood that he might be in -jeopardy were he to walk through the grounds. He appeared to disregard -the man's threats. - -The surgeon who had examined the body gave a horribly technical -description of the wound made by the bullet, and said he had no -hesitation in swearing that the revolver was fired from a distance of at -least twenty feet from the deceased. He had a wide experience of bullet -wounds, but it did not need a wide experience to enable a surgeon to -pronounce an opinion as to whether or not a wound had been produced by a -point-blank discharge of a weapon, whether revolver or rifle. - -Major Borrowdaile and the police sergeant gave some evidence regarding -the arrest of Standish, and the butler, who was the first to enter the -drawingroom in the morning, stated that he had found the French window -open. He fancied that his master had gone out for a stroll before -breakfast. He also said that he had heard in the early part of the night -the sound of several shots; but he had taken it for granted that a party -were shooting rabbits in the warren, In any case the sound of a shot -at night in the park or the shrubberies would not cause alarm among the -servants: they would take it for granted that a keeper had fired at one -of the wild-cats or perhaps at a night-hawk, or some creature of the -woods inimical to the young pheasants. - -This was considered sufficient evidence by the coroner's jury, and -the man was handed over, to be formally committed by the bench of -magistrates. - -The Summer Assizes were held within a fortnight, and then, in addition -to the evidence previously given, a gunmaker from Midleigh swore that -the revolver was purchased from him by the prisoner on the forenoon of -the day when he had appeared at Westwood Court. Against such evidence -the statement of the landlord of the Three Swans Inn at Brackenhurst, to -the effect that he had admitted the prisoner to the inn at a few -minutes past midnight--the only direct evidence brought forward for -the defence--was of no avail. The landlord, on being cross-examined, -admitted that his clock was not invariably to be depended on: on the -night in question he took it for granted that it was a quarter of an -hour fast. He would not swear that it was not customary to set it -back on the very day of the week corresponding to that preceding the -discovery of the dead body of Mr. Westwood. He also declined to swear -that the next day the clock was not found to be accurate. - -The judge upon this occasion was not the one whose anxiety to sentence -men and women to be hanged is so great that he has now and again -practically insisted on a jury returning a verdict of guilty against -prisoners who, on being reprieved by the Home Secretary, were eventually -found to be entirely innocent of the crime laid to their charge. Nor was -he the one whose unfortunate infirmity of deafness prevents his hearing -more than a word or two of the evidence. He was not even the one whose -inability to perceive the difference between immorality and criminality -is notorious. He was the one whose ingenuity is made apparent by his -suggestion of certain possibilities which have never occurred to the -counsel engaged in a case. - -When it seemed to be quite certain that Standish would be found guilty, -the judge began to perplex the minds of the jurymen by suggestions of -his own. He pointed out that the prisoner had had but one object in -threatening Mr. Westwood--namely, to recover the money that he had -lodged in Westwoods' bank; and this being so, what motive would he have -for murdering Mr. Westwood until he had applied to the bank and had had -his money refused to him? - -So far from his having a motive in killing Mr. - -Westwood, and then placing the weapon so close to his hand as to -suggest that he had committed suicide, he had the very best reason for -preventing the spread of the report that the proprietor of the bank had -committed suicide, for it would be perfectly plain to any one that the -spread of such a report would cause it to be taken for granted that the -affairs of the bank were in a shaky condition, and the bank might stop -payment in self-defence; in which case the prisoner must have known that -his money would be in serious jeopardy. - -He then went on to point out how no evidence had been brought forward -to prove that the prisoner had ever regained possession of the revolver -after he had thrown it out of the window, so that it was open for -any one who might have found the weapon, to use it with deadly effect -against Mr. Westwood, or, for that matter, against some one else. -Finally, he ventured to point out how it was scarcely within the bounds -of possibility that the murder could have been committed by any one -except the prisoner. He trusted, however, that the jury would give the -amplest consideration to the points upon which he had dwelt. - -The result of this summing up was that it took the jury two hours and a -half instead of five minutes to find the prisoner guilty. It only took -the judge five minutes to sentence him, however; but those persons who -had been looking forward to so exciting an incident as an execution, -with a black flag hoisted outside the gaol to stimulate the -imagination in regard to the horror that was being enacted within, were -disappointed, for the Home Secretary commuted the capital sentence to -one of penal servitude for life. - -The man's character had not been an unblemished one. Fifteen years -before he had suffered eighteen months' imprisonment for fraud in -connection with the floating of a company--a transaction into which -it seems scarcely possible for fraud to enter--but since his return he -appeared to have supported himself honorably at Midleigh. He had worked -himself up to a position of trust at the great Midleigh brewery, and -it was said that in addition to the few hundreds which remained to his -credit in Westwoods' bank, he had saved some thousands of pounds. It -appeared, however, that what he had said in Dick Westwood's drawing-room -about having a wife and child, was untrue, for certainly no no one -claiming to be his wife had come forward during the trial. - -Thus, within three weeks of the tragedy at the Court, the people of -Brackenhurst had begun to talk of other matters--during a fortnight no -other topic was possible in the town. After Mr. Westwood's death there -was no run on the bank: but even if there had been, plenty of gold would -have been forthcoming to meet all demands. It was then that the people -began to discuss the probability of Mr. Westwood's having died a wealthy -man, and the likelihood of his having made a will. They feared that -Claude Westwood would not find himself better provided for than he -had been at his father's death; for they took it for granted that his -brother would have made his will on the assumption--the very reasonable -assumption--that he was no longer alive. - -It did not take long to satisfy the curiosity of the neighbourhood on -all these points. Richard Westwood's lawyer produced in due course a -will which the former had made the year before, and it became plain -from this document that the testator was a wealthy man--that is to say, -wealthy from the standpoint of Brackenshire; though, of course, in -the estimation of Lancashire or Chicago the sums which he bequeathed -represented a competency only one degree removed from absolute penury. -Something like two hundred thousand pounds were distributed in the will, -but the distribution was made on the simplest principle. After a few -legacies of an unimportant character to some cousins, his clerks and -servants. Richard Westwood left all his property in trust for his -brother Claude, should the said Claude be found to be alive within five -years from the date of the will. But should no proof be forthcoming that -he was alive within that period, everything was to go to Agnes Louise -Mowbray, of The Knoll, for her absolute use. - -People opened their eyes when they became acquainted with the provisions -of the will. So many years had passed since the departure of Claude -Westwood, it was quite forgotten, except by a few persons, that there -was a woman awaiting his return. - -There were some people, however, who said that the character of Richard -Westwood's will proved that he had been in love with Miss Mowbray. They -never failed to add that they had suspected it all along. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -|Cyril Mowbray did not seem to feel quite as jubilant as he might have -done, when it was proved beyond the possibility of doubt, that Claude -was alive. The income that would be his when he reached the age of -twenty-five was a small one, and quite insufficient to allow of his -keeping three hunters and driving a coach, to say nothing of that -two-hundred-ton yacht upon which he had set his heart. - -He considered that he was, on the whole, very hardly dealt with by -Fate, for he felt convinced that he was meant by Nature to be a country -gentleman in affluent circumstances and without need to take thought -for all the unlet farms that might be on his property. He considered it -especially hard that he should be cheated out of his money--that was how -he put it--by the reappearance of Claude. He had great confidence in -his own ability to persuade his sister to part with her money. To whom -should she give her money if not to her own brother, he inquired of such -persons as he took into his confidence on the subject of his grievances. - -His confidence in his capacity to get his sister's money into his -possession was but too well-founded. During the year of idleness that -followed his being sent down from the University, he had been a terrible -burden to Agnes, for it was in vain that she pleaded with him to seek to -qualify himself for some employment in which a University degree was -not necessary; he refused to listen to her, saying that he was fit for -nothing but the life of a country gentleman. - -That was certainly the life which he had led for a year, at his sister's -expense. He was a great burden to her, but she was extremely fond of -him, and she was a woman. - -Lizzie Dangan had left the neighbourhood without revealing to any one -the fact that she had had a secret interview with Mr. Westwood within -twenty yards of where his body had been found in the morning, and also -without being reconciled to her father, the gamekeeper, though Agnes -made an attempt to get the man to forgive his daughter for her lapse. -The man had always been a strict father, giving his children an -excellent education, and insisting on their going to church with -praiseworthy regularity. It was therefore mortifying for him to find -that his two sons had enlisted in a cavalry regiment and that his one -daughter had neglected the excellent precepts of life which he had -taught her by the aid of a birch rod. - -It was probably the sense of his own failure in regard to his children -that made him refuse to be reconciled to Lizzie. He had shown himself -all his life to be a hard and morose man, discharging his duties with -rigid exactness, and being quite intolerant of the lapses of the people -about him. After the death of Mr. Westwood and the departure of his -daughter, he became more morose than ever, scarcely speaking to any one -on the estate, and rarely leaving the precincts of the park. Some of the -servants said that, after all, he had been attached to Mr. Westwood, but -others said that he was grieving because Lizzie had not been allowed to -starve to death in expiation of her fault. He had more than once said -that he hoped he would see her in her coffin for bringing shame upon -his house, but until she was lying in her coffin he would not have her -brought before him. - -It was after her departure that Cyril began to feel a trifle lonely. He -missed his stolen interviews with the girl, and above all he missed -the sense of being engaged in an intrigue that was attended with the -greatest risk, and which he flattered himself had been carried on -without awaking the suspicions of any one, except his too considerate -friend, Dick Westwood. Even the excitement of the trial and the -consciousness of being a person of the greatest importance in connection -with the case for the Crown, failed to compensate him for the absence of -Lizzie, especially as, within a week after the conviction of Standish, -the Crown no longer regarded him as a person of distinction. To be the -chief witness for the Crown had seemed in his eyes pretty much the -same thing as to be on speaking terms with Royalty; and when he found -himself, after he had served the purposes of the prosecution, cast aside -in favour of a farm labourer, who became the hero of the moment because -he had detected a man loitering in the neighbourhood of certain -hay ricks that had been burnt down, he was ready to indulge in many -philosophical reflections upon the fickleness of Royalty. He felt like -the discarded favourite of a Prince. - -Thus it was that he became an intolerable burden to his sister, and -the subject of unfavourable predictions uttered by the most far-seeing -people of the neighbourhood, although his worst enemies could not say -that he was not improving at billiards. It was universally admitted that -he was making satisfactory progress in the study of this fascinating -game; a fact which shows that if one only practises for six hours a day -at anything, one will, eventually, become proficient at it. - -To say, however, that he was satisfied with his life and its prospects -at this period would be impossible. As a matter of fact, he was as much -dissatisfied with himself as his friends were. He had been heard once or -twice to say something about enlisting. - -It was just when he was actually considering if, in view of his failure -to realise the simplest aspirations of a country gentleman, it might not -be well for him to take the Queen's shilling, that he met Sir Percival -Hope on the road to Brackenhurst. - -It seemed to him that Sir Percival had a lecturereading expression on -his face, and he quickened his pace with a view of passing him with a -nod. But he was mistaken; first, in fancying that Sir Percival had so -narrow a knowledge of the world as to think that lecture-reading was -ever known to act as a brake upon any youth who had made up his mind -to go to the bad; and secondly, in fancying that if such a man as Sir -Percival Hope had made up his mind to speak to him, either with the -intention of reading him a lecture or with any other aim, he would be -able to pass him with only a nod of recognition. - -Sir Percival stopped him. - -“Look here, Mowbray,” he said, “you're a man of the world, and you know -all the people about here far better than I do. You see they freeze up -when I want them to talk freely to me. I haven't the way of drawing them -out that you have.” - -Cyril fairly blushed at these compliments; they were delivered in so -casual a tone as to seem everyday truths that no one would dream of -contradicting. - -Cyril did not dream of contradicting them, though he did blush. He -merely murmured that he supposed chaps would sooner give themselves away -to him than to Sir Percival. - -“Of course they would,” acquiesced the elder man. “That is why I am -glad to have met you. The fact is, that my chief overseer at Tarragonda -Creek--that's one of my sheep stations in New South Wales--has written -to me to send him out a young chap who would act as his assistant for -a while--a chap whom he could eventually place in charge of one of the -farms. Now why on earth he should bother me with this business I don't -know, only that O'Gorman--that's the overseer--has a mortal hatred of -the native-born Australian: he fancies that he knows too much. I was -about to write to him to say that he must manage without me, when it -occurred to me that you might be able to help me. What O'Gorman wants is -a young fellow who is first and foremost a gentleman--a fellow who knows -what a horse is and does not object to be in the saddle all day. If you -hear of any one who you think would suit such a billet, I wish you -would let me know--only remember, Mr. O'Gorman is a great believer in -gentlemen for such posts: he won't have anything to do with stable hands -who think to better themselves in a colony.” - -“Look here, Sir Percival,” cried Cyril, after only a short pause, “I'm -dead tired of life in this neighbourhood. I can hear people say, the -moment my back is turned, that I'm going straight to the devil, and I -can't contradict them. I am going to the devil simply because I thought -I was good for nothing but loafing about billiard-rooms. You don't know, -Sir Percival, how far I have gone in that direction. Only one person -knows what I am guilty of. But I haven't had a chance; and if you only -give me one, you'll see if I don't take it.” - -“Do you mean to say that you'd take the situation yourself?” asked Sir -Percival, as if the idea had been sprung upon him. - -“I see by the way you ask me that you think I'm a conceited cub,” said -Cyril. “But I'm not conceited, and--look here, Sir Percival, give me -this chance and it will mean the saving of me. You'll not regret it. -I was just thinking as I came along here this evening, that there's -nothing left for me except to enlist, and by the Lord Harry, if you -won't take me I will enlist if only to get away from this place.” - -“My dear boy, you needn't hold that pistol to my head,” said Sir -Percival. - -“A pistol--what pistol?” said Cyril, in a low tone, taking a step or two -back and staring at Sir Percival. - -“Why, that threat of enlisting. Why need you threaten me with that? I'll -give you the chance you ask for without any intimidation. Heavens! If -you only knew the relief that it is to me to be able to tell O'Gorman -that I have got a man for him. Oh, you and he will get on all right. Of -course you'll do just what he tells you, or you'll get your passage paid -home by the next steamer.” - -“Sir Percival,” faltered Cyril, “you've saved me.” - -And then, man of the world though he was, he burst into tears, and -hurried away, leaving Sir Per-cival standing alone on the roadside -extremely gratified by the reflection that once more he had been right -in the estimate he had formed of a man's character, though all the -people whom he had met had differed from him. It was this capacity -to judge of men's characters without being guided by the opinions -formed--and expressed--by others, that had made him a rich man while -others had remained poor. He had come to the conclusion that Cyril was -not in reality a _mauvais sujet_, or what is known in England as a bad -egg. The philosophy of Sir Percival's life was comprised within these -lines: - - “Satan finds some mischief still - - For idle hands to do.” - -He rather guessed that he could outwit Satan if he only set about trying -to do it. - -Thus it was that Agnes had to express her gratitude once again to Sir -Percival Hope, and thus their friendship became consolidated. - -Not once did Cyril put in an appearance at a billiard-room at -Brackenhurst during the week that followed his interval with Sir -Percival. He had no time for billiards, the fact being that he was made -to understand that he must be on his way to Australia by the steamer -leaving England in ten days. For the first time in his life he felt -it incumbent on him to rouse himself. He went up with Sir Per-cival to -London to procure himself an outfit; and though it was something of a -disappointment to him to learn that he was not to appear in top boots -and a “picture hat,” after a model made by a milliner in Bond Street, -and worn by a South African trooper--he should have dearly liked to -walk for the last time through the streets of Brackenhurst in this -picturesque attire--still he bore his disappointment with resignation, -and packed up his flannel shirts with a light heart. He wrote a letter -to Lizzie Dangan on the eve of his departure, and only posted it at -Liverpool half an hour before he embarked for his new home. - -It was when he was beginning to feel, as the waves of the Channel were -causing the big steamer some uneasiness, that, after all, he would not -look on the acquisition of a yacht as an essential to his scheme of -enjoying life when he had become a millionaire, that his sister Agnes -was waited on by Dick Westwood's solicitor. - -She had scarcely dried the tears which she had shed on thinking that -her brother would be by this time at sea, for the reflection that even -a reprobate brother is at sea will make a kind-hearted sister weep; and -she did not feel much inclined to have an interview which she feared -would be a business one. - -She soon found, however, that the solicitor had not come strictly on a -matter of business. - -“I bring you a letter which is addressed to my late client, Mr. -Westwood,” said he. “In the ordinary way of business, I have, of course, -opened the few letters that have been addressed to him by persons whom -the news of his death had not time to reach, but in this particular case -I have brought the letter to you.” - -He handed her an envelope which was in such a condition as to suggest -that it had been lying for a wet day or two in the roadway at Charing -Cross or some thoroughfare equally well frequented, and that afterwards -some one had dropped it by mistake into one of the iron dust-bins -instead of a pillar-box. It was soiled and dilapidated to such an extent -as made Agnes uncertain on which side the address was written. But she -was able to read on a corner that had been scraped, the one postmark -“Zanzibar.” - -The letter dropped from her hand. - -“The pity of it--ah, the pity of it!” she cried. - -“I will leave it with you, Miss Mowbray,” said the lawyer, rising. “I -think that it is into your hands it should be put. You will read it -at your leisure, and if it contains any matter upon which you think I -should be informed, you will be good enough to communicate with me.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -|For some time after the lawyer had left the house, the letter lay -unheeded at Agnes's feet. She could only say to herself, “The pity of -it! The pity of it!” as her eyes overflowed with tears. It seemed very -pitiful to her to see lying there the letter which the man to whom -it was addressed would never see. She thought of the gladness which -receiving that letter would have brought into the life that had passed -away. Not for a single moment did she feel jealous because it had -arrived in England unaccompanied by any letter to herself. She felt that -it was fitting that the first letter written by Claude since his return -to civilisation--such civilisation as was represented by the sending and -receiving of letters--should be to the brother whom he loved so well. - -It was some time before she could take it up and open the cover. When at -last she did so, standing at the window leading into her garden to catch -all the light that remained in the sky, she failed to detect any but -the most distant resemblance in the handwriting to Claude's, as she had -known it. But as she read the first words her tears began to flow once -more, and she could only press the letter to her lips and say, “Thank -God, thank God, for allowing me to see his handwriting once more!” - -The letter was not a long one. The writer assumed that his brother would -think that he was reading a message from another world. “And by Heaven -you won't be so far wrong, old boy,” he wrote, “for I don't suppose -any human being ever went so near as I did to the border-line of that -undiscovered country without passing over into the land of shadows.” - -He then went on to give a brief sketch of the massacre of all the -members of the expedition with the exception of himself, and to tell how -he had been not merely held in captivity by the strange tribes whom they -had met, but promoted to the position of a god by them, owing to the -accident of his having found his way into a sacred cave, after taking -the precaution to knock out the brains of the two witch doctors who had -previously killed every native who had attempted to enter. The position -of a god he found great difficulty in living up to, he said, for the -gods of that nation Were carefully guarded lest they should make a try -for the liberty of an ordinary layman. - -In short, the letter gave a _résumé_ of the writer's terrible hardships -when living as the captive of one of the most barbarous of African -savage tribes. For nearly eight years he had lived as a savage, and -when at last he contrived to escape, he had spent another six months -wandering from forest to forest of the interior, in almost a naked -condition, and with no weapon except a knife, which had once belonged -to Baines, the explorer, and had been given by him to a friendly native -when painting the falls of the Zambesi. When at the point of starving he -had been fortunate enough to come in contact with an ivory hunter on his -way to Uganda, where they had arrived together. - -“If you only knew the difficulty I have in holding a pen you would give -me unlimited praise for writing so long a letter instead of confounding -me--as I fear you will--for being so brief. The chap who takes this to -the coast for me will not fail to make as much as he can out of my story -for transmission to the papers, so that the chances are that you will -have got plenty of news about me by cable a fortnight or so before you -get this.” - -The writer did not indulge in any more sentimental passages than may be -found in the letter of any average Englishman who writes to a brother -after taking part in a campaign in a distant country, or fighting his -way through savages in the hope of opening up a new land for English -trade--and occasionally German. - -Only as a postscript he had written: - -“I often wonder what you are like now. Of course you have found a wife -who adores you, and your children have been told that they once had an -uncle who went out to Africa and was killed by men with black on their -faces, and if they aren't good children the black men will eat them -up too. Well, now you will have to untell all that you have told those -innocent little ones, if they exist; and I'm afraid that you'll have to -invent another path to virtue than that presided over by the black men. - -“By the way, I take it for granted that Agnes Mowbray has followed -the example which I assume you have shown her, and that she also has -children round her knees. What strange memories the writing of names -awakens! I am nearly sure that I told Agnes Mowbray that I loved -her--nay, worse than that, I'm nearly sure that I did love her. Don't -make mischief, old man, by hinting so much to her husband, i may see her -when I get back to England; but I shall not be able to stir from here -for at least six months. You can have go idea how thoroughly broken down -I am.” - -Her tears did not flow when she had finished reading the letter, written -in that curiously cramped hand that scarcely bore any resemblance to -the bold scrawl which ran over the old pages of his letters that -she treasured. She did not weep. She felt a curious little sting of -disappointment as she read the latter part of the postscript--a curious -little stab, as with the point of a sharp needle. - -He had said no word about her in any part of the letter: he had made no -allusion to her until he had that afterthought which he embodied in the -postscript, and then he had only alluded to her in order that he might -express a doubt in regard to her constancy. - -Yes; he had actually taken for granted that she had cast to the winds -the promise which she had made to him--the promise to love him and him -only, and to wait patiently until his return should unite their lives -for evermore. Did it seem to him impossible that any woman should remain -faithful to one man when apart from him? Was it possible that he knew so -little of her nature as to fancy that the passing of years would weaken -her faith? What has time got to do with such matters as love and faith? - -For a moment she felt that sharp stab, but then the pain that it caused -her passed away in the thought of the rapture which could not fail to be -his when he became aware of the truth--of her truth, of her love, of her -faith in the bounty of heaven. It was not pride in her own fidelity that -she felt at that moment: she could not see that she had any reason for -pride, for fidelity was so much a part of her nature she had ceased to -think of it, just as a man with a sound heart never gives a thought -to his heart. It had never occurred to her that there was anything -remarkable in the fact that she had passed eight years of her life -waiting for the return of the man whom all the world believed to be -dead. If she had been waiting for double the time she would not have -felt any cause for pride. The glow which came over her, making her -forget the pain that she had felt on reading the careless words of her -lover's postscript, was due to the thought of the delight that would be -his when he came to know that she had never a thought of loving any one -save himself. - -Would it seem such a wonder to him? Well, let it seem a miracle to -him so long as it gave him pleasure. If she had been overwhelmed with -happiness at the miracle of his restoration to her, why should he not be -overjoyed at the miracle of her restoration to him? - -She sat for a long time at the open window, thinking her thoughts, while -before her eyes the soft velvety darkness of the exquisite July night -slipped over the garden. The delicate dew scents filled the air, and the -perfume of the roses mingled with that of the jessamine which dropped -from the trellis-work of the verandah. The drone of a winged beetle -rising and falling in musical monotone, like the sound of a distant -bell borne by a fitful breeze, came to her ears. A bat whirled past the -opening of the window, and the cat that was playing after the moths -on the lawn, struck out at it for a moment. And then a servant brought -lamps into the room. - -She started from her reverie, and became aware in an instant of the -details of the scene before her. - -It was such a scene as had been before her many times during her life. -How often had she not sat there in the early night, wondering if the man -whom she loved would ever sit by her side again in the long twilight of -a summer's day in England--at home--at home. - -And now she thought of him lying alone among the strange trees--the -mighty broad-leaved palms, the enormous ropes of the trailing plants -falling around him. Was he thinking of the English home which he had -forsaken, but which was waiting for him? How often had not he found -comfort in the midst of his desolation through picturing the garden at -The Knoll, as he had walked in it on those summer nights long ago? - -Alas! alas! With his thoughts of the old garden and the old times there -must have come that terrible thought which he had hinted at in his -letter--the thought that she had been unfaithful to him. Ah, how could -he ever have had such a thought? She had heard of fickle women--loving a -man passionately one day, and the next carried away by the glamour of a -new face and a changed voice--but how could he fancy for a moment that -she was such a woman? - -Thus she sat, with her thoughts and her memories and her anticipations, -until the full moon had arisen behind the trees of Westwood Court and -was flooding the sky with light and sending the great shadows of the elm -far over the lawn. When the sound of the striking of the church clock -roused her from her reverie, she was conscious of one thought: that the -pang that must have been his when he wrote that postscript would soon -pass away in the joy of knowing that she had been true to him. - -But it was a long time before she went to sleep that night. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -|It had fallen to her lot to write to Claude Westwood the letter which -told him of the death of the brother to whom he had all his life been -devoted. She knew that a telegraphic message had been sent to the Consul -at Zanzibar respecting the death of Richard Westwood, the day after the -news of the safety of Claude had reached England, so that he would not -receive the first shock of the terrible news from her. She had done her -best in her letter to comfort him--indeed, every word that it contained -was designed to be a consolation to him. Why, the very sight of her -writing would make him feel that his grief was shared by at least one -friend. - -The letter had not, of course, been written in the strain of the letters -which she had sent to him during the first few months after his arrival -in Africa. (Some of them had been returned to her from Zanzibar with -the inscription “Not found” on the covers.) She thought that any of the -rapturous phrases, which could give but very inadequate expression to -what was in her heart, would be out of place in a letter that she meant -to be expressive only of the deep sympathy she felt for him. - -But the following week she had written to him something of what was in -her heart, She had taken up once more the strain of that correspondence -which had been so rudely interrupted, and had wondered to find how -easily the unaccustomed words of endearment slipped from her pen. It -seemed to her that her love had been accumulating in her heart through -all the years of her enforced silence, for she had never before written -to him such phrases of affection. When she had written that letter she -had a sense of relief beyond expression. The pent-up flood had at last -found a vent. She gave a great sigh as she signed, not her own name, but -the pet name which he had given her--a great sigh, and then a laugh of -delight. - -But then she caught sight of herself in the looking-glass that hung -above her escritoire. It seemed to her that all her hair had become -grey--that her face had become all scarred with lines. She closed her -eyes and had a vision of the slender girl to whom that love-name had -been given. She had a vision of the sparkling eyes, the brown hair flung -back when one long shining strand had escaped from the knot in which it -had beer, tied, and fell down from her shoulder. She could see his eyes -as he turned them upon her, when he had kissed and kissed that wonderful -rivulet of hair, calling her by that love-name. - -And now.... - -Ah, she was no longer a girl! The pet name which she had written so -lightly no longer sat lightly upon her. Would not people think it -grotesque for a woman past thirty to call herself by the name that -had once seemed so charmingly appropriate when applied to a girl of -twenty-three with a rivulet of golden brown hair flowing over her -shoulders to meet a lover's kisses? - -But then she recollected the story she had heard of the true lover who -loved so well that the gods had given to him the greatest gift in their -power--the gift of blindness, so that at the end of forty years when he -and the woman he loved had grown old together, she still seemed to him -the girl she had been on the first day that he had seen and loved her. - -There would be nothing grotesque in that lover calling his wife by -the love-name of her-youth. But would such love blindness be given to -Claude, so that he should still think of her as the slim girl with the -loose hair? - -Alas! Alas! He might tolerate the letter signed as she had signed it, -but in a few months he would be face to face with her, and would he not -see that she was no longer a girl? - -Only for a moment she paused as that melancholy question passed through -her mind. Then she flung down the letter, crying: - -“I will trust him. I will trust him as I have trusted him hitherto. He -will love me better, better, better, seeing that it was the years of -waiting for him that gave me the grey hairs where only brown had been.” - -It never occurred to her to ask herself if it was not possible that the -years which had given her half a dozen grey hairs, had brought about -quite as great a change in her lover. It never occurred to her to -think that there was a possibility that the years spent among -savages--wandering through the forests where malaria lurked--starving -at times and in peril of beasts and reptiles and lightning and sunstroke -every day of his life, had changed him in some measure--even in as great -a measure as the years of watching and waiting had altered her. - -His portrait stood by her side day and night. Every day and every night -she had kissed that picture of the young cavalry officer that smiled out -at her from the frame. That was the portrait of her lover, and never for -a moment did she think of him as otherwise than that portrait revealed -him to her. - -So she had posted the first of her new series of love-letters to him -with no great heaviness of heart; and then there began for her a fresh -period of waiting; for she knew that some months must elapse before her -letters could reach him, and after that an equal space before she could -receive his reply. - -But the barley crop had only been reaped in the golden fields of -Brackenshire when Mr. Westwood's lawyer brought her a telegram which -he had just received from Zanzibar. It was not from Claude, but from -a doctor whose name she frequently heard in connection with the -exploration of Africa. - -“Westwood arrived here to-day from Uganda, overcome with fatigue, not -serious. Leaves for England, probably fortnight.” - -So the telegram ran, and her heart leapt up, for she knew that her days -of waiting were being shortened. He had doubtless received no news of -his brother's death when at Uganda, and although he had intended to -remain there until he should be fully restored to health, he had made up -his mind to return at once to England. But what had caused her heart to -leap up was the sudden thought that came to her: - -“He has received my letter, and he knows that I am true to him.” - -A moment afterwards she recollected that it would have been impossible -for him to receive a letter from her--even her first letter--while he -was still at Uganda. He had started for the coast immediately on -getting the news by telegraph of the death of his brother, and both her -letters, being addressed to him at Uganda, had, it was almost certain, -crossed him on the road to the coast. - -Still, her days of waiting would be shortened, and that thought -gladdened her. Only for a week was she left in the torture of the -apprehension that the journey to the coast might have proved too much -for him, and that he might die at Zanzibar. All the accounts that -had been published in the newspapers regarding him had dwelt upon the -necessity there was for him to remain at Uganda until he had in some -measure recovered from the effects of his terrible experiences; so that -she felt she had grave reason to be apprehensive for him. - -The newspapers shared her anxiety not only in telegraphic despatches -from Zanzibar, which involved the expenditure of large sums, but also in -leaders and leaderettes, which like George Herbert's “good words” were -“worth much and cost