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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2986ec --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55571 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55571) diff --git a/old/55571-8.txt b/old/55571-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0e79b5c..0000000 --- a/old/55571-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16630 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Whom God Hath Joined, by Fergus Hume - -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: Whom God Hath Joined - A Question of Marriage - -Author: Fergus Hume - -Release Date: September 17, 2017 [EBook #55571] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHOM GOD HATH JOINED *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (University of Illinois Library) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books, https://books.google.com/books/ - about/whom_god_hath_joined.html?id=qaJBAQAAMAAJ. - [University of Illinois Library] - - 2. Lower left corner of page 144 (start of Chapter XVIII.) is torn - off, partially affecting three lines of text. Lacunae indicated - by [* * *]. - - - - - - -[Illustration: Front Cover] - - - - - - -WHOM GOD HATH JOINED. -A Question of Marriage. - - - -BY -FERGUS HUME, - -AUTHOR OF -"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE MAN WITH -A SECRET," "MONSIEUR JUDAS," ETC., ETC. - - -The saying that no one can serve two masters has its exception in the -case of a wife and mother, who is bound by her marriage vows and -maternal instincts to love in equal measure her husband and children; -but alas for the happiness of the family should she love one to the -exclusion of the other, for from such exclusion arise many domestic -heart burnings. - - -_THIRD EDITION_. - - - -LONDON: -F. V. WHITE & CO., -14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. -1894. - - - - - - -PRINTED BY -KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, 182, 183 AND 184, HIGH HOLBORN. W.C., -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAP. - -I. Two Friends -II. An Incomplete Madonna -III. The Waning of the Honeymoon -IV. The Art of Conversation -V. An Australian Girl -VI. A Day's Shopping -VII. Lady Errington's Little Dinner -VIII. Eustace Examines His Mind -IX. "Oh, Wilt Thou be my Bride, Kathleen?" -X. Auf Wiedersehn -XI. A Maiden Lady -XII. Aunt Jelly's Opinion -XIII. Bringing Home The Bride -XIV. An Undesirable Acquaintance -XV. A Woman Scorned -XVI. The Events of Eighteen Months -XVII. Gossip -XVIII. From Foreign Parts -XIX. Aunt Jelly Discusses Family Affairs -XX. The Old House by the Sea -XXI. From The Husband's Point of View -XXII. From the Wife's Point of View -XXIII. Mrs. Veilsturm's "At Home" -XXIV. "On Revient Tojours à ses Premières Amours" -XXV. Fascination -XXVI. Aunt Jelly Interferes -XXVII. The Deity Called Fate -XXVIII. Husband and Wife -XXIX. The Question of Marriage -XXX. Cleopatra Victrix -XXXI. In the Coils of the Serpent -XXXII. What Made the Ball sae Fine? -XXXIII. Pallida Mors -XXXIV. The Assaults of the Evil One -XXXV. For my Child's Sake -XXXVI. The Death of the First-born -XXXVII. The Truth about Mrs. Veilsturm -XXXVIII. The Last Temptation -XXXIX. "And Kissed again with Tears" -XL. A Letter from Home - - - - - - -TO -MY CRITICS, -IN APPRECIATION -OF THE KIND MANNER -IN WHICH THEY HAVE REVIEWED -MY FORMER BOOKS, -I DEDICATE -THIS WORK. - - - - - - - If marriages are made above, - They're oft unmade by man below, - There should be trust, and joy, and love, - If marriages are made above; - But should Heav'n mate a hawk and dove, - Such match unequal breeds but woe, - If marriages are made above, - They're oft unmade by man below. - - - - - - -WHOM GOD HATH JOINED. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -TWO FRIENDS. - -"Like doth not always draw to like--in truth - Old age is ever worshipful of youth, - Seeing in boyish dreams with daring rife, - A reflex of the spring time of its life, - When sword in hand with Hope's brave flag unfurled, - It sallied forth to fight the blust'ring world." - - -It was about mid-day, and the train having emerged from the darkness -of the St. Gothard tunnel, was now steaming rapidly on its winding -line through the precipitous ravines of the Alps, under the hot glare -of an August sun. On either side towered the mountains, their rugged -sides of grey chaotic stone showing bare and bleak at intervals amid -the dense masses of dark green foliage. - -Sometimes a red-roofed châlet would appear clinging swallow-like to -the steep hill-side--then the sudden flash of a waterfall tumbling in -sheets of shattered foam from craggy heights: high above, fantastic -peaks swathed in wreaths of pale mist, and now and then the glimpse of -a white Alpine summit, milky against the clear blue of the sky. - -On sped the engine with its long train of carriages, as though anxious -to leave the inhospitable mountain land for the fertile plains of -Italy--now crawling fly-like round the giant flank of a hill--anon -plunging into the cool gloom of a tunnel--once more panting into the -feverish heat--sweeping across slender viaducts hanging perilously -over foaming torrents--gliding like a snake under towering masses of -rock--and running dangerously along the verge of dizzy precipices, -while white-walled, red-roofed, green-shuttered villages, shapeless -rocks, delicately green forests, snow-clad peaks, and thread-like -waterfalls flashed past the tired eyes of the passengers in the train -with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope. - -And it was hot--the insufferable radiance of the southern sun, blazing -down from a cloudless sky, beat pitilessly on the roofs of the railway -carriages, until the occupants were quite worn out with the heat and -glare from which they could not escape. - -In one of the first-class carriages two men were endeavouring to -alleviate the discomfort in some measure, and had succeeded in -obtaining a partial twilight by drawing down the dark blue curtains, -but the attempt was hardly successful, as through every chink and -cranny left uncovered, shot the blinding white arrows of the sun-god, -telling of the intolerable brilliance without. - -One of the individuals in question was lying full length on the -cushions, his head resting on a dressing-bag, and his eyes half -closed, while the other was curled up in a corner on the opposite -side, with his hands in his pockets, his head thrown back, and a -discontented look on his boyish face, as he stared upward. Both -gentlemen had their coats off, their waistcoats unbuttoned and their -collars loose, trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible in -the sweltering heat. - -On the seats and floor of the carriage a litter of books and papers -showed how they had been striving to beguile the time, but human -nature had given in at last, and they were now reduced to a state of -exhaustion, to get through the next few hours as best they could until -their arrival at Chiasso, where they intended to leave the train and -drive over to their destination at Cernobbio, on Lake Como. - -"Oh Jove!" groaned the lad in the corner, settling himself into a more -comfortable position, "what a devil of a day." - -"The first oath," murmured the recumbent man lazily, with his eyes -still closed, "is apt, and smacks of classic culture suitable to the -land of Italy, but the latter is English and barbaric." - -"Oh, bother," retorted his friend impatiently, "I can't do the subject -justice in the way of swearing." - -"Then don't try; the tortures of Hades are bad enough without the -language thereof." - -"You seem comfortable at all events, Gartney," said the boy crossly. - -"St. Lawrence," observed Mr. Gartney, opening his eyes, "had a bed of -roses on his gridiron compared with this eider-down cushion on which I -lie--the saint roasted, I simmer--I'll be quite done by the time we -reach Chiasso." - -"I'm done now," groaned his companion. "Do shut up, Gartney, and I'll -try and get some sleep." - -Gartney laughed softly at the resigned manner in which the other -spoke, and once more closed his eyes while his friend, following his -example, fell into an uneasy slumber interrupted by frequent sighs and -groans. - -He was a pleasant enough looking boy, but not what would be called -handsome, with his merry grey eyes, his rather wide mouth, his -well-cut nose with sensitive nostrils, and his wavy auburn hair -suiting his fair freckled skin; all these taken individually were by -no means faultless, yet altogether they made up a countenance which -most people liked. Then he had a tall, well-knit figure, and as he -dressed well, rode well, was an adept in all kinds of athletic sports, -with exuberant animal spirits and a title, Angus Macjean, Master of -Otterburn, was a general favourite with his own sex, and a particular -favourite with the other. - -What wit and humour the lad possessed came from his Irish mother, who -died, poor soul, shortly after he was born, and was not sorry to leave -the world either, seeing it was rendered so unpleasant by her stern -Presbyterian husband. Why she married Lord Dunkeld when, as a Dublin -belle, she could have done so much better, was a mystery to everyone, -but at all events marry him she did with the aforesaid results, death -for herself after a year of unhappy married life, and an heir to the -Macjean title. - -Lord Dunkeld was sincerely sorry in his own cold way when she died, -never dreaming, narrow-minded bigot as he was, that life in the gloomy -Border castle was unsuited to the brilliant, impulsive Irishwoman, and -after placing her remains in the family vault, he proceeded to apply -to his son's life the same rules that finished Lady Dunkeld's -existence. The boy, however, had Scotch grit in him as well as Celtic -brilliance, and as he grew up under his father's eye, gave promise -both intellectually and physically of future excellence, so that when -he reached the age of nineteen, he was the pride of the old lord, and -of the endless Macjean clan, who were very proud, very poor, and very -numerous. - -But whatever pride Dunkeld felt in the perfections of his heir he took -care never to show it to the lad on the principle that it would make -him vain, and vanity, according to Mr. Mactab, the minister who looked -after the spiritual welfare of the family, "was a snare o' the auld -enemy wha gaes roaring up an' doon the warld." So Angus was never -pandered to in that way, but led a studious, joyless existence, his -only pleasures being shooting and fishing, while occasionally Dunkeld -entertained a few of his friends who were of the same way of thinking -as himself, and made merry in a decorous, dreary fashion. - -At the age of nineteen, however, the lad rebelled against the dismal -life to which his father condemned him, for as the princess in the -brazen castle, despite all precautions, found out about the prince -coming to release her, so Angus Macjean, from various sources, learned -facts about a pleasant life in the outside world, which made him long -to leave the cheerless castle and rainy northern skies for a place -more congenial to the Irish side of his character. With such ideas, it -is scarcely to be wondered at that he became more unmanageable every -day, until Lord Dunkeld with many misgivings sent him to Oxford to -finish his education, but as a safeguard placed by his side as servant -one Johnnie Armstrong, a middle-aged Scotchman of severe tendencies, -who was supposed to be "strong in the spirit." - -So to this seat of learning, Otterburn went, as his progenitors had -gone before him, and falling in by some trick of Fate with a somewhat -fast set, indulged his Irish love for pleasure to the utmost. Not that -he did anything wrong, or behaved worse than the general run of young -men, but his 'Varsity life was hardly one which would have been -approved of by his severe parent or the upright minister who had -nurtured his young intellect on the psalms of David. - -Still Johnnie Armstrong! - -Alas, for the frailty of human nature, Johnnie Armstrong, the strong -in spirit, the guardian of morality, the prop of a wavering faith, -yielded to the temptations of the world, and held only too readily -that tongue which should have warned Otterburn against the snares of -Belial, for, truth to tell, Johnnie made as complaisant a guardian as -the most dissipated rake could have desired. The world, the flesh, and -the devil was too strong a trinity for Johnnie to stand against, so he -surrendered himself to the temptations of this life in the most -pusillanimous manner, aiding and abetting his young master with -misdirected zeal. Behold then, Angus Macjean and his leal henchman -both fallen away from grace and having a good time of it at Oxford, so -much so, indeed, that Otterburn was quite sorry when his father, after -two years' absence, summoned him to Dunkeld Castle to grace the -ceremony of his coming of age. - -That coming of age was a severe trial to Angus, as the guests were -mostly Free Kirk ministers and their spouses, the ministers in lengthy -speeches, exhorting him to follow in the footsteps of his father, -_i.e_., support the Free Kirk, make large donations to the funds -thereof, and entertain ministers of that following on all possible -occasions. Otterburn having learnt considerable craft at Oxford, made -suitable replies, promising all kinds of things which he had not the -slightest idea of fulfilling, and altogether produced a favourable -impression both by such guile and by a display of those educational -graces with which Alma Mater had endowed him. It is needless to say -that, aided by the faithful Johnnie Angus did not tell either his -father or Mactab of his gay life at the University, and the result of -this reticence was that the old lord, bestowing on him a small income -out of the somewhat straitened finances of the Macjeans, bade him -enjoy himself in London for a year, and then return to marry. - -To marry! Poor Angus was horror-struck at such a prospect, the more so -when his father introduced him to the lady selected to be his bride, a -certain Miss Cranstoun who had a good income, but nothing else to -recommend her to his fastidious taste. - -However, being a somewhat philosophical youth, he accepted the -inevitable, for he knew it would be easier to move Ben Nevis than his -father, and trusting to the intervention of a kind Providence to avert -his matrimonial fate, he went up to London with Johnnie to enjoy -himself, which he did, but hardly in the way anticipated by Lord -Dunkeld. - -Thinking his marriage with the plain-looking Miss Cranstoun was -unavoidable, he made up his mind to see as much of life as he could -during his days of freedom, and proceeded to do so to his own -detriment, morally, physically and pecuniarily, when he chanced to -meet with Eustace Gartney. - -Eustace Gartney, whimsical in his fancies, took a liking to the lonely -lad, left to his own devices in such a dangerous place as London, and -persuaded him to come to Italy hoping to acquire an influence over the -young man and keep him on the right path until his return to Dunkeld -Castle. - -There was certainly a spice of selfishness in this arrangement, as -Eustace was attracted by the exuberant animal spirits and Irish wit of -the lad, which formed a contrast to the general run of young men of -to-day, and to his own pessimistic views of life, so, much as he -disliked putting himself out in any way, he determined to stand by the -inexperienced youth, and save him from his impulsive good nature and -love of pleasure. - -Lord Dunkeld, deeming it wise that Angus should see something of -Continental life, and having full confidence in the -straightforwardness of Johnnie Armstrong, agreed to the journey, much -to his son's surprise, and this was how The Hon. Angus Macjean, in -company with Eustace Gartney, was in a railway train midway between -St. Gothard and Chiasso. - -And Eustace Gartney, poet, visionary, philosopher, pessimist--what of -him? Well, it is rather difficult to say. His friends called him mad, -but then one's friends always say that of anyone whose character they -find it difficult to understand. He was eminently a child of the -latter half of this curious century, the outcome of an over-refined -civilization, the last expression of an artificial existence, and a -riddle hard and unguessable to himself and everyone around him. - -For one thing, he always spoke the truth, and that in itself was -sufficient to stamp him as an eccentric individual, who had no motive -for existence in a society where the friendship of its members depends -in a great measure on their dexterity in evading it. Again Gartney was -iconoclastic in his tendencies, and loved to knock down, break up, and -otherwise maltreat the idols which Society has set up in high places -for the purposes of daily worship. The Goddess of Fashion, the Idol of -Sport, the Deity of Conventionalism, all these and their kind were -abominations to this disrespectful young man, who displayed a lack of -reverence for such things which was truly appalling. - -It was not as though he had emerged from that unseen world of the -lower classes, of which the upper ten know nothing, to denounce the -follies and fashions of the hour; no, indeed, Eustace Gartney had been -born in the purple, inherited plenty of money, been brought up in a -conventional manner, and the astonishing ideas he possessed, so -destructive to the well-being of Society, were certainly not derived -from his parents. Both his father and mother had been of the most -orthodox type, and would doubtless have looked upon their son's -eccentricities with dismay had they lived, but as they both -finished with the things of this life shortly after he was born, -they were mercifully spared the misery of reflecting that they had -produced such a firebrand. Indeed they might have checked his -radical-iconoclastic-pessimistic follies at their birth had they -lived, but Fate willed it otherwise, and in addition to robbing -Eustace of his parents had given him careless guardians, who rarely -troubled their heads about him, so that he grew up without discipline -or guidance, and even at the age of thirty-eight years was still under -the control of an extremely ill-regulated mind. - -Tall, heavily-built, loose-limbed, with a massive head, leonine masses -of dark hair, roughly-cut features, and keen grey eyes, he gave the -casual observer an idea that he possessed a fund of latent strength, -both intellectual and physical, but he rarely indulged the former, and -never by any chance displayed the latter. Clean-shaven, with a -peculiarly sensitive mouth, his smile--when he did smile, which was -seldom--was wonderfully fascinating, and completely changed the -somewhat sombre character of his face. He usually dressed in a -careless, shabby fashion, though particular about the spotlessness of -his linen, rolled in his gait as if he had been all his life at sea, -looked generally half asleep, and, despite the little trouble he took -with his outward appearance, was a very noticeable figure. When he -chose, he could talk admirably, played the piano in the most brilliant -fashion, wrote charming verses and fantastic essays, and altogether -was very much liked in London Society, when he chose to put in an -appearance at the few houses whose inmates did not bore him. - -Without doubt a singularly loveable man; children adored him, animals -fawned on him, and friends, ah--that was the rub, seeing that he -denied the existence of such things, classing them in the category of -rocs, sea-serpents, hippogriffs, and such-like strange beasts. -Therefore dismissing the word friends, which only applies to uncreated -beings, and substituting the word acquaintances, which is good enough -to ticket one's fellow creatures with, the acquaintances of Mr. -Gartney liked him--or said they liked him--very much. - -Absence in this case doubtless made their hearts grow fonder, as -Eustace was rarely in England, preferring to travel in the most -outlandish regions, his usual address being either Timbuctoo, the -Mountains of the Moon, or the dominions of Prester John. He had -explored most of this small planet of ours, and had written books in -the Arabian Nights vein about things which people said never existed, -and talked vaguely of yachting in the Polar seas, exploring the buried -cities of Central America, or doing something equally original. At -present, however, he had dismissed these whimsical projects for an -indefinite period, as the marriage of his cousin Guy Errington and the -friendship of Angus Macjean now occupied his attention. - -Then again his last book of paradoxical essays had been a great -success, as everybody of his acquaintance, both friends and foes, -abused it--and read it. The critics, who know everything, had -denounced the book as blasphemous, horrible, coarse, drivelling, with -the pleasing result that it had an exceptionally large sale; and -although most people, guided by the big dailies, said they were -shocked at the publication of such a book, yet they secretly liked the -brilliant incisive writing, and wanted to lionise the author, but -Eustace getting wind of the idea promptly betook himself to the -Continent in order to escape such an infliction. - -It was impossible that such a peculiar personage could be happy, and -Eustace certainly was not, as his fame, his money and his prosperity -were all so much Dead Sea fruit to his discontented mind. And why? -Simply because he was one of those exacting men who demand from the -world more than the world, which is selfish in the extreme, is -prepared to give, and because he could not obtain the moon sulked like -a naughty child at his failure to attain the impossible. - -If he made a friend, he then and there demanded more than the most -complaisant friend could give, so his friendship always ended in -quarrels, and he would then inveigh against the heartlessness of human -nature simply because he could not make his friend a slave to his -whims and fancies. - -He had been in love, or thought so, many times, but without any -definite result, as he had a disagreeable habit of analysing womankind -too closely; and as they never by any chance came up to the impossible -standard of perfection he desired, the result was invariably the same, -irritation on his side, pique on the woman's, and ultimate partings in -mutual disgust. Then he would retire from the world for a time, nurse -his disappointment in solitude, and emerge at length with a series of -bitter poems or a volume of cynical essays, in which he summarised his -opinions regarding his last failure in love or friendship. A bitter -man, a discontented man, absurdly exacting, intolerant of all things -that were not to his liking, yet withal--strange contrast--a loveable -character. - -Angus Macjean therefore was his latest friend, but it was not -altogether a selfish feeling, as he was genuinely anxious to save the -friendless lad from the dangerous tendencies of an impulsive nature; -nevertheless, his liking was not entirely disinterested, seeing that -he enjoyed the bright boyish nature of Otterburn, with his impossible -longings, and his enthusiastic hero-worship of himself. So this spoilt -child, pleased with his new toy, saw the world and his fellow men in a -more kindly light than usual, and, provided the mood lasted, there was -a chance that the happy disposition of Macjean might ameliorate to -some extent the gloom of his own temperament. - -On his part, Angus was flattered by the friendship of such a clever -man, and moreover secretly admired the cynicism of his companion, -though, truth to tell, he did not always understand the vague -utterances of his oracle, for Gartney was somewhat enigmatic at times. -Still on the whole Angus liked him, and his enthusiastic nature led -him to enuow his idol with many perfections which it certainly did -not possess. - -Thus these two incongruous natures had come together, but how long -such an amicable state of things would last was questionable. There -was always the fatal rock of boredom ahead, upon which their -friendship might be wrecked, and if Gartney grew weary of Otterburn or -Otterburn of Gartney, the result would be--well the result was still -to come. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -AN INCOMPLETE MADONNA. - - "She is a maid - Who hath a look prophetic in her eyes, - A longing for--she knows not what herself; - Yet if by chance when kneeling rapt in prayer, - She raised her eyes to Mother Mary's face, - Within her breast a thought--till then unguessed, - Amazing all her dreamings virginal, - Would show her, by that vision motherly, - The something needed to complete her life." - - -"Then what is she?" - -"She is an Incomplete Madonna." - -They were near the end of their journey when Gartney made this reply, -and having reduced the chaos of books and papers into something like -order, they were both sitting up with their garments in a more -presentable condition, smoking cigarettes, and talking about the -Erringtons. - -This family, consisting of two people, male and female, bride and -bridegroom, were staying at the Villa Tagni on Lake Como, and Sir Guy -Errington, being a cousin of Gartney's, had asked his eccentric -relative to pay them a visit while in the vicinity, which he had -consented to do. This being the case, Otterburn, who, unacquainted -with the happy pair, except as to their name and relationship to his -friend, was cross-examining Eustace with a view to finding out as much -as he could about them before being introduced. - -Sir Guy, according to his cynical cousin, was a handsome young fellow, -with three ideas of primitive simplicity in his head, namely, -shooting, hunting, and dining. Quite of the orthodox English type, -according to the Gallic "it's-a-fine-day-let-us-go-and-kill-something" -idea, so Otterburn, having met many such heroes of sporting instincts, -asked no more questions regarding the gentleman, but being moved by -the inevitable curiosity of man concerning woman, put the three -orthodox questions which form a social trinity of perfection in -masculine eyes. - -"Is she pretty?" - -Silence on the part of Mr. Eustace Gartney. - -"Is she young?" - -Still silence, but the ghost of a smile on the thin lips. - -"Is she rich?" - -Oracle again mute, whereupon the exasperated worshipper queries more -comprehensively: - -"Then what is she?" - -Vague, enigmatic answer of the oracle: - -"She is an Incomplete Madonna." - -Otterburn stared in puzzled surprise at this epigrammatic response to -his boyish cross-examination, and after a bewildered pause burst out -laughing. - -"You're too deep for me, Gartney," he said at length, blowing a cloud -of thin blue smoke. "I don't understand that intellectual extract of -beef wherein the qualities of one's friends are boiled down into a -single witty phrase." - -This reply pleased Eustace, especially as he was conscious of having -said rather a neat thing, so glancing out into the brilliant world of -sunshine to see how far they were from their destination, he lighted -another cigarette and explained himself gravely: - -"I am very fond of ticketing my friends in that way, as it saves such -a lot of trouble in answering questions; if you asked me what I should -like in my tea, I should not answer 'the sweet juice of cane -crystallized into white grains.' No! I should simply say 'sugar,' -which includes all the foregoing; therefore when you ask me to -describe Lady Errington, I say she is an incomplete Madonna, which is -an admirable description of her in two words." - -"This," remarked Otterburn, somewhat annoyed, "is a lecture on the use -and abuse of epigrams. I don't want to know about epigrams, but I do -want to know about Lady Errington. Your two-word description is no -doubt witty, but it doesn't answer any of my questions." - -"Pardon me, it answers the whole three." - -"I don't see it." - -"Listen then, oh groper in Cimmerian gloom. You ask if Lady Errington -is young--of course, the Madonna is always painted young. Is she -pretty? The Madonna, as you will see in Italian pictures, is -absolutely lovely. Is she rich? My dear lad, we well know Mary was the -wife of a carpenter, and therefore poor in worldly wealth. Ergo, I -have answered all your questions by the use of the phrase incomplete -Madonna." - -"A very whimsical explanation at best, besides, you have answered more -than I asked by the use of the word incomplete--why is Lady Errington -incomplete?" - -"Because she is not yet a mother." - -"Oh, confound your mystic utterances," cried the Master, comically, -"do descend from your cloudy heights and tell me what you mean. I -gather from your extremely hazy explanation that Lady Errington is -young, pretty, and poor, also that she is not a mother. So far so -good. Proceed, but for heaven's sake no more epigrams." - -"I'm afraid the beauty of an epigram is lost on you Macjean?" - -"Entirely! I am neither a poet nor a student, so don't waste your -eloquence on me." - -"Well, I won't," answered Gartney, smiling. "I'll have pity on your -limited understanding and tell you all about Alizon Errington's -marriage in plain English." - -"Do, it will pass the time delightfully until we leave this infernal -train.' - -"Lady Errington, my young friend," said Eustace leisurely, "is what -you, with your sinful misuse of the Queen's English, would call 'a -jolly pretty woman,' of the age of twenty-five, but I may as well say -that she looks much older than that--this is no doubt the peculiar -effect of the life she led before her marriage." - -"On the racket," interposed Otterburn, scenting a scandal. - -"Nothing of the sort," retorted Gartney, severely. "Lady Errington has -led the life of a Saint Elizabeth." - -"Never heard of her. The worthy Mactab didn't approve of saints, as -they savoured too much of the Scarlet Woman." - -"At present I will not enlighten your ignorance," said Eustace drily, -"it would take too long and I might subvert the training of the -excellent Mactab which has been such a signal success with you." - -Otterburn grinned at this fine piece of irony, but offered no further -interruption, so Eustace went on with his story. - -"I knew Lady Errington first--by the way, in saying I know her, I -don't mean personally. I have seen her, heard her speak and met her at -the houses of friends, but I have never been introduced to her." - -"Why not?" - -"I don't know if I can give any particular explanation; she didn't -attract me much as Alizon Mostyn, so I did not seek to know her, nor -did she ever show any desire to make my acquaintance, so beyond -knowing each other by sight we remained strangers, a trick of Fate, I -suppose--that deity is fond of irony." - -"You're becoming epigrammatic again," said Otterburn, warningly, -"proceed with the narrative." - -Eustace laughed, and took up the thread of his discourse without -further preamble. - -"Lady Errington is the daughter of the late Gabriel Mostyn, who was -without doubt one of the biggest scoundrels who ever infested the -earth, that is saying a great deal considering what I know of my -friends, but I don't think it is exaggerated. He was a man of good -family, and being a younger son, was, in conformity with that -ridiculous law of English primogeniture, sent out into the world with -a younger son's portion to make his way, which he did, and a very -black way it was. Why a man with a handsome exterior, a clever brain, -and a consummate knowledge of human nature, should have devoted all -those advantages to leading a bad life I don't know, but the wicked -fairy who came to Gabriel Mostyn's cradle, had neutralised all the -gifts of her sisters by the bestowal of an evil soul, for his career, -from the time he left the family roof until the time he died under it, -was one long infamy. - -"He was a diplomatist first, and was getting on capitally, being -attaché at the Embassy at Constantinople, when he was caught selling -State secrets to the Russian Government somewhere about the time of -the Crimean War, and as the affair was too glaring to be hushed up, he -was kicked out in disgrace. After this disagreeable episode he led a -desultory sort of existence, wandering about the Continent. He was -well known at the gambling hells, and his compatriots generally gave -him a pretty wide berth when they chanced to meet him. In Germany he -married a charming woman, a daughter of a Baron Von Something, and -settled down for a time. However, to keep his hand in, he worried his -poor wife into her grave, and she died three years after the marriage, -leaving him two children--a son and the present Lady Errington. - -"Mrs. Mostyn had some property of her own, which she left to her son, -and in the event of the son's death the husband was to inherit. It was -a foolish will to make, knowing as she must have done her husband's -disposition, and it was rather a heartless thing for the mother to -leave her daughter out in the cold. No doubt, however, the astute -Gabriel had something to do with it. At all events he did not trouble -much about his children, but leaving them to the care of their German -relatives, went off to Spain, where he was mixed up in the Carlist -war, much to the delight of everyone, for they thought he might be -killed. - -"The devil looks after his own, however, and Mostyn turned up at the -conclusion of the war minus an arm, but as bad as ever. Then he went -off to South America, taking his son with him." - -"There was nothing very bad in that, at all events," said Otterburn, -who was listening with keen interest. - -"Shortly after he arrived at Lima the son disappeared." - -"The devil!" interrupted Angus, sitting up quickly; "he surely didn't -kill the boy?" - -"That is the question," said Eustace grimly, "nobody knows what he did -with him, but at all events the boy disappeared and was never heard of -again. There was some of that eternal fighting going on between the -South American Republics, and Mostyn said the lad had been shot, but -if he was," pursued Gartney slowly, "I believe his father did it." - -"Surely not--he had no reason." - -"You forget," observed Eustace sardonically, "I told you the boy -inherited his mother's money, that was, no doubt, the reason, for -Mostyn came back to Europe alone, claimed the money, and after -obtaining it with some difficulty, soon squandered it on his own -vicious pleasures. Then, as a reward for such conduct, his elder -brother died without issue, and Mr. Gabriel Mostyn, blackguard, -Bohemian and suspected murderer, came in for the family estates." - -"The wicked flourish like a green bay tree," observed Angus, -remembering the worthy Mactab's biblical readings in a hazy kind of -way, and misquoting Scripture. - -"The wicked man didn't flourish in this case," retorted Eustace, -promptly. "Nemesis was on his track although he little knew it. He -took his daughter back with him to England, duly came into possession -of the estate, and tried to white-wash his character with society. His -reputation, however, was too unsavoury for anyone to have anything to -do with him, so in a rage he returned to his old ways and outdid in -infamy all his previous life. No one was cruel enough to enlighten his -daughter, whom he had left in seclusion at the family seat, and she -remained quite ignorant of her father's conduct, which was a good -thing for her peace of mind. - -"For some years Mostyn, defying God and man, pursued his evil career, -but at length Nature, generous in lending but cruel in exacting, -demanded back all she had lent, and he was struck down in the full -tide of his evil prosperity by a stroke of paralysis." - -"Served him jolly well right," observed Otterburn heartily. - -"So everybody thought. Well, he was taken down to his country house, -and there for four terrible years Alizon Mostyn devoted herself to -nursing him. What that poor girl suffered during those four years no -one knows nor ever will know, for despite the blow which had fallen on -him, Gabriel Mostyn was as wicked as ever, and I believe his curses -and blasphemy against his punishment were something awful. No one ever -came to see him but the doctors, although I was told a clergyman did -attempt to make some enquiries after his soul, but retreated in dismay -before the foul language used by the old reprobate. His daughter put -up with all this, and in spite of the persuasions of her friends, who -tried to take her away from that terrible bed-side, she attended him -to the end with devoted affection. She saw him die, and from all -accounts his death-bed was enough to have given her the horrors for -the rest of her life, for only his lower extremities being paralysed, -they said he tore the bedclothes to ribbons in his last paroxysm, -cursing like a fiend the whole time." - -"And did she stay through it all?" - -"Yes! till the breath was out of his wicked old body. I believe his -last breath was a curse, and just before he died it took two men to -hold him down by main force in the bed." - -"Great heavens! how awful," ejaculated Otterburn in a shocked tone; -"what a terrible scene for that poor girl to witness--and afterwards?" - -"Oh, afterwards she came up to London," replied Gartney, after a -pause; "the old man had got rid of all the property, and even the Hall -was so heavily mortgaged that it had to be sold. She stayed with some -relatives, and there was some talk of her becoming a Sister of Mercy. -I dare say she would have done so, her vocation evidently being in the -Florence Nightingale line, had she not met with my cousin Errington, -who fell in love with her, and three months ago married her." - -"Curious history," commented Angus idly. "I don't wonder she looks -older than she is, after coming through all that misery, but I hope -she doesn't make her past life a text upon which to prose about -religion." - -"No, I don't think she does. I have been told she is somewhat serious, -but a charming woman to talk to." - -"Not the sort of woman likely to be attracted by a sporting blade like -Errington." - -Gartney held his peace at this remark and looked thoughtfully at his -cigarette. - -"Does she love him?" asked the Master, noticing the silence of his -companion. - -"Does she love him?" replied Gartney, meditatively. "I hardly know. -Guy isn't a bad sort of fellow as men go, he's a straightforward, -athletic, stupid young Englishman." - -"Married to a saint." - -"Oh, I assure you he admires and loves the saint immensely, judging -from his enthusiastic letters to me about her perfections. She is fair -to look on, she is a thoroughly pure, good woman, and will, without -doubt, make an excellent mother. What more can a man desire? - -"I'm afraid you'd desire a good deal more." - -"Ah but then you see I'm not a man, but a combination of -circumstances." - -"I don't understand." - -"No? It is rather difficult of comprehension, I admit. What I mean is, -that the circumstances of my having been an orphan of my bringing up, -my command of money, and above all the circumstances of the age I live -in, have all made me the curious creature I am." - -"Oh I you admit then that you are curious." - -"So much so that I doubt if any woman in existence would satisfy me as -a companion for more than a few days. A fast woman irritates me, a -clever woman enrages me, and a good one bores me." - -"And Lady Errington?" - -"Is happier with her stupid adoring husband than she would be with a -bundle of contradictions like myself." - -"Yet she does not love this stupid adoring husband." - -"I never said that," observed Eustace hastily. - -"Not in words, certainly, but you hinted---- - -"I hinted nothing, because I'm not sure--how can I be when I tell you -I don't know Lady Errington?" - -"You appear to have studied her pretty closely at all events." - -"A mere whim on my part, I assure you; besides, Guy has written to me -about his wife, and I--well I've gathered a lot of nonsensical ideas -from his letters." - -"Then there is a possibility that she does not love him," persisted -Otterburn, a trifle maliciously. - -"How annoying you are, Macjean," said Eustace in a vexed tone. "Of -course there are always possibilities. In this case, however, I can -only refer you to Heine, 'There is always one who loves and one who is -loved." - -Otterburn saw that Eustace was rather annoyed at his persistency, so -did not press the point, but contented himself with observing: - -"Well, I think I know Lady Errington's character pretty well by this -time. She is a charming woman with a bad history, a serious face, and -a wifely regard for an adoring husband. Am I right?" - -"Well, yes--to a certain extent." - -"Still, all this does not explain the whole of your incomplete Madonna -phrase. Tell me exactly what you mean." - -Eustace thought for a moment, and then began to speak in his slow -languid voice. - -"Last time I was in Italy," he said dreamily, "I one day strolled into -a village church built on the side of a hill above the blue waters of -a still lake. Outside it was a hot, brilliant day, something like -this, but within all was coolness and dim twilight. - -"At a side altar tall candles glimmered before a shrine of the Virgin, -and cast their pale glow on a large picture of the Madonna which was -hanging upon the wall of the chapel. I don't know the name of the -artist who painted the figure, but it made a great impression upon me. -I'm afraid I was impressionable in those days. We all lose our finer -feelings as the years go by. - -"Well, the painter had depicted the Mother standing alone, with sombre -clouds beneath her white feet, her hands, long and pale, folded across -her breast, and her face with a yearning expression lifted to a ray of -light from the mystic dove of the Holy Ghost, which pierced the -darkness of the sky. There was no infant Jesus in her arms, such as we -generally see in altar-pieces, and I fancy the idea of the artist was -to depict Mary as a pure solitary woman, before the announcement of -the Conception. In her eyes, sad and deep, dwelt an expression of -intense yearning, and on her beautiful face the look of a woman -longing for the pleasures of maternity. - -"I never forgot the hopeless craving of that gaze, the hungry longing -for the fondling arms and inarticulate cries of a child. Only once -have I seen such a look on a human countenance, and that was on Lady -Errington's before her marriage; she had the same hungry look in her -eyes which can only be appeased by the birth of a child, and which -will give her that special love and affection needed to complete her -life. Therefore I call her an incomplete Madonna, for when she becomes -a mother that yearning gaze will pass away for ever, and be succeeded -by the serene beatitude that painters give the face of the Virgin when -she clasps the child Jesus to her breast, encircled by the adoring -hosts of heaven." - -"That is a very poetical interpretation of a picture," said Otterburn -when Eustace had ended. "I doubt however if I should draw the same -conclusions were I to see the picture." - -"You will not see the picture I refer to but you will meet Lady -Errington, then you can give me your opinion." - -"I'm afraid it will not coincide with yours. But if all her love is -thus centred on the coming of a child, when it is born she will love -it passionately to the exclusion of her husband." - -"Perhaps!" replied Eustace calmly. "However we shall see. It is a -curious study of a woman's character, and I am anxious to see if my -idea is a correct one. Of this, however, I am certain, that the day a -child is born to Alizon Errington will be a sad day for her husband if -he worships her over much, for he will have to be satisfied with the -crumbs of love that fall from the child's table." - -"Ah! that is one of those things yet to be proved," said Otterburn -rising, as the train, approaching Chiasso, slowed gradually down. "But -here we are at the end of our journey." - -"For which the Lord be thanked," replied Eustace, and jumped out on to -the platform. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -THE WANING OF THE HONEYMOON. - - "Ah, love how quickly fades the rose, - When after sunshine come the snows, - So joys may change to cruel woes - Thro' Cupid's treason. - But roses will their bloom renew, - And snows fall not from heavens blue, - So hearts like ours will still be true, - Through every season." - - -It certainly would be difficult to find a more charming residence than -the Villa Tagni. Standing on the extreme verge of a low rocky -promontory, which ran out some distance into the tideless waters of -Lake Como, it appeared like some fairy palace as it nestled amid the -cool green of its surrounding trees and reflected its delicately -ornate façade in the still mirror of the water. - -Like most Italian houses it had a somewhat theatrical appearance, with -its bright pink-coloured walls and vividly green shutters, set in -broad frames of snow-white stone. Then again, these walls being -decorated with arabesque designs in various brilliant tints, the -general effect at a distance was that of cunningly wrought mosaic, -while above this bizarre combination of colours sloped the roof of -dull-hued red tiles; the picturesque whole standing out in glowing -relief from the emerald background of heavily-foliaged trees of ilex, -tamarisk, chestnut and cypress. High above towered a great mountain, -with its grey scarred peak showing suddenly through its green forests -against the clear blue of an Italian sky. More than half-way down, the -highway ran along the slope like a sinuous white serpent, and below -nestled the villa by the water's edge. Bright, fanciful, jewel-like, -it was the very realization of a poet's dream, the magic outcome of -some Oriental phantasy, such as we read of in those strange Arabian -tales where the genii rear visionary palaces under the powerful spells -of Solomon ben Daoud. - -A broad stone terrace ran along the front of the villa, on to which -admission was given from the house by wide French windows, generally -masked by their venetian shutters, which excluded the glare of the sun -from the inner apartments. A double flight of steps descended from -this terrace sheer into the cool water upon which floated the graceful -pleasure boat belonging to the villa, and on either side grew dense -masses of sycamore, fir, oak and laurel sloping down to the verge of -the lake, their uniform tints broken at intervals by the pale grey -foliage of olive trees. Radiant in the sunlight glowed the rosy -blossoms of the oleander, sudden amid the shadow flashed the golden -trails of drooping laburnams--here, like the fabled fruit of -Hesperides, hung golden oranges, there the pallid yellow ovals of -scented lemons, and deep in the faint twilight of glossy leaves -glimmered the warm white blossoms of the magnolia tree, ivory censers -from whence breathed those voluptuous perfumes which confuse the brain -like the fumes of opium smoke. - -And then the flowers! Surely this was the paradise of flowers, which -here grew in a prodigal profusion unknown in the carefully-cultured -gardens of chill northern lands where the fruitful footsteps of Flora -pause but a moment. In this favoured clime, however, the goddess ever -remains, and adorns her resting place with lavish bounty of her -fast-fading treasures. - -Here deeply-flushed roses scattered their showers of fragrant leaves, -yonder bloomed the pale amethystine heliotrope, fiercely amid the -verdure burned the scarlet blossoms of the geranium, and, in secluded -corners, slender virginal lilies hinted at the pale mysticism of the -cloister, while red anemones, grey-green rosemary, blue violets, still -bluer gentian, many-tinted azaleas, snowy asphodels, and yellow -hawkweeds all grew together in a confused mass of brilliant colours, -and every vagrant wind ruffling the still surface of the lake sent a -rich breath of fragrance through the drowsy air. Over all, the deep -azure of the cloudless sky, from whence shone the fierce sun on the -lofty encircling mountains, the arid plains, the clustering villages -huddled round the slender white _campanili_ of their churches, the -glittering waters of the lake, the brightly coloured villas, and on -the brilliant profusion of flowers which almost hid the teeming bosom -of the green earth in this garden of the world. - -It was late in the afternoon, and the cool breeze of the coming night -was already commencing to make its welcome presence felt, when Guy -Errington and his wife, the present occupants of Villa Tagni, came out -on to the terrace to enjoy this most delightful hour of the Italian -day. The servants arranged some Turkish rugs on the tesselated -pavement, placed thereon three or four comfortable lounging chairs of -wicker work, and set forth a small round table, on the white cloth of -which stood a tea service, with a small silver kettle hissing merrily -over a spirit lamp, some plates of cake and fruit, a few tall -thin-stemmed glasses, and a straw-covered flask of red Chianti wine. - -These arrangements being completed they retired, and Lady Errington -making her appearance sat down in one of the chairs, while Sir Guy, -looking cool and comfortable in his white flannels, perched himself -perilously on the balustrade of the terrace with a cigarette between -his lips. And surely nothing could be more charming than this peaceful -scene, with the exquisite view of the lake, the fragrant coolness of -the breeze, the romantic-looking terrace, the pleasant evidence of -hospitality, and this young Adam and Eve to give life to the whole. - -Aged twenty-eight, with a sunburnt face, a fair moustache, merry blue -eyes and a stalwart figure, Sir Guy was certainly a very handsome -young man, the very type of a well-born, well-bred Englishman, and a -greater contrast to his lusty physique could hardly have been found -than that of his wife, with her fragile frame, her pale serious face, -and smooth coils of lustrous golden hair. In her loose tea-gown of -dead white Chinese silk unrelieved by any tint, she looked almost as -wan and colourless as the perfumed knot of snowy lilies at her breast, -and the great fan of white ostrich feathers she wielded in her slender -hand was rivalled by the pallor of her face. The dreaming look in her -calm, blue eyes, the slight droop of the thin red lips which gave a -touch of sadness to her mobile mouth, and the exquisite transparency -of her complexion, all added to the fragile look of this fair pale -woman, whose spirituality was enhanced by the faint shadows which now -began to fill the warm air. - -Guy Errington, sturdy and practical, did not as a rule indulge in any -fanciful musings, but something in the peculiar delicacy of her -expression seemed to strike him suddenly, and throwing away his -cigarette he bent over his pale wife with an air of the utmost -solicitude. - -"I hope you have not felt the heat too much, dear," he said, anxiously -touching the faint rose tint of her cheek with a gentle finger, "you -look as white as a ghost." - -Lady Errington smiled languidly and put her fan up to her lips with a -low laugh. - -"I'm afraid I must be a very deceptive person," she replied lightly, -"for I feel perfectly well. I am always pale, and I obtain a great -deal of undeserved sympathy under false pretences." - -"Do you mind my smoking?" - -"Not in the least. Why did you throw away your cigarette?" - -"I thought it annoyed you." - -His wife looked at him with a slightly mocking smile on her lips. - -"I wonder if you will always be so ready to sacrifice your pleasures -to my unexpressed desires." - -"Always! always!" replied Guy fervently, kneeling beside her chair. -"Your slightest wish will always be my law, Alizon." - -"Till the honeymoon is over, I suppose," said Alizon a trifle sadly, -as she passed her fingers through his hair. - -"I'm afraid the honeymoon is over--in the eyes of the world at least," -responded Errington ruefully. "We've been three months married, you -know, and to-day is our last one of solitude, for Eustace and his -friend will soon be here--are you sorry?" - -"Oh, yes, very sorry," she replied, indifferently, suppressing a yawn; -"these last three months have been charming." - -Errington looked slightly disappointed at her lack of fervour, and to -make up for it commenced to vehemently declare that he did not want to -see anyone, that he could live for the next century with her alone, -she was all the world to him, the one thing he lived for, etc., etc. -in fact gave glib utterance to all the fond rhapsodies which -constantly pour from the mouths of adoring lovers and newly-married -men. - -Kneeling beside her, his face glowing with passionate feeling and his -blue eyes fixed adoringly on the face of his divinity, Guy Errington -looked gallant, handsome and fervid enough to have satisfied the most -exacting woman. Yet, strange to say, for some inexplicable reason, -this wife of three months appeared slightly bored by his erotic -enthusiasm. - -"You are the pearl of husbands, my dear Guy," she observed idly when -he ceased his protestations, "but confess now, on your knees as you -are, that you feel a trifle weary of this perfect bliss--this society -of two--and long for your dogs, your horses, and your coverts." - -At this accurate divination of his real feelings, Errington looked -somewhat disconcerted, for despite the ardour of his protestations he -did feel slightly weary of this monotonous tranquillity, and in his -secret heart longed for the things she mentioned. - -"Well, you know I'm not a bit romantic," he said apologetically, as if -he were confessing to some crime, "and I am a little tired of churches -and pictures. Besides, I am anxious for you to see the Hall, and -there's such a lot of things to be looked after, and--and----" - -"And this is somewhere about the twelfth of August," said Lady -Errington slily, cutting short his excuses, whereat he laughed in a -somewhat embarrassed manner. - -"Ah, you've found me out," he observed with a smile. "Well, yes, dear, -I confess it is true, I was thinking about the coverts--it ought to be -a good year for the birds. Besides there are the stables, you know. I -am going to get a new hunter for next season. Baffles tells me -there's a good one to be picked up--belongs to some Major Griff or -Groff--don't know the name--and I've got my eye--Good gracious, -Alizon," he added, breaking off--"What is the matter?" - -"Nothing, nothing!" she replied, trying to smile although she looked -singularly disturbed, "only that name you mentioned, Major Griff." - -"Yes, what about him?" - -"Nothing at all--only he was--I believe, a friend of my father's." - -"Oh! don't trouble your head about those things, dear, all that sort -of thing is past and done with," said Guy fondly, who knew what she -had suffered at the hands of her father, "your life will be all -sunshine--if I can make it so." - -Alizon bent forward and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. - -"You're a good, dear fellow, Guy," she said softly, "and if I do -sometimes remember the bitterness of the past, I always thank God for -the sweetness of the present, and for the husband He has given me. We -will go back to Errington Hall whenever you like. I am anxious to see -our home." - -This last phrase sounded delightful to the ears of Guy, and in a -sudden access of tenderness he bent his head and kissed the cool slim -hand which lay so confidingly in his own. Alizon's momentary fit of -emotion being past, she withdrew her hand with a slight laugh at his -action. - -"How foolish you are, Guy," she said gaily, "you must have graduated -at the court of Versailles, but do something more sensible and tell me -all about the Hall, so that I may not be too ignorant on my arrival." - -He had done so hundreds of times before, but the recital never lost -its charm for him, and he thereupon entered into a long and minute -description of his ancestral home with the greatest zest. He described -the quaint old building where so many generations of Erringtons had -been born, lived and died, the well-timbered park with its mighty -oaks, ferny glades and ancient beech-trees, the shooting, which was -said to be the best in the county, the characteristics of the -different people who lived around, to all of which Alizon listened -with praiseworthy attention, although truth to tell her thoughts were -far away and she was in her own mind contrasting this gallant, tender -husband, with her selfish, vicious father. - -Gabriel Mostyn had been a thorough Bohemian in every way, regarding -the world at large as his special property, and always at home -wherever he chose to pitch his tent. Some unknown strain of gipsy -blood which had been in abeyance for several generations, had suddenly -developed in him with overpowering force, and impelled him to restless -wanderings which he was quite unable to withstand. The semi-barbaric -life of Russia had been as well-known to him as the refined -civilization of London, and it was all the same to him whether he -wintered at Rome, passed the summer in Norway, or explored the wild -recesses of the Andes. Owing to this indulgence of his nomadic -instincts he had developed within himself all the vices inseparable -from such a primeval existence, and became a man accustomed to exist -by the law of might against right, taking as his own whatever came to -his hand, preying on the weaknesses of his fellow creatures, and -binding himself by no law of honour or kindness so long as his own -selfish desires were gratified. - -With such a father it was hardly to be wondered at that Alizon had -small respect for the masculine sex, and, foolishly no doubt, judged -everyone else by the only standard she had known. During those four -terrible years when her father had been dying inch by inch, and -disputing every inch with the inexorable Angel of Death, she had -learned a great deal of his previous existence, and the knowledge of -such a foul life had appalled her gentle soul. The idea of marriage -with a man resembling her father even in the most distant manner was -repellent to all her ideas, and she certainly would never have become -the wife of Guy Errington, had not her position with her relatives -been made so disagreeable in every way that with many misgivings she -consented to marry a possible Caliban. - -To her surprise, however, she was agreeably disappointed in finding in -her husband a straightforward, honourable man, with the truest -instincts of a gentleman. He did not pass his life like a modern Cain -in restless wanderings round the world, at war with society and -shunned by all as an outcast, a pariah, a leper, beyond the pale of -human love and companionship. No, he loved his birth-place, his -position, his good name, and knew that he had duties to fulfil in -life, both towards himself, his friends and his tenants. Remembering -the vices of her father, Errington's every-day virtues seemed those of -an angel, and although she did not love him when she became his wife, -yet it was possible that love might be born of genuine admiration and -respect, and subsequently develop into the stronger passion. - -At present, however, she had not got beyond her first stage of -surprise, but simply admired, respected, and honoured Errington as a -man possessed of a just, kind, straightforward nature, and who was -anxious to make her happy by every means in his power. There have been -worse marriages than this consisting of love on one side and -admiration of good qualities on the other, therefore Guy had every -prospect of being happy in such a union as he deserved to be by his -inherent good qualities and his honourable desire to do right in every -way. - -While Alizon was letting her thoughts run on in this fashion, Guy had -become so excited in his narration concerning Errington Hall and their -future life of happiness, that he had risen to his feet, and was now -striding up and down the terrace giving full reins to his imagination. - -"We'll have an awfully jolly time of it," he said blithely, "and -you'll soon forget all your past worries in looking after things; -there's everything to make life happy at the Hall, only I do wish -there was a little more money." - -"Money's the root of all evil," observed Alizon smiling. - -"And the want of it's the whole tree," retorted Guy, laughing at his -own mild witticism. "You see, my father hadn't much idea about things, -and muddled a good deal, so the consequence is that there is a -mortgage on the estate which I must pay off, so we'll have to live -quietly for some years." - -"I'm sure I don't mind." - -"But I do. I'm not going to have you waste your sweetness on the -desert air," replied Errington vehemently, "but at present I don't see -how it can be helped. I need a large sum of ready money, but won't get -it, unless--unless Aunt Jelly dies." - -"I don't think that probable," said Alizon lightly, "Miss Corbin looks -strong enough to outlive Methusaleh." - -"And I daresay she will, the tough old party, but if she does die I'm -sure to come in for her money unless she leaves it to Eustace." - -"Well, why shouldn't she?" - -"Because in the first place she doesn't like him as much as she does -me, and in the second he's got lots of money already, and no wife to -support." - -"Lucky man," observed Lady Errington mischievously. - -"Lucky woman to have escaped him, you mean," retorted Guy sagely; -"he's the most exacting man you ever met." - -"I've never met him to speak to, but I do know him by sight." - -"And that's quite enough. He's such a fastidious chap--an angel out of -Heaven wouldn't satisfy him." - -"Probably not. I don't think angels are desirable wives as a rule." - -"Oh, yes they are, dear," said Errington fondly, pausing near her, -"you are an angel." - -"A very prosaic angel, I'm afraid." - -"Good enough for me anyhow." - -"Isn't that rather a doubtful compliment?" - -"Do you think so? Well, now I come to think of it, perhaps it is a -little doubtful. But I haven't got the gift of tongues like Eustace; -you should hear him talk, Alizon." - -"If his talk is like his books I don't think I shall like it." - -"Eh!--why not? I haven't read them, but I hear they're deuced clever." - -"Too much so, cynical and bitter." - -"That's just like his own character. Eustace is the most pessimistic -man I know." - -"I'm certain I shall not like him," asserted Lady Errington calmly. - -Her husband chuckled a little before replying. - -"Don't be too sure of that. Eustace is a very fascinating sort of -man." - -"More so than you?" - -"Oh, I'm not fascinating." - -"You're very modest, at all events." - -"Do you think so? Wait till you hear me tell shooting stories about my -prowess." - -"Is that your special weakness?" - -"By no means--you are." - -"Thank you for a very pretty compliment, but I'm afraid this -conversation is becoming frivolous," said Alizon, with a faint pink -colour creeping into the pallor of her cheeks, "however, it's ended -now, for here come your friends." - -"Better late than never," remarked Guy, turning round to salute his -cousin, who advanced along the terrace, followed by Otterburn. "How do -you do, Eustace?" - -"Quite well, thank you Guy," replied Eustace, gravely shaking hands. -"This is Mr. Macjean--my cousin, Sir Guy Errington." - -"Glad to see you, Mr. Macjean," said Errington bluffly, "and now let -me introduce both you gentlemen to my wife, Lady Errington. Alizon, -this is my cousin Eustace and Mr. Macjean." - -Lady Errington bowed with a charming smile, and the whole party, -sitting down, proceeded to make themselves comfortable. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -THE ART OF CONVERSATION. - - "It's difficult to hold a conversation - With three or five, odd numbers are a bore, - For some one's sure to be _sans_ occupation, - So talk should always be 'twixt two or four. - One can't gain any secret information, - If there should be a single person more: - But four's a pleasant number without doubt, - Because there's not a chance to be the 'odd man out.'" - - -It was certainly a very pleasant little party which was seated on the -terrace of the Villa Tagni, talking social nonsense under the clear -glow of the sunset sky. Behind the solemn hills the sun had -disappeared, leaving the sky filled with soft rosy tints, against -which the serrated outline of tall peaks stood clear and distinct. -Slender clouds of liquid gold floated in the roseate western sky which -resembled in its pale flushing the delicate tints of a rose-heart, -softening off by degrees into a cold blue, which in its turn gave -place towards the darkening east to faint shadows and throbbing stars -glimmering in the aerial gloom of coming night. - -But the four people on the terrace took no notice of the wonderful -gradations of colour, but chatted gaily over the cakes and tea -provided by the hospitality of Villa Tagni. All the gentlemen, tired -of the thin wines of Italy, had taken tea, and Otterburn was -especially enthusiastic as he drained his cup with keen relish. - -"I'm a perfect old woman for tea here," he said, handing back his cup -for a second supply. "A don't know why, as I never bothered much about -it at home." - -"That's because you can't get a decent cup here," observed Eustace -drily, "man always longs for the impossible." - -"I long for a decent dinner," retorted Otterburn with a hollow groan. -"I'm not a particularly greedy sort of chap--don't laugh, please, Lady -Errington, I assure you I'm not--but these Italians haven't the -slightest idea how to cook." - -"Well you see their ideas of cooking differ from yours, Mr. Macjean," -said Alizon, smilingly handing him back his cup. - -"Yes, that's true enough. I daresay they give a fellow the best they -can, but look at their victuals; bread that's all full of holes, some -yellow mess they call polenta, skinny chickens and sour wine, you -can't make a square meal of such stuff." - -"Some people could," said Errington, who was listening to the boy's -remarks with an amused smile, "but I agree with you about the roast -beef of old England." - -"Or the wholesome parritch of Scotland," observed Eustace satirically. -"As a North Briton you surely forget that, Master." - -"No, I don't," retorted Macjean. "I got too much of that when I was -young." - -"Being so aged now." - -"Isn't that shabby?" said Otterburn good-humouredly, turning to Lady -Errington. "He's always making fun of my age--as if youth were a -crime." - -"It's a very charming crime at all events," replied Alizon pleasantly; -"don't you mind Mr. Gartney, he is a poet, and poets are always -praising--and envying--youth." - -That's true enough, said Eustace with a sigh, "all the poets from -Mimnurmus downward have ever lamented the passing of youth. What a -pity we can't always remain young." - -"And why not? I don't count age by years, but by experience," said -Lady Errington quietly. "One may be old at twenty and young at fifty." - -Eustace, knowing what her experience had been, looked curiously at her -fair placid face as she said this, and she must have guessed his -thoughts, for a flush burned in her cheeks under his searching gaze. - -"That's what I say," cried Guy, referring to his wife's remark. "If a -fellow's got health, wealth and a good temper, the world's a very -jolly sort of place." - -"The best of all possible worlds, according to Voltaire," remarked -Eustace, leaning back with a disbelieving smile, "but you've left out -one ingredient which some people consider very necessary." - -"And that is----?" - -"Love!" - -"Ab, I've got that," said Guy turning a fond eye on his wife. - -"Lucky man, other people are not so fortunate." - -"No," observed Otterburn with a huge sigh, having finished a very -decent meal, "it's so difficult to procure the genuine article." - -"Hark to the cynic of one-and-twenty," cried Gartney. - -"It's your example, Eustace," observed Guy, producing a cigarette -case, "but don't for Heaven's sake start a philosophical discussion on -happiness. Why should the children of the king go mourning when the -soothing weed is within reach? Have a cigarette, Macjean." - -"Thank you--if Lady Errington----" - -"Oh, I do not mind. Guy has habituated me to smoke. Light your -cigarettes by all means." - -Whereupon Otterburn accepted the small roll of paper and tobacco with -much satisfaction, and was soon puffing away contentedly, Guy -following his example. - -"These are jolly good cigarettes," he said emphatically. "You can't -get decent tobacco in Italy, so I smuggled these past the Customs at -Chiasso. I suppose it's no use offering you one, Eustace?" - -"Not in the least," responded Gartney smiling. "It's a pity to spoil -this perfect fragrance with tobacco smoke." - -"Ah, that's so like you poets--always sacrificing the comforts of life -for the sake of its illusions. Well, we won't spoil your esthetic -feelings on the subject, Come, Macjean, let us leave these two to -continue the conversation, and we'll walk up and down till we finish -our smoke." - -Angus glanced enquiringly at Lady Errington, who smilingly gave the -requisite permission, and was soon strolling up and down the terrace -with Errington, talking sport, upon which subject both gentlemen were -quite in accordance. - -Left alone with Lady Errington, Eustace lay back in his deep chair -gazing dreamily at her as she sat silent and pensive, fanning herself -slowly with an absent expression in her blue eyes. - -The charm of the scene, the influence of the hour, the presence of -this pale, beautiful woman, and the delicate fragrance of the flowers -which permeated the still air, all touched the poetical part of his -nature, and he could not help wondering in his own mind how such a -spiritual nature as that of Alizon Errington's could tolerate such a -matter-of-fact man as her husband, who could leave her so calmly to -talk sport with a shallow-minded boy. In this, however, Eustace -Gartney was entirely wrong, as love is not to be measured by -sentimental talk or silent adoration, and a man who loves a woman in -an honest respectful fashion does not need to be constantly on his -knees to prove the sincerity of his passion. But then Eustace, who -believed in this exaggerated fashion of love-making, was a poet, and -poets have whimsical ways of manifesting their sentiments. - -From these musings he was aroused by the voice of his hostess, who had -suddenly awakened to the fact that Eustace was silent, and feared she -had neglected her social duties. - -"You are singularly silent, Mr. Gartney!" - -Eustace started suddenly as her voice struck on his ear, and looked -idly at her with a vague smile on his lips. - -"The influence of the hour and the scene, I suppose," he said idly; -"one is always silent in Paradise." - -"I should think that depended upon the absence or presence of Eve," -replied Alizon demurely. - -"Or of the serpent. Confess now, Lady Errington, the serpent was a -charming conversationalist." - -"And a bad companion--for a woman." - -"No doubt Adam thought so--after the Fall." - -"What a pity there should have been a Fall," said Lady Errington after -a short pause. "It would have been a charming world." - -"Humph! consisting of what the French call a _solitude à deux_." - -"Oh, but I was supposing the Garden of Eden became populated. It would -have been a world without sin or temptation." - -"I beg 'your pardon. The trees of knowledge and life would still have -been flourishing to tempt the primeval population nor do I suppose the -wily serpent would have been wanting." - -"Satirical, but scarcely true." - -"Ah, but you see we're both talking the romance of -what-might-have-been," said Gartney smiling, "so my view of the -subject is no doubt as probable as your own. However this Italian -Paradise with all its faults, consequent on our present-day -civilization, has exquisite scenery, and if one were to live here for -some years I daresay he would arrive at the nearest approach to -primeval happiness possible in this world." - -"I'm afraid we shall not have an opportunity of testing the truth of -your assertion. We leave here in a fortnight, for Guy is longing for -England and the country." - -"A nostalgia of the coverts, I presume?" - -"Exactly! 'It's a fine day, let us go and kill something.'" - -Eustace laughed at this reply, as the neatness of it satisfied his -somewhat cynical sense of humour. - -"Don't you feel nostalgia yourself, Mr. Gartney?" asked Lady -Errington, arranging the lilies at her breast. - -He turned his expressive face towards her with a sad smile. - -"Not of this earth! I am like Heine, _un enfant perdu_, and have a -home-sickness for an impossible world." - -"Created by your own fancy no doubt." - -"Yes! Though I dare say if my fancy world became a real one it -wouldn't be so pleasant as this one. After all, Chance is the most -admirable architect of the future. When men like Sir Thomas More, -Plato, Bulwer Lytton and the rest of them, have indulged in paper -dreams of ideal worlds, they have always committed the fatal mistake -of making the inhabitants insufferable bores, who have attained -perfection--and when perfection is attained happiness ceases." - -"How so?" - -"Because the greatest pleasure in life is work, and when perfection -renders work unnecessary, life becomes a lotos-eating existence." - -"Well surely that is a very pleasant thing." - -"To the few Yes, to the many No! Some men need constant excitement to -make them enjoy life. I can quite understand Xerxes offering a reward -to the man who could invent a new pleasure, for if Xerxes had not -attained the perfection of debauchery, he would not have found -existence a bore." - -"You can hardly call such an ignoble height perfection," said Lady -Errington quietly. "I should call it satiety." - -"No doubt you are right. But what does it matter what we call it? the -thing is the same." - -"That sounds as if you spoke from experience, and at your age that can -hardly be the case." - -"I remember," observed Eustace a trifle satirically, "that a short -time ago you said you measured youth by experience not by age. It is -the same with me, I am only thirty eight years of age, yet in that -short time I have exhausted all that life has to give." - -"Surely not!" - -Eustace Gartney laughed in a dreary, hopeless manner that showed how -truly he spoke. - -"I'm afraid it is," he remarked with a sigh. "I have been all over the -world and seen what is to be seen. I have mixed with my fellow -creatures and found the majority of them humbugs. I've been in love -and been deceived. I've published books and been abused, in fact I've -done everything possible to enjoy life, and the consequence is I'm -sick of the whole thing." - -"Your own fault entirely," said Lady Errington warmly, "as you have -denied yourself nothing you now reap the reward of such indulgence and -enjoy nothing. Your present satiety is the logical sequence of your -own acts. Why not therefore try and lead a nobler and better life? Go -among the poor and give them the help they so much need. Look upon -your fortune as money entrusted to you, not to squander on -unsatisfying pleasures, but to use for the benefit of humanity. Do -this, Mr. Gartney, and I assure you the result will be satisfactory, -for you will find in such well-doing the new pleasure which Xerxes -desired but never obtained." - -With a sceptical smile on his massive features Eustace listened to her -earnest speech, and at its conclusion laughed softly in his own -cynical manner. - -"A most delightful view of one's duties to the world at large," he -said satirically, "but hardly satisfactory. That recipe for happiness -has been given to me before, Lady Errington, and is, I think, more -charming in theory than in practice. Suppose I did take this advice -you give me in the goodness of your heart, and went out into the -world to play the thankless part of a philanthropist, what would I -gain--only a more intimate knowledge of human selfishness and human -iniquity. If I assisted A, a most deserving person from his own point -of view, I've no doubt A would become my bitterest enemy because I had -not done enough for him. I might rescue B from the workhouse, and B -would consider me shabby if I did not support him for the rest of his -natural life. As for C, well, I need not go through the whole -alphabet, in order to illustrate my views of the matter, but I assure -you, Lady Errington, if I employed my money in alleviating the -distresses of my fellow creatures, I would get very little praise and -a great deal of blame during my life, and when I died no doubt a short -paragraph in a newspaper as 'an earnest but misguided philanthropist!' -No! believe me I have thought deeply about the whole thing, and the -game is not worth the candle." - -"You look at things in a wrong light." - -"In the only possible light, I'm afraid. Rose-coloured spectacles are -not obtainable now-a-days." - -"Still such a pessimistic view----" - -"Is forced upon us by circumstances. This is the nineteenth century, -you know, and we have no illusions left--they went out with religion." - -"Well, I must try and convince you of the falsity of your views some -other time," said Alizon closing her fan with a sigh, "but at present -I see Guy and Mr. Macjean are coming to interrupt our conversation." - -She rose to her feet as she spoke, a tall, slim, white figure, that -seemed to sway like a graceful lily at the breath of the evening -breeze. Eustace, ever prone to poetical impressions, made this -comparison in his own mind as he left his chair and advanced with her -to meet Guy and Angus. - -"I say Alizon," cried Errington gaily as his wife came up, "just -fancy! Aunt Jelly's ward, Miss Sheldon, is staying at the Villa -Medici." - -"Miss Sheldon," said Lady Errington reflectively, "is that the pretty -girl I met at Miss Corbin's?" - -"Yes! you remember. On the day we went to see Aunt Jelly and ask her -blessing," replied Guy eagerly. - -"Who is she with?" asked Lady Errington; "surely Miss Corbin----" - -"Oh no," interrupted Eustace, mirthfully. "You might as well expect to -meet the Monument abroad as Aunt Jelly. I asked Miss Sheldon all about -it, and it appears that ever since her arrival from Australia she has -been anxious to come to the Continent, so as a friend of Aunt Jelly's -was making what she calls the 'grand tower' with her husband, this -young lady was placed under their mutual protection." - -"I wish she was under mine," said Otterburn audibly, on whom the -charms of the young lady in question had evidently made a deep -impression, "she's so awfully pretty." - -"I'm afraid it would be a case of the blind leading the blind," -remarked Eustace drily. - -"By the way," observed Guy, "who is Miss Sheldon? I asked Aunt Jelly, -but she told me, sharply, to mind my own business." - -"Wasn't that rather severe?" said Alizon mildly. - -"Not for Aunt Jelly," retorted her husband. "Aunt Jelly's a huffy old -party, but she's got a weakness for Eustace, who doesn't object to be -sat upon, so perhaps he knows about this young lady." - -"I think I've got a hazy idea," assented Eustace leisurely, "she comes -from the City of Melbourne, Australia, and her name is Victoria, -called after our gracious Queen, or the Colony, I forget which. -Sheldon _père_ was an admirer of our mutual aunt in the old days when -she was flesh and blood instead of iron. He went out with a broken -heart to the Colonies because Aunt Jelly wouldn't marry him--fancy any -man breaking his heart for such a brazen image! Well, at all events, -he made a large fortune out there, got married, became the father of -one little girl, and then, his life's work being done, died, leaving -his fortune to his daughter Victoria, and his daughter Victoria to -dear Aunt Jelly, who cherishes her for the sake of the one romance of -her youth." - -"How cruelly you tell the story," observed Lady Errington in a rather -disapproving tone. "I've only seen Miss Corbin once, but I think she's -got a kind heart." - -"Most people are said to have that, who possess nothing else," -retorted Eustace grimly. "However, you now know who Victoria Sheldon -is, and I won't deny she's pretty, very pretty." - -"Very pretty," echoed Otterburn, with a sigh. - -"You ought to marry her, Macjean," said Eustace, "she has plenty of -money." - -"I wouldn't marry a girl for her money alone," remonstrated Angus -indignantly. - -"Then take the American advice," said Sir Guy gaily, "never marry a -girl for money, but if you do meet a nice girl with any, try and love -her as hard as ever you can." - -"I think I'll call and see Miss Sheldon," observed Alizon, after a -pause, "for, as she is a ward of your Aunt's, I shall very likely see -a good deal of her. Are the people she is with pleasant?" - -"That," observed Eustace calmly, "depends greatly on individual taste. -The Honourable Henry Trubbles is the most egotistical specimen of -misshapen humanity I have ever met with, and his wife, whom he married -for her money, is a modern edition of Mrs. Malaprop with a dash of -Sary Gamp and a flavouring of the Sleeping Beauty." - -"What a mixed description," said Errington laughing. "How does she -resemble the Sleeping Beauty?" - -"Only in sleeping." - -"You make me quite curious to see her," cried Alizon smiling. "And -if--well, I won't promise anything about what I intended yet." - -"What did you intend?" asked her husband. - -"To have a small dinner party, and give Mr. Macjean a real English -dinner, but I'll first see how I like this extraordinary couple, and -then--well, we'll see." - -"It would be awfully jolly," said Otterburn, whose stock of adjectives -was limited. - -"I know it's 'awfully' late," remarked Eustace, in a tone of rebuke, -"and we have just time to get back to dinner." - -"To what they call a dinner." - -"It's better than nothing at all events--well, goodbye, Lady -Errington; thank you for a pleasant afternoon." - -"Don't forget your way to the Villa Tagni," said Alizon as she shook -hands, and the two gentlemen, having vowed warmly that they would not, -made their adieux, leaving Sir Guy and his wife alone on the terrace. - -"Well, Alizon," said Errington, jocularly, "and what do you think of -my cousin, Eustace?" - -"I think," replied Lady Errington slowly, "that he is the most unhappy -man I ever met with in my life." - - - - -CHAPTER V. -AN AUSTRALIAN GIRL. - - "Charming, no doubt, her face is fair. - As dark as night, her curling hair, - Her eyes--two stars, her lips--a rose, - Whoever saw a prettier nose? - Charming indeed,--but Fate to vex, - Has given her faults like all her sex, - Believe me, she's not worth regret, - She'll break your heart, the vain coquette." - - -What a number of charming old romances begin at an inn. Did not M. Gil -Blas commence his adventurous career by being swindled in one? and Don -Quixote, blinded by fanatic chivalry, mistake the inns for mediæval -castles? Tom Jones became involved in a network of intrigue at a -hostelry; the heroes of Dumas invariably meet their enemies of King -and Cardinal at the same place, while Boccaccio generally brings about -the complications of gallant and donzella at some gay Florentine -"osteria." Without doubt all the elements of romance are to be found -at these resting places of man and beast; and the most incongruous -characters, the most dissimilar ranks of society's adventurers, -gallants, priests, bona robas and virtuous ladies all pass and repass, -enter and exeunt, under the hospitable signs of inns. - -Birds of passage rest momentarily at inns before continuing their -flight to the four quarters of the world, and during such rest meet -other birds of passage with sometimes curious results. Mr. A, a -gentleman of swallow-like tendencies, on his way to the warm south, -may linger for a night at an hotel where Miss B, due in some northern -latitude, is also resting, with the result that Mr. A will delay his -flight for an indefinite period; nay more, the juxtaposition of the -two may end in A and B both continuing their journey as man and wife, -which is the termination of all romance. Strange that a chance meeting -at a place of public resort should alter two lives, but then life is -made up of strange events, and a good many people date their happiness -or misery from an accidental meeting at an inn. - -Gartney was letting his thoughts run on in this somewhat whimsical -vein, as he smoked an after dinner cigarette over his coffee on the -terrace at Villa Medici. - -Before him, huge and indistinct, arose the grand façade of the hotel, -glimmering whitely in the moonlight, with its innumerable windows, -its broad arcade, and its myriad lamps shining brilliantly on -groups of gaily-dressed people who strolled to and fro amongst the -pink-blossomed oleanders, or sat chatting gaily round small -marble-topped tables, where white-cravated waiters, lithe and active, -attended to their wishes. - -Beyond lay the lake, dark and solemn, under the shadow of the sombre -mountains, at whose base gleamed orange-coloured points of light, -telling of the presence of distant villages, while high above in the -cold, blue sky, glowed the yellow orb of the moon and the glimmering -stars. Through the leaves of sycamore, tamarisk, and magnolia sighed -the soft breath of the night-wind, filling the air with cool odours, -and the sound of music, rendered thin and fairy-like by distance, -floated across the still waters from some slow-moving boat. - -An historic place this Villa Medici, with its palatial halls, its -innumerable chambers, and its stately flights of white-marble steps; -for it was here that the great Emperor intended to rest for a time in -his victorious career, an intention never carried out, although -everything was prepared for his reception, and the hotel guests now -dine in the small saloon hung round with yellow damask stamped with -the imperial 'N' and kingly crown. - -Then again it was here that unhappy Caroline of Brunswick, who became -Queen of England in name only, kept her state as Princess of Wales, -and tried to find in the calm seclusion of Como that peace denied to -her in the land of her adoption. Ah, yes, the Villa Medici is -connected with the lives of some great personages, but now that they -all have vanished from the world's stage, whereon they played some -curious parts, the Villa is turned into an hotel, and strangers from -far America, and still further Australia, reside in the many chambers, -and wander with delight through the enchanting gardens which Nature, -aided by art, has made a paradise of beauty. - -"Poor Caroline," murmured Gartney to himself, as he thought of all -this, "no one has a good word to say for her, and yet, I daresay, she -was a good deal better than the first gentleman in Europe. It was just -as well she died, for George would never have given her any rights as -queen-consort. No doubt she passed some of her happiest days here, -although she always hankered after the forbidden glories of Windsor -and Buckingham Palace." - -His meditations were interrupted at this point by a gay laugh, and on -looking up he saw Victoria Sheldon coming towards him escorted by the -Master of Otterburn, who was evidently telling her some funny story, -judging from the amusement his conversation seemed to afford her. - -She was certainly a very pretty girl, one of those feminine beauties -who strike the beholder at first sight with a sense of indescribable -charm. A brilliantly tinted brunette, overflowing with exuberant -vitality, she had all the intense colouring and freshness of a -southern rose at that time when the cold rain draws its perfume -strongly forth in the chill morning air. - -Her eyes, hair, eyebrows and long lashes were dark as night; red as -coral the lips, which when parted showed two rows of pearly teeth; -full and soft the round of the cheeks, and a peach-like skin with a -rosy glow of delicate colour under the velvety surface. She was the -modern realization of that vivacious Julia whom Herrick describes so -charmingly in his dainty poems. And as a matter of fact the skin of -this young girl had all the brilliant colouring of the south, no doubt -assimilated by her system under the sultry glow of Australian skies. -Having an excellent figure, dainty hands and feet, with a perfect -taste in dress, and boundless vivacity, there was no doubt that -Victoria Sheldon was a feminine personality eminently attractive to -the stronger sex. - -As to her nature, it was quite in unison with her outward -appearance--bright, sparkling, vivacious, albeit somewhat shallow, yet -not without a certain veneer of surface knowledge. Eminently womanly, -capricious in the extreme, witty, amusing, tireless, she had one of -those attractive natures which charm everyone in a singularly magnetic -fashion. Some men, eccentric in their likings, admire those -semi-masculine women who have missions, support the rights of their -sex on lecture platforms, emulate masculine peculiarities to the best -of their abilities, and pass noisy lives in shrieking aimlessly -against the tyranny of mankind. Those men who approved of such -semi-masculine tendencies, certainly would not have admired the -womanly characteristics of Victoria, but the connoisseur of feminine -beauty, the judge of a brilliant personality, and the appreciator of a -witty nature, would each see in her the realisation of an extremely -difficult ideal. - -The Master, young and rash, was just at that delightful age when every -woman appears a goddess to the uncultured fancy of youth; judge then -the effect produced upon his impressionable nature by this riant -vision of strongly vitalised beauty. He did not even make an attempt -at resistance in any way, but prone as god Dagon on the threshold of -his temple, he fell before the powerful divinity of this young girl, -and she produced on him the same effect as Phryne did on her judges -when she displayed the full splendour of her charms in the Areopagus -under the clear blue of Athenian skies. Mactab, severe, ascetic and -self-mortifying, opposed to every form of admiration of the flesh, -would have blushed for the grovelling idolatory of his quondam pupil; -but no doubt the sunny climate of Italy aided in a great measure this -worship of Venus, and Angus Macjean, Master of Otterburn, prostrated -himself in abject worship before this outward manifestation of carnal -beauty. - -Eustace saw this, and was selfishly annoyed thereat, because he had -taken a fancy to Otterburn, and thought that he (Otterburn) should -agree with him (Eustace) in despising the sex feminine, which was -foolish in the extreme on the part of such an acute observer of human -nature; but then he was blinded by egotism, and that vice distorts -every vision. Still he could not deny that physically she was -wonderfully pretty, despite his feeling of animosity against her for -coming between himself and his friend. Therefore he admired her -greatly from an æsthetic point of view, while Victoria, with the keen -instinct of a woman, scented an enemy and neither admired nor liked -Eustace the cynic in the smallest degree. - -"My dear Mr. Macjean," she said in answer to the remonstrances of -Angus who wanted everyone to like his friend as much as he did -himself. "Your friend is a pessimist, and I don't like that class of -people; they always take a delight in analysing one's motives, which -is disagreeable--to the person concerned. A flower is charming, but -those who pull it to pieces in order to find out how it is made--are -not. I don't like analysts--they destroy one's illusions." - -This plain-spoken young lady's chaperone was enjoying an after-dinner -nap; the Hon. Henry was talking Irish politics with an Irish M.P., who -did not believe in Home Rule out of contradiction to the rest of his -countrymen who did. So Victoria Sheldon, feeling in a most delightful -humour, was chatting gaily with Otterburn, when they thus chanced on -the melancholy Eustace, moralising on the mutability of human life. - -"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Gartney," said Victoria, pausing -before him with a gay smile on her lips. - -"They're not worth it," replied Eustace, looking approvingly at the -charming girl before him, in her dainty white dinner dress, with a -bunch of vividly scarlet geraniums at her breast. "I'll sell them as -bankrupt stock." - -"Haw! haw! haw!" from the Master, who was in that pleasant frame of -mind when everything seems to scintillate with wit--but then it was -after dinner, and a pretty woman was at his elbow. Wine, wit, and -feminine influence, really the worst-tempered man would feel pleasant -with such a delightful trinity. - -"My dear Master," said Eustace reprovingly, "your mirth is -complimentary, but rather noisy--will you not be seated, Miss -Sheldon?" - -"Thank you," replied Victoria, sitting down in a chair under the -shadow of a myrtle tree, the light from a distant lamp striking full -on her piquant face. "I am rather tired." - -"Of walking, or the Master?" asked the cynic gruffly. - -She flashed a brilliant glance on him out of the dusky shadow, and -spread her red feather fan with a grand wave of irresistible coquetry. - -"Mr. Macjean," she said lightly as he sank into a chair opposite to -her, and leaned his arms on the cold marble of the table, "What do you -think?" - -"Eh," observed the Master obtusely. "Oh, I think the same as you." - -"Then," remarked Eustace, re-lighting his cigarette, "you cannot -object to that diplomatic reply. Do you mind my smoking?' - -"Not in the least. I hope Mr. Macjean will follow your example." - -Mr. Macjean was only too happy to so far indulge himself. So the -gentlemen sat and smoked with great enjoyment, while the feminine -element of the party smiled serenely and impartially on both; smiles -quite wasted on the misogamistic Eustace, but then Victoria, with that -unerring instinct of coquetry implanted in every woman's breast, took -a delight in behaving thus, simply because she saw Otterburn admired -her. He on his part naturally began to grow jealous, and being without -the self-control habitual to those who live long in society, would -doubtless have shown his irritation very plainly, only Eustace, taking -in at a glance the whole situation, and being by no means agreeable to -gratifying Victoria's love of conquest, arrested the storm at once by -beginning to talk with judicious diplomacy of the first thing that -came into his mind. - -"Tell me," he said, addressing himself to the volatile Victoria, "Do -you not find our narrow English life somewhat irksome after the -freedom of Australia?" - -"Not so much as you would think," replied Miss Sheldon promptly, "for -after all there is a good deal of similarity between home and the -colonies." - -"You still call England 'home,' I observe," said Eustace with a smile. - -"We do, because most of the generation who emigrated are still alive, -but even now the term is dying out, and in another fifty years I don't -suppose will be in use." - -"I should awfully like to go out to Australia," observed Otterburn -languidly. "I'm sick of civilisation." - -"Oh don't imagine you leave civilisation behind when you come out to -us," retorted Victoria sharply, with rising colour, "that is a mistake -many English people make. They think Australia is like the backwoods -of America, but it's nothing of the sort. Melbourne is just as -cultured and wealthy in its own way as London, with the additional -advantage of having a better climate and being smaller." - -"Do you think the latter quality an advantage then?" asked Gartney -with ironical gravity. - -"I should just think so, rather," said Miss Sheldon nodding her head -emphatically. "London is a delightful place, I grant, but it's a -terrible nuisance visiting your friends and going out to amusements." - -"We have," observed the Master in an authoritative guidebook tone, -"trains, tramways, carriages----" - -"So have we--but even with them it takes a long time to get about -London. We can get from one end of Melbourne to the other in a -reasonable time, but it's like an African exploring expedition to -start round London." - -"London," remarked Eustace in a judicious manner, "is not one but -several cities. There is the West End, which is devoted to wealth and -pleasure, the East End, famous for work and poverty. The City of -London proper, noted for its mercantile enterprise and its -stock-broking fraternity, and finally the huge shipping town which -forms the port of the Metropolis. Every person stays in the special -city with which his business is connected, therefore there is no -difficulty in getting about one's own particular local town, which is -much smaller in the aggregate than Melbourne." - -"I understand all that perfectly," replied Victoria, who had listened -attentively, "but suppose you chose to live on the outskirts of -London, so as to get a breath of country air. In that case if you want -to go to a theatre you have to travel for over an hour to get to one." - -"People who live as you say, are worshippers of Nature, and go to bed -with the sun--they don't want the gas and glare of theatres." - -"Oh, anyone can argue that way," said Victoria disdainfully, "so I -have nothing to say in reply. Let us talk of something else." - -"By all means--the weather." - -"And the crops. No! I am not an agriculturist." - -"Aunt Jelly," suggested Angus wickedly. - -Miss Sheldon turned towards him with a mirthful smile in her bright -eyes. - -"What do you know of Aunt Jelly, Mr. Macjean?" she asked, putting her -fan up to her lips to hide a laugh. - -"I know nothing; absolutely nothing," he replied, with mock humility, -"beyond the fact that Gartney and Errington have both mentioned her as -an eccentric character, so I wish to know more about her." - -If he did, his curiosity was not destined to be gratified at that -moment, for, with the whimsical caprice of a woman, Victoria suddenly -began to talk on quite a different subject, suggested by the casual -mention of a name. - -"Do you like Lady Errington?" she demanded, looking from one to the -other. - -"She is a very charming woman," said Eustace evasively. "She knows -you, I believe." - -"Slightly! I met her at Aunt Jelly's, when she called one day." - -"And what is Aunt Jelly's opinion?" - -The girl laughed, and then, composing her features into a kind of -stern severity, spoke in a harsh, measured voice: - -"Not what I approve of; limp! washed out, no backbone, but no doubt -she'll make Guy a good wife. Not a hard thing for any woman to do -seeing he's an idiot. So was his father before him, and he did not -take after his mother, thank God." - -"The voice is the voice of Miss Sheldon," murmured Eustace, delicately -manipulating a cigarette, "but the sentiments are those of my beloved -aunt." - -"How mean you are," said Victoria, rewarding Otterburn with a bright -look for having laughed at her mimicry. "I thought I did her voice to -perfection.' - -"Nothing but a saw-mill could do that," retorted the irreverent -Eustace. "So that is Aunt Jelly's opinion. It isn't flattering." - -"Neither is Aunt Jelly." - -"I'm dying to know Aunt Jelly," declared Angus mirthfully, "she must -be as good as a play." - -"She is! tragedy." - -"No! No! Miss Sheldon, excuse me, comedy." - -"I should say burlesque, judging from your descriptions," said the -Master, gaily. "How did you drop across her, Miss Sheldon?" - -"I didn't drop across her," said Miss Sheldon, candidly, "she dropped -across me. My father left me to her guardianship, and I was duly -delivered in due course like a bale of goods." - -"Why isn't Aunt Jelly fulfilling her guardianship by seeing you -through the temptations of the Continent?" asked Eustace, severely. - -"Oh, she placed me under the wing of Mrs. Trubbles." - -"I'm glad she didn't place you under the eye of Mrs. Trubbles," -observed Otterburn, with the brutal candour of youth, "because both -her eyes are invariably closed." - -"What a shame--I wonder where she is?" - -"Asleep! don't disturb her," said Gartney, as Miss Sheldon arose to -her feet. "Physicians all agree that sleep after dinner is most -beneficial to people of the Trubbles calibre." - -Victoria laughed at this remark, and as she showed a desire to stroll -about, the gentlemen left their chairs and escorted her through the -grounds, one on each side, the lady being thus happily placed between -the sex masculine. - -A good many of the promenaders had retired for the night, evidently -worn out by the heat of the day; but some indefatigable pianist was -still hard at work in the music saloon, and the steady rhythmic beat -of the last new valse, "My heart is dead," sounded tenderly through -the still night air, broken at intervals by the light laughter of -young girls, the deeper tones of men's voices, and the melancholy -sound of the waters washing against the stone masonry of the terrace. -Beyond on the lake all was strange and mystical, filled with cold -lights and shadows, vague and dreary under the gloom of the distant -mountains; but here, by the garish lights of the hotel, the pulse of -life was beating strongly, and the indescribable tone of idle -frivolity seemed to clash with the silent solemnity of Nature. - -Perhaps Eustace felt this incongruity as his eyes strayed towards the -steel-coloured waters, for after a time the shallow conversation of -Victoria jarred so painfully on his ears that with a hurried excuse he -left the young couple to their own companionship, and wandered away -alone into the fragrant darkness of the night. - -"He's awfully fond of his own company," observed Victoria, indicating -the departing Eustace. "Such a queer taste. I hate being left to -myself." - -"So do I," asserted Otterburn eagerly. "I always like to be with -someone----" - -"Of the opposite sex," finished Miss Sheldon, laughing. "Well, yes I -women have always been my best friends." - -"You answer at random." - -"I dare say; one is incapable of concentrated thought on a perfect -night." - -"You are also growing poetical, then indeed it is time for a prosaic -individual like myself to retire." - -"No don't go yet, you can't sleep here if you go to bed early." - -"Oh, that is your experience," said Miss Sheldon, as a bell from a -distant campanile, showing white and slender against the sky, sounded -the hour of nine o'clock. "Well, I'll stay for a few minutes longer, -though I'm afraid Mrs. Trubbles will be dreadfully shocked." - -They leaned over the iron balustrade of the terrace, and watched in -charmed silence the dark waters rising and falling in the chill -moonlight. The valse still sounded silvery in the distance, with its -sad tone of regret and hopeless despair, and after a time Victoria -began to hum the melancholy refrain in a low voice: - - - "My heart is dead, - And pleasure hath fled, - But the rose you gave me blooms fresh and red." - - -"What nonsense," she said contemptuously, breaking off suddenly. "I -daresay the rose was quite withered, only his imagination saw it was -blooming." - -"Like his love for the girl." - -"A bad shot, Mr. Macjean. How could it be so? His heart was dead, his -pleasure fled, so under these discouraging circumstances the rose must -certainly have been dead also." - -"You said Gartney was cynical," said Angus slowly, "what about -yourself?" - -"What about myself," she repeated with a sigh, turning round and -leaning lightly against the balustrade. "I'm sure I don't know. I've -never thought about the subject. Very likely it's not worth thinking -about." - -"Believe me," began the young man earnestly, "you are----" - -"Everything that's charming," interrupted Victoria, crossing her -hands. "Do spare me any compliments, Mr. Macjean, I'm so tired of -them. I wonder if you men think we women believe all the lies you tell -us." - -"But they're not lies." - -"Not, perhaps, for the moment, but afterwards." - -"Don't trouble about afterwards, the present is good enough for us." - -He was getting on dangerous ground, for his voice was soft, and his -young eyes flashed brightly on her face, so as Victoria had only known -him twenty-four hours, even with her reckless daring of coquetry this -was going too far, and with the utmost dexterity she changed the -subject. - -"By the way," she said lightly, "do you know I'm a relation of yours?" - -"Impossible." - -"Well, perhaps it is. Still you can judge for yourself. My mother's -maiden name was Macjean." - -"The dev--ahem! I mean good gracious. You must certainly belong to -the family somehow or other. I dare say--yes--I am sure you must be my -cousin." - -"Such a strained relationship. In what degree?" - -"Oh, never mind. Scotch clan relationships are so difficult to -unravel. Besides, we're all brothers and sisters by the Adam and Eve -theory, according to Gartney. But fancy you being a Macjean. It gives -me a kind of claim on you." - -"As the head of the clan, I suppose. Never! I am a free-born -Australian, so hurrah for the Southern Cross and the eight hours -system of labour!" - -"I haven't the least idea of what you're talking about? - -"Very likely. Born amid the effete civilization of a worn-out land, -you have no knowledge of our glorious institutions, which render -Australia the Paradise of Demos." - -"Sounds like a Parliamentary speech." - -"It is a Parliamentary speech," asserted Victoria, demurely, "an -effort of my father's when he was elected for the Wooloomooloo -constituency." - -"I beg your pardon, would you mind spelling it?" - -"No you would be none the wiser if I did." - -"As to my obeying you," said Otterburn, reverting to the earlier part -of the conversation, "I think the opposite is more likely to happen." - -Dangerous ground again. - -"Mr. Macjean," said Victoria in a solemn tone, "the night is getting -on to morning, the tourists are getting off to bed. You are chattering -in a most nonsensical manner and I'm going to retire, so good-night." - -He did not make any effort to retain her, although he felt very much -inclined to do so, but then their friendship was still in its infancy -and the proprieties must be observed. - -"Good-night, and happy dreams," he replied, shaking the hand she held -out to him. - -"Thank you, but I leave that to poets--and lovers," she responded, and -thereupon vanished like a fairy vision of eternal youth. - -And lovers. - -"Now I wonder--oh, nonsense! What rubbish! I've only known her one -circle of the clock; Love isn't Jonah's gourd to spring up in a night. -Still--well she's a most delightful girl and I--Confound the valse! I -do wish they'd stop playing at this hour. It isn't respectable. -Awfully pretty!