little.” - -At first the news came that the explorer whose name was in every one's -mouth, was completely prostrated by his journey; but soon the gratifying -intelligence was received that he was making a good recovery, and had -gone for a week's excursion in a gunboat that had been placed at his -disposal until the mail steamer should be leaving Zanzibar. - -It was thought advisable by his physician to put some miles of green -sea between Claude Westwood and the scores of enterprising gentlemen who -were anxious to see him. The newspaper men were polite but urgent; -the English publisher's agent was business-like and impressive; these -gentlemen were not so greatly dreaded by the doctor, though he -would have liked to be summoned to take a part, however humble, in -a post-mortem examination on each of them. But when it came to his -knowledge that the American lecture-bureau agent had bought the house -next to the Consulate, and was reported to be making a subterranean -passage between the two so as to give him an opportunity of an interview -with Mr. Westwood, the doctor thought it time to make representations to -the commander of the gunboat. - -Mr. Westwood was smuggled aboard the vessel at midnight, the anchor was -weighed as unostentaciously as possible, and the gunboat steamed out of -the harbour at dawn; but it was said that the commander had to bring -his two big guns to bear upon a steam launch hastily chartered by the -lecture agent to follow the vessel in order that he might board her -and get the explorer to sign an agreement for a hundred lectures in the -States during the forthcoming fall. - -Then came the news that Mr. Westwood had returned to Zanzibar so greatly -improved in health by his cruise that he would be permitted to make -the voyage to England by the next mail; and, of course, all the -correspondents, the publishers' agents and lecture agents hastened to -engage cabins on the same steamer. The briefest of telegrams announced -the departure of the steamer in due course, and Agnes found herself able -to breathe again. In less than a month he would be by her side. - -It was very generally felt among those hostesses in Mayfair who are the -most earnest of lion-hunters, that Mr. Westwood was guilty of a gross -breach of manners in not timing his arrival for the spring of the London -season. Some of the more enterprising of them had long ago sent out -cards of invitation to him at Uganda, for receptions to be held in the -spring. Others had given him a choice of dates, and left it optional -for him to have a dinner, an at-home, or a garden-party. In these -circumstances it was thought that in changing his plans, starting from -Uganda at once instead of remaining there, as he had at first intended, -for six months, he was behaving very badly. - -How could any man expect to be treated as a hero in the month of -October? they asked, as they felt that the honour and glory which -attaches to the exhibition of lions were slipping from their fingers. - -They had long ago forgotten that the same newspapers which had -announced the safety of Claude Westwood had contained that heading, “The -Brackenshire Tragedy”; and when it was announced that Mr. Westwood was -compelled to decline all engagements, as it was his intention to remain -in the seclusion of Westwood Court for several months, people shrugged -their shoulders, and went on with their pheasant shooting. - -They said that Mr. Westwood would find out the mistake he was making -before the next season; adding that their memories were quite equal to -recalling instances of heroes, who were looked on as such in the autumn, -becoming stale and of no market value whatever before the next London -season. - -They rather feared that Mr. Westwood had failed to remember that the -most evanescent form of heroism is that which is the result of African -exploration. Africa as a field for the development of heroes was getting -used up; the Arctic regions were already running it close, and Polar -bears were as good as lions any day. Oh yes, Mr. Westwood might find -himself compelled to take a back seat next May in the presence of the -man who had come from Formosa with a crimson monkey, or the man who had -come from Klondyke with a nugget the size of an ostrich's egg. - -The people who talked in this strain could with difficulty be made to -understand that the tragic circumstances of the death of Mr. Westwood's -brother might possibly cause him, quite apart from all considerations -in regard to his own health, to wish to live in retirement for a few -months. They would rather have been disposed to appraise his value in a -drawing-room or as a “draw” at a reception, at a somewhat higher figure, -by reason of the fact that the death of his brother had for close upon a -fortnight been one of the Topics of the Season. A man who is in any way -associated with a Topic of the Season is a welcome guest in every house. - -But Agnes, knowing how attached the brothers had been all their lives, -understood how distasteful--more than distasteful--to Claude would be -the idea of lending himself for exhibition in order to attract people to -some of those houses whose attractiveness is dependent upon the freak -of the fashion of the hour. She had also a feeling that, although he -had written that curiously flippant postscript, Claude had still in his -heart no doubt as to her faithfulness. She felt that he knew that his -retirement would mean the taking up with her of the book of life at that -glowing passage at which they had laid it down. After such a separation, -what a meeting would be theirs! - -And yet as the hour for his coming approached, she felt more and more -as if she were waiting to meet a stranger. She felt all the shyness that -she had felt years before when, as a girl, she had found herself in the -same room with Claude Westwood. She had read of his heroic action on the -North-West Frontier of India--of that splendid cavalry charge, which he -had led, retrieving the honour of his country when it was trembling in -the balance, and so when she found herself presented to him as though he -were an ordinary man whom she was meeting casually, she had felt quite -overcome with shyness. - -And this was the very feeling which she now had when she was counting -the days that must elapse before his arrival. At first it had been -her intention to meet him aboard the steamer that was bringing him to -England. If she had not read that postscript she might even have thought -of going out to meet him at Suez--nay, of going out to Zanzibar itself; -but somehow the reading of those words at the dose of the letter, which -were meant for his brother's eyes alone, had left an impression on her -from which she could not easily free herself. - -That was how she came to feel that she was about to meet a stranger, and -that the idea of waiting on the dock side for the arrival of the steamer -seemed repugnant to her. - -Then the day which was notified to her as that on which the steamer -would be due, arrived, and found her awaiting with almost breathless -excitement whatever should happen. It was midday when the telegram was -brought to her: it was addressed, not to her, but to the family lawyer. - -“_Arrived. Shall be at the Court in time for dinner_.” - -These were the words which she read while her heart beat tumultuously -at the thought that she would see him in a few hours. She stood opposite -his picture, feeling that in future it would possess only an artistic -interest for her. She would be left wondering how it had ever been so -much to her. But what was on her mind now was the question, “Will he -drive here on his way to the Court?” - -Well, she would be prepared to meet him: but how was she to welcome -him? She had heard of girls who had been parted from their lovers for -years, putting on the dress which they had worn on the day of parting, -so that it might seem that the time they had been apart was annihilated. -She actually hunted up the old dress that was associated with her -parting from Claude. It was still fit to be worn, for she had paid her -maid compensation for allowing her to retain it. But when she looked -at it she laughed. It was made in the fashion of nine years before, and -every one knows how ridiculous a fashion seems nine years out of date. - -Annihilate time! Heavens! to wear a dress made in this style would be -the best way that could be imagined of emphasising the space of years -that had passed. She laughed and laid the funny old-fashioned thing, -with its ribbons fastened in ridiculous places over it where ribbons are -now never seen, back in its drawer. - -Alas! the girls about whom she had read had not been separated from -their lovers for nine years; or the lovers must have been even blinder -than the majority of men are in regard to the details of dress, -otherwise they would have looked ridiculous instead of gracious. - -She put on her newest dress--it was all white; and when her maid asked -her what jewels she would wear, she said suddenly: - -“All my diamonds.” - -But before her jewel case was unlocked she had changed her mind. - -“On second thoughts I will wear only the Wedgwood medallion with the -pearls,” she said. - -The medallion was his last gift to her. She had never worn it since he -had pinned it to her shoulder. He would remember that; and in spite of -the protest of her maid, who feared for her own reputation as an artist, -she fastened it on her shoulder, where never a medallion had been worn -within the memory of woman. - -It was when she was alone, however, that she put her face close to a -looking-glass and plucked from her forehead another grey hair that had -put in an appearance. She had never plucked one out before; she had -never thought it worth her while; but now she felt that it was worth her -while. - -Looking out from her dressing-room window she saw that the windows of -the Court were brilliant; for months they had been dark. - -The hour for the arrival of the train at Bracken-hurst went by. She only -felt slightly disappointed when he did not call upon her on his way -to the Court. But she found this evening, the last of all her days of -waiting, the longest of all. He had come--she felt sure of that, and -yet though only a mile away, he was as much separated from her as he -had been when thousands of miles away, with the barrier of the terrible -forests imprisoning him. - -She waited in vain for him until it was midnight; and when he did not -come, her disappointment changed to anxiety, and her anxiety to alarm. -She felt sure that he must be ill. The reports that had been telegraphed -to England regarding his health must have been misleading: he could not -have recovered so easily from the effects of those awful years spent in -savagery. It was she who should have gone to meet him; no matter what -people might have said. People--what were people and their chatter to -him or to her? He was perhaps lying at the point of death, and her going -to him might have saved him, but the next day might be too late. - -She spent hours in the restlessness of self-reproach, and when she went -to bed it was not to sleep but to weep. Only toward morning did she -close her eyes and then for no longer than a couple of hours. The London -paper arrived while she was at breakfast, and she found on an inner -page a two-column account of the arrival of Mr. Claude Westwood, with -particulars of the voyage of the steamer from Zanzibar, and a snap-shot -portrait of the distinguished explorer. Of course there was nothing in -the portrait that any one could recognise. The picture might have been -anything--a map of Central Africa or a prize vegetable. It contained no -artistic elements. - -She read in the first paragraph of the account of the arrival, that Mr. -Westwood had been in excellent health, the progress that he had -made toward recovery when on the cruise in the gun-boat having been -apparently completed by the voyage to England. He had started for his -home, Westwood Court, Brackenhurst, almost immediately, seeing only a -few personal friends in the meantime, the newspaper stated. - -Although the reflection that her worst anticipation had not been -realised brought her pleasure, she could not avoid feeling disappointed -that he had not come to her before he had slept. It seemed so ridiculous -to think that although they were within a mile of each other they were -still apart. When they had parted it was with such words as suggested -that neither of them had a thought for any one except the other. Then -through the long years she at least had no thought except for him; and -yet they were still apart. - -It seemed, too, as the morning advanced, that he had no intention of -coming to her this day either. - -But if such a thought occurred to her it was soon proved to be an -unworthy one, for he came to her shortly after noon. - -She was sitting in the room where he had said his good-bye to her long -ago. She heard a step on the gravel of the drive and knew it at once. In -a moment all the dreary years had slipped away from her like a useless -garment. Once more she felt like that shy girl who had listened -in dreadful secrecy and with a beating heart for the coming of her -hero--her lover. She felt now as she had felt then--trembling with -joyous anticipation, not without a tinge of maidenly fear. - -She buried her face in her hands, saying in a whisper: - -“Thank God--thank God--thank God!” - -And then he entered the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|She had feared, ever since she had been thinking of his return, -that she would not be able to restrain her tears when they should be -together. The very thought of meeting him had made her weep; but now -when she turned her head and saw the tall man with the complexion of -mahogany and the hands of teak--with the lean face and the iron-grey -hair, she did not feel in the least inclined to weep--on the contrary, -she gave a laugh. The change in his face did not seem to her anything -to weep about; she had often during the previous three months tried -to fancy what he would be like; and it actually struck her as rather -amusing to find that he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the picture -she had formed in her mind of the man who had lived for several years -the life of a savage. - -He stood looking at her for a few seconds. - -Neither of them spoke. - -Then he advanced with both hands outstretched. - -“Agnes! Agnes!” he cried, “I have come to talk with you about -him--Dick--poor Dick! You saw him on the day that ruffian killed him. -You can tell me more than the others about him.” - -He had both his hands held out to her--not outstretched in any attitude -of passionate eagerness, but with encouraging friendliness; that was -exactly what his attitude suggested to her--encouraging friendliness. - -She put both her hands into his without a word--without even rising. -He held them for a moment while he looked into her face. There was an -expression of restlessness on his face. She saw that his forehead was -furrowed with many lines. His eyes were sunken, and there was a curious -fierceness in their depths. - -Then he dropped her hands, and walked to the window, standing with his -back to it and his head slightly bowed. - -“It was a terrible shock to me to hear what happened; and to think that -the same paper that contained an account of my safety told of his death! -To think that within a couple of months we might have been together! My -God! When I think that but for an idiotic man falling ill when we -were within a month's journey of the lake--a man whose life was worth -nothing--I might have been here--at his side--to stand between him and -danger!” - -He began pacing the room, his hands clenched fiercely and the fire of -his eyes becoming more intense. - -She sat there without a word, watching him. Her eyes followed him up and -down the room. - -He stopped suddenly opposite to her. - -“It was the cruellest thing ever done on earth!” he cried. “Call it Fate -or Destiny or the will of Heaven--whatever you please--I say it was the -cruellest thing that ever happened! Why could not he have been spared -for a couple of months--until I had seen him--until he had known that I -was safe--that I had done more in the way of discovery than I set out to -do? But to think that he was killed just the day before--perhaps only -an hour before, the news of my safety arrived in England!--it maddens -me--it maddens me! I feel that it would be better for me to have -remained lost for ever than to return to this. I feel that all that -fierce struggle for years--the struggle with those savages, with the -climate, the malaria, the agues, the diseases which exist in that awful -place but nowhere else in the world--I feel that all that struggle was -in vain--that it would be better if I had given in at once--if I had -sent a bullet through my head and ended it all I Where is your brother? -He was with him on that fatal evening. Why did he go away before he had -seen me and told me all that there was to tell about my poor Dick?” - -Still she was silent. What answer could she make to such wild questions? - -“Cyril should not have gone off to the other end of the world, as I hear -he has done,” he continued. “He might have known that I would want to -ask him much; and yet, when I come here, I find that he has been -gone for more than a month, and there is positively no one in this -neighbourhood who can tell me anything more of the horrible affair than -has appeared in the newspapers. Fawcett, the solicitor, had kept for me -the newspaper account of the inquest and the trial. I saw Fawcett last -night, and then the surgeon--Crosby. We went to him after dinner. He it -was who showed up the suicide theory. How could it ever be supposed that -Dick would commit suicide? And yet, if it hadn't been for Crosby--Oh, -it was clearly proved that he could not have shot himself; and yet if it -wasn't for the possibility of his having shot himself, would they have -pardoned the wretch who did the murder? I read the whole account of the -trial, and Fawcett told me a good deal more. If ever a brutal murder was -done by a man it was that--and yet they allowed the fellow to escape--to -escape-to keep his life! That is what they call justice here! Justice! I -tell you that those savages--the most degraded in existence--among whom -I lived, have a better idea of justice than that.” - -Still she was silent. What could she say to him while he was in this -mood? He had resumed his pacing of the floor. She no longer watched him. -She looked out of the window. She had a strange impression that she had -been present at such a scene before, and that she had taken the same -impersonal interest in it all. Yes, it had been at a theatre: she had -watched one of the actors pacing the stage and raving about British -justice--the playwright had made the character a victim of the -unjustness of the law. But the man had kept it up too long: he had -exhausted the interest of the audience. They had looked about the -theatre and nodded to their friends; but now she only looked out of the -window. The audience had yawned: she was not so impolite. She would not -interrupt the man before her by speaking a word. - -“What excuse did they give for letting the assassin escape?” Claude -Westwood was standing once more at the window--the window through which -she had watched him coming up the drive to bid her good-bye upon -that October evening long ago. “Excuse? The man was found guilty of -murder--the most contemptible of murders. He had not the courage to face -his victim; he fired at him from behind--and yet they let him escape. -But if they had only done that it would not have mattered so much. If -they had given him his freedom I would have had a chance of amending the -lapse of justice. But they give him his life and protection as well. -Why did they not set him free and give me a chance of killing him as he -killed my poor brother?” - -He stamped upon the floor, and struck his left palm with his right fist -as he spoke. - -She gave a little cry as she shuddered. He had at last succeeded in -startling her. She had put up her hands before her face. - -He looked at her quickly and came in front of her. - -“Forgive me, Agnes,” he said in an agitated voice. “Forgive me; I have -frightened you--horrified you. I have been so long among savages; but I -feel that I could kill that wretch, and be doing no more than the will -of Heaven. I feel that I could kill all that bear his accursed name, -and yet be conscious of doing no evil. My brother--ah, if you knew how -I have been supported through these long dismal years by thinking of -him--by the thought of the pleasure it would give him to see me again! -It was chiefly during that eight months which I spent alone in the -forests that I thought about him. What a life I led! I had previously -lived the life of a savage, but in the forest I had to live as a wild -beast. The terrible vigilance I needed to exercise--it was a war to the -knife against all the wild things with fangs and tusks and claws. It was -the Bottomless Pit; but the hope of returning to him made me continue -the fight when I had made up my mind to fling away my knife and to -await the end, whether it came by a snake, a wild elephant, or a lion. I -thought of him daily and nightly; and now when I come home I find And I -cannot kill the man who made my hour of triumph my hour of bitterness! -There I go, raving again. Forgive me--forgive me, and tell me about him. -You saw him on that day, Agnes.” - -For the first time she spoke. - -“Yes, I saw him,” she said. “He was just the same as when, you saw him -last. He was not the man to change, nor was he the man to expect that -others would change.” - -He looked at her with something of a puzzled expression on his face. - -“Change? Change? You mean that he--I don't quite know what you mean, -Agnes. Change?” - -“He never changed in his belief in you. When people took it for granted -that you were dead--years ago--how many years ago?--he believed that you -were alive--that you would one day return. He believed that and never -changed in his faith. I believed it too.” - -“And that is the man whose life was taken by a ruffian who remains alive -to-day!” - -He had sprung to his feet once more, and was speaking in a voice -tremulous with passion. He had ignored her reference to herself and her -changeless faith. - -“He was a man whose soul was full of mercy,” she said. “Every one here -has heard of his many acts of mercy. There was no one too black for him -to pardon. The merciful are those whom Christ pronounced blessed.” - -“It is not possible that you have set yourself to exculpate the -murderer,” he cried. - -“It is not for me to exculpate him,” she replied. “But I know that our -God is a God of mercy. Are you not a living witness to that? Were not -you spared when every one of your company was lost?” - -“I am a poor example for a preacher,” said he. “I was spared, it is -true; but for what? For what? I am spared to come back to my home to -find that it is desolate. Is that your idea of mercy? I tell you that -in all that I have passed through, in my hour of deepest misery, in all -those terrible days spent in the loneliness of the forest, I never felt -so miserable, so lonely, as I did in that house last night. Mercy? -It would have been more merciful to me to have let the cobra and the -vulture have their way with me; I should have been spared the supreme -misery of my life.” - -“How you loved him!” she said, after a little pause. - -“Loved him! Loved him!” he repeated, as if the words made him impatient -with their inadequacy. “And the way we used to talk about what would -happen when I returned!” - -“Ah! what would happen--yes. I do believe that we also talked about it -together.” - -“And here I returned to find all changed.” - -“All changed? All? You take it for granted that all has changed? that -nothing is as you left it? that no one--no feeling remains unchanged?” - -She was looking up at him as he stood gazing out of the window. - -“Everything has changed for me. I don't know why I came back. I tell -you, Agnes, the very sight of the things that were familiar to me long -ago only increases my sense of loss--my feeling that nothing here can -ever be the same to me.” - -“What! that nothing--nothing--can ever be the same to you?” - -“That is what I feel.” - -“You do not think it possible that it is you and you only who have -changed?” - -“What? Is it possible that you do not see that it is because my -affection has not changed through all these years I am miserable -to-day!” - -“Your affection?” - -“Is it possible that you know me so imperfectly as to fancy that -my affection for my brother would decrease during the years of our -separation? Ah, I thought you would take it for granted that I was -differently constituted. I fancied that you would understand what my -affection meant.” - -“And have you found that I did you wrong?” - -“You wrong me if you suggest--I do not say that you did actually go so -far--that my affection for my brother could ever change.” - -“I do not suggest that your affection--your affection for your -brother--has changed. Oh, believe me, you have all my sympathy. I have -felt times without number, after it was known that you were alive, that -your home-coming would be cruel. I knew what a blow it would be to you -to receive the news of poor Dick. I hoped that my sympathy--Ah, you must -be assured that I feel for your suffering, with all my heart.” - -“I am sure of it,” said he, taking for a moment the hand that she -offered him. “If I had not been assured of it, should I be here to-day? -I do not underrate the value of sympathy. I have felt better for the -sympathy even of strangers. At Uganda--at Zanzibar--everywhere I got -kind words; and aboard the steamer--God knows whether I should have -landed or not if it had not been for the kind way some of my fellow -passengers treated me. Ah! the world holds some good people! They took -me out of myself--they made the world seem brighter--well, not brighter, -but at least they made it seem less dark to me. When we separated in -London yesterday the darkness seemed to fall upon me again. Ah, yes! I -have felt what was meant by real sympathy; and yours is real, Agnes. I -remember how good you were long ago. If you had been my sister you could -not have taken a greater interest in me. And your father--ah, he died -years ago, they told me last evening! You see, you were the first person -for whom I inquired.” - -“That was so good of you,” she said quietly. There was no satirical note -in the low tone in which she spoke. - -“Ah! Was it not natural?” he asked. “But I think that I was slightly -disappointed to hear that you were still unmarried. I had fancied you -now and again with your children about you; and I was ready with a score -of stories for the youngsters. I wrote something to poor Dick about -himself. I took it for granted that he too would have married and become -surrounded with prattlers. Yes, I'm nearly sure that I mentioned your -name in my letter to poor Dick.” - -“Your memory does not deceive you,” she said, and now there was a -suggestion of satire in her voice, though he did not detect it. “Yes, -your letter was brought to me by Mr. Fawcett. Why he should have brought -it to me, I am sure you could hardly tell.” - -“He may have thought that it contained something that should be seen -only by the most intimate friend of the family,” he suggested. “You -see, poor Dick's will mentioned you prominently. That probably impressed -Fawcett. But you read what I wrote? You saw that I had not forgotten -you--I mentioned your name?” - -“Yes, you mentioned my name in a way that showed me you had forgotten -me,” she replied. - -“I don't seem to understand you to-day,” he said. “I suppose when one -has been for eight or nine years without hearing a word of English -spoken, one degenerates.” - -“Alas! alas!” she said. - -Then he went away. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|She had, of course, left her seat to shake hands with him, and when he -had gone she did not sit down. She stood where he had left her, in the -centre of the room, with her eyes turned listlessly toward the window. -She watched him buttoning up his coat as he walked quickly down the -drive. A breath of wind whisked and whirled about him the leaves that -had fallen since morning. - -Which was the dream--the man whom she seemed to see hurrying away from -the house, or the man whom she seemed to see coming toward her amid the -same whirling leaves, out from the same grey October landscape? - -That was the form taken by her thoughts as she stood there. The -landscape was precisely the same as it had been when she had awaited his -coming to bid her good-bye before starting on his expedition. The same -soft greyness was in the sky, the same skeleton trees stretched their -gaunt arms out over the road; the sodden green of the grassy meadows, -the great, bloom of the chrysanthemums that hid the garden walls, all -were the same as they had been; but there was a man hurrying away on the -road by which she had stood to watch his approach nine years before. - -It seemed to her that she was having but another of the many dreams that -had come to her of that man; yes, or was it the memory of a dream that -returned to her at that moment--a dream of a devoted lover coming to -hold her in his arms and to kiss her face before setting out on the -expedition that was to bring honour to him--that was to give him a name -of honour which she would share with him? - -Which was the dream? Were both dreams? Had she passed her life in a -dream, and had she only awakened now? - -She drew her hand across her eyes and turned away from the window with -an exclamation of impatience. But then she seated herself in front of -the fire and bent forward, gazing into the glowing log that had burnt -itself out in the grate. - -Yes, she was awake now. She could look back and see clearly all that had -taken place since she had had that dream of kissing a man and bidding -him go forth and win a name for himself. She saw clearly that she had -built up for herself the baseless fabric of a vision--that her life had -been built upon a foundation no more substantial than air, and now she -was sitting among its ruins. - -She had lived with but one thought, with but one hope, ever before her, -and that hope was to hear the footsteps of the man whom she loved, -on the gravel of the drive down which he had gone after bidding her -good-bye. Well, her hope had been realised. She had heard the sound of -his feet coming to her--yes, and going from her. Heaven had answered her -prayer--the one prayer which she had cried through all the years. She -only asked to see him again; all the happiness to follow she took for -granted. - -And now she was seated gazing at the ashes of the log that had once been -a tree--at the ashes of the love that had once been her life. - -She was full of amazement. How had this wonderful thing come about? -How was it that among all her thoughts of disaster, she had never taken -account of the possibility of such a thing as the death of his love? His -love had always seemed to her the one thing on earth which was certain. -To have doubt of it would be as ridiculous as to question the likelihood -of the light of the sun being quenched in darkness. Her faith had -sustained her when nothing else had come to her aid. - -And yet now she sat there looking into the ashes. - -She was benumbed with astonishment; and what caused her most -astonishment was her own selfpossession during the interview which she -had just had with Claude Westwood. She marvelled how it was that she -had sat in that chair quietly listening to him, while he boasted of his -constancy--of his having remembered her name. - -He could not understand what she meant when she said that the fact of -his remembering her name was a proof that he had forgotten her. Surely -he should have understood that she meant that he could not make such -a reference to her as he had made in his postscript, unless he had -forgotten what her nature was. - -And yet, that one phrase which had been forced from her, was the -solitary expression of the terrible thought that overwhelmed her--the -thought that her life was laid in ashes. The reflection upon this -marvellous calmness of hers amazed her. - -She had heard of women finding themselves face to face with their -perfidious lovers, and denouncing them in tragic tones. Was it possible -that she was differently constituted from other women? Was ever woman so -faithful to a man as she had been? And was not the unfaithfulness of -the man in proportion to the fidelity of the woman? And yet she had been -content to utter only that one sentence of reproach, and its meaning had -been so obscure that he had failed to appreciate it! - -The worst of it was that she felt in her heart no bitterness against -him. She had no burning wish to reproach him for having made a ruin of -her life. She had no fervid desire to be revenged upon him. She wondered -if she was different from other women to whom revenge was dear. Had all -the spirit--that womanly element which women call spirit--been crushed -out of her by that antagonistic element known as constancy? Had her -faith in that man made her faithless to her womanhood? - -She failed to find an answer to any of these questions; and she went -about her daily duties as she had always done, only with that feeling of -numbness upon her heart. - -But when night came, and her maid had left her with her freshly-brushed -hair falling over her shoulders, she bent her head forward between the -candles that were lighted on each side of her toilet glass. She turned -over the masses of her hair, and saw the grey lines here and there among -them. Then, and only then, her tears began to fall. They came silently, -but irresistibly--not in a torrent of passion, but slowly, blinding her -eyes, and causing all those pictures of the past which now came crowding -before her, to be blurred. - -It was a tear-blurred picture that she now saw of Claude Westwood as -he had appeared before her eyes on the eve of his departure for -Africa--that picture which she had cherished in her heart of hearts -through the dreary years. She now failed to see in it any of the -features of the man who had been with her that day speaking those wild -words about the act of mercy which had been done in regard to the poor -wretch who had been found guilty of the murder of Richard Westwood. -She had noticed how his eyes had glared with the lust of blood in their -depths, as he asked why the wretch had not been either hanged or set -free--set free, so that he, Claude, might have a chance of killing him. - -She shuddered, and covered her face with her hands, as if she were -trying to shut out this new picture that came to take the place of the -old. Was it her doom, she asked herself, to live for the rest of her -days with this new picture ever before her eyes--this picture of the -haggard, sun-scorched man, who had come back to civilisation with those -deep eyes of his full of the blood-lust of the savage? - -She picked up his portrait, which he had given her long ago, and which -had been her sweetest consolation ever since. She had looked upon it -and had kissed it the previous night--every night since he and she had -parted. She looked at it now for a few moments.... With a cry she flung -it on the floor and trampled upon it; she set her heel upon it, and -ground the glass of the frame into the painted ivory. - -“Wretch--wretch--wretch! Murderer of my youth!” she cried in a low -voice, tremulous with passion. “As you have treated me, so shall I treat -you. Thank God, I have recovered my womanhood! Thank God!” - -She gave a laugh as she looked at the fragments at her feet But the -second laugh which she gave was not a laugh, but a sob. In a torrent of -tears she fell on her knees beside the shattered picture, moaning: - -“My beloved! Oh, my beloved, forgive me! what have I said? What have I -done? Oh, come back to me--come back to me, and we shall be so happy!” - -Her tears fell on the fragments of ivory and glass as she gathered them -off the floor. As she bent forward her hair fell upon them, hiding them -from view. She gathered up all carefully and put every scrap she could -find into a drawer, clasping her hands and crying once more: - -“Forgive me--forgive me!” - -She closed the drawer and fell on her knees, praying that he might be -given back to her; but she stopped abruptly after she had repeated her -imploration. “Give him back tome!” For the truth came upon her with a -shock: it was not her heart that was uttering that imploration. - - “Dead love lives nevermore; - - No, not in heaven!” - -That was what her heart was murmuring, while the vain repetition came -from her lips: - -“Give him back to me--give him back to me!” But before she had closed -her eyes in sleep she had come to the conclusion that she had been -somewhat unjust toward him. She felt that it was her wounded vanity -which had caused her to be angry with him. She should have known that -his first thought on returning to the house where he had lived with -his brother, would be of his brother. She should have known that the -reflection that he was for ever separated from the brother to whom he -had ever been deeply attached, would take possession of him, excluding -every other thought--even the thought that he had returned to be loved -by her. - -She felt that it should now be her duty to lead him back to her. So soon -as the poignancy of his reflection that he was for ever separated from -his brother had become less, he would turn to her for comfort, and he -would be comforted. The memory of their old love would come back to him, -and all the happiness to which she had looked forward for both of them -would be theirs. Would it not be possible for them to gather up the -fragments of their shattered love as she had gathered up the fragments -of the picture she had broken? - -Alas, the question which she asked herself failed to bring her -happiness; for she knew that no hand could piece together the broken -ivory which she had hidden away in her drawer; and still her heart kept -moaning: - - “Dead love lives nevermore; - - No, not in heaven!” - -The next morning her maid brought her among her letters one in a strange -handwriting. It was signed “Clare Tristram.” - -The name brought back to her long-distant memories of the girl bearing -this name, who was to have married Agnes's uncle--her mother's brother, -but who on the eve of the wedding, had fled with another man. - -She recalled some of the incidents of the story, the most important -being that she had been deprived of the privilege of wearing her -bridesmaid's dress. She recollected that this had been a great grief -to her; she had been about eleven years of age when that disappointment -overtook her, and now she could not help recalling how, when she had -been told by her mother that Clare Tristram had gone away to marry some -one else, she had obligingly offered to wear the dress upon the occasion -of Miss Tristram's wedding to somebody else, for she thought it would be -a great pity that so lovely a dress should be locked up in a drawer. - -The letter which she now found before her was not from this Clare -Tristram, but from her daughter. Still it was signed Clare Tristram, and -this fact set her thinking. She had never heard the name of the man whom -the girl had actually married, and she had certainly never heard that -the man was any relation to Clare Tristram. - -“Dear Madam,--I write to you in great doubt and some fear,” the letter -ran. “My mother, who died only two months ago at Cairo, where we have -lived for several years, told me, a few days before the end came to her -long illness, that I had no relations in the world, and no friends to -whom she could entrust me after she was gone; but that she felt that you -would accept the charge, if only to save me from her fate. These were -the exact words of my dear mother, and I repeat them to you, because I -think they may constitute some claim upon your pity, and I feel that I -have only your pity to appeal to. - -“My mother told me how she had done a cruel wrong to your mother's -brother; but that act brought with it such a punishment as few women are -called on to bear. The one for whom she forsook the noblest man in the -world showed himself within a year of her marriage to be so bad that -when he deserted her, she would not let me bear his name. She would not -even let me know what that name was. - -“Only a few days before her death I heard the pitiful story from her -lips, and she told me to go to you, and entreat you to save me from the -cruel fate that was hers. I ventured to ask her if she thought it likely -that you would receive me, on the ground that she had done a great wrong -to your relative; but she said, 'Agnes Mowbray's mother was my dearest -friend and schoolfellow, and I know that her daughter will be as her -mother was.' - -“Dear Miss Mowbray, I venture to repeat to you the doubts which I -expressed to my mother; and if you say to me that you do not wish to see -me, I shall not trouble you further; nor indeed shall I pose as one who -has been unjustly treated. I have sufficient money for my support, and -besides, even if that were to come to an end, I can earn enough by my -singing to keep myself comfortably--more than comfortably. The kind -friends who took charge of me on the journey to England are quite -willing that I should remain with them for an indefinite period. But I -can do nothing except what my beloved mother desired me to do. - -“That is why I write to you now, entreating you to reply to me. I hope -you will. - -“Clare Tristram.” - -Agnes read this unexpected letter with mixed feelings. It had not much -of a suppliant air about it. The writer seemed desirous only to place -her in possession of the facts which had compelled her to write. - -“Is this child sent by God to draw my thoughts away from myself?” - she said as she laid down the letter. “Is the child coming to give me -comfort in my sad hour?” - -Before evening she had written to Clare Tristram asking her to come on a -visit to The Knoll. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|She felt better for the girl's coming before the girl had come. Her -household was not on so large a scale as to make it unnecessary for her -to busy herself with preparations to receive a guest; and this business -prevented her from dwelling upon her own position. She had no time left -even to consider what steps, if any, she should take to further her -design of winning back to herself the love which she had once cherished. - -Before she went to sleep on the next night it seemed to her that the -time when Claude Westwood loved her was very far off; and before she -woke it seemed to her that the time when she loved Claude Westwood was -more remote still. - -She wondered if her maid and the housemaid would notice the -disappearance of the miniature which had stood upon her table. With -the thought she glanced in the direction of the drawer in which the -fragments were laid--only for a moment, however; she had no time for -further reflections. - -So far as the servants were concerned she might have made her mind easy. -The housemaid had, when brushing out the room, come upon some small -splinters of glass and ivory, and it did not require the possession on -her part of the genius of a Sherlock Holmes to enable her to associate -such a discovery with the disappearance of the only object of glass and -ivory that had been in the room. - -There was a good deal of innuendo in the comments made in the kitchen -upon the housemaid's discovery. The parlour-maid shook her head and -turned her eyes up to the ceiling. The housemaid said that if she wished -to say something she could say it. The cook, however, scorning all -innuendo, made the far-reaching statement that all men are brutes, and -challenged her auditors to deny it if they could. - -They could not deny it on the spur of the moment, though subsequently, -when the cook was absent, they compared experiences, and came to the -conclusion that the statement should be modified in order to be wholly -accurate. - -The next day Agnes was overtaken in the village by Sir Percival Hope. -She could not understand why it was that her face should flush on seeing -him; it made her feel uncomfortable for a few moments, and then the -strange thought crossed her mind that he was about to tax her with -having told him that she and Claude Westwood were to be married. Sir -Percival had certainly looked narrowly at her for some time. But then -he had begun to talk upon some general topic of engrossing local -interest--the curate's health, or something of that sort. (The curate -lived on the reputation of having a weak chest, and every autumn his -chest became a topic in the neighbourhood.) - -It was not until Sir Percival had walked back with her almost to the -entrance to The Knoll that he said very quietly: - -“I wonder if you are happy now.” - -Again she felt her face flushing. - -“Happy--happy?” she said, interrogatively. - -“Happy in the prospect of happiness,” said he. “I suppose that is the -simplest way of putting the matter.” - -She was silent for a long time, until she came to perceive that the -silence meant far more than she intended. That was why she cried rather -quickly: - -“You have seen him--Claude--you have conversed with him?” - -“Yes. He came to see me yesterday,” replied Sir Percival. “Great -heavens! What that man has gone through. He deserves his happiness--the -greatest happiness that any man dare hope for.” - -“Ah, I meant that he should be so happy,” she cried, and there was -something piteous in her tone. - -“And you will make him happy,” said her companion. “When a woman makes -up her mind on this particular point, a man cannot help himself. His -most strenuous efforts in the other direction count for nothing. He will -be made happy in spite of himself.” - -She turned her eyes upon him inquiringly. - -“You heard him speak--you heard the way he talks on that terrible -matter?” - -“Yes; that was how it came about that he visited me. He wanted me to -tell him all that I knew on the subject--he was anxious to have the -scene in the Assize Court described to him by some new voice. He wished -to know if I signed a petition for the reprieve of the murderer, and -when I told him no petition had been signed, but that the Home Secretary -had reprieved the man after, I supposed, consultation with the judge who -tried the case, and with the law officers for the Crown, he seemed to be -overcome with astonishment and indignation.” - -“That's The most terrible thing,” said Agnes, with an involuntary -shudder. “He regards the granting of his life to that man as a worse -crime than the one for which he was condemned. I cannot understand that -hunger for revenge--that thirst for the blood of a fellow-creature.” - -“You cannot understand it because you are a Christian woman,” said -Percival. “But for my part I must say that I have the widest sympathy -for all people; and no passion, however strange it may seem to others, -is quite unintelligible to me. I have lived long enough in queer places -to have become impressed with the fact that the civilisation which -we profess to regard as a part of ourselves is but the thinnest of -veneers--nay, of varnishes. The best of us is but a savage with all the -passions--all the nature--of a savage glowing beneath a coat of varnish. -My dear Miss Mowbray, we should pray that we may not find ourselves -in the midst of such circumstances as put a strain on our -civilisation--upon our Christianity.” - -She gave another little shudder, she knew not why, and turned her -wondering eyes upon him. - -“My sympathy with savages is unlimited,” continued Sir Percival. “One -should not judge Claude Westwood from the standpoints to which we have -accustomed ourselves. It must be remembered that he has lived for years -among the worst savages known in the world; and that he has been obliged -to struggle for his life after the most savage, that is the most -natural, fashion. Nature regards a single life very lightly, and the -worst of Nature is that she regards the life of a man as no more sacred -than the life of a brute.” - -“But we have our Christianity.” - -“Thank God that we have that! Pray to God that we may be able to hold -the shield of Christianity between ourselves and our nature. I have -talked all this cheap philosophy to you--this elementary evolution--only -to help you in your hour of need. I take it upon me to advise you -unasked, and I would say to you, Do not judge too hastily a man who has -lived for so long among barbarians--a man who was compelled to fight for -his existence, not with the weapons of civilisation and Christianity, -but with the weapons of savagery. In a short time he will once again -have become reconciled to the principles of civilisation. He will learn -once more to forgive. For the present, pity him.” - -He spoke in a low voice, putting out his hand to her. She took his hand, -and pressed it. When he turned and went away from her in the direction -of his own gates she remained motionless in the road, looking after him. -All her thought regarding him took the form of one thought--that he was -the noblest man that lived. He sought only her happiness--so much was -sure; he had done his best to reconcile her to the man who was his -rival, because he believed that she loved that man. - -And he had not pleaded in vain. She felt that she had been selfish and -inconsiderate in regard to Claude. She had expected him to come to her -just as he had left her--to take her into his arms just as he had done -on the evening when they had parted. She had been intolerant of his -indifference to her on his return--of his thirst for the blood of the -man who had taken the life of his brother. - -When she entered her house she went to the drawer where she had placed -the fragments of his picture. She looked at these evidences of her -impatience for a long time, and when she closed the drawer she was -consolidated in her resolve to win him back to her--to wait patiently -until he chose to return to her; she knew no better way of winning an -errant love than by waiting for it to return. - -The newspapers, however, were by no means disposed to adopt the policy -of patience in respect of a distinguished African explorer who declined -to give them any information regarding his travels. They had never -found such a desire for retirement to be among the most prominent -characteristics of African explorers, and they could not believe -that Claude Westwood was sincere in objecting to give any of the -representatives of the great organs of public opinion a succinct account -of the past nine years of his life--as much copy as would make a couple -of columns. - -The great obstacle in the way of their enterprise was, of course, the -handsome income enjoyed by Mr. Westwood. The splendid offers which they -made to him produced no impression on him; nor did the assurance that -they were not desirous of getting any information from him that might -prejudice the sale of his forthcoming volume or volumes--they assumed -that a volume or volumes would be forthcoming--no, their desire was -merely to give him an opportunity of telling the public just enough to -whet their curiosity for his book. - -He replied that he had no intention of writing a book, and that he did -not seek for publicity in any way. - -This was very irritating to the representatives of the newspapers, who -came down to Brackenhurst with such frequency during the first few days -after Mr. Westwood's return. But they revenged themselves upon him in -another way; for, as he refused to tell them anything about Central -Africa, they told their readers everything about Brackenshire. They gave -occasional photographs of Westwood Court: “Westwood Court--North View,” - “Westwood Court--The Queen's Elms,” “Westwood Court--The Trout Stream.” - One newspaper representative surpassed all his brethren by obtaining an -excellent photograph of the interior of the dairy at the Home Farm. - -This was how matters stood in regard to Mr. Westwood and the outer world -when Agnes awaited the arrival of the girl whom she had invited to visit -her for an indefinite period. The period was necessarily an indefinite -one: Agnes could not tell how long she should have to wait for the -return of the love that had once been hers. - -She got a letter from Clare Tristram, in reply to her invitation, -thanking her for her kindness, and suggesting a certain train by which -she hoped to travel to Brackenhurst, if its arrival was at an hour that -suited Miss Mowbray's convenience. - -She arrived by that train. Agnes sent her brougham and her maid to meet -her at the station, and she herself was waiting at the open door of the -house when the visitor arrived. - -She was a tall girl--quite as tall as Agnes--and with very dark hazel -eyes; her hair was brilliantly golden, with a suggestion of coppery red -about it in some lights. Her face possessed sweetness rather than beauty -of shape or tint, and the curve of her mouth suggested the expression -of a smile when seen from one direction. Looked at from the front its -expression seemed one of sadness. - -Agnes saw both the smile and the sadness as she gave her hand to the -girl, and led her into one of the drawing-rooms. - -“You must have some tea before changing your dress,” she said. (She had -not failed to notice that the girl's travelling dress was extremely well -made, and that her hat was in perfect taste. She knew that most women -are to be known by their hats.) Then she stood in front of the girl, -looking into her face tenderly. “I should know you in a moment from your -likeness to your mother,” she continued. - -“Ah, you did not see her recently,” said Clare, with a little sob. - -“I did not see her since you were born,” said Agnes. “But still I -recollect her face distinctly. I can see her before me when I look at -you now. Poor woman! She suffered; but she had you. No one could take -you from her.” - -“That may have been a consolation to her long ago,” said Clare, “but I -am afraid that during her last illness the thought of my future was -a great burden to her. You see, we had no relations in the world; at -least, none to whom I could be sent.” - -“I feel that it was kind of your mother to think of me,” said Agnes, as -they seated themselves and drank their tea. - -“She used to speak daily of you, Miss Mowbray,” said the girl. “She told -me how attracted she had been to your mother until--Ah, I heard the sad -story. Believe me, she was bitterly punished.” - -“Poor creature! I knew that she had been unhappy. Your father--I have -been trying to recollect his name during the past few days, but I have -not been successful.' - -“I never heard what his name was. My mother kept it from me from the -first. She said she never wished to hear it again. It was not until I -was fifteen that I learned that she bore her maiden name, and not my -father's. I fear he was--well, he cannot have been a good man.” - -“We need not refer to him again. I have no curiosity on the subject, I -assure you.” - -“I have long ago lost any that I once had. I hope I am not an unnatural -daughter, but I have no wish to hear anything about my father.” - -“Instead of talking about him, my dear, we will talk together about your -mother. I feel that in entrusting you to me she paid me the greatest -compliment in her power. I am sure that we shall be friends--sisters, -Clare.” - -“How good you are! Ah, we shall be sisters. My dear mother knew you; -though I feared--I told you so in my letter--that you would consider the -claim made upon you a singular one. I did not say so to her; I did not -wish her last days to be worried with doubts, so I promised her to go to -you, and she gave me a letter which was to introduce me. She desired me -to put it into your hand. I do so now, though there is no need for it, -is there?” - -“None whatever,” said Agnes, smiling, as she took the sealed letter -which the girl handed to her. “I shall read it at my leisure. Oh no; you -do not need any letter of introduction to me.” - -“I was afraid to come here directly on landing,” said Clare; “yes, even -though I bore that letter; so I thought it better to write to you from -London, stating my case.” - -She had risen, laying her tea-cup on the table. Agnes rang the bell for -her maid to show Miss Tristram to her room. - -So soon as she was alone Agnes clasped her hands and said: - -“Thank God!--thank God! I feel that she has been sent here to comfort -me.” - -She was led to wonder what the girl would have done if she had come to -Brackenhurst and found her, Agnes, on the eve of being married to Claude -Westwood. How desolate the poor thing would have felt--almost as -desolate as Agnes herself had felt a few days before! - -She thought that Clare was the sweetest girl she had ever seen. She felt -better for her coming already; and with this thought on her mind she -picked up the letter which she had laid on the table. She broke the seal -and began to read the first page. Before she finished it her eyes were -tremulous. The words that the dying woman had written committing her -daughter to her care, seemed full of pathos. She laid down the letter, -she could not read it on account of her tears. Some time passed before -she picked it up once more; but before she had read half-way down the -second page she gave a start and a little cry. With her head eagerly -bent forward and her eyes staring she continued reading, half -articulating the words in a fearful whisper. The hand that was not -holding the letter was pressed against her heart. Then she gave another -cry, and almost staggered to a chair into which she dropped. The letter -fell from her hands; she stared straight in front of her, breathing -heavily. - -“My God!” she cried at last. “My God! to think of it! To think of her in -this house! Oh, the horror of it!” - -Her words came with a shudder, and she covered her face with her hands. -The next instant, however, she had started up and was gazing eagerly -toward the window; the sound of a foot that she knew came from the -gravel of the drive. - -She stood there with one hand clutching the back of a chair, the other -still pressed against her side. She was listening eagerly for the -ringing of the bell. - -The ring came. She rushed across the room to where the letter was lying, -and hastily thrust it into her pocket. When Claude Westwood entered the -room she was seated with a book in front of the fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|My dear Agnes,” he cried, before he had more than entered the room. “My -dear Agnes. I only heard this afternoon of the heroic way you behaved on -that day--that terrible day when those fools made the run upon the bank. -I have come to thank you. Why on earth I was not told of that incident -the day I arrived, I am at a loss to know. I don't think that the bank -can boast of much intelligence. At any rate, I know now that you saved -us--you saved us from--well, the cashier says the doors of the bank -would have been closed inside half an hour if you had not appeared so -opportunely. How can I ever thank you sufficiently?” She looked at him. -He failed to notice within her eyes a strange light. He could not know -that she had heard nothing of his speech. - -“Yes, I repeat that we owe all to you,” he went on. “I'm sure that -poor Dick felt it deeply. And Sir Percival Hope--it was his cheque, -the cashier told me; and yet he didn't say a word to me about it when -I called upon him a few days ago. But how on earth did you raise the -money? Perhaps--I don't know--should I congratulate you--and him? Yes, -certainly, and him.” - -“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was wondering--ah, these things -sometimes do occur--I mean--Is it possible that you intend to remain at -the Court during the winter? Surely your doctors will not allow it. You -will go abroad.” - -“I see that you evade my question,” said he, with a laugh. “There is no -reason why you should do so. I think Hope a very good chap, especially -since I have heard that it was his cheque. And I said in my letters to -Dick that I supposed you had got married long ago.” - -“I'm afraid that I have not been paying sufficient attention to what you -are saying. Sir Percival Hope?--you mentioned Sir Percival,” said Agnes. - -“Heavens! I have been wasting my compliments--you have been thinking of -something else.” - -“I wonder if you have learned to forgive as well as to forget,” said -she. - -“What on earth do you mean?” he cried. “You are a trifle distraite, are -you not? What has forgiving or forgetting to do with what I have been -saying?” - -“The wretched man--I was thinking of him. You have forgotten a good -deal of the past that others have remembered, but forgiveness--that is -different.” - -“Do you mean to ask me if my feelings are unchanged in respect of that -ruffian--that wretch who killed the best man that ever lived in the -world? If that is your question I can answer you. I stand here and tell -you that no night passes without my cursing him and all that belongs to -him. If he has a brother--if he has a wife--if he has a child--may they -all suffer what”-- - -“No, no, no, no; for God's sake, don't say those words, Claude. You do -not know what they mean. You cannot know.” - -She had sprung from her chair and had caught the hand which he had -clenched fiercely as he spoke. - -“You cannot tell who it is that you are cursing,” she said imploringly. -“No one can tell. He may have a wife--a child--would you have them -suffer for the crime of their father?” - -“I would have them suffer. It is not I, but God, who said 'unto the -third and fourth generation.' I am on the side of God.” - -“And this is the man whom I once loved!” - -He started as she flung his hand from her--the fingers were still -bent--and walked across the room, striking her palms together -passionately. - -He started. There was a pause before he said slowly and not without -tenderness--the tenderness of the sentimentalist, not the lover: - -“How young we both were in those days! I'm sure we both believed most -fervently that we were in love. Alas! alas! But in affairs like these -the statute of limitations is automatic in its working. Nature has -decreed, so we are told, that in the course of seven years every -particle of that work which we call man becomes dissolved; so that -nothing whatever of the man whom we see to-day is a survival of the man -whom we knew seven years ago.” - -“Ah, that is true--so much we know to be true,” she cried, and in her -voice there was a note of tenderness. - -She looked across the room and saw that his eyes were not turned toward -her. They were turned toward the window. She saw that he was staring -into the garden, and on his face there was an expression of surprise, -mingled with doubt. - -She took a few steps to one side, and her hand made a little spasmodic -grasp for the curtain, when she had seen all that he saw. - -Out there a charming picture presented itself against a background of -bare trees, and a blue autumn sky from which the sun had just departed. -A tall girl, wearing a white dress and crowned with shining golden hair, -stood on the grass, while above and around her and at her feet scores -of pigeons flew and circled and strutted. She was encircled with moving -plumage--snow-white, delicate mauve, slate blue--some trembling poised -about her head, some with their wings drawn up as they were in the act -of alighting, others curving in front of her, and now and again letting -themselves drop daintily upon her shoulders, and perching upon the -finger which she held out to them. All the time she was laughing and -crooning to them in a musical tone. - -That was the scene which he was watching eagerly, as he gazed through -the window, quite oblivious of the tact that Agnes was watching him -breathlessly. - -“Merciful heaven!” she heard him whisper. “Merciful heaven!” - -She gave a little gasp. There was a silence in the room. Outside there -was a laugh and the strange croon of the girl. - -He turned to Agnes. - -“Who is that girl?” he asked. - -She affected not to understand his question. She raised her eyes, -saying: - -“Girl? What girl?” - -“There--outside--on the lawn.” - -“Oh, Miss Tristram--have you seen her before?” - -“Have I seen--how does she come to be here? Ah, I need not ask you. You -heard me speak of her and invited her here. You are so good. Did you -tell her that I was in this part of the country? I do not think that I -ever mentioned that my home was in Brackenshire.” - -The expression of surprise which had been on his face became one of -pleasure. - -She watched him dumbly, as he unfastened the latch of the window and -opened one of the leaves. She saw Clare turn round at the click of the -latch, and glance toward the window. She saw the look of surprise that -had been on Claude's face come to Clare's as she stood there in the -midst of the wheeling birds. The pause lasted only a few seconds; it was -broken by the laugh of the girl as she went to the window. - -He stepped out to meet her with outstretched hand, and the girl laughed -again. - -Agnes fell back against the tapestry curtain clutching it with each -hand, and staring across the empty room. - -“My God! he knows her--he knows her.” - -One of her hands went down instinctively to the pocket into which she -had thrust the letter brought by Clare. She kept her hand over it as -though she were trying to hold it back from some one who wanted to get -it. That was her attitude while she listened to the surprised greeting -of the girl by Claude. He was saying that they had not been parted -for long--certainly not so long as Clare--he called her Clare quite -trippingly--had predicted they should be; and Clare inquired of him if -he knew Miss Mowbray. Was he also a guest in Miss Mowbray's house? - -“Heavens!” he cried, “surely I mentioned in the course of one of my long -chats aboard the old _Andalusian_ that I lived near Brackenhurst.” - -“Lived near Brackenhurst?” she said with a laugh. “Why, I was under the -impression that you lived near Bettinviga, in the land of the Gakennas, -beyond the great Smoke Falls of the Zambesi I hope I have improved in my -pronunciation of the names. Oh no; you never said anything about -Brackenshire. If you had done-so I should certainly have told you that I -was going into that country also--that is, if I succeeded in inducing -Miss Mowbray to receive me.” - -The expression that Agnes's face had worn gradually passed away as she -heard them chatting together making mutual explanations. She was able -to loose her hands from the curtain that had supported her. She was even -able to give a smile--a sort of smile--as she straightened herself and -took a step free of the curtain and facing the window. - -“Is it possible that you were fellow-passengers on the _Andalusian_ she -asked. - -“I fancied that I had told you of meeting Clare and her friends aboard -the steamer that took us on from Aden,” said he. “Yes, I feel certain -that I told you how much better I felt for the sympathy they offered -me.” - -“You mentioned that, but you did not give me any names,” said Agnes. -“Pray come back to the sphere of influence of the fire, Clare; you must -learn not to trust our English climate too implicitly. How the pigeons -have taken to you! You must have some charm for them.” - -“We lived in Venice for two years, and the pigeons of St. Mark's became -my greatest friends,” said the girl. “I used to feed them daily, and it -was while feeding them that a dear old man, who loved them also, taught -me how to talk to them. I could not resist the temptation of trying if -the birds here understood the language, so I went out to them from the -next room when I saw them on the lawn.” - -“And I think you may assume that your experiment was a success,” said -Agnes, closing the window when the girl had entered, followed by-Claude. -“Do you know of any other charms to prevail upon other creatures?” - -“Oh yes,” she cried: “a fakir whom I knew at Cairo taught me how to -charm lizards. The first time we see any green lizards I will show you -how to mesmerise them.” - -“I'm afraid you'll not have quite so much practice here as you had in -Egypt,” said Agnes. “Our green lizards are not plentiful. I will get you -to impart to me your secret so far as the pigeons are concerned; I won't -trouble you to teach me the incantation for the lizards. You joined the -_Andalusian_ at Suez, I suppose?” - -“Yes; Colonel and Mrs. Adrian took charge of me on the voyage to -England, and it was from their house in London I wrote to you,” replied -Clare. - -“Adrian and I had gone through a campaign together,” said Claude. “His -face was the first that I recognised on my return to civilisation. I -knew no one at Uganda, and at Zanzibar I avoided seeing any one, though -the newspaper correspondents were very friendly; but Adrian was the -first man I saw when I got aboard the steamer at the Red Sea. Seeing -him made me feel old. I had left him a captain with about half-a-dozen -between him and a majority. It appears that the frontier people had -taken advantage of my enforced absence to get up a quarrel or two with -their legitimate rulers who had annexed them a year or two before; and -it only required a few accidents to give Adrian his command.” - -“Colonel Adrian told us that Mr. W'estwood had been giving it as his -opinion that it was very hard that he had not had an opportunity of -distinguishing himself while the Colonel had been so fortunate,” laughed -Clare, turning to Agnes. - -“Did the newspaper men show any great desire to have an interview with -your friend, Colonel Adrian?” said Agnes. - -“If they had they would have learned something about the Chitralis and -their ways,” said Claude. “I'm afraid that the people in England are -slightly indifferent to the great question of the North-West frontier.” - -Clare laughed, and Agnes perceived that he had been giving a little -imitation of the Indian officer, who had become an authority on the -great frontier question and could not understand how people at home -refused to devote themselves to its study. - -“Englishmen want to hear about nothing but Africa just now,” said Agnes. -“They have come to regard Africa as an English colony.” - -“And yet the greatest living explorer of Africa refuses to communicate a -single paragraph to the newspapers in regard to his discoveries,” cried -Clare. “I consider that a great shame; I hope you feel as strongly on -the subject, my dear Miss Mowbray.” - -“Mr. Westwood seems to have lost all his early ambition,” said Agnes. - -“That is true,” said Claude, in a low voice. “I have lost my brother.” - -Clare looked grave. Agnes glanced at the man. She wondered how it was -possible that he could forget the words which he had spoken in that same -room when she only had been there to hear them. “It is for you--it is -for you,” he had cried. “It is for you I mean to go to Africa. I have -set my heart upon winning a name that shall be in some degree worthy of -you, my beloved!” - -Those were the words which he had said to her while his arms were about -her and her cheek rested on his shoulder. How was it possible that -he could forget them? How could he now talk about having lost all his -ambition? She was his ambition. He had gone forth to win a jewel of -honour that should be worthy of her wearing, and he had returned, having -snatched that jewel from the very hand of Death, but he had not laid it -at her feet. - -Still she was silent. She remembered what Sir Percival had said to her: -it was left for her to win him back. - -It was Clare who had the boldness to break the impressive silence that -followed his pathetic phrase, “I have lost my brother.” - -“You told me that he had ambition,” said she. “You told me that his -ambition was your success, and yet you refuse to let the world know how -you have succeeded.” - -He looked at her for a few moments. Her face was slightly flushed by the -force of the earnestness with which she had spoken. - -“Perhaps,” he said, slowly, “perhaps my ambition may awake again one of -these days. I saw some queer things. Sometimes, when I think of them--of -the strange people--savages, but with a code and religious traditions -precisely the same as those of the Hebrews--I feel that it might perhaps -be well if I wrote something about them; but then, I feel--oh no, I -can't bring myself to do anything now. I cannot do anything until”-- - -His face darkened. He walked away from her to the window. In an instant -he called out in quite a different tone from that in which he had -spoken: - -“There are your pets still, Clare. They are waiting for you on the -lawn.” - -“I must send them back to their cote without delay,” said the girl “May -I step outside for one moment, Miss Mowbray?” - -“Only for a moment, my dear child. I am afraid that you place too much -confidence in our English climate.” - -He opened the window, and Clare stepped out among the pigeons that rose -in a cloud to meet her. Claude followed her slowly. - -Agnes watched them without leaving her seat. They stood side by side in -the fading light. - -“God help her! God help her!” said Agnes, in a low voice. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -|I wonder if you will think our life here desperately dull,” said Agnes, -when she had dined _tête-à-tête_ with Clare that same night. “I wonder -will you beg of me to turn you out after you have experienced a week of -our country life.” - -“I don't think it very likely,” said Clare. “I feel too deeply your -kindness in taking me in. You see, I was not brought up to look upon -much society as indispensable. We lived in many places on the Continent, -my mother and I, but we never mingled with the English colony in any -place. My mother seemed to shun her own countrypeople. We made only a -few friends in Italy, and even fewer during the two years we were in -Spain. Of course, when we went to Egypt we had to be more or less with -the English there; but I suppose my mother had her own reasons for never -becoming amalgamated with the regular colony. As a rule, we saw very -little society; and, indeed, I don't feel as if I wanted much more now. -I think I have become pretty independent of my fellow-creatures. If I -am allowed to paint all day and to sing all night, I'll ask for nothing -more.” - -“You will sing for me to-night,” said Agnes, “and to-morrow you can -begin your painting. I suppose you had many chances of studying both -arts in Italy.” - -“No one could have had more,” replied Clare. “I know that my education -generally was neglected. I'm not sure of my spelling of English, and as -for my sums, I know they are deplorable. But my dear mother was afraid -that one day I might find myself compelled to earn money to live, and -she said that no girl ever made money by spelling and working out sums.” - -“I think she was right in that idea. Being a governess is not the same -as making money. And so she gave you a chance of studying painting -and music? But painting and music do not invariably mean making money -either.” - -Clare laughed. - -“No one knows that better than I do, Miss Mowbray,” she cried. - -“Please do not call me Miss Mowbray,” said Agnes. “Have I once called -you Miss Tristram? My name is not a horrid one. It does not set one's -teeth on edge to pronounce it. Now don't say that there's such a -difference between our ages; there really is not, you know.” - -“I shall never call you anything but Agnes again,” said the girl. - -“That's right; and perhaps in time I shall come to think myself as -young as you are. The story of your education interests me greatly. Pray -continue it. Did you learn painting or singing first? I suppose that -question is absurd; you must have found your voice when you were a -child.” - -“I found myself with a kind of voice, but no one seemed to think that -it was worth considering. That was why I spent five years studying the -technique of painting. It was only one day when I thought myself alone -in a picture gallery and began singing a country song, that a little -grey-haired man appeared from behind one of the pillars. I thought that -he was one of the caretakers, and I did not pause until I found that he -was looking at me, as I thought angrily. I then asked him if singing was -prohibited in the gallery. I shall never forget the way he looked at me -and laughed. 'Singing--singing?' he cried. 'Ah, my sweet signorina, -even if singing is prohibited you could not be charged with having -transgressed. Singing!' Then he shook his head. 'But it was I who sang -just now,' I explained. 'Great god Bacchus! you do not flatter yourself -that that sort of thing is singing,' he cried. 'Oh no; singing is -an art--and an art in which you will excel rather than in the art of -painting. Fling that execrable daub in which you caricature the blessed -St. Sebastian into the place where the dust is thrown, and come with me. -I shall make you a singer.'” - -“How amusing! And you obeyed him?” - -“I stared at the old man for a minute, thinking him the most impudent -person! had ever met; but like a flash it came upon me that he was not a -caretaker, but Signor Marini, the great maestro. I was so overcome with -surprise that in an instant I had done exactly what he told me. I threw -away the picture on which I was working--I really don't think it was so -very bad--and I went away with him. He asked me where I lived, and he -accompanied me there. He amazed my poor mother with what he said about -mv voice, or rather about the possibilities he fancied he foresaw for my -voice, and he taught me for two years for nothing.” - -“And were his predictions regarding your voice fulfilled?” - -“I am afraid he fancied that I should become much better than I am. But -at any rate he made it possible for me to earn money by my singing. I -hope, however, I may not have to support myself in that way. I do not -like facing an audience. I had to do so twice in Italy, and I found it -distasteful.” - -“But you do not mind facing an audience of one, I hope.” - -“Oh, I will sing to you all night. I sang almost every night aboard the -_Andalusian_. I think Mr. Westwood liked me to do so. There was a bond -between us--a bond of suffering. My dear mother had only been a month -dead. I sang with my thoughts full of her.” - -“And there is a bond between you and me also--a bond of suffering. You -will sing to me, my Clare.” - -Agnes had her hand in her own as they went to the drawing-room, and -after a short time the girl sat down to the piano and sang song after -song for more than an hour. - -Her singing was the sweetest that Agnes had ever heard. She did not sing -brilliantly at first, but tenderness and sympathy were in every note. No -one could hear her without being affected by her. It seemed as if no one -could be critical of her art: it is only when one ceases to feel that -one becomes critical; but Clare made it pretty plain to Agnes when they -talked together later on that Maestro Marini had never been quite so -carried away by the singing of any of his pupils as to be unable to -criticise it, and Agnes declared that he must be the most unfeeling man -living. - -Before leaving the piano the girl sang an operatic scena of the most -brilliant character and amazed Agnes with the extent of her resources. -She showed that her imagination was on a level with that of the great -master who had built up the work to a point of sublimity that had -aroused the enthusiasm of Europe. Agnes saw that Clare had at least -the genius to know what the maestro meant when he had taught her how to -treat the scena. - -She kissed the girl, saying: - -“Yes, you can always earn money by your singing; but you can always -achieve much more by it: there is no one alive who could remain unmoved -when you sing.” - -“I will sing to you every night,” cried Clare. “You will tell me when I -fail to do what I set out in the hope of doing in any of my songs. That, -the maestro says, is the sure test of singing; if you make yourself -intelligible you can sing, if you are unintelligible you are wrong. No -composer who is truly great will write merely for the sake of showing -what difficulties a vocalist can overcome by teaching and practice; -he will not be intricate, only when he cannot express himself with -simplicity. I think music is the most glorious of all the arts.” - -She quoted from her master as they went upstairs to their bedrooms and -then kissed and parted. But though Clare was asleep within a few minutes -of lying down, Agnes was not so fortunate. She lay awake for an hour -thinking her thoughts, and then she rose, and wrapping a fur-lined cloak -about her, sat down in a chair in front of the fire, looking into its -depths. - -“I cannot send her away again,” she said. “I cannot send her out into -the world. God has given me her life, and I have accepted the trust. I -cannot send her away. He need never learn the truth, the terrible truth. -Oh, if he had but some pity! If she could but impart some pity to him!” - -Another hour had passed before she rose, saying once more, in a tone of -decision: - -“Yes, she shall stay. Whether it be for good or evil she shall stay. If -I cannot win him back I shall still have her.” - -Somehow, Agnes did not now feel so strongly as she had done a few days -before that it was laid on her to win back Claude. The fact was that, -after her last conversation with Sir Percival, she had been led to -consider by what means she should endeavor to win him back to her. What -were the arts which she should practise to compass this end? She had -often read of the successful attempts made by young women to regain -the affections of the men who had been cruel enough--in some cases wise -enough--to forsake them. She could not, however, remember exactly what -means they had adopted to effect their purpose. She had an idea that -most of the men had been brought by force of circumstances to perceive -how false-hearted the other girl was; she had a distinct recollection -that the other girl played a very important part in the return of the -lover to his first and only true love. - -After giving some consideration to the matter she came to the conclusion -that she, too, could only trust to time to lead Claude back to her. She -thought of the lines: - - “Having waited all my life, I can well wait - - A little longer.” - -She had spent her life in waiting for him to return to her, but he had -not yet done so; the man who had gone forth loving her, and with her -promise to love him, had not returned to her and her love. She would -have to wait a little longer. - -But somehow she did not now feel impatient to see him once again at her -feet. The terrible sense of loneliness that had fallen on her when he -had left her presence on the day after his arrival at the Court--that -appalling consciousness of desertion--was no longer experienced by her. -She awoke from her few hours' sleep on the morning after Clare had come -to her, without her previous feeling of being alone in the world. Her -first thought now was that in half an hour she would be seated at the -breakfast-table opposite to that sweet girl who had been sent to her by -a kind Fate, just at the moment when she needed her most. - -Before the half hour had quite passed she was sitting opposite to Clare; -and before another hour had passed she was sitting by the side of Clare -in her phaeton, pointing out to her the various landmarks round that -part of Brackenshire, as the ponies trotted along the road. Agnes felt -as happy as though she had succeeded in solving the problem of how to -win back an errant lover. - -“It's not a bit like the England of my fancy,” cried Clare, when the -phaeton had been driven on for some miles beyond the little town of -Brackenhurst. - -“Is it possible that this is the first glimpse you have had of England?” - cried Agnes. - -“It is practically my first glimpse of England. I could not have been -more than a year old when I was taken abroad.” - -“And yet I am sure that you had all an exile's longing to return to -England--you learned to allude to it as home, did you not?” said Agnes. - -“Oh, of course, I always thought of England as home, though I managed to -live very happily wherever I found myself,” replied the girl. “Sometimes -when I was suddenly brought face to face with a party of English men -and women making a tour of Italy, my longing to be in England was easily -repressed. Indeed I may safely say that at no time did I feel very -patriotic. The greater number of the people whom I met painted such a -picture of England as reconciled me to live abroad.” - -“You do not recognize the country from their description?” - -“Why, they talked of nothing but fogs--they made me believe that from -August to May there was nothing but fog hanging over the whole of the -country--fog and damp and rain and snow. Well, we haven't driven into a -fog up to the present, and I find these furs that Mrs. Adrian advised me -to buy in London, almost oppressive. The green of the meadows beside -the little stream is brighter than the green of olive trees in winter. -Yesterday the sky was blue, and to-day it is the same. Oh, I have become -more English than the English themselves; I feel myself ready to refer -to every one who is not English as a miserable foreigner.” - -“That is the proper spirit to acquire: I hope you will be able to retain -it all through the winter. We do not invariably have blue skies and -dry roads during November and December in England. But we have at least -comfortable houses, with capacious fireplaces.” - -“That is something. I never saw a really good fire until I came to -England. I have sat shivering in the house in which we lived at Siena. -The little brazier of charcoal which was brought into the room for a few -minutes only seemed to make us colder.” - -Agnes laughed, and there was a considerable pause before she said: - -“And your mother. I wonder if she was quite happy living abroad all her -life?” - -“Only during her last illness did she express a wish to see England once -more,” said Clare. “Ah, I cannot speak of it--I could not tell you all -she said in those last piteous days. After she had written that letter -which I brought to you--she would not allow me to see a line of it, but -sealed it and put it away under her pillow--all her thoughts seemed to -return to her home. Every night as I sat up with her I could hear her -murmur: 'If I could only see it again--if I could only see the meadows, -and smell the English may!' Ah, I cannot speak of it.” - -The girl turned her head away, and a little sob struggled in her throat. - -“My poor child!” said Agnes. “You have all my sympathy. I can sympathise -with you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -|They did not exchange a word for some time; and when the silence was -broken it was by Clare. - -“Just before her illness I ventured to suggest to her that we might go -for a month or two to England,” she said. - -“And then”-- - -“The look that came to her face was one of fear--of absolute terror. -I was frightened, and began to think that there were perhaps graver -reasons than I had ever fancied for our exile. It took her some moments -to recover from the shock that my suggestion had given her, and then she -said, 'You must never think of such a thing as possible. I shall never -see England again!'” - -“Poor woman! Ah, what it is laid on woman to bear!” said Agnes. “And she -would have been so happy if it had not been for her faithlessness. If -she had only trusted the true man who loved her, she would have been -happy. I fear that she cannot ever have been happy with your father.” - -“She never spoke to me of him.” - -Clare spoke in a low tone. - -“He died when you were a child--so much, I think, was taken for -granted,” said Agnes. - -“I have always taken it for granted,” said Clare. “Oh yes; I remember -asking about him when I was quite young, and my mother told me that I -had no father.” - -“Then you must assume that he is dead,” said Agnes; “and pray that you -may never have sufficient curiosity to lead you to seek to know more -about him.” - -Clare looked at her with some surprise on her face. - -“What! You know”--she began. - -“I know nothing,” said Agnes quickly, interrupting her. “I have heard -that he was not a good man, and I know that if he had had anything of -good in his nature, your mother would not have parted from him. But he -is dead, and we have no need to talk about him. Now let me tell you the -names of all the places we can see from here.” - -They had driven to the summit of one of the low Brackenshire hills, -and from there Agnes pointed out the various landmarks. Far away to the -north the great manufacturing town of Linnborough lay beneath the -great shadow of its own smoke, and to the right the exquisite spire of -Scarchester Cathedral was seen, and by the side of the old minster ran -the river Leet. All through the valley lay the villages of Nessvale, -with its Norman church, from the tower of which the curfew is still -rung; Green-ledge, with its tall maypole, and Holmworth, with its grey -castle and moat. Then on every hand were to be seen the splendid -park lands surrounding the manor houses, the broad meadows, the brown -furrowed fields of Brackenshire, with here and there a farmhouse, and -down where the Lambeck flowed, a brown mill with its slow-moving water -wheel. The quacking of ducks that swam in the little stream was borne up -from the valley at intervals and mingled with the melancholy whistle of -a curlew, and the occasional notes of a robin sitting on a gate at the -side of the road. - -“England--England--this is England!” cried Clare. “I never wish to see -any other land so long as I live. Ah, my poor mother! This is what she -was longing to see before she died.” - -Agnes did not speak. She knew that the girl saw all the incidents of the -English landscape through a mist of tears. - -It was not until the phaeton was making the homeward circuit and -had just come abreast of the wall of Westwood Court, that a word was -exchanged between Agnes and Clare. All the interest of the girl was once -more awakened when she learned that Claude Westwood had been born in -that great house which was just visible through the trees of the park, -and that he was now the owner of all. - -“And the murder--it was done among those trees?” said Clare, in a -whisper. - -Agnes nodded. - -“The wretch--the wretch! What punishment would be too great for the -monster who did that deed?” cried Clare, with something akin to passion -in her voice. - -“Mr. Westwood told you of it?” said Agnes. - -“He did not need to tell me of it,” replied the girl. “I had read all -about it at Cairo.” - -“Of course. You got the English newspapers there.” - -“Very rarely; strange to say, a copy of a newspaper containing a -paragraph referring to the reprieve of the murderer was sent to my -mother by some one in England. I saw the paper by chance. It had not -been sent to her because of that paragraph, of course; but on account of -some other piece of news.” - -“Then you knew who it was that sent the paper?” - -“That was the mystery. It troubled mother for some time thinking who -could have sent it.” - -“But she knew why it had been sent to her--she knew what was the -particular paragraph it contained of interest to her?” - -“I don't think that she was quite certain on that point; but she came -to the conclusion that it was on account of a paragraph referring to the -production of an opera in London in which a friend of mine--of ours, I -mean--had taken the tenor _rôle_.” - -“Ah; a friend of yours? What is his name?” - -“His name is Giro Rodani; he was one of the maestro's pupils. We used -to sing duets under the guidance of the maestro; it was good for both -of us, he said, and so, I suppose, it was. At any rate Giro got his -engagement, and perhaps he sent mother that newspaper. He certainly sent -me the six papers that praised his singing. He didn't send those that -were not quite so complimentary: it was the maestro who sent them to -me.” - -“The paper may have been addressed to you; it is not a matter of -importance. You would probably never have recollected reading the -paragraph about the reprieve of the man if you had not met Mr. Westwood -a few months afterwards.” - -“I certainly should have forgotten all about it; but now--well, now it -is different. And it was among those trees the terrible deed was done?” - -“Yes, it was among those trees. I have not been near the place since it -happened.” - -“It was horrible--horrible! And yet they did not hang the man--they gave -the wretch his life!” The girl spoke almost fiercely--almost in the same -tone as Claude Westwood's had been when denouncing the man. - -Agnes gave a little cry. - -“Do not say that--for God's sake do not say that,” she said. “Ah, if you -only knew what you are saying!” - -“If I only knew!” cried Clare, in a tone of astonishment. - -“If you only knew how your indignation that a wretched man's life was -spared to him shocks me!” said Agnes. “Dear child, surely you are on -the side of mercy; you have not been, accustomed to the savage code of a -life for a life.” - -Clare was silent. - -“It shocks me to hear any one speak as Claude Westwood does of that poor -wretch,” continued Agnes. “It is not possible that you--Tell me, Clare, -do you think your mother would have had the same thought as you had just -now? Was she indignant when she read that the life of that man Standish -was spared?” - -“She cried 'Thank God!' as fervently as if she had known the wretch all -her life,” replied Clare. “Ah, my dear mother was a better woman than I -am. Her heart was full of tenderness.” - -“And so is yours, my child,” said Agnes gently. “You did not speak from -your heart just now. Your words were but an echo of those I have heard -Claude Westwood speak.” - -There was a long silence before Clare put her hand on the arm of her -companion, saying in a low voice: - -“I was wrong, dear Agnes. I spoke unfeelingly, without thinking of all -that my words meant. I only thought of the passion of grief in which Mr. -Westwood had expressed his indignation that the man who brought so much -unhappiness into his life had been spared.” - -“Pray for him,” cried Agnes quickly. “Pray for that man as Christ prayed -for His murderers. Pray that his life may not have been given to him in -vain.” - -“I will pray that God may pity him,” said the girl. “We all stand in -need of forgiveness, do we not?” - -The remainder of the drive to The Knoll was silent; and so was Agnes, -when she went to her room, and seated herself in front of the fire. She -was breathing hard as she leant forward with her head resting on her -hands. She remained motionless, staring into the glowing coals until the -luncheon bell rang. Then she rose hastily, saying in a whisper: - -“It was too terrible! God pity her! God pity her!” - -Her maid entered the room, and she changed her dress. - -While in the act of going downstairs she heard the sound of Claude -Westwood's voice in the hall. He was talking to Clare in front of the -blazing logs of the hall fire, and Agnes saw that he now wore the dress -of a country gentleman. When he had called at the house the previous day -as well as on the day after his return to England, he had worn a black -morning coat. She paused beneath the stained-glass window of the little -lobby where the broad staircases turned off at right angles to the -half-dozen shallow steps at the bottom--she paused, and could not move -for some moments, for the scene which was before her eyes appeared to -her like a glimpse of a day she remembered well: the same man wearing -the same jacket and gaiters, had stood talking in the same voice to a -young girl who looked up to his face as she stooped somewhat over the -big grate, holding her fingers over the blaze, just as Clare was doing. - -She stood motionless on the landing. The crimson roses of the -stained-glass of the window made her a splendid head-dress, and in -the panels on each side spread branches of rosemary--rosemary for -remembrance. - -Alas! she remembered but too well the words which had been spoken -between the two people who had stood there long ago. “It is for you--it -is all for you,” he had said. “I mean to make a name that shall be in -some measure worthy of you.” Those were his words, and then she had -looked up to his face and had put her hand, warm from the fire, into his -hand. She had trusted him; and now-- - -“Is it a ghost?” cried Clare, laughing. “Are you a ghost, beautiful -lady, or do you see a ghost?” - -She had gone along the hall to the foot of the half-dozen shallow oak -steps beneath the window. - -“A ghost--a ghost,” said Agnes, descending. “Yes, I have seen a ghost.” - -Claude advanced to the middle of the hall to meet her. She greeted him -silently. - -“I saw your ponies in the distance and hurried after you, hoping that -you would ask me to lunch,” said he. - -“A woman's lunch!” she cried. “You cannot surely know what our menu is.” - -“I will take it on trust,” said he. “You represent company here. When I -come to you I forget the loneliness of the Court.” - -When speaking he had looked first at Agnes, then at Clare. He seemed -to take care to prevent the possibility of Agnes's fancying that he was -addressing her individually when he said, “You represent company here.” - -“And you represent company to us; for the capacity of two lone women to -feel lonely is quite as great as that of one man,” said she, smiling in -her old way. - -“He brings us news, Agnes--good news,” said Clare. “He has got the medal -of the--the society--what was the name that you gave the society, Mr. -Westwood?” - -“The Geographical,” said he. “They have treated me well, I must confess. -They have been compelled to take me on trust, so to speak--to accept my -discoveries, without any demonstration on my part. No one knows anything -of what I have seen or what I have done in Central Africa. The outline -that was cabled home represented only the recollections of a missionary -at Uganda. It is a little better than nonsense.” - -“That is the greater reason, I say, why you should take the opportunity -that is offered to you now of letting the world know all that you have -passed through,” said Clare. - -“All--all--all that I have passed through, did you say?” he cried. Then -he laughed curiously. - -“Well, I don't suppose that you could tell all in an hour--I suppose -they would give you an hour?” said Clare. - -“They might even make it two hours without forcing me to repeat myself,” - said he. “But all--all! Good heavens! If I were to tell all! Luckily I -cannot: the language has not got words adequate for the expression of -some of the things that I saw. Still--well, I saw some few things that -might be described.” - -“Then you will go? You will give them the lecture which you say they -have invited you to deliver?” cried Clare. - -He shook his head. - -“Oh yes, you will,” she said, going close to him, and speaking in a -child's voice of coaxing. “Agnes, you will join with me in trying to -show this man in what direction his duty lies.” - -“Ah, in what direction his duty lies!” said Agnes gently. “What woman -can show a man where lies his duty if his inclination points in another -direction? But I am forgetting mine. Luncheon!” - -She pointed to the door of the dining-room, at which the butler was -standing with an aggrieved expression upon his face: luncheon had been -waiting for some time. - -“Duty!” said Agnes, when Clare and Mr. Westwood had passed through. -“Duty!” She gave a little laugh. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -|Duty! That constituted the foundation of the plea of Clare for the -delivery of his lecture before the Royal Geographical Society. Her eyes -sparkled as she talked at lunch, urging Claude Westwood to abandon -his resolution to keep a secret the story of his adventures, of his -discoveries. - -“My dear Agnes,” she cried at last, “will you not join with me in -telling him all that is his duty?” Agnes shook her head. - -“All? Did you say 'all'?” she said. “All his duty? Why, my dear, such -a task would be akin to Mr. Westwood's description of his travels. The -language does not contain sufficient words to tell a man all that is -his duty. But so far as the lecture before the Geographical Society -is concerned I don't think that he need say very much. Surely they are -entitled at least to a paper in exchange for their gold medal. Anything -less would be shabby.” - -“That should settle the question,” said Clare, looking with a triumphant -smile at Claude. - -“I suppose--yes, I am sure that it should,” said he. “Only--well, I -hardly know where to begin in giving an account of some of the things I -saw during my years of captivity. You have heard of the devil-worship -of some parts of Central Africa; but all that you have heard has been a -faint, a far-off rumour of what that worship means. I have seen--oh, -I tell you there are mysteries--magic--in the heart of that awful -Continent that cannot be spoken of.” - -“But there is much that you can talk about--there's the country, the -climate, the products,” said Clare. “Don't you remember the hints that -Mr. Paddleford used to give you aboard the _Andalusian?_ Mr. Paddleford -was a--a--gentleman--I suppose he would be called a gentleman in -England.” - -“Though he was not so called aboard the steamer?” said Agnes. - -“Exactly. He was fond of opening up new countries.” - -“Through the medium of the Limited Liability Companies Act--occasionally -going a little further than the Act was ever meant to go,” said Claude. - -“At any rate he used to say that the man who found a new market for -Manchester or Birmingham was the true patriot. But still you did not -rise to the bait--you did not make any attempt to prove the extent of -your patriotism. But perhaps you might be able to show the geographical -people that Manchester or Birmingham might have what Mr. Paddleford -called a 'look in' so far as Central Africa is concerned.” - -He glanced at Clare after she had spoken. - -“Birmingham might certainly have a 'look in' at some of the tribes; it -might contract for the constant supply of brass gods for them,” said -Claude. “They worship brass out there with nearly as much devotion as -people here worship gold. As for Manchester--well, I've been in a valley -where Manchester could find a hint or two. The sides of the valley -are covered with a plant--a weed which, it it became known, would make -cotton valueless. It requires neither to be spun nor woven.” - -“And you have discovered that miracle, for which the world has been -wanting since the days of Adam?” cried Clare, laying down her life and -fork, and staring at him. “You have discovered this, and yet you could -send that poor publisher empty away, although he had come out from -England to meet you and make arrangements for the publication of your -book!” - -“Manchester should be ruined in order that Mr.--Mr.--was his -name--Paddleford?--yes, that Mr. Faddleford might float a company,” said -Agnes. - -“Not merely Manchester, but all the cotton-growing states of America -would be brought to the verge of ruin,” said he. “The growth of that -weed upon the sides of the valley I speak of far exceeds the growth of -all the cotton in the world. We travelled for four months through that -valley without once losing sight of that weed. Things are done on a -large scale in Central Africa. The ground rents there are somewhat less -than they are in Middlesex. Can you fancy a valley running from John -o'Groat's to Land's End with its sides covered thickly with one -weed--say with thistles only?” - -“And you can tell the world of that valley--of that plant for which the -world has been waiting for thousands of years, and yet there is still a -doubt in your mind as to whether you should spend an hour talking about -it or not!” cried Clare. “Look here, Mr. Westwood; you send a telegram -to the President of the Geographical Society appointing a day to reveal -to him and his friends--to all the world--the world that has been -waiting for certainly six thousand years--some people say six -million--for the discovery of that plant--telegraph that, or I shall -do it; and when you are at the bureau of telegraphs, just send another -message to the publisher who hunted for you, telling him that you accept -his offer of twenty-five thousand pounds. He confided in me aboard the -steamer with tears in his eyes, that this was the exact sum that he had -offered to you for the making of two thick volumes on your adventures, -to be ready in four months from to-day.” - -“Heavens above! this is carrying things with a high hand!” cried Claude. -“Perhaps you would not think it too much trouble to suggest a title for -the book--that, I understand, is always a difficult business.” - -“Ah, the representative of Messrs. Shekels & Shackles, the publishers, -confided to me his designs in regard to that point also,” said -Clare triumphantly. “The poor man had passed days and nights in the -Mediterranean thinking over the best title for your book; but only when -he got through the Red Sea did the inspiration come to him. I agreed -with him that it would be too bad if all his trouble were to no purpose. -I agree with him still.” - -“He went a long way--so did you,” said Claude. “And the title--are you -at liberty to divulge it to the author of the book yet unborn?” - -“The name of the book is to be 'Homeless in Hades,'” laughed Clare. “So -much the agent confided in me. He thought that by that title the readers -would be prepared for the worst you had to tell them.” - -“And so they would. I'm sure,” said he. “But I had no idea that the -names of books were settled by the publishers.” - -“Oh, they're not as a rule--he explained that to me; he said that only -in your case Messrs. Shekels & Shackles were under the impression that -you should know just what the public expected from you.” - -“And their idea is that the writer of a book of travels should make -it his business to provide the public with precisely what they expect? -Well, I can't say that the notion is an extravagant one. Most of the -volumes of travel which have been written, from the days of Sir John -Mandeville, down, have shown a desire on the part of the authors to -accommodate themselves to the views of the publishers and the public. -I'm not so sure, however, about 'Homeless in Hades.'” - -“Then you will write the book?” cried Clare, her eyes sparkling. “Oh yes; -when you begin by quarrelling with the title you are bound to write the -book.” - -“I don't consider myself in the least compromised in the matter,” said -he. “One may surely object to a title without being forced to write -the book. The fact is that, since I started for the Zambesi, the public -taste has been revolutionised by dry plates. An explorer without a -camera is, In the eyes of the public, like--now, what is he like?--a -mouse-trap without a bait--a bell without its hammer. Now I did not -travel with a camera. My long journey alone through the forests was made -with only the smallest amount of personal luggage. All I was able to -carry with me will not make an imposing list. Item--one knife; item--one -native bow and six poisoned arrows; item--six seeds of the linen plant.” - -“What, you succeeded in bringing home the seeds of that wonderful -plant?” - -“I made up my mind to accomplish that at all hazards. The seeds are a -good deal less interesting to look at than the native weapons. I have -got a glass case made for the arrows. They are not the things that -should be left lying about.” - -“I have heard of poisoned arrows. Terrible, are they not? And the poison -is still in those you have?” - -“It is the deadliest poison on earth; and its effect remains even in the -ashes of the iron-weed which forms the barb of the arrow. The slightest -scratch with the point of the weapon is fatal.” - -Clare listened breathlessly. It was in a low voice that she asked: - -“How many of these arrows had you when you contrived to escape?” - -“I had sixteen,” he replied. “I can account satisfactorily for the ten -that are not forthcoming. I got to be a fairly good hand with the bow -and arrows before I had been in captivity for more than a year. I saw -that my only chance of successfully escaping lay in my acquiring a -thorough knowledge of the native weapons. I made a collection of arrows -which I secreted at intervals, but when I thought my chance had arrived. -I only recovered the sixteen I have told you about. I saved my life ten -times with arrows and nine times with my knife.” - -“That will be your book,” said Clare; “how you used those ten arrows -will be your book. It must be called 'The Arrows and the Knife.'” - -“That title is certainly better than 'Homeless in Hades,' although I -admit that I was homeless and that the country was the worst Hades that -could be imagined.” - -“But you will write the book--oh, you must promise us to write the book. -If we get him to promise we shall be all right, Agnes; he is not the -sort of man who would ever break his promise!” - -“Oh, no, no; a promise with him would ever be held sacred,” said Agnes. - -“Promise--promise,” cried Clare, going in front of him with clasped -hands, in the prettiest possible attitude of humorous imploration. - -“A book of travel would be of no value without illustrations--so much I -clearly perceive,” said he. “I wonder if you can draw.' - -“Oh yes; I can draw in a sort of way,” she replied. “I did nothing else -but draw for some years.” - -“That is a solution of the problem,” he said, putting out his hand to -her. “I will write the book if you do the drawings for it.” - -She shrank back for a moment and her face became rosy. - -“Oh, I don't think that I could draw well enough to illustrate your -book,” she cried. - -“Ah, have you seen the illustrations to any book of travel recently -published?” he asked. “No, I thought you had not or you wouldn't say -that your capacity fell short of so humble a standard as is required for -such a purpose. My dear Clare, cannot you see that the plan which I have -suggested is the only one possible for such a work as mine? I must -have an artist beside me who will be able to draw everything from my -instructions. Nothing must be left to the imagination. An error in any -point of detail would make the illustration worthless. Ah, now you -see it is not on me but on you that the production of the great work -depends, and yet you hold back. It is now my turn for bullying you as -you bullied me. It rests with you to say whether the book will appear or -not.” - -“What am I to say, Agnes?” cried the girl. She had become quite -excited at the new complexion that had been assumed by the question -of publishing the book. “What am I to say? I am afraid of my own -shortcomings.” - -“If Mr. Westwood is not afraid of them, you certainly need not be,” said -Agnes. “For my own part I quite see how much better it would be for him -to have an artist working by his side and in accordance with his -own instructions, than it would be to have the most accomplished of -draughtsmen working at a distance.” - -“I'm fearfully afraid, but I would do anything for the sake of seeing -the book published,” said Clare. - -“Then the compact is made,” cried Claude. “Give me your hand, Clare, -Now, Agnes, you are witness to the compact.” - -“Yes, I am a witness to this compact--the second one made in this room,” - said Agnes quietly. They had by this time left the dining-room and were -standing round the fire in the drawing-room. - -“The second compact--the second?” said he, as though he were trying to -recall the previous compact. - -“Agnes alludes to the compact she and I made in this room yesterday,” - said Clare. “We agreed that if we did not become friends we should part -without ceremony before we got to hate each other--it was something like -that, was it not, Agnes?” - -“Yes, I think that is an excellent definition of the compact made -between you and me--not in the presence of witnesses,” said Agnes. - -“A very sensible compact, too, if I know anything about women,” said -Claude. - -“And you do know something about women, do you not?” said Agnes. - -“I am learning something daily--I may say hourly,” he replied. “I have -learned lately how generous, how noble, how sympathetic a woman may be.” - -He looked at Agnes as he spoke, and sincerity was in every note of his -voice. - -Agnes smiled faintly. She wondered if he was thinking of the day when -he had said good-bye to her in that room. Was his allusion made to -her generosity in permitting him to assume that there was a statute of -limitation in love--an unwritten law by which the validity of a lover's -vows ceased? - -At this point a fresh visitor was admitted--Sir Percival Hope. He said -he was very glad to meet Mr. Westwood that afternoon, the fact being -that he had just been at the Court to see Mr. Westwood in order to -inquire about his gamekeeper, Ralph Dangan, who had applied to him, Sir -Percival, for a situation. He wondered why the man was leaving the Court -preserves. - -“The man seems to me to be a very foolish fellow,” said Claude. “He came -to me a couple of days ago to discharge himself, his plea being that he -did not suppose that I meant to preserve as my poor brother had done. -I asked him if he didn't think it possible that he might be mistaken in -his supposition, and suggested that he would have done well to come to -me in the first instance to learn what my intentions were in regard to -the preserves. He seemed to decline to enter into any discussion WIth -me on the subject, but quite respectfully gave me his notice to leave. -I tried to bring him to a sense of his foolishness in throwing up a good -place on so ridiculous a pretext, but all the reply he gave was, 'I have -made up my mind to go, sir, and must go. I can't stay where I am any -longer.'” - -“The poor man has had trouble--great trouble, during the past few -months,” said Agnes. “He should be pardoned if he finds it intolerable -to continue living in the place where he was once so happy.” - -“He did not say anything about that to me,” said Claude. “Only to-day my -steward mentioned about the man's daughter. Poor girl! I recollect -her years ago--a pretty little girl of nine or ten. And then his son -enlisted. I daresay the view you take of the matter is the right one, -Agnes. I suppose such men as Dangan have their own private feelings like -the rest of us.” - -“He did not seem inclined to explain to me anything of that,” said Sir -Percival. “When I asked if he did not think he was behaving foolishly -in leaving a situation in which he had been for over thirty years, he -merely said he had made up his mind to leave it.” - -“I would advise you to give him a trial,” said Claude. “He is a -scrupulously honest man.” - -“I feel greatly inclined to take your advice,” said Sir Percival. - -He remained to drink tea with Agnes, and at the end of an hour both men -left together. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -|Clare was greatly excited. She regarded it as a great triumph that she -had prevailed upon Mr. Westwood to write the book which was to give an -account of his captivity in Central Africa, his explorations--some of -them involuntary--for the people among whom he dwelt as a prisoner and -an object of worship, carried him about with them on their raids--and -his discoveries. She was, however, in great dread lest her part in the -compact should be indifferently performed. - -She daily expressed her doubts to Agnes, bewailing the fact that she had -been too easily persuaded by the maestro to abandon her study of the -art of painting for the art of vocalism. If she had only devoted to the -former the time she had spent upon the latter, she would have been a -good artist, she declared. Of what value had her singing been to her, -she inquired in doleful tones. It had been of no use to her, but if she -had continued her study of drawing, she should not now be on the fair -way to humiliation. - -Agnes did her best to reassure her, when she had seen her portfolio of -water colour sketches--some of them charming open-air studies and others -of the picturesque peasantry of the Biscayan provinces. She felt sure, -she said, that if her drawings done by the direction of Mr. Westwood, -were of the same quality as those in the portfolio, the publishers would -be quite satisfied with them. Clare kissed her friend a dozen times in -acknowledgment of her kind encouragement, but afterwards she shook her -head despondently. - -“It is one thing to draw for my own amusement--to make these simple -records of the places which I have visited and the people I hove seen, -but quite another thing to illustrate a serious book--a book that is -worth twenty-five thousand pounds. Just think of it! My drawings in a -book that is worth such a sum--a book that will be in everybody's hands -in the course of a month or two!” she cried, as she paced the room -excitedly. “Oh yes; I know what every one will say: It would be far -better if so valuable a book had not had its pages disfigured by such -amateurish efforts! Oh yes; I have seen the criticisms in the English -papers. I know what they will say. Oh, what a fool I was to agree to do -the drawings!” - -“I don't think that you need be at all afraid to face such a task,” said -Agnes. “But if you are, why not write to Mr. Westwood, telling him that -you repent?” - -“Oh, I would be far more afraid to face him after that than to face the -drawings,” cried the girl. - -“What would Mr. Westwood think of any one who would break a compact?” - -Agnes looked at her in silence for a few moments. She was tempted to -tell Clare the full story of the compact which she had once made with -that man, and the way in which he had broken it, ignoring the fact that -it had ever been entered into by either of them. She felt tempted to -ask her if the susceptibilities of such a man on the subject of -compacts--especially those made with women--were to be greatly -respected; but she controlled herself, and when Clare sat down with -tearful eyes, she did her best to comfort her. - -Then Claude went to London and had an interview of a very satisfactory -character with Messrs. Shekels & Shackles. All that they stipulated was -that he should not give himself away--the phrase was Mr. -Shekels'--at the Royal Geographical Society. The papers read -by distinguished--travellers--and some who were not quite so -distinguished--at the big meetings of the Society, were only designed -to stimulate the imagination of the public and prepare the way for the -forthcoming book. A paper that discounted any portion of the forthcoming -book--Mr. Shekels took it for granted that the book was always -forthcoming--was worse than futile for advertising purposes He -urged upon Mr. Westwood the advisability of putting nothing into his -Geographical Society lecture that the newspapers could not lay hold -of for the purposes of leading articles. The newspapers did not want -pathological erudition. They wanted something that all their readers -could understand--something about cannibalism, for example; cannibalism -as a topic never failed to attract general readers. He hoped that Mr. -Westwood would see his way to talk about the cannibals of Central Africa -in his paper. That would tickle the palates of the general public, -causing them to look forward to the book, which need not necessarily -contain a single allusion to cannibalism. In one word, Mr. Shekels -explained that the lecture should be a kind of _hors d'ouvre_ to the -literary banquet which was to follow. - -All this he explained to Mr. Westwood, very tenderly, of course, for -Mr. Westwood was (unfortunately, Messrs. Shekels & Shackles thought) not -like the majority of distinguished explorers, anxious that the sale of -his book should be enormous, being (unfortunately, again,) independent -of book-writing for his living. If they were to say anything to hurt -his feelings, he might take his book, when he had it written, to another -publishing house, who then would have the privilege, so earnestly sought -after by Messrs. Shekles & Shackles, of losing a considerable sum by its -publication. - -On the subject of the illustrating of the book Mr. Shackles--he was the -artistic, not the business partner--had a good deal to say. He did -not smile when Mr. Westwood mentioned that there was a lady of his -acquaintance who would execute the drawings under his own supervision. -No, Mr. Westwood was well out of the front door before he had a laugh -with his partner, who did not laugh but only winked at the notion of -Mr. Westwood's lady friend. But while Mr. Westwood was in his room Mr. -Shackles explained quite courteously that he should like to see some -of the lady's work, so that he should be in a position to judge as to -whether or not it lent itself well to the processes of reproduction. -That was how Mr. Shackles gave expression, when face to face with -Mr. Westwood, of the doubts which he afterwards formulated in a few -well-chosen phrases to his partner as to the artistic--the saleably -artistic--possibilities of the unnamed lady's work. - -Then Mr. Westwood had an interview with the executive of the Royal -Geographical Society on the subject of his lecture; and the next day -every newspaper in the kingdom contained a paragraph announcing this -fact, and most of them had half-column leading articles commenting upon -the decision come to by the explorer, and pointing out that, owing to -the extraordinary circumstances connected with his involuntary stay -in the interior of the Dark Continent, the paper which he had so -courteously placed at the disposal of the Society could scarcely fail -to be the most interesting, as well as the most important, given to the -world through the same body for many years. - -It was with great trepidation that Clare submitted her sketches to Mr. -Westwood. He had, of course, to pay another visit to The Knoll in order -to make a choice of the works to be sent to Mr. Shackles as specimens; -and even when Claude had expressed himself confident that Mr. Shackles -would be surprised at the high quality of the technique in those he -selected, the girl was not reassured. It was not till Claude had shown -her the publishers' letter regarding the drawings--another visit had to -be paid to The Knoll in order to show her this letter--that she began -to regain confidence in herself. Her face was rosy with pleasure before -Claude had finished reading the letter. - -The fact was that Messrs. Shekels & Shackles had come to the decision -that they would be acting wisely in humouring Mr. Westwood in this -matter of illustrations; and seeing that the specimens of Miss -Tristram's work were susceptible of being improved by a judicious artist -accustomed to manipulate such work as was to be reproduced by certain -processes, the letter on the subject had been as nearly enthusiastic -as Messrs. Shekels & Shackles ever allowed themselves to become in the -presence of their typewriter. They had meant to gratify Mr. Westwood, -and the reply which they got from him convinced them that their object -was achieved. - -For the next week Clare spent her days in the greenhouse, making -sketches of all the tropical plants in Agnes's collection. From studying -the general character ol the illustrations in several volumes of African -travel--Agnes had on her shelves every volume of exploration in the -Continent--the girl became aware of the fact that the public will not -believe that any drawing is offered to them in good faith unless it -contains at least one tropical plant with which they are familiar. -She made up her mind that the vegetation in her pictures should be -plentiful, however far short it might fall in artistic qualities. This -was the week during which Claude was occupied in the preparation of his -paper for the Geographical Society; but in spite of his being so busy, -he found time to pay more than one visit to The Kroll. His were business -visits, he was careful to explain. Yes, it was necessary for him to see -that the backgrounds sketched by Clare at least suggested the tropics. - -Agnes stood by while he made his suggestions at these times, and when, -now and again, she was applied to for an opinion on some point on which -the others could not make up their mind, she gave her opinion--that was -all the part she took in the transaction. She was beginning to be weary -of the vegetation of the tropics and its adaptability to pictorial -treatment, though for some years of her life she had passed no day -without reading a page or two that had some bearing upon Central Africa. -She was startled as she reflected upon the change that had taken place -in her views during a fortnight. She never wished to see another book -on Central Africa. She could not even do more than pretend to take -an interest in the book which Claude was about to write and Clare to -illustrate. - -Once as she heard him describe to the girl a scene which he thought she -should be prepared to deal with in a picture, her mind went back to the -nights when she had awaked shrieking from a dream in which she had seen -him lying dead in the midst of the savages who had massacred him and his -companions. She had had such dreams frequently during the months when -the newspapers were writing their comments upon the disappearance of -Westwood and his expedition. How feeble and colourless would be the most -spirited of Clare's illustrations compared to those dreams! She smiled -as she recalled some of them. She wondered how it was possible for -her ever to have taken so much interest in African exploration It was -certainly not a subject that many girls would pass several years of -their life trying to master. - -Often when she glanced across the room and saw Claude there she asked -herself if it was possible that she still loved him. - -She could not answer the question. Her love for him had become so much -a part of her life she could not imagine living without it. She wondered -if women could continue loving men who had treated them as he had -treated her. When she thought over his treatment of her she wondered -how it was that she did not hate him. She had heard of love turning to -hatred--hatred as immortal as love--and yet it did not appear to her -that she had such a feeling in regard to him. She seemed to have -settled down into her life under its altered conditions as easily and as -uncomplainingly as it she had always looked forward to life under such -conditions. - -It was on the eve of Claude Westwood's departure for London to appear -before the Geographical Society, that Clare sat down to the piano. She -had latterly neglected her singing in favour of her drawing, and now -only opened the piano at the request of Agnes. - -“What shall I sing?” she cried. “I feel just now as if I could make -a great success at La Scala--I feel that my nerves are strung to the -highest pitch possible, though why I should be so is a mystery to me. It -is not I who have to appear in that big hall to-morrow evening, and yet -I feel as if I were about to make my _début_.” - -She ran her fingers up and down the keys, improvising a succession of -chords that sounded like a march of triumph. - -“I want to sing something like that--something with trumpets in it,” she -said, with a laugh. “I feel in a mood for trumpets and drums. You -heard what Mr. Westwood said about the musical instruments of the -Gakennas--that awful drum made of rhinoceros hide pared down and -stretched between two branches? What an awful instrument of torture!” - -“Shocking, indeed--nearly as bad as a pianoforte under incompetent -hands--probably worse than a brass orchestra made in Germany,” said -Agnes. “Don't let your song be dominated by any influence less cultured -than Chopin.” - -Clare went on improvising, but gradually the notes of triumph became -less pronounced, and the modulation was in a minor key. In a short time -the random fancies assumed a definite form; but it was probably the -chance playing of a few notes that suggested to her the exquisite -“Nightingale” theme, so splendidly worked out by her master--the -greatest of all Italians. - - “You and I, you and I, - - Sisters are we, O nightingale. - - On the wings of song we fly-- - - On the wings of song we sail; - - When our feathered pinions fail, - - Floats a feather of song on high - - Light as thistledown in a gale. - - You and I the heaven will scale; - - For only song can reach the sky. - - Only the song of the nightingale; - - And we are sisters, you and I.” - -She fled away on the wings of the exquisite song, startling Agnes with -the passion which she imparted to every note--a passion that waxed -greater with every phrase until at the close of the stanza it became -overwhelming. The music of the moon is embodied in every note, though -the master was too artistic to make any attempt to reproduce the -nightingale's song. He knew that no such attempt could ever approach -success; but he knew that it was within the scope of his art to -produce upon the mind the same effect as is produced by the song of the -nightingale, and this effect he achieved. - -Agnes listened with surprise at first, for the girl had never sung with -such _abandon_ before; but at the plaintive second stanza--the music -illustrated another effect of the bird's singing--she half-closed her -eyes, and gave herself up to the delight of listening. At the third -stanza--Love Triumphant, the composer had called it--she became more -amazed than before. The theme takes the form of a duet, as the scena -was originally arranged by the composer, and now it actually appeared to -Agnes as if the tenor part was being sung as well as the soprano, in the -room--no, not in the room, but in the distance--outside the house. - -She raised her head and listened eagerly. There could be no doubt about -it--some one was singing at the window the tenor part of the duet. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -|CLARE was absorbed in her singing--she seemed to be quite unaware of the -fact that there was anything unusual in the introduction of the second -voice--indeed she appeared to be unconscious of everything but the -realisation of the aims of the composer. - -Agnes did not make any attempt to interrupt her, and the duet went on to -its passionate close. But so soon as the last notes had died away, the -phrase was repeated, after a little pause, by the singer outside. - - “Beating against dawn's silver door, - - The song has fled over sea, over sea; - - Morn's music to thee is for evermore-- - - But what is for me, love, what is for me?” - -The passionate cry was repeated with startling effect. But not until the -last note had sounded did Clare spring from her seat at the piano. She -stood in the centre of the room in the attitude of an eager listener. -Her face was flushed, and her eyes were still tremulous with the tears -that evermore rushed to them when singing that song. She listened, but -no further note came from that mysterious voice. The night was silent. - -The girl turned to Agnes; a little frown was on her face, but still it -was roseate, and she gave a laugh. - -“I did not think that he could possibly be so great a fool,” she said, -as if communing with herself. - -“A fool!” cried Agnes. “Is it possible that you know who it is that -sang? I thought that I was dreaming when I first heard that voice; and -then--but you know who it is?” - -“He said he would follow me to England--to the world's end,” laughed -Clare. “Oh, these Italians have got no idea of things--the serenade -needs an Italian sky--warmth and moonlight and the scent of orange -blossoms, and the nightingale among the pomegranates. The serenade -is natural with such surroundings; but in England, toward the end -of November--oh, the notion is only ridiculous! He will have a cold -to-morrow that may ruin his career. His tenor is of an exceptional -quality, the maestro said: it cannot stand any strain, to say nothing of -the open-air on a November night. What a fool he is!” - -“You have not yet told me what his name is,” said Agnes. - -“What? Surely I told you all about Ciro Rodani?” - -“Some weeks ago you mentioned the fact that you had a friend of that -name, and that he had taken a part in an opera produced some time ago, -and sent you a newspaper with an account of--of his success. You did not -say that he was still in England.” - -“He didn't remain in England. He was in Paris when I last heard of him. -He must have learned from Signor Marini that I was here. The maestro is -the only one who knows my address. Oh, how silly he has been!” - -Agnes threw herself back in her chair and laughed. But Clare did not -laugh--at first. On the contrary, she flushed and frowned, standing in -the middle of the room. At last she laughed in unison with Agnes, as the -latter said: - -“What a pretty little romance I have come upon all at once! Ah, my -dear, I wondered how it was possible for you to remain in Italy so long -without making victims of some of that susceptible nation. Poor Signor -Rodani! But it was only natural. You studied together the most alluring -of the arts--he a tenor, you a soprano. That is how the operas are cast, -is it not? The tenor is invariably paired off with the soprano. But -alas, he is not always such a marvel of fidelity as your friend outside. -By the way, I hope he is not still in the garden. He will not form -any exaggerated idea of English hospitality if we allow him to remain -outside on so cold a night; but still, it is very late--too late for -a couple of lone women to entertain a visitor, especially when that -visitor is an operatic tenor.” - -“Oh, he has gone away, you may be sure,” said Clare. “Besides, he should -know that houses in this country have knockers and bells. Why shouldn't -he behave like a civilised person though he is a tenor?” - -“I'm afraid that you've become sadly prosaic since you arrived in -England,” said Agnes. “Where is the romance in behaving like ordinary -people? Knockers and bells are for prosaic people; the serenade and the -guitar are for operatic tenors. I shouldn't wonder if your friend did a -little in the guitar line also.” - -“He does a great deal in it,” laughed the girl. “Thank goodness he -spared us the guitar.” - -“The thought of a young man going out in cold blood to serenade a young -woman on a November night is too terrible. I only hope he does not -travel with one of those wonderful silk rope ladders which play so -important a part in the lyric stage.” - -“Goodness only knows,” said Clare, shaking her head despondently. “When -there's a romantic man at large nobody can tell what may happen.” - -“Is it possible that you do not respond with the least feeling of -tenderness to such devotion?” said Agnes. “Is it possible that you have -the courage to run counter to the best established traditions in this -affair? Think of your duty as a soprano.” - -“I thought that I had given him a sufficient answer long ago,” said -Clare, frowning. “He has fancied himself in love with a score of the -girls who sang duets with him. Girls, did I say? Why, I heard that he -was continually at the feet of Madame Scherzo before he saw me, and -the Scherzo has sons older than he is, and besides--well, she isn't any -longer what you'd call slim.” - -“No, she wasn't even slim when I was a girl,” said Agnes. “But, my dear, -you must remember that a tenor is a tenor.” - -“Somebody once said that a tenor was a malady,” said Clare. “I do wish -that this particular complaint had remained in Milan. Heavens! Why -should I be troubled with him just when I need to give all my thoughts -to my work? He is sure to come back to-morrow, and this time he will -ring the bell.” - -“You can scarcely refuse to see him,” said Agnes. “But are you really -certain of yourself? Are you sure that you have no tender regard for -him?” - -“I think I am pretty sure,” replied the girl. “I never was in the least -moved by his sighs and his prayers--I was only moved to laughter--when -he wasn't near, of course. If I had laughed when he was present he would -have killed either me or himself.” - -“The only way by which a girl can be certain that she does not love one -man is to be certain that she loves another,” said Agnes. “I wonder if -Signor Rodani has a rival?” - -She glanced at Clare's face: it was blazing. The laugh she gave was a -very uneasy one. Agnes became interested. Seeing these signs she rose -from her chair, and went across the room to the girl, laying her hands -on her shoulders, and looking searchingly down into her face. Clare, -however, declined to meet her gaze. She only glanced up for a second. -Then she turned to one side and laid a hand on the keys of the piano, -pressing them down so gently as to produce no sound. - -Agnes laughed as she raised her hands from the girl's shoulders. - -“I am answered,” she said. “You have told me all that your heart has to -tell. I will ask you nothing more. Oh, I wondered how it was possible -for so sweet a girl as you to escape.” - -Clare sprang to her feet and threw her arms about the neck of her -friend, hiding her roseate face on her shoulder. - -“I'm afraid that you have guessed too much,” she whispered. “I did not -mean to confess anything--I have not even confessed to myself; but -you took me so by surprise. Please do not say anything about my -foolishness--it really is foolishness. You will let my secret remain a -secret--oh, you must, my dear Agnes; I tell you truly when I say that it -was a secret even to myself, until your question surprised me, so that I -could not help--But I have told you nothing--you will assume that I have -told you nothing?” - -“I will assume anything you please, my dearest child,” said Agnes. “You -may trust to me to keep your secret; I will not refer to it, even to -yourself. But what about the unhappy Signor Rodani? Is he to return to -Italy without seeing you?” - -“Oh, I will see him at any time,” cried Clare, making a gesture of -indifference which she had acquired in Italy. “I do not mind in the -least seeing him face to face. What have I to fear from him? There never -was any one so foolish as he is.” - -“I hope he will find his way to the bell-pull,” said Agnes; “although I -frankly admit that there is much more romance in approaching the object -of one's adoration by a serenade than by a bell-pull, still--I suppose -he would be shocked if I were to ask him to dine with us.” - -“Why should you ask him to dine with us?” said Clare. - -“Well, when a distinguished stranger comes to our neighbourhood”-- - -“He would only fancy if he were asked to dinner that I had not made up -my mind. He would think that I was merely coquetting with him--that I -was anxious to have him still hanging about; and that might spoil his -career in addition to its being very unpleasant to myself. No, let him -come: I will put him out of pain at once. I am sure that is the most -merciful course to pursue in regard to sentimental lovers who are gifted -with supersensitive tenor organs. If poor Ciro does not suffer from -his escapade to-night he may be tempted to come again upon a rainy -night--and where would he be then?” - -“I am sure that you take the most merciful view of the case,” said -Agnes. “Alas! that one should be compelled to talk of the dismissal of a -lover as one talks about the lethal chamber!” - -“Oh, my dear Agnes,” cried Clare, “if you had ever been one of a class -of vocalists in Italy you would not talk about a little incident such as -this is, as an equivalent to the lethal chamber. I wonder if there are -any other employments that have such an effect upon the--the--well, -let us say the nerves, as the art of singing. My experience is that a -singing class is a forcing house of the affections. I only found out -after I had been with the maestro for two years, that it was his fun to -throw all of us together so that our wits might be sharpened--that was -how he put it. What he meant was that we all sang best when we were -in love with one another. Heaven! the scenes that I have witnessed! A -_tenore robusto_ used to sharpen his knife on the stone steps so as -to be ready to cut the heart out of the _basso profundo_, who was -unfortunate enough to fancy himself in love with the _mezzo-soprano_.” - -“What an interesting experience! But what a shocking old man your master -must have been!” laughed Agnes. - -“Oh, he cared about nothing but to advance us in our knowledge of the -art of expressing the emotions by singing. How could we know how to -interpret a passion which we had never felt, he used to ask.” - -“So he encouraged the tenor to put a fine edge on his knife, hoping that -he would have a better idea of interpreting his revenge when he had cut -the heart out of the bosom of his brother artist? Yes, I'm afraid that -though an estimable exponent of the art of vocalism, your maestro was -lacking in some of the finer principles of the moralist.” - -“He took nothing into consideration except his art,” said Clare. “He -admitted to me that he liked to see his pupils miserable, for only then -could they be depended on to do justice to themselves. He made mischief -between young people only that he might study them when blazing with -revenge. He has reproduced for me an entire scena founded on a lover's -quarrel that he himself brought about.” - -“So cold-blooded an old wretch could not be imagined!” cried Agnes. “And -yet he could compose so transcendent a theme as the 'Nightingale'! Oh, -my dear Clare, one feels that this art is a terrible thing after all.” - -“I feel that I have wasted my time with Signor Marini,” said Clare. -“What would I not give now to have studied drawing as I studied -singing!” - -“You are still afraid of attacking those illustrations? I wonder how the -maestro would treat your mood in his music?” - -“My mood has been dealt with long ago,” cried Clare. “It is in the -opera of 'Orféo'--the despair of Orpheus when he was longing for -the unattainable. Oh, I would make a splendid Orpheus at the present -moment.” She almost flung herself down on the piano seat and struck a -chord; but she only sang a phrase or two of the marvellous lament “Che -farô senz' Eurydice?” Her voice was choked. She sprang from her seat -and threw herself into the sympathetic arms of her friend. Only for an -instant did she remain there. With a long kiss and a rapid “Good-night” - she harried from the room. - -Agnes was left alone to try to put a coherent interpretation upon her -mood. She commenced her task with smiles, thinking of the sentimental -young Italian who had not shrunk from the attempt to adapt a serenade -to an English November; but before long her smiles had vanished. She sat -thinking for a long time; and yet the whole sum of her thoughts found no -wider expression than the sigh which came from her as she said: - -“Poor child! poor child! May she never know the truth! That is my prayer -for her to-night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -|He may come at any time,” cried Clare, after breakfast the next -morning. “But I shall be prepared for him. Why will men be so foolish? -Why should he follow me to England in the month of November? Has he no -regard for his voice? Where would he be if he failed to do the C natural -some day? And yet he is foolish enough to run the risk of ruining his -career simply for the sake of impressing me with his devotion!” - -There seemed to Agnes to be a note ot hardness in the girl's way of -speaking about her unhappy lover. Her intolerance of his devotion seemed -a trifle unkind. - -“Don't you think that he should have your sympathy, my dear?” she asked. -“Do you fancy that he is to be blamed on account of the shortcomings in -Signor Marini's system? Surely he is more to be pitied than blamed for -falling in love with some one who refuses to respond to him?” - -Clare made a little impatient movement, but in another second she became -penitent, and hung her head. - -“I suppose I should be sorry for Ciro,” she said, mournfully. “Yes, -I think I do feel a little pity for him, in spite of his sentimental -foolishness. Undoubtedly the maestro was to blame. I know that it was -he who encouraged the susceptible Ciro in spite of all that I could say. -But why should the foolish boy single me out for his adoration when he -knew very well that there were four soprani and three contralti in the -class who were ready to catch the handkerchief whenever it might please -him to throw it? They all worshipped him. I could see it plainly when -he got upon his upper register, with now and again a hideous falsetto -D; and yet nothing would content him--he must lay his heart at my feet. -Those were his words; don't fancy that they are mine.” - -“Even so, you should not be too hard on him,” said Agnes. “Ah, my dear -Clare, constancy and devotion in a man are not to be lightly considered. -They may be part of a woman's nature--it seems to be taken for granted -that they are part of a woman's nature; but they certainly are no part -of a man's. That is why I am disposed to say a good word for our friend -with that sweet tenor voice.” - -“What am I to do?” cried Clare. “I must either tell him the truth--that -I am quite indifferent to him; or make him believe what is untrue--that -I am not without a secret _tendresse_ for him. Now, surely I should be -doing a great injustice to him--yes, and to the score of young women who -worship him--if I were to encourage him to fancy that some day I might -listen to his prayer.” - -“There is no question, my Clare, as to what course you should pursue,” - said Agnes. “All that I would urge upon you is not to hurt him more than -is absolutely necessary.” - -“You are thinking of the lethal chamber again,” said Clare. “Never mind; -what you say is quite true, and I shall endeavor to treat him so gently -that he will leave me feeling that he has been complimented rather than -humiliated. After all, he means to pay to me the greatest compliment in -his power, poor fellow.” - -“And you will show him that you appreciate it?” - -“I will do my best.” - -Before they had had their little chat the bell sounded. - -“I knew that he would become prosaic enough to pull the bell like an -ordinary mortal,” said Clare. “Of course you will remain by my side, -Agnes. Even a sentimental Italian cannot expect to enter a lady's house -surreptitiously.” - -It was not, however, Signor Rodani who was shown into the room, but Mr. -Westwood. He was wearing a great fur coat, and was actually on his -way to the railway station. He was to read his paper to the Society -at night, and had merely looked in at The Knoll to say good-bye to his -friends. - -This was the explanation he offered to account for his visit at so -irregular an hour. He had under his arm a small case containing all -the trophies which he had succeeded in bringing from the land of his -captivity--the small bow, the poisoned arrows, and the seeds of the -linen plant. The bow and arrows were in a glazed case, which was locked. -The more precious seeds were carefully wrapped in wadding. Neither Agnes -nor Clare had seen these trophies before, though Claude Westwood had -frequently alluded to them after that first day on which he had spoken -about his travels through the wonderful forest. - -“I shall make a very poor display on the platform, I fear,” said he. “I -remember the first African lecture at which I was present. The explorer -appeared on the platform surrounded by his elephant rifles, his lions' -skins, his elephants' tusks, his rhinoceros' skulls, his countless -antlers. He made an imposing show--very different from what I shall make -with my half-dozen arrows and my few seeds. I'm afraid that the people -will take me for a fraud. The idea of a man going to Central Africa, and -returning after a nine years' residence, with nothing better than these, -will seem a little foolish in many people's eyes.” - -Clare was indignant at the suggestion that any one would venture to -underrate the achievements of an explorer who had come through the most -terrible parts of Africa with no arms that would give him an advantage -over the natives. And as for the trophies, what were all the discoveries -of all the explorers in comparison with the seeds of the linen plant, -she asked. - -“I knew that I could trust to you to say something encouraging to me,” - cried Claude. “That is why I could not go up to London without first -coming to bid you good-bye, and to get you to wish me good luck.” - -“Good luck--good luck--good luck!” said Clare, as he wrapped up his case -of arrows. “Of course, we wish you all the good luck in the world; the -fact being that our fortunes are bound up with yours. Was it not Agnes -and I who insisted on your promising to write that book?” - -“I am quite content that you should look on our fortunes as bound up -together,” said he, slowly and with curious emphasis. “Our fortunes -are bound up together”--he had taken her hand, and continued holding it -while he was speaking. “Our fortunes--what is my fortune must be yours.” - -“That is quite true, for am not I your illustrator?” cried Clare. “The -book will be a success, and no matter how bad the pictures may be, they -will be part of a successful book.” - -He looked at her for a few moments and then said good-bye to her and -Agnes. Agnes had not opened her lips throughout the interview. She -could not help thinking, as she watched him go down the drive, of the -marvellous change that had come over him since the day of his return to -Brackenshire--the day when he had paid her that visit during which he -had been able to talk of nothing except the man who had murdered his -brother. A few weeks had been sufficient to awaken the ambition which -she had thought was dead. It seemed to her that he had just left the -room, saying the very words that he had spoken years before: - -“I will make a name worthy of your acceptance.” - -She stood at the window of the room so lost in her own reflections that -she did not hear the ringing of the bell or the announcement of the new -visitor. She only became aware of the fact that Clare was talking to -some one in the room. She supposed that Claude had returned for some -purpose, and was quite surprised to see the half-bent figure of an -under-sized man, who wore an exceedingly neat moustache, and a tie with -long flying ends. - -He remained for a long time in the attitude of some one giving an -exaggerated parody of an overpolite foreigner. - -“This is Signor Rodani,” said Clare: and the young man straightened -himself for a second, and bowed once again, even lower than before. And -now he had both his hands pressed together over the region of his heart. -Agnes felt as if she were once again in the act of taking a lesson from -her dancing master, it seemed a poor thing after such a flourish to -inquire if Signor Rodani found the day cold. - -She spoke in French, that being the language in which Clare had -presented him. The young man bowed once again--this was the third time -to Agnes's certain knowledge, though she fancied he must have indulged -in more than a nod before she had become aware of his presence--and -begged leave to assure Madame--he called her Madame--that the weather -was very charming. She then ventured to remark that now and again in -England the latter days of November were fine, and then inquired if he -meant to winter in England; at which he gave a slight start, and Agnes -felt sure his lips shaped themselves to pronounce the word “Diable!” He -did not utter the word, however; he only gave a smile and a shrug, -and said that a winter in England was not in his mind at that moment; -still--it depended. - -She interpreted his smile and his shrug into a sort of acknowledgment -that if it were made worth his while he might even be induced to -consider the possibility of his wintering in England. - -She then saw him looking imploringly but politely at Clare, and it -occurred to her that the sooner he was left alone for the girl to -explain to him whatever matters might stand in need of an explanation, -the more satisfactory it would be to every one. So without telling -him how greatly she had enjoyed his singing of the tenor part in the -“Nightingale” duet the previous evening, she made a very feeble excuse -for leaving the room. She had an idea that Signor Rodani would not be -severely exacting in regard to the validity of her excuses: he would -be generous enough to accept as ample any pretext she might offer for -leaving him alone with Clare. - -When he straightened himself after bowing her to the door, he allowed -Agnes to perceive that Clare was certainly a full head taller than he -was. - -For the next quarter of an hour any one passing the drawing-room door -might have heard the sound of a duet (_parlando_) being delivered in -the musical Italian tongue within that room. As a matter of fact some -impassioned phrases made themselves heard all over the house. Then there -was heard a quick opening of the door; a few words of bitter but highly -musical upbraiding, sounded in a man's, though not a very manly, voice, -and before the butler had time to get to the hall-door the hall-door was -opened, and Agnes saw the figure of Signor Rodani on the drive. He was -hurrying away with a considerable degree of impetuosity, and he held a -brilliant coloured handkerchief to his eyes. - -“He is gone,” said Clare, when Agnes returned to the room in the course -of the next half-hour. - -“I saw him on the drive,” said Agnes. She noticed that Clare kept her -head carefully averted for some time; but when she happened to glance -round, Agnes saw that she had been weeping. The handkerchief of Signor -Rodani was not the only one that had been requisitioned for the purpose -of removing the traces of tears. She was pleased to observe that little -tint of red beneath the girl's lashes: it told her that she was not so -hard-hearted as she had tried to make Agnes believe. - -“He is gone, so that nothing further need be said about him, except -that, if he gets within observing distance of the Maestro Marini within -the next week or so--I suppose it will take a few weeks to bring him -to himself again--he may make the good maestro aware of some of the -shortcomings in the working of his system,” said Agnes. - -“I wonder it never occurred to us to go up to London to hear the paper -read at the Geographical Society to-night,” said Clare; and Agnes was -startled at the suddenness with which she flung aside Signor Rodani as a -topic and began to talk of Mr. Westwood. - -“We could scarcely go without an invitation, and Mr. Westwood certainly -never offered to procure tickets for us,” said Agnes. - -When they had nearly finished their dinner that night, the French clock -on the bracket chimed the half hour. Clare dropped the spoon with which -she was eating her jelly. - -“Half-past eight; he will be beginning to read his paper now,” she said. -“How I wish I were at the Albert Hall! I can hear the people cheering -him--I suppose they will cheer him, Agnes?” - -“If you can hear them cheering, my dear, you may take it for granted -they are cheering him,” said Agnes, smiling across the table at her. - -Clare laughed. - -“Oh yes, they will cheer,” she said. - -“I daresay they are about it now,” said Agnes. “I don't quite know how -long the people as a rule keep up their enthusiasm to the cheering point -in regard to a man who has achieved something. I believe they have been -known to cheer a great soldier for an entire month after his return from -adding a country about the size of France to the Empire. They may cheer -Mr. Westwood, although he has been at home for more than a month. I -don't think, however, that he would have been wise to keep in seclusion -for many more days. An Arctic traveller who is likely to turn up shortly -will soon shoulder him aside.” - -“Oh, Arctic exploration is a very poor thing compared with African,” - said Clare. “What good was ever got by going to the North Pole, I should -like to know?” - -“The person who went very close to it made as much money during the year -after his return as should keep him very comfortably for the rest of -his days, I hear,” said Agnes. “The North Pole did him some good, if his -excursion was a complete failure from a scientific standpoint. However, -the people cheered him for coming back safe and sound, and I think that -for the same reason you may assume that they are cheering Mr. Westwood -at the present moment.” - -And so they were. The London newspaper which was received the next -morning made at least that fact plain. Clare was waiting at the hall -door to receive it from the hand of the messenger from the book-stall, -and she was tearing off the cover as Agnes came down the stairs to -breakfast, and before the coffee had been poured out Clare had found -the series of headings that marked the report of Mr. Westwood's lecture, -delivered in the Royal Albert Hall, at the invitation of the Royal -Geographical Society. - -“Here it is,” she cried. “Mr. Westwood at the Albert Hall--Thrilling -Narrative--the Hebrew Ritual in Central Africa--The Linen Plant. But -they only give three columns to the lecture while they have devoted -seven to--to--you will not believe it--but there is the heading: -'The Chancellor of the Exchequer on Bimetallism'--just think of -it--Bimetallism! As if any one in the world cares a scrap about -Bimetallism! Seven columns! What a foolish paper! But the cheers were -all right. 