--and she's a Macjean too--ah, if I--bother, it's gone -out. I shan't smoke any more. I wonder where Gartney is. Mooning about -by himself, I suppose. I'll go and look him up. She's got lovely eyes -and such pretty feet. Eh! oh, here's Eustace--I say Gartney, I'm going -to bed. Come and have a hock and seltzer before ta-ta." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -A DAY'S SHOPPING. - - "'Tis an Italian town, - Almost a city yet not metropolitan wholly. - Houses red-roofed, white-walled, lofty in height with iron - balconies, - Narrow and twisted the streets, with rough irregular pavements: - Below are the shops with their awnings o'er windows, filled with - gaudy wares we see not in England, - Amid which stand the shop-keepers, shrill-voiced, thievish, - voluble and smiling. - 'Questo è troopo? 'Non e molto'--question and answer and - question once more, - While in the burning sunshine, in nooks, in corners, in courts, - in door-ways, - Lie the dark shadows, fit for the hiding of lovers, of bravos, - of damsels and men-at-arms ruffianly." - - -Relations were rather strained between Eustace and his young friend, -the reason being as usual to be found in the unconquerable selfishness -of the former. With his habitual egotism, Gartney insisted that the -lad whom he had chosen for a friend should attend solely to him, watch -his every action with dog-like fidelity, and have nothing to do with -the rest of the world. - -This Otterburn, high-spirited and wilful, naturally enough refused to -do, though he had hitherto been obedient to Gartney's whims and -fancies in every way. Not having heretofore had anything to attract -his attention in any great degree, and being fascinated by the strange -nature of his poet-friend, Angus had duly given him unlimited measure -of the admiring adulation he so much desired. He had listened -patiently to Gartney's brilliant though somewhat egotistical -discourses, but now, with the irrepressible nature of youth, having -fallen in love with Victoria Sheldon he began to grow tired of his -friend's dour nature and pessimistic railings against the artfulness -of womankind. - -They had now been nearly a week at the Italian lakes, and from being -her boyish admirer, Otterburn had become the faithful slave of -Victoria, and finding that he could not serve both master and mistress -in a strictly impartial manner, he renounced his fidelity to Eustace. -Of course he was still very friendly with him and liked to listen to -his epigrammatic conversation--on occasions, but showed plainly that -he much preferred Miss Sheldon's society, a discovery which vexed his -quondam friend mightily, the more so as he saw in such preference a -distinct triumph for Victoria. - -That young lady had early announced her dislike to Eustace, deeming -him cold, vain, proud and an enemy to her sex; so, seeing Otterburn -was to a certain extent indispensable to him, she tried her hardest to -bring about a separation between these two close friends--and -succeeded. - -Not that she cared over much for Angus. He was certainly a very nice -boy, and wonderfully useful as a carry-and-fetch poodle--but the -possibility of Otterburn taking jest for earnest never occurred to -her, and, ignoring with the calm egotism of a woman the chance that he -might break his heart for her sake, she gave him sweet looks, -undeserved frowns, was hot and cold, kind and cruel, doleful and -capricious, just as the humour took her, and by a dexterous use of the -whole armament of female wiles successfully accomplished the task she -had set herself. - -So Otterburn having surrendered at discretion, which was hardly to be -wondered at against such a crafty enemy, was now devoted to his -conqueror and saw comparatively little of Eustace, who though -distinctly annoyed at his defeat cloaked his real feelings caused by -Otterburn's desertion under the guise of careless indifference, and -either mooned dismally about alone or sought solace in the society of -the Erringtons, who were now making preparations for their departure -to England. - -Before leaving, however, Lady Errington with characteristic good -nature had thrown aside all formality and called upon Mrs. Trubbles -and Miss Sheldon at the Villa Medici. She took a great fancy to -Victoria, both on account of her beauty and her generous -straightforward nature, while Mrs. Trubbles amused her mightily with -the eccentricities of her character, so she asked them to a dinner at -the Villa Tagni, thereby earning the eternal gratitude of Angus, who -foresaw a chance of obtaining Victoria all to himself for one whole -evening. - -Of course she also invited Eustace, whom she pitied for his evident -unhappiness, thinking, with the natural fondness of a woman for -romance, that it sprang from some unrequited love affair and not, as -was actually the case, from satiety and cynicism. Eustace graciously -accepted the invitation, and for once in his life looked forward to -such entertainment with some pleasure, as the cold, irresponsive -nature of Lady Errington roused his curiosity and made him anxious to -learn more of her inner life. - -A few days before the Errington dinner-party, Mrs. Trubbles so far -overcame her disposition to sleep as to propose a day's shopping in -Como to which Victoria eagerly agreed, being anxious to see as much -local Lombardian colour as possible. On the morning of their proposed -outing, however, Eustace, not being able to endure with equanimity the -prospect of a whole afternoon in the company of Mrs. Trubbles, -craftily betook himself on a boating excursion to the Villa Pliniana, -so Otterburn nothing loth formed the sole escort of the two ladies, -and this party of three were now standing in the Piazza awaiting the -arrival of the steamer. - -A large, fat, good-natured woman was Mrs. Trubbles, with a broad red -face ever wearing a sleepy smile and a portly body arrayed in rainbow -colours with plenty of jewellery. Everybody in town knew the birth, -parentage, and bringing up of Mrs. Trubbles as her history had long -ago passed the nine days' wonder of scandal, and was already somewhat -stale and forgotten by all except her most intimate friends, who never -forgot to remind the good-natured lady that she was noble only by the -accident of marriage. - -The Honourable Henry Trubbles was a detestable little man with a bass -voice and an overweening vanity concerning his political capabilities, -though he had long ago failed in diplomatic circles. A perusal of -Beaconsfield's novels in his youth had fired his ambition to emulate -their hero, and like a very second-rate Numa Pompilius he went to seek -an Egeria who would inspire him with great ideas. The Hon. Henry, -however, was so singularly plain in person and disagreeable in manner -that no lady in his own rank of life would agree to help him to attain -to the Cabinet, so not being able to secure rank he married money in -the person of Miss Matilda Barsip, whose papa had made a fortune in -army-contracting during the Crimean War. The noble house of which -Trubbles was a cadet offered no opposition to the match, being rather -glad to get the budding diplomatist settled and done for, so Miss -Barsip was duly married with great pomp to her withered little stick -of a lover, and six months after the army contractor had the good -taste to die, leaving them all his money. - -The Family, to whom Mrs. Trubbles always alluded in a tone of awe as -to some unseen divinities, took the young couple up, and having -floated them both into smooth social waters left them to carry on -their lives in their own way, which they did. The Hon. Henry, now -being in command of plenty of money, spent his life in hanging on to -the outside fringe of politics and pretended to know all the secrets -of the Cabinet, though as a matter of fact he was acquainted with -nothing but what he learned through the medium of the papers. He tried -to get into Parliament several times but was such a palpable idiot -that no constituency would elect him, so Mr. Trubbles not being able -to serve his country, which did not want him, fluttered round St. -Stephen's, worried the ministers and bored the members so much that if -they could have given him the Governorship of a nice yellow-fever -island they certainly would have done so in order to get rid of him. -All the Colonial Governors, however, were healthy at present, so the -Honourable Henry stayed in town and exasperated everyone with his -tea-cup statesmanship. - -Mrs. Henry on her side had no ambition whatsoever, but drifted -leisurely through life, spending her money in a comfortable homely -kind of fashion. She was presented at Court on her marriage by the -Dowager Duchess of Margate, but did not appreciate the honour, so -never went near St. James' again in spite of the orders of Henry, who -thought the appearance of his rich wife might improve his diplomatic -prospects. - -Notwithstanding the efforts of the Misses Wilkers, whose academy she -had attended at Hampstead, English was not Mrs. Trubbles' strong -point, and being a good-natured old soul, who never pretended to be -anything else but what she was, the worthy Matilda was a great -favourite with her social circle. Her dinners were always excellent, -her dances pleasant and fashionable, and her portly person decked out -in gay colours was to be seen at many places, though for the most part -she preferred to rest in her own house whenever she got a chance. - -"I'm too stout to be skipping about," she said candidly; "that -worriting husband of mine is always hopping round like a cat on hot -bricks, but for my part I like peace and quietness." - -She was certainly a most popular lady, such as the men about Town -called a "jolly good sort" and the ladies in Society approved of -greatly, because she did not give herself airs above her position; so -in spite of her defective English, her loud taste in dress, and the -lowliness of her birth, the Hon. Mrs. Trubbles got on very well -indeed, and had a good number of friends and no enemies, which says a -good deal for her kindly disposition. - -The trip to Italy had been undertaken at the suggestion of the -Honourable Henry, who wanted to study some political question -concerning the Great Powers, of which he knew absolutely nothing; so -Matilda had also come with him to have a look at foreign parts, and -had taken Victoria with her, by permission of Aunt Jelly. - -"Where's Mr. Trubbles to-day?" asked Otterburn, digging his stick into -the gravel. - -"Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Trubbles placidly, looking at the water in a -somnolent manner, "he's gone to Bell-baggio, I think." - -"Bellaggio," corrected Victoria. - -"Something like that," replied Mrs. Trubbles complacently. "Dear! -dear! how curious these foreigners do talk!--they call a steamer a -vapour-bottle, which is a curious name. Dear me, Mr. Macjean, what are -you laughing at?" - -Otterburn pulled himself up promptly, and had the grace to blush under -the severe eye of Victoria. - -"It's _battello di vapore_," he said lightly, "but indeed, Mrs. -Trubbles, I'm as much at sea as you are about Italian. I prefer our -gude Scottish tongue." - -"Glesgay," suggested Victoria, whereat Angus made a gesture of horror. - -"No! no I mean the language of Jeannie Deans, of Highland Mary, and of -those Jacobite songs that sprang from the leal hearts of the people." - -"I once saw _Rob Roy_," observed Mrs. Trubbles heavily; "they were all -dressed in tartans. I don't think the dress is very respectable -myself." - -"Then I'll never come before you in the garb of old Gaul," said Angus -gaily. - -"I should think it would suit you splendidly," said Miss Sheldon -approvingly, glancing at his stalwart figure; "if you go to a fancy -dress ball you must wear it." - -Otterburn laughed, and promised to obey her commands, but at this -moment the steamer drew in to the pier, and they were soon on board, -steaming up to Como. - -It was a beautiful morning, and as yet not too warm, the heat of the -sun being tempered by the cool breeze, which, blowing from the shore, -brought with it the resinous odours of fir and pine. On either side -precipitous mountains towered up into the intense blue of the summer -sky, the innumerable villas made pleasant spots of colour here and -there, while the bosom of the lake, placidly treacherous, was of -changeful hues, like the varying colours of a peacock's neck. - -Plenty of tourists, in all sorts of extraordinary garbs, were on the -deck of the steamer, chattering Italian, German, English, and French, -according to their different nationalities, all laden with umbrellas, -alpenstocks, Baedekers, luncheon-bags, marine glasses, and such-like -evidences of travel. Mrs. Trubbles, having established herself in a -comfortable corner, was trying to get a short sleep prior to facing -the fatigues of Como, so Victoria and her attentive cavalier, being -left to their own devices, began to talk about everyone and -everything. - -"How these tourists do hold on to their guide-books," said Victoria -disdainfully, "one would think they'd be quite lost without them." - -"Very likely they would," replied Otterburn, pulling his straw hat -over his eyes with a yawn, "they have a prejudice against looking at -any place without knowing all about it." - -"It's such a trouble reading up all about cathedrals and pictures--I -like to ask questions." - -"Oh! guides!" - -"No! no I--they're worse than Baedeker. They never stop talking, and -their information is so scrappy." - -"Extensive but not accurate," suggested Macjean with a laugh. - -"I'm not sure even about the extensive part," observed Victoria -gaily; "when I was in England I went to a cathedral--I won't mention -names--and the verger had a cut-and-dried story about the place. When -he finished his little narrative I began to ask him questions. You've -no idea how exasperated he became, because he knew absolutely nothing, -and at last said, in despair, 'Why, Miss, you must be an American.' I -told him I was an Australian, so he promptly replied, 'Well, Miss, -that's quite as bad--for questions.'" - -As in duty bound, Angus laughed at this story, which was simple enough -in itself, but the telling of it seemed to establish a more friendly -feeling between them, of which this artful young man took full -advantage, and began to point out the various objects of interest on -the lake. - -"You see that villa over there," he said in an official tone, "it -belongs to the Visconti lot. They used to be Dukes of Milan, you -know." - -"Dear me! and why aren't they Dukes of Milan now?" - -"Haven't the least idea," replied Angus, whose historical knowledge -was of the vaguest description. "Napoleon, you know, I think he upset -the apple-cart--turned them out, I mean. You see, Miss Sheldon, I'm -like your verger--I know a stereotyped story, but if you ask me -anything beyond I'm up a tree." - -"You're a very honest guide, at all events," said Victoria with a -smile. "What is that tower on the hill?" - -"Oh, the castle of Baradello." - -"And who was he?" - -"Some ancient Johnnie, I believe," returned the young man carelessly, -"a duke or a pirate, or a picture gallery, I forget which." - -"Your information is most accurate," said Miss Sheldon gravely, -putting up a large red sunshade, which cast a rosy reflection on her -piquant face, "you must study Baedeker very closely." - -Macjean laughed. - -"How severe you are," he replied lightly, "but I've got such a beastly -memory. It's like a sieve--but, I say, hadn't we better wake up Mrs. -Trubbles? Here's Como--dirty place, isn't it?" - -"Rather dingy," assented Victoria, surveying the untidy-looking town -with its picturesque red roofs, above which arose the great Duomo like -a great bubble. "What do you think, Mrs. Trubbles?" - -"Eh? what, my dear?" said that lady, whom the stoppage of the steamer -had aroused from a very comfortable slumber. "Very nice indeed. Like a -picture I've got over the sideboard in the dining-room--but, dear me, -how dirty the streets are! I'm afraid they haven't got a Board of -Works. What does this man say?--Bill something--who is he talking to?" - -"Biglietti," explained Victoria, as they paused at the gangway. -"Tickets--you've got them, Mr. Macjean." - -"Yes, here they are," said Angus, and, handing them to the officer in -charge, they went ashore. - -"What little men," said Victoria, catching sight of some of the -military, "they look like tin soldiers." - -"They don't seem very well fed," observed Mrs. Trubbles meditatively; -"I don't think the food is good--very bad quality, I'm afraid. Dear -me, there's a fountain." - -"It's more like a squirt," said Otterburn laughing. - -"Plenty of water about this place," pursued Mrs. Trubbles, putting up -her eyeglass, "but I don't think these foreigners make enough use of -it. Oh, dear! dear! what a dreadful smell, they really ought to look -after the drains better. I'm so afraid of typhoid. Mr. Macjean, would -you mind smoking?--it's safer." - -Mr. Macjean was only too delighted, and having lighted a cigarette, -was soon blowing wreaths of smoke as they all walked up one of the -narrow streets, on their way to the Duomo. - -"We must do the church, you know," remarked Angus with great gravity, -"it's the big lion of Como--built by some one called Roderer or -Rodari--I'm not certain about the name. Sounds like a champagne brand, -doesn't it? It was built somewhere about the thirteenth or fourteenth -century--I'm not sure which." - -"You don't seem very sure of anything beyond the fact that there is a -church," said Miss Sheldon disparagingly, "and as it's straight before -you, we can be certain it exists. They say it's all built of white -marble." - -"It doesn't look like it then," remarked Mrs. Trubbles emphatically, -"a good coat of paint wouldn't hurt it." - -"Oh, that would spoil it," chorused both the young people, whereupon -Mrs. Trubbles shook her head, and held firmly to her original -suggestion. - -Having admired the ornate front, with its delicate Renaissance -carvings they went out of the burning sunshine into the cool twilight -of the cathedral. - -Some service was going on as they entered, and in the dim distance -they saw the high altar glittering with gold and silver ornaments, -beneath gorgeous draperies of yellow damask depending from the -ceiling, and innumerable tapers flared like beautiful glittering stars -against the brilliant background. - -Numbers of worshippers, with bent heads, were kneeling on the chill -marble pavement, telling their beads, or silently moving their lips in -prayer, while a priest in splendid vestments, attended by a long train -of white-robed acolytes, officiated at the altar, and at intervals the -melodious thunder of the organ broke through the monotonous voices of -the choir. Placid-looking images of saints, dusky pictures of the -Virgin throned amid the hierarchy of heaven, before which burned the -lambent flames of slender white candles, many-coloured tapestries -representing biblical scenes, heavy gold brocaded hangings, -elaborately-carved shrines and the sudden flash of precious metals and -strangely-set jewels appeared in every nook and corner of the immense -building, while from the silver censers of the acolytes arose the -drowsy incense, in white clouds of sensuous perfume, towards the -gilded splendour of the huge dome. Here, from the lofty roof, the rapt -faces of Evangelists, saints, angels and virgins, looked gravely -downward; there, slender shafts of sunlight, streaming in through the -painted windows, tinted the white monuments of the dead with rainbow -hues, and under all this subdued splendour of colour and beauty, -softened by the dusky twilight, knelt a mixed congregation. -Bare-footed _contadini_ from distant hill villages, devoutly told -their beads next to some dark-visaged soldier in all the bravery of -military trappings, and delicately beautiful ladies, arrayed in the -latest Milanese fashion, knelt beside bare-breasted peasants with -sinewy figures full of the lithe grace and suppressed fierceness of -Italian manhood. - -"I wonder what Mactab would say to all this?" muttered Otterburn -involuntarily, as he thought of the severe humility and bareness of -the Kirk o' Tabbylugs. - -"Who is Mactab?" asked Victoria in a subdued whisper. Angus chuckled -quietly. - -"Did I never tell you of Mactab?" he whispered--"oh! I must. He's a -prominent minister of the Free Kirk, of the severest principles." - -"What are his principles?" - -"Eh! what? Oh, he hasn't got any principals! He's a Free Kirk, I tell -you. All this heathenish worship would make him take a fit. He -believes in nothing, not even an organ, so the Mactab congregation -sing dreadfully out of tune, but they make up for this by strength of -lungs. They could give that wheezy old 'kist o' whustles' fits in -psalmody." - -At this moment Mrs. Trubbles, who had been gazing complacently about -her with the same sort of interest as she would have taken in a -theatre, intimated that she had seen enough, and led the way out into -the hot sunshine. - -"I'm rather tired of churches," said the matron in her deep voice -"we've seen such a lot of them in France." - -"Oh, France isn't in it with Italy in that line," observed Angus, in -his slangy way. "There are more churches than public-houses here." - -"Well, that's a very good thing," replied Victoria. - -"I should think so, considering how thin the wines are," retorted -Macjean, pausing before a variegated kind of arcade; "but look -here--this is the market." - -"Oh, how pretty!" cried Victoria, noting the picturesque colouring of -the different piles of fruit--"just like a scene out of Romeo and -Juliet." - -"And there is Juliet said the Master wickedly, waving his stick in the -direction of a ponderous female who was leaning from a projecting iron -balcony chattering to a lady below with shrill volubility over some -skinny-looking poultry. - -"Juliet in her old age buying Romeo's dinner," replied Victoria, -serenely. "Don't, please, take the romance out of everything." - -"No; I leave that to Gartney." - -"Horrid man!" said the girl, viciously; "he would disillusionise an -angel." - -"There are one or two things, my dear Victoria," observed Mrs. -Trubbles at this moment--"there are one or two things I should like to -take home with me as a kind of mementum of Italy. A fan or a -shell-box--you know, dear; a box with 'A Present from Como' on it. -Now, what is the Italian for 'A Present from Como'?" - -"I'm sure I don't know," said Miss Sheldon, suppressing a smile. -"However, here's an old curiosity shop. Let us go in and spy out the -land." - -"I can't talk the language myself," said Mrs. Trubbles, doubtfully, as -her bulky figure filled up the door, "but Victoria----" - -"Is much worse," interrupted that young lady, quickly. "I know French, -but not Italian, except parrot-like in singing. Now Mr. Macjean----" - -"I'm worst of all," explained Otterburn, in the most brazen manner. -"'Questo e troppo' is all I know." - -"Translate, please." - -"It means 'That is too much." - -"A very good sentence to know," said the matron, decidedly. "I believe -these foreign people are rarely honest. I shall learn it--'Question he -troppus.' Is that right?" - -"Not quite; only three words wrong. 'Questo e troppo.'" - -"'Questo e troppo,'" repeated Mrs. Trubbles, carefully. "What a pity -these foreigners don't learn English. It's so much better than their -own gibberish." - -"I'm afraid we'll have to go in for the primitive language of signs," -cried Victoria gaily, as they stood in front of the diminutive counter -behind which a smiling Italian was gesticulating politely. - -It would take a long time to describe the difficulties of that -shopping. How the shopkeeper, assisted by his tragic-looking wife, -raved wildly in Italian, and his three customers endeavoured vainly to -find out what they both meant. Sometimes one person would speak, then -the other four would join in, the most powerful voice taking the lead. -What with "Gran' Dio's" and "Per Bacco's" from the sellers, and -"Basta, basta," "Questo e troppo," and "Si, si" from the buyers, the -whole transaction was quite operatic in character. - -Mrs. Trubbles' system of shopping was very simple. - -When the shopkeeper said two lire, she replied one; if he requested -five, she offered four, always keeping the price down, being convinced -in her own mind that these foreigners were trying to swindle her, an -idea abhorrent to her sturdy British spirit. - -"I've got a conversation book somewhere," she said at last, fishing in -a capacious pocket; "it's got questions in three languages." - -"And the truth in none," observed Angus, _sotto voce_. - -"Oh, here it is!" exclaimed Mrs. Trubbles, producing a kind of -pamphlet. "Here, Mister Signor," holding up an olive-wood -paper-cutter, "Wie viel." - -A shrug of the shoulders and a gesture of dismay from the shopkeeper, -who did not understand German. - -"Why, he doesn't know his own language!" said Mrs. Trubbles, with -great contempt. "They need a School Board here." - -"I think," suggested Victoria, who was suffocating with laughter, "I -think you are talking German." - -"Dear! dear! you don't say so?" said the lady meekly, somewhat after -the fashion of M. Jourdain, who had talked prose for years and did not -know it. "Yes, quite right. These books are so muddling. Where's the -Italian? Oh, here; 'Quanto, quanto?'" shaking the paper-cutter -frantically. "Quanto, signor?" - -"Tre lire." - -"Bother the man! I'm not talking about a tray!" cried Mrs. Trubbles, -in an exasperated tone. "Here!--this! Use your eyes. Paper-cutter. -'Papero cuttero. Quanto?'" - -"Tre lire, signora." - -"He means three francs," explained Victoria. - -"Oh, does he. I'll give him two." - -"Questo e troppo," said Otterburn, bringing forward his only bit of -Italian with great ostentation. "Two--due--lire, signor. Ah, che la -morte." - -"No, no," from the shopkeeper, "non e molto." - -"Now what does that mean?" cried the matron, referring to her -text-book. "Here it is: 'not much,'--si, si; far too much, too molto, -due--due lire," producing them triumphantly from her purse. - -With many deprecating shrugs and asseverations in fluent Italian that -such a sale would ruin him, the shopkeeper at last accepted the two -lire, and Mrs. Trubbles with great satisfaction secured what she -wanted. They then bought a few more things by pursuing the same system -of beating down the prices, and all three ultimately left the shop -with the firm conviction that they had secured bargains, which they -decidedly had not. - -"These pigs of English," observed the astute shopkeeper to his wife, -"always talk a lot, but they pay in the end." - -Then the three innocents abroad wandered aimlessly through the narrow -streets, saw the statue of the great electrician, Volta, the ruined -battlements, the church of St. Abbondio, and other objects of -interest. Afterwards they had some refreshment at a café, the -proprietors of which Mrs. Trubbles, who was a spendthrift in London -but a miser abroad, denounced as robbers, and then were fortunate -enough to catch a steamer just starting for Cernobbio. - -"Oh dear! dear!" moaned Mrs. Trubbles, with a weary sigh, as she sat -down in a comfortable seat--"what with their language, their lies, and -their nobby-stone streets, I'm quite worn out." - -"I think one visit is quite enough for Como," said Victoria, as the -town receded into the far distance. "When do we leave this place, Mrs. -Trubbles?" - -"In a week, dear," murmured the lady in a sleepy tone. "My husband -will get all his politics settled by that time, I hope." - -"I hope so, too. I'm tired of the lakes." - -"Don't say that," said Otterburn, reproachfully; "I'll be sorry to -leave the Villa Medici." - -"You needn't. We can go; you can stay." - -"I don't want to stay if you go." - -Clearly this obtuse young man was irrepressible, and as he was now -getting on dangerous ground again, Victoria deftly turned the -conversation. - -"I suppose we'll see you and Mr. Gartney at Rome?" - -"Oh, yes. Will you be glad to see us?" - -"Perhaps. I don't like Mr. Gartney; I've told you so a dozen times." - -"Then will you be glad to see me?" demanded Otterburn, boldly. - -Victoria looked at him mischievously, with a dangerous gleam in her -dark eyes, then lowering her sunshade with a laugh, she turned -abruptly away. - -"I shall be glad when we arrive at the Villa Medici," she said, -lightly; "I'm so hungry." - -How on earth was a young man to make love to such a capricious girl? - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -LADY ERRINGTON'S LITTLE DINNER. - - "An alien race beneath an alien sky, - Amid strange tongues, and faces strange alone, - Stout English hearts who for the moment try - To form a little England of their own." - - -After the constant sight of dark Italian faces, and the everlasting -clatter of restless Italian tongues, the guests at the Villa Tagni -found it pleasant to form part of an English circle once more, to eat -an English dinner, to discuss English subjects and compare everything -British to the disadvantage of all things Continental. So great a -delight did these six people take in meeting one another at a -hospitable dinner-table that one would have thought they had been for -years exiled in the centre of Africa, and far removed from all -civilizing influences. Heaven only knows there is no lack of English -tourists on the Continent, but then to a great extent they preserve -their insular stiffness towards one another; consequently when people -meet in foreign parts, who have a slight acquaintance at home, they -rush into one another's arms with tender affection, though they would -mutually consider one another insufferable bores during the London -season. - -This, however, was not the case with Lady Errington's guests, who were -all genuinely delighted with one another, and chatted gaily on -different kinds of subjects as if they had been bosom friends all -their lives. The Hon. Henry had been invited on account of his wife, -who in her turn had been invited on account of Victoria, but having -gone to Milan to see an Italian Count who had all the complications of -European politics at his fingers' ends, he telegraphed the sad news -that he would not be able to be present, at which Lady Errington was -secretly very glad, as an extra man would have quite upset the balance -of the party. - -As it was, Sir Guy took in the portly Mrs. Trubbles to dinner, his -wife was escorted by Eustace, and the Master of Otterburn realised the -wish of his heart by acting as cavalier to Miss Sheldon. So things -being thus pleasantly arranged, they all sat round the well spread -table as merry a party as it would be possible to find. - -In some mysterious manner Lady Errington had managed to provide a -series of English dishes, to which all present did ample justice, not -that anyone was particularly a gourmand, but Italian cookery is a -trifle monotonous and a real English dinner in Italy is something to -be appreciated. At all events, what with the food, the wine, and the -continuous strain of light badinage, all the guests were in a state of -the highest good humour, and even the pessimistic Gartney deigned to -take a moderately charitable view of things. - -"This is jolly and no mistake," said Otterburn, as the servant filled -his glass with champagne, "you need to go abroad to appreciate home -comforts." - -"I think you would appreciate them anywhere," remarked Eustace the -cynic. - -"And quite right too," chimed in Miss Sheldon, with a gay laugh, -"everybody does, only they don't like to confess it." - -"Why not?" demanded Sir Guy. - -Victoria looked rather nonplussed for the moment, having made an idle -statement without thinking she would be called upon to give her -reasons. - -"Oh, I don't know," she replied, after some hesitation. "I suppose -people like to be thought romantic, and thinking about what you eat -and drink isn't romantic." - -"It's very sensible at all events," said Lady Errington; "do you not -agree with me Mrs. Trubbles?" - -"I do," replied the matron ponderously, nodding her head, upon which -was perched a cheerful-looking cap of black lace and glittering -bugles, "people should always eat and drink well at meal times, -but no nibblin's in between. It isn't nature to despise good food -well-cooked. I've no patience with those gells who starve themselves -and pinch their waists to look pretty. Wasps I call them." - -"Without the sting," suggested Sir Guy. - -"That depends on their tempers, and their tempers," continued Mrs. -Trubbles impressively, "depend on their eating. Give them good meals -and plenty of exercise, and there's the makin' of good wives about -them. Let them starve themselves and lace tight, and it makes their -noses red and their tempers cross." - -"The whole duty of woman then," murmured Eustace demurely, "is to -appreciate her cook and disobey her dressmaker. They might do the -first, but never the second." - -Mrs. Trubbles, not understanding irony, looked doubtfully at Eustace -to see if he was smiling, but so grave was the expression of his face -that she did not know whether he spoke in jest or earnest, so without -making any reply, she continued her meal while the conversation became -frivolous and general. - -"I think Italy a very over-rated place." - -"Really! In what respect--morals, scenery, manners?" - -"No, as regards music. It's a very barrel-organy country." - -"Not more so than the London streets. And after all, `Ah che la -Morte,' is more musical than 'Tommy make room for your uncle." - -"Both out of date." - -"Well, say Gounod's 'Romeo and Juliet' and the 'Boulanger March." - -"Yes, it's much jollier than the Op. 42 _andante adagio con fuoco -prestissimo_ sort of things they give you at the Richter Concerts." - -"Maclean," observed Eustace, gravely regarding his glass, "you are a -Philistine, and classical music of the advanced school is thrown away -on your uncultivated ear." - -"No doubt! I prefer 'Auld Lang Syne' to Beethoven." - -"Naturally, being a Scotchman. You're like the man who knew two tunes. -One was 'God save the Queen,' the other--wasn't." - -"I remember," observed Mrs. Trubbles, whose ideas of music were -primitive in the extreme, "that I went to a concert at St. James' -Hall, where they played something called a fuggy." - -"A fugue," translated Victoria for the benefit of the company. "I -know! One tune starts, a second catches it up. Then a third joins in, -and just as it successfully muddles up the other two, a fourth and a -fifth have their say in the matter." - -"Sounds dreadfully mixed." - -"Then it sounds exactly what it is," said Miss Sheldon promptly. "But -what about this particular fugue, Mrs. Trubbles?" - -"The fugue, dear--yes, of course. There was a young man in front of me -wriggled dreadfully. I thought he was uneasy about a pin, but he was -only showing how pleased he was with the music, and kept calling out -'Oh this is food!'" - -"Wanted the bottle, I expect," said Eustace sweetly, "such musical -babies shouldn't be allowed to go to classical concerts. It's too much -for their nerves." - -"It's too much for mine," remarked Otterburn grimly. "After dinner," -said Gartney, looking thoughtfully at him, "I shall play the -'Moonlight Sonata.'" - -"In that case, Lady Errington, may I stay out on the terrace? Such a -suggestion is inhuman." - -Lady Errington laughed and gave the signal to the ladies, whereupon -they all arose to their feet. - -"I'm afraid you're talking dreadful nonsense," she said, shaking her -head. - -"It's a poor heart that never rejoiceth," replied Otterburn -impudently, as he opened the door for the ladies to depart. - -Following the Continental fashion, Sir Guy and his guests did not -linger long over their wine, but, after a few minutes, went into the -drawing-room, whence they strolled on to the terrace for cigarettes -and coffee. - -Mrs. Trubbles, feeling sleepy after her dinner, found a comfortable -chair in a distant corner of the room, and went placidly to sleep, -while the remaining guests established themselves on the terrace, the -gentlemen with cigarettes and the ladies with coffee. - -Such a perfect night as it was. Away in the distance, dense and black -against the cold, clear sky, frowned the sombre masses of mountains, -above which hung in a cloudless firmament the silver shield of the -moon. Here and there a liquid star throbbed in the deep heart of the -heavens, and overhead shone the misty splendour of the Milky Way; not -a breath of wind ruffled the still surface of the lake, which -reflected the serene beauty of the sky, but at intervals across the -star-smitten surface would move the dark, slim form of a boat, the -oars breaking the water into thousands of flashing diamonds. - -Far beyond glimmered the orange-coloured lights of Blevio, and the -sudden whiteness of some tall campanile shooting up in slender beauty -from amid its dark mass of surrounding houses. A sense of perfect -fragrance in the still air, a charmed silence all around, and a -wondrous restful feeling under the cool magic of the night. Then, -mellowed by distance, faint and far like aerial music, the silver -tones of a peal of bells sounded at intervals through the clear -atmosphere, until the whole night seemed full of sweet sounds. - -"This is the night when Diana kisses Endymion," said Eustace dreamily, -"the antique deities which we all deny are still on earth in Italy. -They are not visible, nor will they ever be so save to the eye of -faith alone. Even then they are doubtful of revealing themselves to a -generation who would put them under the microscope and on the -dissecting table. But although we try hard to disbelieve in their -existence, the spell of their beauty is sometimes too strong, and I -never go anywhere among these hills without a secret hope of finding -Pan asleep at noontide in the ilex shade, or of seeing the laughing -face of a Dryad framed in tamarisk leaves." - -"And your hope is never realised," said Lady Errington sadly; "that is -so true of our modern desires." - -"Because we always desire the impossible," replied Eustace, clasping -his hands over his knees while the chill moonlight fell on his massive -face, "and expect to find it in crowded cities under the glare of -gaslight, instead of in these magic solitudes where the moon shines on -haunted ground." - -"But is it possible to reconcile man and Nature?" - -"According to Matthew Arnold, yes." - -"What a romantic way you have of looking at things, Mr. Gartney," -remarked Victoria with some impatience. "If everyone took your view of -life, I'm afraid the world would not get on." - -"It's all humbug," cried Otterburn, who agreed in every way with Miss -Sheldon, "that is, you know, not quite sensible." - -"I daresay it is not--in a worldly sense," said Eustace bitterly, "but -then you see I don't look at everything from a purely utilitarian -point of view." - -"I do" interposed Guy in his hearty British voice, "it's the only way -to get one's comforts in life. And one's comforts suggest smoking." - -Otterburn assented with avidity, for they had been sitting with -cigarettes for some time, but never lighted up, and even Eustace -departed so much from his poetic dreamings as to accept the soothing -weed. - -"You don't practise what you preach, Mr. Gurney," said Lady Errington, -smiling. - -"How many of us do?" asked Gartney complacently. "I'm afraid we talk a -lot and do nothing, now-a-days. It's the disease of the latter end of -the nineteenth century." - -"Oh, everything's very jolly," said Otterburn, who resembled Mark -Tapley in his disposition. "Who was it said that this was the best of -all possible worlds?" - -"Voltaire! But by that it was not his intention to infer he didn't -yearn after some better world." - -"Heaven!" - -"I don't think that was in M. Arouet's line." - -"I'm afraid it isn't in any of our lines." - -"What a rude remark," said Lady Errington severely. "This conversation -is becoming so atheistical that I must ask Mr. Gartney to carry out -his promise and play the Moonlight Sonata. It may inspire us with -higher thoughts." - -"The Como Moonlight Sonata--it will be a local hit." - -"What nonsense you do talk, Macjean," said Eustace rising to his feet -and throwing his cigarette into the water, "you're like that man in -the Merchant of Venice." - -"What man in the Merchant of Venice?" - -"Oh, if you don't know your Shakespeare, I'm afraid I can't teach it -to you," retorted Eustace, and stepping lightly across the terrace, he -sat down at the piano, which was placed near the window of the -drawing-room, and ran his fingers lightly over the ivory keys. Within -the party on the terrace could see the gleam of the marble floor, the -dull glitter of heavily embroidered curtains, the faint reflection of -a mirror, and over all the rosy light of a red-shaded lamp the glare -of which streamed out into the pale moonlight. - -Everyone sat silently in the wonderful mystic world created by the -magic of the moon, and from the piano a stream of melody, sad and -melancholy, in a minor key, broke forth on the still night. The spell -of the shadows, the weirdness of the hour, and the presence of Lady -Errington, to whom he felt strangely drawn, all had their influence on -Gartney's wonderfully impressionable nature, and he began to improvise -delicate melodies on a story suggested to him by the calm lake -gleaming without. - -"In the crystal depths of the blue lake," he chanted in a dreamy -monotone, while the subtle harmonies wove themselves under his long -lithe fingers, "there dwells a beautiful fairy, in a wondrous palace. -She is in love with the nightingale who sings so sweetly from the -laurels that hang their green leaves over the still waters. The voice -of the hidden singer has strange power and tells her of the cool green -depths of the forest; of the rich perfumes shaken from the flowers by -the gentle night-wind, and of the ruined shrines from whence the gods -have fled. As the passionate notes well forth from amid the dusky -shadows the eyes of the beautiful fairy fill with hot tears, for she -knows that the bird sings of a long dead love, of a long dead sorrow. -But she has no soul, the beautiful fairy, and cannot feel the rapture, -the passion, the sadness of love. She rises to the glittering surface -of the lake, and waves her slender white arms to the nightingale that -sings so sweetly in the moonlight. But the dawn breaks rosy in the -eastern skies, the rough wind of the morning whitens the lake, and the -nightingale sings no more. Then the beautiful fairy, broken-hearted, -sinks far down into the placid waters, to where there blooms strange -flowers of wondrous hues, and weeps, and weeps, and weeps for the love -which she can never feel without a soul." - -A chord, and the player let his hands fall from the keyboard. - -"That is a beautiful story, such as Heine might have told," said Lady -Errington softly. - -"The inspiration is Heine," replied Eustace dreamily, and relapsed -into silence. - -Victoria, eminently a woman of the world, grew weary of this poetical -talk and made a sign to Otterburn, who, understanding her meaning, -arose to his feet as she left her chair, and they strolled along the -terrace laughing gaily. A sound from within showed that Mrs. Trubbles -was once more awake, so Guy in his capacity of host went inside to -attend to her, and Eustace, sitting at the piano, was left alone with -Lady Errington. - -So frail, so pale, so ethereal she looked in the thin cold beams of -the moon, lying back, still and listless, in her wicker chair, with -her hands crossed idly on her white dress. The man at the piano was in -the radiance of the rosy lamplight, but the woman, dreaming in the -silence, looked a fitter inhabitant for this weird, white world of -mystery and chilly splendour. Watching her closely, even in the -distance, Eustace caught a glimpse of her eyes for the moment, and -fancied, with the vivid imagination of a poet, that he saw in their -depths that undefinable look of unfulfilled motherhood which had led -him to call her an "incomplete Madonna." - -Filled with this idea, a sudden inspiration of ascertaining the truth -seized him, and without changing his position, he replaced his fingers -on the ivory keys and broke into the steady rhythmical swing of a -cradle song. - -His voice was a small sweet tenor, not very loud, but wonderfully soft -and sympathetic, so that he rendered the song he now sang with rare -delicacy and tenderness. - - -I. - - "Sleep, little baby! peacefully rest, - Mother is clasping thee close to her breast; - Angels watch over thee gentle and mild, - Guard thee with heavenly love undefiled. - Sleep little baby, safe in thy nest, - Sleep little baby! mother's own child." - -II. - - "Sleep, little baby! fear not the storm, - Tenderly mother is holding thy form. - Mother's eyes watching thee ever above - Shine like twin stars with fathomless love. - Sleep, little baby! safely and warm, - Sleep, little baby! mother's own dove." - - -When he had ended the song with one soft, long-drawn note, he glanced -furtively at Lady Errington, and saw that he had touched the one -sympathetic chord of her nature, for those calm blue eyes were full of -unshed tears hanging on the long lashes. Eustace delicately refrained -from noticing her emotion, but rising from the piano strolled on to -the terrace, leaned lightly over the balustrade and gazed absorbedly -at the restless water, dark and sombre under the stone wall. - -"A perfect night," he murmured after a pause, during which Lady -Errington found time to recover herself from the momentary fit of -emotion. - -"Yes," answered Alizon mechanically, then after a pause, "thank you -very much for the song." - -"I'm glad you liked it," responded Eustace equably, and again there -was silence between them. The moonlight shone on both their faces, on -his, massive and masterful with a poetic look in his wonderfully -eloquent eyes, and on hers, delicate, distinct and fragile, as if it -had been carved from ivory. Light laughter from the two young people -at the end of the terrace, a deep murmur of conversation from within, -where Sir Guy strove gallantly to entertain his drowsy guest, but this -man and woman, oblivious of all else, remained absorbed in their own -thoughts. - -Of what was she thinking? of her past sorrow, her present happiness, -her doubtful future (for the future is doubtful with all -humanity)--Who could tell? Eustace, delicately sympathetic as he was, -stood outside the closed portals of her soul, into which no man, not -even her husband, had penetrated. But men and women, however closely -allied, how, ever passionately attached, however unreserved in their -confidences, never know one another's souls. There is always a -something behind all which is never revealed, which the soul feels -intensely itself, yet shrinks from disclosing even to nearest and -dearest, and it is this vague secret which all feel, yet none tell, -that makes humanity live in loneliest isolation from each other. - -Perhaps Lady Errington was thinking of this hidden secret of her soul -which none knew, nor ever would know, but Eustace, softened for the -moment by the unexpected maternal emotion his song had evoked, was -envying his cousin the possession of this cold, silent woman. Had he -known her personally before her marriage he might not have cared much -about her, save in a friendly way, but his eccentric imagination had -endowed her with a vague charm, which no other woman possessed, and -the knowledge that she belonged to another man made him bitterly -regretful. It was ever thus with the whimsical character of Eustace -Gartney. Place something within his reach, and he despised it, place -it beyond his hope of attainment, and he would strain every nerve to -possess it. He lived in the pursuit of the unattainable, which of all -things had the greatest charm for him, and this unattainable vision of -charming womanhood filled his soul with passionate anguish and desire. - -Suddenly, with a sigh, Lady Errington lifted up her eyes and saw -Eustace looking at her, respectfully enough, yet with a certain -meaning in his gaze which caused her vague embarrassment, she knew not -why. - -"Your music has made me dream, Mr. Gartney," she said, nervously -opening her fan. - -"You are of a sensitive nature, perhaps." - -She sighed again. - -"Yes, very sensitive. It is a most unhappy thing to be impressionable, -one feels things other people count as nothing." - -"Other people are wise," said Eustace in an ironical tone, "they take -Talleyrand's advice about a happy life, and--are happy." - -"What is your experience?" - -"The reverse; but then you see I have not taken Talleyrand's advice. -It is excellent and infallible to many people, but not to me." - -"Why not?" - -"I refer you to one Hamlet, who said, 'The time is out of joint.'" - -"Hamlet was a morbid, self-analysing egotist," said Lady Errington, -emphatically. - -"No--you are wrong. He was a man crushed down by melancholy." - -"Principally of his own making, though certainly he had plenty of -excuse." - -"And don't you think I have any excuse for being unhappy?" - -Alizon looked at him critically. - -"You are young, healthy, rich, famous. No, I don't think you have any -excuse. Do you remember my advice to you the other night?" - -"About philanthropy, yes. But we did not come to any agreement on the -subject, because we were interrupted." - -"History repeats itself," said Lady Errington, rising, "for here come -Mrs. Trubbles and Guy." - -"And Macjean and Miss Sheldon. Farewell, Minerva--Momus is King." - -"Wisdom gives place to Folly--well, is not that a very good thing," -said Alizon laughing, "you would grow weary of a world without -change." - -"I daresay. To no moment of my life could I have said with Faust, -'Stay, thou art so fair.'" - -"Alizon, Mrs. Trubbles is going," said Sir Guy's voice, as the -ponderous matron rolled towards his wife like a war-chariot. - -"I'm so sorry," observed Lady Errington, taking the lady's hand. - -"So am I, dear," said Mrs. Trubbles in a sleepy voice, "but I always -go to bed early here, the climate makes me so sleepy. I have enjoyed -myself so much--so very much. Yes." - -"Next time you visit," whispered Otterburn to Victoria, "bring a -chaperon who is wide-awake." - -"I will--you shall choose my chaperon, Mr. Macjean." - -"You mightn't like my choice," said Macjean wickedly. - -"I mean a lady, of course," replied Victoria demurely, "not an -irreverent young man like--well, never mind." - -"Like me, I suppose?" - -"I never said so." - -"No, but you looked it." - -Victoria laughed, and departed with Mrs. Trubbles and her hostess to -put her wraps on, while the three gentlemen had a short smoke and -conversation, after which they all separated for the night. - -Eustace walked silently back in the moonlight with Mrs. Trubbles who -did all the talking; and the young couple behind them talked Chinese -metaphysics. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -EUSTACE EXAMINES HIS MIND. - - "I looked into my mind, - And what did I find? - The waifs of the life I had left behind. - - "The tears of a girl, - A blossom--a curl, - The heart of a woman who married an Earl. - - "Ambitions and fears, - Gay laughter and tears, - Dead sorrows, dead pleasures of long perished years. - - "Ah, folly to sigh - For passions that die, - Sir Poet, 'tis best to let sleeping dogs lie." - - -"I suppose," said Eustace to his friend, "that as we are here we may -as well see something of the place." - -"But we have seen a lot," objected Angus, removing his post-prandial -cigarette. - -"Do you think so?" observed Gartney serenely; "it strikes me that your -'seeing a lot' has been principally confined to pottering about this -place in company with Miss Sheldon." - -Otterburn looked a trifle sheepish at this very pointed remark, and -resumed his cigarette with a nervous laugh. - -They were seated under a mulberry tree, looking at the lake flashing -in the brilliant sunshine, listening to a noisy cicada that was -singing to itself in an adjacent flower-bed, and watching the brown -lizards chasing one another over the hot stones of the parapet. - -"Where do you want to go to?" asked the Master, after a pause. - -"I was thinking of driving to Cantari. It's a queer old village, -dating from the time of Il Medeghino." - -"Who the deuce was he?" - -"A pirate of this ilk, who used to sweep the lake with a fleet of -ships." - -"It wouldn't take a very big fleet to do that," said Otterburn, -staring at the narrow limits of the lake. "I daresay one of our -ironclads could have knocked the whole show to kingdom-come in no -time." - -"Very probably," replied Eustace dryly, "but luckily for Il Medeghino -there were no ironclads in those days, and a good thing too. -Torpedoes, Gatling guns, and dynamite have taken all the romance out -of war. But this is not the question. What about Cantari. Will you -come?" - -"Well, I hardly know--I--do you think Miss Sheldon would care to -come?" - -"She might, only I'm not going to ask her. There's not much amusement -in watching her flirting with you in some old church. Besides she'd -admire the altar-cloth because it would make such a lovely dress, and -the jewels of the shrine because they would look so charming on her -own neck. No. I am not going to have my enjoyment spoilt by the -everlasting chatter of a woman's tongue." - -"You're horribly severe," said Angus wincing. "You don't like Miss -Sheldon." - -"As a pretty woman, yes. As a companion, no. She's a coquette.' - -"Oh, I don't think so." - -"Don't you? Well, wait a week. Your disenchantment will soon -commence." - -"She's a true woman," declared Macjean hotly. - -"And therefore capricious. My dear lad, the two things are -inseparable. But once more--for the third time. What about Cantari?" - -The young man looked at the blue sky above, the blue lake below, the -brilliantly-coloured flowers, and ultimately brought his eyes back to -Eustace. - -"I'll come if you like," he said awkwardly. - -"Oh, don't trouble," replied Eustace curtly, springing to his feet, -"I'll go alone," and he walked off in a huff, Otterburn making no -attempt to stop him. - -"What a cross chap he is," muttered the Master to himself, "he always -wants a fellow to be dodging about those old ruins. It isn't good -enough when there's a pretty girl about--not much. Life's too short to -waste one's chances." - -After which slightly egotistical soliloquy, Otterburn pitched his -cigarette into a flower-bed and strolled off to the music-room, where -he found Miss Sheldon strumming waltzes on a fearfully bad piano. - -"Oh, here you are," she cried, rising with alacrity, "I'm so glad. I -want to go out for a stroll, and Mrs. Trubbles doesn't. That nuisance -of a husband of hers is talking her to sleep with politics." - -"He is rather a trial," murmured Otterburn, as they went outside. - -"Trial!" echoed Miss Sheldon, with supreme contempt, unfurling her -sunshade, "I should just think so. One might as well have married a -Blue-Book. Why did she marry him?" - -"For the sake of contrast, probably." - -"It's not impossible. Where is the amiable Mr. Gartney?" - -"Gone geologizing, or ruin-hunting. Something of that sort!" - -"Alone?" - -"Entirely." - -"Then he's in very good company." - -"Oh, I say, you know," said Angus, making a weak stand for the -character of his absent friend, "Gartney isn't a bad fellow." - -"I never said he was." - -"No--but you think----" - -"It's more than you do, or you wouldn't stand there talking such -nonsense," said Victoria severely. "Come and buy me some peaches." - -So Otterburn held his tongue in the meekest manner, and bought her -peaches, which they devoured comfortably by the lake, talking of -everything, except Eustace Gartney. - -In the meanwhile that gentleman, considerably upset in his own mind by -what he termed Macjean's selfishness (he was quite oblivious of his -own), had gone round to some stables in the village, selected a -carriage, and was now being driven along the dusty white road in the -direction of Cantari. - -The driver, a swarthy young man with a somewhat dilapidated suit of -clothes, a shining hard hat, and a good-natured smile, called the -weak-kneed animal which drew the vehicle "Tista," and "Tista" was the -nearest approach to a skeleton ever seen outside the walls of a -museum. Peppino (the driver) encouraged Tista (the horse) by first -shouting and then abusing him in voluble Italian. - -"Ah, pig of a horse why go so slow? Child of Satan, is not the corn of -the illustrious Signor waiting for thee at Cantari?" - -It might have been, but Tista seemed to have his doubts about the -truth of this statement, for he did not mend his pace, but ambled -complacently on, stopping every now and then to whisk a fly from his -hide. At last, in despair, Peppino got down from his perch and trudged -up the hill beside Tista, who shook his bells bravely and made a great -show of speed over the irregular road. - -"Hadn't you better carry him?" asked Eustace in Italian, observing -this comedy in sarcastic silence. "I don't think he'll live as far as -Cantari." - -Peppino touched his hat, grinned at the wit of the English milord, and -without any reply went on abusing the stolid Tista with the brilliant -vocabulary of a Texus mule driver. At last Tista with much difficulty -managed to gain the top of the hill, whereupon Peppino mounted his -perch once more, cracked his whip in grand style, and his attenuated -horse proceeded to tumble down the incline. - -Tista neither galloped, cantered, nor walked, but simply tumbled down -the hill, being considerably assisted in his descent by the weight of -the carriage behind. Then came a stretch of comparatively level road, -running along the side of the lake, where Tista resumed his ambling, -and after a deliberate journey the three, horse, driver and passenger, -reached Cantari. - -Here Eustace left his carriage at the Albergo Garibaldi, and, lighting -a cigarette as a preventative against the evil odours of the village, -strolled through the narrow streets with listless curiosity. - -Cantari is situated on the side of a steep mountain which slopes sheer -into the lake, and in fact some of the dwellings are built on stone -piles over the tideless waters. All the houses, grey and weather-worn -are huddled together as if for warmth, and from the bright green -forests high above there falls a great sheet of foaming water, which -descends through the centre of the village by several stages until it -plunges with a muffled roar into the lake. - -A perfect labyrinth of streets, narrow and gloomy, with tall grey -houses on either side, cobbled stone pavements sloping from both sides -to an open drain in the centre, and high above a glimpse of blue sky -rendered all the more brilliant by the chill darkness of the place -below. Then endless flights of rugged stairs, worn into hollows by the -heavy feet of many generations, long sombre passages with humid walls, -and slender stone bridges throwing a single arch across the tumbling -white torrent raging below in dusky depths of cruel seeming. Heavily -barred doors set in the massive walls, and higher up, rows of grated -windows like those of some oriental seraglio, with open green -shutters, just catching a fleeting glimpse of sunlight; still higher, -iron railed balconies over which white linen hung out to dry, and -highest of all, the vivid red of the tiled roofs, round which swooped -and twittered the swift swallows. - -In these dreary streets and alleys a perpetual twilight ever -reigns, adding to the uncanny feeling of the place. Now and then a -gaudily-dressed _contadina_, all red skirt, gold earrings and barbaric -colouring, clatters down in her wooden pattens; dark-browed, -mobile-faced men lounge idly against the walls, laughing gaily, and at -intervals sleek grey donkeys, laden with baskets piled with the vivid -colours of vegetables and fruit, climb painfully up the steep ascent. - -"It's like the Middle Ages," mused Eustace, as he toiled upward. "All -kinds of dark deeds could take place in these winding streets. I -wouldn't be surprised to see a band of the Baglioni waiting for some -foe of their house in these dark corners, or to meet Dante climbing -these steep stairs dreaming of Hell and Beatrice. Stradella might sing -in the moonlight under that high balcony, where doubtless at night a -peasant Juliet chatters love in villainous patois to some dark-browed -Romeo." - -A sudden turn of the stairs brought him into the brilliant sunshine -and on to a little piazza hanging midway on the green mountain between -the blue lake and the blue sky. Severally on three sides, an albergo, -a café, a church, and on the fourth a wondrous view of sparkling -waters, cloud-swathed hills, and distant pinnacles of Alpine snow. - -Thoroughly tired out by his climb, Eustace sat thankfully down in an -iron chair, put his feet on another, and ordered some wine from a -dreary little waiter who emerged from the café to attend to his wants. -While waiting, Eustace tilted his straw hat over his eyes, weary with -the vivid colours of the landscape, and fell fast asleep. The waiter -brought the wine, saw that the English gentleman was asleep, so -retired cautiously without waking him. - -In the pale blue sky the restless swallows flashed in rapid circles or -twittered around the sloping eaves of the houses. On the hot stones of -the little piazza slept the restless brown lizards, and in the centre -a fountain of sparkling water splashed musically in its wide stone -basin, all carved in Renaissance style with vines and masks and nude -figures of frenzied Bacchanals. The sun dipped behind the arid peak of -a great mountain, and threw its shadow on to the mountain village, -while the mellow bells began to ring slowly in the slender campanile. -Eustace awoke with a start, to find that he had been asleep for some -considerable time, and after drinking his wine, and feeing the dreary -little waiter, went across to have a look at the church before -descending. - -It was exactly the same as any other Italian church, frescoes of -angels, and saints, and wide-eyed cherubim, side altars, before which -burned the low, steady flame of oil lamps, high altar glittering with -jewels and flowers, painted windows, faint odour of incense and all -such things. A woman was kneeling at the confessional, within which -sat a severe-looking priest, and Eustace, catching a glimpse of this, -took a seat in the shadow near the door lest he should disturb them. - -"If I could only believe like that," he thought to himself as he -enviously watched the kneeling woman, "how much happier I should be; -but it is impossible for me to shift my burden of sins on to the -shoulders of another man. This is the age of disbelief, and I am of -it, but I would give the whole world to be able to return to the -primitive simple faith of these peasants, to believe in miracles, in -the intercession of saints, in the canonization of pious people, and -in all those beautiful fables which make their lives so bright." - -The still church, the faint fumes of incense, the sudden flash in the -dusky shadows of cross and pictured face, all influenced his -singularly impressionable nature. He felt lifted up from the things of -this earth into a higher region of spirituality, and in the exaltation -of the moment felt inclined to kneel down on the cold pavement and -lift up his voice in prayer. But the mocking spirit of disbelief, the -spirit which denies, damped this sudden impulse of strong faith, and -he sat there in the cold twilight, pitying himself profoundedly with -the self-commiseration of an egotist, for the weariness of his life, -which came from the selfishness of his own actions. - -"How infinitely dreary is this life of ours, with its cant and humbug, -its hollow aspirations and unsatisfying rewards. We try to make -ourselves happy and only succeed in rendering ourselves cynical. If -there were only some chance of compensation in the next world, but -that is such a doubtful point. We are like wanderers on a lonely moor -misled by false lights--false lights of our own creation. We know -nothing, we can prove nothing, we believe nothing--not very gratifying -after eighteen centuries of Christianity. After all, I daresay that -old Greek philosopher was right, who said 'Eat, drink, for to-morrow -we die.' Still, one grows weary of eating, and drinking, and other -things--especially other things. Marriage, for instance--I ought to -marry, and yet--it's such a hazardous experiment. I would tire of the -best woman breathing, unless I chanced on the other half of myself, -according to Plato's theory. That, I'm afraid, is impossible, though -it certainly hasn't been for the want of trying. I've loved a good -many women, but the passion has only lasted the life of a rose." - -At this moment of his reflections he chanced to raise his eyes, and -saw in front of him a picture of the Madonna, with the calm look of -maternity on her face, and this sight turned his thoughts in the -direction of Lady Errington. - -"It is curious that I should be so attracted by that woman. I wonder -what can be the reason. She is not particularly brilliant, nor clever, -nor exquisitely beautiful, and yet she seems to satisfy that hunger of -the soul I have felt all my life. One can think, but not describe a -woman's character, even the most shallow woman's; there is always -something that escapes one. Alizon Errington has that something, and -it is that which attracts me so powerfully. That calm, reposeful, -sympathetic nature which appeals so strongly to a worn-out soul. If I -were ill, I would like her to sit beside me and lay her cool hand on -my forehead--she is like moonlight, dreamy, restful and indescribable. - -"Perhaps she is the woman of my dreams, the impossible ideal which all -men imagine and no man ever meets. If this should be the case, Fate -has played me a cruel trick in making her my cousin's wife. She does -not love him--No!--she loves nothing except a vague fancy, which will -turn to a passionate reality when she becomes a mother. - -"Guy is living in a fool's paradise, for he takes her sympathetic -nature for a loving one. Some day he will be undeceived and find that -he loves a statue, a snow queen, who can never respond to his passion. -When she becomes a mother she will find her soul, which will only -awaken at the cry of a child; but at present she is an Undine--a -faint, white ghost--the shadow of what a woman should be. - -"Do I love her?--I don't know. There is something too spiritual about -this new passion of mine. It is as evanescent as the dew, as unreal as -moonlight; there is no flesh and blood reality about such platonisms. -I am no Pygmalion to worship a statue. Still, if the gods endowed this -statue with life--What then? It is difficult to say. I would love her. -I would adore her, and yet--she is the wife of my cousin and I--I am -the fool of fortune." - -With a dreary laugh he rose from his seat, feeling cramped and chill -in the grim shadows. He went outside, but the sunlight had died out of -the sky and all the beautiful, brilliant world was dull and grey; the -magic light had passed away from on land and water, leaving a sombre, -weary earth, across which the wind blew cold and bleak. - -"Rose-coloured spectacles! Rose-coloured spectacles!" he muttered, -plunging into the gloomy stairs of the street. "If I could only buy a -pair." - -Peppino and Tista were waiting for him at the Albergo Garibaldi, and -in a few minutes he was on his way back to the Villa Medici. - -The sun had disappeared behind the distant hills, and in a -rose-coloured sky hung the faint shadow of a waning moon, looking thin -and haggard amid the fast-fading splendour. - -"She is like the moon," he sighed sadly, "like the pale, cold moon. As -fair--as calm--and as lifeless as that dead world." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -"OH, WILT THOU BE MY BRIDE, KATHLEEN?" - - "Say 'Yes' or 'No' - Before we part. - Come joy or woe, - Say 'Yes' or 'No.' - I love thee so! - Hope fills my heart. - Say 'Yes' or 'No' - Before we part." - - -There was no doubt that Angus Macjean was very much in love with Miss -Sheldon, which to wiseacres would appear rather foolish, seeing that -he had only known her three weeks. But as, according to Kit Marlowe, -"He never loved who loved not at first sight," Otterburn had fulfilled -such practical advice to the letter, and however rapidly love had -sprung up in his heart in that short space of three weeks, it had -become sufficiently powerful to dominate all his other faculties. - -As to the wisdom of this sudden passion, he was somewhat doubtful, for -two reasons, one being that he did not know whether Victoria would -accept him, and the other that even if she did, his father might -refuse to sanction the match, a very probable contingency, seeing that -the old Lord had already settled the matrimonial future of his heir. - -Under these circumstances Otterburn, much as he was in love, felt -rather embarrassed as to the manner in which he should proceed. He -adored this bright-eyed, piquant beauty with all his soul, so, -according to the neck-or-nothing traditions of Love, should have -thrown all other considerations to the winds, but having inherited -from his father a vein of Scotch caution he deemed it wise to proceed -with due circumspection. - -Gartney might have advised this half-hearted lover, but Otterburn knew -that neither his lady-love nor his friend liked one another, so -thought it useless to ask for an opinion which would be diametrically -opposed to his own desires. Seeing, therefore, that there was nothing -satisfactory to be obtained from Eustace, Otterburn made up his mind -to find out indirectly what Johnnie Armstrong thought of the matter. - -It may appear strange that he should condescend to speak of such a -subject even indirectly to his servant, but then Johnnie was much more -to him than a servant, being an old and faithful friend of the family, -who had seen him grow up from childhood, and regarded himself in the -light of a humble adviser to the young heir in the absence of Mactab, -to whom Johnnie deferred as spiritual adviser. - -According to this view of the matter, which would have been quite -incomprehensible to Eustace, who regarded his valet as a useful -machine, Johnnie was no ordinary servant, and although Angus did not -intend to ask him right out how he thought such a union would be -received at Dunkeld Castle, yet he knew that once Johnnie's tongue was -set going he would soon find out all he wanted to know. - -Johnnie, in himself, represented the home authorities, and feeling -very doubtful in his own mind as to the views that might be taken of -the affair, after much cogitation Angus determined to ascertain the -sage Johnnie's opinion on the subject, and one morning, while he was -dressing, broached the idea in a most artful way. - -He was standing before the mirror brushing his hair, and Johnnie was -hunting for some special necktie he had been told to find, when the -following dialogue took place. - -"Johnnie," asked Angus, without turning his head, "were you ever in -love?" - -Johnnie paused for a moment and rubbed his bald brow with one lean red -hand. - -"Weel, Maister," he said, with habitual Scotch caution, "I'll nae gang -sae far as tae say I michtna hae been. There wis reed-heeded Mysie, ye -ken a canty lass wi' a braw tocher. Ye'll mind her, sir, doon the burn -near Kirsty Lachlan's but an' ben." - -"Can't say I recollect her," replied Angus carelessly. "All the girls -are red-headed about Dunkeld. Well, did you love Mysie?" - -"Maybe I did," said Johnnie coolly, "an' maybe she would hae made me a -decent gudewife if it hadna been for that blithering Sawney -Macpherson--the gowk wi' the daft mither--whae yattered her saul oot -wi' his skirlin' about her braw looks, an' sae she married him. It -wasna a happy foregathering," concluded Mr. Armstrong spitefully, "for -Sawney's ower fond o' whusky, an' the meenister had him warned fower -times i' the Kirk o' Tabbylugs." - -"How do you like the Italian girls?" asked the Master, who had been -listening with some impatience to Johnnie's long-winded story. - -"A puir lot, Maister, a puir lot. Feckless things whae warship the -Scarlet Wuman wi' gew-gaws an' tinkling ornaments in high places. -They're aye yelpin' fra morn till nicht wi' idolatrous processions an' -graven images." - -As these religious views of the godly Johnnie did not interest -Otterburn, he proceeded: - -"What do you think of Miss Sheldon, Johnnie?" - -"She's nae sae bad." - -"Oh, nonsense. She's an angel." - -"Weel, I've seen waur." - -Johnnie was evidently determined not to commit himself in any way, so -Angus spoke straight out. - -"What would you say if I married her, Johnnie?" - -"Losh me," ejaculated Armstrong in dismay, "ye'll be clean daft to dae -sic a thing. The auld Lord would never forgie ye, Maister. An' -Mistress Cranstoun----" - -"Oh, hang it. I'm not going to marry her," retorted Angus, snatching a -necktie from Johnnie's paralysed grasp. - -"I misdoubt me what the godly Mactab wull spier----" - -"D-- Mactab." - -"Hech! just listen tae him," cried Johnnie, with uplifted hands. "The -meenister whae brocht him up in the psalms o' David an' led him by -mony waters through the paraphrases." - -"Hold your tongue!" said the Master, stamping his foot. "I didn't ask -you to make any remarks." - -"What's your wull then?" demanded Johnnie sourly. - -"Do you think there'll be a row if I married her?" - -"Aye I--that I do." - -"She's very pretty." - -"Ye mauna gang like th' Israelites after strange wumen." - -"She's got plenty of money." - -This artful remark appealed to Johnnie's strongest passion, and he -considered the question. - -"Weel, I'll nae say but what that micht dae ye some gude," he said -cautiously, "but, oh, Maister, it's nae the auld Lord I fear, it's the -meenister o' Tabbylugs, as ye weel ken. If ye but get the richt side -o' his lug, maybe ye can tac' this dochter o' Belial tae Kirk--if no, -I fear me, Maister, there'll be the deil tae pay." - -Angus made no reply to this speech, as he knew what Johnnie said was -perfectly true, so having thus ascertained exactly how his marriage to -Victoria would be taken, he rapidly finished his dressing and ran -downstairs, leaving his faithful henchman shaking his grizzled head in -dour Scotch fashion over the probable anger of Mactab. - -"The daft bit laddie," commented Johnnie, folding up his master's -clothes, "tae fly i' the face o' Providence aboot a lass. An' that -auld Jeezebel whae dodders after her would like it fine, I'm thinking, -tae see the lass Leddy Otterburn. I'll no tac' the responsibility on -me. The laddie ma gang tae the auld Laird an' the meenister, an' -they'll nay say aye, I misdoot me the Maister 'ull gang his ain gait -for aw their skirling." - -Meanwhile Angus was standing at the front door of the hotel, thinking -over the conversation he had just had, and having a considerable -amount of common sense saw that Johnnie Armstrong was correct in his -remarks about Mactab. Being a man of great shrewdness and genuine -piety he had attained a strong influence over the somewhat stern -nature of Lord Dunkeld, who knew that Mactab's advice if not always -palatable was essentially sound. - -Lord Dunkeld had set his heart on the marriage of his only son with -Miss Cranstoun, as that ill-favoured damsel was heiress to the estate -adjoining that to which Angus was heir, and such a match would -considerably increase the territorial possessions and influence of the -Macjean family in the Border land. - -Nevertheless Angus, though not a fortune hunter, knew that Victoria -Sheldon was very wealthy, and in this democratic age an excellent -match in every way, so provided his father was satisfied regarding the -birth of the young lady (and the fact that her mother was a Macjean -was greatly in her favour), there was a chance of success, especially -if Mactab approved, of which, however, Angus was doubtful, for the -minister greatly admired Miss Cranstoun owing to her assiduous -attendance at the Kirk. - -"Deuce take the whole lot of them," grumbled Otterburn, as he thought -over all this. "I wish they'd let a fellow fix up his own life. One -would think I had no feelings the way they order me about. That -Cranstoun girl is as ugly as sin, and I don't see why I should marry -her just because she's got the next estate to ours. Why doesn't my -father marry her himself if he's so jolly anxious to get the property? -As for Mactab, he ought to mind his own business instead of meddling -with mine. Hang it, I won't stand it. I'm not engaged to that -Cranstoun thing, so I can do as I like. Victoria goes away to-morrow, -and Lord only knows when I'll see her again, so I'll take the bull by -the horns and ask her to marry me. If she won't, there's no harm done, -and if she will, the whole lot at Dunkeld can howl themselves hoarse -for all I care." - -Having, therefore, made up his mind in this impulsive manner, -Otterburn, in order to give himself no time to change it, walked off -in search of Victoria, to offer her the heart which his father fondly -trusted was in the keeping of Miss Cranstoun of that ilk. - -Miss Sheldon was seated in the Chinese room writing letters, and so -absorbed was she in her occupation, that she did not hear Otterburn -enter. - -It was a lofty, fantastical apartment, with an oval roof tinted a dull -grey, on which were traced red lines of a symmetrical pattern to -resemble bamboo framing, and the walls were hung with Chinese paper, -forming a kind of tapestry on which the artist, ignorant of -perspective, had traced strange trees, brilliant birds, impossible -towers, bizarre bridges, and odd-looking figures. In the four corners -of the room, on slender pedestals, sat almond-eyed, burly mandarins, -cross-legged, with their long hands folded placidly on their -protuberant stomachs, and pagoda-shaped hats, with jingling bells on -their pig-tailed heads. Chinese matting on the floor, lounging chairs -of bamboo work, oblong tables, on which stood barbaric vases of -porcelain, all gave this room a strange Eastern look, suggesting -thoughts of crowded Pekin, the odour of new-gathered tea, and a vision -of queer towers rising from the rice plains, under burning skies. - -Otterburn was not thinking of the Flowery Land, however, as his mind -was too full of Victoria, and he stood silently watching her graceful -head bent over her writing, until, by that strange instinct which -warns everyone that someone is near, she raised her eyes and saw him -standing close to the door. "Oh, good morning," she cried gaily, as he -advanced. "Sit down for a few moments, and don't interrupt me. I'm -engaged in a most unpleasant task. Writing to Aunt Jelly." - -"Why! is it so disagreeable?" said the young man, sitting down in one -of the light chairs, which creaked complainingly under his weight. - -"Very," replied Miss Sheldon, nodding her head and pursing up her -lips. "Very, very disagreeable. Being my guardian, she always seems to -think I'm in mischief, and I have to report myself once a week to her -like a ticket-of-leave man, or rather woman." - -"Do you tell her everything?" asked Otterburn, rather aghast. - -"With certain reservations. Yes!" - -"I hope I'm included in the reservations?" - -"Well, yes. At least, I've not yet sent Aunt Jelly a portrait of you." - -"And shall I ever gain that enviable distinction?" - -Miss Sheldon shrugged her shoulders with a laugh. - -"Do you think it enviable to be dissected for the benefit of a carping -old woman? I'm sure I don't. Besides, as you are a friend of Mr. -Gartney's, you will meet his dreadful aunt on your return to England, -and she can criticise you herself, instead of gaining an impression -second-hand from me." - -"If I do meet her, I hope the criticism will be favourable." - -"Why so?" - -"Because you are her ward." - -"I don't see the connection," replied Victoria, with feminine -duplicity, but her heightened colour showed that she understood his -meaning, and Otterburn, being by no means deficient in understanding -regarding the sex, immediately took advantage of the secret sympathy -thus suddenly engendered between them. - -"I'm a very plain sort of fellow, Miss Sheldon," he said, with a -certain boyish dignity, "and I can't talk so glibly about things as -most men, but I think you can guess what I want to say to you." - -He paused for a moment, but as Victoria made no observation, he drew a -long breath, and continued: - -"I love you, and I want you to marry me--if you'll have me." - -In spite of the brusqueness of this declaration, crude in the extreme, -adorned with no fine flowers of speech or passionate protestations of -eternal love, Victoria felt that he spoke from his heart, and that -this manly declaration was more to be believed than any sickly, -sentimental speech of honey and spice. Still, she made no sign to show -how deeply his honest straightforwardness had touched her, but -scribbled idly on the blotting-paper with her pen, whereupon -Otterburn, emboldened by her silence, gently took the hand which was -lying on her lap, and went on with increasing hopefulness of tone. - -"I trust you do not think me presumptuous in speaking so soon, but -although I have only known you a few weeks, yet in that time I have -learned to love you very dearly, and if you'll only become my wife, -I'll do everything in my power to make you happy." - -She withdrew her hand from his grasp, and throwing down the pen on the -table, turned her clear eyes gravely on his face, then, without any -maidenly confusion or any mock modesty, she answered him calmly, -although the tremulous quivering of her nether lip showed how deeply -she was moved. - -"You are doing me a great honour, Mr. Macjean, and I assure you I -appreciate the manner in which you have spoken, but--it cannot be." - -"Oh, surely----" - -"No," she replied, lifting her hand to stay his further speech. "I am -only a girl, I know, but then I have been brought up in the Colonies, -and in these matters I think Australian girls are more self-reliant -than those in England." - -She might have been a schoolmistress delivering a lecture on manners, -so coldly did she speak. - -"I like you! I respect you, but I do not love you, and I could marry -no man without loving him. We have only known each other three weeks, -so are in total ignorance of each other's character. No, Mr. Macjean, -much as I thank you for the honour you have done me--the greatest -honour a man can offer a woman--yet I must say no." - -"Can you give me no hope?" - -"I don't think it would be wise to do so. We part to-morrow, and may -meet others we like better, so it would be foolish for either you or -myself to bind ourselves in any way." - -Otterburn, seeing from her cool, composed speech that her mind was -made up, arose to his feet with a look of despair on his bright, young -face, upon which she also arose from her chair, and laid her hand -gently on his shoulder. - -"Believe me, you will think as I do later on," she said in a friendly -tone; "forget that this conversation has ever taken place, and let us -be on the same footing as before. We part to-morrow, as I said before, -but it is more than probable that we will meet in London--if so, let -us meet as friends." - -The composure with which she spoke irritated Otterburn fearfully, the -more so as it was so unexpected. This brilliant, piquant creature, who -should have been all fire and passion, talked to him as if he were a -schoolboy, and argued about love as if she was an elderly dry as-dust -professor of science. Perhaps Victoria knew this, and, as she did not -wish to marry Otterburn, thought that such a cold-blooded way of -discussing his passion, from a worldly point of view, would have the -effect of making him care less about her refusal to marry him. - -They stood looking at one another for a moment, the man angry at what -he considered her unjustifiable treatment, the woman composed, but -withal a trifle frightened at the tempest she had provoked. - -"Well, we part friends?" she said, holding out her hand with a quiet -smile. - -Angus looked at her with a glance of anger in his eyes. - -"Coquette!" he growled out between his clenched teeth, and, taking no -notice of her extended hand, left the room quickly. - -Left to herself, Victoria sat down and thought over the scene. The -declaration of Angus had touched her by its manly honesty, but, as she -had not thought of marrying him, her mode of refusal had certainly -been the best possible in order to cool his passion. His anger, -however, and the fast word he had uttered, opened her eyes to the -situation, and she saw that her determination to spite Eustace, by -taking his friend away, had been more serious than she imagined. - -This reflection made her angry with herself, and of course she vented -her rage on Angus, simply because she had treated him badly. - -"Stupid boy," she said to herself, angrily, "he might have seen I was -not in earnest. I never gave him to understand that I would marry him. -These men are so conceited, they think they have only got to throw the -handkerchief like the Sultan. The lesson will do him good. Yet he is a -nice, honest boy, and I'm sorry we did not part friends. Never mind, I -expect he'll come back shortly. I'm sure he ought to, and beg my -pardon--if he's got any sense of decency--foolish boy." - -She tried to write but felt too angry with herself, Angus and the -whole world, to do so, therefore she ran up to her own room, worried -herself ill over the whole affair and ultimately ended up in having a -good cry and a fit of self-commiseration. - -Meanwhile, Otterburn' in a towering passion, walked outside, and -seeking a secluded seat under a spreading oak, sat down in a most -doleful mood. - -"The heartless coquette," said this ill-used young man aloud, staring -dismally at the lake. "I wonder what she thinks a man is made of to be -preached at? I asked for love and she gave me a sermon. Good Lord! I -thought she would have cried and made a fuss like other girls, but she -didn't, confound her! Fancy talking about ignorance of character and -all that stuff, when a fellow's dying of love, and as to being -friends, that's not my style. I'm not going to run after her like a -poodle dog, and be driven away every two minutes. I'll see Gartney, -and we'll go away at once. I'll never see her again, never! never! -never!" - -"That's emphatic, at all events," said a quiet voice at his elbow, and -on turning round, he saw Eustace standing near him complacently -smoking a cigarette. - -"Oh, it's you," said Otterburn, in an ill-tempered tone. - -"Yes! forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing the last few words -you spoke. I--I hope you've been successful in your wooing." - -"I don't know what you mean," retorted Angus sulkily, stretching his -long legs out, and thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. - -"I beg your pardon," replied Eustace, ceremoniously. "I have no wish -to force your confidence." - -The Master made no reply, but glared savagely at his boots, while -Eustace, taking in the situation at a glance, stood silently beside -him, not without a secret gratification that Otterburn had been -punished for his base desertion of friendship for love. This was so -like Gartney, whose colossal egotism saw in the successes or failures -of others nothing but what tended to his own self-glorification. - -"Gartney," said Otterburn, suddenly looking up, "I'm deadly sick of -this place." - -"Everyone seems to be of your opinion," answered Eustace, -complacently; "the Erringtons go to-day, and Mrs. Trubbles -to-morrow--of course la Belle Victoria accompanies them--aren't you -inconsolable?" - -This was cruel of Eustace, and he knew it. - -"No, I'm not," retorted Angus, doughtily, "she's not the only girl in -the world. I wish to heaven you'd talk sense. Tell me when are we -going to start?" - -"When you like." - -"For Vienna?" - -"I'm rather tired of Vienna," said Gartney, listlessly, "I've been -there four times and it's always the same. If you don't mind, I'd -rather we tried a fresh locality." - -"I don't care," said Otterburn, with a scowl. "I'll go anywhere--to -the devil if you like." - -"That's looking too far ahead," replied Eustace ironically. "What do -you say to Cyprus? I've been reading Mallock's book about it and it -seems one place not in the grip of Cook's tourists and Baedeker's -Guide Books. We can take the train to Venice, and go down the -Adriatic." - -"Very well," said Macjean, rising, with a huge sigh. "If you don't -mind, I'll go to Milan to-day. You can follow to-morrow." - -"All right," said Eustace quietly, judging it best to let his young -friend go away for a time and get over his disappointment in solitude. -"I will come with you to Como, and can see both you and the Erringtons -off at the same time." - -"Then I'll go and tell Johnnie to get my traps together." - -"Certainly, but look here, old fellow, although you have not honoured -me with your confidence I can guess your trouble, but don't worry -about it." - -"Oh, it's all very well for you," said Otterburn, reddening, "you're -not in love." - -"I'm not so sure of that," murmured Eustace in a dreary tone, whereupon -Angus laughed scornfully. - -"It doesn't sound like it--by-the-way, you can say goodbye to Mrs. -Trubbles for me." - -"And Miss Sheldon?" - -"Hang Miss Sheldon and you too!" retorted Otterburn, and thereupon -bolted, so as to give Eustace no opportunity of making further -remarks. - -"Love!" quoth Eustace the philosopher, "does not improve manners. -Macjean is like a young bear with a sore head, and Miss Sheldon--well, -she's got another scalp to hang in her wigwam." - - - - -CHAPTER X. -AUF WIEDERSEHN. - - "Goodbye! Goodbye!--our lives divide, - We drift apart on Life's broad tide, - Faint-hearted, sad and solemn-eyed, - By Fate's decree. - - "Goodbye! Goodbye!--but not farewell, - Tho' side by side we may not dwell. - Some day we'll meet--But who can tell - If this will be?" - - -So the time of parting had come at last, as it must come to all, and -these men and women who had met by chance at the Italian Lakes were -about to separate. But who could tell what effect the intimacy of the -last few weeks would have on their future lives? - -It seemed as though the love-romance of Victoria and Otterburn were -over, killed by the woman, and even if they did meet again, it would -be under such widely different circumstances that they would surely -never be able to renew their earlier intimacy. - -True to his resolve Otterburn departed for Como without seeing -Victoria again, and Eustace saw him safely off in the train with the -faithful Johnnie in attendance. He then went to say goodbye to the -Erringtons, who were going up by the St. Gothard line, intending to -stay a few days in Paris prior to returning to England. - -"Goodbye, old fellow," said Guy, shaking hands with Eustace in the -tumult of the station. "When you come back to Town don't forget to -look us up." - -"No, I won't forget," replied Eustace gravely, though he privately -determined to keep out of temptation's way as much as possible. "But I -don't know when I'll be in England. I go to Cyprus first, and then may -look in at Athens and go up the Dardanelles." - -"You should get married and settle down," said Guy gaily. "What do you -say, Alizon?" - -"I'm afraid to give an opinion," replied Lady Errington discreetly. -"When Mr. Gartney returns I may be able to say something." - -She looked at Eustace in a friendly manner, and as he saw the cold, -pure look in her eyes, he knew at once that whatever passion for this -woman he might feel, he had not succeeded in awakening any response in -her impassive nature. - -"A statue! A statue," he said to himself. "Poor Guy." - -"Say goodbye to Mr. Macjean for me," said Lady Errington, giving him -her hand. "And as to yourself I will not say goodbye, but _au -revoir_." - -The whistle blew shrilly, the train moved slowly off, and Eustace, -with bare head, holding his hat in his hand, stood silently amid the -crowd with a vision before his mind's eye of the sweet face with the -cold pure light in the blue eyes. - -"A statue! a statue," he said again, as he went back to Cemobbio. "It -is a foolish passion I have for her, but I dare say a few months' -travelling will make me forget that such chilly perfection exists." - -On his return to the Villa Medici, he told his valet to pack up -everything and be ready to start by the early train next morning, in -order to meet Otterburn and leave Milan by the afternoon train for -Venice, as Victoria would be at Milan the next day, and Otterburn did -not wish to meet her again. - -As for that young lady, although she did not care much about -Otterburn, yet her self-love received rather a severe shock when she -learned how promptly he had taken his dismissal. - -"Where is Mr. Macjean?" she asked Eustace that night, after dinner, as -he sat smoking outside in the garden. - -"He has gone away," replied Eustace, who was anxious to prolong her -curiosity as much as he could and let her drag the facts of the case -piecemeal from his reluctant mouth. - -"Where to?" - -"Milan." - -Victoria flushed a little under his keen gaze and tapped her foot -impatiently on the ground. - -"I thought he was going with you to-morrow." - -"So did I. But for some reason he preferred going by himself to-day." - -"Oh!" - -There was a vexed tone in the ejaculation, and Eustace smiled to -himself as he thought of her anger. She knew the reason of this abrupt -departure, so did Eustace, and each of them perfectly understood one -another; therefore, when Victoria saw the smile curling the corners of -Gartney's mouth, she felt inclined to strike him in her exasperation. - -"Why did he not say goodbye?" she demanded sharply. "I don't know. He -did not honour me with his confidence." - -It was lucky for Eustace that Victoria did not at that moment possess -regal power, for she would then and there have ordered him off to -execution, but as she could not do this she did the next best thing to -it, and retreated gracefully from the field of battle. - -"If I were you, Mr. Gartney, I would teach that friend of yours -manners," she said superciliously. "However, we are not likely to meet -again, so it does not matter. You go to-morrow morning, do you not?" - -"Yes." - -"And we go in the afternoon, so we won't have the pleasure of being -fellow-travellers--goodbye." - -"Goodbye." - -They shook hands coldly, with mutual dislike, and then Victoria went -away gaily, so as to afford Eustace no opportunity of seeing her -mortification, but when she arrived in her own room she raged like a -young lioness. - -"How dare he treat me in such a way!" she said wrathfully, referring -to the absent Otterburn. "Because I do not choose to marry him, he -need not slight me so openly before his friend. Ah! that wretched Mr. -Gartney, how detestable he is. Always sneering and supercilious. I -should like to kill him, and he knows it." - -There was no doubt that the triumph was now with Gartney, and all -through her own fault. She had refused offers before, but the makers -of them had always taken their defeat meekly and continued to haunt -her steps. Otterburn, however, had treated her as no man had ever -treated her before, and when she grew calmer, with the whimsical -inconsequence of a woman, she actually began to admire his -independence. - -"He's a man at all events," she said, drying her tears, "and I'm glad -he's got a mind of his own. If I do meet him again I'll make him -propose again, in spite of his temper, and then I'll pay him out for -going off like this." - -It was truly a bad look-out for Otterburn if she remained in the same -mind, but then the chances were that his promptitude of action, having -secured her admiration, would end up by making her love him, and when -they met again it was doubtful who would come off victor. - -Eustace, on his side was very much gratified by the conversation he -had had with Victoria, and after bidding farewell to Mr. and Mrs. -Trubbles, went to bed in quite a good temper. - -Next morning he left Cemobbio and started for Milan. - -On arriving he found Otterburn at the station, looking tired and -haggard, but this was due to want of sleep and not to dissipation, as -Eustace charitably surmised. The young man was in a fearfully bad -temper, and although he was burning to question Eustace about -Victoria, yet his own sense of dignity would not allow him. So during -their journey to Venice, he sat in sulky silence, reading a book and -inwardly raging at the fickleness, ingratitude and caprices of -womankind. - -Since they had last occupied a railway carriage together, a change had -certainly come over both of them, and instead of friendly talk, they -sat in dour silence, each regarding the other as an insufferable -nuisance. - -The cynical French proverb anent women was, without doubt, very -applicable to them both in the present case, and it might have been -some gratification to Victoria's wounded pride to know that she had -effectually estranged these two quondam friends. The bond of sympathy -formerly existing between them had entirely vanished, and though each -was burning to make a confidant of the other, yet neither would make -the first advance, so both sat grimly silent, each cursing his luck in -having the other for a companion. - -Otterburn did not venture to speak to Eustace about his rejection by -Victoria, as he was afraid of being laughed at by the cynic, and -Eustace held his tongue concerning his passion for his cousin's wife, -as he thought, and with good reason, that Otterburn would consider it -dishonourable. It was the quick coupled with the dead, and they both -felt it, so when they reached Venice, although they put up together at -Danieli's, by tacit consent they saw as little of one another as -possible. - -To his great delight Otterburn picked up an old Oxford chum one day, -and finding that he was going on a shooting excursion to the -Carpathian Mountains with another friend, agreed to join him. To this -desertion, Eustace by no means objected, as he was heartily sick of -Macjean's love-lorn sulkiness, so, at the end of the week, the young -man, with his two friends, keen sportsmen and capital company, left -Eustace in Venice, and departed in high spirits on his excursion. - -Eustace therefore was left entirely alone, and preferred his solitude, -for had he so chosen he could have found plenty of pleasant companions -willing to go to Cyprus if needful, but having a fancy for a solitary -journey, and the idea of a new book of travels in his head, he held -aloof from Anglo-Italian society and wandered about Venice with no -other company than his own dreary thoughts. - -Fate, however, evidently had a spite against Mr. Gartney, for one day, -while he was sitting at Florian's, smoking cigarettes and watching the -white pigeons whirling aloft in the blue sky, someone touched him on -the shoulder, and on turning he found himself facing Billy Dolser, a -dapper little man-about-town, whom he particularly disliked. - -Mr. Dolser owned a spiteful society paper called "The Pepper Box," -which was always getting into trouble for the lies it told, and -Eustace himself had been pretty severely handled in its columns, as -the proprietor hated him with all the malignant venom of a little -soul. Everybody in society was afraid of Billy, who had an unpleasant -knack of finding out things people did not want known, and publishing -them in his paper, so everyone was civil to him, except one or two men -who had the bad taste to horsewhip him, but Billy did not mind, as it -made his paper sell, so there was positively no way of society ridding -itself of this little wasp. - -"How do, Gartney?" said Mr. Dolser, offering two fingers to Eustace, -which that gentleman refused to see. "Heard you were here--yes! Cut -away from town I suppose because of your book? No! we thought you did. -You're getting it hot--rather!" - -"I'm hanged if I care," retorted Eustace indolently, "it will only -make the book sell. How's 'The Pepper Box' going?" - -"Oh capitally--yes!" said Billy, taking a seat. "Three actions of -libel on--ha! ha!" - -"That sounds well--any horsewhippings?" - -Billy grinned, not being a bit offended at this allusion, as it all -came under the head of business. - -"No, dear boy, no! I'm here with the Pellingers you know--yes! Showing -them round. They're paying my ex's." - -"Of course. I knew you wouldn't pay them yourself." - -"Ah! but they like travelling with me--yes!" - -"I shouldn't care about a pet monkey myself," said Eustace rudely. - -"No! you're a Robinson Crusoe kind of chap, ain't you?" said Billy, -quite unmoved by his epithet. "By the way, I saw your cousin and his -wife in Paris--yes! Wife cut me. Beastly rude I think, when I knew her -father so well--he was a great friend of mine--rather!" - -"Not a very creditable thing to boast of," replied Eustace, enraged at -this reference to Lady Errington. - -"Oh, who cares? If Asmodeus unroofed the houses in town, you bet -there'd be 'ructions. Just so!" - -"You do your best to play Asmodeus." - -"Yes--want to purify Society. By the way, Mrs. Veilsturm was asking -after you." - -"Very kind of her!" - -"And Major Griff. I wonder Society tolerates those two, Eh?" - -"Oh, Society tolerates all kinds of noxious beasts now-a-days," said -Eustace, with a significant glance at Billy. - -"Yes! horrid, isn't it? Those two have got hold of Dolly Thambits, you -know--young fool that came in for a lot of money--rather. She's -plucking him, and the Major is pocketing the feathers--yes!" - -"Can't you share the spoil?" asked Eustace drily. - -"No! wish I could, but Mrs. Veilsturm doesn't like me--not much! I -say, look here, where do you go?" - -"That's my business," retorted Eustace, rising. "I'm not going to tell -you my movements and have them recorded in that scurrilous paper of -yours." - -"No," said Billy calmly, "that's a pity, because they're all curious -about you in town--yes. Never mind, I'll say I met you at Venice." - -"You'll say I dropped you into the Grand Canal also, if you don't mind -your own business," growled Gartney wrathfully, moving towards him. - -"Eh! I don't care. Anything for a paragraph." - -The impudence of the little man so tickled Eustace that he burst out -laughing, and without carrying out his threat, walked away, while Mr. -Dolser, pulling out his note-book, dotted down a few remarks. - -"I'll get two columns out of him," he said to himself in a gratified -tone. "He's staying at Danieli's I know, so I'll look up his valet and -find out where he's off to--yes." - -Which Mr. Dolser did, and the result appeared in an abusive article a -fortnight afterwards in "The Pepper Box" headed "Gartney's Gaddings" -which several of the poet's friends enjoyed very much. - -As for Eustace, after getting rid of Billy Dolser, he went off to his -hotel, and arranged all about his departure for Cyprus, anxious to get -away at once so as to avoid another meeting with the proprietor of -"The Pepper Box." - -Consequently next day be found himself on board an Austrian-Lloyd -steamer, slowly steaming down the Adriatic into the shadow of the -coming night, and as he stood on the deck with the salt wind blowing -in his face, he murmured: - -"Well, that chapter of my life is closed." - -He was wrong, for that chapter of his life had just opened. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -A MAIDEN LADY. - - "Severe, sedate, and highly bred, - Sad-tinted gown and cap on head. - In high-backed chair she grimly sits, - And frowns, and fumes, and talks, and knits, - Her nephews, nieces, tremble still, - Whene'er she talks about her will, - And wonder oft in glad surmise - What they will get at her demise. - No King upon his throne in State - Was ever such a potentate. - Let others face her eye--I can't, - I quail before my maiden aunt." - - -Few people are acquainted with Delphson Square, no doubt from the fact -that it lies on the extreme edge of the great vortex of London life, -isolated in a great measure by its position and character. Those -concerned with business or pleasure know not this severely respectable -neighbourhood, but occasionally men and women, weary of the restless -excitability of the metropolis, glance off from the huge central -whirl, and drift helplessly into this haven of rest in order to spend -the rest of their days in peace. - -Not a tempting place certainly, with its four sides of -forbidding-looking houses painted a dull brown, with grim iron -balconies attached to each window like prison gratings. No bright -flowers in oblong boxes to lighten the austerity of these conventual -retreats, flowers being regarded as frivolous by the utilitarian -inhabitants of the square. Spotless white blinds, heavy dark-red -curtains, occasionally a cage in some glaring window, containing a -depressed-looking canary, irreproachable white steps, exasperatingly -bright brass knockers on massive doors; these were the principal -adornment of the four rows of dwellings. - -In the centre of the small quadrangle grew a quincunx of -heavy-foliaged elms, encircled by a spiky iron fence of defiant -appearance, and under one of the trees a weather-stained statue of -some dead and gone warrior, with a suitable inscription in choice -Latin, which no one could read. Over all this prim locality an air of -Sabbath quiet. - -The doors of the houses always seemed to be closed. Rarely were any -signs of life seen behind the half screens of the windows, the -well-swept streets were empty both of traffic and pedestrians, and -viewed under a dull, leaden-coloured London sky, with a humid feeling -in the air, Delphson Square looked like some deserted city waiting to -be re-peopled. - -As to the inhabitants, they mostly resembled their dwellings, being -elderly, grim, and forbidding, dressed in the plainest puritanical -fashion, yet one and all stamped with the impress of wealth. - -Sad tints but rich stuffs, serious faces with port-wine complexions, -little jewellery, but what there was, massive in the extreme--no -ostentation, but a quietly-prosperous air, telling of snug banking -accounts. Respectable-looking carriages, with fat horses and still -fatter coachmen, at the grim doors every morning to take them drives -in the Park. A general air of subdued religion about the place--they -were all Broad Church, and held strong opinions about the ritual. No -newspaper admitted into the square except the _Times_, which was heavy -and respectable, hansoms unknown, even the sweeper who swept the -crossings was serious-minded and given to dreary hymns in wet weather. -Everybody went to bed at nine o'clock and rose at the same time in the -morning; the tradesmen were always punctual and deferential, and the -clocks were never out of order. - -Miss Angelica Corbin lived in this delightful locality, and, as her -residence there dated from the early part of the Victorian age, she -was regarded as one of the oldest inhabitants. - -A maiden lady of uncertain age and certain income, her life was -conducted in a methodical fashion, which enabled her in a great -measure to defy Time. As Miss Corbin was ten years ago she was at -present, and would in all human probability be at the end of another -decade. Quite at variance with the new-fangled ways of the present -generation, this old gentlewoman looked like some disdainful spectre -of a sedate past, solitary amid a frivolous present. - -Her room, old-fashioned and changeless as herself, had about it the -aroma of a former generation, when D'Orsay led the fashions, and -people were still talking about Lord Byron, Waterloo, and the Reform -Bill. - -Situated on the ground floor above the basement, it had three windows -of small-paned glass looking out on to the dreary square, and was -large and airy, having an oval roof painted with designs of flowers, -fruit, birds, and butterflies. - -Under this cheerful ceiling a remarkably comfortable room, furnished -in an antique style. Warm-coloured Turkish carpet, rather threadbare -in places, woolly mats of different tints, heavy mahogany chairs and -sofa, with slippery horsehair coverings; a solid-looking table of the -same wood, draped with dark-green cloth; out-of-date piano, rigid -against the wall, with faded drawn blue silk and tassels above its -yellow ivory keys. An ancient fireplace with elaborate brass dogs' -between which generally blazed a fire of logs (no coal for Miss -Corbin, as she thought it detestable), and a massively-carved -mantelpiece with quaint ornaments of Dresden china, in front of a -gold-framed mirror swathed in green gauze. - -On the left-hand side of the fireplace a tall book-case, with glass -doors, fitting into a shallow recess and surmounted by a plaster of -Parts bust of Shakespeare, imprisoned first editions of books popular -in their owner's youth, editions priceless to bibliomaniacs. These, -though now worth their weight in gold, never saw the light of day. - -On the red-papered walls, smoky-looking oil pictures in tarnished -frames, one or two yellow samplers, worked by dead and gone -school-girls on the table wax flowers, Berlin wool mats, and -velvet-bound Books of Beauty, from whose faded pages simpered -large-eyed beauties of the Dudu type; on the floor treacherous -footstools, always in the way, and a long bead-worked cushion, -elevated on six square mahogany legs, in front of the brass fender. -Here and there gaudy porcelain jars filled with withered rose-leaves -and dried lavender, which gave forth a faint, dreamy odour, redolent -of bygone days and vanished summers. - -Surrounded by all this faded splendour, in a straight-backed chair -placed by the fire-side, her feet resting on a foot-stool, and -constantly knitting, sat Miss Angelica Corbin, better known to her -friends and relations as Aunt Jelly. - -Tall, stiff and commanding, with rigid features, cold grey eyes, -iron-grey hair, always dressed in the same kind of silken -slate-coloured gown, with a dainty lace apron, lace cap, China crape -shawl on her shoulders, lisle thread mittens, and old-fashioned rings -on her withered hands, she never changed in the smallest degree. - -Her father had been a very wealthy man, connected with the H.E.I.C.S., -and on his death left his property equally divided between his three -daughters, Jane, Angelica, and Marian, the first and the last of whom -married respectively Sir Frederick Errington and Mr. Martin Gartney. -Both sisters and their husbands had long since departed this life, -leaving Guy Errington and Eustace Gartney, who thus stood in the -relation of nephews to Miss Corbin. - -That lady had never married, which did not seem strange to those who -knew her at present, but without doubt she must have been a handsome -woman in her youth, and presumably had had her romance, like the rest -of her sex. As a matter of fact, she had been engaged to marry Harry -Sheldon, the father of her ward, but owing to some misunderstanding, -an explanation of which was forbidden by the pride of both, they -separated, and Sheldon went out to seek his fortune in Australia, -where in due course he married Miss Macjean, and Miss Corbin, devoting -herself to perpetual maidenhood, had removed to Delphson Square, where -she had remained ever since. - -Having a handsome income well invested in the Funds, Miss Corbin lived -in excellent albeit old-fashioned style, and, in spite of her apparent -hardness and brusque manner, was not an ungenerous woman. When her old -lover, dying in Australia, sent home his orphan child to her -guardianship, she had promptly accepted the charge, and loved the girl -for the sake of that dead and buried romance which was still fresh in -her heart. To Victoria she was strict but kind, and the presence of -this bright young girl made a pleasant variety in her dull, methodical -life, although she never, by word or deed, betrayed such a weakness. - -Hard she undoubtedly was, and but little given to sentimental -feelings, which was a great grief to her companion, Miss Minnie Pelch, -who was tender-hearted in the extreme, and had oceans of tears on -every possible occasion, from a wedding to a funeral. - -Miss Pelch was a weak, soulful creature, the daughter of a clergyman -who had been curate at Denfield, a village near Errington Hall. The -Rev. Pelch was a widower, and his sole offspring was the fair Minnie, -but having only a small income, he saved nothing: so when he died she -was left destitute, with a doubtful future before her. She had not -enough brains for a governess, no talents except a pretty taste in -poetry, which was not a marketable commodity, and no beauty to attract -marriageable young men, so Minnie wept over the mistake of having been -born, and Heaven only knows what would have become of her had not Miss -Corbin, like a kind-hearted vulture, swooped down on the poor creature -and taken her up to London as her companion. - -So Minnie was provided for by brusque Aunt Jelly, although no one ever -knew what a trial she was to that sensible old lady, for Miss Pelch -was one of those exasperatingly limp creatures who always pose as -martyrs, and shed tears at the least thing. - -Aunt Jelly was not unkind by nature, but sometimes the tearful Minnie -was too much for her endurance, and if she could have got rid of her -she certainly would have had small hesitation in doing so. But there -was no chance of this coming to pass, as Minnie was one of those meek -creatures who rest where they are thrown, so Miss Corbin, regarding -her as a necessary cross, did the best she could to put up with her -tears, her milk-and-water conversation and her longings after fame. - -Fame! yes! this invertebrate creature, whose intellect was of the -smallest, had actually written a book of poems after the style of -L.E.L., in which she compared herself to "a withered leaf on the tree -of life." She had several times inflicted these weak rhymes, in which -mountain rhymed to fountain, and dove to love, on Miss Jelly, but that -stout old dame snorted disdainfully at her companion's poetical -fancies, whereupon Minnie retired with her manuscript, sat in the -twilight, and wished herself dead. - -When Eustace visited his aunt, Minnie always attacked him about the -publication of her poems, and Eustace, the cynical, the bitter, the -scornful, actually read her poor little rhymes and promised to see -what he could do with them, which proved that a good deal of his -cynicism was only skin deep. Perhaps he was forced into this promise -by Aunt Jelly, who thought if Minnie could only get her drivel -published she would perhaps hold her tongue for the rest of her life, -but this hope seemed too good to be realised. - -Miss Pelch had a thin drooping figure, a pensive face with pale skin, -pale eyebrows, pale eyes, pale lips, in fact she was all pallid, and -wore her thin brown hair in girlish curls, with two drooping over her -ears after the style of those called "kiss-me-quicks." She generally -wore an ancient black silk dress, with lace cuffs and lace collar -fastened by a large brooch containing the portrait (done in oil by a -village artist) of her late father. - -Seated at the window, in the dull light of an October day, Miss Fetch, -having been worsted in an encounter with Aunt Jelly over the question -of reading one of her effusions, was drooping like a withered flower -over the manuscript, and could hardly read her own scratchy writing -for tears. - -Aunt Jelly was is her usual place, sitting bolt upright, with her -woolly-haired poodle, Coriolanus, at her feet, and no sound disturbed -the quiet save an occasional patter of Minnie's tears, or the vicious -clicking of Aunt Jelly's needles. On the table in the centre of the -room were decanters of port and sherry and a plate of cake, for Miss -Corbin was expecting her nephew, Guy, and his wife, to call on her -that afternoon, the young couple having just arrived from the -Continent, and always gave her visitors wine in preference to tea, -which she characterised tersely as "wash." - -Miss Corbin opened her mouth once or twice to make a remark, but, -casting an angry glance at the tearful Minnie, shut it again without -uttering a sound, and knitted with redoubled fury. At last her -stoicism could hold out no longer, and she called out in her strong, -clear voice: - -"For Heaven's sake, Minnie, stop crying. There's plenty of rain -outside, without you bringing it into the house." - -"Very well, Miss Jelly," said Minnie meekly, and drying her eyes, she -slipped her poem into her pocket and sat with folded hands, looking as -if she carried the weight of the world on her round shoulders. - -Aunt Jelly looked at her keenly for a moment, and then issued another -command. - -"Come here, child." - -Minnie rose to her feet and drifted across the room, for her mode of -getting about could hardly be called walking. - -"You mustn't cry because I don't listen to your poetry," said Aunt -Jelly grimly. "I hate poetry--it's all rubbish, and I can't and won't -stand it. But I daresay your poetry's all right--it sounds sing-songy -enough. Wait till Mr. Gartney comes home, and then you can read it to -him. I've no doubt it's as good as his own. Now take a glass of port, -and stop your whimpering." - -"Oh, no, Miss Jelly," said Minnie' in a frightened tone. "Oh, yes, -Miss Minnie," mimicked the old lady fiercely. "Do what I tell you--it -will put some blood into you." - -"Tea!" began Miss Pelch nervously. - -"Tea! wash!" snorted Aunt Jelly disdainfully, "there's no strength in -tea, girl. You might as well drink vinegar. Your blood's like water; -I'm sure I don't know how your father reared you." - -"Father was a vegetarian," volunteered Minnie, in mild triumph. - -"And a pretty example you are of the system," retorted Miss Corbin. -"If I didn't keep my eye on you I don't believe you'd eat meat." - -"It's so strong." - -"That's more than you are!" - -"Dr. Pargowker----" began Miss Pelch once more. "Prescribes iron, I -know all about that," said Aunt Jelly wrathfully. "I don't hold with -drugs, I never did. Meat and port wine is what you want and what -you've got to take. Hold your tongue and do what I tell you." - -Thus adjured Minnie did not dare to disobey, and although she hated -wine, dutifully swallowed a glass of old port, which was so strong -that it made her cough. The revivifying effect was soon seen in the -colour which came into her pale cheeks, proving that Aunt Jelly was -right in her prescription, as a long girlhood of vegetarianism had -weakened the Pelch system. - -Minnie now feeling better sat down and took up her work, which -consisted in crocheting antimacassars, a mode of employing time of -which Aunt Jelly approved. Indeed, the industrious Miss Pelch had -manufactured enough antimacassars to stock a bazaar, and she was -constantly at work on them except when she took a turn at talking, for -Miss Corbin would not allow her to knit, that being her own special -weakness. The two sat working in silence for a few minutes, Miss Jelly -grim and repellent as the Sphinx and Minnie weakly gay, as the wine -had slightly affected her brain. - -"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly suddenly, pointing to the table with one -lean finger, "wipe your glass." - -"Very well, Miss Jelly," responded Miss Pelch with her invariable -formula, and thereupon arose from her seat and having wiped the glass -with a duster which she took from a drawer, replaced the glass on the -tray, folded up and put away the duster, then returned to her chair -and antimacassar in meek silence. - -Silence, however, did not suit Aunt Jelly, who liked to be amused, so -she gave Minnie the last letter she had received from Victoria and -made her read it, keeping up a running comment on the contents -meanwhile. - -"Liked Rome did she!--humph! nothing but pictures and priests no -doubt. Cooking wasn't good. Of course not, all oil and garlic. Mr. -Trubbles ill! pity that fool doesn't die--not much loss about him I -should think. Wait a bit, Minnie, till I count the heel of this -stocking. One, two, three, four--go on, I can listen--ten, eleven, -twelve. My nephew gone to Cyprus--twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two--he's -always going to some out-of-the-way place--forty-five, forty-six. -He'll end up by being eaten by cannibals--fifty-three! Humph! I hope -his new book will be more respectable than the last one. Eh! The -Master of Otterburn. Who is he? Never heard of him. Coming back by -Naples!--how can they come back by Naples. Oh! the steamer, yes! I -hope Victoria won't flirt with all the young men on board. Perhaps -she'll be sea-sick. That'll take all the nonsense out of her. Is that -all?--dear me, these girls can't write a letter now-a-days. Here, give -it to me back. You read so quietly, I can't hear half you say." - -This terrible old woman seized the letter and put it away, frowning on -Minnie meanwhile, that damsel having meekly resumed her antimacassar. - -"Four o'clock," said Miss Corbin, as the clock struck the hour, "they -should be here by now, but none of you young people are punctual -now-a-days." - -"Perhaps they've been detained," expostulated Minnie timidly. - -"Nonsense," snapped Miss Jelly wrathfully. "Why should they be -detained? They've been two days in town already. Gadding about I -daresay. I don't think much of his wife, but whatever she is he's -worse. I don't know however I came to have such a nephew. He hasn't -got his mother's brains. That comes of having an idiot for a father." - -At this moment Aunt Jelly's courteous conversation was interrupted by -a ring at the door, and Miss Pelch being sent to the window to -reconnoitre returned with the information that it was Sir Guy and Lady -Errington. - -Miss Corbin drew her shawl carefully round her angular shoulder, laid -her knitting on her lap, and having dismissed Minnie to a distant -corner of the room, where she sat in the shadow like an unhappy ghost, -was prepared to receive company. - -Bickles, the fat, pompous butler of the establishment, threw open the -door of the room and announced in a deep voice: - -"Sir Guy and Lady Errington." - -And the young couple entered into the presence of the old dragon. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -AUNT JELLY'S OPINION. - - "All speech is silver, silence gold - (I wish it were on some occasions), - For though unpleasant to be told, - You get the truth from your relations." - - -Anyone hostile towards matrimony, seeing Sir Guy in the character of a -newly-returned bridegroom, would certainly have said that marriage was -not a failure in his case, for he looked wonderfully bright and happy -as he presented his wife to Aunt Jelly. - -Lady Errington, on the other hand, still preserved her appearance of -fragility and her air of calmness, forming with her reposeful manner a -great contrast to her husband, who was bubbling over with excitement -and looked like a happy schoolboy out on his holiday. - -"Here we are, Aunt Jelly," he said in his loud, hearty voice, kissing -his elderly relation, "back from foreign parts and glad to be home -once more. Don't you think Alizon is looking well?" - -"I don't know yet," replied Aunt Jelly sharply, with a keen look at -the young couple. "Come here, my dear, and give me a kiss." - -Alizon had a horror of feminine embraces, and always skilfully avoided -demonstrative friends, but from this direct command there was no -possibility of escaping, so she submitted to the ordeal with the best -grace she could and then took her seat near Miss Corbin, while Guy -went to the end of the room to shake hands with Minnie Pelch. - -"Well, Miss Pelch, and how are you? Jolly, eh!--ah, that's right. Been -writing any more poetry? By Jove, you're quite a literary person." - -Minnie smiled faintly at this compliment and glanced rather -disapprovingly at Guy, who was far too healthy and English-looking to -resemble her favourite heroes of the Manfred-Lara type, who all had -pale faces, raven hair, and no morals. Guy, however, having done his -duty towards his aunt's companion, wandered back to that redoubtable -lady and sat down by his wife. - -Being thus placed before the judge, Aunt Jelly commenced to -cross-examine them both in her own brusque way. - -"Well, Guy," she said, resuming her knitting, "now you've idled away -so many months on the Continent, I hope you've come back to look after -your property once more." - -"Of course I have, aunt. We would have been back long ago, but Alizon -was in love with the Italian lakes. Weren't you, Alizon?" - -"Yes, I thought they were very beautiful," replied Alizon, who, being -a comparative stranger to Aunt Jelly, hardly knew how to speak in a -way congenial to that lady, "but I'm afraid it is a very lotos-eating -place." - -"Humph!" remarked the old gentlewoman, with a sharp glance, "and you -don't like lotos-eating." - -"No! I think life means something more than idleness." - -"For Heaven's sake, child, understand the value of being idle. Don't -become a woman with a mission. It's a most detestable class--clatter, -clatter, chatter, chatter! They do more harm than good, in my opinion, -but then I'm an old woman and my ideas are much behind those of -to-day." - -"I don't think there's much chance of my becoming a woman with a -mission," replied Lady Errington, smiling, "it's not my nature, nor do -I think Guy admires them." - -"By Jove! no," said Sir Guy, energetically; "those women who turn -themselves into feminine men--I can't say I care for them at all. They -worry a fellow's life out with their preachings. My ideal of a woman -is--my wife." - -Lady Errington's eyes smiled a grateful recognition of this -compliment, and even Aunt Jelly, who hated a display of any -demonstrative affection, was not ill-pleased. - -"Well, well," she said grimly; "I'm glad to see a husband appreciate -his wife, 'tis such a novelty now-a-days, they generally appreciate -someone else's. By-the-way, child, you don't look very strong." - -"Don't you think so, aunt?" said Guy in alarm. - -"No! too pale--far too pale. Have you got any blood, child? Oh, of -course, you say you have. Sick people always do. You must eat more and -take port wine. Guy, pour your wife out a glass of port." - -Guy obediently did as he was told, but Alizon protested against being -made to drink it. - -"I'm really very strong, Miss Corbin----" - -"Aunt Jelly," interrupted the old lady. - -"Well, Aunt Jelly, I look delicate, but I'm not--I am----" - -"Never mind what you are. Drink up the port. You're as bad as Minnie. -Bless the child, do you think I don't know what's good for people? -Teetotalism fudge? It all comes of adulterated drinks, though I -daresay there's a good deal of truth in it. But a glass of good port -is what you want and what you've got to take." - -Alizon, anxious to please the old lady on her first visit, did as she -was told, and then, after making Guy drink some sherry, Aunt Jelly -proceeded to talk about Victoria. - -"Yes, we met her abroad," said Lady Errington, sipping her wine, "a -very charming girl." - -"Ah, her father was such a handsome man," answered Aunt Jelly, with a -secret thought of her dead and done with romance. "I never saw her -mother." - -"She was a Macjean, I believe," said Guy indolently, "at least -Otterburn said something about his family being mixed up with hers." - -Aunt Jelly raised her head like an old war-horse at the sound of a -trumpet. - -"Otterburn! Otterburn! Who is he?" she demanded sharply. "Someone -Victoria has been flirting with, I suppose. I never heard of him, -though she does mention him in her letters." - -"He's new to town," explained her nephew carelessly, "the eldest son -of Lord Dunkeld. Angus Macjean, you know, his title is the Master of -Otterburn. A very nice boy and awfully in love with Victoria." - -"Oh, is he? And I daresay Victoria encouraged him." - -"Rather!" - -"No, no!" interposed Lady Errington, seeing a rising storm in Aunt -Jelly's frown, "I don't think she went as far as that, but you know, -Aunt jelly, Victoria is very pretty and the boy could hardly help -admiring her." - -"Oh, I daresay she wasn't blind to his admiration," said Miss Corbin -viciously; "she's pretty, no doubt, but after all beauty is only skin -deep." - -A weak giggle coming out of the dark corner showed that Minnie agreed -with her, whereupon Aunt Jelly, who never permitted any familiarities, -vented her anger on Miss Pelch at once. - -"What are you sniffling for, Minnie?" she called out. "Come here and -show yourself. This is my niece, Lady Errington, and this is Miss -Pelch, my dear. Her father was curate at Denfield." - -"How do you do?" said Alizon kindly, feeling sorry for the blushing -Minnie. "I've heard about you from my husband. You write poetry, do -you not?" - -An affirmative snort from Aunt Jelly. - -"Yes," replied Minnie, "I do write poetry sometimes." - -"So Mr. Gartney told me." - -"Oh, Eustace," cried Aunt Jelly significantly, "where is he now? Guy, -don't go to sleep! Where is your cousin?" - -"I don't know," retorted Guy, who had closed his eyes for a moment. -"Gone to Cyprus, or some out of-the-way place. Hasn't he written to -you?" - -"Does he ever write letters?" demanded Aunt Jelly in an exasperated -tone. "No! he keeps all his scribblings for the public." - -"Oh, he does write beautifully," said Minnie, clasping her hands. - -"Humph! that's a matter of opinion," responded Aunt Jelly doubtfully. -"He's as blasphemous as Lord Byron, without any of his genius. He's -more like that Lalla Rookh man that wrote such dreadful things under -the name of Little. Don't be afraid, child, I'm not going to quote -them." - -"Mr. Gartney is a very charming talker," said Alizon quietly. - -"Bless me, child, you've got a good word to say for everyone," -remarked Aunt Jelly, with a benevolent scowl. "He certainly does talk -well. It's almost a lost art now-a-days. Men and women don't talk, -they drivel about their own virtues and their friends' faults. But -Eustace!--well, yes, he's more amusing than you, Guy; you, my dear, -have got all your goods in the shop window. Good appearance, but no -brains." - -Guy, being used to Miss Corbin's plain speaking, roared with laughter -at this flattering description, but Alizon felt indignant at her -good-looking, kind-hearted husband being thus decried, and spoke out -boldly. - -"I don't think so at all." - -"That's a very good thing--for Guy," said the old dame grimly. "Don't -take up the cudgels on your husband's account, my dear, he's big -enough to look after himself. After all, he has a better heart than -Eustace, and he doesn't write poetry, which is a blessing. We must -always be thankful for small mercies." - -Minnie felt rather indignant at this indirect shaft, but stood too -much in awe of Miss Corbin to venture a remonstrance, so after a -pause, during which Aunt Jelly eyed the trio like an elderly beldame -of romance, Lady Errington continued the conversation. - -"Well, we must allow some latitude to genius." - -"Genius!" scoffed Aunt Jelly, picking up a stitch she had dropped. "My -dear, in my young days every farthing rush-light did not call itself -the sun. Eustace is clever in a nasty find-faulty way, I admit, but -he's not a genius. He ought to give up writing abusive books, and -marry, but there--if he did he'd worry the best woman that ever -breathed into her grave." - -"He sings beautifully, at all events," said Lady Errington, feeling -rather nonplussed as to how to satisfy this contradictory woman. - -"God bless my soul, child I don't go through a list of my -nephew's virtues. I know them already, and from the best -authority--himself. When he returns from this tree place--what do you -call it?--Cyprus--yes, I knew it had something to do with a tree. -Well, when he returns, I hope he'll be improved--there's room for it, -great room. Guy, when do you go down to Denfield?" - -"To-morrow, aunt." - -"That's sensible. Errington Hall needs a master's eyes. I don't -believe in absenteeism myself. If I had my way--which I'm not likely -to have, because it's too sensible--I'd pack all landlords back to -their estates in the country instead of letting them waste their money -in London." - -"But what would London do without them?" asked Alizon, much amused at -this new view of the subject. - -"Much better," retorted Aunt Jelly, sharply. "In my young days, before -steam and electricity upset everything, people stayed in their own -houses. But now everyone comes up to London. A cake's no good if the -currants are all in one place. Scatter them, and it's an improvement." - -"There's a good deal of truth in what you say," remarked Alizon, -quietly. "If literary men and musicians, for instance, made little -centres of art and letters all over the three kingdoms, it would be -more beneficial in every way than centralising everything in London." - -"Literature! Bah!" said Miss Corbin, with scorn; "milk-and-water -novels about religion and society, bilious essays, and fault-finding -critics--that's what you call literature now-a-days. As for music, I -don't know much about it. 'The Maiden's Prayer' and the 'Battle of -Prague' were thought good enough when I was young. But now it's all -systems and theories, and what they call sixths and sevenths. A very -good name, too," concluded the old lady, grimly, "for the whole lot of -them do seem at sixes and sevens." - -"Ah! you see, everything is improving," said Guy, meekly, not having -any idea about what he was talking, but only making a vain endeavour -to stay Aunt Jelly's rancorous tongue. - -"It's more than manners are," replied the old lady, tartly. "Minnie, -don't twiddle your fingers so. It annoys me. Humph! so you're going -down to Errington to play the Lord of the Manor and your wife Lady -Bountiful. Mind you take care of yourself, my dear; the mists down -there are very bad for the throat." - -"I don't think they are bad, Aunt Jelly," expostulated Guy, indignant -that she should try to prejudice Alizon against her future home. - -"Oh, you think about nothing!" said Aunt Jelly, coolly. "I tell you -the place is unhealthy. Bless the man, don't I know what I'm talking -about? Look at that girl," pointing to the shrinking Minnie, who was -dreadfully upset at having public attention thus drawn to her--"she's -lived all her life at Denfield, and what has she had? Measles, -whooping-cough, neuralgia; she was a pale rickety mass of disease when -she came to me. What built her up? Port wine. I tell you the place is -unhealthy, and mind you take plenty of port wine and beef tea, Alizon, -or you'll go out some day like the snuff of a candle. I've seen -several of your sort go that way." - -"Aunt," cried Guy, rising to his feet in a rage, "how can you speak -so! Hang it all! talk of something more cheerful. I didn't bring my -wife here to be frightened out of her wits." - -"Pooh! nonsense! Don't you get angry," said the old lady, quite -pleased at upsetting her good-tempered nephew, "What's the good of -being an old woman if you can't say what you like? Well, go down home -at once, and perhaps next year I'll pay you a visit." - -"I wonder you're not afraid of dying in such an unhealthy place," said -Guy, scornfully. - -"Don't you be afraid. I shan't afford you that gratification for some -time yet," answered Aunt Jelly malignantly. "I'm a creaking door. They -hang long, you know." - -"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," said Alizon, holding out her hand to Miss -Corbin, for she felt she could not stand this terrible old woman any -longer. "I'll come and see you when I'm next in town." - -"Humph! that means if you've got ten minutes to spare," growled the -old lady, kissing Lady Errington's soft cheek. "Well! well! go on. The -old are always neglected." - -"They wouldn't be if they were a little more pleasant," said Guy, -still indignant, as he said goodbye. - -"Ah! you young folks expect to find life all honey, but there's a good -deal of vinegar in it. I dare say you'll grow tired of one another." - -Guy, who was at the door with his wife, turned round at this, and -called out in a rage: - -"No, we won't!" - -"I've heard better men than you say the same thing, but it always came -to pass." - -"It won't in this case, so your kind heart will be disappointed for -once." - -By this time Minnie Pelch had escorted Lady Errington to the hall -door, and Sir Guy was about to follow after his parting shot, but the -redoubtable Aunt Jelly was not one to give in without a struggle, and -would have the last word. - -"Go away! go away!" she said, furiously--"go away and learn manners." - -"I certainly won't come to you for the teaching," retorted Guy, in -great heat. "Goodbye, Aunt Jelly, and I hope you'll be in a more -Christian spirit next time we come." - -He closed the door after him so as to give her no opportunity of -replying, and Aunt Jelly thus being beaten, felt in an exceedingly bad -temper. She fought with every one who came to the house, and crushed -all except Eustace, whose cool sarcasm was too much for her, but this -unexpected resistance of the dutiful Guy surprised her, and she was -not ill-pleased. - -"I didn't think he had so much spirit," she chuckled, as she resumed -her knitting. "It comes from his mother, I'll be bound. Jane always -had a fine temper of her own and, was twice the man her milksop of a -husband was. Well, well! I'm glad Guy can speak his mind. He hasn't -much to speak, poor fool; still it's better than nothing." - -In fact, the old lady was so pleased with Guy's rebellion on behalf of -his wife that she became quite good-tempered, and Minnie, on her -return, found her patroness for once in her life an amiable companion. - -As for Guy and his wife, when they were both snugly ensconced in their -carriage and driving back to the hotel, both of them laughed heartily -over the visit. - -"Isn't she an old cat?" said Guy, wiping the tears from his eyes; "she -fights like the devil! It's the first time I've had a row with her." - -"I'm sorry it was on my account, Guy," observed Alizon, anxiously. - -"Don't you bother your head, my dear," he replied coolly, patting her -hand; "if it hadn't been you it would have been someone else. If Aunt -Jelly hadn't a row every now and then she'd die. I wish to Heaven she -would, and then I'd get her money!" - -"Oh, Guy, how can you speak so?" - -"Why not? We need the money badly enough, I'm sure. She only wastes it -on churches and orphans' homes. I wish to Heaven I was an orphan; Aunt -Jelly might take some interest in me." - -"Well, you are an orphan." - -"Yes, but that's not the genuine article. Aunt Jelly loves a -snivelling, alone-in-the-world brat who needs reforming. A titled -orphan like myself is no fun. I can't harrow her soul." - -"You did your best to do so just now," said Alizon, laughing. Sir Guy -echoed her laughter, and when they arrived at their hotel both of them -came to the conclusion that they had passed a very pleasant afternoon. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -BRINGING HOME THE BRIDE. - - "'Oh, mither! mither I've brocht hame - A bonnie bride upon my steed, - Sae lift her o'er the lintel stane, - An'brake a bannock o'er her heid.' - - "'Oh, bairnie, syn the wand began - Nane saw sic sicht o' muckle wae, - Where gat ye, son, this witch wuman, - Wi gowden hair an' skin o' snaw?' - - "'Oh, mither, she's a Chrisom lass - Wha by the Kelpie's burn did stray, - Wi buke an' bell an' holy mass - I wedded her at break o' day.' - - "'Oh, bairnie, she's nae Chrisom child, - Sae evil glowers her een tae see, - She is a speerit fra the wild, - An brings but dule tae you an' me.'" - - -Sir Guy was humming this gruesome ballad as the train neared Denfield -Station, where news of their arrival had already preceded them, and -the Errington tenantry, in a state of high excitement, were waiting to -welcome the young couple home. - -Blithe and happy, with a faint roseate tinge in her pale cheeks, -arising from a natural feeling of anticipation, Alizon sat opposite to -her husband, who was gazing fondly at her, and the glint of her golden -hair and the whiteness of her skin set him thinking of that weird old -ballad, sung to him in childish days by an old Scotch nurse full of -the haunting superstitions of the North. - -"What on earth are you muttering about, Guy?" asked Alizon, in a -puzzled tone, as she heard him crooning this melancholy strain. - -"Only an old song about a bride's home-coming," he replied gaily, and -thereupon repeated to her all he remembered of the legend, the -foreboding strain of which made his wife, sensitive in a great measure -to supernatural hintings, shudder nervously. - -"Don't, Guy, don't tell me any more," she said apprehensively, putting -her gloved hand over his mouth. "It's a bad omen." - -"What, are you so superstitious as that?" he replied, kissing her -hand. "Do you think you are the witch-woman of the ballad, destined to -bring woe to Errington?" - -"No! No! I hope not! I trust not!" cried Lady Errington, shrinking -back with a vague dread in her eyes, "but I am a little superstitious. -I think everyone is more or less, and my family has been so terribly -unfortunate that I am afraid of bringing you bad luck." - -"Nonsense! I don't mind the bad luck a bit, as long as you come along -with it," said her husband, soothingly. "I wish I hadn't put these -ideas into your foolish little head. You must have nothing but bright -thoughts to-day, my dearest, for this is your home-coming, and I hear -we are to have a great reception." - -"Tell me all about it," asked Lady Errington, recovering herself with -an effort. - -"Oh, that would take too long, besides I'm as ignorant as you are; but -there are to be banners and flowers and music and all that sort of -thing, you know, and I expect old Welstarler the Rector will read us -an address. Then, of course, everyone will have a tuck-out at the -Hall, and there is to be a dance in the evening down the village. All -Denfield's going to have a high old time, so, for once in your life -you'll be received like a royal personage." - -"Don't make me nervous." - -"Pooh! there's nothing to be nervous about. Just smile and look sweet, -I'll do all the patter." - -"The what?" - -"Patter! talk you know. I'm afraid it is slangy, but very expressive -all the same. By Jove, the train's slowing down, we'll soon be -home now. There's the square tower of Denfield Church, and yonder, -Alizon!--here, quick--on the right--that white wing of a house. That's -our place." - -Sir Guy was quite excited, and chattered like a schoolboy home for -his holidays, whilst Alizon, for once aroused from her coldness, stood -near him, leaning her head on his shoulder, and looked out of the -window at the various objects of interest, as the train steamed slowly -onward. - -At last they arrived at Denfield. - -The little railway station was gaudy with bunting, much to the -astonishment of the prosaic folks in the train, who could not -understand the reason of such unusual decorative splendour, and as the -train went on immediately Sir Guy and his wife alighted, they had no -time to find out what the excitement was all about, therefore departed -more in the dark than ever. - -The station-master, who had known Sir Guy from boyhood, was much -flattered at being shaken hands with, and presented to Lady Errington, -to whom some children offered a charming bouquet of wild flowers. - -Outside the station their carriage with four horses was waiting, and -they got in amid the cheers of the villagers, who mustered here in -strong force. Sturdy farmers, mounted in good style, labourers, -looking forward to unlimited beer, women, in the brightest of -dresses, talking shrilly among themselves of the beauty of the bride, -school-children, jubilant at an unexpected holiday, all these were -present, with banners, flags, and flowers unlimited. A proud man that -day was the old coachman, as he guided the prancing horses through the -long lane of happy faces, with his master and mistress sitting in the -carriage behind, responding to the acclamations resounding on all -sides, while from the grey, old church tower rang a peal of joy-bells. - -After all, let people pretend to despise it as they may, popularity is -a very pleasant thing, and it made life appear very bright to this -young couple, receiving such an uproarious welcome, instead of -stealing homeward amid indifferent faces. Despite the howlings of -Radicals, the spread of socialism, the groanings about agricultural -depression, the bond between landlord and tenant is too kindly, and -too deeply ingrained to yield readily to the mob-shriekings for -equality and equal division of land. Sir Guy was a great favourite in -the county, and the Erringtons had been gentry at the Hall for many -centuries, so the sturdy British yeomen and kindly neighbours of the -young pair determined to make their home-coming as pleasant as -possible--and succeeded. - -Driving through the quaint, narrow street of the village, followed by -a long train of horsemen, all the houses on either side were gay with -flags and flowers and handkerchiefs waving from the narrow casements. -Flowers strewed the dusty road under the feet of the horses, the -village band, in bright uniforms, playing "Home, Sweet Home," on their -brass instruments, with mighty strength of lungs, hearty cheers from -hundreds of willing throats, loud clashings from the bells overhead, -mad with joy, and at the entrance to the Park a triumphal arch of -evergreens, with the word "Welcome" inscribed thereon. - -Under this arch waited a gallant company of horsemen in pink, for Sir -Guy was a prominent member of the Hunt, and his brother Nimrods gave -him a hearty greeting to his paternal acres. Then, when the crowd -had cheered themselves hoarse, the old Rector, silver-haired and -kindly-faced, read an address to the happy pair wishing them long life -and happiness, to which Sir Guy responded in suitable terms, standing -up in the carriage, his hat off, and his bright, young face flushed -with excitement. - -Up the long avenue, still followed by the huntsmen, the farmers, and -the villagers more flags overhead among the green boughs of the -beech-trees, more flowers on the dusty road below, and at length the -wide space before the house and the long façade of Errington Hall, -with its tall gables, its innumerable diamond-paned windows, its -slender turrets and weather-stained stacks of chimneys. - -Cheers from the servants, waiting in two long lines to welcome their -new mistress, with whose sweet face they fell in love at once. Sir Guy -then helped his wife to alight, and they both stood on the threshold -of their new home, whilst a speech of welcome was made by the oldest -inhabitant, prompted by the village schoolmaster, to which the young -baronet responded with a few manly and straightforward words. - -The band then played a noisy quick step, which inspired the villagers -to further cheering, and the gentry, having seen the Erringtons safely -home, rode off to their different residences, while the tenantry and -villagers all rejoiced and made merry on the lawn in front of the -terrace. - -A blue sky above, a green earth below, happy faces all around, kindly -voices sounding in her ears, and her husband by her side, it was no -wonder that Alizon Errington, daughter of a social pariah, felt her -heart swell with gratitude towards God, who had guided her safely to -such a pleasant haven of joy and kindliness. - -But it all came to an end at last, and after the tenantry had eaten -and drank as much as they possibly could at Sir Guy's expense, they -all went down to the village to finish up the evening with dancing and -fireworks. The Erringtons, quite tired out, were left alone standing -on the terrace watching the crowd as it melted away in the coming -shadows, and the husband, putting a kindly arm round his wife, felt -that this was the brightest period of his life. - -Suddenly Alizon, who looked pale and worn out with excitement, burst -into a passionate flood of tears, as she leaned against her husband's -breast. - -"My dearest," cried Guy, in alarm, "what is the matter?" - -"Nothing," she sobbed, putting her arms round his neck, "only--only I -am so happy." - -"You've got a curious way of showing it," said Guy, cheerfully, -although his own eyes were now rather wet. - -"Come, come, Alizon, you must not give way like this. You are tired -after your journey and all this excitement. If Aunt Jelly were here, -I'm afraid she would prescribe her favourite port wine," he added -jestingly. - -Alizon laughed at this, dried her eyes, and they both went inside to -dress for dinner. - -A very pleasant little meal they had, in the old-fashioned -dining-room, with the staid faces of the family portraits staring down -at their frivolous descendants. Guy made his wife drink some famous -champagne, which was the special pride of the Errington cellar. - -"I believe in fizz myself," he said sagely, holding his glass up to -the light. "Aunt Jelly pins her faith to port, but this is quite as -good and not so heavy. Look at all those ancestors of mine frowning -down on us, Alizon. No doubt if they could speak they would denounce -our conduct as frivolous." - -"I'm very glad they can't speak then," replied Lady Errington gaily. -"Perhaps, however, they appear at midnight. Do they? This place looks -like a haunted house." - -Guy shrugged his shoulders. - -"No! We haven't got a family ghost. It's a great pity, isn't it? -Ghosts generally run in families who have been bad lots, but the -Erringtons have always been a steady-going set, so we haven't got even -a haunted room, or a gruesome Johnnie with a clanking chain." - -"I don't know if that's to be regretted," answered his wife, as she -arose from the table; "besides, no one believes in ghosts now-a-days." - -"A good many people do not, but I firmly believe you do." - -Lady Errington laughed a little nervously. - -"No! I certainly believe in presentiments, but not in ghosts--there's -a great difference between the two. Are you coming with me now?" - -"Yes! you surely do not want me to sit in solitary state over my -wine?" - -"Certainly not, and as it is such a pleasant evening, let us go -outside on the terrace." - -"You must wrap yourself up, Alizon," said Guy, anxiously, "the air is -very keen here." - -He sent a servant for her shawl, and in a few minutes they were -strolling up and down the terrace, arm in arm, not talking much, but -enjoying each other's company and the reposeful silence of the hour. - -It was an exceptional night for November, in England, being still and -restful with a moist, warm feeling in the air, and a gentle wind -stirring the distant trees. No moon, no stars were visible, as the sky -was hidden by heavy masses of clouds which seemed to press down on the -weary earth, and a kind of luminous twilight was spread around, which -made everything loom strange and spectral in its half-light. - -The warm, yellow light from the drawing-room poured out through the -open windows on to the terrace, and away beyond the lawns, the flower -beds, and the great masses of beech, elm, and oak lay swallowed up in -the dusky shadows. The wind rustled the dry leaves from the trees, and -made the great boughs shiver with complaining sighs, as though they -dreaded the coming of winter, while there was a salt feeling in the -air, coming from the distant sea, and, at intervals, the dull, muffled -roar of the surf, beating on the lonely coast. - -"This is not like Italy," said Alizon to her husband, as they stood -arm in arm, peering into the shadows, "and yet there is a kind of -similarity. This is the terrace of Villa Tagni, beyond the trees are -the distant mountains and that strip of luminous ground is the lake." - -"I'm afraid I haven't your imagination, my dear," he answered -comically, "or, perhaps, I know the place too well, but I've got a -strong feeling that I'm not in Italy, but in England, and, moreover, -that I am at home." - -"It's a very pleasant feeling." - -"Yes! I think even the most inveterate Bohemian, Eustace, for -instance, must experience a home-sickness sometimes." - -"Has your cousin any home?" - -"Oh, yes! At least, he owns a kind of tumble-down old ruin about four -miles from here. It overlooks the sea, and is a most dismal place. -Eustace visits it about once in a blue moon, but I don't think he -likes it. It's a haunted place, if you like." - -"Haunted by what?" - -"Oh, I don't know. There's some sort of a ghost, who makes himself -objectionable--by-the-way, I'm not sure that it isn't a lady ghost, -with a rustling of silken skirts. But then ghosts have no sex." - -"You seem to be well up in the subject," said his wife, a little -drily, as they re-entered the house. - -"Not at all. I only know folk lore in a desultory sort of manner. But -when you get to know all the people round about here, you'll be told -the most gruesome stories." - -"I suppose for the next few weeks we won't have a moment of peace." - -"It's very probable," replied Guy coolly, "and then we'll have to -return all the visits. It's a deuce of a nuisance, but one must do it. -We owe it to our position. - -"I never heard that last phrase till I married you," said Lady -Errington, a little sadly. - -"Why did not your father----?" - -"My father! you forget, Guy. I am the daughter of a pariah." - -He took her in his strong, young arms, and kissed her fondly. - -"You are my wife, and the mistress of Errington Hall." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -AN UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCE. - - "This ghost from the past - I tremble to see - Behind me I cast - This ghost from the past, - Life's pleasant at last, - So let there not be - This ghost from the past - I tremble to see." - - -Errington Hall, hidden in the green heart of its noble woods, was a -building of very mixed architecture, displaying in its incongruities -the various dispositions and tastes of the different owners who had -lived therein. The original structure was evidently the large hall -(from whence the building took its name) which had been erected by the -first Errington after the Battle of Bosworth Field, when England was -once more settling down to domesticity, after the tumult and strife of -the Wars of the Roses. To this noble room, lofty, majestic, and -sombre, the various masters of the Hall had added other and smaller -rooms, long, winding corridors, and innumerable outhouses, as the -fancy took them, or as their needs required them, so that the centre -apartment was quite lost amid the huge wings and gables which -surrounded it on all sides. The result was a bizarre combination which -made the old mansion wonderfully attractive to architects and -archeologists, while the lapse of centuries had mellowed the whole -mass into one delicate tone of warm-hued loveliness. - -From the central hall, with its carven roof, its long narrow windows, -and quaint oaken gallery, ran many crooked corridors, full of -unexpected angles, queer corners, sudden depressions, and shallow -flights of steps, leading to long ranges of bedrooms, to the kitchen -and the servants' wing. This portion was Elizabethan and the outside -presented the usual Tudoresque aspect of battlements, venerable walls -of grey stone, covered with ivy, diamond-paned windows, and grotesque -gargoyles. After the building of this, the Erringtons were evidently -too busy with the Parliamentary Wars to attend to their home, for the -next portion added to the original fabric was of Queen Anne date, of -dark-hued red brick, wide casements and heavy doors. Again there was -an architectural interval, as the Hanoverian Erringtons were engaged -in making their peace with the new German sovereigns of England for -suspected Jacobite practices, and the last notable addition took place -in the reign of the third George, when the front wing was added to the -house, a vast façade of dull white stone with innumerable windows, -ranges of heavy balustrades, and confused decorations in the -Renaissance style, of nude figures, fantastic flowers, birds, scrolls -and such-like dainty devices. A balustrade ran along the front of the -roof, hiding the leads, and in the centre an elaborate carving of the -Errington coat-of-arms, supported by two greyhounds, with the motto, -"Curro, Capio, Teneo." A broad terrace, with statues and urns thereon, -stretched from end to end, and a double flight of marble steps led -downward to the smooth, green lawn, from whence the great white pile -standing on its hill presented a noble appearance. The Victorian -Erringtons added but little to the house, for the simple reason, that -the builder of the Renaissance wing had not only exhausted the family -resources in doing so, but had encumbered the estate with heavy -mortgages, which his descendants had not yet paid off. Sir Frederick -Errington had a turn for amateur gardening, and added long lines of -hot-houses to the side of the house, and also a kind of winter garden, -while Sir Guy had done his share in the adornment of the place, by -building a handsome range of stables. Altogether it was a wonderfully -fine place, but far too expensive and costly for the Errington -rent-roll, which was not particularly large. So there it stood, a -monument of vanity and folly, which often made its present possessor -curse his bad luck in owning such a white elephant. - -The interior was quite in keeping with the palatial exterior, for the -state apartments, situated in the front wing, were of enormous size, -splendidly furnished, but which looked lonely in the extreme unless -full of company, a gaily-dressed crowd being needed to set them off to -advantage. The Errington family were proud of these state-rooms, which -were really wonderfully imposing, but, except on grand occasions, when -they were thrown open to the county gentry, preferred to inhabit a -smaller range of rooms on the western side, which were more -comfortable, both as regards size and furniture, than the chilly -splendours of the great apartments. - -One of these rooms had been especially fitted up for Alizon by her -husband, a charming octagon-shaped apartment with windows looking on -to a quaint garden set forth in the Dutch fashion, with trim -symmetrical lines of box and sombre yew trees clipped into fantastic -shapes, known by the name of "My Lady's Pleasaunce." - -"I think this is delightful, Guy," said Alizon, as she stood in the -garden with her husband; "it is so shut out from the world." - -They were amusing themselves by exploring the great house, and Alizon -was quite overwhelmed by the size and magnificence of everything. -Range after range of splendidly furnished rooms shut up and left to -the dust and spiders, lofty wide passages with figures in armour on -either side, stained glass windows here and there in which blushed the -Errington escutcheon. It was all angles, and turrets, and gables, and -crooked windings, so that Alizon clung closely to Guy as they wandered -through the lonely rooms, feeling quite afraid of the vastness of the -building. - -"It puts me in mind of Mrs. Radcliffe's stories," she said with a -shudder, "there's something quite awesome about the place." - -"Awesome? not a bit of it," replied Guy cheerfully, opening a shutter -and letting a flood of sunlight into a room, "it requires living in, -that's all. You see, dear, my parents died ages ago, and I've been -living here very little, so the whole place has got a little musty. -But now we're here we'll have more servants, and a lot of people to -come and see us. That will wake the place up a bit." - -"But it's so large, Guy. Why was it built so large?" - -"I'm sure I don't know," said the young man somewhat ruefully, "it's a -deuce of a barn, isn't it? The Erringtons always had a mania for -building, and whenever they'd nothing else to do they added wings. -More fools they, as it ran away with all the money and put these -confounded mortgages on the property. This is a dear old place, and -I'm very fond of it, but it's miles too big for us, and is a regular -white elephant." - -"It must take a lot of money to keep it up." - -"It does! So much that there's none left for anything else. I wish to -heaven I wasn't sentimental, or I'd pull down a lot of it." - -"Oh, Guy!" - -"Well, what is the use of all these empty rooms? It takes an army of -servants to keep them clean, and for no purpose. We haven't got enough -money to keep open house, or I could fill all these rooms with people -I know, but what with this place, and the mortgages, and bad tenants, -it's a deuce of a nuisance altogether. I wish someone would take the -Hall off my hands as a museum, or an almshouse, after the style of -Hampton Court." - -"You wouldn't sell it?" - -"No, I daresay I wouldn't. I can't do with it, and I can't do without -it. It's a dead lock. But, if Aunt Jelly would only give up the ghost -and leave us her tin, we could keep the whole shop going beautifully." - -"I'm afraid there's no chance of that." - -"No, there isn't. Aunt Jelly is one of those aggravating old women -who'll see the end of the present century." - -"Well, that's not far off," said Alizon mischievously. - -"Too far off for us to get her money, my dear," replied Guy candidly. -"I believe she's immortal." - -They left the room in which they were standing and resumed their walk -through the house, stopping in the picture gallery which contained the -Errington portraits, and also a number of celebrated pictures, all of -which Guy contemplated ruefully. - -"Can't even sell these," he said with a groan. "Fancy, what -humbug--they're all heirlooms, and I'd have to apply to Chancery to -get permission, which I daresay they'd refuse. It takes me all my time -to keep up this place and live decently, yet all this money is hanging -on the wall in the shape of these pictures. It's awful bosh, just like -making a child the present of a shilling on condition he doesn't spend -it. Humbug!" - -"What! would you sell your ancestors, like Charles Surface?" - -"No, I wouldn't go so far as that. But these pictures are wasting -their sweetness on the desert air in being shut up here, and, as I -need money more than pictures, I would sell them if I could. I don't -see much chance of doing so, however, for the Errington cousins--and -I've got about a hundred--would come down on me as a lunatic if I did -so. Hang them! I wish they'd this place to keep up on a small income, -they wouldn't be so anxious to keep these miles of painted canvas. But -never mind, while there's Aunt Jelly there's hope, so come along and -look at the hall from the gallery. It's the best place to see it." - -So they went along a narrow passage into the older portion of the -house, and soon found themselves in the wide gallery running round the -hall at a height of about forty feet. A wonderfully impressive place -it was, with its lance-shaped windows, filled with stained glass, -through which the pale sunlight streamed, casting fantastic patterns -on the oaken floor. Between every window, shields, spears and battle -axes, with faded banners drooping above them, telling of ancient wars -and the days of chivalry, when the deserted hall was filled with -men-at-arms and bold knights in steel armour, before the invention of -gunpowder relegated their iron panoply to the obscurity of country -houses and museums. At the upper end of the room a raised dais, above -which a royal canopy and the Errington arms flashing in gilt splendour -from the dusky shadows, while high above arose the pointed roof with -its great oaken rafters faintly seen in the gloom. It was certainly a -fine specimen of the mediæval ages and doubtless many stirring tales -could be told of the generations that had feasted under its lofty -roof, or departed from thence to harry the lands of weaker neighbours, -as was the kindly fashion in those misnamed good old days. - -"A wonderful old place, isn't it?" said Guy, as they stood looking -from the height of the gallery at the immense space below, "and -genuine too. None of the sham antiquity of Abbotsford here. All this -is the real thing, and just as it was in the old days when the -Erringtons wore those absurd suits of armour, and poked their -neighbours' eyes out with those long spears." - -"You ought to be very proud of your race, Guy." - -"I don't see much to be proud of in them," he replied candidly, -throwing his arm round his wife's waist, "they were a humdrum lot at -best the Erringtons. Went to church, minded their own business, and -left other people's wives alone. They always seemed to have been on -the safe side in keeping their property, however, and if it hadn't -been for their building craze, I'd be decently off. According to their -ideas there was no place like home, however, and that is why they -spent such a lot of money over it. I am proud of the dear old Hall, -but I do wish it wasn't quite so large." - -"Do you use this place at all?" asked Alizon as they left the gallery. - -"Only for dances, and tenants' dinners," he answered carelessly; "it -looks very pretty when it's full, but at present one would think it -was haunted. Quite a mistake, as there isn't a single ghost in the -whole place. A pity, isn't it, for this queer old house just looks a -fit place for shadowy figures and gruesome legends." - -"I suppose there are plenty of stories about the Hall." - -"Oh yes! but very mild stories, I'm afraid, not even equal to the -average shilling shocker. Errington Hall has no history which would -delight novelists or antiquaries. Queen Elizabeth didn't stop here on -a royal progress, Oliver Cromwell's Ironsides didn't besiege the -place, and though I think the Hanoverian Erringtons were mixed up in -Jacobite plots they hid neither Prince James nor Prince Charlie. We -are a very prosaic lot, my dear, and although the whole house is -romantic enough in appearance, there isn't a story about it that would -frighten a five-year-old child." - -By this time they were on the terrace in the pale November sunlight, -and could see below the smooth green lawn surrounding the house, -girdled by the ancient trees of the park, which were now shedding -their leaves for winter time. The carriage drive swept round the front -of the terrace in a graceful curve, and then disappeared into the -green wood, while beyond the tops of the trees appeared the grey -square tower of Denfield Church, sombre against the dull sky. Some -pigeons, white as milk, were whirling aloft in the moist air, and the -sun, invisible behind the grey clouds, diffused a pale chilly -radiance, which made Alizon long for the blue skies and burning heat -of Italy. - -"Come inside, Alizon," said Sir Guy, seeing his wife shivering, "this -is cold after the South, and you'd better lie down for a time after -luncheon, as I daresay for the next week or two you'll have quite -enough to do in receiving our neighbours." - -What Guy said was true enough, and for the next few weeks Alizon had -as much as she could do in receiving the county magnates, all eager to -see Lady Errington, of whom they had heard much, but of whose father -they had heard still more. Despite Sir Guy's lack of ready money the -Errington estates were very large, the Errington position a very high -one in the county, and many a daughter of the Shires would have been -pleased to have become the mistress of Errington Hall, particularly as -its master, young, handsome and debonnaire, was favourite enough with -the gentle sex independently of his rank and position. - -When, however, it came to be known that this eligible bachelor had -married Alizon Mostyn, the county, at least the female part of it, -felt vexed that an outsider should have carried off the matrimonial -prize, and the provincial belles felt none too well disposed towards -the young wife, although they masked their real feelings under many -sweet smiles and smooth words. - -The "Pepper Box," with its customary good manners, had set forth in -its columns the story of Gabriel Mostyn, and although there was -nothing in it but what redounded to Alizon's credit, yet the fact that -she had such a scamp for a father was not desirable in itself. Sir Guy -managed to put an end to the "Pepper Box" chatter by threatening to -thrash Billy Dolser, and as that gentleman was getting rather tired of -being horsewhipped he held his tongue, so nothing more was revealed in -that quarter, but Society having got a pretty good idea of the Mostyn -history pursued the whole affair to the end, and found out all -Gabriel's iniquities and Alizon's filial affection. When Lady -Errington therefore received the county families, she knew perfectly -well that all these smooth smiling people were well acquainted with -her history, and although she had nothing personally to fear from -their venomous tongues, yet the fact that the history of her -iniquitous father was known to them down to the minutest detail, made -her position anything but a pleasant one. - -The county, however, made a virtue of necessity, and seeing that Lady -Errington was of good birth, and that there was nothing against her, -whatever there might have been against her scamp of a father, made her -welcome among them in the heartiest manner, although a few wiseacres -shook their heads doubtfully over Sir Guy's wife. - -"What's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh," they whispered -one to the other, "and it's curious if she does not inherit some of -her father's bad qualities as well as her mother's good ones." - -Lady Errington guessed the somewhat unfriendly feeling they bore -towards her because she had become mistress of Errington Hall, but -spoke of it to no one, not even Guy, who never for a moment dreamt of -such a thing, and was delighted to see how his neighbours seemed to -like his wife. This calm, statuesque woman, with the impassive face, -bore herself with stately grace towards the visitors that called at -Errington Hall, and although they all respected her, yet her manner -chilled them with its coldness, and no one professed any strong liking -for her. The men admired her greatly, but thought her cold and -haughty, while the ladies, finding she did not take an interest in -their provincial frivolities, said disagreeable things behind her -back, and smiled to her face, which did not for a moment deceive -Alizon, as she knew what their friendship was worth. - -No one could deny, however, that she was a beautiful woman, and filled -her position admirably in every way, yet curiously enough everyone -arrived at the same conclusion as Eustace, and pitied Sir Guy as a -warm-hearted young man married to a statue. Lady Errington was not -therefore an unqualified success, but her husband never perceived this -and took all the lip service of his friends for gospel truth, while -Alizon, although she guessed pretty well the true state of things, did -not undeceive him. - -She knew she was not disliked, as she had done her best to conciliate -everyone, but on the other hand she knew perfectly well that a gulf -lay between herself and these people which could not be bridged over -in any way. They all wanted to take her to their bosom and gush over -her, while she, cold, reserved and self-reliant, objected to the -obvious hint of patronage in this desire; so although she received and -made visits, went to all provincial gaities, and presided at her own -dinner-table in returning hospitality, yet she felt she was an exile -among these people, a stranger in a strange land, who could neither -learn their ways nor make them understand her own. - -In fact, now that the glamour of the honeymoon had worn off, there -were times when even Sir Guy felt the chill of her manner towards him, -and although he tried to analyse the feeling, never succeeded in doing -so. She was perfect in every way, almost too perfect, and at times he -had his doubts as to whether it would not have been wiser on his part -to have married a common-place provincial belle than this ethereal -creature, whose nature he vaguely perceived was utterly at variance -with his own. Such ideas as these, however, he rejected as heretical -against the woman he loved, and he assured himself with unnecessary -vehemence that he had gained a woman who would be perfect in every way -both as mother and wife. Therefore the county and Sir Guy were both -pleased with Alizon in this somewhat doubtful fashion, and she, -knowing the real mistrust she had innocently provoked by her icy -reserve, did not trouble herself about it, but went calmly on her way, -fulfilling her position as mistress of Errington Hall, and one of the -great ladies of the place. - -One event, however, took place which showed Guy that under her -impassive demeanour there was a strong will and a considerable spice -of temper, both of which came to light in the episode of Mrs. -Veilsturm. - -Everyone far and near had called at the Hall. Stalwart county squires -with their comfortable wives and frivolous daughters, loud-voiced, -hearty young men whose ideas rarely extended beyond the hunting-field, -occasionally an effete inhabitant of Belgravia, whose ancestral acres -were but rarely visited, meek curates who wanted Alizon to become the -Lady Bountiful of the parish, and gay country damsels who revelled in -lawn-tennis and slily copied Lady Errington's dresses with feminine -subtlety--all these had called at the Hall and been received by Alizon -with friendly reserve, after which she returned their visits in -company with Guy, feeling she had done her duty. Nothing out of the -way happened till Mrs. Veilsturm left her card. - -They had been paying a visit to some county magnate, and on their -return Alizon had gone inside, while Sir Guy remained without for a -moment giving some directions to the grooms about the horses. Having -done so he ran up the steps into the entrance-hall, to find his wife -even paler than usual, standing by a small table looking at a card -with a look of horror on her face. - -"Why, what's the matter, dear?" he asked, coming forward anxiously, -"is anything wrong?" - -She handed him the card without a word, and having looked at the name, -he glanced at her in puzzled surprise. "Well, what's wrong about Mrs. -Veilsturm?" he said inquiringly. "She's a jolly sort of woman, isn't -she?" - -"Do you know her?" asked his wife coldly. - -"No, I can't say I do personally. She came down while I was away and -bought old Darton's place, about two miles from here. But what do you -look so horrified at?" - -"Come in here, Guy, and I'll tell you," answered Alizon, with an -effort, and walked into the drawing-room, followed by her husband in a -state of wonder as to what could have occurred to upset his wife. - -Alizon sat down under the window, twisting her gloves in her hands -with a look of anger on her face, while Guy stood near her with his -tall hat on the back of his head, looking at her in a state of -bewilderment. - -"I never saw you so upset before, Alizon," he said, with an uneasy -laugh; "is there anything particularly wrong about Mrs. Veilsturm--is -she a leper, or is her character no better than it should be?" - -"Have you heard anything against her character?" - -"Not a word," replied Guy, promptly. "She's a great favourite with -everyone. Her husband was a captain in some regiment that was -stationed out at the Bermudas or Jamaica, and I believe he married her -out there. When he died he left her well off, and she's a lively sort -of woman, but I never heard anything against her morals." - -"What about Major Griff?" - -"Major Griff!--oh, he was a friend of her husband's, I believe, and -wants to marry her, only she won't accept him. I hear that he is her -trustee, and looks after her property for her; but what on earth do -you know about her, Alizon?" - -"I know too much to allow her to visit here." - -"The deuce you do," cried Sir Guy, taking a seat, "and who told you -anything about her?" - -"My father," she replied quickly, turning her pale face towards him. - -Sir Guy whistled, and looked thoughtfully out of the window, knowing -well enough that Gabriel Mostyn's name being mentioned did not bode -any good to Mrs. Veilsturm. He said nothing, however, as he judged it -best to let his wife tell the story her own way, and that this course -was the right one was proved by what followed. - -"As you know, I attended my father during those four years when he was -dying, and although I don't want to say a word against him, seeing -that after all he was my father, yet, I heard sufficient from his own -lips to convince me that his life had been a vile one. Not even the -fact that I was his child prevented him boasting in my presence of his -horrible actions, and although I invariably left the room when he -began to talk like this, I could not help overhearing more than I -cared to." - -"I wonder you did not leave him altogether," said Sir Guy indignantly. - -"He was my father after all," she replied simply. "No one would stay -by him except me, and I could not let him die alone, like a dog." - -Sir Guy shifted uneasily in his seat, finding a difficulty in making -an answer. - -"No, I suppose you couldn't," he answered reluctantly; "blood's -thicker than water, but still--you are a good woman, Alizon." - -Lady Errington smiled faintly and shook her head. - -"Don't put me on a pedestal," she said, a trifle bitterly, "or you -will find your goddess has feet of clay after all. Well, about Mrs. -Veilsturm. I need not tell you all I heard about her, but only this. -That my father knew her--intimately--and that her life before she set -up for a woman of fashion in England, was not all that could be -desired." - -"Where did he meet her?" demanded Sir Guy abruptly. - -"In South America. She is a Creole, you know, and when my father knew -her she was not married to Captain Veilsturm. She may have lived -decently since she became wife and widow, for all I know, but when she -was in South America----" - -Lady Errington broke off abruptly, and rose quickly to her feet. - -"How dare she call on me--how dare she?" - -"I daresay she thinks you know nothing about her," said Sir Guy, -rising also. - -"She knows I am Gabriel Mostyn's daughter, and that ought to be enough -to make her keep away from me." - -"But of what do you accuse her?" - -"I accuse her of nothing, at present," said Alizon, looking steadily -at him. "I only tell you that she is not a fit woman to cross the -threshold of Errington Hall, and she will not do so while I am -mistress here." - -"What are you going to do then?" - -"I'm going to return the card she had the audacity to leave here, and -write her a note forbidding her to call again." - -Sir Guy thought for a moment, and then spoke out. - -"You are the best judge as to whom you make your friends, Alizon, but -if you do this Mrs. Veilsturm will demand an explanation, and there -will be a row." - -Lady Errington paused with her hand on the door and looked back. - -"Mrs. Veilsturm will not demand an explanation," she said coldly, "but -if she wishes for one I can easily satisfy her on that point. But -while I am mistress of Errington Hall if that infamous woman dares to -come here I'll have her turned out by my servants." - -"But she----" - -"She!" echoed his wife decisively. "She will take the hint conveyed by -the return of this card and keep a wide distance between Gabriel -Mostyn's daughter and herself." - -The door closed after her, and Guy, after a pause of amazement at the -change in his usually calm wife, turned towards the window with a half -frown on his face. - -"She's got a temper after all," he said to himself, thrusting his -hands into his pockets. "I might have guessed it. Sleeping volcanoes -are always the worst when they do start." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -A WOMAN SCORNED. - - "What! will she place her foot upon my neck, - And hold me helpless, writhing in the dust? - Nay, such a thing is folly at the best, - 'Tis ill to tamper with the meanest worm, - For, serpent-like, I'll wound her in the heel, - And when she falls from her magnificence, - I'll twist my coils around her dainty throat - And sting!--and sting!--and sting!--until she dies." - - -"Who is Mrs. Veilsturm?" - -A good many people asked this question, when a woman, black-browed, -voluptuous, and imperious as Cleopatra, flashed like an unknown star -into the brilliance of a London season four years ago. No one could -answer this question, the quidnuncs for once were at fault, and -although ladies in drawing-rooms and men in clubs set their wits to -work to find out all about her, no one could give an opinion with -certainty as to who she was, where she came from, and what was the -source of her income. - -The society papers, who usually know everything, could not unravel -this riddle, and it was reserved for the indefatigable Billy Dolser to -lift in some measure the veil which hung over the past of this -beautiful enigmatical woman. Under the heading of "A Cleopatra of -To-day," an article appeared in the "Pepperbox," setting forth a very -delightful story which satisfied everyone except a few suspicious -grumblers, but whether it was fact or fiction, no one was quite sure. - -According to this veracious chronicle, Mrs. Veilsturm (or as the -"Pepperbox," thinly veiling her identity, called her, Cleopatra) was a -West Indian Creole, born in the island of Cuba, the daughter of a -wealthy planter. Her parents died when she was young, and according to -all reports, she lived a life of semi-barbaric magnificence in the -somnolent Spanish island. Later, becoming tired of her secluded life, -she went to Jamaica, and there met Captain Veilsturm, at that time -reputed to be the handsomest man in the island. He married her, and -for some time she reigned as Queen of the Regiment, but her husband -dying suddenly of yellow fever, she left Jamaica, and came to England, -intending with her great wealth to enter into London society. - -In this laudable ambition she was helped by Major Griff, a well-known -man about town, who had been in Veilsturm's regiment, and who, if -report spoke truly, would have been glad to have married his lovely -widow. Mrs. Veilsturm, however, did not care to tempt matrimony a -second time, and refused the Major, who, nevertheless, remained her -closest friend, for her deceased husband had made him his executor. So -the wily Major looked after all the entire property of the husband -(consisting of a small house in the country), and the large property -of the wife (consisting of West Indian estates), to the mutual -satisfaction of both himself and the widow. - -Major Griff was invaluable to her in more senses than one, as he knew -everyone and everything, and was enabled to float her successfully in -London society through the influence of his friends. - -How it was done the "Pepperbox" scribe did not venture to say, -although he hinted that the Major's influence in inducing his friends -to take up the lovely widow, was not due so much to their friendship -as to the Major's possession of certain disagreeable secrets. However, -let the means used be what they might, Mrs. Veilsturm obtained a -social success in a select circle, and became quite the rage of the -season. The Major's tactics and her own craftiness, added to her -undeniable beauty, enabled her to take up an excellent position, and -although the next season some people showed a desire to drop her, Mrs. -Veilsturm was too clever to let them do so, and managed to confirm her -social prestige in the most dexterous manner. - -She had plenty of money, great beauty, a delightful house in Park -Lane, and was an admirable hostess, so with this galaxy of virtue -Society was fain to be content, and spoke well of her to her face, -although behind her back they characterised her as an adventuress. It -was dangerous to do this, however, as Major Griff was ubiquitous and, -constituting himself her protector, dared any man or woman to speak -evil of Cleopatra, whose character and life were above suspicion. - -With certain reservations this was the story the "Pepperbox" told, and -whether people chose to believe or doubt, it did not matter to Mrs. -Veilsturm, who went serenely on her way, protected by the faithful -Major. Some houses, however, were closed against her, as the Major was -not omnipotent, and in these some disagreeable stories were told about -the beautiful Creole, but Mrs. Veilsturm's set, although undeniably -fast, was also as undeniably "in the swim," so she was supremely -indifferent to such scandal. - -As to the houses closed against her, she did not pose as an exiled -Peri at the gates of a Paradise guarded by Mrs. Grundy, but set -herself up in rebel authority over her own friends, and defied the -ultra-exclusive people in every way. As they did not invite her to -visit them in Paradise, she returned the compliment by not asking -the pleasure of their company to--well, the other place, and as she -gave most delightful entertainments, the dwellers in the Mrs. -Grundy-guarded-Paradise could not help feeling rather annoyed. They -looked down on Mrs. Veilsturm, they called her an adventuress, they -wondered how any decent people could tolerate such a woman, and yet -they regretted that the laws of social respectability forced them to -ignore such an attractive woman. - -This being the position of affairs, rebellious Cleopatra would, -without doubt, have gained her ambition, and obliged even these -jealously-guarded doors to be opened to her, but for an unfortunate -rumour which originated no one knew where, and, creeping through -society like a snake, raised its head and hissed disagreeable things -regarding gambling. - -Gambling! - -Yes! Rumour, in the guise of bewigged old ladies over tea, and -would-be juvenile old men over something stronger, said that Mrs. -Veilsturm had very charming Sunday evenings, very charming indeed, but -a trifle expensive to those not greatly blessed with this world's -goods. At these Sunday evening receptions, at a late hour of the -night, certain green-covered tables made their appearance, and such -production led to the playing of nap, of unlimited loo, baccarat, and -such like games, over which a good deal of money changed hands. - -It was also observed that who ever lost, Major Griff did not, but that -a good deal of the money on the tables managed to find its way into -his pockets. This had nothing to do with Mrs. Veilsturm certainly, -still it was curious that this wealthy woman should permit her house -to be turned into a gambling saloon, for the sake of giving Major -Griff a nice little income, so rumour once more set to work to solve -the problem, and made several startling assertions. - -First, that Society had been imposed upon, as Mrs. Veilsturm was by no -means wealthy, and that the West Indian estates were a myth, emanating -from the fertile brain of Major Griff. - -Second, that the relationship between the beautiful Creole and the -disinterested Major was by no means as artless as was supposed, and -that the money gained by the Major went to keep up the house in Park -Lane. - -Third, that Mrs. Veilsturm and the Major were in partnership together -for the purpose of making money, and that the woman's beauty and the -man's skill were the stock-in-trade of the said partnership. - -Then these disagreeable reports were whispered everywhere, and even -Major Griff, astute and cunning as a fox, could not find anyone to -whom he could give the lie; and despite his emphatic contradiction of -such report; people began to fight shy of fascinating Mrs. Veilsturm, -and the dainty little house in Park Lane. - -The second season of Cleopatra in London, however, was nearly over, so -Major Griff, being an old campaigner, knew that out of sight is out of -mind, and determined to withdraw himself and his partner from town for -a time, until the next year, when he hoped to come back to Mayfair, -and proceed with more caution. Accordingly, Mrs. Veilsturm announced -to her dearest friends in confidence (so that it would sure to be -repeated) that she was tired of town, and was going to her little -place at Denfield, which she did shortly before the end of the season, -and the fact was duly chronicled in the Society papers. - -The Major did not accompany her, as he did not want to give colour to -the reports about his relationship with Mrs. Veilsturm, and moreover, -wanted to hear the result of this dexterous move. The result was -exactly as the astute Major calculated, for people began to say that -Mrs. Veilsturm was greatly maligned, as the Major had not accompanied -her into the country, and that had she been the adventuress she was -asserted to be, she would not have left London, where she was reaping -such a rich harvest, for a dull country house. The Major's diplomacy, -therefore, was entirely successful, and Society was quite prepared to -receive Mrs. Veilsturm when she chose to come back to Park Lane. So -after the lapse of some weeks, Major Griff joined Mrs. Veilsturm at -Denfield, to talk over the success of their clever move. - -He found her in clover, for as no disagreeable rumours had found their -way to this out-of-the-world locality, and she was known to be a -leading lady in society (videlicet the Society papers), all the -provincial gentry called upon her, and she visited at their houses, -fascinating everyone with her brilliancy and beauty. - -"Major Griff, a great friend of my poor husband," was duly introduced, -and being an admirable sportsman, and a bold rider, soon succeeded in -becoming as popular as Cleopatra, so he was perfectly satisfied with -the attitude of things as he foresaw the return of the firm to London -would be after the fashion of a triumphal entry. Provincial gentry -were dull company, certainly, but a guarantee of respectability, and -the fact that Mrs. Veilsturm was at all the great houses in the -country would be duly chronicled in the papers, and being seen by the -London folk, would shew that she was not an adventuress, but a lady of -great wealth, moving in the best society. - -Then Mrs. Veilsturm made a mistake. - -Against the advice of the Major, who had known and detested Gabriel -Mostyn, she called on Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and left her card, -with the hope that the visit would be returned. On the evening of the -day she had done this, she was waiting for dinner in the little -drawing-room, and Major Griff, in evening dress, was lounging against -the mantelpiece with a glass of sherry at his elbow, listening to her -remarks. - -A handsome woman was Mrs. Veilsturm, as she leaned back in a deep -arm-chair, fanning herself slowly with all the grace and languor of a -Creole. A dusky skin, masses of coal-black hair, with a suspicion of -frizziness, betraying the African blood, large black eyes, a sensual, -full-lipped mouth, and the figure of a Juno, she was a wonderfully -handsome woman in a full-blooded way. Her arms and neck were -beautifully proportioned, and dressed as she was, with the negro's -love for bright tints, in a lemon-coloured dress, with great masses of -crimson flowers at her breast and in her hair, she looked a beautiful -imperious creature, with a touch of the treacherous grace of the tiger -in the indolent repose of her lithe limbs. A painter would have -admired her voluptuous form, a poet would have raved on the dusky -beauty of her face, with the sombre light in the sleepy eyes; but no -man who had any instinct of self-preservation would have trusted this -feline loveliness, so suggestive of treachery and craft. Some highly -imaginative man averred that Mrs. Veilsturm put him in mind of a -snake, and certainly there was more than a resemblance to a serpent in -the sinuous grace of her evil beauty. - -As for Major Griff, he was a tall, dried-up man, like a stick; with a -hard, handsome face, iron-grey hair and moustache, and keen eyes, -which looked everyone straight in the face. A thorough scamp, it was -true, yet with sufficient dexterity to hide his scampishness, and a -military cut-and-dried brevity which disarmed suspicion. Some rogues -fawn and supplicate to gain their ends, but not so the Major, who -habitually grave, plain in his speech, and brusque in his manner, gave -everyone the impression of being a blunt, straightforward soldier. He -was stopping at a friend's house in the town of Starton, which was a -short distance away, and had come over on a friendly visit to Mrs. -Veilsturm, who lived mostly alone, as her house was not large enough -to enable her to receive company. This did not matter, as she -generally dined out every night, but on this special evening, the two -had to consult about their plans, so Mrs. Veilsturm had refused an -invitation with many thanks, but "you see I have to speak about -business connected with my West Indian Estates with my trustee, Major -Griff," and the givers of the invitation were quite impressed with an -idea of her wealth. The West Indian Estates were a capital bait -wherewith to gull people as, being at a distance, no one could deny -their existence, and the very mention of them had a golden sound, -suggestive of toiling slaves and untold riches. - -"So you did do what I told you not to, Maraquita?" growled the Major, -who called Mrs. Veilsturm by her Christian name when alone. - -"If you mean in the way of calling upon Lady Errington, yes," she -replied indolently, sweeping her sandal-wood fan to and fro and -diffusing a subtle eastern perfume through the room. - -She had a beautiful voice, full, rich and mellow, yet with a certain -roughness which grew more pronounced when she became excited. Anyone -would have been fascinated by this voluptuous beauty lounging in the -chair, while the dreamy fragrance of the sandal-wood seemed to add to -her rich, eastern look, but custom had habituated Major Griff to this -barbaric loveliness, and he spoke curtly, being annoyed and making no -effort to conceal his annoyance. - -"You were wrong, quite wrong, I tell you," he observed, taking a sip -of sherry. - -"Do you think I'm a fool?" asked Mrs. Veilsturm harshly, with a frown. - -"I do! What woman isn't--on occasions?" was the polite response. - -Mrs. Veilsturm laughed in a sneering fashion, in nowise offended, as -the private conversations of this precious pair were apt to be rather -disagreeable at times, but the Major, always cool and imperturbable, -knew better than to provoke the Creole's wrath, which resembled, in -its force and terror, the storms of her native land. - -"You are polite, I must say," said Maraquita, coolly, "but I'm used to -your manners by this time, so we need not argue about them. Let us -talk business, and tell me why you object to my leaving a card on Lady -Errington, seeing that she is a great personage down here, and may be -useful to us." - -"You ask me a question of which you know the answer well enough," -returned the Major deliberately. "Lady Errington is the daughter of -Gabriel Mostyn, and I don't suppose you want your relationship with -him raked up." - -"I don't see there is much chance of that," she replied -contemptuously. "Mostyn is dead, and his daughter knows nothing about -me." - -"Don't you be too sure of that," said Griff significantly. "This girl -attended to her father for four years when he was ill, and Mostyn with -his monkeyish nature was just the man to torture a woman by telling -her all kinds of things of which she would rather have remained -ignorant." - -"Still, she was his daughter, and even Mostyn would hold his tongue -about some things to her." - -"Humph! I'm not so sure of that." - -"Are you not?--I am." - -The Major frowned, pulled his moustache, and then finishing his sherry -at one gulp, spoke sharply. - -"You appear to be sure of a good many things, Maraquita, but perhaps -you will be kind enough to remember that union means strength, and -that your well-being in the eyes of the world is of just as much -importance to our schemes as my knowledge of human nature. If I hadn't -made you leave London, things would have been said which would have -closed every door against you." - -"And what about yourself?" asked the Creole her dark eyes flashing -dangerously as she shut her fan with a sharp click. - -"The same thing precisely," retorted Griff; coolly. "People were -beginning to think I knew too much about cards, so it was wise in me -to have made an end of things as I did. Don't you make any mistake, -Mrs. Veilsturm, I am no more blind to my own defects than I am to -yours, and you have just as much right to pull me up if you catch me -tripping as I have to keep an eye on your conduct. And let me tell you -that your calling on Lady Errington is a mistake, as the good she can -do to us is nothing to the harm she might do to you." - -"Nonsense! I tell you she knows nothing." - -"So you said before, and I hope she doesn't, but if she does there -will be trouble." - -"What can she do?" demanded Mrs. Veilsturm with supreme contempt. - -"If she she knows anything, she can tell all her friends about that -South American business." - -"If she comes to measuring swords with me in that way," said Maraquita -with vicious slowness, "I can tell a few stories about her late father -which won't be pleasant for her to hear." - -"Pish! what good will that do? You can't tell stories about Mostyn -without inculpating yourself. It won't harm his memory, which is black -enough. It will only harm you, and through you, me. No, no, Mrs. -Veilsturm, I've too much at stake to risk the world finding out what -we want kept quiet, and if Lady Errington does not return your call, -put your cursed pride in your pocket and hold your tongue." - -"I've got my wits about me as well as you," said Cleopatra coolly, "so -you needn't lecture me as if I were a school-girl. Besides, my -position is too strong in Society to be hurt by Lady Errington or any -other silly fool of a woman." - -"Your position, my dear," remarked Griff with cruel candour, "hangs by -a thread, and that thread is Mr. William Dolser, of 'The Pepper Box.' -He put in what I wanted, and made people shut their mouths, but if he -turned nasty, he could find out quite enough to make them open them -again." - -"If he tried to, you could promise him a thrashing." - -"That wouldn't do much good. He's used to the horsewhip." - -"Then you could have an action for libel against the paper." - -"And very nicely we'd come out of it. Whether we won or lost it would -be the death-knell of our campaign in town. No! no, I'll keep The -'Pepper Box' in a good temper by judicious bribes, and you on the -other hand, don't play with fire or you'll have the whole place in a -blaze." - -The dexterous arguing of Major Griff evidently impressed Mrs. -Veilsturm, for she made no reply, but looked down frowning at one -dainty foot in a high-heeled slipper that was resting on the green -velvet foot-stool. She knew her partner was right in all he said, but -with feminine persistence was about to renew the argument and have the -last word, when a servant entered the room and presenting a letter to -his mistress, left it again, closing the door noiselessly after him. - -Mrs. Veilsturm, leaning back languidly in her chair, was about to open -the letter, when Major Griff stopped her. - -"Wait a moment, Maraquita," he said deliberately, with a certain -anxious look on his face. "You know I often have an instinct as to how -things will go?" - -She bowed her head, but said nothing. - -"I had an instinct that your calling on Lady Errington was a mistake, -and that letter is from Lady Errington to tell you so." - -Mrs. Veilsturm laughed scornfully as she tore open the envelope, but -the Major, putting his hands behind his back, leaned against the -mantelpiece, and looked steadily at her with a satisfied smile on his -lips. - -The woman had wonderful self-command, for as she read Lady Errington's -curt note, no sign of anger escaped from her lips, but her dark skin -flushed an angry red and a venomous smile curled the corners of her -full mouth. Still she gave no further sign of being moved, but having -read the note through in the most deliberate manner, handed it to the -Major with a low, fierce laugh. - -Major Griff adjusted his eyeglass carefully, smoothed out the sheet -of cream-coloured paper, and read as follows in a subdued voice: - - -"Lady Errington presents her compliments to Mrs. Veilsturm, and -returns the enclosed card, which was evidently left to-day at the Hall -by some mistake." - - -"So I was right, you see," observed Griff, leisurely folding up this -short epistle and letting his eyeglass drop down. "Mostyn did tell -her about you after all--damn him!" - -The Major swore in a tranquil manner, without any sign of anger, but -that he was greatly annoyed could be seen by the twitching of his thin -lips under his grizzled moustache. As for Mrs. Veilsturm, her temper -had got the better of her discretion, and having left her seat, she -was sweeping up and down the little room like an angry panther in its -cage. - -"Well Maraquita," said Griff quietly, after a pause, "you see Lady -Errington has declared war, as I knew she would." - -"You knew no more than I did," hissed Maraquita viciously. - -Major Griff smiled at her in a pitying manner. - -"Instinct, my dear! Instinct! I told you what was in that letter -before you opened it." - -"I should like to kill her," said Cleopatra, glaring at him in a kind -of cold fury. - -"I've no doubt you would, but, as you can't, why waste time in useless -threats?" - -"That she, a school-girl--a brainless fool--should dare to put such an -insult on me," raged Mrs. Veilsturm, clenching her fan tightly. "How -dare she? How dare she? Does she know what I am?" - -"She does," replied the Major drily, "her letter shows she does." - -Maraquita looked from left to right in wrathful despair, then throwing -all prudence to the wind, snapped her fan in two, threw it on the -ground, and stamped on the fragments. - -"I wish she was there! I wish she was there! What can I do to punish -her? What can I do?" - -"You can do nothing," replied Griff, examining his nails. "To make war -on Lady Errington would be like throwing feathers at a granite image -in order to hurt it. She has an assured position in Society. You have -not. She has a past that will bear looking into--you have not. She has -everything in her favour--you have nothing, so be a philosopher, my -dear Maraquita. Grin and bear it. Vulgar certainly, but sound advice, -very sound advice." - -Mrs. Veilsturm turned on her dear friend in a fury, and stamped her -foot on the broken fan, looking like a demon with her blazing eyes and -clenched white teeth, which showed viciously through her drawn lips. - -"Hold your tongue," she shrieked wrathfully, "don't stand sneering -there you fool. Tell me what I'm to do." - -The Major poured out another glass of sherry from the decanter on the -table and advanced towards her. - -"Have a glass of sherry, and keep your temper," he said soothingly. - -Cleopatra glared at him in speechless anger, then struck the glass -from his hand with such violence that it shattered to pieces on the -carpet. Griff shrugged his shoulders, and walked back to the -fireplace. - -"You're acting like a fool, Mrs. Veilsturm," he observed, tranquilly; -"first you broke a fan, now you break a glass--silly, my dear, very -silly! It doesn't hurt Lady Errington, but only yourself. By-the-way," -glancing at his watch, "it's seven o'clock. I wonder when dinner will -be ready, I'm dreadfully hungry." - -His partner, however, was not listening to him, but a sudden thought -seemed to have struck her, for the fire died out of her eyes and her -complexion resumed its usual rich hue of health. After a pause, a -gratified smile broke over her face, and bending down she picked up -the fan. - -"I'm sorry I broke this," she said, quietly, advancing towards the -Major; "it was such a pretty fan. Dolly Thambits gave it to me. Never -mind, I'll make him give me another." - -She spoke quite cheerfully, and the Major stared at her in silent -surprise at this sudden change from intense anger to languid -tranquillity. - -"Upon my word, you puzzle me, Maraquita," he said doubtfully. "A -moment ago you were like a devil, now you are within reasonable -distance of an angel. What is the meaning of this change?" - -The beautiful widow put one slender foot on the fender, looked in the -glass, touched some ornaments in her hair, then replied, in a -wonderfully calm manner: - -"Simply this, that I see my way to punishing Lady Errington." - -"The deuce you do." - -"Yes; she is newly married, and, no doubt, loves her husband--he's a -fool, for I've seen him in London, so through her husband I'll punish -her." - -"Oh, I see," said the Major, grimly; "you intend to make love to the -husband." - -"What acute penetration, my dear Griff! That's exactly what I intend -to do." - -"No good," answered the man, shaking his head. "Errington is newly -married, and can see no beauty in any woman save his wife." - -"He's a fool I tell you," retorted Mrs. Veilsturm, coolly, "and I -never met a man yet I couldn't twist round my finger. He may be -difficult to manage in his character of a newly married man, but I'll -gain my ends somehow." - -"And then?" queried Major Griff. - -"And then," echoed Cleopatra, viciously, "when I've estranged him from -her and possibly led to a divorce, I'll have my revenge." - -"At the cost of your own position." - -"Don't you be afraid. I'll look after that! I'll keep my position and -ruin her happiness at the same time." - -"You're playing with fire." - -"Fire that will burn them, not myself! Come, dinner is ready, give me -your arm." - -"One moment! When do you intend to begin the business?" - -"That depends on Sir Guy Errington. As a newly married man, I dare say -I can do nothing with him. Newly married men sometimes get tired of -honey. When he does, then I will step in." - -"Suppose he does not get tired?" - -"But he will. I tell you he's a fool." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. -THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN MONTHS. - - "Time flies onward with tireless wings. - Divers gifts to us all he brings, - Joy and sorrow - On every morrow, - A thousand pleasures, a thousand stings. - - "Love he hath brought to a maiden fair, - Hate hath sundered a loving pair, - Gauds that glitter, - And memories bitter, - Each of us born hath his fated share. - - "Life is evil, the wise man saith. - Joy comes but at the last-drawn breath, - Earth's false pleasures - Yield no treasures, - There is no gift like the gift of death." - - -Perhaps it is due to the way we live now, or possibly to the inherent -restlessness of the present generation, but Time certainly seems to -pass more rapidly with us than it did with our grandfathers. - -They lived in a delightfully leisurely fashion, not without its charm, -and either stayed complacently at home, or, if they did travel, went -in a sober-sides mode by stage coach and sailing vessel. If they did -make a journey through Europe, it was called a Grand Tour, and seemed -to have been somewhat after the style of a royal progress, Judging -from the stately manner in which it was conducted. Ah, there is, no -doubt, our steady-going ancestors knew the value of being idle, an art -which we have quite lost, and took life in a wonderfully sedate way, -sauntering, as it were, in an idle fashion, from the cradle to the -grave. - -We, alas, have changed this somnolent existence, and made the latter -end of this nineteenth century somewhat trying to a man whose health -is not of the best, or to him who desires to shine among his fellow -creatures. The struggle for existence is keener, the survival of the -fittest more certain than ever, and the art of enjoyment has resolved -itself into a series of hurried glances at a multiplicity of things. - -If we want to travel, steam whirls us from one end of the world to the -other, giving us no time to examine things; if we wish to read, -hundreds of books, fresh from the press, call for attention; if we -desire to enjoy ourselves, theatres, balls, picture galleries, all -offer their attractions in such profusion, that it is difficult to -know where to begin. We have gained many aids to enjoyment, yet it is -questionable if those very aids have not lost us the faculty itself; -for a breathless scamper after pleasure, with a hurried glance here, -and a momentary pause there, can hardly be called true enjoyment. The -world, and we who live therein, are so busy getting things in order -for the beginning of the next century, that all hands are pressed into -the service, and no one has a moment to be idle, or to admire the -profusion of good things spread before him. - -Therefore, amid all this hurry and bustle, Time flies much more -quickly than formerly; our ancestors yawned through twelve hours of -leisurely work, we scarcely find twenty-four long enough for all we -want to do. We eat, drink, marry, and give in marriage, welcome the -newly born, and forget the newly dead, with the utmost despatch and -rapidity, and no sooner is one year, with all its troubles and -breathless enjoyment, at an end, than we have mapped out the cares of -the next twelve months before they are fairly started. - -Eighteen months had, therefore, passed very rapidly since the -Erringtons took possession of the Hall, and a good many important -events, both to nations and individuals, had happened in the meantime. -It was now the middle of the London season, and those who had parted -months before at Como, were now about to meet again under widely -different circumstances. - -Victoria Sheldon had duly returned home with Mrs. Trubbles, and taken -up her abode once more with Aunt Jelly, who was privately very glad to -see her, although she took good care that the girl should not know of -such weakness on her part. She asked Victoria a good many questions -concerning the people she had met abroad, and particularly about -Otterburn, of whom Miss Sheldon gave an account quite at variance with -the real state of affairs, carefully suppressing the fact that the -young man had proposed and been refused. In fact, she passed over her -acquaintance with him so very lightly, that she succeeded in deceiving -lynx-eyed Miss Corbin as to her feelings towards him, and never, by -word or deed, hinted that he had any interest for her in any way. - -But although she might deceive the world, she could not deceive -herself, and in reality she thought a good deal about the man she had -rejected, regretting, with the curious caprice of a woman, that she -had done so. The manner in which he had received her refusal had -greatly impressed her, for it differed greatly from the behaviour of -her other suitors, and if Angus had only asked her again a few months -after her arrival in England, he would doubtless have gained her -consent to the marriage. - -Otterburn, however, had been deeply wounded at what he deemed her -unjustifiable coquetry, and being intensely proud, resolved not to -submit himself to a second slight, therefore kept out of her way. If -some kind fairy had only brought these two foolish young people -together, everything would doubtless have been arranged in a -satisfactory manner between them, but as such aid was not forthcoming, -seeing we live in times when Oberon has resigned his sceptre, they -remained apart, each in ignorance of the other's feelings, and -mutually blamed one another for the position of affairs. - -Absence, in this case, made Victoria's heart grow fonder, and she felt -that she was really and truly in love with Angus, but as she neither -saw nor heard of him, she had to lock up her secret in her own breast, -which did not add to the pleasures of life. - -At the invitation of Lady Errington, she went down to the Hall at -Christmas, and had a very pleasant time, despite her heart-ache, as -her hostess made a great deal of her, and the young Nimrods of the -county quite lost their heads over "Such a jolly girl who rode so -straight to hounds, taking the fences like a bird, by Jove." She could -have been married three or four times had she so chosen, but neither -her suitors nor their possession of houses and lands tempted her, so -she returned to town and Aunt Jelly still heart-whole, except as -regarding the little affair of Angus Macjean. - -During the season she kept a keen look-out for him at all the places -she went to under the wing of Mrs. Trubbles, but Otterburn did not -make his appearance, and it was only by chance that she heard he had -gone to America for some big game shooting in the Rockies. Evidently -there was no chance of his proposing a second time, and Victoria -should have put all thought of his doing so out of her heart, but she -felt that she loved him too much to do so, and hugged her secret with -all its pain closer to her breast, until she grew pale and thin, so -that Aunt Jelly became alarmed about her lungs, thinking she was going -into consumption. With this idea the old lady, who hated change, took -a villa at San Remo and stayed there for some months with Victoria and -Minnie Pelch. The change did both girls good, and when the trio -returned to Town, Aunt Jelly took Victoria a round of visits to -several country houses, which proved so successful that Miss Sheldon -quite recovered her lost spirits and came back to London eager for the -pleasures of her third season in the great city. - -While Victoria was thus paying the penalty of her prompt rejection of -Otterburn's suit, that young gentleman was having by no means a -pleasant time of it himself. The shooting expedition to the -Carpathians had been a great success, and the excitement of sport had -for the time quite put Victoria out of his head, notwithstanding the -genuine love he had for the brilliant Australian beauty. Returned to -England, however, he found his thoughts constantly running on her, and -with her piquant face constantly in his mind he felt inclined to seek -her and try his luck a second time, but his pride forbade him to do -so, which was certainly a very foolish view to take of the subject. - -Angus, however, was remarkably obstinate in some things, and, as he -was determined not to run the chance of a second refusal, put himself -out of the way of temptation by going up to Scotland on a visit to his -father, thinking that at Dunkeld Castle, at least, he would have peace -of mind. He was mistaken in this supposition, for his father, being -delighted to find him so improved, immediately urged on him the -necessity of a speedy marriage with Miss Cranstoun. - -The Master, however, to his father's dismay, proved very obstinate on -this point and flatly refused to marry the lady, which refusal brought -down on him the wrath of both Lord Dunkeld and Mr. Mactab, who tried -to bully the young reprobate into acquiescence. Plain-looking Miss -Cranstoun, however, proved too much for Otterburn, seeing that the -charming face of Victoria Sheldon was constantly haunting his fancy, -and notwithstanding all the arts which were brought to bear on him, he -held out against the match in the most stubborn manner. - -Lord Dunkeld raved, and Mactab quoted Scripture, all to no purpose, -and at length, becoming weary of dour looks and continual lectures, -Otterburn abruptly left his ancestral home in company with Johnnie, -and, together with the chum whom he had met in Venice, started for -America in order to have some sport in the Rocky Mountains. The wrath -of the home authorities at this unexpected revolt of the hitherto -obedient Angus can be better imagined than described, but as there -seemed to be absolutely no way of bringing the young man to reason, -they were forced to let him do as he pleased. For very shame Lord -Dunkeld could not cut off the allowance of his only son, so he had to -acquiesce in impotent anger in Otterburn's disobedience, hoping that a -lengthened tour in America would bring the young prodigal to reason -and induce him to return to Dunkeld Castle and matrimony. - -Submission such as this, however, was very far from Otterburn's -thoughts, as he had made up his mind not to marry Miss Cranstoun, and -moreover considered he was perfectly entitled to choose his own wife, -seeing it was he who would have to live with her, so he went off to -the States with a light heart. His adventures and that of his friends -would take a long time to describe, as they had a splendid time of it -in the Rockies after big game, and becoming quite enamoured of the -uncivilized life drifted down Montana way, where they met with -cow-boys and plenty of young Englishmen who were cattle ranching in -the wilds. - -During this wild existence, which had such an ineffable charm for -them, Otterburn told his chum, a merry young fellow called Laxton, of -his admiration for Victoria, whereupon Laxton, being versed in affairs -of the heart, lectured his friend and advised him to once more try his -luck. - -"And I'll lay two dollars," said this sagacious young man, who had -Americanised his speech, "that she won't say 'no' a second time." - -With this idea in his head, Otterburn became anxious to return home, -and Laxton, being somewhat tired of primeval simplicity, consented to -leave the wide rolling prairies for the delights of Pall Mall. Laxton -wanted to return in a leisurely fashion by making for San Francisco -and going home again by New Zealand and Australia, but then he was -heart-whole and had not the vision of a charming face constantly in -his mind's eye. This fact being urged by Otterburn as an argument in -favour of taking the shortest route possible to London, Laxton, being -really a good-natured young fellow, consented, and leaving their -delightfully savage life behind they went to New York. After a few -days' stay in that city they went across to Liverpool by one of the -big Cunarders, and duly arrived after a pleasant passage. - -Laxton went off to see his people in Yorkshire, but Otterburn did not -venture to trust himself within the grim walls of Dunkeld Castle, well -knowing the stormy reception he would meet with, so journeyed straight -to the Metropolis, where he engaged a comfortable set of chambers in -the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and started on his matrimonial -campaign with a dogged determination to succeed in winning Victoria -Sheldon for his wife, or, in case of failure, to depart for an -uninhabited island and live a Robinson Crusoe misogamistic existence -till he died. - -Many events had happened in the Errington household since the young -couple had arrived at the Hall, the most important being the birth of -a little boy, which had greatly rejoiced Guy's heart, as he now had an -heir to succeed to the estates. Aunt Jelly also signified her approval -in her own grim way, and actually stood godmother to the child, whom -she insisted on christening Henry, after her old love, Sheldon, -although no one knew or guessed her reason for doing so. - -Eustace Gartney had been right in his estimate of Alizon's character, -for the birth of the child transformed her from a cold statue into a -loving, breathing woman, rendered perfect by her motherhood. No one -who saw her, with her delicate face flushed with joy bending over the -cradle of the child, would have thought it was the same woman who had -been so chill and impassive in her appearance and demeanour. The cold, -white snow-drop had changed into the warm, red rose, and the -passionate idolatry she had for the child seemed to fill out and -complete her life, hitherto so void and empty for the want of -something to love. - -Guy adored his little son, to whom, for some inexplicable reason, he -gave the name of "Sammy," and laughingly averred that Alizon bestowed -so much love on the son that she had none left for the father, which -assertion his wife smilingly denied, though it was true in the main. -Lady Errington gave up going out a great deal, devoting herself -entirely to the child, so Guy was left to a great extent to himself, -which he by no means relished; yet he made no complaint, as it would -have seemed ridiculous to blame a mother for being over fond of her -first born. Still, Guy felt a little sore on this point, and much as -he had desired an heir and loved his son, he almost wished the child -had never been born, so much did it seem to come between them. Had -Alizon been a wise woman, she would have seen the folly of loving her -child to the exclusion of her husband, but blinded by maternal love -she neither saw nor felt anything that did not pertain to the tiny -babe she clasped so ardently to her breast. - -Mrs. Veilsturm made no further attempt to force her friendship on Lady -Errington, but shortly after the rebuff she had received--the -knowledge of which she kept to herself--departed for a trip on the -Continent, which, for her, meant Monte Carlo, where she was afterwards -joined in the most casual way by Major Griff. The partners were too -clever to travel together, as it might have attracted attention, but -when one was at any special place the other was sure to turn up a few -weeks later on business connected with the West Indian estates. So on -her return to England for the season, Mrs. Veilsturm told her dear -friends that she had sold one estate, although, as a matter of fact, -the money she averred she had received therefor was due to luck at the -green tables. - -Cleopatra and her friend were much more circumspect in their second -season in London. They did not wish to run the risk of any more -disagreeable reports, and as their winnings at Monte Carlo had been -very large the firm was enabled to dispense, to some extent, with -baccarat on Sunday evenings. Mrs. Veilsturm fully re-established her -position in London, and the Major was more devoted than ever, so the -charming widow departed for her health to Algiers with the good wishes -of everyone. - -"Next year, Maraquita," said the Major in a satisfied tone, as they -discussed their plans in a pleasant room looking out on to the blue -waters of the Mediterranean, "we will go in for making money and then -we can go off to America." - -"I don't like giving up London," objected Mrs. Veilsturm angrily. - -"You must, sooner or later," replied Major Griff shrewdly. "However, -we will get together as much cash next season as we can, and if no one -says anything so much the better, if they do--well, there is always -America." - -At the end of this eighteen months Eustace Gartney returned to Town, -having heralded his appearance by a book of travels entitled "Arabian -Knights," in which he described all his wanderings in the native land -of Mahomet. Judging from the brilliant descriptions given in this book -with its bizarre title, he seemed to have made good use of his time, -and the fascinating pages of the volume opened an enchanted land to -Western readers. The mysterious deserts with their romantic -inhabitants, the lonely cities far in the interior, whose very names -were suggestive of the fantastic stories of the "Thousand and One -Nights," the poetic descriptions of the melancholy wastes of sand, -whose sadness seemed akin to his own sombre spirit, and the wayward -fierceness of the Arab love-songs scattered like gems through the book -all made up a charming volume, and even the critics, much as they -disliked Eustace for the contempt and indifference with which he -treated them, were fain to acknowledge that this "Arabian Knights," -whose punning title they ridiculed, was a worthy addition to English -literature. - -Eustace himself, in spite of the wide interval of time which had -elapsed, was now returning to England in very much the same frame of -mind as that in which he had set out. He had gone away to forget -Alizon Errington, and he came back more in love than ever, not with -the real woman exactly but with an ideal woman whom he had created out -of her personality. He was in love with a phantom of delight, conjured -up by his vivid imagination, and fancied that she dwelt on earth in -the guise of his cousin's wife, but, having still some feelings of -honour left, he determined to avoid the earthly representation of his -ideal, as he hardly judged himself strong enough to withstand the -temptation. - -With his usual egotistical complacency--a trait which all his -travelling had failed to eradicate--he never for a moment thought of -looking at the question from Lady Errington's point of view. He was -Sultan, and if he threw the handkerchief she would follow, so he would -be merciful both to this woman and to her husband, and put a curb on -his desire to take her to himself. He came back to England it is true, -but with the resolve only to stay a month, and then go to Egypt, as he -had an idea of exploring the land of the Pharoahs in a new direction. - -He loved Alizon Errington, or rather the glorified Alizon Errington of -his imagination, and determined neither to see nor speak to her while -in England, because he did not wish to ruin Guy's happiness. He heard -she was a mother, and wondered if the change he had prophesied at Como -had come over her. If so he would like to see it for himself; still -the flesh was weak, and he did not know but that he might be tempted -to make love to her, which would be distinctly wrong. - -So Eustace Gartney, blinded by self-complacency, prosed on to himself -as he travelled homeward in one of the Orient steamers, and the -curious part of it was that he actually believed that he was talking -sense. A few sharp words from a sensible man or woman might have -dispelled his visions of being an irresistible lover and have shown -him that Lady Errington was not likely to give up everything for the -sake of a man she cared nothing about; but Eustace made a confidant of -no one, and, absorbed in his ridiculous dreamings, deemed himself -quite a hero for resisting a dishonourable impulse, which, had he -given way to it, would certainly have resulted in a manner vastly -different to that which he anticipated. - -So the puppets were all on the stage, and it only remained for Fate in -the guise of a showman to move them hither and thither according to -their several destinies. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. -GOSSIP. - - "If friends are poor and you can't use 'em, - 'Tis always pleasant to abuse 'em, - Although in their turn it is true, - They're sure to speak the worst of you. - The pot may call the kettle black, - But kettle pays the favour back, - And useless is all indignation, - For 'tis the law of compensation." - - -Otterburn's chambers in a pleasant street off Piccadilly were -furnished in a very comfortable fashion, having been the property of -an extravagant young man who came to grief on the turf, and thereupon -disposed of his rooms and their contents to Angus Macjean, who was -looking for apartments. As the Master had not much idea of arranging -furniture according to individual taste, beyond banishing some rather -"rapid" pictures from the walls and replacing them by hunting trophies -from his American trip, he left the rooms in their original state, -which was by no means a bad one. - -Johnnie Armstrong indeed had been moved to wrath by seeing such a lot -of money spent on costly trifles, for the charming little statuettes -in bronze, the delicate ornaments in Dresden china, and the thousand -and one nick-nacks suggestive of cultured taste were all so many -objects of horror in the eyes of Mr. Armstrong, being evidence of -sinful waste on the part of their purchaser. In spite of his love for -the turf, the former proprietor of these rooms must have had a -cultured mind, rare among the gilded youth of to-day, as Angus during -the earlier days of his occupancy often came across some tiny -water-colour, or some rare edition of a book which showed both good -taste and critical judgment. - -"What a pity for such a clever fellow as Bamfield to go to the dogs -through racing, when he could appreciate all this sort of thing," he -said half aloud one day, on turning over a charming edition of -Villon's poems. - -"It's an ill wind that blaws naebody ony guid," observed Johnnie, who -overheard this remark, "an' ye got the hail thing cheap enow." - -This view of the situation was quite characteristic of Johnnie. He -despised the costly furnishing of the room as sinful waste, but was -quite content that all this splendour should be paid for by someone -else, seeing that his master had got it cheap. Economy in Johnnie's -eyes was the greatest of virtues, and he delighted to make bargains -for things which he did not want for the mere sake of getting the -better of the seller. This was not strictly speaking economy at -all, seeing that the things bought were superfluous, but it pleased -Johnnie and amused Angus, so the dour old man pottered on in his own -narrow-minded way without interruption. - -The rooms, therefore, were furnished in a fashion calculated to please -the most fastidious critic, and Angus was very comfortably settled in -Town for the season. He had not yet seen Victoria, as he intended to -woo his lady love in a somewhat cautious fashion, but had asked Dolly -Thambits to breakfast with a view to finding out her movements in -Society. - -Mr. Thambits was a good-natured young fool, with the comfortable -income of thirty-thousand a year and not the slightest idea how to -spend it. His father having been an inventor, had made a large fortune -by genuine talent and dexterous advertising, and resolved to make his -son a gentleman, in which laudable ambition he succeeded fairly well, -for Adolphus Thambits was not a bad sort of fellow on the whole, -although a monstrous fool in many ways. Not all the tuition of Harrow -and Cambridge could put any sense into his silly head, and his father -having died suddenly, he was left alone in the world with this large -income and not the slightest idea how to guide his life. - -For the sake of his money he was asked everywhere, and as he always -conducted himself well, and was very good-natured, people liked him -after a fashion, although they despised and profited by his weakness -of character. Cleopatra had taken him up, and, assisted by Major -Griff, was teaching him experience of the world in a manner beneficial -to herself and partner, but decidedly detrimental to the pocket of the -unfortunate Dolly. - -As Angus heard that Thambits was rather smitten with Victoria, he -foresaw in him a possible rival, so had invited him to breakfast to -find out Victoria's movements, which Dolly would be sure to know, and -also to ascertain if he had any intention of offering himself and his -large fortune to the Australian beauty. So Dolly, who liked Otterburn -in his own weak way, arrived at that young man's rooms, accompanied by -Mr. Jiddy, a fat, little man, with a timid manner and a frightened eye -in his head, who imposed upon Thambits' good nature by borrowing money -from him. - -While the three were seated at breakfast, somewhere about eleven -o'clock, Laxton made his appearance, having returned from Yorkshire, -where he had been playing the part of the prodigal son. Being tired of -the domestic veal, he had looked up Angus, to propose another hunting -expedition to the wilds of Africa. - -Laxton, having had his breakfast, sat in a comfortable arm-chair and -smoked, while Angus and his two guests proceeded with their meal under -the vigilant eye of Johnnie Armstrong, who hovered around with an air -of strong disapproval of breakfast at such a late hour of the day. - -"Well, Angus, old fellow," observed Laxton, when he had made himself -at home with a pet meerschaum of his host's, "aren't you tired of -civilization yet?" - -"Hardly?" replied Angus drily, "seeing that I've only had three weeks -of it. What do you want to do now." - -"Try Africa--we'll get some elephant shooting." - -"Isn't that rather dangerous?" said Thambits mildly. - -"Dangerous!" echoed Laxton with contempt. "Pooh! nonsense--not a bit -of it. Jolliest thing out. It's life, my boy--life!" - -"Yes, and on some occasions it's death, my boy--death," rejoined Angus -with a laugh. - -"I have always heard," remarked Mr. Jiddy, who sat curled up on the -edge of a chair like a white rabbit, "that there is no pleasure -without an element of danger." - -"Who said there was," said Laxton, who hated Jiddy as a parasite and a -milksop. "What do you know about danger?" - -"Nothing," replied Mr. Jiddy, who never took offence, being -essentially milk and water in his nature, "but I've read a good deal -about it." - -"Sunday-school books, I suppose?" said Laxton with a sneer. "'Little -Henry and his Bearer' is about your style, I think." - -"I've read that book," observed Dolly with a gratified chuckle, "but -it is rather a slow story isn't it?" - -"Not quite so rapid as Zola," said Otterburn, who was beginning to -find both Thambits and his friend a trifle tiresome. "By-the-way, -Laxton, have you read the 'Arabian Knights'?" - -"I have," said Dolly again, "in my schooldays!' - -"Oh, bosh!" returned Laxton with supreme contempt. "We're not talking -of that." - -"Oh, no," chirruped Mr. Jiddy, delighted at knowing something, "it's -the Arabian Knights with a 'K.'" - -"What on earth are the Arabian Nights with a K?" demanded Thambits -blankly, whereupon both Angus and Laxton burst out laughing at the -bewildered look on his face. - -"It's Gartney's book about Arabia," explained Angus, rising from the -table and lighting a cigarette, his example being followed by his -guests. - -"Oh, I've heard of it," said Thambits, complacently. "Billy Dolser -tells me he does not think much of it." - -"Is Billy Dolser a judge?" asked Laxton, with great scorn. - -Thambits turned on him a look of mild reproach. - -"Of course! Why he's got a paper of his own." - -"Oh, that settles it!" returned Laxton, drily. "I thought myself it -was a jolly good book, and written by a man who knew what he was -talking about, but as that little blackguard Dolser hasn't been -further East than Italy, he must be a capital judge of the book!" - -"Why do you call him a blackguard?" asked Jiddy, removing his -cigarette. - -"Because he is one," growled Laxton, wrathfully--"a mean little sneak -who vilifies people's character in that rag of a paper which ought to -be burnt by the public hangman! Snakes and mosquitoes were created for -some purpose, I suppose, but why such a little reptile as Dolser -should be allowed to exist, I don't know." - -Mr. Jiddy contributed himself to the "Pepper Box" in an underhand way, -by listening to things he was not meant to hear, so he took up the -cudgels on behalf of Mr. Dolser in a weakly, ferocious manner. - -"Oh, I say, you know those words are actionable?" - -"Are they," said Laxton, who had risen to his feet and was looking -down from his tall height at the scrap of limp humanity in the chair, -"you can repeat them to Dolser if you like, and if he doesn't think -they are actionable I'll be happy to add a thrashing, so that he can -have me up for assault." - -Mr. Jiddy wriggled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken, -and resumed his cigarette, while Otterburn, who agreed with every word -Laxton said, but could hardly endorse it in his character of host, -hastened to make an observation. - -"By the way, Gartney's in London." - -"Just come in time to hear Mr. Dolser's opinion about his book," said -Laxton, grimly. - -"I don't think that would trouble Gartney much," replied Otterburn, -smiling, "but after eighteen months' travel in the wilds, I'll suppose -he'll stay at home for some time." - -"I'll lay you a level fiver he doesn't," said Mr. Laxton, removing his -pipe, "he's got prairie fever." - -"What's prairie fever?" demanded Dolly. - -"Do you know what a prairie is?" said Laxton, answering one question -by asking another. - -"A large field, isn't it?" said Mr. Jiddy, complacently. Angus roared. - -"Yes, a very large field," he replied, "much larger than any you'll -get in England. I shot that buffalo on the prairie," he added, -pointing to a huge shaggy head adorning the opposite wall. - -"It's a very large head," observed Mr. Jiddy, wisely. "A buffalo--a -kind of cow, isn't it?" - -"Not exactly," returned Laxton, drily; "it's more like an enraged -bull. But to return to prairie fever. It's the feeling a man gets when -he once sees those undulating grass plains and which haunts him ever -afterwards." - -"What haunts him ever afterwards?" asked the intelligent Dolly, -lighting another cigarette. - -"Oh, damn!" retorted Laxton, politely, and turned on his heel, quite -disgusted with the ignorance of the young man. Thambits was not in the -least put out by Laxton's rudeness, but began to talk to Angus about -Mrs. Veilsturm, while Jiddy tried to extract a paragraph out of Laxton -by a series of mild little questions about buffaloes. - -"Mrs. Veilsturm's an awfully jolly woman, Macjean," said Thambits--"real -good sort, you know! I think you'd like her immensely." - -"Would I?" replied Angus absently, wondering how he was to ask Dolly -about Miss Sheldon. - -"Yes; she's got awfully jolly Sunday evenings, you know. Are you fond -of baccarat?" - -"Not much. Are you?" asked Otterburn, fixing his keen grey eyes on the -weak face of the young man. - -"Yes, rather. Only I always lose. I'm so unlucky." - -"Oh, you lose at Mrs. Veilsturm's?" - -"Yes. We play there on Sunday evenings. It's awfully jolly!" - -"It must be--for Mrs. Veilsturm!" retorted Otterburn, doubtfully, at -once forming an unfavourable opinion of that lady; "but if you're so -unlucky, you shouldn't play baccarat." - -"Oh, but I'll win when I get to be a better player." - -"Will you? I wish you all success. Do many people go to Mrs. -Veilsturm's?" - -"Yes, lots. All the jolliest people in town. She's quite in the swim -you know. You meet all sorts of pretty girls there." - -"Indeed! Not on Sunday evening, I presume?" - -"Oh, no; on week-days. I met that pretty Australian girl there last -Thursday for the first time this season." - -"Eh? Miss Sheldon?" - -"Yes. Awfully jolly girl. Do you know her?" - -"Slightly," replied Angus, carelessly; "I met her once in Italy. She's -quite the belle of London, I hear." - -"Yes, rather. And such a nice girl! No humbug about her. Lots of -fellows want to marry her." - -"You among the number, I suppose?" said Otterburn, with an uneasy -laugh. - -"Eh? Oh, no! There's not much chance for me. I've got no brains, and -she doesn't care for fellows who can't talk, you know." - -"You're very modest, at all events," said Otterburn, feeling rather -amused by this candid admission. - -"Oh, no, I'm not," replied Mr. Thambits wisely; "people think I'm a -fool because I've got lots of money, you know. But I see further than -they think. But about Mrs. Veilsturm--you'll call and see her with me, -won't you?" - -"I don't know," said Angus, shortly; "perhaps." - -"She's going to have a fancy dress ball, soon," rambled on Mr. -Thambits in a weakly fashion. "I'm going as a Crusader. How do you -think I'll look as a Crusader?" - -"Oh, the usual thing, I suppose," replied Otterburn, good-naturedly -suppressing a laugh at the idea of Dolly Thambits in chain armour. "I -don't think any one at a fancy dress ball looks like what he pretends -to be. I suppose Miss Sheldon will be there?" - -"Rather. Everyone in London is going." - -"Then I may as well follow the example of everyone in London," said -Otterburn, quickly. "I'll call on Mrs. Veilsturm whenever you like." - -"Oh, that's jolly! But, I say, I've got to meet a fellow at the -Carnation Club, you know. Jiddy, I'm going." - -"So am I," replied Mr. Jiddy, slipping off a chair where he had been -seated like a whipped schoolboy under the severe eye of Mr. Laxton. -"Thank you for telling me about your travels, Mr. Laxton; they're most -entertaining." - -"It's more than you are!" growled Laxton, grimly. - -Dolly Thambits and his friend Jiddy took their departure, to the great -relief of both Angus and Laxton, who were quite sick of their -frivolous small talk and milk-and-water mannerisms. - -"Good heavens, Macjean!" said Laxton, when the door closed on the -pair, "what the deuce do you have such fools here for?" - -"They are fools, aren't they?" replied Otterburn, selecting a pipe -from his rack; "but the fact is, I asked Thambits to find out -something, and Mr. Jiddy came uninvited." - -"Like his cheek! Why didn't you drop him out of the window?" - -"Because we're in London--not in America," replied Angus, mildly; "my -dear Laxton, do remember that!" - -"I never get a chance of forgetting that," groaned Laxton, sitting -down. "I'm sick of this narrow humdrum life. Most of the men I meet -are idiots, and the women worse. Let's go off to Africa, old chap. -I've found out all about the country, and we'll get another man to -join us--Helstone, you know. He's got a jolly yacht, and we can take -our own time." - -"It sounds tempting," said Angus, wistfully; "but you see, Laxton, I -came here with a purpose, and until I carry out that purpose I can't -leave England." - -"It's that girl, I suppose?" - -Angus nodded. - -"Yes. I haven't seen her yet, but intend to shortly. If she refuses -me, I'll go out to Africa with you, but if she accepts me----" - -"Well?" demanded Laxton, grumpily. - -"I'll ask you to be best man at the wedding," replied Angus, laughing. - -His friend arose to his feet with a resigned expression of -countenance, and held out his hand. - -"It's no good arguing with a man in love," he said, in a dismal tone; -"but fancy giving up a jolly expedition for the sake of a woman! Let -me know soon, as if you don't go I will, for I'm dying to get out of -these clothes." - -He looked down with disgust at his well-fitting frock coat, grey -trousers, and neat patent leather boots, all of which he was willing -to change for a rough hunter's dress and a life of danger, such is the -instinctive leaning of young Englishmen towards the barbaric delights -of their woad-stained ancestors. - -"Well, you are a queer stick, old fellow!" said Angus, laughing; -"you'll give up all the comforts of life for what?--jungle fever, -Liebig's Extract, and a dangerous existence!" - -"Don't prose, my boy," retorted Laxton good-humouredly, taking up his -hat, "you'd do the same if you weren't in love. Well, goodbye at -present. I'll look you up again, and if you want to see me in the -meantime, just drop a line to the Globe Trotters' Club.'" - -When he departed Angus stood for a moment in deep thought, filling his -pipe, with a strange smile on his face. - -"I'm in love am I?" he said, striking a match. "Well, that's true -enough, but whether it's a wise thing to be in love is quite another -affair! Humph!" lighting his pipe, "it all depends on Victoria." - -He picked up the morning paper, and was about to settle himself down -for a good read, when a knock came to the door. - -"Confound it!" grumbled Otterburn, folding up the paper, as he heard -Johnnie Armstrong going to the door. "I wonder who that is?" - -His question was answered in another moment by himself, for suddenly a -massive figure appeared at the door of the small sitting-room, and -Otterburn sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure: - -"Eustace Gartney." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. -FROM FOREIGN PARTS. - - "I have come from lands fantastic, - Which the desert sands environ, - Where the Koran's laws adrastic - Bind the soul in chains of iron. - - "All the land is full of magic, - Danger 'neath delight reposes, - Love is fierce and dark and tragic. - Cypress mingles with the roses." - - -It was Eustace Gartney in the flesh, returned to quiet old England -after his perilous wanderings in distant lands beyond the verge of -civilization, and Otterburn felt most unaccountably glad to see him -once more. Why this should be the case seems somewhat strange, seeing -that they had tired of one another in their former intimacy, and -parted with mutual satisfaction, yet in the heart of each there lurked -a kindly feeling which cast a certain glamour round their old -friendship, and made them mutually glad to meet again. - -Otterburn shook the hand of his former Mentor with [* * *] pleasure, -thrust him into the most comfortable chair in the room, and prepared -to ask a series of breathless [* * *] as to all that had taken place -since their parting at [* * *] many months ago. Eustace, on his part, -felt a [* * *] this enthusiastic reception, and was glad to think that -at least one friend remembered him in a kindly manner. - -They had both changed in outward appearance since their last meeting, -Gartney being much thinner than formerly, but his face, lean and -brown, still retained its dreamy expression, which was, indeed, -deepened by his habit of thoughtful self-communings in solitary -deserts. For the rest, he was as badly dressed as ever, being now -arrayed in a loose suit of grey home-spun, which would have startled -the accurately dressed denizens of St. James' Street on the person of -any one else but Eustace Gartney. But, then, he was a privileged -person, and, as his poetic book of travels had rendered him more -famous than ever, his former friends greeted him heartily, all of -which greetings, although kindly meant, Eustace estimated in a cynical -fashion at their proper value, until genuinely touched by the boyish -and demonstrative affection of Otterburn. - -That young man, on his part, had wonderfully improved from the slender -boy of eighteen months before, for, although the space of time seems -short, Macjean was at that age when the change from adolescence to -manhood is very sudden and very marked. The semi-uncivilized life he -had led had also a great deal to do with the shaping of his physical -characteristics, and he was more manly, more self-reliant, and more -matured in every way than the unformed youth from whom Eustace had -parted. A heavy moustache adorned his upper lip, he carried himself in -a dashing, self-confident manner, and the tones of his voice were -deeper and more mellow than formerly. Still he retained that boyish, -impulsive manner that had so fascinated the cynical man of the world, -and Eustace looked upon him approvingly, as he leaned forward in his -chair, with eager eyes and parted lips, anxious to hear all about the -elder man's adventures. - -"What a jolly time you've had, Gartney!" said Otterburn, gaily, "but, -by Jove, what a queer fish you are. You started for a month's tour in -Cyprus, and you end up by a year and a half's exploration of Arabia." - -"The seductive influence of travel drew me onward," replied Gartney, -crossing his legs and folding his hands. "After all you might as well -have come with me that time at Venice, instead of going off to Central -Europe." - -"Oh, I've been to America since then." - -"Yes, so I heard. Same man you went that Carpathian trip with?" - -"Yes. Awfully good sort of fellow, but a mania for wild life. He was -here a few minutes ago, wanting me to start off to Africa on another -expedition." - -"And you, being very comfortably settled here, declined." - -"Rather! I like breathing time you know. Will you have a cigarette?" -said Angus, holding out his open case. - -"No, thank you. I've contracted the vice of pipe-smoking," replied -Eustace, producing a well-worn briar-root, and filling it leisurely. -"You've got very pleasant rooms here." - -"Yes, are they not? I bought the whole box and dice just as they stand -from Bamfield. Got them at a bargain, much to the delight of Johnnie." - -"Is Johnnie still with you?" - -"Of course! he's part and parcel of my life, and circumnavigated the -globe with me, like a Scotch Sir Francis Drake. Do you want a light? -Here you are." - -He struck a match, and handed it to Eustace, who lighted his pipe, and -then leaned contentedly back in his chair, listening to the vivacious -chatter of the young man. - -"Of course you know your book has been a great success," said -Otterburn, pointing to a copy on the table, "there it is. I got it as -soon as it was published. Some of the critics, however, have been -giving it fits, especially the chapter called 'The Puritans of -Islam.'" - -"Indeed! And what do the critics know about the Wahhabees?" asked -Eustace, with calm surprise. - -"According to their own showing, everything." - -"Ah, we all know the omniscience of critics! They are truly wonderful -men, before whose vast experience and knowledge I remain dumb. And the -rapidity of their work, their marvellous grasp of every subject in -literature, from a Child's Primer to a novel of George Meredith's. -Nothing appalls them, nothing daunts them. Oh, what wonderful men they -are! truly wonderful, so calm, so learned, so kind-hearted. Why do you -know, Macjean, I met a critic once who thought nothing of Dickens as -an author! Think of that! Think of the wonderful mind of that man who -could afford to speak contemptuously about one of the master spirits -of the age." - -"Did he write books himself?" asked Otterburn, shrewdly, at which -Eustace looked at him in grave reproof. - -"Of course not," he replied quietly, "he was a most self-denying man. -He did write one novel I believe, but it was so far in advance of our -present age that the publisher was afraid to print it--fancy that, a -publisher afraid! Well, it was so, and now this critic only reviews -other people's books--what self-denial. And then his decisions. Why he -makes up his mind about a book, that has taken months to write, in -five minutes. I've known him analyse a book without cutting the leaves -to read it. Of course it is marvellous, simply marvellous, but our age -is prolific in such clever men. I've met many such, and always felt -like a whipped schoolboy before their calm, clear gaze. If you boil -down twenty of our best authors you may make one critic, but then it's -quality not quantity." - -"I thought you did not like critics?" - -"Not like critics, my dear fellow?" said Eustace sweetly, "why they -are my dearest friends, my best benefactors. They always read my -books, and give half an hour to each, actually a whole half hour. What -friendship! And then, you know, they are so kind, they point out all -my mistakes, and if I copy any ideas of foreign authors, they always -look them up to see if I have done so correctly, and mention -it--really mention it--in their articles. If there is anything naughty -in my chapters, they reprove me, oh, so kindly, and tell the public -where to look for the worst bits. And then they are so modest; they -never tell me they wrote these articles, when I meet them in society. -I always put my name to my books, they never do to their articles, and -yet my books are full of mistakes which they try to correct for me." - -"How kind of them?" - -"Yes, is it not? I wish I was a critic, Angus, instead of a poor -author. I am always wrong, you know, and they are constantly right, -but then I don't know so much as they do. When I write a book I've to -see things for myself, but they can sit down and correct me without -going outside the four walls of their study. What a pity Shakespeare -had not critics in his day! They would have pointed out all the -defects in Hamlet, and good-naturedly corrected Lear for him. I -daresay they would have shown him how to improve his blank verse. It -does need improving, you know, because I heard a poet say so the other -day. A real poet, much better than Browning or Tennyson, only he -wasn't known so well. Just twenty-two years of age, and yet could talk -like that--wonderful. But don't speak any more about critics, because -I'm so fond of them that I could praise them for hours. Let us talk of -meaner things. Tell me all the news of the day, the scandals of the -hour, the gossip of the drawing-rooms, and stories of clubs." - -"Faith, I don't know that I've much to tell you," said Otterburn -candidly. "I've been on the war-path as well as yourself, so am just -an ignorant of town as you are." - -Gartney smoked on quietly for a few moments, and then suddenly asked -the question nearest his heart: - -"What about the Erringtons, Macjean?" - -"I haven't the least idea," replied Angus carelessly, "as I have not -seen them since you did at Como. I believe they are still living at -their place in the country, and that Lady Errington has presented her -husband with a son and heir." - -"Yes, I heard that," said Gartney, with a slight smile. "I wonder if -my prophecy has come true?" - -"Eh!--what prophecy?" - -"About the Incomplete Madonna." - -"Oh, yes, I remember now," responded Otterburn indolently, "you said -she was unfinished, didn't you? Well, I suppose she's happy now, as -she has gained her heart's desire and become a mother." - -"I've no doubt she's happy," said Eustace significantly; "but what -about her husband?" - -"I'm sure I don't know! You seem to take a great interest in the -Erringtons?" - -Eustace flushed a little under the bronze colour of his skin, and -moved uneasily in his seat. - -"Do I? A mere whim, I assure you, to see if my prophecy about the -incomplete Madonna turns out correct. But never mind, I'm going to -call on Aunt Jelly this afternoon, and she'll give me more accurate -information than you can. Have you met Aunt Jelly yet?" - -"No! You forget I told you I have been away from England also," -answered Otterburn stiffly. - -"True! I forgot that, but you see my dear relations haven't written a -word to me since I've been away, and I'm obliged to ask a stranger for -information. Is Aunt Jelly's ward married yet?" - -"No; she is still Miss Sheldon." - -"You were rather fond of her, were you not?" - -"So fond of her that I asked her to be my wife at Como, and she -refused me." - -"I guessed as much," replied Eustace calmly; "however, that was merely -a boyish fancy." - -"I beg your pardon. No!" - -"Indeed! You don't mean to say you are in love with Victoria Sheldon -still?" - -Otterburn arose to his feet with an angry laugh, and began to walk -slowly to and fro with his hands in his pockets. - -"Is there anything so extraordinary in that? I loved Miss Sheldon and -she refused to marry me, so I tried to forget her. Well, I haven't -forgotten her, and I've come back to Town expressly to ask her to be -my wife. I daresay I'm a fool, but you're not in love, and cannot -understand the feeling." - -"Can I not!" answered Gartney serenely, thinking of Lady Errington, -"well, I don't know so much about that. Have you met Miss Sheldon -yet?" - -"No. - -"That doesn't sound like an eager lover." - -"I daresay it doesn't," retorted Angus coolly, "but you see I've -learnt sense since my first rebuff, and now gang warily, as the Scotch -say. I'm not going to let Miss Sheldon see I care two straws about her -till I find out the state of her feelings towards me." - -"Astute diplomatist!--then I suppose you won't call with me on my -respected aunt?" - -"And meet Miss Sheldon!--hardly! I'm going to wait till I see her at a -fancy-dress ball Mrs. Veilsturm gives shortly." - -"Oh!" said Eustace, removing his pipe, "is that lady still in the -flesh?" - -"Very much so, indeed According to Mr. Adolphus Thambits--of whom -you've no doubt heard--her house is quite a fashionable centre." - -Gartney made a gesture of disgust, and arose to his feet. - -"Good Lord! what are we coming to? I thought people would have found -out Mrs. Veilsturm and her scamp of a Major long ago. I met them last -time I was in London. I suppose they still have the little Sunday -evenings, and talk about the West Indian estates?" - -"Yes, I believe so." - -"Humph! I should not have thought Aunt Jelly would have let her ward -visit Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"Why not? She is in the odour of sanctity--no one knows her little -peccadilloes, or, if they do, don't talk about them. I suppose few -people except the initiated know about the real business of those -Sunday evenings. Mrs. Veilsturm is all white--on the surface--so not -even her dearest friend can throw mud at her." - -"You are getting quite eloquent, Otterburn," observed Eustace smiling; -"I suppose, when you're married and settled we'll hear of you in -Parliament." - -"I'm not married and settled yet!--perhaps I never will be," replied -Otterburn gloomily. - -"You don't seem very hopeful," remarked Eustace, with gentle sarcasm, -"but as you won't come to Aunt Jelly's, suppose I play the part of -Cupid's messenger, and find out how the land lies with Victoria -Sheldon." - -"Oh, if you only would," cried Angus eagerly; "but no! I'm afraid -there's not much chance for me. I daresay she has forgotten I ever -existed." - -"Oh, if that is the case I'll soon improve her memory! Cheer up--while -there's life there's hope." - -"Not always," responded Angus gloomily, "particularly in this case. I -called her a coquette last time we parted." - -"No doubt she fully deserved the name, if I remember rightly," said -Eustace drily, putting on his hat, "and she'll remember you for that -out of spite." - -"Well, do what you like, Gartney," replied Otterburn, grasping his -friend's hand, "I'm awfully glad to see you safe and sound once more. -When will you look me up again?" - -"I'm not quite sure! I've got to see Aunt Jelly first--my lawyers -second--about a dozen tradesmen, to make myself respectable, and then -I am going to run down home for a few days." - -"I didn't know you had a home." - -"Oh, yes!--the cot where I was born, and all that kind of thing. A -tumble-down old place, looking out on to the German Ocean." - -"Well, don't let me lose sight of you yet," said Macjean, accompanying -his guest to the door. - -"No!--by-the-way, I'll come back and tell you my impressions of Miss -Sheldon, and you can shape your course accordingly--in love with the -same woman for eighteen months! Good Lord! what constancy! Ah, Johnnie -and how are you?" - -"Brawly! Brawly! thank ye for speiring, sir," replied Mr. Armstrong, -who stood holding the door open, "may I tac' the leeberty of -obsairving, sir, that ye look a wee bit brown, it's the weather na -doot." - -"Not a bit of it, Johnnie--the sun, my man, the sun." - -"Hech! Hech! Au thocht it was the dochter," replied Johnnie, laughing -at his own wit. - -Eustace did not take offence, as Johnnie's dour ways rather amused -him, so he laughed also and departed, while Angus went back to his -dressing-room to get ready for paying a round of visits. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. -AUNT JELLY DISCUSSES FAMILY AFFAIRS. - - "You know the marriage service where it says-- - 'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,' - That answers for an interfering third, - Who sows dissension in a happy home; - But wife and husband can do just the same, - Unless there's give and take betwixt the pair, - Black looks, neglect, hard words, and other ills, - Will put asunder A and B new wed, - As surely as if C had played the rogue." - - -Aunt Jelly was a lady whom everyone judged best to leave alone, as -she, being of a tart and aggressive nature, was disposed to be -exceedingly disagreeable when meddled with. Old Father Time appeared -to be of the same opinion, for he never seemed to come near her in any -way, and though year after year went by, changing youth to age, -dimming bright eyes, whitening heads brown and golden, and turning -mellow voices to shrill trebles, Miss Corbin still preserved the same -grim appearance, as if she was indeed the granite figure to which so -many of her friends likened her. If Time did add another wrinkle in a -stealthy way, or make her blood course more slowly through her -withered frame, he did it in such a manner that no one, not even the -closest observer, could notice it; and Aunt Jelly, straight and -defiant as ever, sat grimly silent in her chair, knitting, knitting, -knitting, as though she were some immortal hag weaving the destinies -of short-lived humanity. - -The old lady had heard of Eustace's return from abroad, and was in a -high state of indignation that he had not called to see her as soon as -he arrived in Town, but having received a note from him saying he -would pay her a visit that afternoon, she was now waiting with the -firm determination to give him an unpleasant reception. - -Victoria had already gone out in the carriage to do some shopping for -the old dame, and no one was with Miss Corbin except Minnie Pelch, -who, more tearful than ever, was seated at the window, like Sister -Anne, watching for the approach of Mr. Gartney. - -The room had the same old-fashioned look about it, save that here and -there a bunch of flowers or some dainty feminine adornment showed that -Victoria Sheldon had striven to make things somewhat more home-like. -Aunt Jelly sat in her chair with woolly-haired Coriolanus at her feet, -and knitted on in severe silence, only opening her mouth every now and -then to speak to the tearful Miss Pelch. - -That young-old lady was in a state of suppressed excitement at the -prospect of seeing Eustace again, as she contemplated making a final -assault on him regarding the publication of her poems, but Aunt Jelly -had so harassed and worried her, that she was reduced to a state of -extreme limpness, and wept in a stealthy manner, making her eyes red, -which by no means added to the beauty of her appearance. - -The port and sherry decanters were on the table with the usual plate -of cake, for though Miss Corbin intended to give Eustace a -disagreeable reception she did not think of neglecting the duties of -hospitality; fulfilled in her eyes by the production of cake and wine. - -"Well," said Miss Corbin sharply, for the seventh time, "is he -coming?" - -"Not yet," replied Minnie meekly, after the fashion of Sister Anne. - -Miss Corbin snorted like an old war-horse, tossed her head in an -indignant manner, and resumed her work. - -"In my young days," she observed at length in her usual harsh fashion, -"the juniors were always civil to the seniors. Civility cost nothing -then--now it appears to be unpurchasable. Eh! what do you say, Minnie? -Nothing!--it's your sniffling then! how often have I told you to -correct that habit. Look again--is he coming?" - -"Not yet," answered Miss Pelch once more, "it's only three o'clock." - -"I didn't ask you the time," rejoined Aunt Jelly tartly. "I suppose -you're going to worry him about that poetry of yours?" - -"I'm going to ask him to get it published," said Minnie with tearful -dignity, "bound in blue and gold with my portrait at the beginning." - -"Poor child," said Aunt Jelly, pausing a moment, "how you do build -castles in the air. Well, I hope my nephew will help you to do what -you wish. Nobody will read the book except the critics, and they'll -abuse you. If they do," continued Miss Corbin, shaking her finger, -"don't come to me for sympathy, for I've warned you. Is he coming?" - -"Yes!" cried Minnie, in a state of excitement, seeing a hansom rattle -round the corner and pull up before the door, "he's in a cab." - -"Oh, indeed, couldn't walk I suppose," grumbled Miss Corbin grimly, -"better for his pocket and his liver if he did. Hand me that last -volume of his rubbish, Minnie, I've got a few words to say about it." - -Minnie obediently did as she was told and Aunt Jelly took the heavy -book on her knee, while the door was flung open by the butler, who -announced in his usual pompous voice: - -"Mr. Eustace Gartney." - -"How do you do, Aunt Jelly?" said Eustace, walking across to the old -lady as if he had only parted with her the day before, "you don't look -a day older." - -"Humph! I'm sorry I can't return the compliment" replied Miss Corbin, -presenting her withered cheek to be saluted. "Arabia hasn't done you -much good, at all events." - -"You're as candid as ever, I see," said Gartney carelessly, turning to -Minnie. "I hope you are well, Miss Pelch." - -"Oh quite, thank you, dear Mr. Gartney," answered Minnie, in a state -of fluttering excitement. "I'm so delighted to see you back." - -"So kind of you," murmured Eustace, taking a seat in the chair Minnie -pushed forward for him. "Well, Aunt Jelly, and how has the world been -using you?" - -"The same as I've been using it," retorted Miss Jelly -epigrammatically. "I keep the world at its distance." - -"Like oil paintings. They always look best at a distance, you know." - -"Don't talk books to me," said the old lady, "I've had quite enough of -your smart sayings in this," touching the volume on her lap. - -"So I see! I told my publishers to send you a copy. I hope you like -it." - -"I do very, very much," cried Minnie clasping her hands, "it's simply -too lovely for anything." - -"The critics don't think so," said Aunt Jelly spitefully. - -"And I suppose you agree with the critics," replied Eustace. - -"Did you hear me say so?" demanded his aunt fiercely. - -"No but----" - -"Then don't cry out till you are hurt. Take a glass of wine--Minnie, -the wine." - -Miss Pelch poured out the wine with trembling hand, so excited she was -at the presence of the great author, and Eustace, knowing his aunt's -determination on the subject of port, drank it meekly although it was -a wine he hated. - -"The book," said Miss Corbin, after a pause, "is not at all bad. I -daresay there are a good many lies in it, still they're decently told -lies. You've improved this time, Eustace." - -"Thank you, my dear aunt, I'm glad to have your good opinion, but the -critics----" - -"Critics," snorted Aunt Jelly scornfully, "do you mean those idiots -that scribble for the papers and who would abuse their parents for two -pence three farthings? Pooh! I don't call those critics. In the palmy -days of the _Quarterly Review_ there were decent reviewers, but -now--rubbish! they write nothing but drivel, though to be sure it's -drivel they criticise. I'm not talking about your book, Eustace, my -dear. It's good!--very good, and I wouldn't say so if I didn't think -so." - -"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," replied Eustace meekly. "And how are -things, aunt?" - -"What kind of things, child? Be more explicit." - -"Well, my cousin Errington, is he all right?" - -"Humph! right enough." - -"And his wife?" - -"She's a fool," remarked Aunt Jelly politely, at which Eustace felt -quite indignant. - -"I don't think so." - -"What do you know about it?" retorted the old lady sharply. "I tell -you she is a fool. Guy was up to see me the other day." - -"Well, you can hardly expect me to believe that Guy spoke like that to -you about his wife. - -"Who said he did, you blind bat? Don't jump to conclusions, Eustace, -for you're not clever enough to land at them." - -"Well, tell me why you speak of Lady Errington like this" - -"I take my own time and own way of telling things," replied Miss Jelly -deliberately. "Minnie, my dear, go upstairs and look for your poetry, -I daresay Mr. Gartney will glance at it before he goes." - -Minnie had her precious manuscript in her pocket, but knowing from -Miss Corbin's hint that she wanted to discuss private affairs with her -nephew, meekly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after -her. - -"I don't know what I've done that you should inflict Minnie's poetry -on me," said Eustace in an injured tone. - -"Pooh, nonsense! don't be selfish. It gives the poor child pleasure to -have her milk-and-water rubbish looked at by you. Do a kind action for -once in your life, Eustace. I'm sure it's little enough you do for -your fellow-creatures." - -"They aren't worth it." - -"I daresay, but no doubt they make the same remark about you." - -"Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace -impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons." - -"It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on -her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice -with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this -child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and -affection, and the Lord knows what!" - -"All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what -was coming. - -"All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't -mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but -she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is -given to the child." - -"Well that's only natural." - -"It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically. -"Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more -notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to -love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of -the children as well." - -"No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect." - -Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner. - -"I don't think so," she replied, deliberately, "Guy isn't the man to -cry out, unless he's hurt. From what he says, it appears Alizon is -always with the child, and the poor lad is left to wander about by -himself. Sometimes, she won't even come to meals. Now, that can't -possibly be right, can it?" - -"No, I suppose not," answered Eustace, after a pause, wondering to -himself at finding his prophecy so literally fulfilled, "but, perhaps, -the child is ill, and needs care." - -"The child is as well as you are," retorted Aunt jelly, snappishly, -"though that is not saying much, for you look as if you were sickening -for some disease, but in plain words Alizon is neglecting her husband -in the most silly manner for the child. If this is the case, how will -it end?" - -"I'm sure I don't know!" - -"You never know anything! Then I'll tell you, they'll learn to do -without one another, and that's a bad thing. She'll be all right, -because she's got the child, but Guy's got nothing, and he's not the -man to put-up with such treatment. If she neglects him, he'll find -consolation with some other woman." - -"Oh, aunt!" - -"I've shocked you, have I?" said the old lady grimly. "Get your nerves -better under control, then. I call a spade a spade, and am telling you -the truth. If Alizon Errington goes on like this, the first woman that -comes along will snap up her husband, and the consequence will be of -her own making." - -"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Eustace, blankly. - -"I'm sure I don't know," said Aunt Jelly, with an air of vexation, -resuming her knitting. "I don't want to see the affair end in the -Divorce Court, and that's the direction it's going in at present. Guy -was up the other day, and told me some long rigmarole about his -feelings, so the best thing you can do is to go down to the Hall, and -see what you can do." - -"I!" cried Eustace, jumping to his feet in a state of agitation. "I -can do nothing." - -"Take a glass of wine, my dear, take a glass of wine," said Aunt -Jelly, sharply. "Your nerves are all crooked. That comes of gadding -about the world." - -Eustace made no reply to this onslaught, but walked to and fro in -silence. He was considerably puzzled how to act in this dilemma, as he -had made up his mind not to see Lady Errington, thinking his feelings -towards her were too strong for him to keep silence. Curiously enough -it never seemed to strike him that as Alizon was neglecting her own -husband for the child, it was unlikely she would respond to his -passion in any way, seeing that she had neither eyes nor ears for -anything save her first-born. Gartney's egotism blinded him on this -occasion, as it did on many others, but he felt that he was being -forced into a situation, towards the woman he loved, from whence there -was no escape. Looking at it in his narrow-minded fashion, it seemed a -struggle between love and honour, and he was undecided how to act. All -his life, however, he had been accustomed to deny himself nothing, and -in this case he carried out his ruling principle of selfishly -gratifying himself, so there and then made up his mind to accept Aunt -Jelly's mission and go down to Errington Hall. - -"Well, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly sharply, quite unaware of the -struggle going on in her nephew's mind, "what do you say--will you do -a kind action for once in your life?" - -Eustace having made up his mind, came slowly back to his elderly -relation and resumed his chair. - -"I'm sorry you've got such a bad opinion of me, Aunt Jelly," he said -coolly, "and I'll have much pleasure in proving you're wrong for once -in your life, by going down to Ellington Hall, and having a talk with -Guy." - -"That's right," replied Miss Corbin, much gratified. "And I suppose -you'll have a look at your own place." - -"Of course!" - -"I thought so, you never did a thing in your life without a double -motive," said Aunt Jelly, unjustly. "However, I don't care two straws -what you go down for, so long as you try and put things right between -those two idiots." - -"Kindly opinion you've got of human nature, Aunt." - -"No doubt, I have," retorted Miss Jelly, coolly, "but that's human -nature's own fault, not mine." - -"Do you remember what wise La Rochefoucauld says?" observed Eustace, -thoughtfully. "'Many people judge the world as if they were its -judges, and not its denizens.' That is true, I think." - -"I don't like your cut and dried wisdom, Mr. Quoter-of-old-saws," -replied Aunt Jelly, "there's sure to be a flaw in it somewhere." - -Eustace laughed and leaned back in his chair. - -"You've got an answer for everything, Aunt Jelly! Well, I'll go down -to Errington, and do my best, but I'm doubtful of success. It's -foolish work meddling between man and wife." - -Miss Corbin sniffed in a doubtful manner, and was about to make some -bitter reply, when the door opened and Victoria, bright and piquant as -ever, entered the room. - -"Here I am, Aunt Jelly," she cried gaily, "with not one of your orders -forgotten--Mr. Gartney!" - -"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" said that gentleman rising from his -seat, "it's some time since we met." - -The memory of their ill-concealed enmity at Como, and of the -circumstances under which, she had parted from Otterburn, all rushed -suddenly into Victoria's mind, and she blushed deeply, but with her -usual self-command she suppressed all other signs of emotion, as she -held out her hand frankly to Eustace. - -"It's eighteen months since we last saw one another," she said, -equably, "and since then, judging from your book, you have been -leading a delightfully dangerous life." - -"More fool he!" muttered Aunt Jelly disdainfully. - -"And you, Miss Sheldon," said Eustace, taking no notice of the old -lady's ill-nature, "what kind of a life have you been leading?" - -Victoria slipped into a chair, and took off her gloves carelessly, -though, truth to tell, her heart was beating somewhat rapidly at this -meeting. - -"Oh, the usual London life!" she replied nonchalantly. "Theatre, Park, -Ball, Church--Church, Ball, Park, Theatre. The only change you can get -is to reverse them." - -"You young girls don't know how to enjoy yourselves in a rational -way," said Miss Corbin, politely; "you ought to marry and settle -down." - -"That's your advice to everyone, Aunt Jelly," retorted Victoria, her -cheeks growing hot; "but you have not practised what you now preach." - -"Circumstances alter cases, child," returned Aunt Jelly, composedly. -"I had my reasons--you, no doubt, would call them ridiculous -reasons--but they were good enough for me." - -Victoria did not know of the old love romance between her father and -this faded beauty, or she would never have spoken as she did; but as -Miss Corbin, with a softened look in her eyes, bent over her work, she -felt vaguely that this sharp-tongued woman had suffered, and touched -the withered hand with a pretty gesture of penitence. - -"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como, Miss Sheldon?" said Eustace, -remembering his promise to Otterburn, and artfully trying to find out -if she still remembered the boy. - -"Oh, no! I liked Como very much! The scenery was delightful." - -She spoke quietly enough, but Eustace was an acute observer of human -nature, and his keen ear caught an inflection of a tremor in her voice -which considerably guided him in framing his next remark. - -"Yes, the scenery was charming, was it not?" he remarked -significantly; "and the friends we met there also. What a pleasant -party we were. The Erringtons, Mrs. Trubbles, yourself and--Macjean." - -"And what has become of Mr. Macjean?" she asked in a low voice, taking -up Aunt Jelly's ball of wool. - -"Oh, Otterburn is in London." - -"In London!" she echoed, starting violently. - -"Dear me, Victoria," said Aunt Jelly, snappishly, "how nervous you -are, child! You've upset my wool all over the place." - -Victoria, glad of an excuse to hide her face, bent down to pick up the -ball, and Aunt Jelly, having caught Otterburn's name, went on talking. - -"Otterburn, eh? I know that name. Wasn't that the young man you -flirted with at Como, Victoria?" - -"I didn't flirt with him," cried Victoria, raising her head defiantly. -"At least," she added, catching sight of Gartney's keen eye fixed on -her, "at least, not much." - -"That's so like you, child," observed Aunt Jelly, disentangling her -yarn, "you will play with fire--some day you'll burn your fingers." - -"Perhaps that catastrophe has happened already," said Eustace quickly. - -Miss Sheldon laughed in a somewhat artificial manner at this remark, -and promptly denied it. - -"I'm sure it hasn't," she said, looking straight at Eustace with -crimson cheeks. "I take too good care of myself for that. But talking -about Mr. Macjean, how is it I have not seen him?" - -"I don't know I'm sure," replied Gartney carelessly; "he's only been a -short time in Town, you know. I wanted him to come here to-day, but he -was engaged." - -Victoria felt all her old hatred of Eustace revive as he spoke the -last words, as she felt sure he was talking sarcastically, and would -have liked to reply sharply, but she could hardly do so without -betraying an unwonted interest in Otterburn, which might have placed -lynx-eyed Aunt Jelly on the _qui vive_, so wisely held her tongue. - -Eustace himself, being satisfied that Victoria still felt an interest -in his young friend, inwardly congratulated himself on the result of -his diplomacy, and arose to go. - -"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," he said, kissing his relative. "I'll go down -home to-morrow and tell you what I've done on my return." - -"That's right, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly, much pleased; "have a glass -of wine before you go?" - -"No, thank you," replied Gartney, walking to the door, "one glass is -enough for me." - -"Weak head," muttered Aunt Jelly, "just like your father." - -"Better than a weak character," retorted Eustace, gaily. "_Au revoir_, -Miss Sheldon. I'll tell Mr. Macjean I've seen you." - -"No, don't," said Victoria hastily, then, feeling that she had -committed an error, strove to mend it. "I mean yes, of course I'll be -very pleased to see Mr. Macjean again." - -"I've no doubt you will," muttered Eustace to himself, as he got into -his cab; "she's still in love with him, so Otterburn has only to ask -and to have." - -Mr. Gartney would hardly have been so confident had he seen Victoria -at that moment, for she had ran hastily up to her room and was lying -on her bed in a passion of tears. - -"He wouldn't come and see me, I suppose," she said viciously. "Oh, -very well, I'll punish him for this. He's forgotten all about me, but -I'll make him propose again if it's only for the pleasure of refusing -him." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. -THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA. - - "Curs'd by Superstition eerie, - Grim it stands a ruin dreary, - Round it spread the marshes lonely, - Haunted by dim shadows only, - Shadows of an evil seeming, - Such as rise in ghastly dreaming, - Overhead the sky of crimson, - Reddens slowly from the dim sun, - Silently the sluggish waters - Undermine the tower which totters, - And the ocean's sullen boom, - Prophesies the coming doom, - When the house shall sudden sink, - Shattered o'er destruction's brink, - And the dark night's gloomy pall - Evermore brood over all." - - -Eustace, with his whimsical fancy for bestowing appropriate names on -all things, had christened his ancestral residence Castle Grim, and he -certainly could not have hit upon a happier title for such a dreary -place. - -Standing on the verge of wide-spreading marshes, it faced towards the -sea, which was only a little distance away, and the salt winds from -the ocean roared day and night round the lonely house. For it was -lonely, no habitation being within miles, owing to the malaria which -arose from the marshes making the whole neighbourhood unhealthy to -live in. Gartney had another residence, much more comfortable, -situated in the midland shires, but, with his usual fantastic nature, -preferred when staying in the country to inhabit this semi-ruinous -mansion. - -Whoever built it must have been fond of solitude, and much given to -self-communings of a dreary nature, for certainly no one with a -healthy mind could have found pleasure in contemplating the melancholy -stretches of the marshes and in hearkening to the sullen roar of the -surges breaking on the sandy shore. Few of the Gartney family had -stayed in it since its erection, and it was reserved for Eustace, in -whom the melancholy nature of some far-off ancestor was revived, to -make it a habitable residence. - -Perhaps the weirdness of the place had a fascination for his poet -nature, or the dismal fenlands pleased his distorted imagination, but -at all events, Eustace was rarely in England without paying a visit to -Castle Grim, and staying there a few days, before his departure to -distant lands. - -Other people not being so fond of this awesome place, Gartney could -get no ordinary servants to stay in it, and consequently it was left -to the care of an aged pair, man and wife, who did not mind where they -lived so long as they had a roof to cover them, food to eat, and a -chance of earning a decent income. They looked after the crazy old -place thoroughly, and when their master paid it a visit contrived to -make him pretty comfortable considering all things. But as a rule, -they lived a Robinson Crusoe-like life, seeing no one from week's end -to week's end, save when they went into Denfield for provisions. - -Mr. and Mrs. Javelrack, the guardians of this unpleasant mansion, had -received a telegram from its owner, telling them that he was coming, -and consequently the male Javelrack had driven to the Denfield Station -for his master, while the female Javelrack set the rooms in order and -prepared a meal for Mr. Gartney. - -Eustace had not brought his valet to Castle Grim, as that worthy would -immediately have given notice had he been asked to stay in such a -nerve-shaking place. So he drove away from the station slowly in the -dog-cart with his quaint old retainer beside him, and his portmanteau -behind. - -It was a very decent dog-cart taking it all round, and the horse in -the shafts was not by any means a bad specimen of his kind, as Gartney -allowed the Javelracks a decent sum yearly to keep up the place, and -they made amends for their lonely life by surrounding themselves with -all the luxuries they were able. Report said they were misers, and -perhaps there was some truth in the rumour, but whenever Eustace came -down, he always found things in order, so he never troubled his head -to ascertain what proportion of the income he allowed they had spent -on the place, or what portion they stowed away in odd corners. Indeed, -if he had found that these two old servants were spending as little as -they could without being found out, and putting the rest by for a -rainy day, he would not have been particularly annoyed, for they were -only within their rights in having some pleasure in Castle Grim. - -Eustace wrapped himself well up in his ulster, for the winds blew very -keenly across the marshes, and as the horse was restive, they soon -left the village behind and were moving rapidly across the straight -road which stretched a narrow white thread until it vanished on the -verge of the horizon. The gables of Errington Hall showed whitely -above the sombre woods around it, but after a rapid glance at the roof -which covered the woman he loved, Gartney shook the reins impatiently -to make the horse go faster, and stared resolutely at the red glare of -the sky lowering over the wild waste landscape. - -"I'll see her to-morrow," he thought, as the hoofs of the horse beat -steadily on the hard white road, "and then I can see for myself how -things stand between her and Guy." - -Some long sombre clouds lowered heavily over the crimson of the -horizon as if Night, like some dark-winged bird, was waiting to settle -down on the chill earth, and a keen cold wind, blowing sharply from -the distant ocean, brought the salt odours of the sea to their -nostrils. - -Javelrack, his huge form bowed by age and rheumatism caught from the -marsh mists, sat grimly silent beside his master with his large, -hairy, brown hands clasped on his lap, and his mahogany-coloured face -with its wiry black beard, so screwed up with facing the cutting wind, -that under his weather-stained brown hat he looked like a fantastic -Chinese idol. Eustace, wrapped up in his own thoughts, paid no -attention to his silent companion, but, bowing his head against the -blast, indulged in visions of Alizon Errington. - -A dreary country, with the wide spreading marshes stretching on either -side for miles, and the long straight road running through the heart -of the swamp. Sluggish, slimy pools of oily stillness, fringes of -stately reeds swaying to and fro in the blast, smooth patches of green -grass, pleasing to the eye but treacherous to the unwary foot. Here -and there a broken-down fence, deeply implanted in weeds of luxuriant -growth, bordering deep ditches of black earth filled with stagnant -water, on which floated green slime, rows of depressed-looking -willows, and on occasions the gaunt stump of a tree sticking up as if -to mark the site of a submerged forest. - -Then suddenly against the dull red of the sky a misshapen pile of -gables and chimneys on the verge of a slight rise, girdled by a gaunt -ring of leafless trees. Beyond, heaps of wind-blown sand covered with -sparse vegetation standing as a barrier between the marshes and the -ocean, which tossed in waves of blood under the evil red sky as it -moaned in a querulous voice on the starved-looking strip of sandy -beach. And this was Castle Grim. - -Eustace stopped the tired horse at the door of the house (or rather -the horse stopped of its own accord), and giving the reins to -Javelrack, jumped down. At the door he was met by Mrs. Javelrack, -large and gaunt as her husband, with the same embrowned face and the -same distorted features, suggestive of Chinese deities. Indeed, as the -male Javelrack took the portmanteau into the house and stood by his -wife, they looked like two ogres inhabiting Castle Grim, who were -prepared to make a meal of Eustace as soon as he was safely within the -walls. - -The male ogre, however, took his master's portmanteau into his -bedroom, and then coming out again, took the dog-cart round to the -stables, while Mrs. Javelrack, her face twisted into a hideous grin -meant for a smile, brought hot water for the weary traveller. - -"Don't be long with the dinner, Mrs. Javelrack," called Eustace as she -closed the door. - -"No sir," croaked Mrs. Javelrack in a hoarse voice, as if she had been -a frog out of the marsh, "it 'ull be ready as soon as you, sir." - -Mr. Gartney washed himself in the warm water, which took away the -smarting feeling in his face caused by the keen salt wind, and having -changed his clothes sauntered into the one habitable room of the -place, which did for dining-room, drawing-room, and music-room, for -Eustace had sent down a very good piano, which stood in one corner. - -"Humph! rather spoilt by the damp," he said to himself; as he ran his -lithe fingers over the keys, "or perhaps the amiable Mrs. Javelrack -has been trying to cultivate music." - -The ogress brought in the dinner and waited on Eustace in a ponderous -manner, giving him all the news of the neighbourhood, which was -remarkably scant, and talked all through the meal in a subdued roar. -When Eustace had finished, she removed the dishes, brought in some -coffee, and, after making up the fire, retired to the kitchen and the -company of Mr. Javelrack. Gartney heard them chatting even through the -thick walls, for the dampness of the marshes had made them both -somewhat deaf, and consequently they shouted so loudly at one another, -that it was difficult at times to tell whether it was the ocean -roaring or the ogres conversing. - -It was a very comfortable room, having been furnished by Eustace -according to his own ideas, and the walls, instead of being papered, -were hung with dull red cloth after the fashion of tapestry, which -waved at intervals as the searching winds crept in shrilly through -crack and cranny. A wide fireplace in which blazed a large coal fire -between the grotesque brass dogs, several comfortable arm-chairs, and -on one side, a small book-case containing a selection of Gartney's -favourite authors. At the distant end of the room a grand piano, with -the music piled neatly beside it, a cumbersome, old-fashioned sofa, -and a deep, square window with diamond panes, and a quaint oaken seat -set in its depths. - -Eustace drew an arm-chair close to the fire and near to the small -table upon which Mrs. Javelrack had placed his coffee, produced his -pipe, and was soon puffing away in a most comfortable manner. He -picked up a slim volume of poems entitled "Rose dreamings," and turned -over the pages listlessly as he sipped his coffee, feeling a drowsy -sensation steal over him. A verse in the poem called "Temptation," -however, roused him from this lethargic state, and throwing down the -book, he paced restlessly up and down the room repeating the four -lines quietly to himself: - - - "This love so hard the winning. - For ever will endure, - If all the world be sinning, - Why should we two be pure?" - - -"I'm afraid she won't take the same view as that," he muttered to -himself discontentedly, thinking of Lady Errington. "And yet, if she -doesn't love her husband, she may have a kindly feeling for me. As to -the child, surely no woman--not even this Madonna--can devote herself -exclusively to it. Still, the child is the obstacle between herself -and her husband, so perhaps it will be the obstacle between herself -and me. Oh! I could love her! I could love her if she would only let -me! She will let me! I'm certain of it! Guy has no brains, and she is -starving for the want of intellectual food. The child is the excuse, -but that is the real reason of the coldness between them." - -One of the most extraordinary parts of Gartney's delusion concerning -his chance of success with Lady Errington lay in the fact that his -present reasoning was diametrically opposed to the views he held when -first meeting Lady Errington. He then asserted that she would never -care for her husband, but when she became a mother would lavish all -her love on the child. This view of Alizon's character was a correct -one, as Eustace in his innermost heart well knew, but he wilfully -deceived himself in thinking that now she had obtained her heart's -desire she would give it up for the sake of a man whom she had hardly -seen. Eustace, however, had been so uniformly triumphant with the -female sex, that the idea of failing with Alizon never entered his -mind, and he thought that if he laid siege to Lady Errington, in a -dexterous fashion, she would give up everything--husband, child, name, -and home--in order to gratify his selfish desire. - -When he came to England after his many months' absence in Arabia, -Gartney had determined not to see Lady Errington, feeling that he -loved her, or rather her idolized memory, so much, that he would not -be able to suppress his passion, and thus behave dishonourably towards -his cousin Guy by running away with his wife. Aunt Jelly, however, by -telling him of the estrangement between the pair had banished this -honourable hesitation from his heart, as he felt himself forced by -Fate to see the woman he loved face to face. It was a very convenient -excuse with which to quiet his conscience for this wrong-doing, and -having settled in his own selfish mind that Fate was too strong for -him, he determined to estrange husband and wife still further, so that -he would have less trouble in overcoming Lady Errington's scruples to -his dishonourable proposals. - -This idea which he held had been singularly strengthened by the remark -of Aunt Jelly, when she said that Guy in his present state would be -the prey of the first clever woman that came along. Eustace therefore -determined to introduce Guy to some clever woman who would entangle -him in her net, and the woman he had fixed upon in his own mind for -this vile purpose was--Mrs. Veilsturm. - -It was curious that he should have fixed on this special woman to do -this, seeing that he was ignorant of Mrs. Veilsturm's grudge against -Lady Errington, and did not know how eagerly she would seize this -opportunity of revenging herself on the woman who had slighted her so -scathingly. He merely chose Mrs. Veilsturm because she was beautiful, -clever, and unscrupulous, so a hint to her would be quite sufficient -to induce her to fascinate Guy by all the means in her power. - -Eustace Gartney was by no means a thoroughly bad man. Indeed, he had -very good qualities, although they were, to a great extent, -neutralized by his indomitable selfishness, and therefore he suffered -several qualms of conscience over the dishonourable scheme he had in -hand. - -His intense egotism and love of gratifying self, however, came to his -aid, and he argued himself into a satisfactory frame of mind by Heaven -only knows what sophistry. - -"She doesn't care a bit about her husband," he reflected, pacing the -room with measured strides, "she never did care about him, and it's a -pity to see a clever woman like that tied to an unsympathetic log. -With me, her life will be much happier than with him, and after he -gets a divorce I will marry her, and we will live abroad, where there -will be no narrow-minded bigots to scoff at what they will call her -false step. I'll do it, at whatever cost! My life will be a blank -without her, and she will be unhappy with Guy, so it will be far the -best for both of us to come together, even at the cost of a public -scandal. I'm sorry for Guy, but the one must suffer for the many, and -I daresay in after years he will thank me for taking from him a wife -from whom, even now, after less than two years of married life, he is -estranged." - -So Eustace, sophist as he was, argued in favour of his dishonourable -passion, and would have even succeeded in persuading himself that he -was a much-injured person by having to undergo such trouble, but for a -certain uneasy feeling that he ruthlessly crushed down. - -Having settled his plans to his own satisfaction, Eustace had another -smoke, then going to the window, drew aside the curtains and looked -forth into the black night. - -The wind was rising and whistled shrilly round the house, lashing -the dark waves into lines of seething white foam which glimmered -ghost-like through the gloom, while overhead the thin filmy clouds -raced across the sky over the face of the haggard-looking moon. He -could hear the thunder of the surge on the distant beach, the wind -muttering drearily among the trees, and casting his eyes overhead he -saw the pallid moonlight streaming in ghastly radiance through the -ragged clouds. - -Dropping the curtain with a sigh, he sauntered across to the piano, -and began to improvise a weird fantasy in keeping with the feelings -aroused by the wild scene without. The roll of the sea, the wuthering -of the wind, and the rustle of the reeds were all transmuted into -strange harmonies under the touch of his skilful fingers, and stealing -out at intervals from amid the tempest of sound, stole a strange, -sobbing strain, fitful and wayward as the breeze, as if some malicious -demon were piping heart-stealing love-songs to the sky, and the night, -and the lonely marsh. - -He remained some time at the piano, following his changeful fancies, -but when the clock struck nine he closed the instrument, and had one -final pipe before going to bed. As he sat in front of the fire, -looking into the heart of the burning coals, he went over again in his -own mind the details of the scheme by which he hoped to secure his -cousin's wife to himself. - -"Yes," he said aloud in the silence of the room, "it is all right! -There is no flaw!" - -There was a flaw, however, and one which, in his blind egotism and -complacent selfishness, he entirely overlooked, and that was the love -of the mother for her child. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. -FROM THE HUSBAND'S POINT OF VIEW. - - "A statue cut in marble white - To me gives but a cold delight, - Although 'tis fair - I do not care, - For joy begins and ends with sight. - - "A woman pure as virgin snows, - Within whose veins the life-blood flows, - Whose smile reveals - The love she feels, - Ah, such a one is Love's true rose." - - -The next morning Eustace made up his mind to go to Errington Hall in -the afternoon, and meanwhile amused himself in leisurely strolling -along the beach watching the waves rolling landward. - -Behind him the sand hills rose in low mounds with their scanty -vegetation, shutting out the marshes beyond, then came the narrow -strip of sandy beach on which his footsteps left deeply imprinted -marks, and before him, sombre under the leaden coloured sky, stretched -the heaving ocean, with thin lines of white-crested waves breaking to -cold foam at his feet. The sky, filled with rain-charged clouds, -lowered heavily on the chill earth, and midway flew a wide-winged -sea-gull, uttering discordant cries. - -It was a dreary scene, and Eustace, with his hands clasped behind him, -stared at the dismal prospect, which was quite in keeping with his own -disturbed feelings. He was meditating a dishonourable action, and he -knew it, so in spite of his determination to carry it through to the -bitter end, he felt oppressed by a vague feeling of dread that all his -villainy would be of no avail. In the course of his selfish life he -had done many foolish things, at which the world had looked askance, -but hitherto his pride had preserved him from dishonour, but now he -stood on the edge of an abyss into which he was about to plunge of his -own free will, and, in spite of his egotistical philosophy, he -trembled at the prospect before him. - -Supposing he did induce Lady Errington to return his passion and leave -England with him, what benefit would it bring to him or to her? To her -a ruined home, the memory of a deserted child, the prospect of exile -from all social circles, and an endless regret for her fall; to him, -delighted companionship for a time, and then a sense of weary disgust, -of futile sorrow for a past that could not be undone, and constant -discord between himself and the partner of his shame. - -Was it worth the risk he was running, for a chimera, a fanciful -creation of his own brain, a desire for a vision that might never be -realised? And all this time with characteristic selfishness, not a -thought for the deserted husband, for the motherless child. - -"Hallo, Eustace! Where are you?" - -Gartney arose to his feet with an ejaculation, the red blood rushing -to his face. - -"Guy!" - -It was Guy, his cousin, the man whose wife he loved, the man whose -home he intended to destroy, and, even wrapped as he was in his triple -armour of pride, egotism, and self-complacency, he felt the sting of -remorse. It was too late, however, to think of such things, he having -fully made up his mind to act; so he crushed down the feeling which -might have made him a better man, and went forward to meet his cousin, -who was walking smartly along the beach. - -Eighteen months had not made much change in Errington, save that he -was a little stouter, but he looked as handsome as ever, only there -was a discontented look on his face, as if he were thoroughly -dissatisfied with his life, as indeed he was. He had evidently ridden -over, as he was in a riding dress, and he advanced towards Eustace -with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his hunting crop with -which he carelessly switched his boots. - -"Well, dear old fellow, I am glad to see you again," he said, coming -to his cousin and holding out his hand. - -"You are very kind, Guy," faltered Eustace, quietly shaking hands, -with the feeling of remorse again dominant in his breast. "I was going -over to see you this afternoon." - -"Were you?" said Errington, listlessly. "Oh, yes!--of course, but I -heard at the village you had come to Castle Grim, so, as I was -mounted, I thought I'd come on here. I've left my horse with that old -Caliban of yours and came down to look you up." - -"I'm very glad to see you," returned Eustace, turning away his head. -"Shall we go back to the house?" - -"No, not yet," responded Errington, throwing himself down on the dry -sand. "Let us talk here. I want to speak to you privately, Eustace, and -this is the best place." - -Gartney knew in his own mind that Errington wanted to speak about his -wife, so sat down near the recumbent form of his cousin, and waited -for him to begin the conversation. - -Nothing was said, however, until, after a moment's silence, Guy looked -up at Gartney's face with a frown. - -"Good Lord, man, have you left your tongue behind in Arabia?" he said -roughly, leaning his cheek on his hand. - -Eustace laughed a little bitterly. - -"Perhaps it would have been as well if I had done so," he said -deliberately, "it might save my soul the burden of many lies." - -"As whimsical as ever!" - -"Do you think so? No doubt! Solitude is rather apt to confirm a man in -his eccentric habits. By-the-way, you have not told me how your wife -is?" - -"Quite well," replied Errington shortly. - -"And the son and heir, on whose birth I must congratulate you?" - -"Oh, he's all right." - -Guy spoke this last sentence in such a bitter tone that Eustace could -not help turning round and looking at him. He was gazing moodily at -the sand, but glanced upward, as he felt rather than saw that Gartney -had turned round, and smiled ironically. - -"You seem surprised?" he said at length. - -"I am surprised," answered Eustace deliberately. "When I saw you in -Italy, you spoke very differently--very differently indeed." - -"Ah, but you see that was in my character of a newly-married man," -sneered Guy, picking up a handful of sand and letting it stream -through his fingers. "All that sort of thing is over." - -"And why is it over?" asked Eustace, coldly. "Eighteen months can -scarcely make so much difference----" - -"It makes every difference--in my case." - -"Why?" - -Guy sat up suddenly, clasped his hands round his knees, and staring at -the ocean, answered in a dreary voice utterly devoid of any feeling: - -"I daresay it will sound ridiculous to a man like yourself, Eustace, -and no doubt you and the world will laugh at me when you know my -reason. But I cannot help it. I've fought against the feeling, as much -as ever I could. I've made all sorts of excuses for my wife, but it's -all of no use." - -"I'm quite in the dark as to what you are talking about." - -"I'm talking about my wife," said Guy deliberately. "You know how much -in love I was with her when we married?" - -"And are you not in love with her now?" - -"Yes, I am!" - -"Then what have you to complain of?" - -"Complain of!" echoed Errington with a bitter laugh. "I have nothing -to complain of, according to the views of the world. Alizon is a -perfect wife, a perfect mother, a perfect woman in every way. In fact, -that is what I do complain of! She's too perfect." - -"Good Heavens, man!" cried Eustace, now thoroughly exasperated. "I -don't understand a word you are saying. If Alizon is perfect, both as -wife and mother, what more do you want?" - -"I want love," returned Guy, in a low, deep voice, the blood rushing -to his face. "I want love and affection. I'm starving for one kind -word and I cannot obtain it. It sounds ridiculous, does it not, for a -man of my years to whimper about love like a silly schoolboy? But I -cannot help it. I married Alizon in order to have a true and loving -wife, and I find I am tied to a statue." - -"But I cannot understand----" - -"Of course, you can't," cried Errington vehemently, leaping to his -feet, "how could you? a cold-blooded man, who can do without love and -affection, who doesn't care two straws about any human being, and only -adores the phantom creations of his own brain. Great Heaven!" said the -unfortunate young man, staring wildly up at the leaden-coloured sky, -"if I were only a man like that how happy I should be. But I'm not, -I'm only a fellow who wants to be loved by his wife, but even that is -denied me. I married Alizon for love. I loved her then, I love her -now, and she cares no more for me than she does for yonder ocean." - -"But surely the child is a bond of union between you?" - -"The child!" repeated Errington fiercely, "no! the child, which should -have drawn us closer together, has put us farther asunder than ever. I -longed for a child to succeed me in the estates, and, now I have -obtained my desire, I wish it had never been born. I hate the child! -It seems horrible, Eustace, but I do. I hate it." - -"Don't talk like that, Guy," cried Eustace, springing to his feet, and -laying his hand on his cousin's arm, "it's terrible--your own child!" - -"My own child! my own child," repeated Guy with senseless reiteration. -"Yes! my own child." - -He thrust his hands into his pockets, and abruptly turning away, -walked a short distance in order to conceal his emotion, while Eustace -stood silently in the same place, wondering at his cousin's grief over -what appeared to him to be such a trivial matter. It might seem so to -him, but it certainly was not to Guy, whose whole nature was smarting -under a sense of neglect and injury. - -After a few moments Errington returned, with a hard look on his face, -and a cynical laugh on his lips. - -"I beg your pardon, Eustace," he said ceremoniously, "for troubling -you about these affairs, but if I hadn't someone to talk to about it, -I believe I should go mad. I went up to Aunt Jelly the other day, and -told her what I am now telling you, but she didn't seem to think much -of it." - -"You make a mistake there," said Gartney, quickly. "Aunt Jelly thought -a great deal about it. In fact, it is because she urged me to see what -I could do, that I am down here." - -"You can't do anything," replied Errington listlessly, "no one can do -anything. Alizon and myself are an ill-wedded pair. The quick coupled -with the dead. She is a perfect wife, a perfect mother, and I, in the -eyes of the world possessing a treasure in the matrimonial way, am the -most miserable devil alive." - -Eustace felt a sudden pang of compunction at the idea of the misery he -proposed to add to the unhappy young man's life, and after a short -struggle between the generous and selfish instincts of his nature, the -former triumphed, and he determined to do his best to reconcile -husband and wife. With this new resolve in his mind, he approached -Guy, and taking him by the arm, walked slowly across the beach with -him towards Castle Grim. - -"Come to the house, old fellow," he said kindly. "You are working -yourself into a perfect state over nothing. Have luncheon with me, and -then we'll drive over together, and I'll do my best to put things -right." - -"Impossible," said Guy, gloomily, "quite impossible." - -"How so?" - -"It's easy enough explained! When I married my wife, I thought her -coldness would wear off, but it did not. To all my love and -tenderness, she was as cold as ice. Kind enough in a cold-blooded sort -of way, but as far as any answering tenderness or feeling of sympathy, -she might as well have been a statue. That was hard enough to bear, as -you may imagine, but when the child was born it was much worse. She -isn't a statue now, by any means, but her whole soul is wrapped up in -the child. She's never away from him, she never stops talking about -him, she lives in the nursery, and never comes near me. If I offer to -caress her, she frowns and resents any display of affection. All her -love, all her heart, is given to the child, and I've got to be content -with cold looks, and about five minutes' conversation a day. I hardly -ever see her, sometimes she doesn't even come to meals, and when I -remonstrated with her, she turned on me in a cold fury, and asked me -if I wanted her to neglect the child. What am I to do, Eustace? I -can't force her to love me against her will. I can't keep her from the -child. There seems nothing for me to do, but to be satisfied with the -life I am leading now, and it's Hell, Eustace, Hell. It's a big word -to describe a little thing, isn't it? The world would laugh at me if -they heard me talk, but no one can understand it, unless they undergo -it." - -He spoke with great emotion, and although Eustace failed in a great -measure to understand his deep feelings on the subject, he could not -but see that his cousin had great cause to speak. A young man of -ardent nature, to whom love is a necessity, finding himself tied to a -woman who chilled every demonstration of affection, and lavished all -her adoration on the child of which he was the father--it was truly a -pitiable situation, and yet one at which the world would laugh, -because the tragic elements therein were so simple. - -Gartney listened in silence to the long speech, and saying nothing in -reply, made his cousin have some luncheon, while he thought over the -whole affair. - -"I won't speak to Mrs. Veilsturm," he thought to himself, pouring out -Guy a glass of wine, "if I can I'll bring them together again and then -leave England for ever." - -During the luncheon, he talked gaily enough to Errington, cheering him -up by every means in his power, making up his mind in the meantime as -to what was the best course to pursue. - -When the meal was finished, he ordered Javelrack to bring round a -horse, and, with Sir Guy, was soon trotting along the road on the way -to Errington Hall. - -"Now, listen to me, Guy," he said, when they were some distance on -their journey. "I think you exaggerate a good deal of this thing. It's -not half so bad as you make out. Alizon is a young mother, and you -know they always adore their first-born to the exclusion of everything -else. I don't think she is naturally of a cold nature, and when her -first outburst of joy on the child is exhausted, she will, doubtless, -give you that love which is your due, and which you so much need. But, -in the meantime, it is foolish of you to remain at the Hall, as you -will only work yourself up into a frenzy over nothing. Solitude is the -worst thing in the world for a man in your condition, so the best -thing you can do is to come up to town with me for a week or so." - -"But I cannot leave Alizon alone," objected Errington in perplexity. - -"Why not? She won't be lonely, as she has the child, and besides, if -she neglects you as you say, it is because you are always near her. A -few weeks' absence would make a wonderful change in her demeanour, I -can tell you." - -"Do you really think so?" asked poor Guy, his face lighting up. - -"I'm certain of it. In spite of your years, my dear boy, I'm afraid -you don't know much about feminine nature. Learn then, that to make a -woman value a thing truly, it is necessary to put it out of her reach. -Immediately it is in that position, then she'll strain every nerve to -get it back again. Therefore, if you leave your wife, and neglect her -for a time, she will begin to grow jealous, and see how wrongly she -has treated you. When you come back again, she will alter her conduct, -and things will be all right." - -"I don't believe in that prescription," retorted Guy, sharply. - -"Don't you? It does sound rather difficult of belief, but it's true -for all that. And I can tell you of a case in question, that of -Victoria Sheldon and Macjean." - -"I don't understand----" - -"No! then I'll explain. If you will carry your memory back to the time -we were in Italy, you will remember that Otterburn was very much in -love with Victoria Sheldon." - -"To tell you the truth, I've almost forgotten Otterburn himself. Was -he not your companion then?" - -"Yes!--we parted at Venice, and I saw him again for the first time -last week. Well, Otterburn was so much in love with Victoria that he -proposed. She refused him, so Otterburn, having a spirit of his own, -departed, and has never seen her since. Finding, therefore, that he -stood on his dignity, she fell in love with him, and I feel certain, -that if Otterburn chooses to ask her again, she will say yes." - -"But will he choose?" - -"He will! They love one another devotedly, and each is ignorant of the -other's feelings, but when they meet everything will be arranged -satisfactorily. So you see, my dear Guy, the value of absence, for if -Otterburn hadn't gone away, he certainly would not have won the heart -of Victoria Sheldon." - -"And you advise me to do the same?" - -"I do, decidedly! Leave your wife for a few weeks, and if she has any -love for you--which she must have, or else she would not have married -you--she will miss you hourly, and when you come back--well the game -will be in your own hands." - -Guy did not reply for a few minutes, but urged his horse into a -canter, and the two rode along for some distance in silence. When -nearing Denfield, however, Errington suddenly drew his horse up, and -turned his head towards Eustace. - -"I will take your advice," he said abruptly, "it can do no harm, and -it may do good." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. -FROM THE WIFE'S POINT OF VIEW. - - "What is the purest love on earth? - A maiden's love for summer mirth? - A lover's worship of his idol - When bells ring out his happy bridal? - A patriot's when on foreign strand - He suffers for his native land? - A poet's or musician's love - For thoughts inspired from above? - Ah, no, the love most undefiled - Is that the mother gives the child." - - -Lady Errington was as usual in the nursery, sitting in a low chair -near the window, watching "Sammy" playing on the floor. "Sammy," -otherwise Henry Gerald Guy Errington, was now a year old, and looked -what he was, a remarkably fine child, of which any mother might be -proud. "Proud," however, is too weak a word to use in connection with -Alizon's love for her child, seeing that this small scrap of humanity -rolling about at her feet was worshipped by her with an affection -absolutely idolatrous. All her ideas, her thoughts, her affections, -were bound up in Sammy, and had it been a question of death for mother -or child, there is no doubt that Alizon would have cheerfully yielded -up her own life to save that of her baby. - -Nor was Sammy undeserving of worship, for he was really a beautiful -boy, with the frank expression of his father's handsome face, and a -healthy, sturdy little frame, which seemed to defy disease. During his -twelve months of existence he had been very healthy, and even in the -delicate matter of cutting his teeth had been more successful than the -generality of infants. With his rosy little face, his big, blue eyes -and soft yellow curls of hair, he looked as an obsequious nurse -expressed it, "a perfect picter." That worthy lady, Mrs. Tasker by -name, and fat, plethoric and red-faced by nature, was at the end of -the nursery attending to some articles of the young gentleman's -toilet, and Alizon had her child all to herself, for which privilege -she was profoundly grateful, as Mrs. Tasker was a terrible autocrat. - -A wonderful change had come over her since she had become a mother, -for the statue had become a woman, the iceberg had melted, and in all -her life she never looked so womanly as she did at this moment. Her -face, flushed a delicate rose-colour, was sparkling with animation, -her lips were parted in a merry laugh, and her eyes, soft and tender, -absolutely seemed to devour the child as she bent forward to play with -him. - -Sammy was sitting like an infant Marius among the ruins of a Carthage -of toys, for around him on all sides lay the evidences of his -destructive capabilities. A woolly quadruped, something between a dog -and a cow, dignified with the name of "Ba-lamb," lay on its back, -piteously extending one mangled leg, the other three having been -bitten off, and an indecent india-rubber doll, with no clothes and a -squeak, was being dragged about by a string. There were several other -things, such as a drum (broken), a toy soldier (head missing), a -wooden Noah (paint sucked off), and last, but not least, a hunting -crop of his father's, which was Sammy's special delight, because it -wasn't supposed to be proper for him to have it. - -Sammy at present was hammering "Eliza" (the doll aforesaid) with the -whip, when suddenly discovering that one shoe had come off in his -exertions, he rendered things equal by pulling off the other shoe, and -then chuckled with delight at his success. - -"Naughty Sammy," reproved his mother, bending down to pick up the -shoes. "Mustn't do that--ah, bad child!" - -The bad child, attracted by the fact that both shoes were out of his -reach, made a snatch at them, with the result that he over-balanced -himself, and came down heavily on his head. He was undecided whether -to howl or not, when his mother settled the question by picking him up -with a cry of pity, whereat, knowing the right thing to do, he howled -vigorously. - -"Mother's own precious! mother's own darling!" lamented Alizon, -rocking him to and fro on her breast; upon which Sammy, finding the -rocking pleasant, roared louder than ever, whereupon Mrs. Tasker -hurried forward to give her opinion. - -"Why, whatever's the matter, my lady?" she asked anxiously. "He hasn't -swallowed anything has he?" - -This was Mrs. Tasker's constant nightmare, for Sammy had an -ostrich-like capacity for swallowing anything that came handy, and -disposed of all sorts of things in this manner, to the great detriment -of his stomach. - -"He's hurt his head, Nurse," explained Lady Errington, anxiously, -while Sammy, satisfied at being the centre of attraction, stopped -roaring. "His poor head. He fell over on the floor." - -"He's allay's doin' that," said Nurse in despair. "I nivir did see -sich a topply child. Feathers is lead to his upsettings." - -The comparison was not a particularly happy one, but it served Mrs. -Tasker, who thereupon wanted to take Sammy from his mother, a -proceeding to which Lady Errington strongly objected. - -"No, don't Nurse please! let me hold him a little time! See he's quite -good now." - -And indeed, Sammy was now behaving like an angel, for being attracted -by a small gold brooch his mother wore, he was standing up on his -sturdy legs, plucking at it with chubby fingers, and gurgling to -himself in a most satisfied manner. - -"I nivir did see such a dear child," remarked Mrs. Tasker admiringly. -"'Is 'owls is hoff as soon as on. Why the last as I nussed, my lady, -were that givin' to hollerin' as you might 'ave thought I'd put 'im to -bed with a pin-cushing. But as for Master Sammy, well----" and casting -up her little eyes to the ceiling, Mrs. Tasker expressed in pantomime, -with a pair of dumpy red hands, that words failed her. - -"He's an angel! an angel!" murmured Alizon fondly, covering the rosy -little face with kisses. "Oh, nurse, isn't he perfect?" - -Nurse expressed her firm conviction that there never was nor never -would be such a perfectly angelic child, and then the two women -indulged in a lavish display of grovelling affection, with many -inarticulated words, tender fondlings and indistinct kisses, all of -which Sammy accepted with the greatest calmness as his just due. - -At this moment a servant entered the nursery to inform Lady Errington -that Sir Guy and Mr. Eustace Gartney were waiting for her in the Dutch -room, at which Alizon was in despair, for it was now the time when -Sammy took his airing, and therefore one of the most interesting -events of the day. However, much as she disliked leaving the child, -she could hardly refuse to see Eustace without appearing pointedly -rude, so sent the servant away with the information that she would be -down immediately. - -"I won't be longer than I can help, Nurse," she said dolefully, -delivering Sammy into the extended arms of Mrs. Tasker. "Be sure you -take the greatest care in dressing him." - -"Well, my lady," said Mrs. Tasker, with scathing irony, "I 'opes as -I've dressed a child afore." - -"Yes! Yes! of course," replied Lady Errington hastily, for she had a -wholesome fear of the autocrat's temper, "but you know how anxious I -am! and his bottle, Nurse! take care it's warm, and Nurse! please -don't go out until I send up a message." - -"Will it be long?" demanded Mrs. Tasker determinedly, "because there -ain't much sun, and this blessed child must git as much as he can. It -makes 'im grow." - -"No! only a few minutes," said Alizon quickly. "You see, Nurse, I'll -want to show him to Mr. Gartney. Take the greatest care--the very -greatest care--goodbye, mother's angel--kiss mother, dearest." - -Sammy opened his button of a mouth and bestowed a damp caress on his -mother, which was his idea of kissing, and then Lady Errington, -yielding to stern necessity, withdrew slowly, with her eyes fixed on -the child to the last, and even when she closed the nursery door, she -strained her ears to hear him crowing. - -Both gentlemen were waiting in the Dutch room, which received its name -from the fact that it looked out on to the prim garden, with the rows -of box-wood, the beds of gaudy tulips and the fantastically clipped -yew trees. Guy was in a much more cheerful mood than usual, as he -thought that the panacea prescribed by Eustace would make an end of -all his troubles, and Gartney himself experienced a wonderful feeling -of exhilaration at the near prospect of seeing his visionary lady of -Como once more. - -The soft sweep of a robe, the turning of the handle of the door, and -in another moment she stood before him, a fair, gracious woman, who -advanced slowly with outstretched hand and a kindly smile. - -"How do you do, Mr. Gartney, after all this time?" she said sweetly, -clasping his extended hand. "I thought we were never going to see you -again." - -Was this the pale, cold Undine he had last seen at Como, more ethereal -than the visioned spirits of romance? Was this the perfect, bloodless -statue of whom Guy complained? This lovely breathing woman, aflush -with all the tender grace of motherhood, with delicately pink cheeks, -eyes brilliant with animation, and a voice rich and mellow as the -sound of a silver bell. Yes! his prophecy had come true; the haunting, -hungry look had departed from her eyes, for in the full satisfaction -of the strong maternal instinct the thin, unsubstantial ghost of -maidenhood had disappeared; and in this beautiful woman, aglow with -exuberant vitality, he recognized the reality of the visionary -creation of his dreaming brain. - -"Did you think I was lost in Arabian solitudes?" he said, recovering -from his momentary fit of abstraction. "I'm afraid I'm not the sort of -man to be lost. I always come back again, like a modern Prodigal Son." - -Alizon laughed when he spoke thus, but months afterwards she -recollected those careless words. At present, however, she sat down -near him, and began to talk, while Guy, who had uttered no word since -she entered the room, stood silently at the window, staring out at the -quaint Dutch garden. - -"Now I suppose you are going to stay at home, and tell your tales from -your own chimney corner?" said Lady Errington, clasping her hands -loosely on her knees. - -Eustace shook his head. - -"I thought so the other day, but now--I'm going on an exploring -expedition up the Nile." - -"You must have the blood of the Wandering Jew in your veins." - -"Or Cain!--he was rather fond of travelling, wasn't he?" - -"Don't be profane, Mr. Gartney," said Alizon, trying to look serious. -"But really you ought to settle down and marry." - -"Yes, shouldn't he?" observed Guy caustically, turning round. "Go in -for the delights of the family circle." - -"That all depends whether he would appreciate them or not," replied -Lady Errington coldly, flashing an indignant look at her husband, upon -which Eustace to avoid unpleasantness made a hasty observation. - -"By the way, talking of the family circle, I have to congratulate you, -Lady Errington, on the birth of a son." - -Alizon's eyes, which had hardened while looking at Guy, grew wondrous -soft and tender. - -"Yes!--he is the dearest child in the world--everyone loves him except -his father." - -"What nonsense Alizon!" said Guy, hastily turning towards his wife. -"I'm very fond of him indeed, but one gets tired of babies." - -"I daresay, but not of their own children," answered Lady Errington -indignantly. "You must see him, Mr. Gartney, and I'm sure you'll say -you never saw such a lovely child." - -She arose from her seat and left the room quickly, while Eustace -looked reproachfully at Guy. - -"You shouldn't talk like that," he said quietly, "I don't wonder you -find things disagreeable if you sneer at the child." - -"I don't sneer at the child," retorted Guy sullenly, "but I'm tired of -hearing nothing but baby chatter all day long." - -"Perhaps, if you were as attentive to the baby as your wife, it would -be advisable." - -"Nonsense! I can't be on my knees before a cradle all day, and besides -Alizon won't let me come near it. One would think I was going to -murder the child the way she looks at me when I lay a finger on it." - -"Mr. Gartney," said Lady Errington's voice at the door. "Come upstairs -with me to the nursery." - -"Can't I come to Paradise also?" observed Guy wistfully as his cousin -was leaving the room. - -"Certainly, come if you care to," replied Alizon coldly. - -"No, thank you," replied Errington abruptly, his brow growing black -with rage at the coldness of the invitation. - -"I'll stay here till you return." - -Lady Errington went upstairs slowly with Eustace, with a look of anger -on her face. - -"You see," she said bitterly, pausing at the nursery door, "he does -not care a bit about his child." - -"Oh, I think he does," answered Eustace discreetly, "but he thought -you did not want him to come." - -"I am always glad for him to come," remarked Alizon coldly, "but when -he does he only makes disagreeable remarks about the boy, so his -visits are never very pleasant." - -Things were decidedly wrong between this young couple, and they so -thoroughly misunderstood one another that Eustace was at a loss how to -set them right. He was saved the trouble of further thought, however, -by Lady Errington opening the door and preceding him into the nursery. - -"There he is, Mr. Gartney," said the young mother, "look at my -precious." - -"My precious," in all the glory of white hat, white cape and woolly -gloves and shoes, was seated in his perambulator ready to go out for -his airing, and Mrs. Tasker, with the under-nurse, were both attached -to the wheels of his chariot. At the sight of Gartney's bronzed face, -he set up a howl, and was only pacified by being taken out of his -carriage into the protecting arms of his mother. - -"The complete Madonna now," thought Eustace, as he looked at the -flushed face of the young mother bending over the rosy one of the -child. - -"Did he cry then! sweetest! What do you think of him, Mr. Gartney?" - -"There can be but one opinion," replied that gentleman solemnly, "he's -a very beautiful child, and you may well be proud of him, Lady -Errington." - -"Did you ever see a finer child?" demanded Alizon, insatiable for -praise. - -"No, never," answered Eustace, which was true enough, as he hated -babies and never looked at them unless forced to. "Hi, baby, chuck! -chuck!" - -"Goo! goo! goo!" gurgled Master Errington, and stretched out his -chubby arms to Gartney, intimating thereby a desire to improve his -acquaintance with that gentleman. - -"Oh, he's quite taken to you," said Lady Errington gaily. "Just feel -what a weight he is." - -So Eustace was forced to take the child in his arms, and looked as -awkward as a man usually does when burdened with a baby. Ultimately -Sammy was returned to his mother's arms, and she took him down the -stairs, while the footman and Mrs. Tasker between them carried down -the light wickerwork perambulator. - -"Wheel him up and down the terrace for a time, Nurse," said Alizon, -when the child was once more replaced in his little carriage. "I'll be -out soon." - -They were standing at the door, and Lady Errington waited there until -Mrs. Tasker vanished with the baby round the corner on to the wide -terrace, when she turned to Eustace with a sigh. - -"Does that mean that you are anxious to get to the baby?" asked -Eustace, raising his eyebrows, as they walked back to the Dutch room. - -"Oh no, really," replied Lady Errington, with polite mendacity, "do -you think I am never happy away from Sammy?" - -"Are you?" he asked, eyeing her keenly. - -Alizon flushed a bright crimson, laughed in an uneasy manner and -fidgeted nervously. - -"What a shame to push me into a corner!" she said at length, raising -her clear eyes to his face. "No!--I am never happy away from my child. -I am so afraid of any accident happening! Dear me, what has become of -Guy?" - -They had entered the Dutch room by this time and found it empty, but -on the table afternoon tea was laid out, so Alizon sat down to pour -out Eustace a cup. Gartney looked at her furtively as she did this, -and thought he had never seen her look so charming. - -"Lucky Guy," he said at length, taking the cup she handed to him. - -"Because of Sammy?" she asked, looking at him with a bright smile. - -"No! because of you!" replied Eustace boldly, whereat she shook her -blonde head gaily, though her lips wore a somewhat scornful look. - -"I'm afraid Guy doesn't think so!" - -Eustace judged this a good opening from which to lead up to his -attempt at reconciliation, so spoke out at once. - -"Lady Errington, don't you think you are rather hard upon Guy?" - -She turned her face towards him sharply. - -"Why do you ask that?" she demanded coldly. - -"I am afraid it is a liberty," answered Eustace slowly, "but you see I -am Guy's cousin, so the near relationship must excuse my apparent -rudeness. But the fact is you don't seem perfectly happy." - -"I am happy, perfectly happy I have everything in the world I -desire--health, wealth and my darling child." - -"I see you don't count your husband among your blessings," said -Eustace. - -"Oh, yes! I'm very fond of Guy. He is the father of my child!" - -"Is that the only reason you are fond of him?" - -"Really, Mr. Gartney, I do not see by what right you speak like this -to me," she said with great hauteur. - -"I beg your pardon," said Eustace, with cold politeness. "I was wrong -to do so." - -Lady Errington began to twist her marriage ring round and round, as if -she wanted to pull it off, and a frown passed across her mobile face. -Eustace, versed in the ways of her sex, knew that those signs -betokened further remarks on her part, so he wisely said nothing, but -waited for the outburst, which came exactly as he expected. - -"I am very fond of Guy," she asserted defiantly. "I would not have -married him if I had not been fond of him. What makes you think I'm -not? I suppose Aunt Jelly has been saying something?" - -"My dear Lady Errington," responded Gartney replacing, his cup on the -table, "I had no right to speak as I did. I beg your pardon." - -"Please answer my question, Mr. Gartney," she said angrily, a red spot -of colour burning on either cheek. "Has Aunt Jelly been saying -anything?" - -Gartney was not the man to remain in any difficulty where a lie could -help him out of it, so he replied to her question with the greatest -deliberation. - -"Aunt Jelly has been saying nothing. The only reason that makes me -speak is that you seem to me to be fonder of the baby than of your own -husband." - -The murder was out, and he was prepared for a storm, but it did not -come, as Alizon had quite as much self-control as himself. - -"Well, and what is wrong in that?" she said coldly. "I do love my -child more than my husband, any mother would." - -"Isn't that rather hard on the husband?" - -"No! I do not see it! Of course, I love Guy very much--much more than -he loves his child," she finished with a burst of passion. - -"I think Guy is very fond of the child," said Eustace quietly. - -"He is not," she replied angrily, rising to her feet; "he grudges -every hour I spend with the boy. He would have me neglect the child -in order to be always with him. But there, what is the use of -talking?--neither you nor Guy can understand the feelings of a -mother." - -This remark closed the discussion so far as Eustace was concerned, for -he deemed it useless to argue with a woman who was so blind to -everything except her maternal feelings, so he hastened to turn the -conversation. - -"You are right there, Lady Errington," he said good-humouredly, "I am -a bachelor, so know absolutely nothing about these things. But Guy -looks a little knocked up, so I want to take him to town with me." - -"Oh, certainly," replied Alizon indifferently. "A run up to town will -do him good. I want Guy to enjoy himself in every way. But now, Mr. -Gartney, excuse me for a time, as I must go and see how the baby is -getting on. Will you stay to dinner?" - -"No, thank you," said Eustace, rising and holding out his hand. "I -have some letters to write this evening, but I will come over -to-morrow and see you before I go back to town." - -"That's right," answered Lady Errington, smiling as she pressed his -hand. "Goodbye at present. Come to-morrow, and I will show you the -baby again." - -She went to the door, when it suddenly opened, and Guy entered. - -"Oh, here you are, Guy," she said sweetly, as he stood holding the -door open for her to pass through, "I was just going to send for you. -Mr. Gartney is going away." - -"And where are you going?" asked Guy, with a half-smile on his stern -face. - -"Can you ask?" she said archly. "To the baby, of course." And with a -laugh she vanished through the doorway, while Guy, with a scowl, -pushed the door roughly to, and strode across the room to Eustace. - -"Well?" he demanded curtly. - -"Well," answered Eustace coolly, "I did what I could--but of course, -my dear fellow, it's a very delicate matter, and really I had no right -to interfere in any way." - -"What did she say?" demanded Guy roughly, turning as white as a sheet. - -"She said you had better go to Town with me," answered Gartney -reluctantly. - -Guy burst out with a harsh laugh, and turned towards the window with a -gesture of despair. - -"Good God! and I'm breaking my heart for that statue." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. -MRS. VEILSTURM'S "AT HOME." - - "I hate 'At Homes,' they're simply Inquisitions - To torture human beings into fits; - A mixture of plebeians and patricians, - On whom in judgment Mrs. Grundy sits; - Sonatas played by second-rate musicians, - And milk-and-water jokes by would-be wits; - Such squallings, scandals, crush of men and ladies-- - It's like a family party down in Hades." - - -As this was the first victory he had ever obtained over his -egotistical nature, Eustace felt most unjustifiably proud, and viewed -his actions with great self-complacency, therefore the good results of -such victory merely became egotism in another form. His attitude -towards Lady Errington had certainly altered, but not for the better, -as the fantastic adoration he had formerly felt towards a vision of -his own creation had changed to an earthly love for the real woman, in -which there was mingled more of sensuality than platonism. Eustace was -certainly not a coarse man in any sense of the word, but he had -regarded the visionary Lady Errington so long as his own special -property, withheld from him by the accident of her marriage with -Guy, that when he saw the flesh-and-blood woman _riant_ in all her -newly-found vitality, he viewed her as a Sultan might view a fresh -odalisque added to his _serail_. The pale lily had changed into the -rich red rose, and the spiritual being of his fevered imagination had -taken the form of a beautiful woman, full of temptation to an ardent -lover. - -Any sensible man would have seen from the short conversation he had -had with Lady Errington that love for the child filled her heart to -the exclusion of all else, but Eustace, with supreme egotism, deemed -that she loved the child simply because her husband was not worthy of -her affection and when he deigned to worship her she would certainly -forget the pale passion of maternal love under the fierce ardour of -his devotion. - -With this idea in his mind it was no wonder he felt that he was -exercising great self-denial in trying to bring husband and wife -together, and in renouncing his desire to gain possession of a woman -for whom he felt an unreasoning admiration. However, being determined -to carry out this new mood of asceticism to the end, he took Guy up to -Town with him, and tried to amuse that moody young man to the best of -his power, which was a somewhat unsatisfactory task. - -Seeing that he had abandoned his scheme to gain Alizon's love, he did -not intend to speak to Mrs. Veilsturm, as he had now no desire to -entangle Guy with another woman, but as he was going to an "At Home" -given by Cleopatra, he did not hesitate to take his cousin with him in -the ordinary course of things. - -Eustace knew more about Mrs. Veilsturm than she cared he should know, -as he had met her at Lima, in South America, when she was--well, not -Mrs. Veilsturm--and he judged a woman of her harpy-like nature would -not strive to annex anyone but a rich man. Guy was not rich, so -Eustace thought she would leave him alone--a most fatal mistake, as he -had unconsciously placed Cleopatra's revenge within her grasp. Mrs. -Veilsturm had neither forgiven nor forgotten the deadly insult offered -to her by Lady Errington, but hitherto, owing to Guy's devotion to his -wife, had been unable to entangle him in any way. Now, however, Fate -was playing into her hands, and when she received a note from Eustace, -asking if he might bring his cousin to the house in Park Lane she felt -a savage delight at such a stroke of unforeseen luck, but, being too -clever a woman to compromise her scheme in any way, wrote a cold reply -to Mr. Gartney, telling him he could bring Sir Guy Errington--if he -liked. - -Of course Eustace did like, and as Guy, who had quite forgotten all -about the episode between Mrs. Veilsturm and his wife, listlessly -acquiesced, they both arrived at Cleopatra's "At Home" somewhere about -five o'clock. - -"I seem to remember the name," said Guy, as they struggled up the -crowded stairs. - -"You certainly ought to," responded Eustace, "seeing that she is about -the best-known person in Town." - -"Ah, but you see I'm a country cousin now," said Guy with a faint -smile. "Hang it! what a crush there is here." - -"That's the art of giving an 'At Home,'" answered Eustace drily, "you -put fifty people who hate one another in a room built to hold twenty, -and when they're thoroughly uncomfortable you give them bad music, -weak tea, and thin bread-and-butter. After an hour of these delights -they go away in a rollicking humour to another Sardine Party. Oh, it's -most amusing, I assure you, and--well, here we are, and here is Mrs. -Veilsturm." - -Cleopatra had certainly not lost any of her charms, and looked as -imperious and majestic as ever, standing in the centre of her guests, -arrayed in a startling costume of black and yellow, which gave her a -strange, barbaric appearance. There was no doubt that she wore too -many diamonds, but this was due to her African love for ornaments, and -with every movement of her body the gems flashed out sparkles of light -in the mellow twilight of the room. - -A foreign musician, with long hair and pale face, was playing some -weird Eastern dance on the piano as Eustace entered and bowed before -her, and it suddenly flashed across his mind that this sensuously -beautiful woman was quite out of place amid these cold English blondes -and undecided brunettes. She ought to be tossing her slender arms in a -tropical forest, to the shrill music of pipes and muffled throbbing of -serpent-skin drums, whirling in the mystic gyrations of some sacred -dance before the shrine of a veiled goddess. The sickly odour of -pastilles, which she was fond of burning in her drawing-room, assisted -this fancy, and he was only roused from this strange vision by the -mellow voice of his hostess bidding him welcome, as she touched his -hand with her slender fingers. - -"I am glad to see you, Mr. Gartney," she said, with a slow smile; "it -is indeed kind of you to call so soon after your return. And your -friend, whom you were to bring?" - -"Is here," replied Eustace, presenting his cousin, "Sir Guy -Errington." - -Guy bowed, feeling somewhat bewildered at her rich loveliness, and, -with a swift glance from under her heavy eye-lashes, she shook hands -with him. - -"Mr. Gartney's friends are mine also--but you are welcome on your own -account, Sir Guy." - -"You are very kind," answered Errington mechanically, "I think the -obligation is on my side, however." - -"He's a fool," decided Mrs. Veilsturm in her own mind, as she looked -at his fresh, simple face; "I can twist him round my finger, and I -will, if it's only to spite his wife." - -At this moment Eustace was seized upon by Mr. Dolser, who was on the -look-out for copy, and, much against his will, was dragged to the -other end of the room by the pertinacious little man, leaving his -cousin in conversation with Mrs. Veilsturm. - -The room was quite full of all sorts and conditions of men and women. -Cleopatra knew everybody in the literary, artistic, and musical world, -and they all came to her receptions, so that it was quite a treat to -find somebody there who had done nothing. This happened on occasions -when someone who had not done anything was brought to worship someone -who had. There were plenty of lady novelists in all shades, from -blonde to brunette, picking up ideas for their next three-volume -publication; pale young poets, with long hair and undecided legs, who -wrote rondels, triolets, and ballads, hinting, in wonderful rhyme, at -things fantastical; dramatists, young and old, full of three-act plays -and hatred of managers and critics. A haggard young man of the -impressionist school drooped in a corner, discoursing of Art, in the -newest jargon of the studios, to the last fashionable manageress, who -did not understand a word he was saying, but pretended to do so, as -she wanted him to paint her picture. Everyone present had an eye to -business, and each was pursuing his or her aim with vicious -pertinacity. - -"Mixed lot, ain't they?--yes!" said Mr. Dolser superciliously, when -he had got the unhappy Eustace pinned up in a corner; "don't they -cackle about themselves too--rather See that stout old party in the -corner, in the damaged millinery--new novelist, you know--disease -school--Baudelaire without his genius--wrote 'The Body Snatcher' ---yes!--read it?" - -"No," responded Eustace, shortly, "and I don't intend to." - -"It is rather a corker for weak nerves," said "The Pepper Box" -proprietor, affably; "there's Gibbles--perfect genius as critic; -always slashes a book without reading it. He's destroyed more -reputations than any one I know. Yes! Ah! fancy Maniswarkoffi -being here--pianist, you know. English, only they wouldn't have -him under his real name of Grubs, so he went abroad and dug up -his present jawbreaker. Draws money now, and smashes two pianos a -week--beautiful!" - -In this way Mr. Dolser artlessly prattled along, destroying a -reputation every time he opened his mouth, much to the disgust of -Gartney, who wanted to get away. - -"Excuse me," he said, in despair, "but I see a friend over there." - -"Ah! do you really?" replied Dolser, putting up his eyeglass. "Oh, -Macjean, isn't it? Yes. Just come back from America. Had a row with pa -because he wanted him to marry some Scotch lassie. Yes." - -"You seem to know all about it?" - -"Yes, yes; oh, yes. Business, you know--and by Jove! talking about -that, I want an interview with you about your book." - -"Then you won't get one." - -"That's all you know," retorted Mr. Dolser. "What? You won't tell me -anything? Never mind, I'll make up a few fairy tales. If they ain't -true that's your look-out. Ta, ta! Look in 'The Pepper Box' next week. -Jove! there's Quibbles. 'Cuse me, I want to ask about Bundy's -divorce," and he disappeared into the crowd. - -It was no use being angry with the little man, as he was so very -good-natured with all his impudence, so Eustace merely smiled, and -moving across the room to Otterburn, touched him on the shoulder. - -"You here?" he said, in a tone of glad surprise. "I _am_ glad! I was -just going away." - -"Not enjoying yourself?" observed Eustace, leaning against the wall. - -"Can any one enjoy himself here?" retorted Otterburn in disgust. "I'm -tired of hearing people talk about themselves; and if they talk about -anyone else----" - -"They abuse them thoroughly. My dear boy, it's the way of the world. -By the way, you got my note about Victoria?" - -Otterburn coloured. - -"Yes; I'm very much obliged to you," he replied, in his boyish -fashion. "If it is only true what you think, that she does care for -me----" - -"Of course she cares for you." - -"It seems too good to be true." - -"Do you think so?" said Gartney, drily. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I -forgot you are in love!" - -"Cold-blooded cynic," laughed Otterburn, "go thou and do likewise." - -"With your awful example before me--hardly," replied Mr. Gartney, with -a kindly look in his eyes. "Did I tell you Errington is here to-day?" - -"No. Is he really?--and Lady Errington?" - -"Oh, she's in the country. But Errington seemed as if he wanted waking -up, so I brought him to town with me." - -"By the way, how is Lady Errington?" - -"Very much changed--and for the better. My prophecy concerning the -incomplete Madonna has come to pass. She is a mother now, and adores -her child." - -"Indeed! And is she going to adore her child for the rest of her -life?" asked Otterburn, flippantly. - -Eustace shrugged his shoulders. - -"I suppose so. She certainly can't adore her husband. Guy is a real -good fellow, as I've always maintained, but no woman in the world -would put him on a pedestal." - -"Poor Errington! Is he as fond of his wife as ever?" - -"Fonder, if possible." - -"Then I pity him!" said Macjean, emphatically--"I pity any man who -gives his heart to a woman to play with." - -"Yet that is really what you propose to do with yours." - -"Not at all. I am going to ask Miss Sheldon to be my wife once more. -If she accepts me, well and good, as I've no doubt we'll make an -exemplary married couple. But if she refuses--well, I'm not going to -wear my heart on my sleeve by any means. There is always Laxton, -Africa, and good shooting." - -"All of which will console you for the loss of the woman you profess -to adore. What a prosaic idea!" - -"A very sensible one, at all events," retorted Macjean, with a grim -smile. "I've no fancy to play shuttlecock to any woman's battledore. -Oh! there is Errington talking to our fair hostess." - -"Or rather, our fair hostess is talking to Errington." - -"Precisely. You shouldn't have led this unfortunate fly into the -spider's parlour, Gartney." - -"Why not?" replied Eustace, superciliously. "I assure you the fly is -all right. It is not rich enough for Mrs. Spider Veilsturm to seize -on. She only cares for opulent flies." - -"I'm afraid I can't take your view of the situation, seeing what I now -see." - -Gartney, moved by a sudden curiosity, looked sharply at Cleopatra, who -was certainly putting forth all her fascinations towards Guy, and that -gentleman, who had apparently forgotten his wife for the moment, was -talking rapidly to her with a flushed face and considerable -earnestness. Eustace was puzzled at this, and frowned amiably at the -pair. - -"Now what the deuce is that for?" he muttered to himself. "I certainly -did not ask her to fascinate him, and she has no reason to do so. -Humph! Perhaps Fate is once more interfering. If so----Well, -Otterburn?" - -But Otterburn had disappeared, and Eustace found that his place was -taken by Dolly Thambits, attended by Mr. Jiddy, both gentlemen -watching Mrs. Veilsturm over Gartney's shoulder. - -"Ah! how do you do, Thambits?" said Gartney, taking no notice of the -Jiddy parasite. - -"I'm quite well," replied Dolly, whose mild face wore anything but a -pleasant expression. "I say, who is he--the chap talking to Mrs. -Veilsturm? He came with you, didn't he?" - -"Yes; that is Sir Guy Errington, my cousin and very good friend." - -"Oh!" returned Mr. Thambits, after a pause. "I thought he was -married?" - -"Of course--married Miss Mostyn," murmured Jiddy, meekly. - -"Well, marriage isn't a crime," said Eustace, raising his eyebrows. -"What is the meaning of the remark?" - -"Eh?" answered Dolly, vacantly, with another scowl at Cleopatra. "Oh, -nothing only--oh, bother! they've gone into the next room. Come, -Jiddy!" and the young man vanished into the crowd, accompanied by his -umbra, leaving Eustace in a state of considerable bewilderment. - -"Is the boy mad," said that gentleman to himself, "or only jealous? -The latter, I think. He sees it too. Confound it! What does it mean? -She's surely not going to fight an enemy unworthy of her spear? Yet, I -don't know. Women are strange creatures. She must have some reason. -I'll go and see what Major Griff says about it." - -That redoubtable warrior, looking stiffer, airier, and more military -than ever, was talking in his sharp voice to a ponderous gentleman -somewhat after the Dr. Johnson type, who was listening attentively. - -"Yes, sir," the Major was saying, "I am growing tired of town. I think -I'll take a run across to New York." - -"And Mrs. Veilsturm?" - -"I am not aware what Mrs. Veilsturm's plans may be," said Griff, in a -frigid tone, "as she does not honour me with her confidence so far." - -The ponderous gentleman smiled meaningly, as he, in common with the -rest of society, was beginning to doubt the platonic relationship said -to exist between the Major and Cleopatra. Major Griff saw the smile, -and, ever on the alert to defend Mrs. Veilsturm from the slightest -breath of scandal, would have made some sharp remark, but at that -moment Eustace touched him on the shoulder. - -"Excuse me, Major," he said courteously, "but could I speak to you for -a few moments?" - -"Certainly, certainly," answered Griff, with great readiness. "Mr. -Waldon, we will resume our conversation on some other occasion." - -He was always willing to oblige Eustace from motives of diplomacy, as -he was well aware Mr. Gartney was to a certain extent behind the -scenes, and judged himself and Cleopatra from a very different -standpoint to that of the world. Eustace indeed knew that both Major -Griff and his fair friend were neither more nor less than a couple of -clever adventurers, but with indolent good nature he never imparted -this opinion to any one, as he saw no reason to topple down the house -of cards they had so laboriously built up. Besides, he hated the -trouble which the exposing of the pair would entail, and, in his -innermost heart deeming them not much worse than the rest of London -society, he permitted them to continue their predatory career -unchecked. The Major knew that Eustace would leave himself and partner -alone, but was always scrupulously polite to him, so that nothing -disagreeable should arise to mar the perfect understanding between -them. - -"I'm glad to see you back again, Mr. Gartney," said the Major, -mendaciously, when they were established in a comfortable corner out -of earshot. - -"It's very kind of you to say so," responded Gartney, who quite -appreciated and understood the sincerity of the remark, "I thought you -would have been glad to have heard of my death in Arabia." - -"And why?" demanded Griff, warmly--"why, Mr. Gartney?" - -"Oh, if you don't know I'm sure I can't tell you," retorted Eustace, -maliciously; "but don't trouble yourself to pay fictitious -compliments, Major. I think we understand one another." - -"Of course," assented the Major, with great dignity; "between -gentlemen there is always a sympathetic feeling." - -Gartney would have liked to have argued this point, but having no time -to do so, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and resumed the -conversation. - -"I brought my cousin, Sir Guy Errington, here to-day." - - -"The devil you did!" ejaculated Griff, considerably astonished. - -Struck by the Major's tone, Eustace fixed his eyes keenly on him. - -"If you doubt me," he said coolly, "you will be convinced by going to -the refreshment room, where, at present, he is in conversation with -Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"Egad! she's got him at last," muttered Griff, pulling his grey -moustache with an air of vexation. - -"What do you say?" asked Gartney sharply. - -Major Griff did not answer, being apparently in deep thought, but when -Gartney addressed him the second time he had evidently made up his -mind what course to pursue, and spoke accordingly. - -"It doesn't suit me," said the Major deliberately, "and I'm sure it -won't suit you, nor your cousin, nor your cousin's wife." - -"It is as I thought," observed Eustace coolly; "there is something at -the bottom of all this, therefore, if you will be less enigmatic, -Major, I shall understand your meaning all the sooner." - -"I don't like to show my hand," remarked Griff, taking an illustration -from his favourite pursuit, "but in this case I'll treat you as a -partner and do so. I know why you want to speak to me." - -"Do you?" said Eustace imperturbably. - -"Yes! She"--referring to Mrs. Veilsturm--"is no doubt making the -running with Sir Guy Errington to an extent which surprises you, and -you want to know the reason." - -"Seeing that my cousin is not rich enough to tempt either Mrs. V. or -yourself, I do," returned Eustace with brutal candour. - -Whereupon, the Major, like the daring old campaigner he was, told -Gartney the whole story of the card episode, to which he listened -attentively, and saw clearly the pit into which he had innocently led -his cousin. - -"Well, Mr. Gartney," said Griff, when the story was finished and -Eustace made no remark, "what do you say?" - -Eustace took out his watch and glanced at the time before replying. -Then he replaced it in his pocket and answered the Major. - -"At present, I say nothing; later on, I may." - -"Oh, ho!" quoth Griff sharply, "then you have some idea----" - -"I have no idea whatever," replied Gartney sharply. "Your story was -quite new to me. I brought my cousin here innocently enough, and if -Mrs. Veilsturm thinks him sufficiently handsome to captivate, that's -her business, not mine." - -He turned on his heel and went off, leaving Griff staring after him in -the most astonished manner. - -"What does it mean?" pondered the old campaigner. "Oh! he doesn't seem -to mind Maraquita playing the devil with his cousin, as she intends -to. Now I shouldn't wonder," said the Major grimly, "I shouldn't -wonder a bit if there was another lady mixed up in this affair." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. -"ON REVIENT TOUJOURS À SES PREMIÈRES AMOURS." - - "You have returned, - I thought you would, - Tho' you I spurned, - You have returned; - The lesson learned - Will do you good. - You have returned, - I thought you would." - - -When Otterburn disappeared so suddenly from the sight of his friend, -he had gone straight across the room to where a slender girl dressed -in a dark-green walking costume was standing near the door. - -"Can you remember an old friend, Miss Sheldon?" he said in a low -voice. - -She turned round with a cry of surprise, flushing violently -as she recognised him, and held out her hand with the greatest -self-possession. - -"Of course Mr. Macjean! My memory is not quite so short as you think." - -They were both overcome by this unexpected meeting, but as the eyes of -the world were on them they were perforce obliged to hide their -emotions under a polite mask of indifference. No one, looking at this -charming girl and this handsome young man, would have thought there -was anything between them but the merest feelings of acquaintanceship. -And yet they were both profoundly moved, and each, in some instinctive -way, guessed the feelings of the other, although their greeting was so -cold and studied. - -"I did not expect to meet you here," said Victoria in a friendly tone. - -"I suppose not," replied Otterburn politely, "as I only returned to -Town about three weeks ago.' - -"You have been away?" - -"All over the world. Africa is the only place left for me to explore." - -"And I daresay you are thinking of going there next?" Otterburn -laughed. - -"Perhaps! It all depends." - -"Upon what?" - -"Truth to tell, I hardly know," answered Macjean coolly. "Whims, -fancies and desires of sport, I think." - -"He doesn't care a bit about me or he would not talk so coldly about -going away," thought Victoria, with a sad feeling at her heart, but, -being too proud to show her real feelings, merely laughed as she -answered his remark. - -"There's nothing like enthusiasm! Well, Mr. Macjean, I'm glad to see -you again." - -"Do you really mean that?" he said anxiously, "or is it only the -conventional society phrase?" - -"Why should you think so?" replied Miss Sheldon in a displeased tone. -"You know I always spoke my mind regardless of social observances." - -"I have not forgotten that," observed Otterburn quietly. "Candour is -such a wonderful thing to meet with now-a-days, that anyone with such -a virtue is sure to be remembered." - -"For nine days, I suppose? she said jestingly. - -"Yes! or eighteen months," he responded meaningly. - -Otterburn was evidently as audacious as ever in trespassing upon -dangerous ground, so Victoria, although her heart beat rapidly at his -last remark, deftly turned the conversation as she used to do in the -old days. - -"You have an excellent memory, Mr. Macjean," she said gaily, "but you -have forgotten that I have been standing for the last ten minutes, -that you have not asked me to have a cup of tea, and that I'm both -tired and thirsty." - -"A thousand pardons," said Otterburn, penitently offering his arm. "I -plead guilty! As you are strong, be merciful." - -"To your failings, certainly! I've got too many of my own to refuse -absolution. Oh, there's Miss Lossins going to sing. I can't bear these -drawing-room songs, so let us go at once." - -She took his arm, and as they moved downstairs he felt a thrill run -through his body at the light pressure of her hand. He felt inclined -to speak boldly then and there, but a vague fear of the result -withheld him, and in the presence of the woman he loved, Angus -Macjean, man of the world as he was, felt like an awkward schoolboy. - -On her part, Victoria felt that she still had an influence on his -life, and derived from this instinctive feeling a wonderful amount of -pleasure, which could only have been engendered in her breast by a -sentiment of reciprocity. - -Owing to some ridiculous feeling of pride, neither of them referred to -Como during the whole of their conversation, as their parting at that -place had been so painful, and although they were both thinking about -it yet they talked of everything in the world except what was -uppermost in their minds. They had thought of, dreamt of, loved, and -desired one another all through these weary eighteen months, and now -when they were together and a word would have removed all -misunderstandings, neither the man nor the woman had the courage to -utter it. - -At present, however, they were downstairs indulging in the slight -dissipation of afternoon tea, and Victoria, knowing that Otterburn was -still her admirer, was quite at her ease, talking gaily about -everything and everyone. - -"This is awfully nice tea," she said, nodding her head to the Master. -"Why don't you try some?" - -"I will, on your recommendation," he replied, taking a cup the maid -was holding out, "but won't you have some cake?" - -"If there's some very curranty cake, I will," said Miss Sheldon -gluttonously. "I'll have the brown outside piece." - -"Why should that be more desirable than any other piece?" said Macjean -as she took it. - -"More currants in it! I'm fond of currants." - -"So it seems." - -"Now don't be severe. Let's talk about something else. Mr. Gartney, -for instance." - -"Oh, he's here to-day." - -"Is he really? I thought it would be too frivolous for him. The -Arabian desert is more in his style." - -"Well, judging from his book, the Arabian Desert is not entirely -devoid of feminine interest." - -"Don't be horrid! It's a very charming book." - -"Nobody said it wasn't. But I'm astonished to hear you defend Gartney -like this. You used to hate him." - -"No, no! I didn't exactly hate him, but I must say I didn't like him." - -"Isn't that splitting straws?" - -"Not at all," retorted Miss Sheldon gaily, "the two things are widely -different. But to return to Mr. Gartney. He's really very nice." - -"I'm so glad you think so," said Otterburn gravely. "I'll tell him -so." - -"No, don't," exclaimed Victoria, with genuine alarm. "I wouldn't have -him know it for the world." - -"Why hide the Sheldon light under the Gartney bushel?" - -"You're talking nonsense, but you always did talk nonsense. But, good -gracious, look at the time--six o'clock." - -"Oh, that clock's wrong." - -"So am I--in listening to you. Mr. Macjean, I must go. My chaperon -will be waiting for me." - -"Who is your chaperon?" asked Otterburn, as they ascended the stairs. -"Mrs. Trubbles?" - -"No! she's in the country. Now I am under the care of Mrs. Dills. Do -you know her?" - -"Only as the wife of Mr. Dills." - -"She's a most amiable woman, but not pretty." - -"Curious thing, amiable women never are." - -"How cruel--to me." - -"Pardon! you are the exception----" - -"To prove your extremely severe rule! Thank you!" - -Talking in this light and airy manner, which was really assumed to -hide their real feelings, Miss Sheldon and her lover arrived at the -drawing-room, found Mrs. Dills, small, spiteful and vivacious, to whom -Victoria introduced the Master, and then went off to say goodbye to -Mrs. Veilsturm. - -When she returned, and Otterburn was escorting her downstairs in the -train of Mrs. Dills he noticed a puzzled look on her face, and -promptly asked the reason of it. She did not answer at first, but as -they stood on the step, waiting for the carriage, suddenly asked him a -question. - -"Who introduced Sir Guy Errington to Mrs. Veilsturm?" - -"Gartney did--to-day." - -"To-day," she repeated, in astonishment. "Why from their manner to one -another I thought they were old friends." - -"Mrs. Veilsturm has such a sympathetic manner you see." - -"Yes, very sympathetic," replied Victoria, sarcastically. "But here is -the carriage Goodbye, Mr. Macjean. Come and call on Aunt Jelly." - -"Certainly! I am anxious to make the acquaintance of Aunt Jelly." - -"So anxious that you delayed the pleasure by three months," replied -Miss Sheldon laughing, as the carriage drove away, leaving Otterburn -on the steps in a very jubilant frame of mind. - -When he had somewhat recovered his presence of mind, he went off to -find Eustace, being so overburdened with his secret happiness that he -felt it a necessity to speak to some one on the subject. Eustace knew -all about his passion, Eustace had been a good friend in finding out -Victoria's sentiments towards him, so Eustace was undoubtedly the -proper person to speak to in this emergency. - -After a hunt of some moments' duration, he found Mr. Gartney in -company with Errington, talking to Mrs. Veilsturm, and while the -latter seemed flushed and excited, the face of the former wore an -enigmatic smile. Mrs. Veilsturm herself had been aroused from her -habitual languor, and was chatting gaily, while Major Griff, -ostensibly talking to Dolly Thambits, was in reality looking at -Errington with a frown. It was quite a little comedy, and Eustace -alone possessed the requisite understanding to enjoy it, although from -the studied expression of his face it was impossible to tell his real -feelings. - -Otterburn touched Eustace on the shoulder, and drew him away from the -group. - -"I say, I believe it's all right," he said, in a eager whisper. - -"What is all right?" asked Eustace, in a puzzled voice. "Oh, you -know," replied Otterburn, with some disgust at his friend's density. -"I met Miss Sheldon here, and--and I spoke to her." - -"Oh, that's it, is it?" observed Gartney, with a kindly smile. "I -suppose I must congratulate you?" - -"Not yet. But I think it's all right," said Otterburn, repeating his -first remark. "The way she talked, you know, and I talked also, -and--and----" - -"And you're counting your chickens before they're hatched," said -Gartney impatiently. "Don't be angry, Macjean," he added, seeing Angus -looked annoyed, "it's only my fun! I think it will be all right--that -is if she's forgiven you for the Como business." - -"Eh?" said Otterburn, obtusely. "I think it's she who requires to be -forgiven." - -"I'm afraid you won't find her take that view of the question," -replied Gartney cruelly. "In love, the woman is always right and the -man everlastingly wrong." - -"What a dog-in-the-manger you are, Gartney," said Otterburn angrily, -the brightness dying out of his face, "you won't love anyone yourself, -or let anyone else do it. I tell you Miss Sheldon and myself -understand one another. She asked me to call and see Aunt Jelly." - -"How delightful--for Aunt Jelly," remarked Eustace sarcastically. "I -hope the pair of you won't indulge in sentiment before the old -lady--she doesn't believe in it." - -"I'll take my chance of that," observed Angus cheerfully. "But I've -got such a lot to tell you about Victoria. Come along with me to the -Club." - -"Very well," replied Gartney, in a resigned manner. "It seems my fate -to hear love confidences. I'll come as soon as I can persuade Guy to -leave Mrs. Veilsturm, or rather as soon as I can persuade Mrs. -Veilsturm to let Guy go." - -"It seems to me six of one and half a dozen of the other, as far as -that goes," said Otterburn shrewdly. - -Eustace did not reply, but walked up to his cousin and the lady. - -"I'm afraid we must go, Mrs. Veilsturm," he said, smiling at -Cleopatra. - -"Oh, it's early yet," remarked Cleopatra languidly. "Must you go, Sir -Guy?" - -"I suppose so," answered Errington, looking at his watch. "Time, tide -and dinner wait for no man. It's past six." - -"So like a man," laughed Cleopatra, "thinking of his dinner before -everything else." - -"No, really," responded Errington, colouring at this rude remark, "but -I've got an engagement, and I always like to be punctual." - -"In that case don't forget my 'At Home' next week," said the lady, -with a bewitching glance. - -"Oh, no, I won't forget that," replied Errington coolly, much more -coolly than Cleopatra liked, but she suppressed her anger at his -nonchalance, and turned to Eustace. - -"Goodbye, Mr. Gartney, so good of you to have come to-day. Mr. -Maclean, I've no doubt I'll see you to-night at Lady Kerstoke's dance. -Sir Guy, I hope you will find your way here again. Goodbye, all of -you," and then her attention was claimed by another batch of departing -guests, while the three gentlemen went downstairs. - -"Well," said Eustace, with a sigh of relief, as they walked down Park -Lane, "I must candidly confess I hate 'At Homes." - -"Oh, no," replied Otterburn, with his mind full of Victoria, "they're -very jolly." - -"Oh, for the freshness of youth!" sighed Gartney, looking at the -bright face of his companion. "Guy, what is your opinion?" - -"What about?" asked Errington, rousing himself from a fit of -abstraction. "Mrs. Veilsturm?" - -"We were talking about 'At Homes,'" said Eustace, equably, "but as -you've mentioned Mrs. Veilsturm, what is your opinion on that lady?" - -"She's very pleasant, but rather overpowering," was Errington's -verdict. - -"And that's her reward for devoting the whole afternoon to you--'Oh, -the ingratitude of man!'" - -"She's not a woman I would fall in love with," said Otterburn, with an -air of having settled the question. - -"Nor I," echoed Sir Guy, so very resolutely that Eustace knew at once -he was doubtful of his own strength of will. - -"Self righteous Pharisees, both," he said scoffingly, "you talk -bravely, but if Cleopatra put forth her strength she could twist you -both round her finger." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. -FASCINATION. - - "Snake! snake! your treacherous eyes, - Grow and deepen to marvellous skies, - Stars shine out in the rosy space, - Every star is a woman's face, - Flushed and wreathed with amorous smiles, - Drawing my soul with magical wiles, - Vision! while I am rapt in thee, - Death is coming unknown to me. - Snake hath caught me fast in his toils, - Round me winding his shining coils, - Ah, from dreams with a start I wake, - Thou host stung me, oh cruel snake." - - -Most men of strongly imaginative natures are superstitious, and -Gartney was no exception to the rule, his instinctive leanings in this -direction having been strengthened to a considerable extent by his -contact with the fatalistic dreamers of the East. He had travelled -over a goodly portion of the world without having been infected by the -habits or thoughts of the so-called civilized races but the many -months he had dwelt among the descendants of Ishmael, had inoculated -him imperceptibly with their strong belief in predestination. In fact, -his adaptability to the ways and customs of the East, seemed, to -himself, so marvellous, that he almost inclined to the theory of -transmigration, and believed he had lived before amid these lonely -deserts. - -At all events, his last sojourn among them had developed his -instinctive vein of superstition in the strongest fashion, and he came -back to England fully convinced that all things were preordained by -the deity we call Fate. It was a very convenient doctrine, as it -enabled him to blame a supernatural power for his own shortcomings, -and when anything happened out of the ordinary course of events, he -said "Kismet," like the veriest follower of Mahomet. - -With this belief, it was little to be wondered at that he believed he -saw the finger of Fate intervening in the matter of his love for Lady -Errington, and argued the question in this style: - -On his return to England, he had determined to abstain from seeing -Alizon so as to keep out of the way of temptation, but Fate, in the -person of Aunt Jelly, had forced him to meet her against his will in -order to see if he could bring about an understanding between the -young couple. Yielding to his passion, he had made up his mind to -gratify it, but moved by the spectacle of Guy's misery, had gained a -victory over himself, and strove to reconcile husband and wife. - -With this aim, he had taken Guy up to Town, thinking a short absence -might be beneficial, but Fate for the second time interfered, and in -the most innocent fashion in the world he (Fate's instrument) had -delivered the young man into the power of his bitterest enemy, by -introducing him to Mrs. Veilsturm. She hated Lady Errington, and would -certainly do her best to estrange husband and wife still further, thus -the field was left open to Eustace to declare his dishonourable -passion. - -Twice, therefore, had he striven to conquer his feeling, and twice -Fate had intervened, so that he now felt inclined to fight no longer. -Had he given way to his present desires, he would have left Guy to the -tender mercies of Cleopatra, and gone down to stay at Castle Grim from -whence he would have been able to go over to Errington Hall daily and -pay his court to Alizon. All feelings of honour, however, were not -absolutely dead in his breast, so he determined to await the course of -events and see if Mrs. Veilsturm would manage to subjugate Guy, in -which case he determined to interfere. He knew quite enough about Mrs. -Veilsturm, for his opinion to carry considerable weight with that -lady, and although it was not a pleasant thing to step between a -panther and its prey, yet he made up his mind to do so should occasion -arise. But if Fate intervened for the third time, and rendered his -trouble useless, Eustace felt in his own heart that further struggling -against Destiny would be beyond his strength. - -At present, however, he had rather over-estimated the situation, as -Guy was by no means the abject slave of Mrs. Veilsturm he deemed him -to be. Love for Alizon, although but ill-requited, still had -possession of Guy's whole being, and formed a safeguard against the -dangerous assaults of Cleopatra. Errington was constantly in -attendance on her, and she put forth all her arts to enmesh him in her -toils, but although three weeks had now passed, she saw that she had -not made much headway. Guy liked her for her kindly manner towards -him, admired her for her beauty, felt flattered by her preference, but -in reality was as heart-whole as when he first saw her, and had his -wife lifted her little finger, he would have flown to her side without -a moment's hesitation. - -Cleopatra was much too clever a woman not to see this, and felt rather -nettled that any man should dare to withstand her charms. Moreover, -being bent on separating Errington from his wife, she had a very -powerful reason to do her best in reducing him to a state of bondage; -therefore spared neither time nor trouble in attempting to do so. -Errington's love for his wife, however, stood him in good stead, and -despite the temptations to which he was subjected, he did not succumb -in any way. - -Major Griff was by no means pleased with this new fancy of his -friend and partner. As a rule, by dexterous management, he could make -her do what he liked, but on some occasions she broke away from -leading-strings, and did what she pleased. This present desire to -captivate Errington was due, not to a feeling of love, but to the more -powerful one of revenge, and Griff, being an astute reader of -character, saw that in her present frame of mind he could do nothing -with her. - -It was a terrible trouble to the Major that things should be like -this, as during this season Rumour had once more been busy with -Cleopatra's name, and to such a good purpose, that many doors hitherto -open were now closed against her. Society began to talk of the number -of men who had lost large sums of money at Mrs. Veilsturm's, hinted -that the West Indian estates were a myth, and that Cleopatra was no -better than an adventuress. Society suddenly discovered that it had -been deceived, that a base woman had passed herself off as the purest -of her sex, that it had nourished a viper in its bosom; so now -Society, in righteous wrath, was prepared to denounce Mrs. Veilsturm -and Major Griff with the bitterest vindictiveness from the house-tops. -The storm had not broken yet, but could be heard muttering in the -distance, and now this foolish passion of Cleopatra so openly -displayed would accelerate the period of its bursting. - -The Major, having his eyes and ears open on every possible occasion, -saw all this, and took measures to secure a safe retreat in case of an -unexpected collapse of the London campaign. America was to be the next -field of the firm's operations, and both the Major and his fair friend -had determined to signalize their departure by a grand fancy dress -ball, to which friends and foes alike were to be invited, after which -they could depart with flying colours to New York. - -This little scheme had been very nicely arranged, but unluckily this -Errington affair threatened to upset the whole business. Knowing she -had very little time at her disposal, and being determined to ruin -Guy's life if she possibly could, Cleopatra went beyond all the bounds -of prudence, and blazoned her preference for Errington so very openly -that everyone was scandalized. - -In vain the Major implored Cleopatra to be cautious and not ruin -everything by her mad folly; but, carried away by a fierce feeling of -revenge against Lady Errington, she merely laughed at his entreaties -and prosecuted her scheme of entangling Guy with redoubled ardour. -Major Griff spoke to Eustace, thinking he could stop the affair by -taking his cousin away, but Gartney, being determined to leave the -matter in the hands of Fate, simply shrugged his shoulders and said he -could do nothing. Being therefore unable to do anything, the Major -could only look on in a cold fury at Cleopatra striving to ruin -herself, Errington, and himself in a fit of mad anger. - -Mrs. Veilsturm's intimate friends were also very indignant about what -they pleased to call her infatuation, little dreaming of the real -reason of this sudden passion. It was only the Major's influence over -Mr. Dolser that kept the affair out of the scurrilous pages of "The -Pepper Box," but although it had not appeared in print, the whole -affair was an open secret. - -Dolly Thambits, who was in love with Cleopatra, was furious at the way -in which he was neglected, but this kind of treatment only made him -all the more in love with his disdainful mistress, much to the relief -of Griff, who was afraid that the boy would escape from his toils. - -In the midst of this whirl of rage, envy, and revenge, Guy, seeing no -special favour in Cleopatra's condescension, was quite cool and -composed, being the most unconcerned person of the whole lot. Of -course, no one dared to speak to him about the real facts of the case, -and of the enmity he had provoked, so he remained in complete -ignorance, anxiously awaiting for a letter from his wife asking him to -return. - -That letter never came, however, for Alizon was perfectly happy with -her baby, and missed Errington no more than if he had been a stock or -stone. She knew nothing of the perils to which her husband was -exposed, and, curiously enough, none of her London friends wrote and -told her, else she might have been for once startled from the serene -pleasures of motherhood. - -According to his promise, Otterburn called upon Aunt Jelly, and was -graciously received by that strong-minded lady, who took a great fancy -to him. As yet, he had not spoken outright to Victoria, but still the -young couple understood one another, and such understanding was -approved of by Miss Corbin, who saw in Otterburn the very husband she -would have chosen for her ward. So Otterburn called on the old lady -pretty often, and brought her all the news of the town, while -Victoria, feeling completely at rest concerning her lover, listened -quietly. - -All her ideas of making Otterburn propose, and then refusing him out -of revenge, had quite vanished, as she was now passionately in love -with him, and according to the position now strangely altered since -those old days at Como, it was for her to crave and for him to grant. -Otterburn, however, knew nothing of this, but wooed in all honour and -timidity, while Aunt Jelly, like a good but grim cherub, looked on in -silent approval. - -It was during one of Otterburn's visits, that by chance he let fall -something of what was going on between Mrs. Veilsturm and Guy, -whereupon the old lady, having an eye like a hawk, immediately saw -that something was going on of which she knew nothing. With this idea -she waited till Maclean departed, and then put Victoria through her -facings, with the result that she found out all about it and was -terribly wroth against her nephew. - -Eustace called to see her, and she spoke to him about it, but Eustace -point-blank refused to interfere again, saying he had done his best, -but could now do no more. Aunt Jelly, therefore, being alarmed, not -only for the happiness but for the respectability of the Errington -household, wrote a note to Guy, asking him to call. - -Having despatched this, she worked herself up into such a fury over -the whole affair that she took a fit, and for some time was in danger -of dying, but her indomitable spirit asserted itself, and with iron -determination she arose from her bed of sickness to see her nephew. - -It was a fight between Cleopatra and Aunt Jelly for possession of Guy, -but all this time Guy had no more idea of playing his wife false, than -he had of returning Mrs. Veilsturm's openly-displayed passion. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. -AUNT JELLY INTERFERES. - - "What vows you made at the marriage altar, - For better and worse, to take your wife; - Yet at the moment of need you falter, - Quail at rumours of coming strife. - Nay, it were wiser to cling and cherish, - Altho' things evil be said and done; - If in the future you both should perish, - Husband and wife should be lost as one." - - -Aunt Jelly was looking very pale and ill on the day she elected to see -Guy in order to expostulate with him on the wild way in which he was -behaving. She was suffering from a very serious disease connected with -the heart, and Dr. Pargowker warned her against any undue excitement, -as it might prove fatal. He was seated with her now, a fat, oily man -of the Chadband species, and talked about her ill-health in his usual -unctuous manner. - -In her accustomed chair sat Miss Corbin, looking worn with illness, -but as grim and defiant as ever, while the doctor standing near her -felt her pulse with one hand, and held his watch with the other. -Minnie, ever watchful of her patroness's comfort, hovered round like -an unquiet spirit, bringing all sorts of unnecessary things, which -made Aunt Jelly very irritable and led her to say unpleasant things to -Miss Pelch which reduced the poetess to tears. - -"Well?" said Miss Corbin sharply, when Dr. Pargowker had finished with -her pulse, "what do you say? Is this illness serious?" - -The doctor lifted one fat white hand in gentle protest, and resumed -his seat with a comfortable sigh. - -"No, dearest lady, no," he said in his heavy, soft voice, "do not I -beg of you think you are so bad as all that. You remind me, if I may -be permitted to make the comparison, of a dear friend of mine who -departed----" - -"Bother your dear friend!" snapped Aunt Jelly in her grimmest manner. -"I didn't ask you here to tell me other people's histories. I want to -know about my own state of health." - -Dr. Pargowker folded his chubby hands complacently on his rotund -stomach and meekly ventured a protest against this language. - -"Do not, oh dearest lady," he said unctuously, "do not excite yourself -like this. It is bad for you, dearest lady, very bad." - -"Very bad, dear Miss Corbin," echoed Minnie tearfully. - -"And might lead to complications," pursued the doctor, shaking his -head. - -"Complications," echoed Miss Pelch, putting her handkerchief to her -eyes. - -"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly politely, "you're getting a bigger fool -every day. Have the goodness to hold your tongue and not talk of -things you know nothing about. Dr. Pargowker, if you will kindly leave -off nodding your head like a Chinese mandarin, and tell me straight -out what you mean, I should feel obliged." - -"Dearest lady," growled the doctor, "it is useless to conceal from you -the painful fact that you are very ill." - -"I know that sir," retorted Aunt Jelly coolly, "go on." - -"You must avoid all undue excitement, such as dances, theatres, and -seeing friends." - -"I haven't been to a dance for the last twenty years," said Miss -Corbin wrathfully, "and as for a theatre, I've got no time to waste on -that rubbish. What do you mean by talking such nonsense to me?" - -"Easily upset, I see," murmured Pargowker, apparently to himself, -"very easily upset." - -"Wouldn't you like a little pillow for your head, dear Miss Jelly?" -said Minnie, holding one over Miss Corbin as though she were going to -play Othello to the old lady's Desdemona. - -"I'd like a little common sense," retorted Miss Corbin, pushing away -the pillow, "but it seems I'm not likely to get it." - -"Be calm, dear lady, be calm," observed Dr. Pargowker, nodding his -head. "If you will permit me, I will write out a prescription." - -"Pen, ink, and paper, Minnie!" ordered Aunt jelly, glaring at the -doctor. - -The obliging Minnie flew to obtain these necessaries, and having done -so, placed them on a little table near the physician, who wheeled his -chair round and began to write. - -Aunt Jelly and Dr. Pargowker were old friends, and never parted -without a fight, which, however, was principally conducted by Miss -Corbin, as the doctor resolutely kept his temper, and always left the -room as bland, cool, and unruffled as when he entered it. In spite of -his round-about way of putting things, Pargowker was really very -clever at his profession, and Aunt Jelly reposed the utmost confidence -in his power, although she never could resist using her sharp tongue -on him when occasion offered, and as it did so now, Aunt Jelly began -to talk, showing thereby that she was not so ill as she seemed. - -"Lord knows how you get patients," she said, folding her bony hands, -"it's all chat with you and nothing else." - -"Dear, dear," murmured Pargowker, going on placidly with his writing, -"this is bad, very, very bad." - -"Are you talking about your prescription, or yourself?" snapped Miss -Corbin, dauntlessly. "I daresay they're much of a muchness. If one -doesn't kill me, I've no doubt the other will." - -"Pardon me, dearest lady," said the doctor, smiling blandly, "you are -in error. This prescription will do you a great deal of good. Oh, we -will pull you round, yes--yes. I think I may venture to say we will -pull you round." - -"Pull me round or square, it's easily seen I'm not long for this -world," replied Miss Corbin. - -"Oh, do not speak like that, Miss Jelly," whimpered Minnie, "you will -get quite well, I'm sure of it." - -"Aye! aye!" remarked Pargowker, folding up his prescription. "While -there's life, there's hope." - -"Don't quote your proverbs to me," said Aunt Jelly, determined not to -be pleased by anything, "they're nothing but traditional lies; but -seriously speaking, doctor, if you can speak seriously, which I'm very -much inclined to doubt, I want to see my nephew, Sir Guy Errington, -to-day." - -"No! dearest lady, no!" said Pargowker, rising from his seat, and -raising one hand in protest, "pardon me, no!--the very worst person -you could see!" - -"If you knew him as well as I do, you might well say that," replied -Miss Corbin, malignantly, "but I must see him. It's imperative." - -"If you will not excite yourself----" - -"I'm not going to excite myself," retorted Aunt Jelly, "but I'm going -to excite him." - -Dr. Pargowker took up his hat and buttoned his coat with the air of a -man who washed his hands of the whole affair. - -"If you attend to my orders," he said, speaking more sharply than was -usual with him, "you will see no one. But I know you of old, Miss -Corbin. You expect to be cured, but won't do what you're told." - -"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Aunt Jelly, with feeble merriment. "Have -you taken to poetry also? The idea is good, doctor, but the poetry is -worse than Minnie's." - -"Oh, Miss Jelly!" murmured Minnie, in tearful protest. - -"Well, well," said Pargowker, good-humouredly, shaking hands with Miss -Corbin, "poetry or not, dear lady, do what I tell you. Keep yourself -calm, see no one, take this prescription, and I think, yes, I think -you will be quite safe." - -"I've no doubt about it," cried Aunt Jelly, as he paused at the door, -"safe for the nearest cemetery. Go along with you, doctor. I tell you -I've made up my mind to see my nephew. It's a case of life and death." - -"Certainly with you, dear lady--certainly with you," said Dr. -Pargowker emphatically. "Miss Pelch, will you honour me by seeing me -to the door?" - -"You want to talk about me behind my back," said Miss Corbin, -suspiciously. "It's no use. I'll make Minnie tell me everything." She -darted a threatening look at that young lady, which made her shake, -and then Minnie disappeared through the door, while the doctor -prepared to follow, first giving a parting word to his refractory -patient. - -"It's no use, dear lady," he said, with playful ponderousness, -"calling in the doctor if you don't intend to obey him." - -"I never obeyed anyone in my life," said Aunt Jelly, stiffening her -back, "and I'm certainly not going to begin with you." - -"Dearest Miss Corbin, I am in earnest." - -"So am I," retorted the old lady, frowning. "There! there! go away, -I'll do everything you tell me, but I must see my nephew to-day." - -Dr. Pargowker sighed, yielded to stern necessity, and spoke. - -"Well, you can do so, my dear, old friend, but only for five -minutes--only for five minutes." - -"Quite enough for all I've got to say." - -The doctor looked waggishly at Miss Corbin, in order to keep up her -spirits, but his face grew very grave as he spoke to Minnie at the -door. - -"She must not see anyone," he said emphatically, "mind that, Miss -Pelch. I was obliged to say she could speak to Sir Guy Errington for -five minutes, as she grows so excited over being contradicted. If he -does come, let her see him for that time, but don't let her grow -excited. I'll call in again to-night, to see how she is." - -"Is she very ill?" asked Minnie in dismay. - -"So ill," said Pargowker, putting on his hat, "that if she's not kept -absolutely quiet, she won't recover." - -"Oh!" said Miss Pelch in an alarmed tone, and would have asked more -questions, only Dr. Pargowker was already in his brougham, on his way -to another patient. - -Minnie returned to the drawing-room, with a cheerful face, so as not -to let Miss Corbin see her feelings, but that indomitable lady was -determined to have the truth, and tackled her at once. - -"Well, what did he say?" she demanded, sharply. - -"Only that you were to keep yourself quiet, dear Miss Jelly," replied -Minnie, taking up her work, a green parrot being embroidered on a red -tree, against a yellow ground and a purple sky. - -"What else?" - -"Nothing!" - -"Minnie, you are deceiving me," said Aunt Jelly solemnly. "I can see -it in your face. Do you think it's right to deceive a dying person?" - -"You're not dying," whimpered Minnie, beginning to cry. - -"I'm not far off it, at all events," retorted Miss Corbin, with a -sigh. "I know my own constitution quite as well as that fool of a -doctor, and I'm pretty sure I won't get well this time." - -"Oh, but you will--you will," cried Minnie, weeping. - -"Pooh! nonsense, child," said Miss Corbin, kindly, "don't waste your -tears over an old woman like me. I've had a long life, but by no means -a happy one. Quantity not quality, I suppose. If I can only see -Victoria engaged to that nice Macjean boy, and persuade my nephew out -of his folly, I'll not be sorry to go." - -"Dr. Pargowker said you were not to see Sir Guy longer than five -minutes, Miss Jelly." - -"Quite long enough." - -"And were not to excite yourself." - -"There, there, Minnie!" said Miss Jelly, impatiently. "I'll take good -care of myself, you may be sure. What time did Sir Guy say he would be -here?" - -"Four o'clock, dear Miss Corbin." - -"It's nearly that now," observed Aunt Jelly, looking at the clock. "I -hope he won't keep me waiting. Young men are so careless now-a-days. -Miss Sheldon has gone out?" - -"Yes! to the Academy with Mrs. Trubbles and Mr. Macjean." - -"Neither of whom know anything about pictures. It means flirting, not -art, I've no doubt. Well! well, we must not be too hard on the young. -Let me leave the world in peace, that's all I ask." - -Minnie put down her work, and came close to Miss Corbin, whose thin -cold hand she took in her own. - -"Dear Miss jelly, don't talk like that," she said, softly, "indeed you -will get well, I'm sure you will." - -"No, child, no!" - -"Oh, but, yes," persisted her companion, fondly. "Why, whatever would -I do, if you did not live to read my little volume?" - -"Oh, it's coming out, then?" said Aunt Jelly, grimly, with a flash of -her old spirit. - -"Yes, Mr. Gartney has arranged it all. I was going to keep it a -secret, but when you talk about dying, I can't," and poor Minnie -fairly broke down, which touched Aunt Jelly more than she liked to -acknowledge. - -"There! there!" she said, touching Minnie's face, with unaccustomed -tenderness, "you're a good child, Minnie. Tell me all about this -poetry book." - -"It's going to be called 'Heart Throbs and Sad Sobs, by Minnie -Pelch,'" said the poetess, radiantly, "'dedicated to Miss Angelica -Corbin, by her sincere friend, the Authoress.'" - -Aunt Jelly was silent for a few minutes, feeling, rather a choking in -her throat. She had laughed at poor Minnie's simple rhymes on many -occasions, and now the poetess had returned good for evil, paying her -the high compliment of inscribing her name on the front of the book. -Minnie mistook her silence for indignation at not having asked -permission, and tried to pacify the old lady. - -"I hope you're not angry," she said, timidly smoothing Aunt Jelly's -hand, "but I wanted to surprise you by the dedication. There's a -poem about you too, Miss Jelly, and I think it's the best in the -book--really the best." - -The old lady was so touched by Minnie's poor little attempt to -propitiate her, that she could not trust herself to speak, and when -she did there were tears rolling down her hard old face, as she bent -down and kissed her. - -"It's very good of you, child," she said, in a tremulous voice, "and I -feel very much honoured, indeed. Perhaps I've not been so kind to you -as I ought to have been. - -"Oh, but you have!--you have!" cried Minnie, throwing herself on her -knees, with tears in her eyes. "If it had not been for you, I would -have starved, dear Miss Jelly. Indeed, I would. It is so hard to get -paid for poetry. And you have been such a kind, good friend--such a -kind good friend!" - -"If I have spoken harshly to you, dear, on occasions," said Aunt -Jelly, brokenly, "it was from no want of feeling. Age, my dear Minnie, -age, and an embittered nature. But the heart was there, my dear, all -the time the heart was there." - -"I know it was!--I know it was!" wept Minnie, patting the withered -hand of her old friend. "I have never doubted that." - -"Yes! yes!" muttered the old dame dreamily, "the heart was there." - -And there was silence for a few minutes, only broken by the sobs of -Minnie, then Aunt Jelly recovered her usual manner with an effort, and -ordered wine and cake to be placed on the table. Miss Pelch had barely -time to do this, when there came a ring at the front door, and shortly -afterwards Sir Guy Errington entered the room. Aunt Jelly, now quite -her own grim self, received her nephew coldly, and then sent Minnie -out of the room, as she wanted to talk to Sir Guy in private. Miss -Pelch, however, mindful of the doctor's order, did not go far, but -waited in the hall, so as to be ready to enter when the five minutes -had expired. - -Guy looked rather haggard about the face, as he sat down near his -elderly relation, which Aunt Jelly put down to fast living, although, -in reality, it was due to worrying about his wife. This idea did not -make her feel very tenderly towards Errington, and she prepared -herself to do battle. - -"So you've come at last?" she said, straightening her back, and -folding her hands on her knees. - -"I came as soon as you sent for me," answered Guy, quietly. - -"You should have come without an invitation," said Aunt Jelly, with a -frown, "but young men of the present day seem to take a delight in -neglecting those nearest and dearest to them." - -This was said pointedly, with a view to drawing forth some remark -about Alizon, but Guy did not take it in that sense. - -"I don't want to neglect you, aunt," he said moodily, "but our -conversations are not so pleasant that I should look forward to them." - -"I only speak for your good." - -"People always do that when they make disagreeable remarks," replied -Errington sarcastically. "You're not looking well to-day, Aunt Jelly." - -"I don't feel well either," responded his aunt shortly. "I'm dying." - -"Oh, no, don't say that," said Guy, heartily shocked at her remark. - -"But I will say it," retorted Miss Corbin, nodding her head -vigorously, "and I'll say something else too that you won't like." - -"I've no doubt you will," answered Guy crossly, rising to his feet. -"Look here, Aunt Jelly, you're not well to-day, and if you brought me -here to quarrel, I'm not fit for it." - -"You're fit for nothing in my opinion except the Divorce Court," said -Aunt Jelly viciously. "Sit down." - -"I don't know what you mean by talking about the Divorce Court," -answered Errington calmly, obeying her command. - -"Think and see." - -"What's the good of my doing that?" cried Errington angrily, "I don't -know what you mean." - -"Don't shriek," said Miss Corbin coolly, "it goes through my head." - -"I beg your pardon aunt," replied Guy politely, "but if you would tell -me what you're driving at I would feel obliged." - -Aunt Jelly sat in silence for a moment, rapping the fingers of one -hand on the knuckles of the other, then spoke out sharply. - -"What's all this talk about you and Mrs. Veilsturm?" Guy sat bolt -upright in his chair and stared at her in amazement. - -"Oh, is that it?" he said with a short laugh. "Don't worry your head -about Mrs. Veilsturm, aunt. All the world can know the relations that -exist between us." - -"All the world does know." - -Errington arose from his seat with a smothered ejaculation, and -thrusting his hands into his pockets, began to walk backwards and -forwards. - -"You needn't use bad language, my dear Guy," said Aunt Jelly, with -aggravating placidity. "All I want to know is what you mean by leaving -your wife and running after Mrs. Veilsturm?" - -"I'm not running after Mrs. Veilsturm," said her nephew angrily, "and -I've not left my wife. I'm simply up in Town for a spell, and have -called once or twice to see a very pleasant woman." - -"A very pleasant woman, indeed," sneered Aunt Jelly scornfully. - -"If you think so badly of her, I wonder you let your ward go near -her." - -"I don't know anything against the woman's character," replied Miss -Corbin, "so there's no reason I should keep Victoria away. I daresay -she's as bad as the rest of them, and conceals it better. But that's -nothing to do with my question. It has come to my ears that you are -paying marked attentions to Mrs. Veilsturm, and I want to know if it -is true." - -"No, it is not true?" answered Errington slowly. "I have been a great -deal with Mrs. Veilsturm since I came up to Town, but that was simply -because she asked me to visit her, and without being absolutely rude, -I could not refuse." - -"A very nice explanation," said his aunt disbelievingly, "but do you -think it is one your wife will accept?" - -"My wife knows nothing about my visits to Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"Indeed she does," replied Aunt Jelly coolly. "I wrote and told her -all about them." - -Guy's face grew as pale as that of a corpse, and he stared at Miss -Corbin as if he had been turned into stone. At length, with an effort, -he arose to his feet and repeated her answer in a harsh, strained -voice. - -"You wrote and told her all about them?" - -"Yes! I did not think your conduct was right, so, as your wife has -most influence with you, I wrote and told her to call you back to -Ellington." - -All the blood in his body seemed to surge up into his head with the -violent effort he made to suppress his anger. Had it been any one else -but this feeble old woman, he would have simply let his passion master -him, but in this case, with such an adversary he could do nothing. - -"God forgive you, Aunt Jelly," he said at length, "you've done a cruel -thing," and he turned and walked slowly to the door. - -"I have done what was right," said Miss Corbin bravely. "You were -deceiving your wife, and I was determined she should know of your -deception." - -Sir Guy turned towards her as he paused at the door, and when she -finished speaking, answered her slowly and deliberately. - -"You are quite wrong. I was not deceiving my wife, as I can prove to -you. As you know, my wife has treated me very cruelly during the last -year, and neglected me in every way, giving all her love to the child. -Eustace came down the other day, and advised me to leave my wife for a -few weeks, thinking she would not be so indifferent on my return. I -took his advice and came up to Town. Eustace took me to Mrs. -Veilsturm, and finding her a very pleasant woman, I simply went there -in order to amuse myself. But as for caring about her, I love and -respect my wife and my name too much to degrade myself so far. -Unluckily, until the other day, I did not remember that Alizon -disliked Mrs. Veilsturm, because she was mixed up with her father in -some way, and forbade her to visit at the Hall. Had I remembered this, -I would not have gone there, but it's too late now to think of it. By -believing all these malicious stories, which I give you my word of -honour have no foundation, and writing to her, she will believe that I -went to see this woman on purpose, and she will never forgive me. I am -going down to the Hall by to-night's train, and will try and explain -everything to her, but I'm afraid she will not believe me. No doubt -you acted for the best, Aunt Jelly, but in doing so you have simply -ruined my life." - -"Guy! Guy!" moaned the old woman, who had listened to all this with a -sense of stunned amazement. "Forgive me! I did it for the best, but I -will write again and tell her how wrong I have been." - -"It is too late," he replied sadly, "too late." - -"No, it's not too late, Guy. But forgive me! forgive me!" - -Errington looked at her coldly. - -"If my wife forgives me I will forgive you," he answered, and left the -room. - -Aunt Jelly stared at the closed door, and strove to call him back, but -her voice died in her throat, a mist came before her eyes, and -overwhelmed by the fatal discovery she had made, and the excitement -she had undergone, she fell back in a dead faint. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. -THE DEITY CALLED FATE. - - "Believe me, sir, the deity called Fate, - Is stronger than the strongest of us all, - Fate! Fortune! Destiny! what name you will! - We are the sport of some malignant power, - Who twists and turns the actions of our lives, - In such strange fashion that our best intents - --Not evil in themselves--breed evil things, - And wreck our fairest ventures, tho' we strive - To bring them holily to some quiet port." - - -On leaving Miss Corbin's house Errington's first impulse was to drive -straight to the railway station, catch the six-thirty train, and go -down to the Hall at once, in order to explain matters to his wife. A -moment's reflection, however, convinced him that this would be a -foolish thing to do, as he could not possibly reach home before eight -o'clock, and his late arrival at such an hour without being expected -would be sure to cause comment among the servants. They already -guessed more of the strained relations between himself and his wife -than he liked, so in order to avoid the slightest chance of any -further remark being made, he determined to go down to Denfield next -day in the ordinary course of things. - -He therefore drove back to his hotel, and while dressing for dinner -pondered deeply as to the best course to pursue with Alizon. On this -night he was engaged to dine with Macjean at the Soudan Hotel, and -recollected that his cousin was to be of the party. Eustace was a man -in whom he had a profound belief, and frequently deferred to his -cousin's judgment in delicate matters, so on this present occasion he -made up his mind to speak to Gartney, whose clear head would doubtless -be able to solve the problem. - -It was true that Mrs. Veilsturm expected him to call for her at the -Marlowe Theatre, where she had a box. But the idea of being in her -company again after what had transpired was too much for him, so he -hastily scribbled a note excusing himself on the plea of sudden -indisposition, and sent it off to Park Lane by a special messenger. - -"Macjean and Laxton can go to the theatre as arranged," he thought, as -he went slowly down the stairs, "and I'll make Eustace take me to his -rooms, where we can talk over things at our ease." - -With this determination he jumped into a hansom and drove off to the -Soudan Hotel in Piccadilly, where he found Otterburn waiting for him -in company with Laxton. - -"Where's Gartney?" asked the Master after greeting his friend, "he -promised to be early." - -"Eustace's promises are like pie crust," replied Errington, giving his -cloak and hat to the waiter, "made to be broken." - -"You look very broken yourself," remarked Macjean meditatively, as the -gaslight fell on Guy's face. "What is the matter? Have you had bad -news? Will you have a glass of sherry?" - -"Nothing is the matter," replied the baronet categorically. "I have -not had bad news, and I will take a glass of sherry." - -He really felt very worried over the position in which he now found -himself regarding his wife, but it was better he should dine in -company than alone, as a solitary meal would only make matters appear -much worse than they really were. Besides he was going to consult -Eustace, who, he felt certain, would advise him for the best, so he -put the best face he could on the matter, and chatted gaily over his -sherry to the two young men while waiting for his cousin. - -Presently Eustace, cool, calm and unconcerned, arrived, with a large -appetite and an apology for being late. - -"I've got a man who is in the habit of mislaying things," he explained -as they all sat down to dinner, "he mislaid his brains when he was -born, and hasn't found them yet, so I suffer in consequence. No sherry -for me, thank you! Water, please!" - -"Ugh, London water," groaned Laxton, holding up his sherry to the -light. - -"Water," remarked Mr. Gartney sententiously, "is the purest of all -elements." - -"Not in town," retorted Macjean with a grimace. "I don't believe in -Adam's wine." - -"No Scotchman ever did as far as I know," said Eustace drily. -"Presbyterian wine is what you all prefer north of the Tweed." - -"And a very good idea too," observed Guy, contributing his quota to -the conversation, "especially on wet days." - -"That's why such a lot of whisky is consumed in the Land o' Cakes," -explained Eustace gravely, "it's always wet up there. Scotch mist and -Scotch whisky invariably go together." - -"This," remarked Laxton, alluding to the conversation, "is not a -teetotol meeting." - -"No one could possibly accuse it of being that," retorted Gartney, -with a significant glance at the full glasses, "but if you three -gentlemen don't mind talking, I'll eat in the meantime. The Soudan -cook is a good one, the Gartney appetite is a large one, so thank God -for all His mercies and leave me to pay attention to the good things -of this life." - -His three friends laughed at his humorous way of putting things, and -devoted themselves to the fish. The conversation went on in a more or -less frivolous fashion, the last scandal, the blunders of the Cabinet, -the new novel of the realistic school, the prospects of a war in the -East--all these were discussed in their turn by the quartette, and -then Laxton began to argue with Otterburn about the African -expedition, so seizing the opportunity Guy bent forward to speak to -Eustace. - -"I want to talk to you after dinner," he said in a low voice. - -"Certainly," replied Gartney carelessly, "but will you have time? What -about the theatre?" - -"I've changed my mind," said Guy quickly, "so I sent an excuse to Mrs. -Veilsturm. Have you anything particular to do? If not we can go to -your rooms. I won't detain you long." - -Eustace flashed a keen look on his cousin, and paused a moment before -replying: - -"I was going to look in at one or two drawing-rooms to-night," he said -at length, "but as my engagements really aren't very particular, I'll -not trouble about them, so I will be at your disposal." - -"Thank you," answered Guy, drawing a long breath. - -"Nothing wrong, I hope?" - -"Well that is as it turns out. I saw Aunt Jelly to-day." - -"Ah!" said Eustace in a significant tone, knowing that an interview -with Aunt Jelly always meant trouble of some sort. "I think I can -understand. However, let us go on with our meal. Pleasure and appetite -first, business and Aunt Jelly afterwards. What are those two boys -fighting about?" - -The two boys were still engaged in the African argument, and had -arrived at a dead lock, each being firmly convinced in his own mind -that his view of the subject was the right one. - -"You're all wrong, I tell you," said Otterburn hotly, "you're talking -just like you did at Montana. Africa isn't America." - -"Nobody said it was," returned Laxton ungracefully, "but I daresay the -sport is very much the same in both places. Africa is not a new -planet." - -"You might as well say that potting walrus in the Arctic regions is -the same as jungle shooting in India." - -"It's merely a matter of temperature," declared Laxton decidedly. - -"Oh, if you pin your faith to the thermometer, I've nothing more to -say," replied Otterburn, throwing himself back in his chair with the -air of a man who has crushed his opponent. - -"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about," observed -Eustace leisurely, "and judging from what I've overheard you both seem -to be in the same predicament." - -"We'll discuss it later on," said Otterburn gaily. "What a pity I -can't come out with you to Africa, Laxton, and settle the argument -that way." - -"Well, why don't you come?" demanded Laxton quickly. - -Otterburn reddened and laughed in an embarrassed fashion, while -Eustace threw a roguish glance at him, and made answer for the bashful -lover. - -"Don't you bother your head, Laxton There are more important things -than shooting expeditions in this world--at least, Otterburn thinks -so." - -Laxton was quite in the dark regarding the meaning of these mystic -utterances, when it suddenly dawned on him that the lady whom -Otterburn had spoken about in America might have something to do with -the turn the conversation had taken, and lifted his glass with a smile -as he looked towards Macjean. - -"To the health of the something more important than shooting -expeditions," he said gravely, and finished the wine. - -"Thank you," responded Otterburn laughing. "May I some day drink the -same health to you?" - -"Never!" - -"Never's a long time." - -"And talking about time," remarked Guy, glancing at his watch, "if you -two boys have any idea of the theatre to-night you'll have to be off." - -"Aren't you coming too?" chorussed Otterburn and his comrade. - -"No! I received an important piece of news to-night, about which I -wish to speak to my cousin." - -"What will Mrs. V. say?" asked Laxton gaily. - -"Who can foretell a woman's remarks?" said Eustace quizzically, seeing -that Guy was disinclined to speak. - -"Depends upon how much you know of the woman," responded Otterburn -smartly. - -"Woman," retorted the cynic, "is an unknown quantity." - -"What about quality?" - -"This conversation," said Eustace, looking at his glass of water, "is -getting problematic. After dinner is a bad time to solve puzzles, -therefore--coffee." - -It seemed a good suggestion, so they all adjourned to the -smoking-room, and indulged in further conversation while they enjoyed -their coffee and cigarettes. Shortly afterwards Otterburn and his -friend departed for the Marlowe Theatre, while Eustace in company with -Guy went off to his rooms in Half Moon Street, Piccadilly. - -Used as he was to hardships in foreign lands, Eustace always took care -to make up for his deprivations by making himself very comfortable at -home, consequently his rooms left nothing to be desired in the way of -luxury. His valet was well accustomed to his master coming in at all -kinds of unexpected times, consequently when they arrived the room -was well lighted, the chairs disposed in tempting corners, and a -spirit-stand with glasses and soda-water stood ready for any thirsty -soul. - -Eustace placed his cousin in a well-cushioned chair, gave him an -excellent cigar, then, lighting one himself, took his seat opposite to -Guy and prepared to play the part of father confessor. - -It was a hot night and the windows were standing slightly open, -letting in the pleasant, confused noise of the street, with its -rattling of cabs, voices of people, and footfalls of innumerable -pedestrians. The faint sound of a barrel organ playing the last new -tune, "Oh, she's left me for another," came softly to their ears, and -they sat smoking silently for a few moments until Errington spoke. - -"I told you I saw Aunt Jelly to-day." - -"Yes and what did she say?" - -"A good many disagreeable things," replied Guy bitterly; "according to -her showing, I must be a singularly wicked man." - -"Aunt Jelly," observed Eustace philosophically, "knows very little -about the actual world, and having lived apart from her fellow -creatures for many years, has formed in her own mind an ideal life to -which she expects all her friends and relations to conform. -Unfortunately, the majority of nineteenth century people are neither -Lucreces nor Bayards, consequently Aunt Jelly, in Pharisee fashion, -rails at the world and says, 'Thank God, I'm not as other women are.'" - -"She is as other women are in the matter of listening to gossip," said -Guy emphatically, "for she tells me it is common talk that I have left -my wife for the superior attractions of Mrs. Veilsturm." - -Eustace looked up suddenly in dismay. - -"My dear fellow, you must be making a mistake." - -"I'm making no mistake," returned Guy doggedly. "Aunt Jelly says it is -common talk. Have you heard anything about it?" - -"You know I never pay attention to gossip," said Gartney evasively, "I -don't even listen to it, but you may be certain that anyone who poses -as the _cher ami_ of Mrs. Veilsturm won't escape calumny." - -"I don't pose as the _cher ami_ of Mrs. Veilsturm," said Errington -fiercely. "I don't care two straws about her." - -"Actions speak louder than words. You certainly have acted as if you -did." - -"Good Heavens, Eustace, you surely don't believe all these lies?" -retorted Guy wrathfully, rising from his chair. - -"I never said I did," answered his cousin coolly, "but I'm looking at -it now from the world's point of view. Mrs. Veilsturm has certainly -made a dead set at you, and you, thinking it was natural amiability, -have played into her hands. You, no doubt, call it friendship, but the -world doesn't." - -"It is friendship. Indeed, hardly that as far as I am concerned, as I -don't care if I never saw Mrs. Veilsturm again. She has taken an -unaccountable fancy to me, and I'm no Joseph where a pretty woman is -concerned, but as for leaving my dear wife for a meretricious woman -like that--Good God!" - -"Well, let the world talk as it likes, so long as it isn't speaking -the truth," said Eustace impatiently. "Who cares? If you expect -justice from your fellow creatures, you won't get it. As to Aunt -Jelly, old women are privileged gossips. It don't matter to you." - -"But it does matter to me, I tell you," cried Guy violently, walking -to and fro, "she has written all about these lies to my wife." - -The barrel organ outside was still grinding out the popular tune, -being now assisted by the shrill voice of a girl singing the words of -the song. - - - "Oh, she's left me for another, - Mary Anne! Mary Anne! - And she said he was her brother, - Mary Anne. - It may be true, for all I know, - But would she kiss her brother so, - And would she leave me for him? No! - Mary Anne, Mary Anne!" - - -The regular beat of the melody seemed to repeat itself everlastingly -in Gartney's ears as he sat there in silence wondering over the -statement Errington had made. If Alizon knew all, she would never -forgive her husband and then--was it Fate that so persistently -smoothed the road for his evil doing? He felt dull and stupid at the -unexpected announcement he had heard, and, after a pause, lifted his -heavy eyes to Guy. - -"Well," he said drearily, "and what do you intend to do?" - -Errington sat down heavily in his chair and stretched out his hands -with a weary gesture. - -"I don't know what to do," he answered in a dull voice. "I suppose the -best thing will be for me to go down and explain matters to Alizon." - -"But will she accept your explanation?" - -"No!" - -"Then why make it?" - -"A drowning man will grasp at a straw. I must do something! I can't -let my wife think I have wilfully wronged her. Good heavens! surely -she must know I love her dearly." - -"I should think it is very probable she does," answered Eustace -slowly, "besides, I think Lady Errington is too sensible a woman to -give ear to lying reports. Tell her all you have told me, and I'm -certain you will have no difficulty in making your peace with her." - -"Do you think so?" asked Guy, his sad face brightening, "but no, I'm -afraid not. You remember the story I told you about Mrs. Veilsturm's -card being returned." - -Eustace nodded. - -"That is the difficulty. If it had been any other woman than Mrs. -Veilsturm--but as it is, she'll think I did it wilfully." - -"Surely not." - -"My dear fellow, you've never loved a statue," said Errington -bitterly, rising to his feet and putting on his cloak, "but it's no -use talking any more. Aunt Jelly has done more harm than she knows of. -I'll go down to the Hall to-morrow, and tell Alizon everything. If she -believes my explanation, well and good, if she does not----" - -"Well?" asked Eustace, seeing his cousin hesitated. - -"Well!" repeated the other harshly, "I shall come back to London and -Mrs. Veilsturm." - -He was gone before Eustace could offer a word of remonstrance on the -folly of such a determination, and then Gartney returned to his seat -with an air of utter lassitude. - -"Kismet," he said to himself, after a long pause. "It is Destiny." - -Was it indeed Destiny that had interfered for the third time? Was it -fixed by Fate that he should be Lady Errington's lover, and lose his -honourable name for her sake? It seemed like it, seeing that all -barriers he had set up against this illicit love, were swept away by -the actions of other people, and the field left open to him. Still, -Alison had not yet had her interview with Guy, and, as she must know -how much he loved her, surely she would accept his explanation of the -lying reports concerning his infatuation for Mrs. Veilsturm. - -If she did so, all would be well with them both, but if she refused to -believe his story, and dismissed him coldly, then---- - -Eustace arose to his feet, and walking over to the window, looked out -into the hot night. Below, the glare and glitter of gas-lamps--above, -the luminous light of the stars--and far in the east, rising over the -sombre masses of clouds, burned an evil planet, which was dreaded of -old by the Chaldeans. - -The man looking at it with troubled eyes felt the twin powers of good -and evil strive in his heart. - -And the star gleamed steadily in the thunderous sky. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. -HUSBAND AND WIFE. - - "You have broken your oath - And broken my heart, - Oh, sorrow for both, - You have broken your oath; - Although I am loth - In anger to part, - You have broken your oath - And broken my heart." - - -Alizon Errington was seated in the Dutch room with Aunt Jelly's letter -clenched in her hand, and Sammy playing on the carpet beside her. The -child, rolling among his toys was babbling inarticulate words of -endearment to them, but the mother's eyes were fixed on the gaudy bed -of tulips blazing in the sunshine as she thought over the words she -had just read. - -So this was her husband! This man who had gone straight from his home, -from his wife, from his child, to the arms of this infamous woman. He -knew more than the world did about the character of Mrs. Veilsturm, -for she had told him herself. He knew that she, his wife, had refused -to receive this adventuress and had returned her card! He knew that -Mrs. Veilsturm, Cleopatra, whatever she liked to call herself, had -been connected with disreputable Gabriel Mostyn, and yet, in spite of -all this, he had dared to enter her house, to clasp hands with her as -a friend, to sacrifice his honour and that of his wife to this vile -woman. - -Was there any faith or honesty in man? - -Her father had been bad and vicious all his life; he had destroyed his -daughter's belief in the male sex by the terrible revelations of his -death-bed, but her husband--oh!