'The intrepid explorer on coming forward was greeted by -enthusiastic cheers from the large and distinguished audience who had -assembled to do him honour. Several minutes elapsed before Mr. Westwood -was permitted to proceed with his paper.' Oh, we were not mistaken; the -cheers were all right.” - -“Your coffee will be cold,” remarked Agnes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -|Some days had passed before Claude Westwood was able to return to the -Court. He seemed now to be as anxious for publicity as on his landing -in England he had been to avoid it. He was daily with Messrs. Shekels & -Shackles completing his arrangements with them for the production of his -book, so as to preclude the need for another visit until he had written -the last page of the manuscript. He did not want to be disturbed, -he said, while engaged at the work; and Messrs. Shekels & Shackles -cordially agreed with him in thinking that he should be allowed to give -all his attention to the actual writing of his narrative, without being -worried by any of the technical incidents of presenting it in book form -to the public. - -They urged upon him the advisability of losing no moment of time in -settling down to his work. Already a valuable month had been thrown -away, they reminded him; and although, happily, the reports from the -North were to the effect that the winter had set in with such severity -as to make it practically impossible for Mr. Glasnevin, the Arctic -explorer, to free himself from his ice-prison before the spring, so that -his formidable rivalry would not interfere with the popularity of Mr. -Westwood, still they had heard that another gentleman might be expected -any day from the Amazon. This gentleman, in addition to a narrative -of two years' residence among the Indians of the Pampas, would, it was -reported, be able to give the public photographs of the injuries which -had been inflicted on him by his captors, who were known to be the most -ingenious torturers in the world. They feared that if this gentleman got -home during the winter his arrival would seriously interfere with the -sale of Mr. Westwood's book. They could only hope, however, that the -Foreign Office would take up the case of the traveller at the Amazon, -for that would mean the indefinite postponement of his liberation, so -that Mr. Westwood would have the field to himself. - -Without waiting to say whether or not he took the same bright and cheery -view of the freezing in of the Arctic explorer or of the operation of -the British consular system in regard to the tortured gentleman in South -America, Mr. Westwood promised to do his best for his optimistic if -anxious publishers, and so departed. - -He regretted, however, that he could not see his way to dictate to a -shorthand writer a dozen or so interviews with himself which could be -judiciously distributed among the newspapers at intervals, so as to keep -his name prominently before a public who are ever ready to throw over -one idol for another. - -It was probably his strong sense of what was due to his publishers, -that caused him to hasten to The Knoll on the very day of his return to -Brackenshire. It was perfectly plain from the comments on his lecture, -which had already appeared and were appearing daily in the newspapers, -that the discoveries made by him in Central Africa had become the topic -of the hour. Why, even Brackenhurst had awakened to find that a famous -man was residing in its neighbourhood, and when one's native place is -brought to acknowledge one's fame, which all the rest of the world is -talking about, one may rightly feel that one is famous. Therefore, as -Mr. Westwood explained to Agnes and Clare, it was necessary for him to -start upon his book at once. - -He wasted as much time explaining this as would have been sufficient -to write a chapter; and in the end he did nothing except invite them to -dine at the Court on the following night, in order that they might talk -more fully on the question of the need for haste. - -“Do you think that it is necessary to waste time discussing the -advisability of not wasting time?” asked Agnes; and immediately Clare -turned her large eyes reproachfully upon her; there was more of sorrow -than reproach in Claude's eyes as he looked at her. She met their eyes -without changing colour. - -“Oh, of course, I know that I am quite outside the plans of you -workers,” she continued. “It is somewhat presumptuous for me to assume -the position of your adviser on a purely literary question, so I shall -be very happy to dine at the Court.” - -“Thank you,” said Claude. “I have been out of touch for so long with -English society I have almost forgotten their traditions; but I don't -think that I am wrong in assuming that no work of any importance, -either charitable or social, can be begun without a dinner. Now, without -venturing to suggest that our work--Clare's and mine--is one of supreme -importance, I do not think that it would be wise for us to ignore the -custom which tradition has almost made sacred--especially when it is -in sympathy with our own inclinations. We'll take care not to bore you, -Agnes,” he added. “I met Sir Percival Hope just now, and he promised to -be of our party.” - -“Now!” cried Clare, in a tone that seemed to suggest that Agnes could -not possibly have further ground for objection. - -Agnes raised her hands. - -“I am overwhelmed with remorse for having made any suggestion that was -not quite in keeping with your inclinations,” she said. - -She and Clare accordingly drove to the Court on the next evening, and -found Sir Percival in one of the drawing-rooms talking to his host on -the subject of the recent poaching in the coverts of the Court and also -on Sir Percival's property. The poachers were getting more daring every -day, it appeared, and Ralph Dangan's vigilance seemed overmatched by -their cunning so far as Sir Percival's preserves were concerned. Sir -Percival said that his new gamekeeper accounted for the recent outbreak -on the ground that neither of the proprietors had displayed the sporting -tastes of the previous holders of the property, and the poachers thought -it a pity that the pheasants should become too numerous. - -Claude smiled as Sir Percival made him acquainted with his late -gamekeeper's theory. - -“It is very obliging on their part to undertake the thinning down of my -birds,” said he, “and if I could rely on their discretion in the matter -all would be well. I am afraid, however, that one cannot take their -judgment for granted; so that whenever Dangan thinks that our forces -should be joined to make a capture of the gang, I'll give instructions -for my keepers to coôperate with him.” - -At dinner, too, the conversation, instead of flowing in literary -channels, was never turned aside from the question of poaching and -poachers. Sir Percival's experiences in Australia had no more changed -his views than Claude Westwood's experiences of Central Africa had -altered his, on the subject of the English crime of poaching. - -Agnes had not been within the house since the week preceding the tragedy -that had taken place in the grounds surrounding it. She had had no idea -that she would be so deeply affected on entering the drawing-room. -But the instant she found herself in the midst of the beautiful old -furniture that had been familiar to her for so many years, she was -nearly overcome by the crowd of recollections that were brought back to -her. She put out her hand nervously to a sofa and grasped the back of it -for an instant before moving round it to seat herself. - -She felt herself staggering, but hoped that no one had noticed her -apprehension, and when she had seated herself she closed her eyes. It -seemed to her that she was in a dream. She heard the sound of voices, -but not the voices of any one present, only the voices of those who were -far away; and it seemed to her that among them was the Claude Westwood -whom she had known and loved so many years ago. She had suddenly become -possessed of the strange dream fancy that the man who had taken her hand -on her entering the room was the man who had killed both Dick Westwood -and his brother Claude. - -Happily the conversation was only about the poachers, so that she could -not be expected to take part in it; and during the five minutes that -elapsed before dinner was announced, she partly recovered herself. But -the shiver which came over her when she opened her eyes was noticed by -Clare. - -“What, you are cold?” she whispered. “Come to the fire; you can pretend -to be pointing out the carving of the mantel to me.” - -Agnes shook her head and smiled. She knew that just at that moment -she had not strength to walk to the fireplace, and she did not -under-estimate her own powers; when, however, the butler appeared at -the door, and Claude came in front of her, she was able to rise and walk -into the diningroom by his side. - -After dinner Clare showed the greatest possible interest in the -drawing-rooms and their contents, and Agnes, who was, of course, -familiar with everything, told her much about the furniture and the -pictures. For a century and a half the Westwoods had been a wealthy -family, and many treasures had been accumulated by the successive owners -of the Court. But there was one picture on an easel which Agnes had not -seen before. It was a portrait of Dick Westwood, and it had been painted -by a great painter. - -Agnes and Clare were standing opposite to it when Claude and Sir -Percival entered the room; they had only remained for a few minutes over -their wine. Claude came behind Agnes, saying: - -“You did not see that until now? I am sure that it is an excellent -likeness, and the face is not, after all, so different from poor Dick's -as I remember him.” - -“It is a perfect likeness,” said Agnes. “But I cannot understand how you -got it. It is not the sort of portrait that could be painted only from a -photograph.” - -“He did not tell you that he was giving sittings to the painter when he -was last in London?” said Claude. - -“He never mentioned it,” said Agnes. - -“I brought it with me from the painter's studio the day before -yesterday,” said Claude. “He wrote to me the day before I left for -London, explaining that Dick had given him a few sittings in May, and -had promised to return to the studio in July. He said he should like me -to see the portrait in its unfinished condition. Judge of my feelings -when I found myself facing that fine work. I carried it away with me at -once.” Then he turned to Clare, saying, “Look at it; it is the portrait -of the best fellow that ever lived--that ever died by the hand of a -wretch whom he had never injured--a wretch who is alive to-day.” - -Agnes moved away from the picture with Sir Percival; but Clare remained -by the side of Claude looking at the face on the easel. - -“How you loved him!” Agnes heard her say in a low voice. - -“Loved him--loved him!” said Claude Westwood. He gave a little laugh as -he took a step or two away from the picture. “Loved him! I love him so -dearly that”-- - -Agnes looked with eager eyes across the room. She waited for Clare to -say a word of pity for the man whose life had been spared, who had -been given time to repent of his dreadful deed, but that word remained -unspoken. - -For the second time that evening a shiver went through Agnes. Sir -Percival watched her as she watched the others across the room. There -was a long interval of silence before Claude began to talk to the -girl In a low voice, and shortly afterwards went with her through the -_portière_ that divided the two drawing-rooms. - -“I want Clare to see the picture of Dick and myself taken when he was -ten and I was eight--you know it, Agnes,” he said, as he followed Clare. -The next minute the sound of his voice and Clare's came from the other -room. - -Sir Percival had been examining the case containing the poisoned arrows -which lay on a table; but now he stood before Agnes. - -“You have seen it,” he said. “I know that you have seen it as well as I. -Is it too late to send her away?” - -Agnes started. - -“It cannot be possible that you, too, know it,” she said. “Oh no; you -cannot have become acquainted with that horrible thing.” - -“I must confess that I never suspected it before this evening,” said he. -“But what I have seen here has been enough to tell me all that there is -to be told.” - -She stared at him in silence for a few moments. “What have you been -told?” she asked at last. “You cannot have failed to learn the truth,” - said he. “You cannot have failed to see that Claude Westwood is in love -with that girl.” - -With a little cry she had sprung to her feet and grasped his arm. - -“No, no; not that--not that!” she whispered. “Oh no; that would be too -horrible!” - -“It is horrible to think that a man can forget all that he has -forgotten. Good heavens! After eight years! Was ever woman so true? Was -ever man so false?” - -“I have been blind--blind! Whatever I may have thought, I never imagined -this. He met her aboard the steamer--he must have become attached to her -before he saw her with me.” - -She was speaking in a low voice and without looking at him. He remained -silent. She walked across the room with nervous steps. Several times she -passed and repassed the picture on the easel, her fingers twitching at -the lace of her dress. - -Gradually then her steps became firmer and more deliberate. The sound of -a rippling laugh came from the other room. She stopped suddenly in her -restless pacing of the floor. She looked at the portrait on the easel, -and after a short space, she too laughed. - -“It is a just punishment!” she said. “He loves her and she loves -another--she confessed it to me. He will be punished, and no one will -pity him.” - -Then Clare reappeared in the arch from which the curtain had been drawn, -and Claude followed her. - -Agnes glanced first at the girl, then at the man. She looked toward Sir -Percival and smiled. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -|It seemed to her that there was something marvellously appropriate in -the punishment which was to be his, and she would not stretch out a hand -to avert it. He who had made her to suffer for her constancy to him was -about to suffer for his cruelty to her. Her love had brought suffering -to her, and it was surely the justice of Heaven which had decreed that -his new love was to mean suffering to himself. - -She could not feel the least pity for him; on the contrary, she felt -ready to exult over him--to laugh in his face when the blow had fallen -upon him. She felt that she should like to see him crushed to the -earth--overwhelmed when he fancied that his hour of triumph had come. -Only this night did the desire to see him punished take possession of -her. She wondered how it was that she had been so patient in the face of -the wrong which he had done to her. When she had flung down and trampled -on the ivory miniature of him which had stood on her table, she had wept -over the fragments, and the next day she had been filled with remorse. -She had seen him many times since that day, but no reproach had passed -her lips, for no reproach had been in her heart. She had merely thought -of him as having ceased to love her whom he had promised to love. But -now when she stood alone in her room, knowing that he had not merely -forsaken her but had come to love another woman, her hands clenched and -her heart burned with the desire of revenge. - -A few hours before, she had been shocked by his desire to be revenged -upon the wretch who had killed his brother; but she did not think of -this as she paced her room in the sway of that sudden passion which had -come to her. She felt exultant in the thought of his coming humiliation. -It was the justice of Heaven overtaking him. She would laugh in his face -when the blow fell upon him. - -An hour had transformed her. She had flung her patience and her -forbearance to the winds. She hated herself for the folly of her -fidelity all those years; but she did not think of Clare with any -feeling of jealousy. On the contrary, she felt that the girl was an -ally. Without Clare the man would escape all punishment; but with her as -an ally he would be crushed. - -She was too excited to sleep when at last she got into bed. The rush of -this new, strange passion carried her along, and she experienced that -positive pleasure of yielding to it, which a release from all trammels -of civilisation brings for a time to most people of a healthy nature. -She had in a moment been released from the strain which she had put -upon herself for so tong. She felt that she was a woman at last--a woman -carried along by the most natural of woman's impulses: a passion for -revenge. After all, such constancy as had been hers was an agony and not -a pleasure. Claude Westwood had spoken the truth: it should be taken for -granted that after the lapse of a certain time the validity of a promise -made in love ceased. - -She told him so much the next day, when he called at The Knoll to see -Clare. The girl had gone to Brackenhurst to try to obtain some materials -in which she had found her store deficient--a special sort of tracing -paper, the need for which Claude had told her of or the previous -evening. - -Agnes noticed how his face clouded when he learned that Clare was not in -the house. She wondered how it was that she had never before seen signs -of his new attachment. A few minutes had been sufficient to make Sir -Percival acquainted with the truth. And yet it was generally assumed -that in such matters women were much more sensitive than men. Could it -be that the womanliness in her nature had been blunted by her unnatural -constancy? - -This was her sudden thought on noticing the disappointment on his face. - -“You will wait for her?” she said. “She has been gone some time; she -is sure to return very shortly. Brackenhurst has not so many shops as -should occupy her for long.” - -“Perhaps I had better wait,” said he. “I want to make a start upon the -book. My shorthand writers are coming to me to-morrow.” - -“They will save you a great deal of trouble, I am sure,” said Agnes. -Their conversation could not be too commonplace, she thought. “You will -take a seat near the fire? I am so sorry that Clare is out.” - -There was a considerable pause before he said: “After all, perhaps it -is as well for her to be out. The fact is, my dear Agnes, I have been -wishing to--to--well, to have a chat with you alone about Clare--yes, -and other matters. The present is as good an opportunity as I am likely -to have.” - -“What can you possibly want to say to me?” said Agnes, raising her -eyebrows. - -“What? Well, apart from the fact that you and I were once--nay, we -are still the best of friends, I think it but right to tell you that -I--I--oh, what a strange thing is Fate!” - -“Is it not?” said Agnes, with a little smile. “Yes, I have often -wondered that that remark was not made by some one long ago. Perhaps it -was.” The note of sarcasm was scarcely perceptible in her words; and yet -it seemed as if he detected it. He gave a quick glance toward her; but -she looked quite serious. - -“Was it not Fate that brought her here after I fancied I had seen her -for the last time?” said he. - -“Would it not save you a great deal of trouble--a good deal of stoic -philosophy, if you were to come to the point at once and tell me that -you fell in love with Clare Tristram when you were sailing down the -Mediterranean with her by your side, that you were overjoyed to see -her here, and that, although quite six weeks have passed, your constant -heart has not changed in its affection for her? Is not that what you -mean to say to me?” - -“What, have I worn my heart upon my sleeve?” he said, giving a little -laugh. “Have you read my secret?” - -“Your secret? Do you really fancy that there is any one in this -neighbourhood to whom your secret is still a secret? I'm convinced -that the servants have been talking about nothing else for the past -fortnight. Jevons, the butler, is too well trained to give any sign, but -you may depend upon it that the housemaids nudge each other every time -you call. You see, they know that you cannot possibly be calling to see -me, and therefore they assume--Psha! what's the need to talk more -about it? I can understand everything there is to be understood in this -matter, except why you should come to tell me about it. What concern is -it of mine?” - -He looked at her rather reproachfully. He was not accustomed to hear her -talk in such a way. She had accustomed him to gentleness and words in -which there was no tone of reproach. He felt disappointed in her now. - -“I felt sure that you would be at least interested in--in”-- - -“In--shall we call it the wondrous workings of Fate? If you think that I -am not interested in Fate you are greatly mistaken.” - -“I don't like to hear you talk in that strain, Agnes. It jars upon me. -You were always so gracious--so sweet.” - -“How do you know what I was?” - -“Cannot I remember you long ago?” - -“I do believe we did meet now and again before you left England. What a -memory you have, to be sure!” - -He rose from his chair and stood beside her. - -“My dear Agnes,” he said, “I remember all the past. Were ever any two -people so unfortunate as we were? I have often wondered if we were -really in love with each other. I know that I, for one, fancied that we -were. If all had gone well and I had returned at the end of the year I -meant to spend at the Zambesi, we--well, we might have got married. But, -of course, it would be absurd to fancy that, after so many years.... as -I told you when I returned, we are physically different people to-day -from what we were some years ago, and in affairs of the heart nature -decrees that there is a Statute of Limitations. It would be cruel, as -well as unjust, for a man to hold a woman to a compact made nearly nine -years before--made, be it remembered, by practically a different woman -with a different man. That is why I regarded you as free from every -obligation to me. If you had got married after I had been absent for -two years, do you fancy that I would have blamed you? Oh no; I have too -strong a sense of what is just and reasonable.” - -“Will you sell your book at thirty-two shillings for the two volumes?” - she asked after a long pause. “I read in some paper the other day that -people will pay thirty shillings for a book, if they want it, quite as -readily as they will pay ten.” - -He was too startled to be able to reply to her. The inconsequence of her -question was certainly startling. After the lapse of a minute, however, -he had sufficiently recovered himself to be able to say: - -“Yes, I believe that thirty-two shillings will be the published price. -Personally I cannot understand how people should want to buy the book in -such numbers as will make it pay; but I suppose Shekels & Shackles are -the best judges of their own business.” - -He thought that, on the whole, he had reason to be satisfied at the -result of their interview. He had for some days an uneasy feeling that -before he could confess to Clare that he loved her, he should make a -further attempt to explain to Agnes--well, whatever there was left for -him to explain. He had now and again felt that it might actually be -possible that she expected him to regard the compact made between -them nearly nine years before, as still binding on him. This would, -of course, be rather absurd on her part; but, however absurd women and -their whims might be, they were capable at times of causing men a good -deal of annoyance; and thus he had come to the conclusion that it would -be wise for him to have a few words of reasonable explanation with her. -He had great hopes that she would be amenable to reason; she had always -been a sensible woman, her only lapse being in regard to this matter -of fancying--if she did fancy--that in love there is no Statute of -Limitations. - -Now and again, however, he thought that perhaps he was doing her an -injustice in attributing to her such a theory. She might, after all, -look on the matter from the same standpoint as he did; still, he thought -it might be as well to define as fully as he could his views in regard -to their relative positions. - -Well, a very few minutes had been sufficient for his purpose, and here -he was, talking with a light heart about the peculiarities of the public -in the matter of book-buying. - -He had not exhausted this interesting topic when Clare appeared, ready -to take her instructions regarding the first of the illustrations which -she was to draw. He had long ago described to her so thoroughly the -characteristics of several of the wild tribes among whom he had -lived, she could have no difficulty in dealing with some of the scenes -pictorially. He jotted down for her the particulars of the various -incidents which he thought should be illustrated, and within half an -hour she was hard at work. - -When he called the next day he was delighted with the progress which -she had made. She worked in a bold, free style which was certainly very -effective, and he was unable to suggest any alteration in her pictures -of the natives. So well had she remembered his instructions that she had -never once confused the head-dresses of the Subaki warriors with those -of the Aponakis. He told her that in the morning she would receive from -one of his secretaries the type-written copy of the chapters which he -had already dictated to the shorthand writers. For the remainder of the -day he would be in the hands of his cartographer, for, as a matter -of course, the volumes were to contain maps of those portions of the -interior which he had discovered. - -Agnes watched him leaning over her lovingly as she worked at one of her -drawings. She watched him and smiled. She knew that the more deeply he -fell in love with the girl, the greater would be the blow that he should -receive when she told him that she loved another man. Only once the -thought occurred to her that perhaps Clare might be carried away by -constant association with him, and by the glamour of the countless -newspaper articles that appeared on the subject of his work as an -explorer; so when they were going upstairs that night she said: - -“You made a very pretty confession to me a few days ago, my Clare.” - -“A confession?” - -“On the day you were visited by your friend, Signor Rodani. - -“Oh!” - -The girl's face had become rosy in a moment. “Does your heart remain -faithful? You do not think you are likely to change?” - -“Oh, never, never!” cried Clare. “I may be foolish, but if so, I must -remain foolish. Ah, my dear Agnes, my confession was forced from me--I -spoke on the impulse of the moment; but I was not the less certain of -myself.” - -“I think you are a girl to be depended on,” said Agnes. “You are not -one of those whose fancies change with every new face that comes before -them. Good-night, my dear child.” - -She was now assured of his punishment. As she thought of the way he -had come to her, smiling as he repeated that phrase which he had -invented--it had become quite a favorite phrase with him--that about the -Statute of Limitations in affairs of love, she felt that no punishment -could be too great for him. He had talked of Fate in extenuation of his -faithlessness. She had heard of people throwing all the blame that was -due to themselves upon Fate. When a pretty face comes between a man and -his duty he calls it Fate and yields without a struggle. - -Well, he would soon find out that Fate had not yet done with him. - -Two days later Clare got a letter from him asking her if she would see -him immediately after lunch. He had got some technical instructions to -give to her from the publishers; but he had been so closely occupied -with his secretaries, he had not been able to call at The Knoll the -previous day. - -Immediately after lunch Agnes found it necessary to go in haste to the -village; so that Clare was left alone in the room which had been turned -into a studio. - -When Agnes returned in a couple of hours, she found the girl, not in the -studio, but in the drawingroom. The wintry twilight had almost dwindled -away. The room was nearly dark. The gleam of a white handkerchief drew -her eyes to the sofa, upon which Clare was lying, her face upon one of -the cushions. - -“Why, what on earth is the matter?” she cried. “Why are you lying there? -What--tears?” - -Clare sprang to her feet, touched her eyes once more with her -handkerchief, and then flung it away. In another instant she was in -Agnes's arms. - -“Oh, my dearest,” she cried, “I am only crying because I am so happy. -Never was any one so happy before since the beginning of the world. He -has been here.” - -“Who has been here--Mr. Westwood?” - -“Of course. Who else was there to come? Who else is worth talking about -in the world? He has been here, and he loves me--he loves me--he loves -me! Only think of it.” - -“And you sent him away?” - -“Not until I had told him all that was in my heart.” - -“You told him that you loved another man?” - -“How could I do that? How could I tell him a falsehood? I told him -that I loved him; that I had always loved him, and that it would be -impossible for me to love any one else.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -|NOW you know why it is I was crying,” said Clare, and as she spoke she -laughed. “Oh, I am crying because I am the happiest girl in the world,” - she continued. “Was there ever any one so fortunate in the world? I -don't believe it. I thought that the idea of my hoping that he would -ever come to love me was too ridiculous--and it is ridiculous, you know, -when you think of it--when you think of me--me--a mere nobody--and of -him--him--the man whose name is in every one's mouth. Ah! I think it -must be some curious dream--no, I feel that I have read something like -it somewhere--there is a memory of King Cophetua in the story. Was he -here--was he really here? Why do you stare at me in that way? Ah, I -suppose you think that I have suddenly gone mad? Well, I don't blame -you. The whole story sounds absurd, doesn't it?” - -Agnes had taken a step or two back from the girl and was gazing at -her. The expression that was on her face as she gazed had something of -amazement in it and something of fear. Her lips moved as if she were -trying to speak; but at first her words failed to come. When, at last, -they became audible, there was a gasp between each word. - -“You said--you told me--twice--yes, twice--that you loved some one -else--some one--Oh, my God! I never guessed that it was he--he”--“Why, -who else should it be? When he came beside me aboard the steamer--yes, -on the very first day we met--I knew that my fate was bound up with -his.” - -“Fate--Fate--that was his word, too. Fate!” - -“I felt it. I felt that even if he had never thought of me I should -still be forced to follow him till I died. And how strange it was--but -then, everything about love is a mystery--he told me just now, in this -very room, that he had just the same feeling. He said he felt that -Fate”-- - -“Ah, Fate again--Fate!” - -“And why not? My dearest Agnes, there is a good Fate as well as an evil -one. How unjust men are! When anything unhappy takes place, they cry out -against Fate: but when anything good happens, they never think of giving -Fate the credit of it! We are going to change all that. I have already -begun. I feel that I could compose the Fate theme--something joyous--ah, -what did I say the other evening?--something with trumpets in it--that -is what my Fate theme would be: pæans of joy rushing through it.” - -“That is what the lover thinks, the lover who has not got the eyes -of Fate--the eyes that see the end of the love and not merely the -beginning.” - -“But love--love--our love--can have no end. Love is immortal; if it were -anything less it would cease to be love.” - -“Poor child! Poor child! You have fathomed the mystery of Fate, and now -you would fathom the mystery of Love. You will tell me in a few minutes -all there is to be known of Love and Fate.” - -“My dearest Agnes, your words have a chili about them, or is it that I -am sensitive at this moment? A whisper of an east wind over a garden of -June roses--those were your words--I am the June roses. Oh no; I am not -in the least conceited--only June roses.” - -She laughed as she made a gesture of dancing down the room. - -Agnes's gesture was not one of merriment. She put her hands up to her -face with a little cry that turned the girl's rapture of life to stone. - -“What--what can you mean?” she said, after a long silence. - -Agnes looked at her for a moment, then turned away from her, and walked -slowly and with bowed head to the fire. - -“Punishment--his punishment--I meant it to be his punishment,” she -whispered. “I did not think of her--I did not mean her to share it--she -is guiltless.” - -She bent her head down upon the coloured marbles of the high -mantelpiece, and looked into the fire. - -Clare came behind her, laying a hand carelessly upon her shoulder. - -Agnes started and shrank from the touch of her hand. - -“Do not caress me,” she sad. “I was to blame. It was I who should have -seen all that every one else must have seen; I should have seen and -warned you. I should have sent you away--taken you away before it -was too late. I should have stood between you and him. But I was -selfish--blinded by my own selfishness.” - -“Why should you have stood between us?” asked the girl, with a puzzled -expression. “Oh, you cannot possibly be talking about him and me: no one -in one's senses would talk about standing between us. Heavens above! Ah, -tell me that you do not mean him and me--to stand between Claude and me? -I warn you before you speak that nothing that lives--no power of life -or death--shall stand between us. If he were to die I should die too. I -know what love is.” - -“And I know what Fate is. My poor child, my poor child! You have done -no wrong. You are wholly innocent. If you go away you may still save -yourself--yourself and him.” - -The girl laughed again. - -“For God's sake don't laugh; let me entreat of you,” cried Agnes, almost -piteously. - -“My poor Agnes,” said Clare, “I pity you if you have any thought that -you can separate us now. I will not ask you what is on your mind--what -foolish notion you have about _a mésalliance_. Of course I know as well -as you can tell me that yesterday I was a nobody; but I am different -to-day. I am the woman that Claude Westwood loves, and if you fancy that -that woman is a nobody you are sadly mistaken.” - -“Child--child--if you knew all!” - -“I don't want to know all--I don't want to know anything,” said Clare. -“I assure you, my dear Agnes, that I have no curiosity in my nature on -this particular point. He loves me--that is enough for me. I don't want -to become acquainted with any other fact in the universe. Any one who -fancies that--that--Oh, my dear Agnes, do you really suppose that -Claude Westwood--the man who fought his way from the clutches of those -savages--the most terrible in the world--the man who fought his way -through the long forest of wild animals, deadly serpents, horrible -poisonous unshapely creatures never before seen by the eye of man--and -the swamps--a world of miasma, every breath meaning death--do you really -suppose that such a man would allow any power to stand between him and -the woman whom he loves? Think of it--think of the man and what he has -done, and then talk to me if you can of any obstruction lying in our way -to happiness.” - -“I pity you--I pity you! That's all I can say.” - -“You have no reason to pity me. I am the happiest girl in this world--in -this world?--in any world. Heaven holds no happiness that is greater -than mine. Ah, my dearest, you have been so kind to me--you and Fate--I -have no thought for you that is not full of love. What woman would do -as you have done for me? Who would be so kind to a stranger--perhaps an -impostor?” - -“I wish to show my kindness now; that is why I entreat of you, with all -my soul, to leave this place--never to see Claude Westwood again.” - -Clare was at the further end of the room, but when Agnes had spoken she -returned slowly to her side. - -“Agnes,” she said, in a low and serious voice, “Agnes, if you wish me to -leave your house I shall do so at once--this very evening. You have the -right to turn me out--no, I do not wish to make use of such a phrase. I -should say that you have a right to tell me that your plans do not admit -of my being your visiter longer than to-night; and, believe me, I will -not accuse you of any lack of courtesy or kindness toward me. I shall -simply go away. But if you tell me that I am to forsake the man who -loves me and whom I love, I shall simply tell you that you know me as -imperfectly as you know him.” - -“As imperfectly as I know him!” said Agnes, slowly. Her eyes were upon -Clare as she spoke; then she went to the window and looked out. There -was a pause of long duration before the girl once again moved to her -side, saying: - -“Dear Agnes, cannot you see that in this matter nothing that you -might do or say could move me? If you were to tell me that he is a -criminal--that he is the wickedest man living, I should not change in my -love for him.” - -“I pity you, with all my soul,” said Agnes. “And if the time comes when -you will, with bitterness and tears, admit that I warned you--that I -advised you to place between you the broadest and deepest ocean that -flows--you will hold me blameless.” - -“I will admit that you have done your best to separate us,” said Clare, -smiling, as she put an arm round Agnes. Her smile was that of an elder -sister humouring a younger. “And now we will say no more about this -horrid affair, if you please. We shall be to each other what we were -before Claude Westwood came here to disturb us.” - -“God help you!” said Agnes, suffering her cheek to be kissed by the -girl. - -She went into another room, and as she went she fancied that she could -hear Clare laughing--actually laughing at the idea of anything coming -between her and love for Claude Westwood. She sank down upon a sofa and -stared at a picture that hung on the opposite wall. - -“She will not hear me--she will not hear me; and now it is too late to -make any move,” she said. “I meant that he should be punished, but God -knows that I never meant that his punishment should be like this! And -she--poor child! poor child! Why should she be punished?” - -She remained seated there for a long time thinking her thoughts, racked -with self-upbraiding at first, whispering, “If I had but known--if I -could but have known!” But at the end of an hour she had become more -calm. The darkness of the evening obscured everything in the room in -which she sat, but she did not ring for a light. It was in the darkness -that she stood up, saying, as if to reassure herself: - -“It is not my punishment, but the punishment of Heaven that has fallen -on him. It is not I, but Heaven, whose hand is ready to strike. It is -the justice of God. I will not come between him and God.” - -She dined, as usual, face to face with Clare, and there was nothing in -the girl's manner to suggest that she had taken in the smallest measure -to heart anything that Agnes had said. She did not even seem to have -thought it worth her while to consider the possibility of her warnings -having some foundation. She had simply smiled at them--the smile of the -indulgent, elder sister. Her warning had produced no impression upon -her. - -She was full of the details of her work. She had not been idle during -the afternoon, she said. Oh no; every hour was precious. And then -she went on to tell of the fear that had been haunting good Mr. -Shackles--the fear lest the Arctic winter might be less rigorous than -the best friends of Mr. Westwood (and Mr. Shackles) could wish, thereby -making possible the return to England of the distinguished explorer, -who, it was understood had been devoting all his spare time and tallow -in the region of ninety degrees north latitude--or as near to it as he -could get--to the writing of a book. Mr. Shackles's dread was lest the -Arctic regions should shoulder Central Africa out of the market--a truly -appalling cataclysm, Clare said, and one which should be averted at any -sacrifice. - -Agnes listened to her, as the doctor listens to the prattle of the -patient who, he knows, will not be alive at the end of the week. She -listened to her, making her own remarks from time to time as usual, but, -even when she and Clare were left alone together, alluding in no way -to the fact that they had had a conversation in the afternoon on the -subject of Mr. Westwood. - -The next day Claude appeared at The Knoll. He did not go through -the hall into the studio. He thought it only polite to turn into the -drawingroom, where the butler said Miss Mowbray was to be found. - -She had scarcely shaken hands with him before he said: - -“Clare has told you all, I suppose?” - -“She told me that you had confessed to her what you confessed to me,” - said Agnes. - -“What I confessed to you?” he repeated in a somewhat startled tone. -“What I confessed--long ago?” - -“Well, that is not just what I meant to say,” replied Agnes. “You -confessed to me a few days ago that you had fallen in love with her. -But curiously enough, the way you took me up serves to lead in the same -direction. Only you were, of course, a different person altogether in -those days: we change every seven years, don't we?” - -“I am the luckiest man alive!” said he, ignoring her disagreeable -reminiscence. “I am no longer young and my adventures have told on me, -and yet--I am sure you told her that you considered me the luckiest man -living!” - -“I told her that if she wished to be happy she should put an ocean -between you and herself.” - -His voice was full of reproach--a kind of grieved reproach, as he said: - -“You told her that? Why should you tell her that? Is it because of the -past--that foolish past of a boy and girl”-- - -“No: I was not thinking of the past; it was of the future I was -thinking,” she said. - -“The future?” - -“Yes; and that is what I am thinking of now when I implore of you to -leave her--to leave your book--everything--and fly to the uttermost ends -of the earth to escape the blow which is about to fall upon you.” - -“I am sorry that I cannot see my way to take your advice,” said he. “I -do not share your fears for the future. But whatever Fate may have in -store for me, of one thing I am assured: the hardest blow will seem as -the falling of a feather when she is beside me. I am sorry that you, my -oldest friend--But I am sure that later on you will change your views. -No one knows better than I do that such a girl as she might reasonably -expect to have a younger man at her feet; but I think I know myself, and -I am sure that I shall be to her a sympathetic husband.” - -He had gone to the door while he was speaking. - -“You will wish that you had never seen her,” said Agnes. - -“Will you force me to wish that I had never seen you?” he said, in a low -voice. He had not yet lost the tone of reproach which he conceived to be -appropriate to the conversation that had originated with her. - -This last sentence stung her. For a moment she felt as she had done on -that night when she had flung down his miniature and trampled on it. Her -face became deathly pale. But she controlled herself. - -“I will answer that question of yours another time,” she said quietly. - -He returned to her. - -“Forgive me for having said what I did,” he cried. “I spoke -thoughtlessly--brutally.” - -“But I promise you that I will answer you, all the same,” said she. -“Clare is in her studio.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -|It seemed as if Clare had resolved to treat the singular words which -Agnes had said to her as soon as she had told her of Claude Westwood's -confession and her reply, as though they had never been uttered. -Whatever impression they produced upon the girl she certainly gave no -sign that she attached even the smallest amount of importance to them. -Her mood was that of the rapturous lover for some days. She had never -been out of temper since she had come to The Knoll, except for a few -moments after her friend Signor Rodani had visited her; but she had -never been in the rapturous mood which now possessed her. Her life was a -song--a lover's song. - -The labour of love at which she was engaged daily kept her indoors. -Drawing after drawing she executed for the book, and even those -task-masters, Messrs. Skekels & Shackles, expressed themselves -thoroughly satisfied with the progress of the book and the “blocks.” - The latter were found to be admirable; in fact, the reproductions were, -Clare affirmed, better than the originals. She was not mistaken. Mr. -Shackles was acquainted with a young artist of striking skill in the art -of preparing effective “blocks,” and he treated Miss Tristram's drawings -with the utmost freedom. He regarded them as an excellent and suggestive -basis for really striking pictures, and he took care that, by the -time the picture reached the “block” stage, it possessed some striking -elements. - -Claude Westwood also seemed to think that he could scarcely do better -than ignore the words that Agnes had spoken to him when he had come to -her for congratulations. He made an effort to resume his former friendly -relations with her, but he never quite succeeded in his efforts in this -direction. Agnes, he felt, did not respond to him as he had expected -she would, and she gave him now and again the impression that she still -regarded their relations as somewhat strained. He was obliged to see -Clare frequently, and he was too polite to ignore the presence of Agnes, -though she would have much preferred him to do so, and he knew it. The -fact of his knowing it made him feel a little uncomfortable. - -A week had passed in this unsatisfactory way, when one afternoon, Agnes, -having come in from her drive, sat down with Clare to their tea and hot -cakes. The girl was not quite so lively as she had been during the week, -and Agnes noticed the change, inquiring the cause of it. - -Clare coloured slightly, and laughed uneasily. - -“Somehow I feel a little startled,” said she. “Claude has been here.” - -“What, you consider that a sufficient explanation?” said Agnes. - -Clare laughed more uneasily still. - -“He has been saying something that startled me. The fact is that -he--well, he thinks that I--that he--I should rather say that we, he -and I, would complete the book more satisfactorily if we were--You see, -Agnes dear, he does not like coming here so frequently; he feels that he -is trespassing upon your patience.” - -“He is wrong, then,” said Agnes. “But what is the alternative that he -proposes?” - -“He thinks that we should get married at once and go to the Court -together,” replied Clare, in a low voice. - -“And what do you say to that proposal?” - -“Well, you know, dearest Agnes, it is not six months since my dear -mother's death: still--ah, dear, would she not wish to see me happy?” - -“Yes; but is that saying that she would wish to see you married?” - -“He is coming to talk to you about it after dinner to-night.” - -Clare spoke quietly as she rose from her seat and left the room. - -He came very late. Agnes only was in the drawing-room, for Clare had -gone to her studio after dinner, saying she wished to finish one of the -pictures. - -He was as uneasy in addressing her as Clare had been. He began to speak -the moment he entered the room. Agnes interrupted him. - -“You have not yet seen Clare,” she said. - -“I have not come to see her. It is you whom I have come to see,” said -he. “The fact is, my dear Agnes”-- - -“Go to her,” said Agnes. “Go to her and kiss her; it will be for the -last time.” - -She spoke almost sorrowfully. He was impressed by the tone. - -“For the last time--to-night, you mean to say,” he suggested. - -“For the last time on earth!” said she. - -“You are mad,” he cried, after a pause, during which he stared at her. -“You are mad; you do not know me--you do not know her.” - -“You will not go to her?” - -“I will not go to her--I will not leave this room until you have told me -what you mean by saying these words. You shall tell me what these words -mean--if they have any meaning.” - -“Very well, I will tell you. A week ago you said some words to me. You -put a question to me which I promised to answer at my own time. You -said, 'Will you force me to wish that I had never seen you?' You said -that to me--you--Claude Westwood--to me.” - -“I admit that I was cruel--I know that I was cruel.” - -“Oh no; you were not cruel. You have shown me since your return that you -regard women as too humble an organisation to be susceptible of great -suffering. You are a scientific man, and one of your theories is that -the lower in the scheme of creation is any form of life, the less -capable it is of suffering. You cleave your worm in twain--there is a -little wriggle--no more--each half goes off quite briskly in its own -way. You chop off a lizard's tail without causing it any particular -inconvenience; I wonder if you think of me as a little better than the -worm, a little higher than the lizard. How could any man say words of -such cruelty to a woman whom he had once promised to love, if he had not -believed her to be dead to all sense of suffering?” - -She stood before him with her hands clenched and her eyes flashing; but -only for a few moments. Then she made a gesture of contempt--she gave a -little shudder as she turned away from him. - -He remained motionless for a brief space, then went without a word to -the door. The sound of his fingers on the handle caused her to look -round. - -“Don't go away for a moment,” she said. “You will pardon that tirade of -mine, I am sure. I don't know how it was forced from me. I shall not be -so foolish again.” - -“I think I had better go: you are scarcely yourself to-night,” said he. - -“Scarcely myself? Well, perhaps I am not. I must confess that that -outburst of mine surprised me. It will not occur again, I promise you.” - -“I think I had better leave you.” - -He still stood at the door. In his voice there was again a tone of -reproach. There was some sadness in the little shake of his head, as -though he meant to suggest that he was greatly pained at not being able -to trust her. - -His attitude stung her. She became white once more. She put up her hand -to her throat. She was making a great effort to calm herself. Still it -was some moments before she was able to say: - -“Very well, very well. Do not come any nearer to me. You came to talk -business. Continue. You were about to tell me that you mean to go to -London to-morrow in order to get the document that will enable you to -marry some one without delay. The name of Claude Westwood will appear at -one part of that document. What name is to appear beside yours?” - -“Why do you ask that?” he said, removing his hand from the handle of the -door. - -“In order to prevent any mistake,” said she. “You have probably sent -forward to the proper authorities the name of Clare Tristram.” - -He was grave. He shook his head sadly, and put his hand upon the lock of -the door once again. He somehow suggested that he expected her to tell -him that it was not the name of Clare Tristram but of Agnes Mowbray -which should by right be or the special licence, beside his name. - -She took a step toward him, as if she were about to speak angrily; but -she checked herself. - -“There is no such person as Clare Tristram,” she said. - -He gave a single glance toward her. Then he sighed and shook his head -gently as before. He turned the handle of the door. - -“Don't open that door, for God's sake! She is the daughter of Carton -Standish, who killed your brother.” - -He did not give a start nor did he utter a cry as she whispered those -words. He only turned and looked at her. He looked at her for a long -time--several seconds. The silence was awful. The clock on the bracket -chimed the second quarter. - -“My God! mad--this woman is mad!” he said, in a whisper that sounded -like a gasp. - -She made no attempt to reply. He went to her. - -“What have you said?” he asked. “I don't seem to recollect. Did you say -anything?” - -“I stated a fact,” she replied. “I am sincere when I say that I would to -God it were not true.” - -“She--she--my beloved--the daughter--it is a lie--you have told me a -lie--confess that it is a lie!” - -“I cannot, even though you should make your fingers meet upon my arm!” - -He almost flung her away from him. He had grasped her by the wrist. He -covered his face with his hands. She looked at her wrist--the red marks -over the white flesh. - -“I'll not believe it!” he cried suddenly. “Agnes, Agnes; you will -confess that it is a falsehood?” - -“Alas! Alas!” she cried, - -“I'll not believe it. Proofs--where are your proofs?” - -“This is the letter which she brought to me from her mother--the letter -written by her mother on her deathbed.” - -She unlocked an escritoire, and took out a letter. He glanced at it, and -gave a cry of agony. - -“O God--my God! And I cursed him--I cursed him and every one belonging -to him!” - -He threw himself into a chair and bowed his head down to his hands. - -“I prayed that evil might fall upon all that pertained to him,” he -cried. “My prayer has been heard. The curse has fallen!” - -“Is there any tragedy in life like the answering of a prayer? I prayed -for your safe return, and--you returned.” - -She spoke without bitterness. There was no bitterness in her heart at -that moment. - -There was a long pause before he looked up. - -“And you--you--knowing all--avowed us to be together--you did not keep -us apart. You brought this misery upon us!” - -“I thought you were safe from such a fate; it was only when we were at -the Court that I learned that you loved her; even then I believed that -she loved another man. When I said those words of warning to you a week -ago, what was your reply tome? 'Do not make me wish that I had never -seen you.' Those were your words.” - -“And what shall my words be now?” - -A little thrill went through her. She turned upon him. - -“You wish you had never seen me?” she said, her voice tremulous with -emotion. “But if that is your wish, what do you think is mine? Nine -years--my God!--nine years out of a woman's life! Ruin--you have made -my life a ruin! Was there ever such truth as mine? Was there ever such -falsehood as yours? Do you remember nothing of the past? Do you remember -nothing of the words which you spoke in my hearing in this very room -nearly nine years ago? 'I will be true to you for ever--I shall make a -name that will in some degree be worthy of you.' Those were your words -as we parted. Not a tear would I shed until you had gone away, though my -tears were choking me. But then--then--oh, my God! what then? What voice -is there that can tell a man of the agony of a constant woman? The days, -the months, the years of that terrible constancy! nights of terror when -I saw you lying dead among the wild places of that unknown world--nights -when a passion of tears followed a passion ot prayer for your safety! -Oh, the agony of those long years that robbed me of my youth--that -scarred my face with lines of care! Well, they came to an end, my prayer -was answered, you returned in safety; but instead of having some pity -for the woman who had wasted her life in waiting for you, you flung me -aside with scarcely a word, and now you reproach me--you reproach me! -Give me back those years of my life that you robbed me of--give me back -my youth that I wasted upon you--give me back the tears that I shed for -you--and then I will listen to your reproaches.” - -“I deserve your worst reproaches,” said he, his head still bowed down. -“I deserve the worst, and you have not spared me.” - -“Ah, I have spared you,” she said. “I might have allowed you to -marry the daughter of that man, and to find out the terrible truth -afterwards.” - -“It is just that I should suffer; but she--she--my beloved--is it just -that she should suffer?” - -He had risen and was walking to and fro with clasped hands. - -“Alas! alas! Her judgment comes from you. It was you yourself who -repeated those dreadful words--'unto the third and fourth generation.'” - -“She is guiltless--she shall never know of her father's crime.” - -He had stopped in the centre of the room and was looking toward the -door. - -“She shall not hear of it from me,” said Agnes. “She shall at least be -spared that pain, in addition to the pain of parting from you.” - -“She shall be spared ever, that,” said he in a low voice. - -“What?” - -“I cannot part from her It is too late now.” - -“You do not mean that”-- - -“I mean that I shall marry her.” - -A cry came from Agnes before he had quite spoken. - -“Ah, you will not be so pitiless,” she said. “You will not do her that -injustice. You will not wreck her life, too.” - -“I will marry her,” said he doggedly. - -“You will marry her to make her happy for a month--happy in a fool's -paradise--happy till you begin to think that the face beside you may be -the same as the face that watched your brother lying in his blood--that -the hand which you caress--Oh, Claude, cannot you see that every day, -every hour, she could not but feel that you are nursing a secret that -separates you more completely from her than if an ocean were between -you? Can you hope to keep that secret from her? Do you know nothing of -woman? Claude, she will read your secret in a month.” - -“God help me, I will marry her and let the worst come upon us!” - -“You shall not do her this injustice if I can help it.” - -“You cannot help it.” - -“I will tell her that she is the daughter of Carton Standish; and then, -if she chooses to marry you, she will do so with her eyes open.” - -She went to the door. - -“No--no; not that--not that,” he cried. - -She opened the door and called the girl's name. He threw himself once -more down on a chair and bowed his head. - -The answering voice of Clare was heard, and then the sound of her feet -on the oak floor of the passage. - -“You will come here for a few moments, Clare,” said Agnes, and the girl -entered the room. - -He kept his face bowed down almost to his knees, as he cried: - -“No, no; don't tell her that. Take her away; I cannot look at her. Take -her away; tell her anything but that.” - -Clare gasped. She caught the arm which Agnes held out to her. - -“Clare,” said Agnes, “you must nerve yourself for the worst. Mr. -Westwood wishes to be released from his engagement to you. He has heard -something; that is to say, he has come to the conclusion that--that he -must leave this country without delay--in short, to-morrow he sets out -for Africa once more.” - -“That is not true!” cried Clare. “I can hear the false ring in your -words. Claude--Claude, you do not mean”-- - -“Take her away--take her away! I cannot look at her. I see him--him in -the room.” - -The girl gave a start, and looked from the one to the other. She -straightened herself and the expression on her face was one of defiance. - -“Very well,” she said. “Yes, it is very well.” - -She gave a long sigh, then a gasp. Her face became deathly white. She -did not fall. Agnes had caught her in her arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -|The blow had fallen. His punishment had come, and Agnes, lying on -her bed that night, felt that she would have given everything that she -possessed to avert it. If there had been any thought of revenge in her -heart originally--and she felt that perhaps there had been some such -thought the moment that Sir Percival Hope had told her what she should -have seen for herself long before, namely, that Claude Westwood was in -love with Clare--there was now nothing in her heart but pity for the -girl whom she had left sleeping in the next room. - -She felt that she had been amply revenged upon the man who had treated -her so cruelly. She had crushed him with a completeness that would have -satisfied even the most revengeful of women. She had seen him flying -from the house without waiting for the girl to recover consciousness. -What finer scheme of vengeance could any woman hope for--and she had -always heard that women were revengeful--than that which had been placed -within her reach? - -And yet she lay awake in her tears, feeling that she would give up all -she had in the world if by so doing, she could compass the happiness -of the man who had treated her so basely, and of the girl who had -supplanted her in his love. She felt that revenge was not sweet but -bitter. - -When she had been standing before him in the room downstairs and had -felt stung to the soul by that horrible question of his, “Will you make -me wish that I had never seen you?” she had had a moment of womanly -pleasure, thinking of the power she had to crush him utterly; but -all her passion had amounted to no more than was susceptible of being -exhausted in half-a-dozen phrases. Her passion of reproach, which found -expression in those words that had been forced from her, had not lasted -beyond the speaking of those words. So soon as they were spoken she -found herself face to face not with the delight of revenge, but with the -grief of self-reproach. - -She was actually ready to heap reproaches upon herself for having failed -to see within the first hour of the arrival of Clare that the man loved -her. How was it that she had failed to see that their meeting aboard the -steamer had resulted in love? She felt that she must have been blinder -than all manner of women to fail to perceive that this was so. Was she -not to blame for having allowed them to be together day after day, while -she had in her desk that letter which told her that no two people in -the world should be kept wider apart than Claude Westwood and Clare -Tristram? - -She recollected that at first her impulse had been to send the girl -away; but when she found that she and Claude were already acquainted, -and that the terrible secret was known to neither of them, the panic -which had seized her subsided. - -That was, she felt, where she had been to blame. She should not have -wilfully closed her eyes to the possibility of their falling in love. -Even though the advice which Sir Percival had given to her--the advice -to wait patiently until Claude's old love for her returned--was still in -her mind, she now felt that if she had been like other women she would -have foreseen the possibility, nay, the likelihood, that Claude would -come to love the girl by whom he had clearly been impressed. - -She even went the length of blaming herself for feeling, as she had felt -on Sir Percival's suggesting to her that Claude had come to love Clare, -that it was the decree of Heaven that she should punish the man for his -cruelty to her. She knew that it had been a grim satisfaction for her -to reflect that his punishment was coming. She had, in her blindness, -fancied that it was to assume the form of his rejection by Clare, and -she had hoped to see him crushed as he had crushed her. - -“Ah, if I had not been so willing to see him humiliated I might still -have had a chance of averting the blow which has fallen on both of -them--that is the worst of it, on both of them!” - -This was actually the direction which was taken by her self-reproaches -as she lay in her tears with no hope of sleep for her that night. - -She felt, however, that though she had been to blame in some measure -for the catastrophe which had come about, she could not in the supreme -moment have acted otherwise than she had done. - -Claude had said truly that the girl at least was innocent. He who a few -weeks before had attempted to justify his thirst for revenge by quoting -the awful curse “unto the third and fourth generation” had, when it -suited him, talked about the innocence of the girl--about the injustice -of visiting upon her head the sins of her father. But Agnes knew that -she had done what was right in refusing to allow him to see Clare again -unless to tell her the truth about her father. - -The way he had shrunk from her at the moment of her entering the room, -not daring even to glance at her--the way he had cried those words, -“Take her away, take her away,” convinced Agnes that she had acted -rightly and that she had saved Clare from a lifetime of sorrow. Before -the end of a month he would have come to look at her with horror. He -would seem to see in her features those of her father--the man who had -crept behind Dick Westwood in the dark and shot him dead. - -But then she began to ask herself if she had been equally right in -telling Claude Westwood what was the true name of Clare. She reflected -upon the fact that only she knew that Clare was the daughter of the man -Standish, who was undergoing his life-sentence of penal servitude for -the murder of Dick Westwood. If she had kept that dreadful secret to -herself, Claude would have married the girl, and they might have lived -happily in ignorance of all that she, Agnes, knew. - -Yes, but how was she to be certain that no one else in the world shared -her secret? How was she to know that the unhappy woman who had been -married to Carton Standish, and had in consequence become estranged from -all her friends in England--for the man, though of a good family, had -been from the first an unscrupulous scamp--was right when she had told -her in the letter, which Clare had delivered with her own hand, that no -one knew the secret? - -Perhaps a dozen people had recognised in Carton Standish the man -with whom the Clare Tristram of twenty-two years before had run away, -although no one had come forward to state that the man who had been -found guilty of the murder of Mr. Westwood was the same person. Agnes -knew enough of the world to be well aware of the fact that not only in -Brackenshire but in every county in England the question “Who is she?” - would be asked, so soon as it became known that Claude Westwood had got -married. - -Claude Westwood, the African explorer, was the man on whom all eyes had -been turned for some months, and he could not hope to keep his marriage -a secret even if he desired to do so. It would be outside the bounds of -possibility that no one should recognise in the name Clare Tristram the -name of the girl who, twenty-two years before, had married a man named -Carton Standish; so that even if Agnes had kept her secret it would -eventually have been revealed to Claude, when it would be too late to -prevent a catastrophe. - -“If I had wished to be revenged I would have let him marry and find out -afterwards that she was the daughter of Carton Standish,” cried Agnes, -as she lay awake through the hours of that long night. She felt that she -had some reason for self-reproach, but not because she had sought to be -revenged upon the man who had so cruelly treated her. Only for an hour -had the thought of revenge been in her heart, and it had not been sweet -to her, but bitter. - -Once she rose from her bed and stole softly into Clare's room. The girl -was lying asleep; and the light in the room was not too dim to allow of -Agnes's seeing that her pillow was wet with tears. Still, she was now -asleep and unconscious of any trouble. It was Agnes who had been unable -to find comfort in the oblivion of sleep, and she returned to her bed to -lie waiting for the dawn. - -It stole between the spaces of the blinds, the grey dawn of the winter's -day---the cheerless dawn that drew nigh without the herald of a bird's -song--a dawn that was more cheerless than night. - -She rose and went to the window, looking out over the valley that -she knew so well. She saw in the far distance the splendid woods -of Branksome Abbey, Sir Percival Hope's home, and somehow she felt -comforted by letting her eyes rest upon the grey side of the Abbey wall -which was visible above the trees. She had a feeling that Sir Percival -might be trusted to bring happiness into her life. From the first day on -which he had come to Brackenshire she had trusted him. She had gone to -him in her emergencies--first when she had wished to have Lizzie Dangan -taken care of, and afterwards when she had wanted that large sum of -money which had saved the Westwoods' bank. He had shown himself upon -both those occasions to be worthy of her trust, and then--then-- - -She wondered if he had known how great was her temptation to throw -herself into his arms upon that morning when he had stood before her -to tell her in his own fashion that he loved her. Such a temptation had -indeed been hers, and though during the weeks that passed between the -arrival of the telegram that told her of Claude's safety and his return, -she had often reproached herself for having had that temptation even for -a moment, yet now the thought that she had had it brought her comfort. -She thought of Claude Westwood by the side of Sir Percival, and she knew -which of them was the true man. - -Noble, honourable, self-sacrificing, Sir Percival had never once spoken -to her of his love since that morning, though he had seen how she had -been treated by the man to whom she had been faithful with a constancy -passing all the constancy of women. So far from speaking to her of his -love for her, he had done his best to comfort her when he had seen that -Claude on his return treated her with indifference, giving himself up to -the savage thoughts that possessed him--the savage thirst for blood that -he had acquired among the savages. - -She remembered how Sir Percival had told her that Claude was not -himself--that he had not recovered from the shock which he had received -on learning of the death of the brother whom he loved so well, and that -so soon as he recovered she would find that he had been as constant to -her as she had been to him. - -It was to this effect Sir Percival had spoken, and she, alas! had felt -comforted in the hope that she would be able to win him back to her. -That had been her thought for weeks; but now.... Well, now her thought -was: - -“Why did I not yield to that temptation to throw myself into his arms -and trust my future with him on that day when he confessed his love to -me?” - -It was a passionate regret that took possession of her for a moment as -she let fall the curtain through which she had been looking over the -still grey landscape, with a touch of mist clinging here and there to -the sides of the valley, and giving a semblance of foliage to the low -alders that bordered the meadows. - -“Why--why--why?” was the question that was ringing round her while her -maid was brushing her hair. She had ceased to think of her constancy as -a virtue. She was beginning to yield to the impression that only grief -could follow those who elected to be constant, when every impulse of -Nature was in the direction of inconstancy. One does not mourn for ever -over the dead; when a woman has been inconstant in her love for a man, -the man is chagrined for a while, but he soon consoles himself by loving -another woman. - -Yes, she felt that Claude Westwood had spoken quite truthfully and -reasonably when he said that in affairs of the heart Nature had decreed -that there shall be an automatic Statute of Limitations. He had spoken -from experience, and to that theory--it sounded cynical to her at first, -but now her experience had found that it was true--she was ready to -give her cordial assent. To such a point had she been brought by -the bitterness of her experience of the previous month, she actually -believed that she wished she had failed in her constancy to the man whom -she had promised to love. - -She was surprised to find Clare awaiting her in the breakfast-room. The -girl was pale and nervous, for Agnes noticed how she gave a start when -she entered. In the room there was a servant, who had brought in a -breakfast-dish, but the moment she disappeared, Clare almost rushed -across the room to Agnes. - -“Tell me what has happened,” she said imploringly. “Something has -happened--something terrible; but somehow I cannot recollect what it -was. I have the sensation of awaking from a horrible dream. Can it be -that I fainted? Can it be that I entered the drawing-room, and that he -told you to take me away? Oh, my God! If it is not a dream I shall die. -'Take her away--take her away'--those were the words which I recollect, -but my recollection is like that of a dream. Why don't you speak. Agnes? -Why do you stand there looking at me with such painful sadness? Why -don't you speak? Say something--something--anything. A word from you -will save me from death, and you will not speak it!” - -She flung away Agnes's hand which she had been holding, and threw -herself on a chair that was at the table, burying her face in her hands. - -Agnes came behind her and laid her hand gently on her head. She drew her -head away with a motion of impatience. - -“I don't want you to touch me!” she cried, almost pettishly. “I want you -to tell me what has happened. Oh, Agnes, he did not cry out for you to -take me away--that Would be impossible--he could never say those words!” - -She had sprung up from the table once more and had gone to the -fireplace, against which she leant. - -“My poor child! My poor child!” said Agnes. - -“Do not say that,” cried Clare impatiently. “Your calling me that seems -to me part of my dream. Good heavens! are we living in a dream?” - -“You have been living in one, Clare; but the awaking has come,” said -Agnes. - -Clare looked at her with wide eyes for more than a whole minute. Her -look was so vacant that Agnes shuddered. The girl gave a laugh that made -Agnes shudder again, before she moved away from the mantelpiece, saying: - -“How is it that we haven't sat down to breakfast? I'm quite hungry.