--she had thought him better than this: -she had respected and admired him, she had been a good wife, holding -her head high and keeping her honour spotless. She was a good mother -to his child, and she had done her best in all ways to fulfil the vows -made at the marriage altar. - -This was her reward! She was deserted for another woman, for a woman -who was the vilest of her sex. Her wifely honour had been dragged in -the mud, her wifely name had been placed with jeers in the mouths of -men and women, and the marriage tie, so sacred in her eyes, had been -violated by her husband, by the very man who should have respected its -sanctity. - -Her first born was playing at her feet in the happy innocence of -childhood, a pure soul fresh from the hand of God, who had given her -this treasure to nurse and cherish. Yet even now, in its artless -babyhood, the shadow of a dark shame was hovering over its golden -head, the name it bore was already smirched in the eyes of the world, -and its father, who was responsible to God for its well-being, had -already degraded it by his own shameful passion. - -Ah! all men were the same. Her father was only the type of many -others. They loved a woman, or said they loved her, and stayed beside -her for a time, yet as soon as they grew weary of her, they flew to -the arms of some newer fancy, and not even the sanctity of the -marriage tie could restrain their brutal natures. Guy, whom she -thought so good and kind, had turned out the same as his fellow men. -He had been a good husband for a time, but now, grown weary of his -quiet home, satiated with domestic love, weary of his prattling child, -he had deliberately flung himself into the arms of this light-o'-love. -Well, he would have his reward. The wages of sin is death! and he -would be dragged down to destruction by those arms that encircled him -so fondly. - -But what about herself? What could she do in order to free herself -from the companionship of this man who prized her less than he did his -dissolute companions? Divorce! Yes, that was the way to break the -chain which bound her to the husband she despised. But it was -impossible that she could take advantage of the law, for it would -reflect on the child in the future, and for the child's sake she would -have to remain in the bondage of marriage. - -Tearless, cold, and pale as a lily, she sat there with her hands -clasping the hateful letter which told her of her husband's treachery -and destroyed the happiness of her life. The child, weary of its toys, -crawled across the carpet to her feet, and clutching her dress raised -itself to its feet with a plaintive cry. She looked downward in -dry-eyed misery, saw the wax-like tiny hands clasping her dress, and -heard the thin little voice utter its inarticulate prayer to lie on -her breast. - -The full horror of her position broke on her dulled brain like a flash -of light, and with a burst of tears she took up the child and strained -him convulsively to her bosom. - -Ah, how those tears fell--hot, scalding tears that blistered her -cheeks, that burned into her very soul, and that fell on the -frightened face of the baby like rain, bitter and salt as the waves of -the sea. The child was afraid at this passionate outburst of sorrow -and began to cry, but she held him close to her breast and, -restraining her tears, hushed him to slumber with a low lullaby -rocking to and fro, her heart heavy as lead. - -"Alizon!" - -With a cry she arose to her feet, the sleeping child in her arms, and -saw her husband, travel-stained, worn, and haggard, standing at the -door with a look of imploring agony on his face. She drew herself up -to her full height and shrank against the wall, with one arm stretched -out to keep him off, the other holding the tiny form of the child, and -at her feet the crumpled letter that had been the cause of all this -undoing. - -Guy made a step forward and stretched out his arms. - -"Alizon!" - -"Don't--don't come near me!" she said in a low, hoarse voice, with a -look of horror on her pale face. - -"I come to explain----" - -"Nothing can explain that," she answered, pointing to the letter on -the floor, "nothing can explain that." - -"I can explain it, if you will only listen," he said vehemently. The -marks of tears were still on her cheeks, but no other traces of -emotion remained to show how she had suffered. - -As her husband spoke, a cold, scornful smile crept over her face, and -she signed to him to go on, still shrinking against the wall with her -arms folded round the child as if she would keep it from being -contaminated by its father. - -"I saw Aunt Jelly," said Sir Guy hurriedly, "and she told me what she -had done. Written to you about--about Mrs. Veilsturm." - -He brought out the hated name with a great effort, but his wife, -neither shrinking nor wincing, stared straight at him with that -terrible frozen smile on her face. - -"She writes under a mistake," pursued Errington, clasping the back of -a chair in his strong fingers as though he would crush it to dust. "It -is not true what she says. I told her all about it and she believed -me. I am going to tell you now, and you will believe me, will you not, -Alizon?" - -"I cannot tell." - -The words dropped slowly from her mouth, and he flung out his arms -towards her with a cry of anguish. - -"You must believe me--you must, I tell you," he said breathlessly. "It -is not true about that woman. I went up to Town with Eustace, and -called at her house----" - -A flush of angry red passed over her face, and she turned on him like -a tigress. - -"You called on her! You called on that woman!" she said in a clear, -vibrating voice, tremulous with anger. "The woman about whom I told -you--whom I would not receive, and you--you--my husband, dared to put -this insult upon me." - -"Alizon----" - -"Don't speak further! I have heard enough. That letter is true, and -you cannot deny it." - -"I do deny it," he cried fiercely. "I tell you it is all a mistake. I -forgot all about your refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Had I -remembered I would not have gone." - -"Ah!" she said with ineffable scorn, "if you had remembered. What -excuse is that to make? Do my words weigh so lightly with you that you -could forget them so easily? It was not for anything that Mrs. -Veilsturm had done to me that I declined to receive her. But I heard -my father, on his death-bed, speak of her--speak of her as men such as -he was speak of such a woman as she is. I told you this, and yet you -forget my words and visit her." - -"As God is my judge, I did forget," he said desperately. "I did not -think about it until it was too late." - -"Ah, you did remember at last." - -"Yes! only it was too late. I had been to her house and she----" - -"And she," echoed his wife bitterly. "Oh, I well know what you are -going to say. She did her best to captivate you with her vile arts, -tried her hardest to win your heart from me----" - -"But she did not succeed--she did not succeed," he said earnestly. - -"Do you think I care if she did or if she did not?" replied Lady -Errington scornfully. "Do you think I would place myself in rivalry -with that woman? No! you have chosen her in preference to me, your -lawful wife. Go to her as soon as you like, but don't dare to come -near me." - -"I will come near you," said Guy desperately. "You have no right to -judge me like this." - -"I have the right of a wronged woman." - -"No, no! I swear you have not. On my soul; on my honour----" - -"On your honour," she interrupted with a sneer, "the honour of a man -who could act as you have done!" - -"Whose fault is it if I have acted badly?" he cried, rendered -desperate by her jeers. - -"Do you mean to infer it's mine?" said his wife quietly. - -He gnawed his moustache viciously and did not respond, whereupon she -was about to ask the question again, when a knock came to the door and -startled them both. - -"It is the child's nurse," said Lady Errington, going to the door. -"Wait a moment." - -Guy turned towards the window so that the servant should not see how -upset he was, and Lady Errington, opening the door, kept her face bent -over the sleeping child as she placed it in Mrs. Tasker's arms. - -"He's sound asleep, Nurse," she said quietly, as the old woman took -him. "Take him up to the nursery, and I'll come to him in a short -time." - -Her voice was perfectly under control, and Mrs. Tasker never for a -moment suspected anything was wrong between her master and mistress as -she toiled slowly up the stairs carrying the child tenderly in her -stout arms. - -Lady Errington drew a long breath as Mrs. Tasker disappeared, and -then, closing the door quietly, turned once more to her husband, who -still stood looking out at the bright sunshine, which seemed to mock -his misery by its glare and cheerful brilliancy. - -"I am waiting for your answer," said his wife's steady voice behind -him, whereupon he turned swiftly round, and crossing to where she -stood, stern and silent by the table, caught one of her hands before -she could prevent him. - -"Alizon," he said earnestly, "for your own sake, for the sake of our -child, listen to me quietly, and I will try and explain things to your -satisfaction. I did go to Mrs. Veilsturm's, but I swear by all that is -sacred, that I did not remember anything about her. Not even her name. -Think for a moment, the whole affair passed in five minutes--your -explanation was a hurried one, and you never referred to it again. It -is eighteen months ago, and since then her name has never been -mentioned between us, so you can hardly wonder that I quite forgot -about the woman. Had I remembered, I would not have gone--give me at -least that credit. I went innocently enough with Eustace, and Mrs. -Veilsturm, I suppose out of revenge for the slight she received from -you, was very attentive to me. I did not respond to her advances in -any way, and saw as little of her as I could. I was not responsible -for the coupling of our names together. You know how the world talks -and magnifies the most innocent things into evidences of guilt. The -scandal reached the ears of my aunt, and she, innocently enough, wrote -that letter to you--a letter which she now bitterly regrets having -sent to you. When she told me about it, I explained all, and she asked -my pardon for having written the letter. I came down here at once to -tell you everything, and I have now done so. On my honour, Alizon, -that is the whole affair. I acted wrongly in forgetting about Mrs. -Veilsturm's past, and I ask your pardon. Let this misunderstanding -cease between us. I love you dearly. I have always loved you, never so -much as now. Do not let our lives be blighted like this. I have acted -wrongly, and I ask your pardon. You in your turn grant it to me, and -let us forget this terrible mistake." - -All the time he was pleading, she listened to him without any sign of -emotion, her face looking impassable as a marble mask, but at the -conclusion of his speech, she withdrew her hand from his with a cold -smile of disbelief, which showed how little his tenderness affected -her. - -"Your explanation would satisfy the world," she said with chilly -dignity, "but it does not satisfy me. I cannot believe that you forgot -about my refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Even if you did forget, -that only makes your conduct worse, for you still went to visit her -after you recollected the affair, as you acknowledge yourself. I have -been a good wife to you, I have been a good mother to your child, and -in return you have not even given me the common fidelity of a husband, -which every woman has a right to expect." - -"I see it is no use pleading to a cold piece of perfection like you," -said Guy, drawing himself up with dignity. "I have stooped to explain -this affair, and you decline to believe me. I can do no more. You are -convinced, without the shadow of a reason, that I am vile, and it is -impossible for me to undeceive you further than I have done. Under -these circumstances it is impossible for us to live together as man -and wife. You doubt me, and I resent your doing so, therefore it will -be best for us to at once make some arrangement about our future -lives." - -He spoke calmly enough, but his heart was hot with indignation, that -he should receive such treatment from the woman he loved best on -earth. He was innocent, and he knew himself to be innocent, therefore -all his nature rose in revolt against the unjust attitude taken up by -his wife. - -She, on her side, was also indignant, deeming that his explanation was -false from beginning to end, so she refused to forgive him, or to -believe the skilful tissue of falsehoods he had put forward as a plea -for her mercy. - -It was a case of misunderstanding on both sides, and as the stubborn -pride of each refused to bend, nothing was now left but separation. - -"For the sake of the child," she said coldly, "I am unwilling there -should be any scandal, so it will be best for me to stay down here to -look after the boy, and you can take up your abode in London, or -wherever else it pleases you. Regarding money matters, I presume you -will allow me sufficient to live on in a style befitting the mistress -of this place. My life will be devoted to bringing up the child, -yours--well, I have nothing to do with that, and you are free to act -as you desire. These are the only terms upon which I will consent to -pass over the matter, and I think there is nothing more to be said." - -Slowly and deliberately she uttered these cruel words, which fell like -ice on his heart, and showed him how utterly futile it was to hope for -any reconcilement with this pure woman, so pure that she could neither -understand nor forgive the infidelity of which she accused him. All -his manhood arose in rebellion against such treatment, and, mad with -anger, he stepped to her side as she turned to leave the room. - -"There is more to be said," he cried furiously. "I have told you the -truth, which you decline to believe. But if I had conducted myself as -you say--if I had voluntarily gone to this woman whom you hate, who is -to blame, you or I? Have I not been a good husband to you since our -marriage? Have I not striven by every means in my power to win your -heart? and what have I received in return?--cold words and frigid -smiles. Do you think that I did not feel all this? Yes, I did feel it, -but you, wrapped up in your icy nature, cannot understand my feelings." - -"I have treated you with all respect----" - -"Respect! Respect!" he reiterated bitterly. "I ask for love, you give -me respect. I ask for bread, you offer me a stone. All the feelings of -my heart have been crushed down by your cold superiority, by your -chilly self-respect, which forbade you giving to me those attentions -that other men receive from their wives." - -"You dare to talk to me like this," she said angrily, "you, who have -had no respect either for me or for your child!" - -"Ah, the child," he retorted with a sneering laugh, "it was the child -that came between us. You have lavished upon it all the love and -affection which is due to me. Am I not the child's father? Why should -you treat me as if I were a block of marble? In my own house I have -been lonely. In my own house I have been neglected, while you, leaving -me to starve, gave all your love to the child." - -"Is it a crime for a mother to love her child?" - -"No, it is no crime. I did not say it was. But it is a crime--worse -than a crime--to cherish and love the child to the exclusion of the -husband and father. The husband has the first claim on the wife's -heart, the child the second." - -"You are wrong." - -"No, I am right," he replied vehemently, "and if driven forth by -neglect, and hungry for love, I left my home to go to another woman, -you reproach me for what is your own work! But I have not done so. I -have been as true to you as you have been to me. Alizon, let things be -as they were before this miserable misunderstanding, and let there be -love and affection between us. I will forgive you all the neglect I -have suffered these eighteen months, if you will overlook my -forgetfulness about Mrs. Veilsturm, and act towards me as a wife -should act." - -"You forgive me," she said contemptuously, "you forgive me? No. It is -I who have the right to do that. I do not forgive you. I never shall." - -"Are those your last words?" - -"My last words." - -Errington looked at her in silence for a moment, and then, without a -word, walked towards the door of the room, at which he paused. - -"I have implored and entreated you to be merciful," he said, with -terrible calmness, "you have refused to grant what I ask. Now I go -back to London, to Mrs. Veilsturm, the woman you despise so much. You -have driven me to this, and the result of it rests on your own head. -You do not love me, you never have loved me, so I leave you alone in -your immaculate purity, to forget the man whom you have despised and -wronged." - -He was gone before she could utter a word, and she was left alone in -the room, alone in the world, with nothing but her child to comfort -her in the hour of need. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. -THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE. - - "The sea is cruel, its white waves hide me, - Lo I am weary and scant of breath, - Thou to a haven of safety guide me, - Stretch out thy hand, lest I swoon to death. - - "Thou art my God in this hour of peril, - Yet in thy sight, I am lost and vile, - All thy love, as the sea is sterile, - I sink, I perish, beneath thy smile." - - -There are always two sides to a question, especially to the question -of marriage. - -One side is invariably taken by the husband, the other by the wife. - -Both claim their side to be right, and, as this is an impossibility, -one side must be wrong. - -Which? - -It is a difficult question to settle, more difficult than the judgment -of Solomon, more difficult than the judgment of Paris, and though the -world, represented by the Law, generally plays the part of arbitrator -in conjugal disputes, in this case it was referred to neither by the -husband nor the wife. - -Under these circumstances it will be as well to argue both sides -fairly, and pronounce a verdict in favour of the strongest. - -A case for the opinion of Society, unrepresented by any legal -tribunal, the parties concerned conducting their own cases personally. - -On the part of the wife-- - -"When I married Guy Errington, I had no belief whatsoever in the -masculine sex, such scepticism being due to my knowledge of the -character of my father, Gabriel Mostyn. Before his illness I lived in -almost conventual seclusion, and from the reading of books formed an -ideal world, which I have since found to be as unreal as the fantastic -visions of Oriental dreamers. - -"My world was based upon a delusive belief in the chivalry of men and -the purity of women, and resembled in its visionary loveliness the -Garden of Eden, before Eve tempted Adam with the fatal fruit. In this -unreal world men were always young, handsome and true-hearted, while -the women were beautiful in their forms and faces, pure in their -lives. I dreamed that some day I, an inhabitant of this beautiful -universe, would meet with a lover who would dedicate his life to mine, -and we would go through life side by side in love and purity, until we -exchanged this heaven upon earth for one even fairer. - -"Alas! these were but the virginal dreams of a girl, unsullied by -contact with the world, and my ideal life was shattered by the vile -cynicism of my father, who took a delight in destroying all my -illusions, and in dragging me down from the light of fancy to the -darkness of reality. - -"So evil had been his life, that no one would stay by him in his hour -of need, and I, a young girl, unsophisticated and innocent, was forced -to remain beside his bed. To him I dedicated my youth, my innocence, -my womanly feeling, my filial tenderness, and received as a reward a -brutal unveiling of the most horrible things on earth. When I went to -his bedside at the beginning of those four bitter years I was an -innocent girl, when I turned away, leaving him stiff and stark in his -coffin, I was, in knowledge, an accomplished woman of the world. I -believed in no one. I doubted the motives of all. I looked upon my -fellow-creatures as birds of prey who would turn and rend me were I -not dexterous enough to foil them with their own weapons. Is it then -to be wondered at that I dreaded marriage with a man who would -doubtless be as evil in his thoughts and deeds as was my father? - -"Had I been in receipt of a sufficient income to keep me from -starving, had I been able to earn my own living, I would never have -married; but under the grudging hospitality of my relatives, and the -iron grip of poverty, the strongest resolution must give way. I was no -heroine to battle with the merciless world as represented to me by my -father, so, in despair, I married Guy Errington. - -"To my surprise and delight, I found him to resemble the ideal -inhabitants of my fanciful world, and honoured and respected him for -those qualities which I had never seen in my father. He was good, -kind, loving and tender, all of which qualities to me, in a man, were -like a revelation from God. Still, the teachings of my father could -not be easily eradicated, and I dreaded lest some chance should rend -the veil which hid his real nature and show me the innate brutality -which my father assured me existed in all mankind. - -"Meanwhile, I was thankful for his kindness, and strove to show by -every means in my power how I reciprocated his love. If he accuses me -of coldness, I can offer no defence. I am not a demonstrative woman, -as all my timid outbursts of affection were ruthlessly crushed by my -father, and self-restraint has become a habit with me. Besides, -dreading lest my married happiness should not last, I wore my coldness -as an armour against a possible disappointment. - -"I loved my husband, but the invincible mistrust which my father had -inculcated in my breast isolated me during the earlier portion of our -married life, and I was afraid to let my husband see how much I loved -him, lest he took advantage of such confidence. Still, I wanted -something to love, something that I could worship, could cling to, -something that I could trust in fully and that would not deceive me. - -"It came at last, a pure, little, white soul from the hand of God; and -to my child I gave the whole of the love, the adoration, the passion, -which had been pent up in my breast for so many years for want of some -one on whom I could bestow them without fear of the consequence. - -"My husband hated to see me so fond of the child, for his jealous -nature would be content with nothing but undivided love, and in spite -of my desire to make him happy, I could not leave my child unloved in -order to pander to his selfish passion. He resented my reproval of his -folly and withdrew himself from my society, so that I had no one to -love but my child, and, although we lived in the same house, the poles -were not further asunder than we were. - -"Then she came between us--that vile woman whom my father knew in -South America--and my husband, weary of his home, of his wife, of his -child, left all to go to her. What wife could put up with such an -insult? Had it been any other woman, it would have been bad enough, -but this special woman whom he knew I despised, whom he knew from my -lips to be an infamous creature, this was the woman for whom he -forsook me. - -"How can I believe his explanations? They are all false, glibly as -they are uttered. No! I am deceived no longer, he is the same as my -father, and seeks only the selfish gratification of his own appetites. -The end has come, as I knew it would--the mask is torn off, and I see -my husband, whom I loved and trusted during the early days of our -marriage, as he really is. My father was right; there is no faith, -honour, honesty, nor truth, in men; and I have only acted rightly in -refusing to live with a man who could behave so to his wife and child. - -"Even now he is with that woman, on the feeble plea that my coldness -drove him away. Does that excuse his vice? No! He should have waited -until perfect love, perfect understanding, was established between us, -but now we are parted for ever. He has gone back to the life most -congenial to him, and I--I, like many other women, can do nothing but -pray that my son may not grow up to follow in the evil footsteps of -his father." - -On the part of the husband-- - -"Saints do not live among men, except in the canonization of the -Church, and before my marriage I was neither better nor worse than any -other young man. But without being either a Saint Anthony or a Saint -Francis, I did my best to lead a decent life in every way, and if I -had a few vices--or what ascetics term vices--they were so small that -they were invisible except to the microscope of certain Pharisees who -pass their lives in finding out their neighbours' faults, and thanking -God they are not as other men are. - -"I loved my wife from the first moment I saw her, being in the first -place attracted by the beauty of her person, and in the second by the -difference in her nature to that of other women. I do not put myself -forward either as a deep thinker or as a student of humanity, but must -confess I grew weary of the ordinary Society woman, married or -unmarried. They talked in a frivolous fashion of the most trivial -things, but Alizon Mostyn attracted me by the charm of her -conversation, not that she was very learned, or particularly -brilliant, but she talked of ordinary matters in an original way, -which was wonderfully fascinating. I loved her dearly, and saw in this -pale, quiet girl, one who would be a companion to me, who would make -me a better man, and aid me to lead my life on a higher plane to that -which I had hitherto done. - -"It was for this reason I married her, and though she was cold in her -manner towards me, this very coldness had a certain charm about it -which I could not resist. I knew that she had been badly treated by -her father, so strove in every way by tenderness and love to make -amends for the misery of her early life. - -"After marriage I was perfectly satisfied with my wife, and although -at times her persistent coldness wounded me, yet I thought by -unfailing love and attention to make her open her heart to me. No -doubt I would have achieved this object if it had not been for the -birth of the child, which has, in a great measure, been the cause of -all the trouble of our later married life. - -"I was glad to welcome the child, as I thought it would form a new -link between us, and by thawing her frigid disposition draw us closer -together. But, instead of doing this, the boy was the cause of our -estrangement, as she lavished upon him all the love of which her -nature was capable, and I was persistently neglected. - -"No doubt the world would think I had little to complain of--my wife -was perfect, both in her conjugal and maternal capacity--the only -trouble being the cherishing of the child to the neglect of the -father. - -"But, look at the matter from my point of view. I had married my wife -for companionship, for the sake of satisfying the craving of human -nature to be loved, and instead of my ideas being realized, I found -myself shut out of Paradise, while my wife, with her child, rested -happily within. She was never away from the boy, and day after day I -was forced to live a lonely life, neglected and uncared for by a woman -I adored. All her ideas, conversation, and desires, were bound up in -the child, so that she had neither the time nor inclination to take an -interest in my pursuits, or in my life. We dwelt together as man and -wife, to all appearances we were a happy and attached couple, yet the -child stood between us, like an evil shadow, which isolated us the one -from the other. Often I tried to break down this barrier, by praising -the child, but the mother seemed jealous even of the father; she -wanted the child all to herself, and, secure in such possession, was -contented to treat her husband as an ordinary friend. - -"I resented this state of things, I revolted at being condemned to -occupy such an isolated position, but I could do nothing. My wife was -perfect in every other way, and to have complained would have been -ridiculous, so I was forced to suffer in silence. God alone knows how -I did suffer in the solitude to which I was condemned, at seeing the -love and caresses bestowed on the child, love and caresses in which I -had no share. All her life was in the child, and she possessed him. My -life was in her--and I was a stranger to her in every way. - -"Under the circumstances I thought it best to go away for a few weeks, -thinking that she would miss me in some little measure, and would be -more affectionate and tender when I returned. Whether such an idea was -right or wrong I do not know, I never shall know, for between our -parting and our meeting occurred the episode of Mrs. Veilsturm. - -"On my honour, I went innocently enough into the presence of this -woman. I had forgotten all about my wife's refusal to receive her, for -had I remembered I certainly would not have gone. But, as I said -before, I had forgotten. I had never seen the woman; I did not even -know her name. How then was I to recollect the episode of eighteen -months before?--an episode the memory of which had not lasted longer -than a few days. - -"I went to Mrs. Veilsturm's 'At home.' I found her a charming woman, -and, at her express invitation, I went often to her house. She was -different from the ordinary run of women, and I took pleasure in her -society, but there was no warmer feeling between us, at least, not on -my part. With the scandal of the world I have nothing to do, sin and -purity are treated the same way, and the mere fact of my being once or -twice seen with Mrs. Veilsturm was sufficient to set afloat the lying -story which came to my wife's ears through the medium of Aunt Jelly. - -"To my wife I told the whole story, but she refused to believe me. I -confessed that I had remembered about Mrs. Veilsturm when it was too -late, but she accused me of knowing the truth from the first, and of -having wilfully acted as I had done. Nothing I could say could shake -her belief in this matter, and she swore she would never forgive me -for the insult I had placed upon her. - -"What could I do? Nothing! except retire from the scene. In vain I -assured her of my complete innocence. She refused to believe my -statement, and drove me from her presence--from my home--with cruel -words. This woman, wrapped up in an armour of purity--of selfish -purity--could not credit my innocence in any way. She judged me from -the 'I-would-not-have-acted-thus' standpoint, and insisted that I had -betrayed her basely, although she had no further proof than the gossip -of the world. - -"I left her. I came back to London to see Mrs. Veilsturm again. It is -wrong--I know it is wrong--but what am I to do? Live an isolated -existence, pass days and nights of abject misery, only to pander to -her self-righteous ideas? For eighteen months, in spite of all my -tenderness and love, she has wilfully neglected me, she has refused to -acknowledge that I have been a good husband, she has rendered my life -miserable, and now she has driven me forth from my own home on account -of a sin--if it can be called so--of which I am guiltless. - -"What am I to do? Live the life of a hermit in order to right myself -in her eyes and be called back and pardoned, as if I were indeed -guilty? No! I will not do so. It is her fault, not mine, that I am -placed in such a miserable position. Unable to win her by tenderness, -by love, I will henceforth live my own life and see what neglect will -do. For every pang she has inflicted upon me I will inflict a pang -upon her, for her months of neglect I will repay her in full, for her -coldness I will give coldness in my turn, and to any remonstrances she -may offer I will say then what I say now--'It is your work.'" - - -So far the cases of husband and wife, each arguing from their own -point of view. Now which of them is right, the man or the woman? The -husband who strove to win his wife's love, or the wife who refused to -give the husband that love which was his due. - -Errington was now acting wrongly, as he himself knew; he was -voluntarily flinging himself into the arms of a woman whom he knew to -be worthless, but who can say he had no provocation? He had done his -best to win his wife's love, he had suffered in silence during the -period of his married life, and in return she had shamefully neglected -him, and had finally, with hardly any proof, accused him of -voluntarily making a friend of a worthless woman. Outraged by this -treatment, the husband left her presence, and she had driven him into -the very jaws of destruction. - -Doubtless he should have stood firm, and by years of patient -self-sacrifice showed her that she was wrong. But how many of us are -capable of such asceticism? How many of us would stand for long years -in the outer darkness, knowing himself to be guiltless of the crime -laid to his charge? - -This woman--pure wife, affectionate mother, as she was--had acted as -if she were above the weaknesses of human nature. She had arrogated to -herself the functions of the Deity in judging and condemning a poor -human soul, who, weary with beseeching for what it never received, -fell away in despair into the gulf of sin and misery. - -Who was wrong--the man who sought evil in despair, or the woman whose -coldness and purity had denied him the mercy which would have saved -him? - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. -CLEOPATRA VICTRIX. - - "To my chariot wheels have I bound him, - To bear him in triumph away; - As master and king have I crowned him, - To reign but the length of a day. - I woo but to kiss and betray him, - We meet but a moment to part; - In the hour of his joy will I slay him, - My wheels will go over his heart." - - -Mrs. Veilsturm's drawing-room was not by any means an artistic -apartment, being full of violent contrasts in the way of decoration -and furniture, yet not without a certain picturesqueness of its own. -It was bizarre, gaudy, fantastic, strange, and a faithful reflection -of the curious mind of its mistress. The European side of her nature -inspired her with a certain amount of artistic taste, while the -African blood in her veins made her delight in brilliant colouring and -barbaric ornamentation. The eyes ached as they rested on the confused -mass of tints, variegated as a flower-garden, and yet there was a -certain design and harmony throughout, something like the tangled -patterns of those Oriental carpets, those Indian shawls, which -represent the cloudy splendours haunting an Eastern mind. - -The paper on the walls of this room, oblong and lofty, was of a -dark-red tint, stamped with golden sunflowers rising from their -velvety-green leaves. Delicate lace curtains of milky white, -interwoven with threads of silver, fell before the three long windows, -from under massive gilt cornices. The carpet was of black and yellow -stripes in undulating lines, like the skin of a tiger, and here and -there a rug of silky-white hair contrasted curiously with the -fantastic ground upon which it rested. The furniture was of dark -walnut, upholstered with bright yellow satin, smooth and shining as -the inside of a buttercup. - -In the corners of the room stood slender palms with heavily-drooping -leaves, vividly-green ferns with feathery fronds, prickly, fleshy -cactus and spiky, fan-shaped plants, suggestive of tropical -skies--some rising from the porous red jars of Egypt, others springing -from misshapen vases of porcelain, on which, in crimson and green, -sprawled the sacred Chinese dragon, and a few growing in shallow -basins of pale-yellow pottery. - -At the end of the room, behind the veil of Indian bead curtains, was a -cool-looking conservatory, skilfully lighted by electric lamps in -globes of pale green, which diffused a kind of fictitious moonlight. -In the drawing-room the mass of colour, strange and incongruous, was -softened, blended, and confused by the tremulous red light that -streamed from the tall brass lamps with their umbrella-like shades of -crimson silk. Add to this fantasy of light and colour, the sickly -odours of the pastilles constantly burning, and it can be imagined how -curiously appropriate this strange room was to the rich Eastern beauty -and oddly barbaric costume of Cleopatra. - -On this night, having been down at Hurlingham, she was too tired to go -out, so preferred to remain at home and receive a few friends. - -At present, she was lying negligently back in a low chair, arrayed in -her favourite costume of amber and black, but, despite the attentions -of Dolly Thambits, who was talking to her, she seemed to be out of -temper. Mr. Jiddy, seated on the extreme edge of a chair like a white -cat, was listening to the conversation of Major Griff, who, stiff and -grim, was leaning against the mantelpiece. No other people were -present, nor did Mrs. Veilsturm seem very much inclined to receive -company, for she yawned once or twice, and looked at the Major -significantly, as if to hint that he might take away Mr. Thambits and -friend as soon as he liked. - -The Major, however, wanted to speak to Mrs. Veilsturm himself, so he -did not take the hint, but resolutely waited on, in the hope that the -two young men would shortly depart and leave him alone with the -charming widow. Meanwhile he chatted about pigeon-shooting to Mr. -Jiddy, who knew nothing about it, and Thambits bored Mrs. Veilsturm to -death by his dreary small talk. - -"I say, you know," drawled Dolly, after a pause, during which Mrs. -Veilsturm had been wondering how she could get rid of him, "what about -your fancy-dress ball?" - -"Oh, I've put it off," replied Mrs. Veilsturm idly, "a week or two -does not make much difference, and my costume was not ready." - -"What are you going to appear as?" - -"Ah! that is the question," said Cleopatra smiling. "I'm not going to -tell you. I'm not going to tell anyone. I will appear at my own ball -in the most unexpected fashion." - -"Like a surprise packet?" - -"Yes! as you elegantly put it--like a surprise packet." - -"Oh, that's jolly," observed Mr. Thambits brilliantly, then relapsed -into silence. - -"I say, Mrs. Veilsturm!" he said at last. - -"Yes." - -"Errington's gone to the country again." - -Mrs. Veilsturm could not suppress an angry start at this information. -She had missed Guy for the last three or four days, and, having heard -nothing from him since she received his note excusing himself from -coming to the Marlowe Theatre, was considerably enraged at this -neglect. She was too clever, however, to betray herself to Dolly -Thambits, who was jealously vigilant, so she asked quietly: - -"Indeed! who told you so?" - -"Gartney! He went about four days ago. Got tired of Town, I suppose." - -"No doubt! Town does get wearisome at times." - -"I don't think so while you are here," said Mr. Thambits tenderly. - -"What a charming compliment," answered Mrs. Veilsturm with a forced -laugh, shutting her fan savagely, for when Dolly was amorous he was -simply detestable. - -"Not to you," he murmured softly. - -"More compliments," she said coolly. "You must pass your days making -them up. By-the-way, would you mind telling me the time?" - -"Certainly. It is now a few minutes past nine." - -"Oh, I say, is it?" cried Mr. Jiddy, jumping up from his chair. "I -say, Dolly, we've got to go to Lady Kalsmith's you know." - -"I thought you were coming also, Mrs. Veilsturm?" said Dolly, rising -reluctantly. - -"I! No," she answered, lifting her eyebrows. "Would I be dressed like -this if I were going?" - -"Mrs. Veilsturm," explained Major Griff, graciously, "is too tired to -go out to-night, and thinks a rest will do her good." - -"I'm afraid we've tired you," said Thambits, looking at his divinity. - -"Oh dear, not at all," responded Mrs. Veilsturm, lying with the utmost -dexterity. "So glad to see you. _Au revoir_ at present." - -"I'll call and see if you are better to-morrow," said Dolly, making -his adieux with manifest reluctance. - -"Delighted! goodbye, Mr. Jiddy! Major?" - -Grill took the hint, and ushered Dolly and his friend out of the room -before they had time to change their minds, and having seen them -safely bestowed in a hansom, returned to Mrs. Veilsturm, whom he found -sitting in her old place, frowning savagely at the fireplace. The -Major resumed his lounging attitude on the hearthrug, and lighted a -cigarette. - -"Don't smoke," said Mrs. Veilsturm sharply. "I don't want my -drawing-room to smell like a bar." - -"There's not much chance of that," retorted the Major coolly, throwing -the match into the fireplace, and blowing a cloud of smoke. "No one -will come to-night, and those abominable pastilles you are so fond of -burning will dissipate the smoke by to-morrow." - -Mrs. Veilsturm offered no further remonstrance, but tapped her fan -thoughtfully in the palm of her hand. Major Griff watched her in -silence for a moment, and then made a polite remark. - -"You're a fool, Maraquita." - -"And why?" - -"Because you're thinking about that young Errington. He's no good to -us." - -"Us! Us!" she reiterated savagely, "always us! Do you think I've -nothing else to do but to think of you?" - -"At present, No," replied Griff coolly. "Now don't get in a rage, my -dear. It doesn't improve your looks, and certainly does not carry any -weight with me. I tell you again you're a fool for thinking about -Errington. He's gone back to his wife in spite of your cleverness. -Didn't you hear that idiot say so?" - -"Yes!" - -"Well?" - -"Well!" she echoed scornfully, raising her eyes to his face, "what of -that? Do you think I'm going to let him go so easily?" - -"I don't see you've much option in the matter," said Griff grimly. - -"You see nothing except what suits your own ends." - -"Very likely. That's the way to succeed in the world." - -"You don't seem to have made much headway yet," replied Cleopatra with -a sneer. - -"Oh, pretty well--pretty well," said the Major airily. "I think this -room--this house--your dress--your diamonds--your position--are all -evidences of success. And we'll do better if you only keep your head -clear, and not sacrifice everything for this Errington." - -"I don't intend to sacrifice anything for Sir Guy Errington," she -replied viciously, "but I intend he shall sacrifice all for me; his -wife! his home! his honour! all he holds dearest in the world." - -"And then?" - -"And then he can go his own way. I have done with him," said Mrs. -Veilsturm calmly. - -"I wouldn't talk in such a melodramatic fashion if I were you," -observed Griff leisurely, "revenge is all very well on the stage, but -it's silly in real life. You stand to gain nothing, and lose a good -deal." - -"Do you think I can forget the insult his wife put upon me?" - -"Well then punish the wife." - -"I intend to--through the husband." - -"Now look here, Maraquita," said her partner earnestly, emphasizing -his remarks with his finger. "You take care what you're about. We've -had a good time in London, but the game is pretty well played out. -It's always advisable to leave a place with flying colours, so that -one can come back again. People are talking about you already, don't -let them talk any more, or you'll find all your lady friends give you -the cold shoulder, and if they do, you may rest assured they won't be -satisfied till they induce their husbands, fathers, and brothers to -follow their example. I don't see the fun of such a scandal, -especially as there's nothing to be got out of Errington. He's as poor -as a church mouse. So leave him alone, and after the ball, we can go -for America in good odour with everyone, and after a year or two in -the States, we can come back here when a new generation arises that -don't know Joseph. My advice is sound, Maraquita, and you know it." - -Mrs. Veilsturm sat perfectly still during this speech, with her eyes -cast down on the closed fan lying on her lap, but when the Major -ended, she looked up suddenly with a sombre frown on her face. - -"I've made up my mind what to do, and neither you nor anyone else will -turn me from my purpose." - -Major Griff shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly to the other end -of the room. He was a man who never wasted words, and seeing from the -set expression of Mrs. Veilsturm's face that she was determined to -carry out her purpose, he judged it useless to argue about the matter. -Yet, although he kept his temper well under control, he could not help -saying something disagreeable to this woman who was sacrificing -everything for the sake of revenge. - -"In spite of your cleverness, my dear Maraquita, I shrewdly suspect -that Sir Guy sees through your little game, he has placed himself -beyond the reach of temptation." - -"He will come back," she said curtly. - -"I doubt it. The moth does not come back to the flame that has once -singed its wings. The fly doesn't trust itself in the spider's web a -second time." - -"He will come back." - -The Major returned to the fireplace, produced his pocketbook in the -most leisurely manner, and took a gold pencil case hanging at the end -of his chain in his fingers. - -"I'll bet you the worth of that diamond star in your hair he does -not." - -"Don't be rash, the star cost two hundred pounds." - -"So. I'll lay you two hundred pounds to the promise that you'll behave -decently, that Errington does not come back." - -Mrs. Veilsturm opened her fan with a grand wave, and looked at him -serenely. - -"Book it," she said curtly. - -Major Griff did so, and restored the book to his pocket. "Well, I must -be off," he said, stretching himself. "I want to see Dolser about -putting a paragraph in his paper concerning the ball. Can I do -anything for you?" - -"Nothing, thank you. Good-night." - -"Good-night." - -He went towards the door, and without vouchsafing a glance at her, -left the room. - -If Mrs. Veilsturm was tired, she did not make any attempt to go to -bed, but remained seated in her chair pondering over the position of -affairs. - -She was not by any means as confident over Errington's return as she -pretended to be, for she was far too clever a woman to misjudge the -impression she had made. Guy had gone away from Town without a word of -farewell; therefore she was easily satisfied that he was still -heart-whole. As he had acted thus, she could do absolutely nothing, -for he certainly would not come back to a woman about whom he did not -care. And yet she had done everything in her power to entangle him in -her nets. The fool, to leave a woman like her for a pale, sickly wife. -Were her charms fading, that he had treated her so scornfully? Was the -prize not worth the winning? Was there really a man in the world who -could turn coldly away from her beauty when she smiled invitation? - -As these thoughts passed through her mind, she arose from her chair -rapidly, and leaning her arms on the white marble mantelpiece, -examined her face carefully in the glass. The rich, dusky skin, -through which flushed redly the hot blood, the delicately drawn -eyebrows, arched over the liquid eyes, the shining coils of hair above -the low forehead, the full, red lips, the shell-like ears, tinged with -pink, the slender neck; she examined them all in a severely critical -fashion, and saw that there was no flaw anywhere. A slow smile of -triumph curved the corners of her mouth as she looked at her beautiful -face in the mirror, and she turned away exulting in her physical -perfection. - -"Can he resist me?" she whispered to her heart, and her heart -answered, "No." - -At this moment a servant entered the room with a magnificent bouquet -of white lilies, which he presented to his mistress, and then retired. -She held them in her hands, inhaling their faint perfume, and admiring -the stainless purity of their deep cups; then, catching sight of a -card thrust into the centre of the flowers, she took it out to read -the name. - -"Sir Guy Errington." - -With a low laugh of triumph she tossed the flowers on the table, and, -with the card still in her hand, swept across the room to a desk of -rosewood near the window. Sitting down she wrote a note to Major -Griff: - - -"DEAR MAJOR, - -"Kindly bring with you to-morrow your cheque for £200. He has come -back. - - "MARAQUITA VEILSTURM." - - -Placing this in an envelope, she directed it to Major Griff, at the -Globetrotters' Club, then ringing the bell, gave it to the servant, -with instructions that it was to be delivered at once. - -When she was once more alone, she picked up Sir Guy's card, and smiled -cruelly as she looked at the name. - -"You fool," she whispered softly. "Oh, you fool." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. -IN THE COILS OF THE SERPENT. - - "By the magic of thine eyes - Thou hast drawn me to the brake, - As thy victim slowly dies, - Hiss in triumph, cruel snake. - Strangled now I gasp for breath, - Thus ensnared within thy toils, - I can only wait for death, - Helpless in thy shining coils." - - -Mrs. Veilsturm was a lady who once having learnt a lesson from -experience, never needed to go to that unpleasant school a second -time. She saw plainly that her first tactics with regard to Errington -had been entirely wrong, as it was a mistake to treat such a -non-appreciative person with kindness. Therefore, when he returned to -her for a second time, she behaved towards him with cold disdain, -which had the effect of making him simply furious, as it resembled the -way in which he had been treated by his wife. Instead of taking -offence, however, and leaving his capricious divinity in disgust, he -followed her everywhere, resolved with dogged perseverance to force -her to revert to her earlier demeanour. - -Wherever Cleopatra went, Errington was to be seen in attendance, -and at balls, theatres, garden-parties, the Park, Hurlingham, his -haggard-looking face appeared ever beside her. All the world of -London, seeing Mrs. Veilsturm's change of front, thought that she was -tired of her last fancy, and began to pity her for the persistent -manner in which she was followed by her discarded lover. When -questioned on the subject, she simply laughed, and talked pathetically -about being a lonely widow, so that everyone said that she had been -badly treated in being suspected of favouring Errington in any way. - -"A charming woman, my dear," whispered the world, behind its fan, -"always behaved with the greatest delicacy in every way. But that -young Errington! Oh! good gracious! a young libertine--persecutes her -with attentions and she can't possibly get rid of him. A bad young -man, my dear, a very bad young man." - -So the world, in its usual capricious manner, changed round -altogether, and whitewashed Mrs. Veilsturm as a saint, while it -blackened poor Guy's character as that of an irredeemable scamp. He -had a wife, whom he treated very badly, kept her shut up in a gloomy -place in the country. Spent all his income in leading a fast life. -Terribly in debt, and mixed up with the Hebrews. Mrs. Veilsturm had -implored him, with tears in her eyes, to go back to his wife, but he -resolutely declined. She was really behaving very well, but as for -young Errington--well, what could be expected now-a-days? - -As for Saint Cleopatra, she was placed on a pedestal from whence she -smiled kindly on her crowd of worshippers, and, possibly, laughed in -her sleeve at the way in which she was gulling them. She had -completely recovered her position in the eyes of society, and the -Major chuckled complacently over the clever tactics of his friend and -partner. The ball at which she was to make her last appearance in -Town, was near at hand, and it seemed as though the firm were about to -depart for the States in a blaze of triumph. - -A great change had come over Guy since his return to the feet of Mrs. -Veilsturm. Formerly so hearty and cheery, he was now gloomy and -morose, with a frown on his good-looking face and a pain in his heart. -His wife's cruelty had wounded him deeply, and though he did not care -in the least for Mrs. Veilsturm, yet he was determined, out of -bravado, to persevere in his pursuit. After a time, however, he became -fascinated by her beauty and persistent neglect, which feeling -Cleopatra saw, and determined to profit by it when she judged fit. At -present, however, in the eyes of the world she was simply a virtuous -woman exposed to the addresses of a libertine, and gained a great deal -of undeserved pity thereby. - -Eustace was still in Town, and was considerably puzzled over the whole -affair, especially by the way in which Mrs. Veilsturm was behaving. He -knew that she wanted to fascinate Guy for her own wicked ends, and -wondered that she treated him in a way that was calculated to lose her -the very prize which she strove to win. From constant observation, -however, he gained a clear idea of the means she was adopting both to -attract Errington and silence scandal, and could not refrain from -admiring the dexterous fashion with which she played this very -difficult game. - -With regard to his cousin, he, of course, guessed that he had -quarrelled with Alizon, but was unable to ascertain clearly what had -occurred, as on asking Guy he was savagely told to mind his own -business. Eustace would have taken offence at such treatment from -anyone else, but he pitied his cousin for his obvious unhappiness, -therefore took no notice of his rudeness. - -He saw plainly, however, that husband and wife had parted in anger, so -the way was made clear for him to carry out his intentions with regard -to Lady Errington. But curiously enough, now that the very thing he -desired was made so easy for him, he could not make up his mind to go -down to Castle Grim, near the home of the woman he loved. Eustace was -as selfish and egotistical as ever, still in spite of his strong -inclination for Alizon, in spite of the three interpositions of -Destiny, which had such an effect on his fatalistic nature! he -hesitated about carrying out his project, and lingered in Town in a -vacillating frame of mind eminently unsatisfactory to himself. - -Once or twice, with an idea that he was doing his duty, he ventured to -speak to his cousin about the way he was haunting the footsteps of -Mrs. Veilsturm, but such well-meant intentions were received by Guy -with such bad grace that he judged it best to remain neutral. - -Aunt Jelly heard of Guy's behaviour, and also of the position taken up -by Mrs. Veilsturm, by whose conduct she, in common with the rest of -the world, was completely blinded. She sent for Guy in order to -remonstrate with him, but he curtly refused to see her at all, and in -despair she asked Eustace to speak to his cousin. Eustace told her he -had done so without any result, and declined to interfere in the -matter again. Miss Corbin would have liked to have written to Alizon, -but her last attempt to mend matters had resulted in such a fiasco -that she was afraid to do anything. So the poor old lady, already very -ill, worried and fretted herself to a shadow over the helpless -position in which she found herself. - -Seriously angry with Guy, she had altered her will in favour of -Eustace, and then took to her bed, resolving to meddle no more in -mundane affairs. Victoria and Minnie attended her with great devotion, -as she was clearly destined never to recover, but her indomitable -spirit held out to the end, and she forbade any of her relations to be -summoned. One thing displeased her seriously, that Otterburn had not -yet spoken to Victoria, and one day she asked him plainly if he -intended to do so, upon which the boy told her the whole state of the -case. - -"So you see, Miss Corbin," he said, when he finished, "that I'm afraid -to try my luck a second time, in case the answer will be no." - -"You have no fear of that," replied Aunt Jelly, patting his hand. "No -one regrets her refusal more than Victoria. You ask her again, and -I'll warrant the answer will be what you desire." - -So Otterburn, having received this encouragement, made up his mind to -speak to Victoria at Mrs. Veilsturm's ball. Aunt Jelly had not -intended to let Miss Sheldon go to this festivity at first, thinking -that Mrs. Veilsturm had designedly attracted Guy, but when she heard -the way in which she was behaving, she withdrew her prohibition and -insisted upon Victoria going. Not only that, but she herself selected -a costume for her ward, and considerably astonished that young damsel -when she told her what she wanted her to appear as. - -"Why Flora Macdonald?" asked Victoria, in surprise. "I'm not a bit -Scotch." - -"Are you not?" said Aunt Jelly drily. "I thought your mother was?" - -"Oh, yes, but----" - -"Don't make nonsensical objections, child," replied Miss Corbin -sharply, with a flash of her old spirit. "I want you to go as Flora -Macdonald, and I've no doubt you'll find out the reason before the -ball is ended." - -Whereat Victoria, being less innocent of the reason than she pretended -to be, laughed gaily, and went off with Minnie Pelch on a shopping -excursion. - -"Minnie," she said to her companion, when they left Miss Corbin, "do -you know anything about Flora Macdonald?" - -"Oh, yes," said Minnie, delighted at displaying her historical -knowledge. "She was in love with Bonnie Prince Charlie, and saved his -life, you know." - -"Bonnie Prince Charlie," repeated Victoria thoughtfully, "perhaps I'll -meet him at the ball." - -"I shouldn't wonder," replied Miss Pelch significantly, for being a -true woman, and dearly loving a romance, she had seen long ago how -matters stood between Otterburn and Miss Sheldon. - -So they went shopping all that bright afternoon, hunting up tartans, -talking learnedly about Cairngorm brooches, and white cockades, and -Jacobite songs, and the Lord knows what else. - -Ah me, how strangely does Fate deal with our lives. Here was Guy -drifting away from his wife day by day, and Angus being drawn nearer -and nearer to Victoria. What Sir Guy Errington and Alizon Mostyn were -two years before, they were about to become now--would their future be -the same? - -Who could tell? Fortune, blind and capricious, whirls her wheel round -and round, raising and abasing men and women daily, hourly, -momentarily, unaware herself, by reason of her bandage, of the good -and evil she allots to one and another. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. -WHAT MADE THE BALL SAE FINE? - - "Sure this wild fantastic band - Must have come from Fairy-land. - Those who live in History's page, - Step once more upon Life's stage. - All the poet's dreamings bright, - In the flesh appear to-night, - Columbine and Harlequin, - Knight, Crusader, Saracen, - Cleopatra and her Roman, - Herod, Borgia loved of no man, - Antoinette and Louis Seize, - Faust with Mephistopheles, - All beneath the gas-lamps' gleam, - Dance as in some magic dream. - Surely at the break of day, - Will the vision fade away, - And these spirits bright and fair, - Vanish into viewless air." - - -Mrs. Veilsturm had certainly no reason to complain of lack of -popularity, as she looked at her salons thronged with all fashionable -London. Her diplomatic behaviour towards Errington for the last few -weeks had borne good fruit, having converted foes into friends, and -friends into red-hot partizans, therefore everyone came to her fancy -dress ball, and this entertainment which signalised her exit from -London Society was proving a wonderful success. - -Never had she looked so perfectly lovely as she did on this night, -when, robed as Cleopatra, she stood near the door receiving her -guests. Swathed in diaphanous tissues, broidered with strange figures -in gold and silver, with jewels flashing star-like from every portion -of her dress, the double crown of Egypt on her lustrous coils of hair, -and a trailing mantle of imperial purple silk drooping from her -shoulders, she looked like the embodiment of some splendid -civilization long since perished from the earth. Truly this woman, -with her majestic bearing, her voluptuous form, her rich Eastern -beauty, and slow sensuous movements, looked like that antique coquette -of the slow-flowing Nile, whose face, fair and deathless, still smiles -at us across the long centuries from out the darkness of old Egypt. - -The huge room resembled a garden of flowers blown by the wind, as the -restless dancers in their brilliant costumes swayed hither and thither -to the music of the band. Dainty Watteau shepherdesses, serene Greek -maidens, mediæval pages, steel-clad knights, Cavaliers, Louis Quatorze -musketeers, and divers other picturesque figures, mingled together in -gay confusion, laughing, talking, jesting, smiling, flirting and -whispering, without pause or rest. And above the murmur of voices, the -sound of feet gliding over the polished floor, and the indistinct -frou-frou of dresses, sounded the rhythmical swing of the valse -"Caprice d'une femme," played by an unseen orchestra. The gas-lamps in -their many-coloured shades gleamed softly over the noisy crowd, the -faint perfume of myriad flowers, drooping in the heat on the decorated -walls, floated dreamily on the heavy air, and round and round with -laughter and jesting swept the dancers, while the fitful music arose -and fell with its recurrent burden of passionate tenderness. - -"Dear, dear!" observed a ponderous Britannia, fanning her red face -with her shield, "how hot it is to be sure! I wonder if there's such a -thing as an ice to be had?" - -"Or champagne?" said a faded-looking Dawn sitting near her. "I'm -positively dying for champagne." - -"Young men are so selfish," sighed Britannia, looking in vain for a -friendly face; "they come to my dances, but never think of looking -after me when I'm not in my own house. One might starve for all they -care, and an ice----" - -"Would, no doubt, save you from such a fate," said a languid voice, as -a tall, heavily-built man, in a monkish dress, paused near the -representative of the British Empire. "Come then, Mrs. Trubbles, and -I'll get you one." - -"Dear me, Mr. Gartney," observed Mrs. Trubbles, shifting her trident -to her left hand in order to welcome Eustace. "Well, I am astonished." - -"At seeing me here, or at my dress? Both things rather extraordinary, -I must confess. I'm rather fond of fancy dress balls, all the same. -It's so pleasant to see one's friends making fools of themselves." - -"How unamiable, Mr. Gartney," said Dawn, screwing her wrinkled face -into what was meant for a fascinating smile. - -"But how true, Mrs. Dills," responded Gartney, with a bow, "but I see -both you ladies are longing for supper, so perhaps I can make myself -useful." - -"Indeed you can," said both eagerly, rising and taking an arm each. - -"I feel like the royal arms, between the lion and the unicorn," -remarked Eustace, jestingly. - -"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dills, who set up for being a wit, "we've got -the lion between us. But what might you be, Mr. Gartney?" - -"Rabelais." - -"What's Rabelais? cried Britannia, with a faint idea it might be -something to eat. - -"Rabelais," explained Eustace, gravely, "was the creator of Pantagruel -and Gargantua." - -"I never heard of him," said Mrs. Dills crossly, being in want of her -supper. - -"Oh, fame! fame!" - -"Bother fame," observed Mrs. Trubbles, as the two ladies sat down at -the table. "I would give the fame of Nebuchadnezzar for a good meal." - -"You shall have it and without such a sacrifice," said Eustace, -assisting Dawn and Britannia plenteously; "by-the-way, isn't Miss -Sheldon with you, to-night?" - -"Yes Flora Macdonald, whoever she was," said Mrs. Trubbles, heavily, -"she's with that young Macjean. Do you remember him at Como, Mr. -Gartney? He's in a Scotch dress to-night." - -"Bonnie Prince Charlie, I suppose?" - -"Or a tobacconist's sign," said Mrs. Dills who was an adept at saying -nasty things. "By-the-way, Mr. Gartney, isn't the company rather -mixed?" - -Mrs. Dills' papa had been an opulent linen-draper, and Mr. Dills had -made his money by a speciality in sheets, so she thought herself quite -justified in criticising aristocratic society. - -Eustace knew all about Mrs. Dills, and was so amused by the little -woman's insolence, that he did not reply half so severely as he had -intended to do. - -"Ah, you see I've not had your opportunities for judging," he replied -drily, "but as far as I can judge, there's nobody here that isn't -somebody." - -"But their characters," hinted Mrs. Dills, with a seraphic look. - -"Ah, bah! I'm no Asmodeus to unroof people's houses." - -"What a lucky thing--for the people." - -"And what a disappointment--for their friends," said Eustace, -significantly. - -He hated Mrs. Dills, who was an adept at damning with faint praise, -and took away people's characters with the look of a four-year-old -child and the tongue of a serpent. Mrs. Dills saw Gartney's meaning, -and resenting it with all the viciousness of a small mind, began to be -nasty. - -"I see Sir Guy Errington is here," she said, smiling blandly, "as -Edgar of Ravenswood. He looks like a thundercloud in black velvet. I'm -so sorry for him." - -"That's really very kind of you," retorted Eustace, sarcastically. - -"Not at all," murmured Dawn, sympathetically; "it's such a pity to see -his infatuation." - -"For what?" demanded Gartney, obtusely. - -"Oh, really! You know! of course you do! Poor Lady Errington! And then -the 'Other' doesn't care for him." - -"Little viper," thought Eustace, looking smilingly at her, but saying -nothing, which encouraged Mrs. Dills to proceed. - -"It's a dreadful scandal, but not 'Her' fault--oh, dear no! but he -ought to go back to his wife, especially as the 'Other' doesn't care -for him." - -"You talk like a sphinx," said Eustace, coldly. "Whom do you mean by -the 'Other'?" - -Mrs. Dills smiled sweetly, and having finished her supper arose to -take his arm. - -"When one is in Rome, one must not speak evil of the Pope," she -replied cleverly. "Are you quite ready, Mrs. Trubbles?" - -"Quite, my dear," said that matron, who had made an excellent supper. -"We'll go back now, Mr. Gartney. Dear me, there's Mr. Thambits. How do -you do? What is your character, Mr. Thambits?" - -"I'm Richard C[oe]ur de Lion," answered Dolly, who looked very ill at -ease in his armour, "and Jiddy is Blondel." - -"Is he really?" said Britannia, poking Jiddy in the back with her -trident to make him turn round. "Very nice. I saw Blondin on the -tight-rope once." - -"Not Blondin, but Blondel," explained Jiddy, meekly, "he was a harper, -you know, and sang songs." - -"I hope you don't carry your impersonation so far as that," said Mrs. -Dills, spitefully. - -"I've had singing lessons," began Blondel, indignantly, "and I -sing----" - -"You do, I've heard you," said Eustace, significantly, and then -hurried his two ladies quickly back to their seats, being somewhat -tired of Mrs. Dills' spiteful tongue and Britannia's ponderous -conversation. - -Having thus performed his duty, he went away to look for Otterburn, -being anxious to know how that young man had sped in his wooing. Near -the door, however, a man brushed roughly past him with a muttered -apology, and Eustace, turning to see whom this ill-bred person could -be, found himself face to face with Guy Errington. He was dressed as -the Master of Ravenswood, and, in his sombre dress of dark velvet, his -high riding boots of black Spanish leather, and his broad sombrero -with its drooping white plume of feathers, looked remarkably handsome, -though, as Mrs. Dills had remarked, "like a thundercloud in black -velvet," such was the gloom of his face. - -"How are you, Guy?" said his cousin, laying a detaining hand upon the -young man's shoulder. "I've been looking for you everywhere." - -"I've only been here half-an-hour," replied Errington listlessly. -"Anything wrong?" - -"Oh, no I only you've avoided me for the last week or so, and I want -to know the reason." - -"There's no reason that I know of, and I haven't avoided you." - -As he spoke, his eyes were looking over the heads of the crowd, and in -following their gaze. Eustace saw they rested on Cleopatra, who was -talking to Major Griff. - -"Oh, I see the reason," said Eustace coolly, "and a very handsome -reason it is." - -Errington laughed in a sneering manner and made no reply. - -"I say Guy," remarked Eustace complacently, "isn't it about time you -stopped making a fool of yourself?" - -"I don't understand you." - -"No? you wish me to speak plainer?" - -"I do not wish you to speak at all," retorted Errington fiercely, his -eyes full of sombre fire. "Our relationship has its privileges, -Gartney, but don't take too much advantage of them." - -He shook off his cousin's hand impatiently, and without another word -disappeared in the crowd, leaving Eustace considerably perturbed. - -"I've done all I can," he muttered disconsolately. "He's bent on going -to the devil via Mrs. Veilsturm, so I can't stop him. If I only dared -to console his wife, but she's got the boy--that's consolation enough -for a piece of ice like her." - -Meanwhile, Errington, pushing his way through the dancers, made his -way to Cleopatra, who, having finished with Griff, was chatting to a -young F.O. man. On seeing Errington, she turned towards him with a -slight bow, and began to talk, upon which the F.O. went off to find -some one else. - -"Are you not dancing, Sir Guy?" she asked, looking at him brightly. - -"No, I don't care about it, unless you dance with me." - -"And what about my duties as hostess?" - -"I think you've done enough penance for one evening." - -"Meaning that my reward is to dance with you," she said mischievously. -"Thank you, Monsieur." - -She was more amiable to him this evening than she had been of late. -And Guy, feeling the change, thawed wonderfully under the sunshine of -her eyes. - -"Well, am I to have my dance?" he asked, with a smile. - -Cleopatra took up her programme and ran her eyes over the series of -scratches which did duty for names opposite the dances. - -"I don't know if you deserve one," she whispered coquetishly. - -"Don't say that. As you are strong, be merciful." - -She handed him the card with a laugh. - -"You can have that valse," she said, indicating one far down, "by that -time I will be released from durance vile." - -Errington scribbled his name, and giving her back the card, was about -to renew the conversation, when she dismissed him imperiously. - -"Now you have got what you wanted, go away. I have a number of people -to talk to." - -"A lot of fools," he muttered peevishly. - -"Possibly--we can't all be Ravenswoods, you know." - -"Maraquita!" - -"Hold your tongue," she said, in a fierce whisper, "do you want to -compromise me before all these people? Go away, and don't come near me -till our valse." - -"And afterwards?" - -"Entirely depends upon the humour I am in." - -He took his dismissal in a sufficiently sulky manner, which made Mrs. -Veilsturm smile blandly, on seeing which he turned away with a stifled -curse. It was extraordinary, the change in this man, who, from being a -good-natured-enough fellow, had suddenly changed, through his wife's -cruelty and his temptress's caprices, into a morose, disagreeable -individual, whom nobody cared to speak with. - -"Is that Sir Guy Errington?" asked a soft voice behind him. "See if it -is, Mr. Macjean." - -"There is no need," responded Errington with forced civility, turning -round to Otterburn and Miss Shelton. "You have very sharp eyes." - -"Ah, you see I knew what your costume was going to be," said Victoria, -who looked wonderfully pretty as Flora Macdonald. "Aunt Jelly told -me." - -"By the way, how is Aunt Jelly?" - -"She's not at all well," replied Victoria, reproachfully, "and you have -not been near her for some weeks." - -"More pleasantly employed, eh?" said Otterburn, laughing, for which he -was rewarded by a fierce glance from Errington. - -"I've been busy," he said briefly. "I'll call shortly. Hope you'll -enjoy this foolery, Miss Sheldon." - -Jerking out these polite sentences he went off, leaving the young -couple looking after him in undisguised astonishment. - -"I don't know what's come over Sir Guy," said Macjean, as they -pursued their way towards the conservatory, "he used to be such a -good-tempered fellow." - -"Oh, _cherchez la femme_." - -"Wouldn't have to seek far I'm afraid," replied Angus, glancing at the -distant form of Mrs. Veilsturm. - -"She's a horrid woman," said Victoria, viciously, as they entered the -conservatory, and found a comfortable nook. - -"I quite agree with you." - -"You shouldn't talk of your hostess in that way," observed Miss -Sheldon reprovingly. - -"But I say, you know," replied Otterburn, rather bewildered at this -sudden change of front, "you say----" - -"I say lots of things I do not mean." - -"I wish I could be sure of that." - -"Indeed why?" - -"Because--oh! you understand?" - -"I'm sure I don't," replied Miss Sheldon, demurely, then looking up, -she caught his eye, and they both laughed gaily. - -The conservatory was certainly a very pleasant place, with its wealth -of palms, of cactuses, of ferns and such-like tropical vegetation. A -pale, emerald radiance from green-shaded lamps bathed the whole place, -and at one end a slender jet of water shot up like a silver rod -from the stillness of a wide pool, in which floated great white -water-lilies. The band in the distant ball-room were playing a _pot -pourri_ of airs from the latest opera, and Otterburn sat under the -drooping fronds of a palm-tree beside Victoria, with the fatal words -which would bind him for life trembling on his lips. So handsome he -looked in his picturesque Scotch dress, with the waving tartans and -gleam of Cairngorm brooches, and his bright young face bent towards -her, full of tender meaning. Victoria knew quite well that he intended -to propose again, and her heart beat rapidly as her eyes fell before -the fiery light which burned in his own. - -"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como?" said Otterburn, in what he -meant to be a matter-of-fact tone. - -Miss Sheldon began to draw designs on the floor with the toe of her -dainty boot, and laughed nervously. - -"Oh no! it was the first time I was in Italy, you know, and first -impressions----" - -"Are always excellent." - -"Yes, I suppose so." - -"I hope you don't think the same about first refusals." - -"Refusals of what?" she replied, wilfully misunderstanding his -meaning, at which Otterburn felt somewhat disappointed. - -"Ah, your memory is treacherous." - -"I think not! I can remember most things--when I choose." - -"Then do you remember how we talked about Scotch costumes, and I said -I'd put mine on the first Fancy Dress Ball we went to." - -"Yes! I remember that." - -"This is the first Fancy Dress Ball." - -"And you are in your tartans," she answered, with a sudden glance. -"How curiously it all comes about. I thought you had forgotten." - -"I never forget anything you say," he replied eagerly. "I wish I -could." - -"Now that's very unkind of you! Why?" - -"Because I wish to forget how cruel you were to me at the Villa -Medici." - -"Was I cruel?" she asked, with sudden compunction. - -"You know you were," he answered reproachfully, "so I think you ought -to make up for it." - -He took her hand that was lying on her lap, and drew her towards him. -She made no resistance, but still kept her eyes cast down. - -"How can I make up for it?" she asked, in a low voice. "By saying Yes, -instead of No," he replied ardently. - -"Certainly. Yes, instead of No." - -"How cruel you are still," he said impatiently. "You understand what I -mean quite well. You sent me away to wander all over the face of the -earth because you were----" - -"A coquette," she interrupted. - -"I never said so," he answered, rather taken aback. - -"You did--then." - -"I? Well I do not now. I'll say you are the dearest, sweetest girl in -the world if you'll only say----" - -"Yes." - -"Ah, you've said it," he said joyfully, slipping his arm round her -waist. "You have said, 'yes.'" - -"Ah! perhaps I did not mean it," she answered coquettishly. - -"I don't care," he retorted recklessly, "you have said it, and I hold -you----" - -"Yes you do," she murmured with a smile. - -"To your word," he finished gaily. "Victoria, say you love me a -little." - -"No, I can't say that." - -His face whitened, and a pained look came into his eyes, but she laid -her head on his shoulder, and looking up, whispered softly: - -"Because I love you a great deal." - -"My darling." - -He bent down and kissed her fondly, and then--then--ah, who can repeat -truly the conversation of lovers, who can write down coldly all the -fond, foolish words, the tender endearments, that go to make up the -happy time that succeeds the little word "yes?" - -The music in the distance ceased, there was the noise of approaching -feet, and Victoria sprang to her feet quickly. - -"We must go back to the ball-room, Mr. Macjean." - -"Mr. Macjean!" - -"Well, then, 'Angus.'" - -"Ah, that's much better," he said gaily, giving her his arm. "You are -no doubt engaged for the next dance, but I cannot give you up so soon. -Now I've got you I'll keep you for ever." - -"Ever's a long time," laughed Victoria, whose face was beaming with -smiles, as she looked at her handsome young lover walking so proudly -beside her. - -"It won't be long enough for me," he said fondly, and they passed into -the brilliant ball-room at peace with themselves and the world. - -On the way they met Eustace, who glanced keenly at both of them, and -then held out his hands with a laugh. - -"I congratulate you both," he said, smiling; "you will both be -happy--till you get tired of one another." - -"That horrid man," said Victoria with a shiver as he passed onward. -"We will never get tired, Mr.--I mean Angus?" - -"Never," he whispered fervently. - -There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream, but what -a pity there should be any awakening. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. -PALLIDA MORS. - - "He comes unsought - To young and old, - Can ne'er be bought - By tears or gold, - He buries us all in the churchyard's mould. - - "Oh, man, why weep? - His gifts are blest, - He brings us sleep, - He gives us rest. - And the world's care ceases upon his breast. - - "Receive, if wise, - Affliction's rod, - The body lies - Beneath the sod, - But the soul we love is at home with God." - - -It was now nearly the end of the season, and Society was preparing to -amuse itself in another fashion. Brighton, and Trouville, and Dieppe, -and Scarborough were thronged with languid men and women, slowly -regaining from the fresh salt breeze of the sea the strength they had -wasted during the feverish existence of the season. After her -brilliant entertainment, Mrs. Veilsturm had taken a villa at San Remo -for a month or so, prior to departing for the States, and managed to -amuse herself very comfortably by the blue Mediterranean, with an -occasional run over to Monte Carlo and Nice. - -The Major was in Paris, looking after some business connected with the -inevitable West Indian estate, though what Paris had to do with the -West Indies nobody could find out. However, his business being duly -finished, he went South, at the kind invitation of Mrs. Veilsturm, and -found Anthony at the feet of Cleopatra, in other words, Sir Guy -Errington in attendance. - -Yes! Guy, in spite of the calls of honour and respectability, had -followed his charmer to the Continent, and being released from the -microscopic vision of Mrs. Grundy, Cleopatra had been very kind to -him, fully recouping him for the cavalier fashion in which she had -treated him in Town. He had never written to his wife since leaving -her, except a curt note telling her he was leaving England for an -indefinite period, and to this he had received no answer. Angered at -her silence, he abandoned any scruples he might have had and went off -to dishonour and Mrs. Veilsturm, who was delighted at the easy victory -she had secured over her hated rival. She flattered and caressed -Errington with all the infinite charm of which she was mistress, was -kind and cruel by turns, but never permitted him to go beyond a -certain limit, which cautious conduct perplexed him exceedingly. He -had thrown up everything for her, and expected a like sacrifice in -return, but Mrs. Veilsturm was not by any means prepared to give up -her hardly-won position even for revenge. All she wanted was to -destroy the married life of Lady Errington, and she was quite willing -to accomplish this by keeping Guy near her under the shadow of -suspicion, without giving that suspicion any real grounds. Therefore, -she kept him in a fool's paradise of meaningless caresses, which meant -nothing, and had he been a wise man he would have seen that he had -given up the substance for the shadow. - -He was not a wise man, however, and dangled after Mrs. Veilsturm in a -manner that would have won his own contempt had he thought. But he -never thought, or if he did, it was more of the wife he had left -behind than this capricious woman, whose slave he was supposed to be. -He did not love her, but was content to surrender himself to the spell -of her evil beauty, and acted as he did more from a sense of revolt -against his wife's scorn, than any innate desire to do wrong. It was -an unsatisfactory position, and he felt it to be so, but Mrs. -Veilsturm was too clever to let him go until her revenge was quite -complete, and every day wound her chains closer round him. - -Major Griff was not pleased to find Errington in this position, as he -thought it would compromise Cleopatra's reputation too much, but when -he saw the way in which she was conducting the campaign he was -perfectly satisfied, and smiled grimly at the dexterous manner in -which she was revenging herself for the insult she had received. - -Dolly Thambits, in company with the faithful Jiddy, was staying at -Monte Carlo, and losing his money with wonderful skill at the tables. -This, however, seemed a waste of God's best gifts to the Major, and, -aided by the seductions of Cleopatra, he inveigled Dolly to San Remo -and kept him under his own eye. He won a lot of money from him, which -came in useful, and occasionally went out with him to Monaco, so as to -make such pigeon-plucking look less glaring. - -Dolly was anxious to marry Mrs. Veilsturm, who simply laughed at his -frequent proposals, as she was by no means tired of being a free -lance, but she decided in her own mind, that when she was she would -marry Mr. Thambits and give the cold shoulder to Major Griff. At -present, however, she coquetted with Guy so as to retain him in her -toils, and made poor Dolly deadly jealous of the good-looking baronet, -which was useful in keeping him by her side out of contrariness. She -was a clever woman, Maraquita Veilsturm, and kept everyone well in -hand, so that not even the astute Major suspected her designs. - -While Guy was thus abandoning himself to the spell of Circe, Eustace -had gone down to Castle Grim, and was seeing a good deal of the -deserted wife. He did not make much progress, however, in his wooing, -as Alizon was not a woman to wear her heart on her sleeve, and never -spoke of her husband in any way. She simply said that her husband was -abroad, made no reference to the reason of their separation, and for -the rest, passed her days with her child, and treated Eustace in a -kindly fashion when he came over on a visit. - -Astute man of the world as he was, Gartney was quite at a loss how to -proceed, and might have retired from the unequal contest in despair, -much as he loved her, had not an event happened which gave him the -opening he desired. - -Aunt Jelly died. - -She had been ailing for a long time, poor soul, and was glad when the -time came to leave this world, in which she had found such small -pleasure. Her imperious spirit held out to the last, but she was -strangely gentle at times, especially to Minnie Pelch, whom she knew -would be left quite alone in the world when she died. Otterburn's -engagement to Victoria gave her the greatest delight, and she insisted -that they should get married at once, so that she could leave the -world satisfied that the child of her old lover was under the safe -protection of a husband. - -Otterburn was quite willing that the marriage should take place -without delay, and wrote a letter to Lord Dunkeld announcing his -determination. By the advice of Johnnie (who was greatly pleased with -his new mistress, pronouncing her a "canty lass," which was -complimentary if not intelligible), he wrote a crafty letter to -Mactab, enlisting his good offices to gain the consent of the old -lord. Mactab thought a good deal over the letter, but when he -discovered that the proposed bride was handsome, good, and had a large -income, he came to the conclusion that "the laddie micht hae din -waur," and went to interview Lord Dunkeld. - -The fiery old gentleman was in a great rage, averring that neither -money nor good looks could make up for want of birth, but the -discovery that Victoria's mother was a Macjean, and therefore -connected with the family, calmed his anger and after some hesitation -he consented to the match. Not only that, but he came up to London to -the marriage and brought the redoubtable Mactab to tie the nuptial -knot, so everything was really very pleasant. - -They were married in a quiet fashion at Aunt jelly's house, and Lord -Dunkeld was very much pleased with his new daughter, both as regards -fortune and looks. The young couple went off to Ventnor for their -honeymoon, and after a fortnight in Town, round which they were shewn -by Eustace, Lord Dunkeld and his spiritual adviser returned to the -North, satisfied that the future head of the clan had obtained a "guid -doonsettin'." - -Before the end of the honeymoon, however, Mrs. Macjean was summoned -home to the bedside of Aunt Jelly, but alas, before she arrived, Aunt -Jelly had already passed away attended to the last by Minnie Pelch. -Both Otterburn and his young wife were sorry for the death of the -stern old woman, who had been so kind to them both; and their sorrow -was shared by Eustace, who came up from Castle Grim for the funeral. -Guy was telegraphed to, but as his relations with his aunt had not -been of the best during the latter part of his life, and he blamed her -for making trouble between himself and his wife, he refused to come -over. - -"Aunt jelly hated me," he wrote to Eustace, "and although I would -liked to have made it up with her before she died, yet I cannot forget -the letter she wrote to my wife, which has been the cause of all my -trouble. She will no doubt leave you all her money, as I know she had -every intention of altering the will she made in my favour, and I am -sorry for my son's sake, if not for my own." - -There was much more in the letter which Eustace pondered over, as he -understood perfectly that Guy was not happy, but as he did not see how -he could alter things, he left them alone. - -On the will being read, it turned out exactly as Guy had anticipated, -for Aunt Jelly left all her real and personal estate to Eustace, with -the exception of two hundred a year to Minnie Pelch, and some legacies -to her servants, Victoria and Doctor Pargowker. To Guy she did not -leave a single thing, his name not even being mentioned in the will. - -Eustace wrote to his cousin and offered him half the fortune, but Guy -refused, so Gartney found himself an enormously rich man, and more -miserable than ever. - -He sincerely loved Alizon Errington, but did not know how to make his -love known to her, and as he could not see how to remedy the terrible -misunderstanding between husband and wife, he was forced to take up a -neutral position. - -Mr. and Mrs. Macjean, after the funeral, took their departure to -Dunkeld Castle, on a visit to the old lord, and after installing -Minnie Pelch as mistress of the house in Delphson Square, Eustace went -down to Castle Grim, in order to tell Lady Errington about the will. - -It was a terribly bitter situation altogether. Husband parted from -wife by a miserable misunderstanding, and this man, wealthy and -clever, wavering between honour and dishonour, between respect for Guy -and love for Alizon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. -THE ASSAULTS OF THE EVIL ONE. - - - "I sit beside the gate of the heart - That bars the soul of this woman from me; - The little white soul, that dwelleth apart, - Safe from temptation and evil dart, - Nor one chink in the gate can I see. - - "Would I could open this gate of the heart, - Enter within, as a conqueror wild; - Nay, but I see a sentinel start, - To guard its treasure from earthly smart, - Evil shrinks from this little white child." - - -It was summer down at Denfield, and the noble woods around -Errington Hall were waving their heavily foliaged branches over the -flower-pranked earth. The wayside hedges were gay with blossoms, the -swallows wheeled aloft in the bright blue sky, the farmer looking over -the green fields was calculating the promise of harvest, and there was -sunshine throughout the land. - -Sunshine from dawn till eve over the teeming earth: sunshine in the -hearts of village maidens, thinking of plighted troths; sunshine in -the stolid faces of farming lads, tramping beside their sleek horses; -sunshine among the cronies, seated outside the alehouse, in the warm -summer air, but, in the heart of Alizon Errington--ah, there was no -sunshine there! - -She was walking slowly up and down the terrace of the Hall, dividing -her attention between her own sad thoughts, and the gambols of Sammy, -who was rolling amid his toys on an outspread bearskin. Straight and -slender as an arrow, in her clinging white dress, with a red cluster -of summer roses at her throat, but in her face a stern look, which -melted into an adoring smile when she looked upon the child. - -Since her husband's departure, Lady Errington had not been happy. -Perhaps she had been too hasty in judging him, perhaps she might have -won him back from his evil ways by kindly words, but there, it was no -use regretting the past, he was an exile on the Continent, and she was -alone in her beautiful home. Not quite alone, however, for the child -was there; her darling child, who was the joy of her life, the light -of her eyes, and the comfort of her heart! - -Still, she missed her husband, in spite of her self-congratulations -that she had acted as she had done; she missed his kindly ways, his -affectionate smile, his thousand little acts of tenderness, which had -passed unnoticed when done, but now seemed to start out of the past -like a reproach for her severity. Had she been too severe after all? -He had sinned, it was true! She felt sure that his character, like -that of all men, resembled that of her father, and yet--he had -indignantly denied his fault; he had pleaded for one kind look, one -parting word, and she had refused his prayer. If his heart was evil, -would it not have been better for her to have striven to draw it -closer to her by that one strand of affection than sever the strand -altogether, and let it sink back into the gulf of iniquity from which -it strove to emerge. - -Alizon Errington was a good woman, who tried to do her best according -to her lights, to whom the very thought of vice was utterly abhorrent, -yet sometimes, as at this moment, unpleasant accusations of Pharisaism -and self-righteousness were in her mind. - -All the tenderness and dog-like fidelity of her husband had failed to -touch her heart, but now that he had (as she verily believed) slighted -her wilfully, and voluntarily left a life of purity for one of guilt, -she felt that he was more to her than anyone else in the world, save -his child. If his heart, if his instincts, were as evil as she -believed, all the more credit to him for the way in which he strove to -act honestly, but if on the other hand she had misjudged him and -driven a good man into evil by cruel words and harsh looks, then -indeed she was to blame. Either way she looked at things now it seemed -to her that she was in the wrong, and yet she could not, would not, -acknowledge that she had not acted justly. - -"If he had only waited for a time," she told herself restlessly. "If -he he had only shown by his actions that he desired to do right, I -would have believed him in time. But to go back to that vile woman -after what I said--no!--he is like all the rest--he makes evil his -God, and would break my heart, and ruin his child's future, sooner -than deny himself the gratification of his brutal instincts." - -Strong words certainly, but then she felt strongly. She was not a -broad-minded woman, for the horror with which her father had inspired -her, had narrowed down her views of life to Puritanical exactness. She -demanded from the world purity--absolute purity--which was an -impossibility. What man could come to a woman and say, "I am as pure -in my life as you are"? Not one. Why then did she demand it from her -husband? but this was quite another view of the question. Her thoughts -had gone from one thing to another, until they had become involved and -complex. - -With a weary sigh she shook her head, as though to drive away all -those ideas, and sat down in a low chair, in order to play with the -boy. - -"Sammy! Sammy! You musn't put pitty things in mouse mouse." - -"Mum! mum!" from Sammy, who was making a bold attempt to swallow his -coral necklace. Finding this a failure he crawled quickly across the -bearskin, drew himself up to his mother's knees, and stood grinning, -in a self-congratulatory manner, on his unsteady little legs. - -"Come, then," said Alizon, holding out her arms. - -Frantic attempts on the part of Sammy to crawl up on her lap, ending -with a fall, and then a quick catching up into the desired place under -a shower of kisses. - -They made a pretty picture, mother and son; the pale, sad-looking -woman, with the fresh, rosy boy, and Eustace paused a moment, -at the end of the terrace, to admire it. The boy had caught the -tortoise-shell pin in his mother's hair with one chubby hand, and, -before she could laughingly prevent him, had pulled it out, so that -the fair ringlets came falling over her breast in a golden shower. - -"Oh, naughty Sammy," she said, gaily tossing him in the air with her -two hands. "Look at poor mother's hair--bad child!" - -Sammy, however, appeared to have a different opinion, and chuckled -indistinctly to himself, until he caught sight of Eustace, of whom he -was very fond, and stretched out his arms with a merry crow. - -"Mr. Gartney,' said Lady Errington, flushing a rosy red at the -disorder of her hair, just see what this scamp has done." - -"Young Turk!" said Eustace, taking the boy with a smile, while Alizon -hastily twisted up her hair into a loose knot. "How are you, to-day, -Lady Errington?" - -"Quite well, thank you," she replied quietly, as he sat down near her, -with Sammy still on his knee. "I thought you were up in town?" - -"So I was. Came down last night," answered Gartney, while the baby -made futile grabs at his watch chain. "Well, my prince, and how are -you?" - -"He's never ill," said the young mother, with great pride. "I never -saw such a healthy child. Not an illness since his birth." - -"Lucky Sammy! if his future life is only as pleasant as the first year -of it, what a delightful time he will have." - -Lady Errington's face had grown very grave during this speech, as she -had caught sight of the crape on his arm, and suddenly remembered why -he had gone up to town. - -"You went to the funeral?" she asked, the colour flushing in her face. - -"Yes!" he replied, smoothing the child's fair curls with gentle hand. -"I went to the funeral. Poor Aunt Jelly! I don't think she was sorry -to die." - -Alizon made no reply, but sat perfectly still, looking steadily at him -with a questioning look on her face. He knew what she so much desired -to know, and broke the bad news to her as gently as he was able. - -"I heard the will read," he said awkwardly, reddening a little through -the bronze of his complexion, "and she has left all her property to -me." - -"To you?" - -"Believe me, I neither expected nor desired it," he cried hastily. "I -have got plenty of money, without wishing more, and I thought she was -going to leave it to Guy. I really thought she intended to do so." - -"My poor child!" - -That was all she said--not a thought, not a word of pity for her -absent husband. All her sorrow was for the unconscious child playing -on Gartney's knee. - -"I assure you," began Eustace, feeling like a robber, "that I----" - -"That you could not help it," she answered quietly. "I know that -perfectly well. Who can be accountable for such things? But I am -thinking of the future of my son. This property is deeply mortgaged, -and most of the income goes to pay the interest. If Guy lived with me -here we might save during the boy's minority, but he is far away -spending the money that is to be his son's. I thought Aunt Jelly would -have left the boy something, if she did not the father, and now he -will be a pauper when he comes of age. This place will have to be -sold, and my poor lad will never be Errington of the Hall--Oh, poor -soul!--poor soul!" - -Her voice ended in a tragic wail, and it was with difficulty that she -restrained her tears. Eustace never felt so awkward in his life, as he -did not know what to say in excuse for having unwittingly thwarted her -hopes. Sammy had clambered down off his knee, and was now contentedly -covering his toys with his mother's handkerchief, while she, poor -woman, was sitting looking at him silently, with an expression of mute -misery on her face. - -"Lady Errington," said Eustace earnestly after a pause, "believe me, I -am as sorry as you are, but I do not know how to act. I wrote to Guy, -offering him half the property by deed of gift, and he refused to take -it." - -"He could do no less," she answered dully. "What right have we to rob -you?" - -"It's not robbery," he replied vehemently. "I have more money than I -want. Whenever Guy likes to accept, he shall have half the property." - -Without answering his question, she looked down at the baby playing at -her feet, and then glanced at him keenly. "Where is my husband?" she -asked quickly. - -"On the Continent--at San Remo." - -"With!--with that woman?" - -"I!--I don't know," replied Eustace in a low voice, turning his face -away. - -"Mr. Gartney?" - -"Yes, Lady Errington." - -"Look me in the face." - -He did so unwillingly, and found her eyes fastened on his with a -determined expression. - -"Is my husband with that woman?" - -"No! I don't think so, but I certainly heard she was at San Remo," he -answered evasively. - -"Ah!" she drew a long breath, and a look of anger swept across her -pale face. "He is with her then. I thought so." - -"You must not be too hard on Guy," said Eustace, very feebly it must -be confessed. - -"Hard on Guy," she repeated scornfully. "Hard on a man who leaves his -wife and child for a vile woman like that. You, of course, take his -side." - -"Why should I?" demanded Eustace hotly, "because I am his cousin?" - -"No, because you are a man. Men always stand up for one another. It's -a kind of _esprit du corps_ with them I suppose. It is no wrong to -betray a woman in their eyes." - -"I don't know why you expect me to stand up for my sex, I'm sure," -said Eustace cynically. "I think very little of them I assure you, and -am quite incompetent to undertake the Herculean task of defending -their failings. I've got too many of my own to account for." - -"I've no doubt," replied Lady Errington bitterly. "You men are all the -same." - -"I sincerely hope not," retorted Eustace imperturbably. "I've no -desire to resemble certain fools of my acquaintance. My character is -no better nor no worse than my fellow-creatures', and had some good -woman like yourself taken charge of my life I might have improved." - -"You ought to get married." - -"Do you think so--from your own experience?" - -She flushed crimson, and in order to hide her confusion stooped down -to pick up the child. - -"Marriages are made in heaven," she said, trying to pass the thing off -lightly. - -"I understand there's a tradition to that effect," responded Eustace, -indolently. "If that is the case, it is a pity Heaven gives a woman to -one man who doesn't care about her, instead of bestowing her on -another who cannot be happy without her." - -"Is that your case?" - -"Yes." - -There was a pause, during which she looked at him curiously. He met -her gaze calmly, and not an idea of his meaning crossed her mind. - -"So you love a married woman?" - -"I do, and therefore no doubt am an object of horror in your eyes?" - -The child had fallen asleep on her breast, and rising to her feet she -walked slowly to and fro, rocking him in her arms. - -"I have no right to judge you," she said evasively, "but you can -hardly expect me--a wife and a mother--to say that I approve of such a -dishonourable passion." - -Eustace winced at the scorn of the last words. - -"No, I cannot," he answered slowly, "but let me put the case before -you in another way. Suppose a woman is married to a man who cares -absolutely nothing about her, neglects her in every way, insults her -by his passion for another woman----" - -"Oh!" she cried, shrinking as if he had struck her a blow. - -"I am putting a supposititious case, remember," he said hastily. -"Well, this woman has a lover who adores her, but who has never -ventured to express this passion, which the world calls dishonourable. -The woman returns that passion and has only to say one word to the -lover in order to be released from the curse of a loveless marriage, a -neglectful husband, an unhappy home. What should that woman do in such -a case?" - -"Remain true to her marriage vows," she said grandly. - -"But if the husband is not true." - -"Is she to sink to the level of the husband? No, Mr. Gartney. Let the -wife shame the husband by her fidelity to the vows which he has -broken." - -"And the lover?" - -"Is not a true lover, or he would not wish to drag the woman he -professes to love through the mud of the world." - -"So you would condemn two lives to perpetual misery for the sake of -one man, who does not appreciate the sacrifice?" - -"Not for the sake of the one man, but for the sake of virtue, of -honour, of uprightness." - -Eustace was silent under the cold purity of her look. This woman was -no dreamer as he had thought, but had a soul like that Roman Lucrece, -who preferred death to dishonour. - -"Your creed is severe," he said at last, with a frown on his strongly -marked features. - -"My creed is right," she replied simply. - -"Yes! according to the world." - -"No! according to God." - -As a rule, Gartney was not to be daunted by any woman, but there was -something about Alizon Errington that made him afraid to talk in his -usual cynical vein. Standing a short distance away, with the child in -her arms and the golden glory of the sunshine behind her, this young -mother looked like the realisation of the Madonna. So pure, so calm, -so lovely, with the look of motherhood in her eyes that he -involuntarily turned away his head, as though he was not worthy to -profane such purity even by a glance. - -"You talk above my head," he said at length, rising to his feet, -"it is the language of an ideal world, not to be realized in -this matter-of-fact century. But if you will forgive me, Lady -Errington----" - -"Why not call me Alizon?" she said cordially. "We are cousins, you -know, and titles are so formal--Eustace." - -"It's very kind of you to grant me such permission," replied Gartney -frankly, taking the hand she held out to him. "Goodbye--Alizon." - -"Not goodbye, but _au revoir_." - -"May I come over again?" he asked eagerly. - -"Of course. I am always glad to see you, besides Sammy loves his kind -friend who plays with him." - -"And you?" - -Their eyes met, a wave of crimson passed over her face, and with an -air of displeasure, she turned away coldly, without answering his -question. - -"Goodbye, Mr. Gartney." - -Seeing that his freedom had offended her, he was too wise to make any -further remark, but bowing slightly walked slowly away. - -At the end of the terrace he looked back, and saw she was bending over -the sleeping child, crooning some cradle-song to soothe his slumbers. - -"The castle is well defended," he said bitterly, as he resumed his -walk. "I will never succeed in entering that heart, for the child -stands ever as sentinel." - -He mounted his horse and rode slowly down the avenue into the green -arcade of trees, through the boughs of which came golden shafts of -sunlight. - -"A saint! a saint!" he cried, touching his horse with the spur. "And -yet the saint drove her husband to evil." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. -FOR MY CHILD'S SAKE. - - "I'll look my dear boy in the face - In after years, - Without the shadow of disgrace - Or shameful tears. - - "Oh, folly did I sin with you, - And cause him pain, - If hands are clean, and hearts are true, - His is the gain. - - "Through future days of toil and fret, - Come dull or fair, - Dear God, ah, let him ne'er forget - His mother's care!" - - -It was very dull down at Castle Grim, for even the bright sunshine of -summer could not lift the shadow which seemed to lower over the place. -Eustace amused himself as well as he could, strolling on the lonely -beach, reading his books, playing his piano, and occasionally visiting -at Errington Hall, which he did about three times a week. - -Alizon was genuinely glad to see him, as in spite of her desire not to -do so she missed her husband more than she cared to say, and Gartney's -bright, cheerful talk was a great pleasure to her. Besides, the child -was fond of him, and that counted for a great deal in the eyes of the -young mother, who was never tired of telling her complaisant visitor -about the pretty ways and infantile tricks of her treasure. - -As a rule, he rode over in the afternoon and stayed to dinner, after -which, he returned to Castle Grim in the shadows of the summer -twilight. What long conversations they used to have on the terrace in -the gloaming, talks about books, and the burning questions of the day, -and travels in far distant lands. Eustace found his companion -singularly charming from an intellectual point of view, as, during her -lonely girlhood, she had read a great deal, and moreover, remembered -what she had read. - -They never touched on the subject of their first conversation, -however, as Alizon entrenched herself within her reserve, and refused -to be drawn into further argument in the matter. Under these -circumstances, Eustace was unable to tell whether he had made any -impression upon her, and was forced to play the part of an ordinary -friend, a _rôle_ not at all to his liking. - -After all, it was very questionable whether this platonism would -change to a warmer feeling, as the cold demeanour of Alizon entirely -forbade, in a tacit manner, any over-stepping of the limit of -friendship. Eustace, owing to his inherent cynicism, and peculiar mode -of life, had not much belief in woman, but this time he was obliged to -confess to himself that he had not entirely mastered the feminine sex. - -He loved her devotedly--the actual woman this time--for the pale, -virginal vision which had haunted his brain during his travels in -Arabia had entirely vanished, and in place of this unsatisfying dream, -he adored the living, breathing woman herself. Doubtless he invested -the reality with many of the attributes of the ideal, but, at the same -time, he found in Alizon Errington the first companion of the other -sex, who satisfied his artistic eye and his intellectual desires. -Could he have married her, he would have been perfectly happy, and -forgotten the old, empty, aimless existence of the past, but, as it -was impossible, seeing she was the wife of another man, he could only -stand outside the gates of the Paradise he could never hope to enter, -and envy the impossible. - -All idea that his passion was dishonourable had now vanished, and his -dearest hope was that she should divorce her present husband, in order -to become his wife. Although he did not understand the actual -circumstances of the case, he was well aware that Alizon considered -herself outraged by her husband's companionship with Mrs. Veilsturm. -He knew that Guy had shown a marked preference for the society of -Cleopatra, and, as he had followed his charmer over to the Continent, -Eustace began to actually believe that Errington was in love with the -beautiful Creole. - -"Small blame to him," thought Eustace to himself as he drove over to -the Hall one evening. "She set her mind upon making a conquest of him, -and when a woman does that, a man may as well give in to the -inevitable with a good grace. At all events it's not my fault. I never -spoke to Mrs. Veilsturm in any way. I never told his wife about the -affair, it's Fate and nothing else, and seeing that he has forgotten -all a husband's duties, they will never come together again, so I -don't see why I should not profit by the occasion." - -In this way did Eustace pacify his conscience to his own satisfaction, -although at times he had an uneasy feeling that a good deal of hard, -bitter truth underlay all this sophistry. A good many weeks had gone -by, and Lady Errington had come to look upon him as a firm friend. -Still, not being satisfied with this, and suffering all the tortures -of a restless mind, he determined, as soon as possible, to find out if -she was prepared to divorce her husband for his infidelity, and, if -so, thought he would plead his own cause. - -"If there's a chance for me, I'll stay in England and try my hardest," -he said to himself as he alighted from the dog-cart at the Hall. "If -not, I'll go out to Africa with Laxton." - -Javelrack drove the dog-cart off in the direction of the stables, and -Eustace, after one look at the opaline evening sky, in which glimmered -a pale star over the treetops, went inside, where Lady Errington was -expecting him to dinner. - -She was in the little Dutch room, which was her favourite, and when -Eustace was announced by the servant, was standing by the table -tossing Sammy in the air, while Tasker, well pleased, waited to bear -off the young gentleman to bed. - -"See my treasure?" she cried, as Gartney approached her, "he has come -to say good-night. Excuse me shaking hands, Eustace." - -"Certainly, I yield to stronger claims," said Gartney, looking at the -laughing child, and at the happy young mother, in her long, white, -dinner-dress. "You ought to be in your nursery, you young scamp." - -"So he ought," laughed Lady Errington, devouring the baby face with -kisses, "but he cried for me so much that Nurse had to bring him -down." - -"He hollered, sir," confirmed Mrs. Tasker, placidly. "I never did see -sich a child for his mother." - -"The sweetest, dearest treasure in the world!" said Alizon taking -Sammy across to his nurse, "here, Nurse, take him--oh! he's got my -flowers, naughty boy." - -And indeed, Master Errington, crowing with delight, carried off a -mangled geranium in triumph to his nursery, kicking vigorously in Mrs. -Tasker's strong arms. - -"How you idolize that child, Alizon," said Eustace enviously. - -"He is all I have in the world," she replied with a sigh. "I don't -know what I should do without him." - -"Don't inspire the angels with envy," murmured Gartney, a little -cruelly, "it might be dangerous for him." - -"Oh!" - -She laid her hand on her heart with a cry, and a pallor over-spread -her face. - -"It is cruel to talk like that," she said hurriedly; "you don't think -he looks ill, do you? He's such a strong child. There's no chance of -his dying. Oh, Eustace, you don't think that, do you?" - -"No! no! of course I don't," he replied, soothingly. "Don't get these -foolish fancies into your head. Sammy will live to be a great trouble -to you I've no doubt." - -"He'll never be that," answered Lady Errington, recovering herself. -"Ah! there's the gong." - -"Dinner is served, my lady," announced a servant at the door, and -taking Gartney's arm, she went with him into the dining-room. - -It was "Alizon" and "Eustace" with them now, for after all, they were -cousins, if only by marriage, and it was so disagreeable to constantly -use the formality of titles. Still, there was always that indefinable -barrier between them, which kept Eustace within the limits of kindly -friendship, and on her part, Alizon never forgot her dignity as a -married woman. - -"It's very kind of you, Alizon, to take pity on a poor hermit," said -Gartney, towards the end of the meal, "but I don't know what the -county will say at this _tête-à-tête_ dinner." - -"The county can hardly complain, seeing we are cousins." - -"By marriage." - -"Yes, by marriage," she assented, changing the conversation from such -a distasteful subject, which reminded her of Guy. "By the way, -Eustace, I want you to sing to me this evening." - -"I think I do that pretty nearly every time I come over," replied -Eustace, smiling. "Is there anything special you want?" - -"I remember your improvisation at Como about the fairy and the -nightingale. It was very charming." - -"Ah! you remember that?" he cried, his face lighting up. "It was too -delightful to forget." - -Eustace laughed a trifle disbelievingly. - -"Is that genuine, or a society romance?" - -"I always say what I mean," she answered, with cold dignity. - -"I'm glad everybody else does not," retorted Gartney fervently. "What -a disagreeable world it would be, if that was the case." - -"A very honest world, at all events." - -"And therefore disagreeable--the two are inseparable." - -"Why should they be?" - -"Ah! why shouldn't they?" said Eustace meaningly. "If the truth was -pleasant, nobody would mind hearing it, but then the truth is not -always pleasant." - -"That is the fault of the person spoken of." - -"I daresay, but he doesn't look at it in that philosophical light." - -"You are as cynical as ever," she said with a sigh, as she arose to -leave the table. - -"The fault of the world, as I said before," he responded, opening the -door. "I would like to believe in my fellow-creatures, only they won't -let me." - -When she had vanished, he returned to his wine, and began to ponder -over her words. He saw plainly enough that she did not care about him -at all, but with ingrained vanity and egotism would not admit the -coldness to himself. - -"I'll try what a song can do," he thought, as he followed her to the -drawing-room. "I can say in a song what I dare not say in plain -words." - -Of course, Lady Errington had run up to the nursery to take a look at -the baby, but shortly afterwards came down with an apology, to find -Eustace seated at the piano. - -Outside was the luminous twilight of July, with a pale, starlit sky, -arched over the prim Dutch garden. The windows were open, and a warm -breath of summer, heavy with the perfume of flowers, floated into the -room. The sombre trees stood black and dense against the clear sky, -the garden was filled with wavering shadows, and a nightingale was -singing deliciously in the heart of the still leaves as the bats -glided like ghosts through the air. Lady Errington established herself -in a comfortable chair near the open window, with a white wrap as a -protection against the falling dews, and Eustace, sitting at the -Erard, in the bright light of the lamp, ran his fingers delicately -over the keys. - -"What can I do against that immortal music?" he said absently, -alluding to the nightingale. - - - "Hark how the bursts come crowding through the trees. - What passion, and what pain." - - -"You don't know Matthew Arnold's poems, I suppose, Lady Errington?" - -"Ah! you are wrong there," she replied quietly. "I am very fond of his -melancholy verse." - -"Very melancholy," he answered musingly. "I agree with you there. I -wonder, if in the whole range of English literature, there is a more -bitterly true line than that famous one: - - - "'We mortal millions live alone.'" - - -"That is not my favourite," said Alizon dreamily, "I like that -couplet: - - - "'And bade betwixt their shores to be - The unplumb'd salt estranging sea.'" - - -"It means very much the same thing," observed Eustace after a pause, -"and it's in the same poem, I think. But how true it is! Lovers, -friends, married or single, we all live alone, isolated by the -'estranging sea.' No one really knows the heart of a fellow-creature." - -"But surely if a perfect harmony exists----" - -"There is always a something," said Gartney decisively, "like the -perfume of a flower, the sigh of a wind, the throb of joy in the voice -of a bird, that escapes us utterly. It is felt, but cannot be -communicated." - -"A sad idea." - -"Very sad, but alas, very true." - -There was a silence between them for a few minutes, only broken by the -song of the hidden bird and the ripple of notes from the piano, and -then Eustace, with a deep sigh, shook off his sombre thoughts and -spoke cheerfully. - -"I must sing you something, Lady Errington," he said lightly, "all -this conversation will make you melancholy." - -"I like to feel melancholy. It's suitable to the hour." - -"Then I must make my song the same," he observed gaily, and thereupon -played a soft dreamy prelude, at the end of which his sweet, -sympathetic voice arose tenderly on the still air: - - -I. - - "I love a star that shines above - When day is blending with the night, - Alas, what pain this foolish love, - Such worship brings but cold delight. - I cannot scale the twilight sky, - My love to tell in accents sweet; - It comes not down altho' I sigh, - And So my star I ne'er can meet. - -II. - "Oh foolish heart! oh cruel star! - Your love I dare not hope to gain; - Yet still you shine each night afar, - To mock my anguish and my pain - And yet thou art so sweet, so pure, - I may not--dare not thee forsake; - For tho' this pain for aye endure - I'll love thee--but my heart will break." - - -"The story of an impossible love," said Lady Errington when he ended. - -"Yes! It is called 'My Star in Heaven.'" - -"As if any man loved so hopelessly and purely--absurd!" - -"There are more varieties of the human race than you know of, Alizon." - -"No doubt. But I'm not particularly impressed with those I have met -with." - -"You are talking of me." - -"I am talking of my husband." - -Eustace left the piano and stepped outside into the beautiful still -night. The moon was looking over the fantastic gables of the hall, and -filled the garden with trembling shadows. It was exquisitely -beautiful, but human beings bring the prose of life into all the -poetry of Nature. Eustace did so now. - -"May I smoke a cigarette, Alizon?" - -"Certainly!" - -He lighted a cigarette and leaned against the wall of the house, -watching the ghostly curls of smoke melting in the moonshine. Both -were silent for a few minutes, occupied with their own thoughts, and -then Eustace spoke. - -"Why don't you divorce your husband?" - -Lady Errington started violently, for, strange to say, she was -thinking of the same thing. She felt inclined to resent Gartney's -plain speaking, but the light from the lamp was striking full on his -grave face, and, seeing how much in earnest he was, she changed her -mind. - -"I shall never do that," she replied quietly, with a slight shiver. It -might have been the night air or the idea of divorce, but she shivered -as she spoke. - -"Why not?" - -"Can you ask? Think of the disgrace it would be to the child." - -It was all over. Eustace had an intuitive feeling that the last word -had been said on the subject. She would never divorce her husband, she -would never listen to his offers of affection, for the child was at -once her safeguard and her idol. - -Had he been wise he would have said nothing more. Not being wise, -however, he did. - -"You have been very kind to me, Alizon," he said slowly, "very--very -kind, and I shall treasure your kindness in my heart when I leave -you." - -"Where are you going?" she asked in a startled tone. - -"I am going to Africa." - -"Have you any reason?" - -"The best of all possible reasons. I love you too well for my own -peace of mind." - -Lady Errington arose, with a slight cry, from her chair, and stood -looking at him with wild eyes. - -"Are you mad?" - -"I have been," he answered sadly, "but I am mad no longer." - -She put out her hand to grasp the back of the chair and steady -herself, still looking at him in amazement. She was not indignant--she -was not angered--she was simply bewildered. - -"I don't understand you," she said at length, in a dull tone. "What -are you saying to me? What do you mean?" - -"I mean that I love you too well for my own peace of mind," he said -steadily. - -"Love me?--the wife of another man!" - -"Will you sit down, Lady Errington?" observed Eustace, in a measured -tone; "I will tell you all." - -"I cannot listen. Such words from you are an insult." - -"You will not say so when you hear what I have to tell." - -Alizon sat down again in her chair, clasped her slender hands -together, then, looking steadily at his face, made a sign for him to -go on, but otherwise gave no token of emotion. - -"When I met you at Como," said Eustace, his usually slow enunciation -quickened by a powerful emotion, "I fell in love with you. Ah, you -need not make that gesture of indignation--the passion was none of my -seeking. The most virtuous woman could take no exception to such -unrequited homage. I always was a strange man in my likes and -dislikes, as you have no doubt heard. Never before had I met a woman I -cared about. They tired me with their falseness and follies, but in -you I saw for the first time an ideal which had been in my mind for -many years. I dared not speak, as you were the wife of my cousin, and -it would have been dishonourable, therefore I went away, and for many -months strove to forget. Nature, however, was stronger than I was, and -when I came back and saw you again, I found that I was more in love -than ever. Still I said nothing, and kept out of your presence as much -as I was able. Through the difference between yourself and Guy, I was -unavoidably forced to see you often. What could I do? A man's passions -are not always under his control. All women are not as pure and cold -as you. I was afraid of myself, I was afraid of you, and in order to -solve the difficulty I did my best to bring you and Guy together. I -spoke to you--I spoke to Guy--but all was useless. He has gone back to -Mrs. Veilsturm, and forgets with her all his duties to you. I do not -say he is right, but I say he is much to be pitied. Still, whatever my -feelings may be towards him, the actual facts remain the same. He is -with another woman, and you are left alone in the world. I foolishly -dreamed that it might be my fate to release you from this unhappy -position. I thought you might divorce the husband who has wronged you, -but you refuse to do so, for the sake of the child. Ah, that is the -god of your idolatry--you care for nothing in the world save your -child. It is the selfish passion of motherhood--pure, good, elevating ---but still selfish. It is the child that came between you and your -husband--it is the child who comes now between you and me. My love -remains unaltered--it will always be the same--and had you been free I -might have spoken to you without dishonour. You refuse to loosen the -bonds of your loveless marriage, and as I cannot be your lover or your -husband, I dare not be your friend. Your husband is parted from -you--he will never return. I am going away on a perilous journey--I -will never return. Therefore you will be alone with what you love best -in the world--your child." - -With her clear eyes fixed steadily on his face she heard him to the -end of this long speech without a quiver of the eyelids--without the -trembling of her lip--and when he finished: - -"So I am the married woman you said you loved?" she asked coldly. - -"Yes! and you say----" - -"I say now what I said then," she answered sternly, "no man can be a -true lover if he would wish to drag the woman he loves through the mud -of the world." - -Eustace flushed deeply. - -"You misunderstand me," he said hurriedly; "I do not want to drag you -down. I would not have spoken, only I thought a divorce----" - -"A divorce!" she echoed, rising to her feet, "and what is that but -dishonour to me and to the child?" - -"Always the child," he said sullenly. - -"And why not? The only pure thing in the world I have to love. My -husband has deceived me. You have changed from a friend to a lover. I -cannot listen to you without dishonour. What you said was perfectly -true--my love for the child is the selfish passion of motherhood. I -pardon the words which you have spoken to me to-night, but we must -never meet again." - -"We will not," he muttered hoarsely, "I leave England for ever." - -"Then we understand each other, and nothing now remains but to say -goodbye." - -"Have you no word of pity?" - -"I am sorry for your foolish passion," she said gently, "but can I say -more without lowering myself in your eyes? - -"No--you are right. It is best for me to go. The star will never come -down from Heaven for me, but it will always shine there." - -He caught her hand and touched it with his hot lips. - -"Goodbye, Alizon. God--God bless you, my dearest!" - -Was it a fancy that a burning tear had fallen on her chill hand? She -looked, and lo! her hand was wet. The door had closed--she was alone -in the room, deserted both by husband and lover. - -"Poor Eustace," she said softly, "I am sorry for his madness; but if -he is unhappy I also am miserable. My husband and friend have both -left me, but I have always my child." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. -THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. - - "Dead! Deed! - His soul hath sped, - The turf lies over his golden head. - - "Cold! Cold! - In churchyard mould, - And just one stroke hath the death-bell tolled. - - "Child! Child! - The angels smiled, - Then carried thee heavenward undefiled." - - -After the departure of Eustace, life went on in the same old fashion -at the Hall. Alizon passed her days and nights with Sammy, received -the few visitors that called, and was as happy as she could be under -the circumstances. She deeply regretted the kind friend who had been -such a comfort to her in her loneliness, but looking back on what she -had done, could not wish things otherwise. True, he had spoken most -delicately, and in such a way as could offend no woman, still she was -glad that he had gone, as his presence would have been a perpetual -reminder to her of his unhappy passion. - -"If I had married him," she thought sometimes, "perhaps he would have -made me a better husband than Guy. But no! his love was a mere passion -of envy, wishing for what he could not obtain. Had I been single, very -probably he would not have spoken to me as he did. The fact that I am -the wife of another man is the true reason of his desire that I should -love him. Ah! these men, they are all the same. Eustace is a poet, and -his pleading was more delicate than another man's would have been, but -his instincts resemble those of the rest of his sex." - -Thus she talked to herself, trying to harden her heart against the -misery of the man who loved her so devotedly and hopelessly. He was -going away from England, to exile, perhaps to death, and all for her -sake; even the least vain of woman could not but feel a thrill of -responsive feeling to such unutterable worship. But whenever she found -herself thinking in this dangerous fashion, she tried to change the -current of her thoughts. She was the wife of Guy Errington, and, -little as he deserved it, he had a right to expect entire purity of -thought and deed in his wife, yet, in spite of her Puritanical nature, -she dreamed at times of the unhappy exile whose love she had rejected. - -Guy never wrote to his wife, nor gave any sign of existence, and she, -on her part, acted in the same way, so it seemed as if their lives -were parted for ever. Yet she frequently thought about him and began -to believe that she had been too harsh in her judgment. If such was -the case, let him come back and ask her forgiveness. If he did -so--well she might pardon him, and then--but no, there could never be -any trust or affection between them. The phantom of the past would -always come between them; so far as she could see, nothing remained to -make her life happy but the child. - -Sammy was the idol of her heart. She forgot everything when she had -him in her arms, and she felt that the whole world might go to ruin as -long as this blue-eyed darling was left untouched, safe on the tender -bosom of his mother. In her daily life she adapted all things to suit -the living of her child, and never knew a happy moment when she was -away from his side. - -The first thing in the morning the child was brought down to her -bedroom, and sprawled on the coverlet, while she lay looking at him -with happy eyes, babbling fond nonsense suited to his baby -understanding. When he slept in the morning she sat beside his crib -watching the flushed little face, the tangled golden curls, and the -tiny dimpled hands. She went out with him for his daily drive, -accompanied by Mrs. Tasker, and would hardly let that worthy woman -touch him, so jealous she was of his liking for anyone save herself. -He played at her feet for hours, and she sat beside him in a low chair -singing tender little songs, playing baby games, amusing him with his -toys, and when he grew fretful with wakefulness, lulled him to sleep -on her breast. Every hour of the day she found some new perfection in -him, she was never tired of talking about his clever ways, his -infantile wisdom, his loving disposition, and when he was laid to rest -at night, she hung over him like an enamoured lover breathing -blessings on his unconscious head. - -The world will doubtless laugh at such tender devotion, at such -intense absorption in an unformed infant, but no one but a woman, no -one but a mother, can understand the wondrous power of maternal love -that dominates every other feeling in the feminine heart. All the -passion of lovers, the ecstacies of poets, the blind adoration of men -for those they love, pale before this strongest of all feelings -implanted in the human breast. Perhaps some will say that -self-preservation is stronger, but this is not so, as a mother in an -extreme case will sacrifice her life for that of her child, thereby -proving the superiority of the maternal feeling. - -In this worship of the child she forgot earth, she forgot heaven, she -forgot God. - -And God punished her. - -Sammy was cutting his teeth, and was feverish and fretful for some -days, but although every care was lavished upon him neither Alizon nor -Mrs. Tasker deemed the illness to be anything worse than a slight -infantile malady. But one evening, Alizon bending over his sleeping -form, saw his face grow black, his little limbs begin to twitch, and -in a moment the poor child was in strong convulsions. Pale with -terror, she shrieked for Mrs. Tasker and sent off a groom at once for -the village doctor who had attended to Sammy since his birth. Mrs. -Tasker, terribly anxious, yet restraining herself so as not to -affright the agonised mother, did what she could under the -circumstances and placed the child in a hot bath. The doctor arrived -as quickly as possible, but he was too late--the child was dead. - -Dead! - -When the doctor told her, she could not believe it, and throwing -herself on her knees beside the tiny corpse, tried in vain to see some -sign of life. Alas it was all in vain, and after an hour of agonising -dread she was obliged to accept the inevitable. - -She did not lament, she did not weep, but only sat in dumb tearless -silence by the side of her dead child. One thing only she muttered, -with ashen lips, and restless hands plucking at her dress. - -"It is the judgment of God, because I loved His creature better than -Himself." - -There is no grief so terrible as that silent, self-concentrated agony -which gives no sign. All through the lonely hours of the night she sat -beside the crib, where all that she held dearest and best was lying -stiff and cold, the tiny hands crossed on the breast, a smile on the -placid little face. They tried in vain to persuade her to go to bed, -to take some refreshment, to leave the room where the dead child lay, -but all in vain, for rejecting all offers of consolation and kindness, -she sat frozen with grief in the darkened room. - -The morning came, the time that she had been accustomed to hear the -merry little voice and see the happy face, but the voice was silent -now for evermore, and the face--could that still, white mask be the -face she had seen smiling in her own, the face that she had covered so -often with kisses? She could not cry, although tears would have been a -relief, she could not talk, although it would have eased her pain, she -could only sit in a trance of speechless, thoughtless horror beside -her dead. - -Mrs. Tasker, wise old woman that she was, knew that unless something -was done, and that speedily, to rouse her mistress from this apathetic -state, there would be danger of the mind becoming unhinged, so finding -out Mr. Gartney's address in London, which she obtained by sending -over to Castle Grim, sent a telegram and afterwards a letter to him -urging him to bring the husband, the father, to the stricken mother. - -Eustace was leading an aimless life in Town, when he received the -news, and was terribly grieved about it. Without delay, he wired to -Errington at San Remo, and then wrote to Victoria at Dunkeld Castle, -asking her to come at once to the unhappy woman. Mrs. Macjean, much -moved by the intelligence, came south without delay, in company with -her husband, and went down to the Hall. The sight of the young bride's -kind face did more good to Lady Errington than anything else, and -after all the apathy and horror of those dark days succeeding the -death, the blessed tears came to relieve her overburdened heart. The -two women wept in one another's arms, and hand in hand stood by the -little coffin wherein lay the tiny body of the child. Otterburn kept -out of their way as much as he could, feeling that his rough masculine -nature was but ill-suited to this house of mourning, but attended to -all the details of the funeral pending the arrival of Errington. - -And Guy? - -Surely he would come over now that his child was dead, come over to -bury his first-born and console the afflicted mother! Eustace waited -hopefully for a telegram saying that he was on his way, but at length -received a wire asking him to come over to San Remo and see his cousin -there. He crushed the telegram up in his hand with an oath. - -"Good God!" he said to himself in dismay, "surely that woman cannot -have besotted him so far that he cannot come to the funeral of his own -child." - -He did not hesitate a moment, but wrote a letter to Otterburn at the -Hall, telling him he was going over to San Remo to bring back -Errington, and then, hastily packing a few things, started from -Victoria Station for the Continent. - -During the last few weeks since his departure from Castle Grim, he had -arranged all his affairs prior to his departure for Africa. Laxton was -still in Town as, Otterburn being married, he had not been able to -find anyone to go with him as a companion, so when Eustace offered -himself, he was greatly delighted. It had been Laxton's intention to -go down to Cape Town, but Gartney persuaded him to alter his -destination to the Nile, and, go far up into Nubia, in order to follow -in the footsteps of Speke and Bruce. This arrangement was -satisfactory, and Eustace and his friend began to arrange everything -for their trip, which now began to assume more the appearance of an -exploring expedition than a mere shooting excursion. - -When he had to go to San Remo in order to bring back Guy, all the -preparations were left in Laxton's hands, which did not, by any means, -prove irksome to that young man, as he was going in heart and soul for -the business. - -Eustace, as he stood on the deck of a Channel steamer in the dark -night, drinking in the sea breezes, thought all the time of the woman -he loved kneeling beside the open coffin. - -"She has nothing to care for now," he said to himself. "God has taken -away her idol, so if I bring back Guy with me, she will forgive and -love him for coming to her in her sorrow." - -The fact was, that for the first time in his life Gartney was -sacrificing self for the benefit of other people. Hitherto he had -gratified without scruple all his egotistical desires, but the -hopeless love he cherished for Alizon Ellington had brought to light -the nobler traits of his nature, and probably he was never a better -man than now, when he was striving to bring wife and husband together -for their mutual happiness before leaving his native country for an -everlasting exile, and perchance death in a savage land. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. -THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. VEILSTURM. - - "We all have skeletons, everyone, - We hide away from the cheerful sun, - Tearful and sad, or merry and gay, - We all have skeletons hidden away." - - -Eustace duly arrived at San Remo, tired out by his long journey, and, -as he had written to Guy before leaving London, was rather surprised -not to find his cousin waiting for him at the railway station. -However, he took the matter philosophically enough, after his usual -fashion, although he was seriously annoyed at what seemed like wilful -negligence, and drove to the Hotel de la Mer, where Errington was -staying. There he found Guy's valet awaiting his arrival in the hall, -and speedily received an explanation, from which it appeared that -Errington was seriously ill, and confined to his bed. - -"I would have come myself, sir," concluded the man, "but Sir Guy -wouldn't let me leave him, and I've just slipped down stairs for a -moment to explain things. I'm very glad you've come, sir." - -"So am I," thought Eustace, as he followed the servant upstairs, "I -hadn't any idea he was ill. No wonder he could not come to England." - -When he entered the bedroom he found his cousin was really seriously -ill, being in a highly excited state. He asked Eustace all kinds of -questions about Alizon, about the death of the child, and talked -incoherently about Mrs. Veilsturm, mixing everything up in a most -nonsensical fashion, being evidently quite light-headed. Gartney -answered his questions, and soothed him as well as he was able, but -was very much perturbed over the matter, although he did not show his -real feelings. At last he got Guy to lie down quietly, and then, -leaving the room, sent for the doctor who was attending the young man. - -In a few minutes Dr. Storge arrived, a tall, spare man, with a keen, -clever face, and a sharp manner, who talked straight and to the point, -without any loss of time. - -"Yes, Mr. Gartney," he replied briskly to Eustace's enquiry. "Sir Guy -is very ill, indeed. In a highly excited state brought on by worry and -fretting. I saw that he was in a bad way about a week ago, when he -first consulted me, but something he will not tell me about has -occurred since then, and the result--well you see it upstairs." - -"But surely--when--Errington consulted you, he explained----" - -"He explained nothing, my dear sir, and now he is so ill that I dare -not ask him, as it makes him excited, and that is what I wish to -avoid. Perhaps you can give me some idea of what is wrong." - -"Yes, I can. Is it necessary you should know?" - -"What's the good of calling in a medical man if you don't intend to -confide in him?" said Storge coolly. "You know what Balzac says, that -a man reveals nothing to the priest, what suits him to the lawyer, and -everything to the physician. I want to find out the cause of Sir Guy's -excitement, and then I may do some good. As it is--well, you see for -yourself, I am working in the dark." - -This reasoning appeared to be very just, so Gartney, making a virtue -of necessity, drew his chair close to that of the doctor, and told him -everything. - -"The fact is," said Eustace after a pause, during which he collected -his thoughts, "my cousin and his wife have had a quarrel about a -woman." - -"Ah! I thought as much--Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"What! You know----" - -"Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied the doctor sharply. "I've only -put two and two together, and any fool knows that makes four--more or -less." - -"Well, Sir Guy loves his wife very dearly, but she believes that he -has compromised himself with--but I don't know if I ought to tell you -this." - -Dr. Storge made a gesture of despair. - -"I thought you were a man of the world, Mr. Gartney," he said quickly, -"but although I appreciate your delicacy with regard to--well, say our -mutual friend, though I only know her by sight--I must insist upon you -telling me all. 'Go on, my dear sir, go on. Your confession is as safe -with me as it would be with one of those dingy priests in the town." - -Being satisfied with this explanation, Gartney smothered his scruples, -and went on talking. - -"I see it's no use beating about the bush, doctor. My cousin has -quarrelled with his wife on account of Mrs. Veilsturm, whom he -loves----" - -"Pardon me, No," interrupted Storge smartly, "you mean she loves -him--a vastly different thing." - -"Nonsense! She doesn't care two straws about him," said Eustace -bluntly. - -"If you don't explain, Mr. Gartney," cried the doctor angrily, "you -will have me as bad as your friend upstairs." - -"Then listen, my dear sir, and pray don't interrupt me," said Eustace -tartly. "Mrs. Veilsturm, who is a lady holding a good position in -London Society, thought herself slighted by Lady Errington--in what -way it does not matter. She determined to revenge herself by taking -Lady Errington's husband away from her, and she has succeeded. My -cousin does not really care for Mrs. Veilsturm, but, owing to an -unfortunate misunderstanding with his wife, he has drifted into a -false position. This woman has entangled him in her net and won't let -him go until she can bring about a divorce, which will certainly be -the end. Errington, I've no doubt, has worried himself into a fever -over things, thinking he is between the devil and the deep sea, and -the other day his only child died, so I expect the news of the death -put the finishing stroke to the whole business." - -"I understand," said Storge, who had been listening attentively, "I -can quite appreciate the position, and need hardly tell you Mr. -Gartney, that your cousin is dangerously ill. He is an honourable man, -who finds himself in a dishonourable position, through no fault of his -own, and the knowledge has worked him up into a state of frenzy. I am -afraid of brain fever." - -"Good Heavens I hope not." - -"I'm afraid so," returned the doctor sagaciously, "he's quite off the -balance, with all this business. However, now you are here, things may -turn out better, for he must be kept quiet--perfect rest is what is -needed." - -"And what am I to do?" - -"Keep Mrs. Veilsturm away." - -"But she surely doesn't visit him," said Eustace in an astonished -tone, "because, in the first place, she doesn't care for him, and in -the second, she's too cautious to jeopardise her position in Society." - -"She does not exactly visit him," replied Storge, rising, "but she -sends messages, flowers, fruit, three-cornered notes, and all that -rubbish. Of course it keeps Errington perpetually thinking about -her--then he thinks about his wife, and between the two I'm afraid of -the result." - -"Well, I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm," said Eustace grimly. "I've no -doubt I'll be able to persuade her to leave my cousin alone." - -"I don't envy you the interview," observed Storge, who was a sharp -observer, "nor her either. Still she's a fine woman." - -"A fine devil," retorted Gartney, with less than his usual caution. - -"She looks like it," said the doctor coolly, going to the door. "A -Creole, isn't she?--ah! I thought so. Got a considerable touch of the -tiger in her I should say. I wouldn't like to be under her claws--too -risky. Well I'll go up and see our patient." - -"And I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"You'd better have your lunch first," said Storge "you'll need all -your strength." - -"Very good advice, Doctor, I'll adopt it; at the same time don't be -afraid of me--I'm a match for her." - -Storge laughed and looked keenly at Gartney's powerful face. - -"Yes, I think you are," he said carelessly, "I've read your -looks--goodbye at present." - -When the Doctor had vanished, Eustace sat down to consider the -situation, which was certainly rather problematic at present, -especially with regard to the Errington-Veilsturm episode. When a -strikingly handsome and decidedly unscrupulous woman sets her heart -upon turning the head of a disconsolate man, with a somewhat weak -character, she generally succeeds in her task. Guy had been certainly -rather weak with regard to the sex feminine in his bachelor days, but -since marriage, his love for his wife had been a safeguard against the -dangerous raids of daring free-lances. Owing to his unfortunate -quarrel with Alizon, however, he had lost his shield, and of this Mrs. -Veilsturm had taken instant advantage, securing thereby an -indisputable victory. - -In England, Gartney had felt some doubts regarding the entanglement of -his cousin with Cleopatra, but now he saw plainly that Guy was still -true to his wife, and that it required the utmost dexterity of his -charmer to keep her captive in chains. If he could only be brought -face to face with his wife, Eustace was convinced that everything -could be arranged, and the influence of Mrs. Veilsturm over this weak -soul destroyed. He would like to have written to Alizon, and asked her -to come over in order to nurse him, and be reconciled to her husband, -but he was afraid she would not do so. The only thing to be done, -therefore, was to try and get Errington cured as soon as possible, and -take him away from the dangerous neighbourhood of Cleopatra. - -In order to do this, according to the doctor, it was necessary to -force Mrs. Veilsturm to leave her victim alone, as she brought herself -constantly to his mind, and exercised a malignant influence upon his -whole nature highly detrimental to recovery. Eustace, therefore, -agreed with the doctor, that the first thing to be done was to deal -with Mrs. Veilsturm, and this he made up his mind to do without delay. -As Guy could not be removed from the neighbourhood of Mrs. Veilsturm, -the next best thing was to remove Mrs. Veilsturm from the -neighbourhood of Guy, or, in plain words, to make her leave San Remo -at once. It was a difficult task, and involved a disagreeable -interview; still, desperate diseases require desperate remedies, so -Eustace wasted no time in hesitation, but determined to call upon Mrs. -Veilsturm that afternoon. - -As Mr. Gartney was nothing if not methodical, he proceeded very -deliberately with his preparations, and, truth to tell, felt rather -jubilant at the prospect of a tussle with Cleopatra, who was a foeman, -or rather foewoman, worthy of anyone's steel. After a cold bath, which -invigorated him considerably after his tiresome journey, he changed -his travelling suit for one more in conformity with an afternoon -visit, and then made an early luncheon, followed by a soothing cigar. -His physical wants thus having been attended to, he ascertained from -the "Liste d'Étrangers," that Mrs. Veilsturm was staying at the Villa -Garcia, and departed on his errand of mercy. - -Cleopatra had certainly an aptitude for making herself comfortable, -for the Villa Garcia was a charming little house, with white walls, -vivid green shutters, and dusky, red-tiled roof. Embosomed among the -grey olive trees and slender palms, it stood some distance back from -the Corso Imperatrice, and from its broad terrace there could be seen -the tideless blue of the Mediterranean Sea, the church of the Madonna -della Guardia on Capo Verde, and sometimes a glimpse of far-off -Corsica floating in a golden mist, or lying amid the rose-red clouds -of dawn, like Brünnhilde within the magic circle of Wotan's fire. - -Happily for Eustace the lady he sought was at home, so on sending in -his card, he was conducted to an artificially darkened drawing-room, -where Mrs. Veilsturm was seated in a comfortable-looking chair, -occupied with a French novel and a fan. No one was with her, as Major -Griff had gone off with Thambits and Mr. Jiddy for a day's pleasure at -Monte Carlo and, Errington not being obtainable, Mrs. Veilsturm was -delighted to see Eustace, who was much more amusing than her own -thoughts. She was arrayed in a loose dress of white Chinese silk, with -great masses of scarlet geranium at her throat and waist, which suited -her so well that Eustace, with a view to making everything pleasant, -could not help congratulating her on her appearance. - -"I know I'm looking well," said Cleopatra indolently, as Gartney -settled himself in a low chair near her. "The South always agrees with -me so much better than that smoky London. That comes of being a -daughter of the Tropics I suppose." - -"You look in your proper place under a burning sky," observed Eustace -poetically. "There is more of the gorgeous cactus about you than the -English rose." - -"Am I to take that as a compliment?" - -"Most women would." - -"I daresay, but then you see I'm unlike most women," replied -Cleopatra, fanning herself slowly. "It's rather a good thing I think -myself. What a horrible idea to be a replica of half a dozen of one's -dearest enemies." - -"Have you any enemies?" asked Eustace, looking keenly at her. - -"Plenty! principally of my own sex I think. It doesn't trouble me, -however, as I think it is rather a distinction than otherwise. A -person without enemies must be without character. By-the-way, Mr. -Gartney, I haven't asked you what you are doing in San Remo." - -"What do you think?" - -"It's too hot to answer riddles," replied Mrs. Veilsturm languidly. -"I'm sure I can't tell. Restoring your health, writing a book, hiding -from your friends. There, I've given you a choice of three answers." - -"None of which are right. I've come over to attend to my cousin -Errington." - -"How devoted of you," said the lady ironically. "I was not aware you -were so fond of your cousin as all that." - -"Were you not?" answered Eustace nonchalantly. "Rather an oversight on -your part, seeing that Errington and myself have been close friends -all our lives." - -An angry colour glowed in Cleopatra's swarthy face as she detected a -covert insolence in this reply, but, having a sharp tongue of her own, -she lost no time in answering. - -"Ah! I see, like does not always draw to like." - -"Certainly not in this case, but the reverse is true. I am not a bit -like Errington in any way. For example, I can always take care of -myself." - -"And Sir Guy cannot, I suppose?" - -"Not when there's a woman in the case, as there is now." - -Mrs. Veilsturm had never liked Eustace, as he knew more about her -former life than she cared he should, but being an eminently -diplomatic woman she had always treated him as a friend. Now, however, -she saw that his attitude was distinctly hostile, and prepared to give -battle. They were now matching their wits against one another, and -each knew it would take wonderful skill and cautious dealing in order -to come off victor in such a remarkably equal contest. - -"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, after a pause. - -"Try," responded Eustace curtly. - -"Why should I?" - -"Because you understand well enough, only you won't admit it." - -"Do you know, Mr. Gartney, you are very rude?" said the Creole -quietly. - -"Pshaw!" cried Eustace angrily, "it's no use our fencing with buttons -on the foils. I've come here for a certain purpose, and you know what -it is." - -"I'm sure I don't," said Mrs. Veilsturm doggedly. - -"None so blind as those who won't see." - -"Pithy," retorted Cleopatra sneeringly, "very pithy, but irrelevant." - -"Not at all, as I will soon show you. Look here, Mrs. Veilsturm, I'm -going to be plain, brutally plain." - -"To do you justice you generally are." - -"It is necessary in some cases, especially in this one," said Gartney -quietly, "but I'm not here to discuss my personal character, but to -save my cousin." - -"From me, I presume." - -"Exactly! I did not think you would have admitted that." - -She had made a false move in doing so, and saw that Eustace had taken -advantage of her rashness, so, throwing down her book, she sat -straight up in her chair, and spoke with firm deliberation. - -"You're talking nonsense, my dear Mr. Gartney, which is a thing I -don't care about. You say you have come here for a certain purpose, -perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me the meaning of that remark." - -"Certainly," replied Gartney promptly. "I know all about the way you -consider yourself to have been slighted by Lady Errington. I know that -you have tried your best to inveigle Errington into your net in order -to be revenged, and I've come here to ask you to leave my cousin -alone, and leave San Remo." - -"A very cool request, upon my word," cried the Creole viciously, with -an evil smile on her angry face, "but one I don't intend to comply -with." - -"I think it will be as well for you to do so." - -She sprang to her feet in a fury, and stood looking at him, with -clenched hands and face convulsed with rage. - -"You threaten me, do you?" she shrieked savagely. "How dare you--how -dare you? I shall tell Major Griff--I shall tell----" - -"You'll tell no one," said Gartney calmly, "that is, you won't if you -are wise." - -Cleopatra stood silent for a moment, struggling with her temper, then, -stamping her foot, walked rapidly up and down the room, Eustace -watching her meanwhile, with a sardonic smile on his lips. He, also, -had risen to his feet, as, knowing Maraquita's temper of old, he -thought it wise to be prepared for possibilities. At last the lady -collected herself sufficiently to talk quietly, and stopping opposite -her antagonist, spoke in a low, suppressed voice, which was far more -deadly in its meaning than the first outburst of wrath. - -"As you say, we may as well take the buttons off the foils. Consider -them removed." - -"So far, so good," assented Eustace, not taking his eyes off her. "Go -on." - -"Carambo!" - -"You still remember your Spanish, I see," he said mockingly, "but -we're not in South America now." - -"I wish we were," she hissed savagely, bringing her beautiful, -distorted face so close to his own that he felt her hot breath on his -cheek. "Oh, I wish we were." - -"I don't," he replied, without blenching. "You might treat me as you -did Manuel----" - -"No! No!" she cried, a terrified expression flitting across her face. -"Not that name!--not that name here!" - -"Then let us keep to the subject in hand," said Eustace politely. - -If a look could have killed Gartney, he would have there and then -fallen dead at the feet of the Creole, but suddenly changing her -tactics, she flung herself on the sofa in a storm of tears. - -"How cruel you are, oh, how cruel," she wailed, hiding her face in the -cushions. "I am only a woman, you coward--only a woman." - -"You're a remarkably good actress, my dear Mrs. Veilsturm;" replied -Eustace coolly, in no wise moved by her sorrow, "but tears are very -weak. Try something else more original." - -After this scoffing remark he resumed his seat, and waited till her -passion should have exhausted itself, which happened very soon, for -Mrs. Veilsturm was too sensible a woman to waste her weapons when she -found they were useless. Drying her eyes carefully, she sat up again -quite cool and composed, which warned Eustace that he must be more on -his guard than ever. - -"Your cousin's a fool," she said viciously. "Do you think it was any -pleasure for me to have him running after me? No! I hate and detest -him, the persistent bore that he is." - -"Don't you think you'd better drop these flowers of speech?" replied -Eustace leisurely. "They're neither pretty nor necessary. Go on with -the main subject." - -"I'll come to that quick enough," retorted Mrs. Veilsturm sullenly. -"You are right about Lady Errington--she did slight me, and in a way -no woman can forgive nor forget. I'd hate her if it were only for the -fact that she is Gabriel Mostyn's daughter--the traitor--but I hate -her twice as much on my own account. I vowed I'd punish her for the -insult--and I will too." - -"By causing a divorce?" - -"Either that or separating them altogether. And I think I've managed -that now." - -"You can think what you please," said Eustace coolly, "but at all -events you've done your worst." - -"Not yet--not yet." - -"Oh, yes, you have. Now you are going to write my cousin a letter, -saying you don't care about him, or--well, say what you like, but give -him to understand you won't see him again." - -"And then?" she demanded, with a sneer. - -"And then you'll leave San Remo as soon as you conveniently can." - -She burst out into a peal of ironical laughter. - -"Do you actually expect me to do that?" - -"I do, and I'm certain you'll do it." - -"I will not." - -"No?" - -"No." - -They looked at one another in silence, she tapping her foot on the -ground with a scornful smile, he eyeing her with calm deliberation. - -"If you don't go to that desk and write what I ask you," he said at -length, in a low, clear voice, "I'll tell the world all I know about -Lola Trujillo." - -Her face grew very pale, but she answered defiantly: - -"Do so! No one can connect her with me." - -"Ah, so you think, but I have enough proofs to do so." - -"Do what you like. I defy you." - -"I don t think it will be wise of you to do so," said Eustace in a low -voice of concentrated fury. "You know me, Lola, and I know you, and -all the world of South America knows you also." - -He jumped up, and crossing over to the sofa, bent down and whispered -in her ear: - -"I can tell about your connection with Gabriel Mostyn, in regard to -that boy, his son--who disappeared." - -"I had nothing to do with it," she muttered, shrinking from him. - -"And Manuel Lopez." - -"Be silent!" - -"And that little gambling saloon at Lima." - -"Hush! for God's sake. You will ruin me." - -"I intend to," said Eustace relentlessly, "unless----" and he pointed -to the desk. - -Without saying a word, she arose to her feet, and dragging herself -slowly across the room sat down at the desk and began to write. -Eustace said nothing, but remained standing by the sofa with a smile -of satisfaction on his massive features. Nothing was heard in the room -but the steady ticking of the clock, and the scratching of Mrs. -Veilsturm's pen as it moved rapidly over the paper. In a few minutes -she came back to him holding out a sheet of paper, which he read -carefully without taking it out of her hand. - -"That will do," he said quietly. "Will you be so kind as to put it -into an envelope and direct it?" - -Darting a look of hatred at him, which showed how hard it was for her -to control her temper, she returned to the desk and did what he asked. -Then, leaving it on the blotting-paper, she went to her seat by the -window, while Eustace, picking up the letter, glanced at the address -and slipped it into his inner pocket. - -"And about leaving San Remo?" he asked, turning towards Mrs. -Veilsturm. - -"I will leave in three days," she replied harshly. "Will that suit -you? - -"Yes! I won't see you again. _Bon voyage_." - -He turned to go, but Mrs. Veilsturm's voice arrested him. "Of course -you will say nothing about South America?" she said quietly. - -"No! You have done your part, and I will do mine." - -"I wouldn't go to Lima again if I were you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, with -deadly hatred, "it might be dangerous." - -"I've no doubt of that," replied Eustace carelessly. "If you want to -turn the tables you had better send your emissaries to Africa." - -He left the room without another word, and Cleopatra, sitting at the -window, saw him walking down the garden path. She was holding her -handkerchief in her hands, and with a sudden anger tore it in two. - -"If it had only been in South America," she said in a low, fierce -voice. "Oh, if it had only been in South America!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -THE LAST TEMPTATION. - - "Death ever rends asunder marriage bonds, - So should he die, this husband undesired, - She would be free to woo and wed again - And I might haply gain her hand, her heart. - Yet there is folly in this argument, - For such a course would breed but sterile love, - Seeing the first link in the chain of circumstance - Is ominous indeed--a dead man's grave." - - -Having thus routed the enemy, Eustace returned to his hotel very well -satisfied with his victory, which he hoped would be productive -of good in removing the obstacle to the reconciliation of husband -and wife. For his own part, he felt considerable astonishment at the -self-abnegation of his conduct, seeing that he was doing his best to -place the woman he loved so devotedly beyond any possible chance of -being anything to him. But since his last interview with Lady -Errington, the astute man of the world had been quick to read her true -feelings, and had therefore given up all hope of winning her love. -Besides, he had arranged with Laxton to go to Africa, and had it not -been for the accident of Guy's illness would have started almost -immediately for that mysterious continent, but since things had turned -out otherwise, he resolved to do his duty by his cousin even against -his desire of gratifying self. It was true he had done all in his -power to conquer this dominant faculty of egotism, he had parted with -Alizon for ever, he had saved Errington from the machinations of Mrs. -Veilsturm but the great temptation was yet to come, and in a guise -least anticipated by the tempted. - -Of course, he told Dr. Storge about his success in the delicate matter -of Mrs. Veilsturm, at which success the physician expressed himself -highly delighted, as he undoubtedly thought that the removal of this -disturbing influence on Errington's life would have a beneficial -result on his health. - -Doctors are not infallible, however, and the result of this attempt to -quiet the patient's mind only succeeded in exciting it still more, -which state of the case considerably dismayed both Storge and Gartney. - -Guy, being under the impression that his wife had cast him off for -ever, had been touched by the interest displayed towards him by Mrs. -Veilsturm, and clung to the idea of her disinterested affection as a -drowning man clings to a straw. An old simile, certainly, but one that -holds good in this case. He thought that his wife did not love him, -that she had never loved him, and that Cleopatra was the only woman -who had any tender feelings towards him in her heart. It was true that -the world, a notoriously ungenerous critic, said that she was -capricious, cruel, fickle as the wind--still, so cleverly had she -feigned a love she did not feel, that Errington really believed he had -inspired a genuine feeling in her hard heart. - -Every day, when tender messages arrived for him with presents of fruit -and flowers, he mentally thanked Heaven that one woman, at least, -truly loved and remembered him in his hour of trouble. When, however, -the messages with their accompanying gifts of fruit and flowers ceased -to arrive, he wondered at the omission and became querulously -suspicious. Why had she forgotten him? What was the reason of this -sudden change? Could she be false to him, seeing that she had made -such protestations of love? No, it could not be, and yet--there must -be some reason. These were the questions he kept continually asking -himself, and thereby working himself into such mad frenzies, that it -seemed as though nothing could avert the threatened attack of brain -fever. - -True to her promise, which would cost her too much to break, Mrs. -Veilsturm had departed from San Remo and taken up her abode at Nice, -together with the Major, Dolly Thambits and Mr. Jiddy, alleging that -she found the Italian watering-place dull and preferred the lively -Gauls to the more sedate Latins. Errington, however, knew nothing of -this sudden exodus, and his excited brain suggested a thousand reasons -for the sudden silence of his quondam charmer. She was ill! She was -afraid of exciting him. She had been called to England on business! -What could be the reason of this sudden change from attention to -neglect, from warmth to coldness? And day and night, and night and -day, the weary brain puzzled over these perplexing questions, -suggesting and discarding a thousand answers with every tick of the -clock. - -Eustace did his best to allay his cousin's excitement without telling -him the truth, but all to no purpose, so, in despair, he spoke -seriously to Storge as to what was best to be done under the -circumstances. - -"Things can't go on like this much longer," he said decisively, "if my -cousin was ill when I arrived, he seems to me to be much worse now." - -"It's a very difficult case," remarked Storge musingly. "So difficult, -that I hardly know what step to take. I've made him keep to his room, -see no one, given him sedatives, and yet he is no better. In fact, I -think we're only at the beginning of the trouble." - -"Well, I've got that woman out of the way," said Eustace bluntly, "so -that is something gained." - -"I'm not so sure of that," replied the doctor, biting his nails, a -habit he had when irritated; "of course I advised it, and it was done -for the best, still, upon my soul Mr. Gartney you must think me a -fool. Here am I, a duly accredited M.D., yet I don't know what steps -to take in order to cure my patient." - -"It is perplexing," sighed Eustace, drumming with his fingers on the -table. "Errington has got it into his head that this woman is his good -angel--faugh! to what lengths will love carry a man." - -"But you said he was not in love with her." - -"Neither is he! This is one of those rare cases which are veritable -enigmas. Most unaccountable. As far as I can see, the whole thing is -simply this. My cousin thinks his wife hates him, and, as Mrs. -Veilsturm has played her game so cleverly, believes she loves him. He -doesn't love her, but he is intensely grateful for what he thinks is -her disinterested kindness. Now she has withdrawn the light of her -countenance, he imagines that he is forsaken for the second time, and -his feeling is one of absolute despair." - -"'Thou cans't not minister to a mind diseased," quoted Storge, -musingly. "A very true remark of Shakespeare's. It seems to me, -judging from your theory, with which I must say I agree, that I'm in -very much the same dilemma. My drugs are no use while his mind is in -such a turmoil. You cure his mind, Gartney, and I'll cure his body." - -"It's all very well saying that," replied Eustace pettishly. "You give -me the hardest task." - -"Suppose you send for his wife?" - -"She won't come." - -"But surely when she knows----" - -"I tell you she won't come," repeated Eustace sternly, "she thinks he -has behaved shamefully, and I'm afraid she is rather unforgiving." - -Storge ran his hands through his hair in a most perplexed fashion, but -made no reply, as he was quite at his wits' end what to suggest. It -was as he suggested more a mental than a physical case, and though he -felt himself competent to deal with nerves, brain, or tissues, he was -quite helpless in this emergency, which required the aid of external -circumstances. Those external circumstances were best known to Eustace -Gartney, so that gentleman was the only man who could have any -influence in the matter. - -"I tell you what," said Gartney, after a pause, during which he had -been thinking deeply, "Errington imagines Mrs. Veilsturm an angel of -light, and is worrying himself because he thinks a good woman has -forgotten him. Suppose I show her to him in her true colours, and -then----" - -"And then," finished the doctor caustically, "you'll fix him up nicely -for a very bad attack of brain fever." - -"That is one presumption!" - -"The only one." - -"I don't agree with you! I'll undeceive him about Mrs. Veilsturm, and -then he'll see the snare he has escaped." - -"Oh, and do you think that will quiet him?" asked Dr. Storge -sarcastically. - -"I think it will turn his thoughts back to his wife. If so, I'll write -to her to come over----" - -"What about the forgiveness?" - -"I'll tell her it's a case of life and death. That will surely soften -her." - -"You whirl about like a weather-cock, my friend," said Storge grimly, -"you tell me decisively that the wife is unforgiving, and won't come, -then you say she might soften--which view is the right one?" - -"Both." - -"Impossible!" - -"Nothing is impossible with regard to a woman. But what do you say to -my plan?" - -"I don't know what to say." - -"Then I'll try it," said Eustace determinedly. - -"I don't approve of it," remarked Storge in desperation, "still, as -it's a case of brain fever if things go on like this, the chance of -accelerating the disease doesn't make much difference, so you'd better -begin your disillusionising at once." - -"Very well," replied Gartney with a sigh of relief, and this closed -the conversation. - -It was a disagreeable task to undertake, but not more so than that -connected with Mrs. Veilsturm, and Eustace made up his mind to speak -to Errington at once. - -"The sooner things are brought to a crisis the better," he thought, as -he went up to his cousin's room. "As they stand now, it's quite -impossible to move either way." - -Guy was lying with his arms outside the counterpane, when Mr. Gartney -entered, and turned his eyes, unnaturally bright, in the direction of -the door when he heard his cousin's footstep. - -"Anything from Mrs. Veilsturm?" he asked eagerly. - -"Nothing," responded Eustace, and took a seat beside the bed. - -"What can be the matter with her?" said Guy, feverishly. "Eustace, why -don't you find out? It's cruel of you to keep me in suspense." - -"I won't keep you in suspense any longer." - -"What?" - -Guy sat up in his bed with a cry, but Eustace forced him to lie down -again. - -"Keep quiet, or I won't tell you," he said sternly. "By-the-way, if -you don't want Albert, he had better go downstairs. I want to speak to -you privately." - -"Yes! yes! you can go, Albert. Mr. Gartney will stay with me." - -The well-trained valet bowed his head in answer, arranged a few things -on the little table beside the bed, and then noiselessly withdrew, -leaving the cousins together. - -"Well, Eustace, well?" said Guy, plucking restlessly at the -bedclothes. "What is the matter? Nothing wrong with Mrs. Veilsturm." - -"Not that I'm aware of," responded Gartney drily. "She is a lady who -can take remarkably good care of herself." - -"Don't talk like that about her," said Guy, with weak anger, "she is -my friend." - -"Your friend!" repeated Eustace scornfully. "Yes, the same kind of -friend as she is to every man!" - -"Eustace!" - -He sat up again with a fierce look on his face, but the calm gaze of -his cousin disconcerted him, and he sank back on the pillows with an -impatient sigh. - -"I don't understand you," he said fretfully. "I don't understand--my -head is aching--aching terribly." - -"Guy, old fellow," said Eustace, in his low, soft voice, which had -such an indescribable charm in its tones, "I want to speak to you -about your wife." - -"My wife?" - -"Yes! I have a confession to make to you. I love your wife." - -Guy looked at his cousin vacantly, and as if he did not understand. - -"You love my wife?" he repeated mechanically. "You love my wife?" - -"Yes," said Eustace, steadily, going through his self-imposed ordeal -with stern determination, although his face was grey with anguish and -his heart ached with pain and self-humiliation. "It's a terrible thing -to confess to you--to her husband--but true nevertheless. When I first -saw her at Como, I worshipped her for that calm, spiritual loveliness -which made her so beautiful in my eyes. But I said nothing, and went -into exile for her sake, trusting to come back and find her a happy -wife and mother. I went away to forget, and I came back to remember. -Oh, Guy, if you only knew how I have despised myself for thus thinking -about your wife; but believe me, it was not in the sensual fashion of -the world that I loved her. I worshipped her as one might worship a -star which is higher and purer than he who kneels to its splendour. My -love was pure, still I strove to crush it out of my heart, but all in -vain. I came back to England and saw her once more, a happy mother -indeed, but not a happy wife. It was not your fault, my poor boy, for -I know you did your best to win her heart, but her child blinded her -better nature, and she could not see that the father yearned for love, -and required it as much as the son. Then came the episode of Mrs. -Veilsturm, which was one of those cruel decrees of Fate which no man -can guard against. It parted you, as I thought, for ever, and you -obeyed the instincts of your lower nature, while she remained sternly -unforgiving in her purity--a purity which could not understand the -temptations of a weaker soul. I tried my best to make her look more -kindly on your mistake--as I am a living man, Guy, I did my best to -bring you together again, but it was all useless. Then I lost my head, -the devil whispered in my ear, and I spoke to her of love, and the -result was what you might have expected from your wife. She told me -that she loved her child, and would not stoop to dishonour for his -sake. But she said more--not in words indeed, but in looks, in manner, -in irrepressible tears--that she loved you, Guy, that she was sorry -for her cruel justice, that she longed for the father of her child, -for the husband of her vows, to clasp her in his arms once more. I was -punished for my daring to lift my eyes to her--I saw that I could be -nothing to such spotless purity of soul, and I left--I went away into -the outer darkness, intending to exile myself for ever from her sight. -Then the child died--the child whom she worshipped--the child who was -your strongest rival in her affections, and now she sits alone and in -solitude--robbed of her nearest and dearest--waiting for the sound of -her husband's voice, for the clasp of his arms, for the touch of his -lips." - -In his fervour, he had slipped from his chair, and was now kneeling -beside the bed, holding his cousin's hot hand in his own. The sick man -had listened dully to the long speech, but at the end he flung up his -disengaged hand with a bitter cry. - -"No! no! It is too late, it is too late." - -"It is not too late," said Eustace, earnestly. "I have told you the -truth. I have humiliated myself in your eyes because I am anxious to -repair my fault, to bring you together again. Let me send for your -wife, Guy, and believe me, she will come, only too gladly, to your -sick bed with words of forgiveness and regret." - -But the sick man rolled his head from side to side on the pillow with -dreary despair. - -"No; no! it cannot be. My wife can never be mine again--Maraquita----" - -"Maraquita Veilsturm!" interrupted Eustace, sternly. "Don't mention her -name in connection with that of your wife." - -"She was kind to me when Alizon was so cruel." - -"Kind, yes, for her own ends. Listen to me, Guy. Mrs. Veilsturm has -been using you as a means of revenge against your wife." - -All the listless despair disappeared from Errington's face, and he -wrenched his hand angrily away from Eustace. "What do you mean?" - -"Exactly what I say," said Eustace hurriedly, seeing that his cousin -was getting excited, and determined to have the whole thing over and -done with it at once. "Do you think Mrs. Veilsturm ever forgave or -forgot the slight she received from your wife? Not she! I know Mrs. -Veilsturm, none better. However, I'm going to say nothing about her -except this, that she pretended to love you in order to cause trouble -between yourself and your wife. And now that she has succeeded, she -has gone off and left you, ill as you are, to do the best you can -without her." - -"No! it's not true! It can't be true," raved Guy, fiercely. "You -malign her, she is a true good woman, she loves me--she loves me." - -"I tell you she does not," said Eustace, rising to his feet, so as to -be ready for any emergency, for Guy looked so wild that he was afraid -he would spring upon him. - -"Liar! You cannot prove it!" - -"I can, and by her own handwriting." - -Guy snatched the letter Eustace held out to him, tore open the -envelope, glanced over the few cruel words of dismissal, and then, -dropping the paper, covered his face with his hands, moaning -pitifully. - -"You see now, my dear Guy, what this woman really is," said Gartney -tranquilly, picking up the letter; "a vindictive vixen, who simply -used you for her own ends." - -The baronet uncovered his face, and looked at Eustace in a vacant -manner, his eyes large and bright, his lips twitching with nervous -agitation, and a feverish flush on his hot, dry skin. - -"I must go to her," he said in a shrill voice, trying to rise from his -bed. "I must see her." - -"No! no! it's impossible," cried Eustace in alarm, holding him back; -"be reasonable, Guy, be reasonable. Stay where you are, Guy!" - -But Guy was now past all understanding, and struggled vehemently with -Eustace, uttering short cries of rage and terror like a caged animal. -His cousin's heart bled for the frenzied agony of the unhappy man, but -he saw that Guy was rapidly getting worse, and shouted for assistance. -No one answered, however, so having forced Guy to lie down with a -great effort, Eustace ran to the electric bell, and in a moment its -shrill summons rang through the house. In that moment, however, Guy -was out of bed, making for the window, swaying, staggering, raving, -with outstretched hands, and Eustace had just time to throw himself -on the madman--for he was nothing else at present--and prevent him -breaking the glass. - -Albert entered, and, seeing the state of affairs, shouted for aid, and -came forward to help Gartney, whose valet also came up stairs in -answer to their cries, and between them the three men managed to get -Guy back to bed, where they held him down, raving, crying, shrieking, -and entirely insane. Leaving the two servants in charge, Eustace went -down stairs and sent for the doctor, who arrived speedily on the scene -and prescribed such remedies as were necessary, although, truth to -tell, he could do but little. - -"Just what I expected," he said grimly, when things were going -smoother, "and now, Mr. Gartney, as you've carried out your first -intention, perhaps you'll carry out the second, and send for his -wife." - -"I suppose I must." - -"It's a case of life and death," said Storge, and walked out of the -room. - -In two minutes Eustace was on his way to the telegraph office. As he -walked rapidly down the street, the temptation came, the terrible -temptation that whispered to him not to send for Alizon. - -"If you do not," whispered the devil on his left, "Guy will die, and -you will be able to gain her for your wife." - -"No," said the good angel on his right. "She can never love you, you -could buy nothing, not even happiness, at the price of your cousin's -death." - -So Eustace walked along with these two angels, the bad and the good, -whispering in his ears, now inclining to one, now to the other, -fighting desperately against the temptations of the devil, and again -yielding to the insidious whisper of future joy to be won by a simple -act of neglect. In that short walk a whole life-time of agony passed, -but no one looking at this stalwart, calm-faced man striding along the -Street, could have guessed the hell that raged within. - -The powers of good and evil fought desperately for the possession of -this weak, wavering soul, that was in such sore straits, but in the -end the good angel prevailed, and Eustace sat down to write his -telegram. - -He wrote one to Alizon, as strongly worded as he was able, and a -second to Otterburn, telling him he must bring Lady Errington over at -once. In both he wrote the words, "It is a case of life and death," -those words that had been ringing in his ears ever since the doctor -had said them. - -Then, as he handed the telegram to the clerk, the temptation again -assailed him. It was not too late, let him withdraw the messages, tear -them up, and there would be a chance of his winning the woman he loved -instead of going into voluntarily exile. But at the price of a man's -life? No! that was too big a price to pay, and yet--he put down the -money demanded by the clerk and walked out of the post office. - -Outside in the sunshine he stood with drops of sweat on his forehead, -and the soul that had been saved from the commission of a great crime, -put up a prayer of thanks to God that this last temptation had passed, -and that the powers of evil had not prevailed in the hour of weakness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. -"AND KISSED AGAIN WITH TEARS." - - "You have returned with your face so fair, - Your sweet blue eyes and your golden hair, - Again to cherish--again to share - This life of mine with its joy and care. - - "Alas, my dearest, the days were long, - When memories came in a countless throng, - To sing to my heart such a haunting song, - Of things once right that had changed to wrong. - - "You have returned just to heal the smart - That Sorrow made with her cruel dart, - Never again will we sigh and part. - You once more are my leal sweetheart." - - -The Hon. Angus Macjean's experiences of early married life could -hardly be called pleasant, seeing the demands made upon himself and -his bride by their mutual friends. Shortly after their marriage, Aunt -Jelly had died, thereby causing them to return to London before the -end of the honeymoon, then, during their visit to Lord Dunkeld, Mrs. -Macjean had been summoned south in order to console Lady Errington for -the loss of her child, and now as Eustace had telegraphed Alizon to -come over to her sick husband at San Remo, it was necessary that -Otterburn should escort her, for it was impossible, in her present -state of grief, that she could travel alone. The young couple, -therefore, did not get so much of each other's company as they -desired, and it said a great deal for the good nature of both, that -they were so ready to comfort the mourner, at the sacrifice of their -own desires, and the upsetting of all their plans. - -Life at Errington Hall was very dreary after the death of the heir, as -Victoria was constantly with the unhappy mother and Otterburn was left -to wander about with nothing but his own thoughts, which were not -particularly cheerful in the present aspect of affairs. Then came the -funeral, which Macjean had to look after entirely by himself, as -Eustace and Errington were both absent. The young man had received a -letter from Gartney, stating that Guy was too ill to travel, and -Victoria had shown it to Alizon, but, wrapped up in the selfishness of -grief for her great loss, she had made hardly any remark about this -new blow. - -Then came the peremptory telegrams summoning the wife to the bedside -of her sick husband, and Otterburn, through his wife, delicately -offered to accompany Lady Errington to San Remo as soon as she was -ready to start. - -Alizon was a long time making up her mind about going, as she -considered that her husband had grossly insulted her by his -openly-displayed passion for Mrs. Veilsturm. Still, on calm -reflection, she saw that she was to a great extent blameable for his -folly, and as the death of Sammy had considerably softened her heart -towards his wrong-doing, she determined to fulfil her duty as a wife -and go across to the Riviera at once. The child's death had left a -blank in her heart, and she felt that she must have someone to love -and console her, or she would go mad in the loneliness of her grief; -so with these thoughts in her heart she sent a telegram to Eustace, -announcing her departure, and prepared for the journey. - -She accepted Otterburn's escort as far as San Remo, but promised that -as soon as she was established by Guy's sick bed, Angus should return -to his wife, who was to be left behind at Errington Hall. Angus agreed -to this, and in company with the young man and her maid, she left -Victoria Station _en route_ for the Italian Riviera. - -The whole journey seemed to her like a dream; the bright English -landscape, which she knew so well; the breezy passage across the -Channel, with the tossing waves and blue sky; Calais, with its -bustling crowd of natives and tourists; the long journey through the -pleasant Norman country, and then Paris, gay and glittering, where -they stayed all night. Next morning again in the train rushing -southward, past quaint, mediæval towns, with their high-peaked houses, -over slow-flowing rivers, through ancient forests already bearing the -touch of Autumn's finger--still onward, onward, till they reached -Marseilles, sitting by the blue waters of the Mediterranean. -Afterwards they continued their journey through smiling Provence, -along the sunny Riviera--Cannes, Mentone, Nice, all passed in their -turn; a glimpse of Monte Carlo, where the Goddess of Play sits -enthroned on high--palm-crowned Bordighera--deserted Ospedaletti, with -its lonely Casino--and at last San Remo, amid her grey olive-groves, -at the foot of the blue hills. - -Eustace was waiting for them at the railway-station, looking very -grave, and bowed silently to Lady Errington, as she stepped out of the -carriage. - -"Is he better?" she asked, looking haggardly at him, a tall slender -figure in her sweeping black robes. - -"I'm afraid not--still we hope for the best." - -She made no reply, so after greeting Otterburn, Eustace conducted them -to a carriage, and they drove to the Hotel de la Mer. Alizon lost no -time, but asked to be taken at once to her husband's room. Eustace -tried to prepare her mind, so that the shock of seeing him should not -be too much, but she disregarded all his entreaties, and went up to -the darkened apartment where her husband was lying. One question only -she asked Gartney before she entered: - -"Is that woman here?" - -"Do you think I would have sent for you had she been?" he replied, -deeply hurt. "No I She has left San Remo, and will trouble you no -more." - -"Your doing?" - -"Yes." - -She gave him her slender, black-gloved hand for a moment, and then -passed to her husband's bedside, where her place was henceforth to be. - -The next morning Otterburn, having discharged his duty, returned to -his wife, and Lady Errington was left alone with Eustace to nurse the -man whom she never thought to meet with kindly feeling again. - -Guy was terribly ill for a long time, but as out of evil good -sometimes comes, there was no doubt that this illness was beneficial, -inasmuch as it showed Alizon the true state of her husband's heart. In -those long, dreary hours, as she sat beside the bed listening to his -incoherent ravings, she heard sufficient to convince her that Guy had -always tenderly loved her--that his apparent infidelity was the result -of despair, and that a word of forgiveness from her would have saved -him from the misery he had suffered. No explanation on the part of -Eustace Gartney--no explanation from her husband, had he been in good -health--would have convinced her of the truth, and there would always -have lurked in her heart a terrible suspicion that she had been sinned -against, which would have embittered her whole life. She would have -perhaps forgiven her husband, but she nevertheless would have believed -him guilty, and his presence would have been a constant regret and -reproach to the purity of her soul. But these wild mutterings, these -agonised ravings, revealed the true state of things--revealed at once -his weakness and his strength; so little by little the scales fell -from her eyes, and she saw how noble was this nature, how weak was the -soul, and how needful to its well-being was love and tenderness. - -Again, since the death of her child a terrible sense of utter -loneliness had fallen upon her, and now that she saw her mistaken -judgment of Guy's character all her being yearned for his love, and -this woman, who had only respected and admired him when he was well -and strong, now that he was prostrate and weak, passionately loved him -with all the intensity of her nature. The coldness of her nature had -departed, the frozen heart had melted, and often, overcome with terror -and dread, she flung herself on her knees beside the bed, praying to -God to spare her the husband she had never understood nor loved till -now. She never spoke to Eustace about Mrs. Veilsturm--all she knew or -cared to know was that this obstacle that had stood between herself -and her husband had been removed, and that the true feelings of that -husband had been revealed to her by the hand of God. - -During all this time Eustace acted the part of a brother, and never by -word or deed betrayed the true state of his feelings. Heaven alone -knew how he suffered in maintaining a cold, patient demeanour towards -the woman he loved, and his life, from the time of her arrival till -the hour he left San Remo, was one long martyrdom. Often she wondered -at his stoical calmness and apparent forgetfulness of the words he had -spoken to her at Errington Hall, but neither of them made any -reference to the past, and she thought that he was now cured of his -passion. Cured! Eustace laughed aloud to himself as he divined her -thoughts and contentment that it should be so, and he counted the -hours feverishly until such time as he could leave her with a -convalescent husband and depart from her presence, where he had to -hide his real feelings under a mask of cynical indifference. - -Owing to the unintermitting care of Dr. Storge, the careful nursing of -his wife, and the watchful tenderness of Gartney, the man who had been -sick unto death slowly recovered. The long nights of agony and -delirium were succeeded by hours of peaceful slumber, the disordered -brain righted itself slowly, and the vacant stare of the eyes and -babble of the tongue were succeeded by the light of sanity and the -words of sense. He was weak, it is true--very weak--but the first -moment of joy she had known since the death of her child came to -Alizon when one morning, while kneeling beside his bed, he called her -faintly by her name. - -"Alizon." - -"Yes, dear!--your wife." - -His wife!--was this his cold, stately wife who knelt so fondly beside -him? Were those eyes--shining with love, wet with tears--the cold blue -eyes that had so often frozen all demonstrations of affection? Was -that face, full of joyful relief and emotion, the marble countenance -that had never smiled lovingly on him since he had first beheld it? -No!--it could not be Alizon--it was some deceptive vision of the -brain, painting what might have been and yet---- She saw his state of -bewilderment, and, bending over, kissed him tenderly. - -"It is I--your wife!--wife not in name only, but in love and trust." - -A smile of joy flitted across his worn face, and he strove to put out -one weak hand. - -"Forgive," he said faintly, "forgive." - -"It is I who should ask forgiveness," she replied in a broken voice; -"I was harsh and cold, my dearest, and I do ask your forgiveness. Hush -do not say a word--you are very weak, and must not talk. Let me nurse -you back to health again, and then I will strive to be a better wife -to you than I have hitherto been." - -He said nothing, but lay on his pillows, with eyes shining with love, -a contented smile on his lips, and fell asleep, still holding his -wife's hand in his own. - -After this he mended quickly, for with the return of Alizon's -affection the desire of life had come back, and each day he grew -stronger because the vexed brain was now at rest, and the love of his -wife was a better medicine than any drugs of the doctor. - -"You see," said Storge to Eustace on leaving the chamber one day when -Guy had been pronounced convalescent, "what has cured him is not my -medicines, but his wife's affection. Ah, Shakespeare was a wise man -when he said, 'Thou canst not minister unto a mind diseased.' Love is -the only cure there." - -"Lucky mind to have such a cure," replied Gartney with a sigh; "some -minds have to bear their diseases till the end of life with no chance -of being mended." - -Storge said nothing, but he looked at him curiously, for he half -guessed the real state of the case, and sincerely pitied Eustace for -his unhappy passion. - -"Poor fellow," he thought as he departed, "he has wealth, health, fame -and popularity, yet he would give all these for what he will never -obtain--the heart of that woman." - -Guy's complete recovery was now only a question of a few weeks, so -Eustace, feeling that he could not keep up the pretence of -indifference much longer, made up his mind to depart. With this idea -he produced a letter from Laxton one evening when he was seated with -Alizon by the bed of the convalescent. - -"I've just got a letter from my friend," he said cheerfully, "and he -wants me to come back to England at once." - -"What for?" asked Guy quickly. - -"Oh, our African expedition, you know," replied Eustace, smoothing out -the letter. "I put it off because of your illness, but now you are on -the way to recovery I can leave you with safety in the hands of -Alizon." - -"I never saw such a fellow," said Guy, fretfully. "Why on earth can't -you stay at home, instead of scampering all round the world?" - -Eustace laughed, yet his mirth was rather forced. - -"I'm afraid I've got a strain of gipsy blood in me somewhere," he -said, jokingly, "and I can't rest; besides, I really and truly prefer -savages to civilized idiots of the London type. They're every bit as -decent, and much more amusing." - -All this time, Lady Errington had remained silent in deep thought, but -at the conclusion of Gartney's speech, she looked up with a grave -face. - -"When do you start?" she asked quietly. - -"To-morrow morning." - -"So soon?" she said, with a start. - -"Hang it, Eustace, you might have given us longer notice," remarked -Guy, in a displeased tone of voice. - -"_Cui bono?_" said Gartney, listlessly. "Long leave-takings are a -mistake, I think--the opposite of 'linked sweetness long drawn out.' I -always like to come and go quickly, so I'll say goodbye to-night, and -be off the first thing in the morning." - -Neither Guy nor his wife made any further remark, as they both felt -dimly that it would be happier for Eustace to go away as soon as -possible. It was not ingratitude, it was not a desire to lose his -company, but what he had said to the wife, and what he had said to the -husband, recurred to both their memories, and they silently acquiesced -in his decision. - -"Before I go," said Eustace, after a pause, "there is one thing I wish -to say. Can I speak to you both without offence?" - -"Certainly," replied Guy, wondering what was coming. "We both owe you -more than we can ever repay." - -"You can repay it easily," said Gartney, quickly, "by accepting the -proposition I am about to make." - -"Let us hear what it is first," observed Alizon, looking up for a -moment with a faint smile on her lips. - -"It will not take long to explain," answered Gartney, in a -matter-of-fact tone. "You know I am rich enough to indulge all my -whims and fancies, so this new access of wealth from Aunt Jelly, is -absolutely useless to me. It ought to have been left to Guy, and had I -spoken to Aunt Jelly before she died, no doubt I would have made her -see this. As it is, however, it has been left to me, and I do not want -it. Guy, however, does so. I wish to make him a free gift of all the -property before leaving for Africa." - -"No," said Guy resolutely, "I will not take a penny." - -"Why not?" - -"Because it was left to you. I do not want to rob you." - -"It's not a question of robbery," said Eustace, coolly, "if the money -was of any use to me, I'd keep it. But it is not. I do not even know -that I would touch it, so it's far better to be employed by you than -lying idle in my bank. What do you say, Alizon?" - -She flushed painfully. - -"What can I say?" - -"That you will persuade this obstinate husband of yours to take the -money." - -"But suppose he won't accept?" - -"Which is his firm intention," said Guy, quickly. - -"In that case," remarked Eustace grimly, "I shall simply hand it over -to the most convenient charity, say 'The Society for the Suppression -of Critics,' or 'The Fund for Converted Publishers'--but keep it, I -will not." - -"You're talking nonsense," cried Guy, impatiently. "The sober truth, I -assure you." - -There was silence for a few moments, and at last the silence was -broken by Guy. - -"If I thought you were in earnest----" he began slowly. - -"Dead earnest," said Eustace. - -"Then I suppose it will be best to accept your Quixotic offer." - -"I'm glad you look at it in such a sensible light," retorted Gartney, -with an air of great relief. "You agree with Guy, Alizon?" - -She raised her eyes slowly to his face, and looked steadily at him -before making her reply. - -"Yes, I agree with Guy," she answered frankly. - -"Then it's settled," said Eustace with a huge sigh. "I can't tell you -how glad I am to escape being buried under this weight of wealth, like -Tarpeia under the shields of the Sabines. An old illustration, is it -not, but remarkably apt. You will be able to clear the mortgages off -the Hall, Guy, and live there in a manner befitting the place. I will -see my lawyers as soon as I return to England, so you will have no -further trouble over the matter." - -"And what about yourself?" asked Alizon, impulsively. - -"Myself?" he echoed, rising slowly from his chair. "Oh, I am going -away to foreign parts. The land of Khem--the blameless Ethiopians--the -secret sources of the Nile, and all that kind of thing." - -"But when you come back?" said Errington, raising himself on his -elbow. - -"When I come back," said Eustace sadly, a presentiment of coming doom -heavy on his soul, "then I'll see you both happy and honoured. Perhaps -you'll find a domestic seat for me by the domestic hearth, and I'll -tell stories of mysterious lands to future generations of Erringtons." - -Again silence, a painful, oppressive silence, which seemed to last an -eternity. - -"Goodbye, dear old fellow," said Eustace at last, with a mighty -effort. - -Guy clasped his hand without a word, his heart being too full to -speak. - -"And you also, Alizon." - -She gave him her hand also, and there they stood, husband and wife, -with their hands clasped in those of the man whom they both knew had -fought a good fight--and conquered. - -"Goodbye, Eustace," whispered the woman at last, with a look of -infinite gratitude and pity in her deep eyes. "May God keep -you--brother." - -And under the spell of that gentle benediction, he passed away from -their sight for ever. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. -A LETTER FROM HOME. - - "I thought that our old life was over and done with, - And ever apart we would wander alone, - That Clotho had broken the distaff she spun with, - Weaving the weird web that made my life one with Your own. - - "Yea, but this letter unbidden appeareth, - A sorrowful ghost of the sweetness of yore. - Bringing dear thoughts which the lonely heart cheereth, - Recalling the words which the heavy soul heareth - No more. - - "Ah, but love's blossom can ne'er bloom again, love, - Withered and brown it lies dead in my heart, - There let it faded and broken remain, love, - We must live ever while years wax and wane, love, - Apart." - - -At the entrance to a tent a man sat silent, watching the setting sun. -A wild scene, truly, far beyond the bounds of civilization, where the -foot of the white man had never trodden before, where the savage -tribes had lived since the first of Time in primeval simplicity, where -Nature, with lavish hand, spread her uncultured luxuriance in forest, -in mountain, and in plain, under a burning, tropical sky. It was a -scene far in the interior of Africa, that mysterious continent, which -has yet to yield up her secrets to the dogged curiosity of European -races. - -The man was reading a letter, a letter that had come through swamp, -through jungle, over mountains, across plains, by the hands of savage -carriers, the last letter he would receive before plunging still -deeper into the unknown lands beyond, the last link that bound him to -civilization--a letter from home. - -Inside the tent, another man was also reading letters, from friends -and club companions, which gave him all the latest gossip of that -London, now so far away, but he read them lightly, and tossed them -aside with a careless hand. The man outside, however, had only one -letter, and, as he read it, his eyes grew moist, blinding him so much -that he could not see the writing, and looking up, gazed at the scene -before him through a blurred mist of tears. - -Undulating grass plains, a wide river winding through the country like -a silver serpent, clumps of tropical trees, and a distant vision of -fantastic peaks, all flushed with splendid colours under the fierce -light of the sunset. And the sky, like a delicate shell of pale pink, -fading off in the east to cold blue and sombre shadows, in the west -deepening into vivid billowy masses of golden clouds, which tried -unsuccessfully to veil the intolerable splendour of the sinking sun. A -breath of odorous wind under the burning sky, the chattering of -monkeys, the shrieking of brilliant-coloured parrots, and the low, -guttural song of a naked negro cleaning his weapons in the near camp. - -The man looked at all this with vague, unseeing eyes, for his thoughts -were far away, then, dashing away the tears, he once more began to -read the letter he held in his hand. - - -"MY DEAR EUSTACE, - -"I can hardly believe that it is nine months since you left us. I -wonder in what part of Africa you will read this letter, that is, if -it ever reaches you, of which I have considerable doubt. The papers, -of course, informed us of your many months of delay at Zanzibar before -you could go forward, so perhaps this letter may reach you before you -get beyond the confines of civilization. I was very much astonished to -hear you were at Zanzibar, as I thought you left England with the -intention of going up the Nile, and getting into the inland country -that way. However, I suppose you had good reason for changing your -plans, and are now pushing forward into unknown lands. - -"I have a great deal to tell you about ourselves and friends, which I -am sure you will be pleased to hear. In the first place, both my wife -and myself are completely happy--all the clouds of our earlier life -have vanished, and I think that no married pair can have such perfect -confidence and love for one another. I ascribe this happy state of -things to you, dear old fellow, for had you not made Mrs. Veilsturm -leave San Remo, and brought my wife to my sick bed, we could never -have come together again. I know, good friend that you are, you -will be pleased to hear we are so perfectly happy, and that every -year--every day--every hour, my wife grows dearer to me. As I write -these words her dear face is bending over my shoulder to read what I -have set down, and she cordially endorses what I have said. - -"Thanks to your kind gift of Aunt Jelly's money, all things -pecuniarily are well with me. I have paid off the mortgages on the -Hall, and invested the rest of the money, so what with the income -arising from such investments, and my rents, now regularly coming to -me instead of to the lawyers, I am quite a rich man, and the -Erringtons can once wore hold up their head in the county as a -representative family. - -"By-the-way, I have some news to give you about our mutual friend, -Mrs. Veilsturm, with whom I was so infatuated. She went on to New -York, followed by Dolly Thambits, and has now married him. He is a -young idiot to be sure, but then he has an excellent income, and that -is all she cares about. Won't she spend his thousands for him? Well, I -think you and I agree on that subject. Regarding Major Griff, she -evidently found him less useful after than before she became Mrs. -Thambits, so she has pensioned him off with a few thousands, and I -hear the Major has gone to Central America, with a view to entering -the service of one of the republics of those regions. His future fate -is not hard to prophesy, as he will either become President or be -shot, but in either event I don't think he'll trouble our fair friend -again who has retired so peacefully into married life. Next year, I -believe, she is coming to town, and is going to cut a great dash, -so no doubt Mrs. Thambits will be even more popular than Mrs. -Veilsturm--although, I dare say, there will not be any Sunday evenings -of the Monte Carlo style. - -"You will perhaps wonder at my writing so coolly about this lady, but -the fact is, I now see only too clearly the danger I escaped. She -would have ruined my life, and certainly made a good attempt to do so, -only you fortunately intervened in time. What magic you used to force -her to leave me alone I do not know, but I certainly have to thank you -for extricating me from a very perilous position. - -"Another item of news. Mrs. Macjean has presented the delighted -Otterburn with a son and heir. By-the-way, I should not call him -Otterburn, as, by the death of his father four months ago, he is -now Lord Dunkeld. But old habits are hard to get rid of, and I always -talk of them as Mrs. Macjean and Otterburn. They are very happy, as -they deserve to be, for Dunkeld is a real good fellow, and Lady -Dunkeld--well, she is all that is charming. - -"Do you remember Miss Minnie Pelch, poor Aunt Jelly's companion? She -is now down at Errington with us, as she was so lonely in town that -Alizon took pity on her, and she is installed as companion at the -Hall. Her volume of verse came out in due splendour, and was entirely -overlooked by the press, at which I am not sorry, as if the poems had -been noticed--well, you know the poems of old. Minnie, however, thinks -this silence is jealousy, and quite looks upon herself as a shining -light of the Victorian age, so neither Alizon nor I undeceive her, for -she is a good little woman, though somewhat of a bore with her -infernal--I mean eternal--poetry. - -"I really don't think there is any more news to tell you, except that -good old Mrs. Trubbles is dead--apoplexy--and her dear Harry is now on -the look-out for another spouse with political influence--I wish it -was 'poetical influence,' and we might manage to marry him to Miss -Pelch. - -"Mr. Dolser and 'The Pepper Box' have both gone under, never to rise -again I hope. Some dreadful libel on a high personage appeared, at -which the H.P. took umbrage, and the editor is now expiating his -offence in prison. I can't say I'm very sorry, as when he is released -Mr. Dolser will no doubt leave other people's affairs alone. Such men -as he are the curse of the present age, and should all be sunk in the -Atlantic for at least half an hour--after that I think we'd have no -more trouble with them. - -"And now, my dear cousin, I must close this long letter, but first, in -confidence, let me hint to you that my wife is expecting an -interesting event to take place shortly, which will once more render -the nursery a necessity. Poor Alizon has borne up bravely since the -death of Sammy, but I know she longs for a child of her own to fill -the vacant place in her heart. I am no longer afraid of having a rival -in my child, as my wife loves and trusts me now, and my lot is as -perfectly happy a one as any mortal can hope for. - -"So now goodbye, my dear Eustace. I hope we will soon see you back -again at the Hall, where there is always a place for you. My wife -sends her kindest regards to you, and so do I, thus closing this -letter, and remaining - -"Your affectionate Cousin, - -"GUY ERRINGTON." - - -When Eustace finished reading the letter he let it fall on the ground, -and laughed bitterly. - -"Kindest regards," he said sadly, "and I gave her love." - -The sun was sinking swiftly behind the dark hills, and Gartney, with -his hand supporting his chin, sat watching it, thinking of the days -that were no more. - -So sad, so melancholy he felt, as he thought of the past, of the woman -he loved so fondly, whom he had restored to the arms of her husband at -the cost of his own happiness. Surely, if he had been selfish, vain -and egotistical all his life, he had expiated these sins by his -voluntary sacrifice of self--a sacrifice that had banished all delight -from his heart. - -And he sat there a lonely exile, with sorrow behind him, and danger -before him, while the sun sank in the burning west, and the sable -wings of night spread over the earth like a sombre pall. - -There was darkness on the world, there was darkness in his heart, and -from the midst of the shadows still sounded the melancholy chaunt of -the slave. - - -* * * * * * - - -EXTRACT FROM "THE MORNING PLANET." - -"By a telegram from Zanzibar there now seems no doubt that the two -young Englishmen, who went into the interior of Africa some months -ago, have been massacred. Only one survivor of the expedition escaped -and managed to get safely to the coast. According to his story, Mr. -Laxton was speared first by hostile natives from an ambush. Afterwards -Mr. Gartney met with the same fate, although he defended himself for -some time with his revolver. - -"Much regret will be felt in England at this sad news, as the two -deceased gentlemen were both very popular, Mr. Gartney especially -being widely known as a charming poet and essayist. He, was very -wealthy, and we hear that all his property, by a will executed before -he left England, has been left to Lady Errington, of Errington Hall, -Dreamshire." - - -* * * * * * - - -So that was the end of Eustace Gartney. - - - - -FINIS - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Whom God Hath Joined, by Fergus Hume - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHOM GOD HATH JOINED *** - -***** This file should be named 55571-8.txt or 55571-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/5/7/55571/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (University of Illinois Library) - -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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V. 