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -|Agnes sat down to the breakfast-table as if nothing had occurred, and -Clare helped her to some fish, and put a portion on her own plate, and -actually ate it with some appearance of appetite. Agnes tried to follow -her example, but utterly failed. She could eat nothing. She thought she -would be able, however, to drink her coffee, so she filled the cups, -and, as usual, placed one before Clare. But Clare shook her head, -saying: - -“I don't like coffee to-day. I somehow feel that I cannot have anything -to-day that I have had on other days. I cannot touch coffee.” - -“Then I will take it away, and get you”-- - -There was a little crash. Clare had let her knife and fork fall upon her -plate. - -“Those were the words,” she cried. “'Take her away--take her away!' And -I fancied that he spoke them--he--Claude--shuddering all the time and -shrinking away from me.” Then she turned suddenly to Agnes, saying: - -“Tell me the truth--surely I may as well know it sooner as later. Did he -say those words when I entered the room?” - -“Yes,” replied Agnes, judging rightly that Clare would be less affected -by hearing the worst than if she were left in suspense. “Yes. Claude -Westwood said those words--then you”-- - -“Yes, but why--why--why?” cried the girl. “Why should he say such words, -when only a couple of hours before--I don't think it could have been -more than a couple of hours before, though if you were to tell me that -it was days before I would believe you--at any rate, hours or days, he -told me that he loved me--yes, and that we must get married at once. And -yet he said those words?” - -“Dearest child,” said Agnes, “you must think no more about him. He -should never have entered into your life. Have you never heard of the -inconstancy of man?” - -“I have heard more about the inconstancy of woman,” said the girl. “But -even if I had heard that all men are inconstant in love I would not -believe that Claude Westwood was inconstant. You must tell me some -better story than that if you wish me to believe you.” - -“Inconstant? Inconstant? Ah, if you but knew, Clare.” - -“I do know. I know that it is a lie. He is a true man. I love him and -he loves me. It is you who are not constant in your friendships. You -profess to care for me”-- - -“It is because I do care for you that”----- - -“That you tell me what is false?” - -Agnes burst into tears. - -Clare for a moment was rebellious. The effect of the anger, under the -impulse of which she had made use of those bitter words, supported her; -but in another moment she was on her knees beside her friend, with an -arm round her waist, while she covered her hand with kisses. - -“Forgive me, forgive me for my cruelty, my dearest Agnes,” she -whispered. “Ah, my dearest, you are the only friend I have in the world, -and what have I said to you? You will forgive me--you know that I am not -myself to-day--that I do not know what I say!” - -Agnes put down her face to the girl's and kissed her. It was some time, -however, before she could speak, and in the meantime Clare was sobbing -in her arms. - -What was Agnes to say to comfort her? What words could she speak in her -ears that would soothe her? She could only express the thought which was -nestling in her own heart and seemed to give her some consolation in the -midst of all the bitterness of life: - -“My Clare--my Clare--we shall always be together. Whatever may happen, -nothing can sunder us.” - -And the girl was comforted. She was comforted, for she wept on Agnes's -shoulder for a long time, and Agnes knew the consolation that comes -through tears. - -When she lifted up her head from its resting-place she was able to say: - -“I will ask for nothing more, my dear Agnes. I will ask for nothing -better to come to me than this--to be with you always--to feel that you -will be ever near. You will not turn from me, dear--you will not cry out -for some one to take me away?” - -She could actually say the words now with a smile. She had, indeed, been -comforted. - -“I will take care of you,” said Agnes. “I will take care that no one -shall come between us. We shall go away from here to-morrow, if you -wish--anywhere you please. I know of some beautiful places along the -shores of the Mediterranean. You and I shall go to one of them and stay -there just as long as we please. Then we can cross to Africa. You have -never been in Algiers. I was there once with my father. Everything you -see there is strange. That is the place which we must seek. Sunshine -in January--sunshine and warmth when the east wind is making every one -miserable in England.” - -“I was hoping to see an English spring,” said Clare, wistfully. “But I -will go with you,” she cried, with suddenly brightening eyes. “Oh yes; -I feel that I must go somewhere--somewhere--anywhere, so long as it is -away from here.” - -Agnes pressed her hand tenderly, saying: - -“You may trust in me.” - -Clare left the room shortly afterwards, and Agnes came upon her later on -in the room that she had made her studio. She was standing in front of -the easel on which her last half-finished drawing rested. On the small -table beside her were a number of memoranda and suggestions for the -pictures that were to illustrate the book. - -“Who will finish them now?” she said, as Agnes came near and looked at -the sketch on the easel. “Will they ever be finished?” - -After a long pause she turned away with a sigh. - -“I wonder if it is possible that he heard something bad about me,” - she said. “I have heard of stories being told by unscrupulous -persons--girls--about other girls. Is it possible, do you think, that -some one has poisoned his mind by falsehoods about me?” - -“No, no; do not fancy for a moment that anything like that happened,” - said Agnes. “I am afraid--no--I should say that I hope--I hope with all -my soul that you may never know the reason for his estrangement. It is -a valid reason--I can give you that assurance; but I dare tell you no -more. Now come away, my dear child. Whatever has occurred be sure that -no blame attaches to you. Claude Westwood himself would never think -for a moment that you are to blame. Oh, my Clare, you are only to be -pitied.” - -The girl stood irresolute for a few minutes, then she said: - -“It is all a mystery--a terrible mystery! But God is above us--I will -trust in God.” - -In the afternoon Clare went to her room to lie down, and before she had -been gone many minutes Sir Percival Hope called at The Knoll. - -When he took Agnes's hand he looked inquiringly at her. His expression -seemed to say: - -“Is the time come yet?” - -He did not let her hand go. She did not withdraw it. He could not fail -to see the little flush that had come to her face. - -“What you have suffered!” he said. “What you are suffering still! You -did not sleep last night. My poor Agnes! I know now that I did not give -you the right advice. You should not have been patient with him. You -should not have hoped that he would be brought to you again. If I had -given you the advice which my heart prompted me to give I would have -said otherwise to you; but I wanted to see you made happy, and I thought -that your happiness lay in patience.” - -“You were wrong,” she said, with a wan smile. “I was patient, but no -happiness came to me.” - -“And you still love him?” said he in a low voice. - -She snatched her hand away. - -“I--love him--him?” she cried. “Oh no, no; he is not the man I loved. -The moment he came before me with the look of a savage on his face and -the words of a savage thirsting for blood on his lips, I knew that he -was not the man I loved. The man whom I had promised to love--the man -for whom I was waiting, was quite another one. The Claude Westwood who -entered this room had, I perceived, nothing in common with the Claude -Westwood who had parted from me in this same room, saying, 'I shall make -a name that will be in some measure worthy of your acceptance.' Listen -to me while I tell you that that very night, when I went to my room, I -took the miniature of the man whom I had loved and trampled upon it. And -yet--ah, I tried to force myself to believe that I was sorry. I tried to -force myself to believe that I loved the man who had come to me telling -me that his name was Claude Westwood. I knew in my heart that I did not -love him. Ah, what he said to me was true. He said--a smile was on -his face all the time--' Every seven years a man changes utterly: no -particle of him remains to-day as it was seven years ago.' And then he -went on to demonstrate, quite plausibly, quite convincingly, for indeed -he convinced me at once, that it was ridiculous for a woman to hope -that, after seven years, the same man whom she had once loved should -return to her; it was physically impossible, he explained, and this -system he termed, very aptly, 'Nature's Statute of Limitations.'” - -“My poor Agnes!” - -“Then it was I knew that, so far from being sorry that that man did not -love me, I felt glad. I knew that there remained no particle of love -for him in my heart when you told me that he loved Clare Tristram, for I -felt no pang of jealousy. Poor girl--poor girl!” - -“Let us talk no more about him. Agnes, has my time come yet? I have been -wondering for some days past if I should tell you--if I should tell -you what I told you on that morning long ago. You know that it was true -then; you know that it is true now.” - -“Not to-day--I implore of you not to ask me to say the words that you -think will make you happy--the words which I know will make me happy.” - -“I will not ask you to say one word beyond that, my beloved.” - -He had caught her hand and was holding it in both his own, smiling. - -She shook her head. - -“Do not assume too much,” she cried. “I cannot be happy to-day--oh, it -would be heartless for me to be happy while that girl is wretched!” - -“Wretched? It cannot be possible that he has turned away from her within -a month?” said Sir Percival. “Seven years, not weeks, was the space of -time named by him.” - -“It was impossible that anything but misery could come of his love for -her,” said Agnes. “The misery has come. Poor child! I should be inhuman -if I thought of my own happiness to-day while the waters have closed -over her head.” - -“I do not want another word from you, believe me,” said he. “I am -content--more than content--with what you have said to me. There is in -my heart nothing but hope. Good-bye.” - -He remembered that on the morning when he had told her that he loved -her, she had given him her face to kiss. But he made no attempt to kiss -her forehead now. He did not even kiss her hand. The curious pathos of -her words, “I cannot be happy to-day,” had appealed strongly to him. He -was a man who had become accustomed to selfsacrifice. He left the house, -having only touched her hand. - -She heard his footsteps passing away on the hard gravel of the drive. -She recollected how, on that morning when they had been together on the -lawn, and he had left her with an abruptness that startled her, she had -hurried to intercept him on the road. The impulse was now upon her to do -as she had done that morning--to open the window and run across the lawn -into his arms. She checked herself, however; she felt that it would be -heartless for her to have so much happiness while Clare was overwhelmed -with the misery that had fallen on her. - -She turned away from the temptation of the window and seated herself in -the dim light before the fire, giving herself up to her thoughts. - -She had not quite recovered from the surprise that her own confession -to Sir Percival had caused her. She had been amazed at the impulse under -the force of which she had told him so much. Until that moment she had -had no idea what was in her heart--what had been in her heart since -the day of Claude Westwood's return. She knew, however, that she had -confessed the truth to her friend: she had been deceiving herself when -she thought she still loved Claude Westwood--when she thought she was -sorry that she had flung his portrait on the floor of her room. - -She had found it amazingly easy to be patient in regard to his returning -to his old love for her; but it was only when she stood in front of Sir -Percival that she knew how it was that she had neither been impatient -for Claude's return to the old love which he had borne for her, nor -jealous when she had come to learn that he loved Clare Tristram. She now -knew that the Claude Westwood who had come back from Africa was not, in -her eyes, the Claude Westwood whom she had promised to love. - -Her awaking had come in a moment--the moment that Sir Percival had taken -her hand. The scales fell from her eyes in a second, and her own heart -was revealed to her, and what she saw in its depths amazed her. She felt -amazed as the confession was forced from her in the presence of the man -whom she trusted, and she had not recovered from that amazement when it -was time for her to go to bed. She lay awake, thinking over all that had -been revealed to her, and wondering how it was that she had been blind -so long. It never occurred to her now to ask herself if what she had -said to Sir Percival was true or false. When people see plainly the -things before their eyes they do not need to puzzle over the question of -the reality of those things. - -The next day Clare was much more tranquil than she had been before. -There was a certain brightness in her eyes that gave Agnes great hope -that her future would not be so clouded, but that a glimpse ot sunshine -would touch it. She made no allusion to Claude Westwood or his book; -and after breakfast Agnes saw with pleasure that she had gone outside to -feed the pigeons. She stood among them, calling them about her with that -musical croon which acted like magic upon them; and they alighted upon -her shoulders and whirled about her head, just as they had done on the -afternoon she had arrived, when Claude had looked out at her. - -Agnes was once again overcome with self-reproach as she thought how it -might have been possible for her to prevent the misery that had entered -the girl's life. - -“If I had only known--if I had only considered the possibility -which every one else but myself would have regarded as not merely -possible--not merely probable--but absolutely inevitable, I would have -taken her away the next day,” she moaned. - -She turned away from the window with tears in her eyes, and when she -looked out again, hearing footsteps on the drive, Clare was not to be -seen. It was the postman who was coming up to the house. - -Three letters were brought to Agnes. Two of them were ordinary business -communications: the third was in the handwriting of Cyril. She had -received two letters from her brother since he had arrived in Australia, -and both were written in the most hopeful spirit. He had, he said, found -the life that suited him. - -She cut open the envelope, and began to read the letter. But before she -had finished the first page, a puzzled look came to her face. She -laid the letter down for a moment and put her hand to her forehead. In -another second she had sprung to her feet with a short cry--not loud, -but agonising-- - -“Oh, my God! my God! the thought of it--he--he--my brother!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -|The letter dropped from her hand to the floor. She felt her knees give -way. She staggered to a sofa and fell upon it. Her eyes closed. She had -not fainted, however: the blessing of unconsciousness was denied to her. -She could hear through the stillness every word of the conversation -that took place between the postman and one of the maids who had been -exchanging pots of heath for the porch with the gardener. The postman -had clearly brought some piece of news of an enthralling character, -for its discussion involved many interjectional comments in the local -dialect. - -She could hear every word now, though she had not paid any attention -to the beginning of the conversation, having been in the act of reading -Cyril's letter. - -What was it that they were talking about? - -A murder?--it must have been a murder. The postman became graphic as -he described the nature of the wound. Agnes fancied she could hear the -servant breathing hard in compliment to the skill of the narrator. The -wound had been caused by a shot--so much was certain--it had struck the -victim in the back and he had fallen forward clutching at the grass, -“like this,” the narrator said--the pause of a few seconds was filled up -by low exclamations of horror. - -He was describing the murder of Dick Westwood, Agnes believed; for the -details, so far as she heard, applied to that crime. She glanced with an -affrighted eye toward Cyril's letter that still lay on the floor--yes, -but why should they be talking about the murder of Mr. Westwood upon -this day in particular? Why should the postman pause in his round to -describe with a skill which only comes of long practice and a thorough -acquaintance with the susceptibilities of a rustic audience, a deed -which had been described times without number during a period of several -months? - -“There he lay in his own plantation, and there they found him,” - continued the man, when he had illustrated the attitude of the man who -was shot. “They found him and thought he was dead. He wasn't, just at -that moment, but I heard said that the doctor was ready to take his oath -that he couldn't be alive for six hours, so mayhap he's gone to his last -long 'count by now, good friends. For Surgeon Ogden is none of the men -that pulls a long jaw down at every little matter, whether natural--like -females, or more terrifying, of the likes of us--nay, he's ever -cheery, as you may know if you've been that fort'nate to come under his -hands--ever cheery in hisself, though of course, being polite, he feels -hisself bound to be as grave as the gravest when some of their ladyships -fancies that there's summat wrong wi' 'em. Ah no; the surgeon is too much -the gentleman hisself to make light o' th' ailments o' the nobility, as -though they was as humble as us. And to be sure, if you give it a -doo consideration, good people, you'll find it quite reasonable and -natural-like for him that comes to cure to make out a case to be as evil -as possible--'tis on the self-same principle that Tombs, the tailor, -makes out that our old coats are terrible far gone when we take 'em to -be repaired, so that when he sends 'em home as fresh as new we think a -deal of his skill. Ay, and for that matter his reverence the vicar, -or even a simple-minded curate, will tell us by the hour how terrible -steeped in evil all of us is, so that when he gets one to take the -pledge we looks on 'un as a dreadful sharp gentleman to be able to make -us presentable. Well, well, him that lies dead this day was mayhap a bit -hard, but 'tis a sad fate to fall upon any man; and so God help us all.” - -Agnes heard every word that came from the long-winded postman, and the -succeeding comments of his auditors. But her attention had not been -taken away from the letter which was lying on the floor. It was only -because it seemed to her that the subject of the man's story was -the same as that of the letter, she had been startled into -listening--curiously, eagerly. - -But the instant the drone of the man and the long-drawn and wondering -sighs of the maid had ceased, she got to her feet--not without an -effort--and crossed the room to where the letter was lying. She looked -at it for some time before she stooped and picked it up. She went over -every line of it again, saying in a whisper the words that it contained. -It was a short letter. - -Could she by any possibility have misread it the first time? It was a -short letter:-- - -“With what feelings, dear Agnes, will you read this letter! But I feel -that I must write it--I should have confessed all to you when I could -have done, so face to face, but I was a coward. Often at night aboard -the steamer coming out here, I thought upon my guilt, and night by night -when in the midst of the great pasturages I have thought over it, and -felt how great a ruffian I was, especially as another is suffering for -my sin. I cannot endure the stinging of my conscience any longer. Agnes, -I must make a clean breast of it to you. Hear me and do not abhor me -utterly when I confess to you now that that sin--that crime which came -to light in the summer--you will know to what I allude--i cannot name -it to you--was mine. I kept my guilt a secret and allowed one who was -innocent to suffer for me. Was there ever so base, so cowardly a wretch? -I am unworthy to be your brother. Only one way remains to me of making -reparation, and you know what that way is. I am coming home by next -steamer. Dearest Agnes, can you ever forgive me for the disgrace I have -brought upon you? Indeed, I feel that this is the bitterest part of my -punishment--the knowledge that I have disgraced our name. - -“Cyril.” - -She read the letter a second time. It left no loophole of escape for -her. Its meaning was but too plain. It appeared in every line. The -crime--there was only one crime to which it could refer--there was only -one crime for which an innocent man was suffering punishment. - -Once again the letter dropped from her hand. She looked at her lingers -that had held it as though it had been written with blood that left a -stain behind it. For some moments she gazed at the thing lying on the -floor at her feet, trying to comprehend all that it meant to her. She -felt stunned, as though she had been struck on the head with a heavy -weapon. The sense of what that letter meant benumbed her. She was -overwhelmed by the force of the blow which she had received. - -She stood there in the middle of the room, both her hands pressed -against her heart. She could hear its wild beating through the silence. -The force of its beating caused her to sway to and fro on her feet. - -“It is folly--folly!” she said, as if trying by giving articulation -to her thoughts to convince herself against the evidence of her own -judgment. “It is folly! He was his friend--Dick Westwood was his -friend. Why should he have killed him? He dined at the Court that very -night--he--Good God! he was the last to see him alive. Let me think--let -me think! What did he say? Yes, he said that Dick had walked across the -park with him. He admitted that he was the last person with whom Dick -had spoken. Oh, my God--my God! he has written the truth--why should he -write anything but the truth? Why should he be mad enough to confess to -a crime that he never committed? He killed him, and he is my brother! -Oh, fool--fool--that I was! I could not see that that girl was sent -through the mercy of God. She was sent here that the man who loved her -might be saved from marrying me. But, thank God! I have learned the -truth before it is too late.” - -And then, as she stood there, she recalled the most trivial incidents of -the morning after the murder of Dick Westwood. She remembered how late -it was when Cyril had appeared--how he had made excuse after excuse -for remaining in bed. In every trivial act of his she perceived such -evidence of his guilt that she was amazed that no one had attached -suspicion to him. Why, even the fact of his having so eagerly accepted -the offer of an appointment on a sheep station in Australia should have -made her suspect that he had the gravest of reasons for wishing to get -away from the country. She now saw that his anxiety was to leave the -scene of his crime behind him. - -Then she thought of the days that preceded his escape--that was how she -had come to regard his sailing for Australia--how terrible her trouble -had been with him. She had felt that he was going to destruction, idling -about the tap-rooms of Bracken-hurst, walking with the most disreputable -men to be found in the neighbourhood--utterly regardless of appearances -and impatient at her remonstrances. Thinking of all this in the light -of the confession which she had just read, she was left to wonder how -it was possible that she had failed--that every one in Brackenhurst had -failed--to attach suspicion to him. - -“He did it--he did it!” she whispered. - -Once again with a flicker of hope that was more dispiriting than -despair, she read the letter, and with a cry of agony fell back upon -the sofa and laid her head, face downward, upon one of its arms. Claude -Westwood had uttered his curse against the murderer of his brother and -against all that pertained to him! She had been horrified at the thought -of Clare; but the curse had fallen, and she, Agnes, was crushed beneath -it. Her brother was on his way home to pay the penalty of his crime, and -Clare-- - -She got upon her feet, and stood with one hand grasping the back of the -sofa, as the thought flashed through her mind: Clare would be happy. -There was now no reason why she and Claude might not marry. Even at that -moment, when the horror that had rested on Clare's head had been shifted -to her own, Agnes felt a thrill of satisfaction when she reflected that -it was in her power to give Clare happiness. - -She took a step to the bell-rope, but while it was still in her hand, a -thought suddenly flashed through her mind: the story which the postman -had been telling to the gardener and the maidservant--to what did it -refer?--to whom did it refer? - -Some one had been shot during the night--so much she had gathered from -the rambling discourse of the man; she had not given much attention -to all that he had said, but she recollected that it had struck her as -singular that the incidents of the matter to which his story referred -closely resembled those of the murder of Dick Westwood: the man might -have been describing the latter. The victim had, she gathered, been shot -in the back, and--what had the man said?--he had been shot in his own -grounds. Some one had been shot in his own grounds? Who--who--who? - -Why, who could it be but Sir Percival Hope? It could be no one but Sir -Percival Hope--the man whom she loved. - -That was the terrible thought that swooped down upon her, so to -speak--that hawklike thought that struck its talons through her; and at -that moment such doubts as might have lingered in her heart were swept -away. She now knew that she loved Sir Percival Hope, who was lying at -the point of death, if the man who had come with the story had spoken -the truth. - -“Thank Heaven--thank Heaven that he knew the truth before he died; thank -Heaven that he knew I loved him; and thank Heaven that he died before -he could know that other truth--that we could never be anything more to -each other than we were. I should have had to tell him that--all that -that letter has told to me. But I have still to tell some one of it. Who -is it--who is it?” - -Her brain was whirling. She had forgotten for the moment that Clare had -to be made happy; and some moments had passed before the sight of -the bell-rope brought back her thoughts to the object which she had -originally before her in going to it. She rang the bell, and when the -butler appeared she had her voice sufficiently under control to ask him -to tell her maid to find Miss Tristram and send her to the drawing-room. - -As the butler was leaving the room she said--and now her voice was not -quite so firm as it had been: - -“I heard the postman telling some story to the gardener just now. Has -some one been hurt?” - -The man did not answer for a second or two, but that space was -sufficient to send her thoughts wandering once more on a different -track. - -“Merciful Heaven!” she cried. “It cannot be possible that it is Mr. -Westwood who was shot, as his brother was--within his own grounds?” - -“Oh no, ma'am, it's not so bad as that,” replied the butler. “So far -as I hear, it was the poachers that have been about Westwood Court one -night and the Abbey Woods another night for the past month. It seems -that Ralph Dangan, Sir Percival Hope's new keeper---him that was at the -Court for so long--he came upon them suddenly last night and they shot -him. The story is that the poor man was not likely to live longer than -a few hours.” Agnes gave a sigh--she wondered if the butler would know -that it was a sigh of relief rather than one of sympathy for the unhappy -man who had been shot. - -“Poor fellow!” she said. “I hope his daughter has been sent for.” - -“I didn't hear anything in that way, ma'am,” said the butler. “If she -went to Sir Percival's sister, he will know her address, but they -say that poor Dangan always refused to see her, though she was a good -daughter except for her one slip.” - -He left the room, and Agnes sat wondering how it was that she had been -led to feel with such certainty that the story of the man who was shot -referred to Sir Percival. And in its turn this question of hers became -a terror to her, for in her condition of excitement she had lost all -capacity to judge of incidents in an unprejudiced way. The condition of -her brain caused her to distort every matter which she tried to consider -on its merits. - -She waited so long without any one appearing that she had actually -forgotten what was the object of her waiting, and she was surprised when -her maid came into the room saying: - -“I cannot find Miss Tristram in the house, Miss Mowbray. I think she must -have gone out for a walk by the lower gate; she could not have left by -the drive without my seeing her, for I was sitting at the window of the -workroom sewing.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -|It is strange that she should have gone out without letting me know,” - said Agnes. “I don't think that it is likely she would leave the grounds -by the lower gate. She must still be somewhere in the garden. Having fed -the pigeons she might have strayed up to the Knoll.” - -The Knoll was the small hillock overgrown with pines from which the -house took its name. - -“She was in her dressing-room since she fed the pigeons,” said the maid. -“I fancied that I heard her leave the room, but no one appears to have -noticed whether she left the house or not.” - -“You will please send a couple of the servants round the grounds and up -to the Knoll,” said Agnes. “It is rather important that she should be -found with as little delay as possible.” - -“I beg your pardon,” cried the maid quickly. “I did not know that you -wanted Miss Tristram particularly. I understood that you were making a -casual inquiry for her. Not a moment shall be lost in seeking for her.” - -When the door closed behind the maid, poor Agnes once again began to -take exaggerated views of the simplest occurrences. The disappearance -of Clare she thought of as something mysterious. Why should she go away -without acquainting any one of the fact that she was leaving the house? -Why should she steal out by the lower gate, which involved a walk -through the damp grass of the shrubberies? The lower gate was scarcely -ever used in the winter months, and but rarely in the summer except by -the gardener, whose cottage was at that part of the grounds. - -The incident assumed in her excited brain a magnitude which in ordinary -circumstances she would never think of attributing to it. And her -reflection in regard to this incident was followed by a suspicion that -caused her to cover her eyes with her hands. - -She was endeavouring to shut out the horrible sight which might be -before the eyes of the servants who were searching the grounds. She had -heard of sensitive girls, such as Clare undoubtedly was, making away -with themselves when overcome with grief; and she began to wonder how it -was that she had failed to see something more than usually pathetic in -that picture of the girl surrounded by her pigeons on the lawn. That was -the picture which had come before the eyes of Claude Westwood, and that -was the picture which would always remain in her own memory, Agnes was -assured--the last look she had had of the sweet girl who was now-- - -She shuddered at the thought that came to her; for with it came a cry of -self-reproach: - -“It is I--I--who have killed her! She may have been alive when I got the -letter that should have given her happiness; but I waited--I tried to -deceive myself into the belief that I had misread the letter when its -meaning was clear to me from the first. I have killed her!” - -She rushed from the room and hurried up the stairs to the apartment that -Clare had occupied. She turned the handle of the door with trembling -fingers, and looked fearfully into the room, not knowing what horrible -sight might await her there. Rut the room was the same as ever; only -when she entered did she notice that the bed was slightly pressed down -in the centre, and that the pillow was no longer smooth; it was tossed, -and there was a mark that was still damp upon it. - -She knew that Clare had suddenly flung herself down on the bed, and had -left the traces of her tears upon the pillow. - -She gave a start, hearing the sound of feet on the oak of the hall. The -servants had returned from their search, and the shuffling of their feet -told her that they were carrying something with them--something with -a cloak over it--a pall over it. She put up her hands to her eyes once -more to shut out that sight; and then she heard the quiet steps of some -one ascending. - -She knew what this meant, some one was coming to break the awful news to -her as gently as possible. - -She was standing at the half-open door when the maid reached the lobby. - -“You need tell me nothing; I see upon your face all that you come to -tell me,” whispered Agnes. - -The woman looked at her in surprise. - -“I fear you are not quite well, ma'am,” she said quietly. “We did not -need to search far: the gardener came up and told us that he had met -Miss Tristram walking on the road not more than half-an-hour ago. He had -been down to the larches and Miss Tristram was going in the direction of -Unwin Church. It was as I suggested: she was taking a walk, having left -the grounds by the lower gate. I am sure that she will be back again -before lunch. Are you not well, Miss Mowbray?” - -“I am quite well,” said Agnes. “I was only a little surprised that Miss -Tristram could have left the grounds without my noticing her do so. I -was in the drawing-room all the time.” - -She went to her own room and stood at the window, wondering how it was -that she had been so certain that Clare had resolved to die. Was it -because she herself was ready to welcome death at that moment? She fell -on her knees and prayed that she might have strength to live--she prayed -that she might have strength to resist the temptation to end in a moment -the terrible consciousness that in another week or two all the world -would be ringing with the name which she bore--the consciousness that -every finger would be pointed at her, while those who pointed at her -would whisper the name of her brother. She prayed for strength to bear -the appalling burden which had been laid upon her. - -In that nervous condition which was hers she felt that she must do -something: she could not rest patiently until the return of Clare. She -felt that as she had told Claude the secret which had placed a gulf -between him and Clare, it was right that she should tell him without -delay that, although it was true that the girl was the daughter of -Carton Stand-ish, yet Carton Standish was innocent of the crime for -which he was suffering imprisonment. - -She rang her bell, and gave orders for the brougham; and then, with -nervous hands, she put on her fur coat and hat, and went down to the -hall fire to wait for the sound of wheels. The butler, who was bringing -some silver into the dining-room for the luncheon table, paused for a -moment and asked her if she would wish the hour for lunch to be delayed. -She told him that lunch was to be served when Miss Tristram should come -in. - -A sudden thought occurred to her. She would not keep Clare waiting for -her good news should she come in before her own return from the Court. - -She had thought of driving Claude back with her in the brougham after -she had communicated her good news to him--it would be good news to him. -What did he care how heavy was the blow that had fallen upon her so long -as he was free to marry Clare? - -She went into the study and wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper: - -“Dearest,--God has been good to you. Something like a miracle has -happened, and the barrier which Claude saw between you and him is -removed. I am bringing him to you. Wait for our coming. - -“Agnes.” - -She addressed the cover and desired the butler to give it to Clare the -moment she returned. - -At last the sound of the broughem was heard on the drive. She entered -the carriage after satisfying herself that Cyril's confession was in her -pocket. - -The butler at the Court said that Mr. Westwood was not at home at -that moment; he thought that most likely he was gone to the cottage of -Dangan, Sir Percival Hope's keeper, who, as perhaps Miss Mowbray had -heard, had been shot during the night. Mr. Westwood had said, before -leaving the Court, that he would be back for lunch, so perhaps Miss -Mowbray would wait in the drawing-room for his coming. It was unlikely -that he would be late. - -Miss Mowbray said she would wait, and was shown into the drawing-room. - -For a few minutes after seating herself she was calm; but then her brain -began to whirl once more. The thought came to her that she was in the -very room where Cyril and Dick had sat on that night before the horrible -deed was done. She started up, thinking that perhaps she was sitting in -the very chair in which her brother had sat looking in the face of the -man whom he meant to kill. - -She glanced at the portrait on the easel and seemed to see once again -the form of Dick Westwood beside the window through which he had gone to -his death. - -“Why did he do it--why--oh, why?” she whispered. “You were always -so good to him, Dick--you were always his friend when every one else -shunned him. How could he do it?” - -She had begun to pace the room wildly, but after some moments a curious -doubt seemed to cross her mind. She took the letter out of her pocket -and read it for the third time with beating heart, for the echo of -that question of hers, “Why--why--why?” seemed to ring round the room. -Surely she must have misread it. - -She crushed it into her pocket once more. - -“It is there--there,” she whispered. “He confesses it. There is no hope -for me. No hope--no hope”-- - -She had begun pacing the room once more, and as she spoke she found -herself standing in front of the glazed case of poisoned arrows which -Claude had brought back with him from Africa. - -She looked at the arrows and repeated the words, “No hope--no hope.” - -The beating of her heart sounded through the stillness. - -“I was wrong--I was wrong,” she whispered, with her eyes still gazing at -those strange things as if they had power to fascinate her. She looked -at them, then with a shudder she turned and fled across the room. “No, -no, not that--not that!” she cried. - -She stood beside the screen at the other side of the room; and then -she seemed to hear again the voice which had said those words in her -ear--“The sister of a murderer--the sister of the man who killed his -best friend. He will be here in a day or two and all the world will ring -with his name--with your name. There is no hope for you--no hope!” - -She put her hands over her ears, trying to shut out that dread voice; -but it would not be shut out. It came to her with maddening monotony. -She walked to and fro saying beneath her breath: - -“Mercy--mercy--for God's sake, mercy!” - -She made a pause as if listening for something. Then with a cry, in the -agony of her despair, she rushed back to the case of arrows and crashed -in the glass with both her gloved hands. - -In a second her hands were grasped from behind. - -“Agnes! Agnes, my beloved!” said Sir Percival. - -She turned to him, looking wonderingly up to his face. - -“My dearest, what has happened? What does that mean?” - -He pointed to the broken glass while he was leading her away. - -“You will soon know all,” she said. “I have the letter--it will tell you -what I have no words to tell.” - -He took the letter from her hand, and with one of his hands still -holding hers, he read it. - -“This tells me no more than I have known from the first,” said he. - -“What, you knew that he was guilty?” she said. - -“I knew it: I hoped that he would confess to you.” - -“Good God! You knew of his guilt and let the innocent man suffer?” - -“I heard nothing of that. I liked the girl for keeping the secret; he -will marry her now.” - -She stared at him. - -“Who is the girl that knew it was he who killed Richard Westwood?” she -asked. - -“My poor Agnes! You are the victim of some dreadful misapprehension,” - said Sir Percival. “This confession refers to Lizzie Dangan's fault.” - -“What! But the murder--surely it can have but one meaning?” she cried. - -“Oh, my beloved, I see it all now. Thank Heaven that I came in time to -save you. You assumed that your brother's confession referred to the -murder of Richard Westwood. You were wrong. I have just come from -hearing the confession of the man who shot poor Westwood, and who died -a quarter of an hour ago. It was Ralph Dangan who shot Richard Westwood -with the revolver that by ill-luck he had found on the grass where the -man Standish had thrown it. Dangan had seen Mr. Westwood with Lizzie -that night--she had gone to him secretly for advice--and he shot him, -believing that he was the girl's lover.” Agnes looked at him for a long -time. She walked to the window and stood there for some moments; then -with a cry she turned and stretched out her arms to him. - -“My beloved--my beloved, you have suffered; but your days of suffering -are over!” he whispered, as he held her close to him. - -* * * * * - -There were voices at the door. - -Claude Westwood entered, followed by Clare; he hurried to Agnes. - -“For God's sake, tell her nothing! It is too late now--she is my wife,” - he said, in a low voice. - -“Agnes--dearest, you will forgive me--but he sent for me, and I love -him,” said Clare. - -“Tell him,” said Agnes to Sir Percival, “tell him that it was Ralph -Dangan who killed poor Dick.” - -THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Well, After All, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WELL, AFTER ALL *** - -***** This file should be named 51988-0.txt or 51988-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/8/51988/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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