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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: Whom God Hath Joined - A Question of Marriage - -Author: Fergus Hume - -Release Date: September 17, 2017 [EBook #55571] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHOM GOD HATH JOINED *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (University of Illinois Library) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> -1. Page scan source: Google Books, https://books.google.com/books/<br> - about/whom_god_hath_joined.html?id=qaJBAQAAMAAJ.<br> - [University of Illinois Library]<br> -<br> -2. Lower left corner of page 144 (start of Chapter XVIII.) is torn<br> -off, partially affecting three lines of text. Lacunae indicated<br> -by [* * *].</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="center"><img src="images/frontcover.png" alt="Front Cover"></p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>WHOM GOD HATH JOINED.</h3> -<h4>A Question of Marriage.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>BY</h5> -<h4>FERGUS HUME,</h4> - -<h5>AUTHOR OF</h5> -<h5>"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "THE MAN WITH -A SECRET," "MONSIEUR JUDAS," <span class="sc">etc., etc</span>.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<p>The saying that no one can serve two masters has its exception in the -case of a wife and mother, who is bound by her marriage vows and -maternal instincts to love in equal measure her husband and children; -but alas for the happiness of the family should she love one to the -exclusion of the other, for from such exclusion arise many domestic -heart burnings.</p> -<br> -<br> -<h5><i>THIRD EDITION</i>.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3><span style="font-size:smaller">LONDON</span>:<br> -F. V. WHITE & CO.,<br> -14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.<br> -<span style="font-size:smaller">1894</span>.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>PRINTED BY<br> -KELLY AND CO. LIMITED, 182, 183 AND 184, HIGH HOLBORN. W.C.,<br> -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<table cellpadding="10" style="width:90%; margin-left:5%; font-weight:bold"> -<colgroup><col style="width:20%; vertical-align:top; text-align:right"><col style="width:80%; vertical-align:top; text-align:left"></colgroup> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><h3>CONTENTS</h3></td> -</tr><tr> -<td> </td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Two Friends</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">An Incomplete Madonna</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Waning of the Honeymoon</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Art of Conversation</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">An Australian Girl</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Day's Shopping</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Lady Errington's Little Dinner</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Eustace Examines His Mind</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"Oh, Wilt Thou be my Bride, Kathleen?</span>"</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Auf Wiedersehn</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Maiden Lady</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Aunt Jelly's Opinion</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Bringing Home The Bride</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">An Undesirable Acquaintance</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">XV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Woman Scorned</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">XVI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Events of Eighteen Months</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">XVII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Gossip</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_18" href="#div1_18">XVIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">From Foreign Parts</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_19" href="#div1_19">XIX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Aunt Jelly Discusses Family Affairs</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_20" href="#div1_20">XX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Old House by the Sea</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_21" href="#div1_21">XXI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">From The Husband's Point of View</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_22" href="#div1_22">XXII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">From the Wife's Point of View</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_23" href="#div1_23">XXIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Mrs. Veilsturm's "At Home</span>"</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_24" href="#div1_24">XXIV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"On Revient Tojours à ses Premières Amours</span>"</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_25" href="#div1_25">XXV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Fascination</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_26" href="#div1_26">XXVI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Aunt Jelly Interferes</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_27" href="#div1_27">XXVII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Deity Called Fate</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_28" href="#div1_28">XXVIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Husband and Wife</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_29" href="#div1_29">XXIX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Question of Marriage</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_30" href="#div1_30">XXX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Cleopatra Victrix</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_31" href="#div1_31">XXXI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">In the Coils of the Serpent</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_32" href="#div1_32">XXXII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">What Made the Ball sae Fine?</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_33" href="#div1_33">XXXIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">Pallida Mors</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_34" href="#div1_34">XXXIV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Assaults of the Evil One</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_35" href="#div1_35">XXXV.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">For my Child's Sake</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_36" href="#div1_36">XXXVI.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Death of the First-born</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_37" href="#div1_37">XXXVII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Truth about Mrs. Veilsturm</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_38" href="#div1_38">XXXVIII.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">The Last Temptation</span></td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_39" href="#div1_39">XXXIX.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">"And Kissed again with Tears</span>"</td> -</tr><tr> -<td><a name="div1Ref_40" href="#div1_40">XL.</a></td> -<td><span class="sc">A Letter from Home</span></td> -</tr></table> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>TO</h4> -<h3>MY CRITICS,<br> -<span style="font-size:smaller">IN APPRECIATION<br> -OF THE KIND MANNER<br> -IN WHICH THEY HAVE REVIEWED<br> -MY FORMER BOOKS,<br> -I DEDICATE<br> -THIS WORK.</span></h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1">If marriages are made above,</p> -<p class="t2">They're oft unmade by man below,</p> -<p class="t1">There should be trust, and joy, and love,</p> -<p class="t2">If marriages are made above;</p> -<p class="t1">But should Heav'n mate a hawk and dove,</p> -<p class="t2">Such match unequal breeds but woe,</p> -<p class="t1">If marriages are made above,</p> -<p class="t2">They're oft unmade by man below.</p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>WHOM GOD HATH JOINED.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>TWO FRIENDS.</h5> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Like doth not always draw to like--in truth -Old age is ever worshipful of youth, -Seeing in boyish dreams with daring rife, -A reflex of the spring time of its life, -When sword in hand with Hope's brave flag unfurled, -It sallied forth to fight the blust'ring world." -</div> -<br> -<p>It was about mid-day, and the train having emerged from the darkness -of the St. Gothard tunnel, was now steaming rapidly on its winding -line through the precipitous ravines of the Alps, under the hot glare -of an August sun. On either side towered the mountains, their rugged -sides of grey chaotic stone showing bare and bleak at intervals amid -the dense masses of dark green foliage.</p> - -<p>Sometimes a red-roofed châlet would appear clinging swallow-like to -the steep hill-side--then the sudden flash of a waterfall tumbling in -sheets of shattered foam from craggy heights: high above, fantastic -peaks swathed in wreaths of pale mist, and now and then the glimpse of -a white Alpine summit, milky against the clear blue of the sky.</p> - -<p>On sped the engine with its long train of carriages, as though anxious -to leave the inhospitable mountain land for the fertile plains of -Italy--now crawling fly-like round the giant flank of a hill--anon -plunging into the cool gloom of a tunnel--once more panting into the -feverish heat--sweeping across slender viaducts hanging perilously -over foaming torrents--gliding like a snake under towering masses of -rock--and running dangerously along the verge of dizzy precipices, -while white-walled, red-roofed, green-shuttered villages, shapeless -rocks, delicately green forests, snow-clad peaks, and thread-like -waterfalls flashed past the tired eyes of the passengers in the train -with the rapidity of a kaleidoscope.</p> - -<p>And it was hot--the insufferable radiance of the southern sun, blazing -down from a cloudless sky, beat pitilessly on the roofs of the railway -carriages, until the occupants were quite worn out with the heat and -glare from which they could not escape.</p> - -<p>In one of the first-class carriages two men were endeavouring to -alleviate the discomfort in some measure, and had succeeded in -obtaining a partial twilight by drawing down the dark blue curtains, -but the attempt was hardly successful, as through every chink and -cranny left uncovered, shot the blinding white arrows of the sun-god, -telling of the intolerable brilliance without.</p> - -<p>One of the individuals in question was lying full length on the -cushions, his head resting on a dressing-bag, and his eyes half -closed, while the other was curled up in a corner on the opposite -side, with his hands in his pockets, his head thrown back, and a -discontented look on his boyish face, as he stared upward. Both -gentlemen had their coats off, their waistcoats unbuttoned and their -collars loose, trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible in -the sweltering heat.</p> - -<p>On the seats and floor of the carriage a litter of books and papers -showed how they had been striving to beguile the time, but human -nature had given in at last, and they were now reduced to a state of -exhaustion, to get through the next few hours as best they could until -their arrival at Chiasso, where they intended to leave the train and -drive over to their destination at Cernobbio, on Lake Como.</p> - -<p>"Oh Jove!" groaned the lad in the corner, settling himself into a more -comfortable position, "what a devil of a day."</p> - -<p>"The first oath," murmured the recumbent man lazily, with his eyes -still closed, "is apt, and smacks of classic culture suitable to the -land of Italy, but the latter is English and barbaric."</p> - -<p>"Oh, bother," retorted his friend impatiently, "I can't do the subject -justice in the way of swearing."</p> - -<p>"Then don't try; the tortures of Hades are bad enough without the -language thereof."</p> - -<p>"You seem comfortable at all events, Gartney," said the boy crossly.</p> - -<p>"St. Lawrence," observed Mr. Gartney, opening his eyes, "had a bed of -roses on his gridiron compared with this eider-down cushion on which I -lie--the saint roasted, I simmer--I'll be quite done by the time we -reach Chiasso."</p> - -<p>"I'm done now," groaned his companion. "Do shut up, Gartney, and I'll -try and get some sleep."</p> - -<p>Gartney laughed softly at the resigned manner in which the other -spoke, and once more closed his eyes while his friend, following his -example, fell into an uneasy slumber interrupted by frequent sighs and -groans.</p> - -<p>He was a pleasant enough looking boy, but not what would be called -handsome, with his merry grey eyes, his rather wide mouth, his -well-cut nose with sensitive nostrils, and his wavy auburn hair -suiting his fair freckled skin; all these taken individually were by -no means faultless, yet altogether they made up a countenance which -most people liked. Then he had a tall, well-knit figure, and as he -dressed well, rode well, was an adept in all kinds of athletic sports, -with exuberant animal spirits and a title, Angus Macjean, Master of -Otterburn, was a general favourite with his own sex, and a particular -favourite with the other.</p> - -<p>What wit and humour the lad possessed came from his Irish mother, who -died, poor soul, shortly after he was born, and was not sorry to leave -the world either, seeing it was rendered so unpleasant by her stern -Presbyterian husband. Why she married Lord Dunkeld when, as a Dublin -belle, she could have done so much better, was a mystery to everyone, -but at all events marry him she did with the aforesaid results, death -for herself after a year of unhappy married life, and an heir to the -Macjean title.</p> - -<p>Lord Dunkeld was sincerely sorry in his own cold way when she died, -never dreaming, narrow-minded bigot as he was, that life in the gloomy -Border castle was unsuited to the brilliant, impulsive Irishwoman, and -after placing her remains in the family vault, he proceeded to apply -to his son's life the same rules that finished Lady Dunkeld's -existence. The boy, however, had Scotch grit in him as well as Celtic -brilliance, and as he grew up under his father's eye, gave promise -both intellectually and physically of future excellence, so that when -he reached the age of nineteen, he was the pride of the old lord, and -of the endless Macjean clan, who were very proud, very poor, and very -numerous.</p> - -<p>But whatever pride Dunkeld felt in the perfections of his heir he took -care never to show it to the lad on the principle that it would make -him vain, and vanity, according to Mr. Mactab, the minister who looked -after the spiritual welfare of the family, "was a snare o' the auld -enemy wha gaes roaring up an' doon the warld." So Angus was never -pandered to in that way, but led a studious, joyless existence, his -only pleasures being shooting and fishing, while occasionally Dunkeld -entertained a few of his friends who were of the same way of thinking -as himself, and made merry in a decorous, dreary fashion.</p> - -<p>At the age of nineteen, however, the lad rebelled against the dismal -life to which his father condemned him, for as the princess in the -brazen castle, despite all precautions, found out about the prince -coming to release her, so Angus Macjean, from various sources, learned -facts about a pleasant life in the outside world, which made him long -to leave the cheerless castle and rainy northern skies for a place -more congenial to the Irish side of his character. With such ideas, it -is scarcely to be wondered at that he became more unmanageable every -day, until Lord Dunkeld with many misgivings sent him to Oxford to -finish his education, but as a safeguard placed by his side as servant -one Johnnie Armstrong, a middle-aged Scotchman of severe tendencies, -who was supposed to be "strong in the spirit."</p> - -<p>So to this seat of learning, Otterburn went, as his progenitors had -gone before him, and falling in by some trick of Fate with a somewhat -fast set, indulged his Irish love for pleasure to the utmost. Not that -he did anything wrong, or behaved worse than the general run of young -men, but his 'Varsity life was hardly one which would have been -approved of by his severe parent or the upright minister who had -nurtured his young intellect on the psalms of David.</p> - -<p>Still Johnnie Armstrong!</p> - -<p>Alas, for the frailty of human nature, Johnnie Armstrong, the strong -in spirit, the guardian of morality, the prop of a wavering faith, -yielded to the temptations of the world, and held only too readily -that tongue which should have warned Otterburn against the snares of -Belial, for, truth to tell, Johnnie made as complaisant a guardian as -the most dissipated rake could have desired. The world, the flesh, and -the devil was too strong a trinity for Johnnie to stand against, so he -surrendered himself to the temptations of this life in the most -pusillanimous manner, aiding and abetting his young master with -misdirected zeal. Behold then, Angus Macjean and his leal henchman -both fallen away from grace and having a good time of it at Oxford, so -much so, indeed, that Otterburn was quite sorry when his father, after -two years' absence, summoned him to Dunkeld Castle to grace the -ceremony of his coming of age.</p> - -<p>That coming of age was a severe trial to Angus, as the guests were -mostly Free Kirk ministers and their spouses, the ministers in lengthy -speeches, exhorting him to follow in the footsteps of his father, -<i>i.e</i>., support the Free Kirk, make large donations to the funds -thereof, and entertain ministers of that following on all possible -occasions. Otterburn having learnt considerable craft at Oxford, made -suitable replies, promising all kinds of things which he had not the -slightest idea of fulfilling, and altogether produced a favourable -impression both by such guile and by a display of those educational -graces with which Alma Mater had endowed him. It is needless to say -that, aided by the faithful Johnnie Angus did not tell either his -father or Mactab of his gay life at the University, and the result of -this reticence was that the old lord, bestowing on him a small income -out of the somewhat straitened finances of the Macjeans, bade him -enjoy himself in London for a year, and then return to marry.</p> - -<p>To marry! Poor Angus was horror-struck at such a prospect, the more so -when his father introduced him to the lady selected to be his bride, a -certain Miss Cranstoun who had a good income, but nothing else to -recommend her to his fastidious taste.</p> - -<p>However, being a somewhat philosophical youth, he accepted the -inevitable, for he knew it would be easier to move Ben Nevis than his -father, and trusting to the intervention of a kind Providence to avert -his matrimonial fate, he went up to London with Johnnie to enjoy -himself, which he did, but hardly in the way anticipated by Lord -Dunkeld.</p> - -<p>Thinking his marriage with the plain-looking Miss Cranstoun was -unavoidable, he made up his mind to see as much of life as he could -during his days of freedom, and proceeded to do so to his own -detriment, morally, physically and pecuniarily, when he chanced to -meet with Eustace Gartney.</p> - -<p>Eustace Gartney, whimsical in his fancies, took a liking to the lonely -lad, left to his own devices in such a dangerous place as London, and -persuaded him to come to Italy hoping to acquire an influence over the -young man and keep him on the right path until his return to Dunkeld -Castle.</p> - -<p>There was certainly a spice of selfishness in this arrangement, as -Eustace was attracted by the exuberant animal spirits and Irish wit of -the lad, which formed a contrast to the general run of young men of -to-day, and to his own pessimistic views of life, so, much as he -disliked putting himself out in any way, he determined to stand by the -inexperienced youth, and save him from his impulsive good nature and -love of pleasure.</p> - -<p>Lord Dunkeld, deeming it wise that Angus should see something of -Continental life, and having full confidence in the -straightforwardness of Johnnie Armstrong, agreed to the journey, much -to his son's surprise, and this was how The Hon. Angus Macjean, in -company with Eustace Gartney, was in a railway train midway between -St. Gothard and Chiasso.</p> - -<p>And Eustace Gartney, poet, visionary, philosopher, pessimist--what of -him? Well, it is rather difficult to say. His friends called him mad, -but then one's friends always say that of anyone whose character they -find it difficult to understand. He was eminently a child of the -latter half of this curious century, the outcome of an over-refined -civilization, the last expression of an artificial existence, and a -riddle hard and unguessable to himself and everyone around him.</p> - -<p>For one thing, he always spoke the truth, and that in itself was -sufficient to stamp him as an eccentric individual, who had no motive -for existence in a society where the friendship of its members depends -in a great measure on their dexterity in evading it. Again Gartney was -iconoclastic in his tendencies, and loved to knock down, break up, and -otherwise maltreat the idols which Society has set up in high places -for the purposes of daily worship. The Goddess of Fashion, the Idol of -Sport, the Deity of Conventionalism, all these and their kind were -abominations to this disrespectful young man, who displayed a lack of -reverence for such things which was truly appalling.</p> - -<p>It was not as though he had emerged from that unseen world of the -lower classes, of which the upper ten know nothing, to denounce the -follies and fashions of the hour; no, indeed, Eustace Gartney had been -born in the purple, inherited plenty of money, been brought up in a -conventional manner, and the astonishing ideas he possessed, so -destructive to the well-being of Society, were certainly not derived -from his parents. Both his father and mother had been of the most -orthodox type, and would doubtless have looked upon their son's -eccentricities with dismay had they lived, but as they both -finished with the things of this life shortly after he was born, -they were mercifully spared the misery of reflecting that they had -produced such a firebrand. Indeed they might have checked his -radical-iconoclastic-pessimistic follies at their birth had they -lived, but Fate willed it otherwise, and in addition to robbing -Eustace of his parents had given him careless guardians, who rarely -troubled their heads about him, so that he grew up without discipline -or guidance, and even at the age of thirty-eight years was still under -the control of an extremely ill-regulated mind.</p> - -<p>Tall, heavily-built, loose-limbed, with a massive head, leonine masses -of dark hair, roughly-cut features, and keen grey eyes, he gave the -casual observer an idea that he possessed a fund of latent strength, -both intellectual and physical, but he rarely indulged the former, and -never by any chance displayed the latter. Clean-shaven, with a -peculiarly sensitive mouth, his smile--when he did smile, which was -seldom--was wonderfully fascinating, and completely changed the -somewhat sombre character of his face. He usually dressed in a -careless, shabby fashion, though particular about the spotlessness of -his linen, rolled in his gait as if he had been all his life at sea, -looked generally half asleep, and, despite the little trouble he took -with his outward appearance, was a very noticeable figure. When he -chose, he could talk admirably, played the piano in the most brilliant -fashion, wrote charming verses and fantastic essays, and altogether -was very much liked in London Society, when he chose to put in an -appearance at the few houses whose inmates did not bore him.</p> - -<p>Without doubt a singularly loveable man; children adored him, animals -fawned on him, and friends, ah--that was the rub, seeing that he -denied the existence of such things, classing them in the category of -rocs, sea-serpents, hippogriffs, and such-like strange beasts. -Therefore dismissing the word friends, which only applies to uncreated -beings, and substituting the word acquaintances, which is good enough -to ticket one's fellow creatures with, the acquaintances of Mr. -Gartney liked him--or said they liked him--very much.</p> - -<p>Absence in this case doubtless made their hearts grow fonder, as -Eustace was rarely in England, preferring to travel in the most -outlandish regions, his usual address being either Timbuctoo, the -Mountains of the Moon, or the dominions of Prester John. He had -explored most of this small planet of ours, and had written books in -the Arabian Nights vein about things which people said never existed, -and talked vaguely of yachting in the Polar seas, exploring the buried -cities of Central America, or doing something equally original. At -present, however, he had dismissed these whimsical projects for an -indefinite period, as the marriage of his cousin Guy Errington and the -friendship of Angus Macjean now occupied his attention.</p> - -<p>Then again his last book of paradoxical essays had been a great -success, as everybody of his acquaintance, both friends and foes, -abused it--and read it. The critics, who know everything, had -denounced the book as blasphemous, horrible, coarse, drivelling, with -the pleasing result that it had an exceptionally large sale; and -although most people, guided by the big dailies, said they were -shocked at the publication of such a book, yet they secretly liked the -brilliant incisive writing, and wanted to lionise the author, but -Eustace getting wind of the idea promptly betook himself to the -Continent in order to escape such an infliction.</p> - -<p>It was impossible that such a peculiar personage could be happy, and -Eustace certainly was not, as his fame, his money and his prosperity -were all so much Dead Sea fruit to his discontented mind. And why? -Simply because he was one of those exacting men who demand from the -world more than the world, which is selfish in the extreme, is -prepared to give, and because he could not obtain the moon sulked like -a naughty child at his failure to attain the impossible.</p> - -<p>If he made a friend, he then and there demanded more than the most -complaisant friend could give, so his friendship always ended in -quarrels, and he would then inveigh against the heartlessness of human -nature simply because he could not make his friend a slave to his -whims and fancies.</p> - -<p>He had been in love, or thought so, many times, but without any -definite result, as he had a disagreeable habit of analysing womankind -too closely; and as they never by any chance came up to the impossible -standard of perfection he desired, the result was invariably the same, -irritation on his side, pique on the woman's, and ultimate partings in -mutual disgust. Then he would retire from the world for a time, nurse -his disappointment in solitude, and emerge at length with a series of -bitter poems or a volume of cynical essays, in which he summarised his -opinions regarding his last failure in love or friendship. A bitter -man, a discontented man, absurdly exacting, intolerant of all things -that were not to his liking, yet withal--strange contrast--a loveable -character.</p> - -<p>Angus Macjean therefore was his latest friend, but it was not -altogether a selfish feeling, as he was genuinely anxious to save the -friendless lad from the dangerous tendencies of an impulsive nature; -nevertheless, his liking was not entirely disinterested, seeing that -he enjoyed the bright boyish nature of Otterburn, with his impossible -longings, and his enthusiastic hero-worship of himself. So this spoilt -child, pleased with his new toy, saw the world and his fellow men in a -more kindly light than usual, and, provided the mood lasted, there was -a chance that the happy disposition of Macjean might ameliorate to -some extent the gloom of his own temperament.</p> - -<p>On his part, Angus was flattered by the friendship of such a clever -man, and moreover secretly admired the cynicism of his companion, -though, truth to tell, he did not always understand the vague -utterances of his oracle, for Gartney was somewhat enigmatic at times. -Still on the whole Angus liked him, and his enthusiastic nature led -him to enuow his idol with many perfections which it certainly did -not possess.</p> - -<p>Thus these two incongruous natures had come together, but how long -such an amicable state of things would last was questionable. There -was always the fatal rock of boredom ahead, upon which their -friendship might be wrecked, and if Gartney grew weary of Otterburn or -Otterburn of Gartney, the result would be--well the result was still -to come.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>AN INCOMPLETE MADONNA.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:15%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:40%">"She is a maid<br> -Who hath a look prophetic in her eyes,<br> -A longing for--she knows not what herself; -Yet if by chance when kneeling rapt in prayer, -She raised her eyes to Mother Mary's face, -Within her breast a thought--till then unguessed, -Amazing all her dreamings virginal, -Would show her, by that vision motherly, -The something needed to complete her life."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"Then what is she?"</p> - -<p>"She is an Incomplete Madonna."</p> - -<p>They were near the end of their journey when Gartney made this reply, -and having reduced the chaos of books and papers into something like -order, they were both sitting up with their garments in a more -presentable condition, smoking cigarettes, and talking about the -Erringtons.</p> - -<p>This family, consisting of two people, male and female, bride and -bridegroom, were staying at the Villa Tagni on Lake Como, and Sir Guy -Errington, being a cousin of Gartney's, had asked his eccentric -relative to pay them a visit while in the vicinity, which he had -consented to do. This being the case, Otterburn, who, unacquainted -with the happy pair, except as to their name and relationship to his -friend, was cross-examining Eustace with a view to finding out as much -as he could about them before being introduced.</p> - -<p>Sir Guy, according to his cynical cousin, was a handsome young fellow, -with three ideas of primitive simplicity in his head, namely, -shooting, hunting, and dining. Quite of the orthodox English type, -according to the Gallic "it's-a-fine-day-let-us-go-and-kill-something" -idea, so Otterburn, having met many such heroes of sporting instincts, -asked no more questions regarding the gentleman, but being moved by -the inevitable curiosity of man concerning woman, put the three -orthodox questions which form a social trinity of perfection in -masculine eyes.</p> - -<p>"Is she pretty?"</p> - -<p>Silence on the part of Mr. Eustace Gartney.</p> - -<p>"Is she young?"</p> - -<p>Still silence, but the ghost of a smile on the thin lips.</p> - -<p>"Is she rich?"</p> - -<p>Oracle again mute, whereupon the exasperated worshipper queries more -comprehensively:</p> - -<p>"Then what is she?"</p> - -<p>Vague, enigmatic answer of the oracle:</p> - -<p>"She is an Incomplete Madonna."</p> - -<p>Otterburn stared in puzzled surprise at this epigrammatic response to -his boyish cross-examination, and after a bewildered pause burst out -laughing.</p> - -<p>"You're too deep for me, Gartney," he said at length, blowing a cloud -of thin blue smoke. "I don't understand that intellectual extract of -beef wherein the qualities of one's friends are boiled down into a -single witty phrase."</p> - -<p>This reply pleased Eustace, especially as he was conscious of having -said rather a neat thing, so glancing out into the brilliant world of -sunshine to see how far they were from their destination, he lighted -another cigarette and explained himself gravely:</p> - -<p>"I am very fond of ticketing my friends in that way, as it saves such -a lot of trouble in answering questions; if you asked me what I should -like in my tea, I should not answer 'the sweet juice of cane -crystallized into white grains.' No! I should simply say 'sugar,' -which includes all the foregoing; therefore when you ask me to -describe Lady Errington, I say she is an incomplete Madonna, which is -an admirable description of her in two words."</p> - -<p>"This," remarked Otterburn, somewhat annoyed, "is a lecture on the use -and abuse of epigrams. I don't want to know about epigrams, but I do -want to know about Lady Errington. Your two-word description is no -doubt witty, but it doesn't answer any of my questions."</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, it answers the whole three."</p> - -<p>"I don't see it."</p> - -<p>"Listen then, oh groper in Cimmerian gloom. You ask if Lady Errington -is young--of course, the Madonna is always painted young. Is she -pretty? The Madonna, as you will see in Italian pictures, is -absolutely lovely. Is she rich? My dear lad, we well know Mary was the -wife of a carpenter, and therefore poor in worldly wealth. Ergo, I -have answered all your questions by the use of the phrase incomplete -Madonna."</p> - -<p>"A very whimsical explanation at best, besides, you have answered more -than I asked by the use of the word incomplete--why is Lady Errington -incomplete?"</p> - -<p>"Because she is not yet a mother."</p> - -<p>"Oh, confound your mystic utterances," cried the Master, comically, -"do descend from your cloudy heights and tell me what you mean. I -gather from your extremely hazy explanation that Lady Errington is -young, pretty, and poor, also that she is not a mother. So far so -good. Proceed, but for heaven's sake no more epigrams."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid the beauty of an epigram is lost on you Macjean?"</p> - -<p>"Entirely! I am neither a poet nor a student, so don't waste your -eloquence on me."</p> - -<p>"Well, I won't," answered Gartney, smiling. "I'll have pity on your -limited understanding and tell you all about Alizon Errington's -marriage in plain English."</p> - -<p>"Do, it will pass the time delightfully until we leave this infernal -train.'</p> - -<p>"Lady Errington, my young friend," said Eustace leisurely, "is what -you, with your sinful misuse of the Queen's English, would call 'a -jolly pretty woman,' of the age of twenty-five, but I may as well say -that she looks much older than that--this is no doubt the peculiar -effect of the life she led before her marriage."</p> - -<p>"On the racket," interposed Otterburn, scenting a scandal.</p> - -<p>"Nothing of the sort," retorted Gartney, severely. "Lady Errington has -led the life of a Saint Elizabeth."</p> - -<p>"Never heard of her. The worthy Mactab didn't approve of saints, as -they savoured too much of the Scarlet Woman."</p> - -<p>"At present I will not enlighten your ignorance," said Eustace drily, -"it would take too long and I might subvert the training of the -excellent Mactab which has been such a signal success with you."</p> - -<p>Otterburn grinned at this fine piece of irony, but offered no further -interruption, so Eustace went on with his story.</p> - -<p>"I knew Lady Errington first--by the way, in saying I know her, I -don't mean personally. I have seen her, heard her speak and met her at -the houses of friends, but I have never been introduced to her."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know if I can give any particular explanation; she didn't -attract me much as Alizon Mostyn, so I did not seek to know her, nor -did she ever show any desire to make my acquaintance, so beyond -knowing each other by sight we remained strangers, a trick of Fate, I -suppose--that deity is fond of irony."</p> - -<p>"You're becoming epigrammatic again," said Otterburn, warningly, -"proceed with the narrative."</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed, and took up the thread of his discourse without -further preamble.</p> - -<p>"Lady Errington is the daughter of the late Gabriel Mostyn, who was -without doubt one of the biggest scoundrels who ever infested the -earth, that is saying a great deal considering what I know of my -friends, but I don't think it is exaggerated. He was a man of good -family, and being a younger son, was, in conformity with that -ridiculous law of English primogeniture, sent out into the world with -a younger son's portion to make his way, which he did, and a very -black way it was. Why a man with a handsome exterior, a clever brain, -and a consummate knowledge of human nature, should have devoted all -those advantages to leading a bad life I don't know, but the wicked -fairy who came to Gabriel Mostyn's cradle, had neutralised all the -gifts of her sisters by the bestowal of an evil soul, for his career, -from the time he left the family roof until the time he died under it, -was one long infamy.</p> - -<p>"He was a diplomatist first, and was getting on capitally, being -attaché at the Embassy at Constantinople, when he was caught selling -State secrets to the Russian Government somewhere about the time of -the Crimean War, and as the affair was too glaring to be hushed up, he -was kicked out in disgrace. After this disagreeable episode he led a -desultory sort of existence, wandering about the Continent. He was -well known at the gambling hells, and his compatriots generally gave -him a pretty wide berth when they chanced to meet him. In Germany he -married a charming woman, a daughter of a Baron Von Something, and -settled down for a time. However, to keep his hand in, he worried his -poor wife into her grave, and she died three years after the marriage, -leaving him two children--a son and the present Lady Errington.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Mostyn had some property of her own, which she left to her son, -and in the event of the son's death the husband was to inherit. It was -a foolish will to make, knowing as she must have done her husband's -disposition, and it was rather a heartless thing for the mother to -leave her daughter out in the cold. No doubt, however, the astute -Gabriel had something to do with it. At all events he did not trouble -much about his children, but leaving them to the care of their German -relatives, went off to Spain, where he was mixed up in the Carlist -war, much to the delight of everyone, for they thought he might be -killed.</p> - -<p>"The devil looks after his own, however, and Mostyn turned up at the -conclusion of the war minus an arm, but as bad as ever. Then he went -off to South America, taking his son with him."</p> - -<p>"There was nothing very bad in that, at all events," said Otterburn, -who was listening with keen interest.</p> - -<p>"Shortly after he arrived at Lima the son disappeared."</p> - -<p>"The devil!" interrupted Angus, sitting up quickly; "he surely didn't -kill the boy?"</p> - -<p>"That is the question," said Eustace grimly, "nobody knows what he did -with him, but at all events the boy disappeared and was never heard of -again. There was some of that eternal fighting going on between the -South American Republics, and Mostyn said the lad had been shot, but -if he was," pursued Gartney slowly, "I believe his father did it."</p> - -<p>"Surely not--he had no reason."</p> - -<p>"You forget," observed Eustace sardonically, "I told you the boy -inherited his mother's money, that was, no doubt, the reason, for -Mostyn came back to Europe alone, claimed the money, and after -obtaining it with some difficulty, soon squandered it on his own -vicious pleasures. Then, as a reward for such conduct, his elder -brother died without issue, and Mr. Gabriel Mostyn, blackguard, -Bohemian and suspected murderer, came in for the family estates."</p> - -<p>"The wicked flourish like a green bay tree," observed Angus, -remembering the worthy Mactab's biblical readings in a hazy kind of -way, and misquoting Scripture.</p> - -<p>"The wicked man didn't flourish in this case," retorted Eustace, -promptly. "Nemesis was on his track although he little knew it. He -took his daughter back with him to England, duly came into possession -of the estate, and tried to white-wash his character with society. His -reputation, however, was too unsavoury for anyone to have anything to -do with him, so in a rage he returned to his old ways and outdid in -infamy all his previous life. No one was cruel enough to enlighten his -daughter, whom he had left in seclusion at the family seat, and she -remained quite ignorant of her father's conduct, which was a good -thing for her peace of mind.</p> - -<p>"For some years Mostyn, defying God and man, pursued his evil career, -but at length Nature, generous in lending but cruel in exacting, -demanded back all she had lent, and he was struck down in the full -tide of his evil prosperity by a stroke of paralysis."</p> - -<p>"Served him jolly well right," observed Otterburn heartily.</p> - -<p>"So everybody thought. Well, he was taken down to his country house, -and there for four terrible years Alizon Mostyn devoted herself to -nursing him. What that poor girl suffered during those four years no -one knows nor ever will know, for despite the blow which had fallen on -him, Gabriel Mostyn was as wicked as ever, and I believe his curses -and blasphemy against his punishment were something awful. No one ever -came to see him but the doctors, although I was told a clergyman did -attempt to make some enquiries after his soul, but retreated in dismay -before the foul language used by the old reprobate. His daughter put -up with all this, and in spite of the persuasions of her friends, who -tried to take her away from that terrible bed-side, she attended him -to the end with devoted affection. She saw him die, and from all -accounts his death-bed was enough to have given her the horrors for -the rest of her life, for only his lower extremities being paralysed, -they said he tore the bedclothes to ribbons in his last paroxysm, -cursing like a fiend the whole time."</p> - -<p>"And did she stay through it all?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! till the breath was out of his wicked old body. I believe his -last breath was a curse, and just before he died it took two men to -hold him down by main force in the bed."</p> - -<p>"Great heavens! how awful," ejaculated Otterburn in a shocked tone; -"what a terrible scene for that poor girl to witness--and afterwards?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, afterwards she came up to London," replied Gartney, after a -pause; "the old man had got rid of all the property, and even the Hall -was so heavily mortgaged that it had to be sold. She stayed with some -relatives, and there was some talk of her becoming a Sister of Mercy. -I dare say she would have done so, her vocation evidently being in the -Florence Nightingale line, had she not met with my cousin Errington, -who fell in love with her, and three months ago married her."</p> - -<p>"Curious history," commented Angus idly. "I don't wonder she looks -older than she is, after coming through all that misery, but I hope -she doesn't make her past life a text upon which to prose about -religion."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't think she does. I have been told she is somewhat serious, -but a charming woman to talk to."</p> - -<p>"Not the sort of woman likely to be attracted by a sporting blade like -Errington."</p> - -<p>Gartney held his peace at this remark and looked thoughtfully at his -cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Does she love him?" asked the Master, noticing the silence of his -companion.</p> - -<p>"Does she love him?" replied Gartney, meditatively. "I hardly know. -Guy isn't a bad sort of fellow as men go, he's a straightforward, -athletic, stupid young Englishman."</p> - -<p>"Married to a saint."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I assure you he admires and loves the saint immensely, judging -from his enthusiastic letters to me about her perfections. She is fair -to look on, she is a thoroughly pure, good woman, and will, without -doubt, make an excellent mother. What more can a man desire?</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid you'd desire a good deal more."</p> - -<p>"Ah but then you see I'm not a man, but a combination of -circumstances."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand."</p> - -<p>"No? It is rather difficult of comprehension, I admit. What I mean is, -that the circumstances of my having been an orphan of my bringing up, -my command of money, and above all the circumstances of the age I live -in, have all made me the curious creature I am."</p> - -<p>"Oh I you admit then that you are curious."</p> - -<p>"So much so that I doubt if any woman in existence would satisfy me as -a companion for more than a few days. A fast woman irritates me, a -clever woman enrages me, and a good one bores me."</p> - -<p>"And Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"Is happier with her stupid adoring husband than she would be with a -bundle of contradictions like myself."</p> - -<p>"Yet she does not love this stupid adoring husband."</p> - -<p>"I never said that," observed Eustace hastily.</p> - -<p>"Not in words, certainly, but you hinted----</p> - -<p>"I hinted nothing, because I'm not sure--how can I be when I tell you -I don't know Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"You appear to have studied her pretty closely at all events."</p> - -<p>"A mere whim on my part, I assure you; besides, Guy has written to me -about his wife, and I--well I've gathered a lot of nonsensical ideas -from his letters."</p> - -<p>"Then there is a possibility that she does not love him," persisted -Otterburn, a trifle maliciously.</p> - -<p>"How annoying you are, Macjean," said Eustace in a vexed tone. "Of -course there are always possibilities. In this case, however, I can -only refer you to Heine, 'There is always one who loves and one who is -loved."</p> - -<p>Otterburn saw that Eustace was rather annoyed at his persistency, so -did not press the point, but contented himself with observing:</p> - -<p>"Well, I think I know Lady Errington's character pretty well by this -time. She is a charming woman with a bad history, a serious face, and -a wifely regard for an adoring husband. Am I right?"</p> - -<p>"Well, yes--to a certain extent."</p> - -<p>"Still, all this does not explain the whole of your incomplete Madonna -phrase. Tell me exactly what you mean."</p> - -<p>Eustace thought for a moment, and then began to speak in his slow -languid voice.</p> - -<p>"Last time I was in Italy," he said dreamily, "I one day strolled into -a village church built on the side of a hill above the blue waters of -a still lake. Outside it was a hot, brilliant day, something like -this, but within all was coolness and dim twilight.</p> - -<p>"At a side altar tall candles glimmered before a shrine of the Virgin, -and cast their pale glow on a large picture of the Madonna which was -hanging upon the wall of the chapel. I don't know the name of the -artist who painted the figure, but it made a great impression upon me. -I'm afraid I was impressionable in those days. We all lose our finer -feelings as the years go by.</p> - -<p>"Well, the painter had depicted the Mother standing alone, with sombre -clouds beneath her white feet, her hands, long and pale, folded across -her breast, and her face with a yearning expression lifted to a ray of -light from the mystic dove of the Holy Ghost, which pierced the -darkness of the sky. There was no infant Jesus in her arms, such as we -generally see in altar-pieces, and I fancy the idea of the artist was -to depict Mary as a pure solitary woman, before the announcement of -the Conception. In her eyes, sad and deep, dwelt an expression of -intense yearning, and on her beautiful face the look of a woman -longing for the pleasures of maternity.</p> - -<p>"I never forgot the hopeless craving of that gaze, the hungry longing -for the fondling arms and inarticulate cries of a child. Only once -have I seen such a look on a human countenance, and that was on Lady -Errington's before her marriage; she had the same hungry look in her -eyes which can only be appeased by the birth of a child, and which -will give her that special love and affection needed to complete her -life. Therefore I call her an incomplete Madonna, for when she becomes -a mother that yearning gaze will pass away for ever, and be succeeded -by the serene beatitude that painters give the face of the Virgin when -she clasps the child Jesus to her breast, encircled by the adoring -hosts of heaven."</p> - -<p>"That is a very poetical interpretation of a picture," said Otterburn -when Eustace had ended. "I doubt however if I should draw the same -conclusions were I to see the picture."</p> - -<p>"You will not see the picture I refer to but you will meet Lady -Errington, then you can give me your opinion."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it will not coincide with yours. But if all her love is -thus centred on the coming of a child, when it is born she will love -it passionately to the exclusion of her husband."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps!" replied Eustace calmly. "However we shall see. It is a -curious study of a woman's character, and I am anxious to see if my -idea is a correct one. Of this, however, I am certain, that the day a -child is born to Alizon Errington will be a sad day for her husband if -he worships her over much, for he will have to be satisfied with the -crumbs of love that fall from the child's table."</p> - -<p>"Ah! that is one of those things yet to be proved," said Otterburn -rising, as the train, approaching Chiasso, slowed gradually down. "But -here we are at the end of our journey."</p> - -<p>"For which the Lord be thanked," replied Eustace, and jumped out on to -the platform.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>THE WANING OF THE HONEYMOON.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Ah, love how quickly fades the rose,<br> -When after sunshine come the snows,<br> -So joys may change to cruel woes</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">Thro' Cupid's treason.<br> -But roses will their bloom renew,<br> -And snows fall not from heavens blue,<br> -So hearts like ours will still be true,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">Through every season."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It certainly would be difficult to find a more charming residence than -the Villa Tagni. Standing on the extreme verge of a low rocky -promontory, which ran out some distance into the tideless waters of -Lake Como, it appeared like some fairy palace as it nestled amid the -cool green of its surrounding trees and reflected its delicately -ornate façade in the still mirror of the water.</p> - -<p>Like most Italian houses it had a somewhat theatrical appearance, with -its bright pink-coloured walls and vividly green shutters, set in -broad frames of snow-white stone. Then again, these walls being -decorated with arabesque designs in various brilliant tints, the -general effect at a distance was that of cunningly wrought mosaic, -while above this bizarre combination of colours sloped the roof of -dull-hued red tiles; the picturesque whole standing out in glowing -relief from the emerald background of heavily-foliaged trees of ilex, -tamarisk, chestnut and cypress. High above towered a great mountain, -with its grey scarred peak showing suddenly through its green forests -against the clear blue of an Italian sky. More than half-way down, the -highway ran along the slope like a sinuous white serpent, and below -nestled the villa by the water's edge. Bright, fanciful, jewel-like, -it was the very realization of a poet's dream, the magic outcome of -some Oriental phantasy, such as we read of in those strange Arabian -tales where the genii rear visionary palaces under the powerful spells -of Solomon ben Daoud.</p> - -<p>A broad stone terrace ran along the front of the villa, on to which -admission was given from the house by wide French windows, generally -masked by their venetian shutters, which excluded the glare of the sun -from the inner apartments. A double flight of steps descended from -this terrace sheer into the cool water upon which floated the graceful -pleasure boat belonging to the villa, and on either side grew dense -masses of sycamore, fir, oak and laurel sloping down to the verge of -the lake, their uniform tints broken at intervals by the pale grey -foliage of olive trees. Radiant in the sunlight glowed the rosy -blossoms of the oleander, sudden amid the shadow flashed the golden -trails of drooping laburnams--here, like the fabled fruit of -Hesperides, hung golden oranges, there the pallid yellow ovals of -scented lemons, and deep in the faint twilight of glossy leaves -glimmered the warm white blossoms of the magnolia tree, ivory censers -from whence breathed those voluptuous perfumes which confuse the brain -like the fumes of opium smoke.</p> - -<p>And then the flowers! Surely this was the paradise of flowers, which -here grew in a prodigal profusion unknown in the carefully-cultured -gardens of chill northern lands where the fruitful footsteps of Flora -pause but a moment. In this favoured clime, however, the goddess ever -remains, and adorns her resting place with lavish bounty of her -fast-fading treasures.</p> - -<p>Here deeply-flushed roses scattered their showers of fragrant leaves, -yonder bloomed the pale amethystine heliotrope, fiercely amid the -verdure burned the scarlet blossoms of the geranium, and, in secluded -corners, slender virginal lilies hinted at the pale mysticism of the -cloister, while red anemones, grey-green rosemary, blue violets, still -bluer gentian, many-tinted azaleas, snowy asphodels, and yellow -hawkweeds all grew together in a confused mass of brilliant colours, -and every vagrant wind ruffling the still surface of the lake sent a -rich breath of fragrance through the drowsy air. Over all, the deep -azure of the cloudless sky, from whence shone the fierce sun on the -lofty encircling mountains, the arid plains, the clustering villages -huddled round the slender white <i>campanili</i> of their churches, the -glittering waters of the lake, the brightly coloured villas, and on -the brilliant profusion of flowers which almost hid the teeming bosom -of the green earth in this garden of the world.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon, and the cool breeze of the coming night -was already commencing to make its welcome presence felt, when Guy -Errington and his wife, the present occupants of Villa Tagni, came out -on to the terrace to enjoy this most delightful hour of the Italian -day. The servants arranged some Turkish rugs on the tesselated -pavement, placed thereon three or four comfortable lounging chairs of -wicker work, and set forth a small round table, on the white cloth of -which stood a tea service, with a small silver kettle hissing merrily -over a spirit lamp, some plates of cake and fruit, a few tall -thin-stemmed glasses, and a straw-covered flask of red Chianti wine.</p> - -<p>These arrangements being completed they retired, and Lady Errington -making her appearance sat down in one of the chairs, while Sir Guy, -looking cool and comfortable in his white flannels, perched himself -perilously on the balustrade of the terrace with a cigarette between -his lips. And surely nothing could be more charming than this peaceful -scene, with the exquisite view of the lake, the fragrant coolness of -the breeze, the romantic-looking terrace, the pleasant evidence of -hospitality, and this young Adam and Eve to give life to the whole.</p> - -<p>Aged twenty-eight, with a sunburnt face, a fair moustache, merry blue -eyes and a stalwart figure, Sir Guy was certainly a very handsome -young man, the very type of a well-born, well-bred Englishman, and a -greater contrast to his lusty physique could hardly have been found -than that of his wife, with her fragile frame, her pale serious face, -and smooth coils of lustrous golden hair. In her loose tea-gown of -dead white Chinese silk unrelieved by any tint, she looked almost as -wan and colourless as the perfumed knot of snowy lilies at her breast, -and the great fan of white ostrich feathers she wielded in her slender -hand was rivalled by the pallor of her face. The dreaming look in her -calm, blue eyes, the slight droop of the thin red lips which gave a -touch of sadness to her mobile mouth, and the exquisite transparency -of her complexion, all added to the fragile look of this fair pale -woman, whose spirituality was enhanced by the faint shadows which now -began to fill the warm air.</p> - -<p>Guy Errington, sturdy and practical, did not as a rule indulge in any -fanciful musings, but something in the peculiar delicacy of her -expression seemed to strike him suddenly, and throwing away his -cigarette he bent over his pale wife with an air of the utmost -solicitude.</p> - -<p>"I hope you have not felt the heat too much, dear," he said, anxiously -touching the faint rose tint of her cheek with a gentle finger, "you -look as white as a ghost."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington smiled languidly and put her fan up to her lips with a -low laugh.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I must be a very deceptive person," she replied lightly, -"for I feel perfectly well. I am always pale, and I obtain a great -deal of undeserved sympathy under false pretences."</p> - -<p>"Do you mind my smoking?"</p> - -<p>"Not in the least. Why did you throw away your cigarette?"</p> - -<p>"I thought it annoyed you."</p> - -<p>His wife looked at him with a slightly mocking smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>"I wonder if you will always be so ready to sacrifice your pleasures -to my unexpressed desires."</p> - -<p>"Always! always!" replied Guy fervently, kneeling beside her chair. -"Your slightest wish will always be my law, Alizon."</p> - -<p>"Till the honeymoon is over, I suppose," said Alizon a trifle sadly, -as she passed her fingers through his hair.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid the honeymoon is over--in the eyes of the world at least," -responded Errington ruefully. "We've been three months married, you -know, and to-day is our last one of solitude, for Eustace and his -friend will soon be here--are you sorry?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, very sorry," she replied, indifferently, suppressing a yawn; -"these last three months have been charming."</p> - -<p>Errington looked slightly disappointed at her lack of fervour, and to -make up for it commenced to vehemently declare that he did not want to -see anyone, that he could live for the next century with her alone, -she was all the world to him, the one thing he lived for, etc., etc. -in fact gave glib utterance to all the fond rhapsodies which -constantly pour from the mouths of adoring lovers and newly-married -men.</p> - -<p>Kneeling beside her, his face glowing with passionate feeling and his -blue eyes fixed adoringly on the face of his divinity, Guy Errington -looked gallant, handsome and fervid enough to have satisfied the most -exacting woman. Yet, strange to say, for some inexplicable reason, -this wife of three months appeared slightly bored by his erotic -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>"You are the pearl of husbands, my dear Guy," she observed idly when -he ceased his protestations, "but confess now, on your knees as you -are, that you feel a trifle weary of this perfect bliss--this society -of two--and long for your dogs, your horses, and your coverts."</p> - -<p>At this accurate divination of his real feelings, Errington looked -somewhat disconcerted, for despite the ardour of his protestations he -did feel slightly weary of this monotonous tranquillity, and in his -secret heart longed for the things she mentioned.</p> - -<p>"Well, you know I'm not a bit romantic," he said apologetically, as if -he were confessing to some crime, "and I am a little tired of churches -and pictures. Besides, I am anxious for you to see the Hall, and -there's such a lot of things to be looked after, and--and----"</p> - -<p>"And this is somewhere about the twelfth of August," said Lady -Errington slily, cutting short his excuses, whereat he laughed in a -somewhat embarrassed manner.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you've found me out," he observed with a smile. "Well, yes, dear, -I confess it is true, I was thinking about the coverts--it ought to be -a good year for the birds. Besides there are the stables, you know. I -am going to get a new hunter for next season. Baffles tells me -there's a good one to be picked up--belongs to some Major Griff or -Groff--don't know the name--and I've got my eye--Good gracious, -Alizon," he added, breaking off--"What is the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, nothing!" she replied, trying to smile although she looked -singularly disturbed, "only that name you mentioned, Major Griff."</p> - -<p>"Yes, what about him?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing at all--only he was--I believe, a friend of my father's."</p> - -<p>"Oh! don't trouble your head about those things, dear, all that sort -of thing is past and done with," said Guy fondly, who knew what she -had suffered at the hands of her father, "your life will be all -sunshine--if I can make it so."</p> - -<p>Alizon bent forward and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.</p> - -<p>"You're a good, dear fellow, Guy," she said softly, "and if I do -sometimes remember the bitterness of the past, I always thank God for -the sweetness of the present, and for the husband He has given me. We -will go back to Errington Hall whenever you like. I am anxious to see -our home."</p> - -<p>This last phrase sounded delightful to the ears of Guy, and in a -sudden access of tenderness he bent his head and kissed the cool slim -hand which lay so confidingly in his own. Alizon's momentary fit of -emotion being past, she withdrew her hand with a slight laugh at his -action.</p> - -<p>"How foolish you are, Guy," she said gaily, "you must have graduated -at the court of Versailles, but do something more sensible and tell me -all about the Hall, so that I may not be too ignorant on my arrival."</p> - -<p>He had done so hundreds of times before, but the recital never lost -its charm for him, and he thereupon entered into a long and minute -description of his ancestral home with the greatest zest. He described -the quaint old building where so many generations of Erringtons had -been born, lived and died, the well-timbered park with its mighty -oaks, ferny glades and ancient beech-trees, the shooting, which was -said to be the best in the county, the characteristics of the -different people who lived around, to all of which Alizon listened -with praiseworthy attention, although truth to tell her thoughts were -far away and she was in her own mind contrasting this gallant, tender -husband, with her selfish, vicious father.</p> - -<p>Gabriel Mostyn had been a thorough Bohemian in every way, regarding -the world at large as his special property, and always at home -wherever he chose to pitch his tent. Some unknown strain of gipsy -blood which had been in abeyance for several generations, had suddenly -developed in him with overpowering force, and impelled him to restless -wanderings which he was quite unable to withstand. The semi-barbaric -life of Russia had been as well-known to him as the refined -civilization of London, and it was all the same to him whether he -wintered at Rome, passed the summer in Norway, or explored the wild -recesses of the Andes. Owing to this indulgence of his nomadic -instincts he had developed within himself all the vices inseparable -from such a primeval existence, and became a man accustomed to exist -by the law of might against right, taking as his own whatever came to -his hand, preying on the weaknesses of his fellow creatures, and -binding himself by no law of honour or kindness so long as his own -selfish desires were gratified.</p> - -<p>With such a father it was hardly to be wondered at that Alizon had -small respect for the masculine sex, and, foolishly no doubt, judged -everyone else by the only standard she had known. During those four -terrible years when her father had been dying inch by inch, and -disputing every inch with the inexorable Angel of Death, she had -learned a great deal of his previous existence, and the knowledge of -such a foul life had appalled her gentle soul. The idea of marriage -with a man resembling her father even in the most distant manner was -repellent to all her ideas, and she certainly would never have become -the wife of Guy Errington, had not her position with her relatives -been made so disagreeable in every way that with many misgivings she -consented to marry a possible Caliban.</p> - -<p>To her surprise, however, she was agreeably disappointed in finding in -her husband a straightforward, honourable man, with the truest -instincts of a gentleman. He did not pass his life like a modern Cain -in restless wanderings round the world, at war with society and -shunned by all as an outcast, a pariah, a leper, beyond the pale of -human love and companionship. No, he loved his birth-place, his -position, his good name, and knew that he had duties to fulfil in -life, both towards himself, his friends and his tenants. Remembering -the vices of her father, Errington's every-day virtues seemed those of -an angel, and although she did not love him when she became his wife, -yet it was possible that love might be born of genuine admiration and -respect, and subsequently develop into the stronger passion.</p> - -<p>At present, however, she had not got beyond her first stage of -surprise, but simply admired, respected, and honoured Errington as a -man possessed of a just, kind, straightforward nature, and who was -anxious to make her happy by every means in his power. There have been -worse marriages than this consisting of love on one side and -admiration of good qualities on the other, therefore Guy had every -prospect of being happy in such a union as he deserved to be by his -inherent good qualities and his honourable desire to do right in every -way.</p> - -<p>While Alizon was letting her thoughts run on in this fashion, Guy had -become so excited in his narration concerning Errington Hall and their -future life of happiness, that he had risen to his feet, and was now -striding up and down the terrace giving full reins to his imagination.</p> - -<p>"We'll have an awfully jolly time of it," he said blithely, "and -you'll soon forget all your past worries in looking after things; -there's everything to make life happy at the Hall, only I do wish -there was a little more money."</p> - -<p>"Money's the root of all evil," observed Alizon smiling.</p> - -<p>"And the want of it's the whole tree," retorted Guy, laughing at his -own mild witticism. "You see, my father hadn't much idea about things, -and muddled a good deal, so the consequence is that there is a -mortgage on the estate which I must pay off, so we'll have to live -quietly for some years."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't mind."</p> - -<p>"But I do. I'm not going to have you waste your sweetness on the -desert air," replied Errington vehemently, "but at present I don't see -how it can be helped. I need a large sum of ready money, but won't get -it, unless--unless Aunt Jelly dies."</p> - -<p>"I don't think that probable," said Alizon lightly, "Miss Corbin looks -strong enough to outlive Methusaleh."</p> - -<p>"And I daresay she will, the tough old party, but if she does die I'm -sure to come in for her money unless she leaves it to Eustace."</p> - -<p>"Well, why shouldn't she?"</p> - -<p>"Because in the first place she doesn't like him as much as she does -me, and in the second he's got lots of money already, and no wife to -support."</p> - -<p>"Lucky man," observed Lady Errington mischievously.</p> - -<p>"Lucky woman to have escaped him, you mean," retorted Guy sagely; -"he's the most exacting man you ever met."</p> - -<p>"I've never met him to speak to, but I do know him by sight."</p> - -<p>"And that's quite enough. He's such a fastidious chap--an angel out of -Heaven wouldn't satisfy him."</p> - -<p>"Probably not. I don't think angels are desirable wives as a rule."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes they are, dear," said Errington fondly, pausing near her, -"you are an angel."</p> - -<p>"A very prosaic angel, I'm afraid."</p> - -<p>"Good enough for me anyhow."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that rather a doubtful compliment?"</p> - -<p>"Do you think so? Well, now I come to think of it, perhaps it is a -little doubtful. But I haven't got the gift of tongues like Eustace; -you should hear him talk, Alizon."</p> - -<p>"If his talk is like his books I don't think I shall like it."</p> - -<p>"Eh!--why not? I haven't read them, but I hear they're deuced clever."</p> - -<p>"Too much so, cynical and bitter."</p> - -<p>"That's just like his own character. Eustace is the most pessimistic -man I know."</p> - -<p>"I'm certain I shall not like him," asserted Lady Errington calmly.</p> - -<p>Her husband chuckled a little before replying.</p> - -<p>"Don't be too sure of that. Eustace is a very fascinating sort of -man."</p> - -<p>"More so than you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I'm not fascinating."</p> - -<p>"You're very modest, at all events."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so? Wait till you hear me tell shooting stories about my -prowess."</p> - -<p>"Is that your special weakness?"</p> - -<p>"By no means--you are."</p> - -<p>"Thank you for a very pretty compliment, but I'm afraid this -conversation is becoming frivolous," said Alizon, with a faint pink -colour creeping into the pallor of her cheeks, "however, it's ended -now, for here come your friends."</p> - -<p>"Better late than never," remarked Guy, turning round to salute his -cousin, who advanced along the terrace, followed by Otterburn. "How do -you do, Eustace?"</p> - -<p>"Quite well, thank you Guy," replied Eustace, gravely shaking hands. -"This is Mr. Macjean--my cousin, Sir Guy Errington."</p> - -<p>"Glad to see you, Mr. Macjean," said Errington bluffly, "and now let -me introduce both you gentlemen to my wife, Lady Errington. Alizon, -this is my cousin Eustace and Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington bowed with a charming smile, and the whole party, -sitting down, proceeded to make themselves comfortable.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>THE ART OF CONVERSATION.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:5%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"It's difficult to hold a conversation</p> -<p class="t2">With three or five, odd numbers are a bore,</p> -<p class="t1">For some one's sure to be <i>sans</i> occupation,</p> -<p class="t2">So talk should always be 'twixt two or four.</p> -<p class="t1">One can't gain any secret information,</p> -<p class="t2">If there should be a single person more:</p> -<p class="t1">But four's a pleasant number without doubt,<br> -Because there's not a chance to be the 'odd man out.'"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It was certainly a very pleasant little party which was seated on the -terrace of the Villa Tagni, talking social nonsense under the clear -glow of the sunset sky. Behind the solemn hills the sun had -disappeared, leaving the sky filled with soft rosy tints, against -which the serrated outline of tall peaks stood clear and distinct. -Slender clouds of liquid gold floated in the roseate western sky which -resembled in its pale flushing the delicate tints of a rose-heart, -softening off by degrees into a cold blue, which in its turn gave -place towards the darkening east to faint shadows and throbbing stars -glimmering in the aerial gloom of coming night.</p> - -<p>But the four people on the terrace took no notice of the wonderful -gradations of colour, but chatted gaily over the cakes and tea -provided by the hospitality of Villa Tagni. All the gentlemen, tired -of the thin wines of Italy, had taken tea, and Otterburn was -especially enthusiastic as he drained his cup with keen relish.</p> - -<p>"I'm a perfect old woman for tea here," he said, handing back his cup -for a second supply. "A don't know why, as I never bothered much about -it at home."</p> - -<p>"That's because you can't get a decent cup here," observed Eustace -drily, "man always longs for the impossible."</p> - -<p>"I long for a decent dinner," retorted Otterburn with a hollow groan. -"I'm not a particularly greedy sort of chap--don't laugh, please, Lady -Errington, I assure you I'm not--but these Italians haven't the -slightest idea how to cook."</p> - -<p>"Well you see their ideas of cooking differ from yours, Mr. Macjean," -said Alizon, smilingly handing him back his cup.</p> - -<p>"Yes, that's true enough. I daresay they give a fellow the best they -can, but look at their victuals; bread that's all full of holes, some -yellow mess they call polenta, skinny chickens and sour wine, you -can't make a square meal of such stuff."</p> - -<p>"Some people could," said Errington, who was listening to the boy's -remarks with an amused smile, "but I agree with you about the roast -beef of old England."</p> - -<p>"Or the wholesome parritch of Scotland," observed Eustace satirically. -"As a North Briton you surely forget that, Master."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't," retorted Macjean. "I got too much of that when I was -young."</p> - -<p>"Being so aged now."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that shabby?" said Otterburn good-humouredly, turning to Lady -Errington. "He's always making fun of my age--as if youth were a -crime."</p> - -<p>"It's a very charming crime at all events," replied Alizon pleasantly; -"don't you mind Mr. Gartney, he is a poet, and poets are always -praising--and envying--youth."</p> - -<p>That's true enough, said Eustace with a sigh, "all the poets from -Mimnurmus downward have ever lamented the passing of youth. What a -pity we can't always remain young."</p> - -<p>"And why not? I don't count age by years, but by experience," said -Lady Errington quietly. "One may be old at twenty and young at fifty."</p> - -<p>Eustace, knowing what her experience had been, looked curiously at her -fair placid face as she said this, and she must have guessed his -thoughts, for a flush burned in her cheeks under his searching gaze.</p> - -<p>"That's what I say," cried Guy, referring to his wife's remark. "If a -fellow's got health, wealth and a good temper, the world's a very -jolly sort of place."</p> - -<p>"The best of all possible worlds, according to Voltaire," remarked -Eustace, leaning back with a disbelieving smile, "but you've left out -one ingredient which some people consider very necessary."</p> - -<p>"And that is----?"</p> - -<p>"Love!"</p> - -<p>"Ab, I've got that," said Guy turning a fond eye on his wife.</p> - -<p>"Lucky man, other people are not so fortunate."</p> - -<p>"No," observed Otterburn with a huge sigh, having finished a very -decent meal, "it's so difficult to procure the genuine article."</p> - -<p>"Hark to the cynic of one-and-twenty," cried Gartney.</p> - -<p>"It's your example, Eustace," observed Guy, producing a cigarette -case, "but don't for Heaven's sake start a philosophical discussion on -happiness. Why should the children of the king go mourning when the -soothing weed is within reach? Have a cigarette, Macjean."</p> - -<p>"Thank you--if Lady Errington----"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I do not mind. Guy has habituated me to smoke. Light your -cigarettes by all means."</p> - -<p>Whereupon Otterburn accepted the small roll of paper and tobacco with -much satisfaction, and was soon puffing away contentedly, Guy -following his example.</p> - -<p>"These are jolly good cigarettes," he said emphatically. "You can't -get decent tobacco in Italy, so I smuggled these past the Customs at -Chiasso. I suppose it's no use offering you one, Eustace?"</p> - -<p>"Not in the least," responded Gartney smiling. "It's a pity to spoil -this perfect fragrance with tobacco smoke."</p> - -<p>"Ah, that's so like you poets--always sacrificing the comforts of life -for the sake of its illusions. Well, we won't spoil your esthetic -feelings on the subject, Come, Macjean, let us leave these two to -continue the conversation, and we'll walk up and down till we finish -our smoke."</p> - -<p>Angus glanced enquiringly at Lady Errington, who smilingly gave the -requisite permission, and was soon strolling up and down the terrace -with Errington, talking sport, upon which subject both gentlemen were -quite in accordance.</p> - -<p>Left alone with Lady Errington, Eustace lay back in his deep chair -gazing dreamily at her as she sat silent and pensive, fanning herself -slowly with an absent expression in her blue eyes.</p> - -<p>The charm of the scene, the influence of the hour, the presence of -this pale, beautiful woman, and the delicate fragrance of the flowers -which permeated the still air, all touched the poetical part of his -nature, and he could not help wondering in his own mind how such a -spiritual nature as that of Alizon Errington's could tolerate such a -matter-of-fact man as her husband, who could leave her so calmly to -talk sport with a shallow-minded boy. In this, however, Eustace -Gartney was entirely wrong, as love is not to be measured by -sentimental talk or silent adoration, and a man who loves a woman in -an honest respectful fashion does not need to be constantly on his -knees to prove the sincerity of his passion. But then Eustace, who -believed in this exaggerated fashion of love-making, was a poet, and -poets have whimsical ways of manifesting their sentiments.</p> - -<p>From these musings he was aroused by the voice of his hostess, who had -suddenly awakened to the fact that Eustace was silent, and feared she -had neglected her social duties.</p> - -<p>"You are singularly silent, Mr. Gartney!"</p> - -<p>Eustace started suddenly as her voice struck on his ear, and looked -idly at her with a vague smile on his lips.</p> - -<p>"The influence of the hour and the scene, I suppose," he said idly; -"one is always silent in Paradise."</p> - -<p>"I should think that depended upon the absence or presence of Eve," -replied Alizon demurely.</p> - -<p>"Or of the serpent. Confess now, Lady Errington, the serpent was a -charming conversationalist."</p> - -<p>"And a bad companion--for a woman."</p> - -<p>"No doubt Adam thought so--after the Fall."</p> - -<p>"What a pity there should have been a Fall," said Lady Errington after -a short pause. "It would have been a charming world."</p> - -<p>"Humph! consisting of what the French call a <i>solitude à deux</i>."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but I was supposing the Garden of Eden became populated. It would -have been a world without sin or temptation."</p> - -<p>"I beg 'your pardon. The trees of knowledge and life would still have -been flourishing to tempt the primeval population nor do I suppose the -wily serpent would have been wanting."</p> - -<p>"Satirical, but scarcely true."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but you see we're both talking the romance of -what-might-have-been," said Gartney smiling, "so my view of the -subject is no doubt as probable as your own. However this Italian -Paradise with all its faults, consequent on our present-day -civilization, has exquisite scenery, and if one were to live here for -some years I daresay he would arrive at the nearest approach to -primeval happiness possible in this world."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid we shall not have an opportunity of testing the truth of -your assertion. We leave here in a fortnight, for Guy is longing for -England and the country."</p> - -<p>"A nostalgia of the coverts, I presume?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly! 'It's a fine day, let us go and kill something.'"</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed at this reply, as the neatness of it satisfied his -somewhat cynical sense of humour.</p> - -<p>"Don't you feel nostalgia yourself, Mr. Gartney?" asked Lady -Errington, arranging the lilies at her breast.</p> - -<p>He turned his expressive face towards her with a sad smile.</p> - -<p>"Not of this earth! I am like Heine, <i>un enfant perdu</i>, and have a -home-sickness for an impossible world."</p> - -<p>"Created by your own fancy no doubt."</p> - -<p>"Yes! Though I dare say if my fancy world became a real one it -wouldn't be so pleasant as this one. After all, Chance is the most -admirable architect of the future. When men like Sir Thomas More, -Plato, Bulwer Lytton and the rest of them, have indulged in paper -dreams of ideal worlds, they have always committed the fatal mistake -of making the inhabitants insufferable bores, who have attained -perfection--and when perfection is attained happiness ceases."</p> - -<p>"How so?"</p> - -<p>"Because the greatest pleasure in life is work, and when perfection -renders work unnecessary, life becomes a lotos-eating existence."</p> - -<p>"Well surely that is a very pleasant thing."</p> - -<p>"To the few Yes, to the many No! Some men need constant excitement to -make them enjoy life. I can quite understand Xerxes offering a reward -to the man who could invent a new pleasure, for if Xerxes had not -attained the perfection of debauchery, he would not have found -existence a bore."</p> - -<p>"You can hardly call such an ignoble height perfection," said Lady -Errington quietly. "I should call it satiety."</p> - -<p>"No doubt you are right. But what does it matter what we call it? the -thing is the same."</p> - -<p>"That sounds as if you spoke from experience, and at your age that can -hardly be the case."</p> - -<p>"I remember," observed Eustace a trifle satirically, "that a short -time ago you said you measured youth by experience not by age. It is -the same with me, I am only thirty eight years of age, yet in that -short time I have exhausted all that life has to give."</p> - -<p>"Surely not!"</p> - -<p>Eustace Gartney laughed in a dreary, hopeless manner that showed how -truly he spoke.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it is," he remarked with a sigh. "I have been all over the -world and seen what is to be seen. I have mixed with my fellow -creatures and found the majority of them humbugs. I've been in love -and been deceived. I've published books and been abused, in fact I've -done everything possible to enjoy life, and the consequence is I'm -sick of the whole thing."</p> - -<p>"Your own fault entirely," said Lady Errington warmly, "as you have -denied yourself nothing you now reap the reward of such indulgence and -enjoy nothing. Your present satiety is the logical sequence of your -own acts. Why not therefore try and lead a nobler and better life? Go -among the poor and give them the help they so much need. Look upon -your fortune as money entrusted to you, not to squander on -unsatisfying pleasures, but to use for the benefit of humanity. Do -this, Mr. Gartney, and I assure you the result will be satisfactory, -for you will find in such well-doing the new pleasure which Xerxes -desired but never obtained."</p> - -<p>With a sceptical smile on his massive features Eustace listened to her -earnest speech, and at its conclusion laughed softly in his own -cynical manner.</p> - -<p>"A most delightful view of one's duties to the world at large," he -said satirically, "but hardly satisfactory. That recipe for happiness -has been given to me before, Lady Errington, and is, I think, more -charming in theory than in practice. Suppose I did take this advice -you give me in the goodness of your heart, and went out into the -world to play the thankless part of a philanthropist, what would I -gain--only a more intimate knowledge of human selfishness and human -iniquity. If I assisted A, a most deserving person from his own point -of view, I've no doubt A would become my bitterest enemy because I had -not done enough for him. I might rescue B from the workhouse, and B -would consider me shabby if I did not support him for the rest of his -natural life. As for C, well, I need not go through the whole -alphabet, in order to illustrate my views of the matter, but I assure -you, Lady Errington, if I employed my money in alleviating the -distresses of my fellow creatures, I would get very little praise and -a great deal of blame during my life, and when I died no doubt a short -paragraph in a newspaper as 'an earnest but misguided philanthropist!' -No! believe me I have thought deeply about the whole thing, and the -game is not worth the candle."</p> - -<p>"You look at things in a wrong light."</p> - -<p>"In the only possible light, I'm afraid. Rose-coloured spectacles are -not obtainable now-a-days."</p> - -<p>"Still such a pessimistic view----"</p> - -<p>"Is forced upon us by circumstances. This is the nineteenth century, -you know, and we have no illusions left--they went out with religion."</p> - -<p>"Well, I must try and convince you of the falsity of your views some -other time," said Alizon closing her fan with a sigh, "but at present -I see Guy and Mr. Macjean are coming to interrupt our conversation."</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet as she spoke, a tall, slim, white figure, that -seemed to sway like a graceful lily at the breath of the evening -breeze. Eustace, ever prone to poetical impressions, made this -comparison in his own mind as he left his chair and advanced with her -to meet Guy and Angus.</p> - -<p>"I say Alizon," cried Errington gaily as his wife came up, "just -fancy! Aunt Jelly's ward, Miss Sheldon, is staying at the Villa -Medici."</p> - -<p>"Miss Sheldon," said Lady Errington reflectively, "is that the pretty -girl I met at Miss Corbin's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! you remember. On the day we went to see Aunt Jelly and ask her -blessing," replied Guy eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Who is she with?" asked Lady Errington; "surely Miss Corbin----"</p> - -<p>"Oh no," interrupted Eustace, mirthfully. "You might as well expect to -meet the Monument abroad as Aunt Jelly. I asked Miss Sheldon all about -it, and it appears that ever since her arrival from Australia she has -been anxious to come to the Continent, so as a friend of Aunt Jelly's -was making what she calls the 'grand tower' with her husband, this -young lady was placed under their mutual protection."</p> - -<p>"I wish she was under mine," said Otterburn audibly, on whom the -charms of the young lady in question had evidently made a deep -impression, "she's so awfully pretty."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it would be a case of the blind leading the blind," -remarked Eustace drily.</p> - -<p>"By the way," observed Guy, "who is Miss Sheldon? I asked Aunt Jelly, -but she told me, sharply, to mind my own business."</p> - -<p>"Wasn't that rather severe?" said Alizon mildly.</p> - -<p>"Not for Aunt Jelly," retorted her husband. "Aunt Jelly's a huffy old -party, but she's got a weakness for Eustace, who doesn't object to be -sat upon, so perhaps he knows about this young lady."</p> - -<p>"I think I've got a hazy idea," assented Eustace leisurely, "she comes -from the City of Melbourne, Australia, and her name is Victoria, -called after our gracious Queen, or the Colony, I forget which. -Sheldon <i>père</i> was an admirer of our mutual aunt in the old days when -she was flesh and blood instead of iron. He went out with a broken -heart to the Colonies because Aunt Jelly wouldn't marry him--fancy any -man breaking his heart for such a brazen image! Well, at all events, -he made a large fortune out there, got married, became the father of -one little girl, and then, his life's work being done, died, leaving -his fortune to his daughter Victoria, and his daughter Victoria to -dear Aunt Jelly, who cherishes her for the sake of the one romance of -her youth."</p> - -<p>"How cruelly you tell the story," observed Lady Errington in a rather -disapproving tone. "I've only seen Miss Corbin once, but I think she's -got a kind heart."</p> - -<p>"Most people are said to have that, who possess nothing else," -retorted Eustace grimly. "However, you now know who Victoria Sheldon -is, and I won't deny she's pretty, very pretty."</p> - -<p>"Very pretty," echoed Otterburn, with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"You ought to marry her, Macjean," said Eustace, "she has plenty of -money."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't marry a girl for her money alone," remonstrated Angus -indignantly.</p> - -<p>"Then take the American advice," said Sir Guy gaily, "never marry a -girl for money, but if you do meet a nice girl with any, try and love -her as hard as ever you can."</p> - -<p>"I think I'll call and see Miss Sheldon," observed Alizon, after a -pause, "for, as she is a ward of your Aunt's, I shall very likely see -a good deal of her. Are the people she is with pleasant?"</p> - -<p>"That," observed Eustace calmly, "depends greatly on individual taste. -The Honourable Henry Trubbles is the most egotistical specimen of -misshapen humanity I have ever met with, and his wife, whom he married -for her money, is a modern edition of Mrs. Malaprop with a dash of -Sary Gamp and a flavouring of the Sleeping Beauty."</p> - -<p>"What a mixed description," said Errington laughing. "How does she -resemble the Sleeping Beauty?"</p> - -<p>"Only in sleeping."</p> - -<p>"You make me quite curious to see her," cried Alizon smiling. "And -if--well, I won't promise anything about what I intended yet."</p> - -<p>"What did you intend?" asked her husband.</p> - -<p>"To have a small dinner party, and give Mr. Macjean a real English -dinner, but I'll first see how I like this extraordinary couple, and -then--well, we'll see."</p> - -<p>"It would be awfully jolly," said Otterburn, whose stock of adjectives -was limited.</p> - -<p>"I know it's 'awfully' late," remarked Eustace, in a tone of rebuke, -"and we have just time to get back to dinner."</p> - -<p>"To what they call a dinner."</p> - -<p>"It's better than nothing at all events--well, goodbye, Lady -Errington; thank you for a pleasant afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Don't forget your way to the Villa Tagni," said Alizon as she shook -hands, and the two gentlemen, having vowed warmly that they would not, -made their adieux, leaving Sir Guy and his wife alone on the terrace.</p> - -<p>"Well, Alizon," said Errington, jocularly, "and what do you think of -my cousin, Eustace?"</p> - -<p>"I think," replied Lady Errington slowly, "that he is the most unhappy -man I ever met with in my life."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>AN AUSTRALIAN GIRL.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Charming, no doubt, her face is fair.<br> -As dark as night, her curling hair,<br> -Her eyes--two stars, her lips--a rose,<br> -Whoever saw a prettier nose?<br> -Charming indeed,--but Fate to vex,<br> -Has given her faults like all her sex,<br> -Believe me, she's not worth regret,<br> -She'll break your heart, the vain coquette."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>What a number of charming old romances begin at an inn. Did not M. Gil -Blas commence his adventurous career by being swindled in one? and Don -Quixote, blinded by fanatic chivalry, mistake the inns for mediæval -castles? Tom Jones became involved in a network of intrigue at a -hostelry; the heroes of Dumas invariably meet their enemies of King -and Cardinal at the same place, while Boccaccio generally brings about -the complications of gallant and donzella at some gay Florentine -"osteria." Without doubt all the elements of romance are to be found -at these resting places of man and beast; and the most incongruous -characters, the most dissimilar ranks of society's adventurers, -gallants, priests, bona robas and virtuous ladies all pass and repass, -enter and exeunt, under the hospitable signs of inns.</p> - -<p>Birds of passage rest momentarily at inns before continuing their -flight to the four quarters of the world, and during such rest meet -other birds of passage with sometimes curious results. Mr. A, a -gentleman of swallow-like tendencies, on his way to the warm south, -may linger for a night at an hotel where Miss B, due in some northern -latitude, is also resting, with the result that Mr. A will delay his -flight for an indefinite period; nay more, the juxtaposition of the -two may end in A and B both continuing their journey as man and wife, -which is the termination of all romance. Strange that a chance meeting -at a place of public resort should alter two lives, but then life is -made up of strange events, and a good many people date their happiness -or misery from an accidental meeting at an inn.</p> - -<p>Gartney was letting his thoughts run on in this somewhat whimsical -vein, as he smoked an after dinner cigarette over his coffee on the -terrace at Villa Medici.</p> - -<p>Before him, huge and indistinct, arose the grand façade of the hotel, -glimmering whitely in the moonlight, with its innumerable windows, -its broad arcade, and its myriad lamps shining brilliantly on -groups of gaily-dressed people who strolled to and fro amongst the -pink-blossomed oleanders, or sat chatting gaily round small -marble-topped tables, where white-cravated waiters, lithe and active, -attended to their wishes.</p> - -<p>Beyond lay the lake, dark and solemn, under the shadow of the sombre -mountains, at whose base gleamed orange-coloured points of light, -telling of the presence of distant villages, while high above in the -cold, blue sky, glowed the yellow orb of the moon and the glimmering -stars. Through the leaves of sycamore, tamarisk, and magnolia sighed -the soft breath of the night-wind, filling the air with cool odours, -and the sound of music, rendered thin and fairy-like by distance, -floated across the still waters from some slow-moving boat.</p> - -<p>An historic place this Villa Medici, with its palatial halls, its -innumerable chambers, and its stately flights of white-marble steps; -for it was here that the great Emperor intended to rest for a time in -his victorious career, an intention never carried out, although -everything was prepared for his reception, and the hotel guests now -dine in the small saloon hung round with yellow damask stamped with -the imperial 'N' and kingly crown.</p> - -<p>Then again it was here that unhappy Caroline of Brunswick, who became -Queen of England in name only, kept her state as Princess of Wales, -and tried to find in the calm seclusion of Como that peace denied to -her in the land of her adoption. Ah, yes, the Villa Medici is -connected with the lives of some great personages, but now that they -all have vanished from the world's stage, whereon they played some -curious parts, the Villa is turned into an hotel, and strangers from -far America, and still further Australia, reside in the many chambers, -and wander with delight through the enchanting gardens which Nature, -aided by art, has made a paradise of beauty.</p> - -<p>"Poor Caroline," murmured Gartney to himself, as he thought of all -this, "no one has a good word to say for her, and yet, I daresay, she -was a good deal better than the first gentleman in Europe. It was just -as well she died, for George would never have given her any rights as -queen-consort. No doubt she passed some of her happiest days here, -although she always hankered after the forbidden glories of Windsor -and Buckingham Palace."</p> - -<p>His meditations were interrupted at this point by a gay laugh, and on -looking up he saw Victoria Sheldon coming towards him escorted by the -Master of Otterburn, who was evidently telling her some funny story, -judging from the amusement his conversation seemed to afford her.</p> - -<p>She was certainly a very pretty girl, one of those feminine beauties -who strike the beholder at first sight with a sense of indescribable -charm. A brilliantly tinted brunette, overflowing with exuberant -vitality, she had all the intense colouring and freshness of a -southern rose at that time when the cold rain draws its perfume -strongly forth in the chill morning air.</p> - -<p>Her eyes, hair, eyebrows and long lashes were dark as night; red as -coral the lips, which when parted showed two rows of pearly teeth; -full and soft the round of the cheeks, and a peach-like skin with a -rosy glow of delicate colour under the velvety surface. She was the -modern realization of that vivacious Julia whom Herrick describes so -charmingly in his dainty poems. And as a matter of fact the skin of -this young girl had all the brilliant colouring of the south, no doubt -assimilated by her system under the sultry glow of Australian skies. -Having an excellent figure, dainty hands and feet, with a perfect -taste in dress, and boundless vivacity, there was no doubt that -Victoria Sheldon was a feminine personality eminently attractive to -the stronger sex.</p> - -<p>As to her nature, it was quite in unison with her outward -appearance--bright, sparkling, vivacious, albeit somewhat shallow, yet -not without a certain veneer of surface knowledge. Eminently womanly, -capricious in the extreme, witty, amusing, tireless, she had one of -those attractive natures which charm everyone in a singularly magnetic -fashion. Some men, eccentric in their likings, admire those -semi-masculine women who have missions, support the rights of their -sex on lecture platforms, emulate masculine peculiarities to the best -of their abilities, and pass noisy lives in shrieking aimlessly -against the tyranny of mankind. Those men who approved of such -semi-masculine tendencies, certainly would not have admired the -womanly characteristics of Victoria, but the connoisseur of feminine -beauty, the judge of a brilliant personality, and the appreciator of a -witty nature, would each see in her the realisation of an extremely -difficult ideal.</p> - -<p>The Master, young and rash, was just at that delightful age when every -woman appears a goddess to the uncultured fancy of youth; judge then -the effect produced upon his impressionable nature by this riant -vision of strongly vitalised beauty. He did not even make an attempt -at resistance in any way, but prone as god Dagon on the threshold of -his temple, he fell before the powerful divinity of this young girl, -and she produced on him the same effect as Phryne did on her judges -when she displayed the full splendour of her charms in the Areopagus -under the clear blue of Athenian skies. Mactab, severe, ascetic and -self-mortifying, opposed to every form of admiration of the flesh, -would have blushed for the grovelling idolatory of his quondam pupil; -but no doubt the sunny climate of Italy aided in a great measure this -worship of Venus, and Angus Macjean, Master of Otterburn, prostrated -himself in abject worship before this outward manifestation of carnal -beauty.</p> - -<p>Eustace saw this, and was selfishly annoyed thereat, because he had -taken a fancy to Otterburn, and thought that he (Otterburn) should -agree with him (Eustace) in despising the sex feminine, which was -foolish in the extreme on the part of such an acute observer of human -nature; but then he was blinded by egotism, and that vice distorts -every vision. Still he could not deny that physically she was -wonderfully pretty, despite his feeling of animosity against her for -coming between himself and his friend. Therefore he admired her -greatly from an æsthetic point of view, while Victoria, with the keen -instinct of a woman, scented an enemy and neither admired nor liked -Eustace the cynic in the smallest degree.</p> - -<p>"My dear Mr. Macjean," she said in answer to the remonstrances of -Angus who wanted everyone to like his friend as much as he did -himself. "Your friend is a pessimist, and I don't like that class of -people; they always take a delight in analysing one's motives, which -is disagreeable--to the person concerned. A flower is charming, but -those who pull it to pieces in order to find out how it is made--are -not. I don't like analysts--they destroy one's illusions."</p> - -<p>This plain-spoken young lady's chaperone was enjoying an after-dinner -nap; the Hon. Henry was talking Irish politics with an Irish M.P., who -did not believe in Home Rule out of contradiction to the rest of his -countrymen who did. So Victoria Sheldon, feeling in a most delightful -humour, was chatting gaily with Otterburn, when they thus chanced on -the melancholy Eustace, moralising on the mutability of human life.</p> - -<p>"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Gartney," said Victoria, pausing -before him with a gay smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>"They're not worth it," replied Eustace, looking approvingly at the -charming girl before him, in her dainty white dinner dress, with a -bunch of vividly scarlet geraniums at her breast. "I'll sell them as -bankrupt stock."</p> - -<p>"Haw! haw! haw!" from the Master, who was in that pleasant frame of -mind when everything seems to scintillate with wit--but then it was -after dinner, and a pretty woman was at his elbow. Wine, wit, and -feminine influence, really the worst-tempered man would feel pleasant -with such a delightful trinity.</p> - -<p>"My dear Master," said Eustace reprovingly, "your mirth is -complimentary, but rather noisy--will you not be seated, Miss -Sheldon?"</p> - -<p>"Thank you," replied Victoria, sitting down in a chair under the -shadow of a myrtle tree, the light from a distant lamp striking full -on her piquant face. "I am rather tired."</p> - -<p>"Of walking, or the Master?" asked the cynic gruffly.</p> - -<p>She flashed a brilliant glance on him out of the dusky shadow, and -spread her red feather fan with a grand wave of irresistible coquetry.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Macjean," she said lightly as he sank into a chair opposite to -her, and leaned his arms on the cold marble of the table, "What do you -think?"</p> - -<p>"Eh," observed the Master obtusely. "Oh, I think the same as you."</p> - -<p>"Then," remarked Eustace, re-lighting his cigarette, "you cannot -object to that diplomatic reply. Do you mind my smoking?'</p> - -<p>"Not in the least. I hope Mr. Macjean will follow your example."</p> - -<p>Mr. Macjean was only too happy to so far indulge himself. So the -gentlemen sat and smoked with great enjoyment, while the feminine -element of the party smiled serenely and impartially on both; smiles -quite wasted on the misogamistic Eustace, but then Victoria, with that -unerring instinct of coquetry implanted in every woman's breast, took -a delight in behaving thus, simply because she saw Otterburn admired -her. He on his part naturally began to grow jealous, and being without -the self-control habitual to those who live long in society, would -doubtless have shown his irritation very plainly, only Eustace, taking -in at a glance the whole situation, and being by no means agreeable to -gratifying Victoria's love of conquest, arrested the storm at once by -beginning to talk with judicious diplomacy of the first thing that -came into his mind.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," he said, addressing himself to the volatile Victoria, "Do -you not find our narrow English life somewhat irksome after the -freedom of Australia?"</p> - -<p>"Not so much as you would think," replied Miss Sheldon promptly, "for -after all there is a good deal of similarity between home and the -colonies."</p> - -<p>"You still call England 'home,' I observe," said Eustace with a smile.</p> - -<p>"We do, because most of the generation who emigrated are still alive, -but even now the term is dying out, and in another fifty years I don't -suppose will be in use."</p> - -<p>"I should awfully like to go out to Australia," observed Otterburn -languidly. "I'm sick of civilisation."</p> - -<p>"Oh don't imagine you leave civilisation behind when you come out to -us," retorted Victoria sharply, with rising colour, "that is a mistake -many English people make. They think Australia is like the backwoods -of America, but it's nothing of the sort. Melbourne is just as -cultured and wealthy in its own way as London, with the additional -advantage of having a better climate and being smaller."</p> - -<p>"Do you think the latter quality an advantage then?" asked Gartney -with ironical gravity.</p> - -<p>"I should just think so, rather," said Miss Sheldon nodding her head -emphatically. "London is a delightful place, I grant, but it's a -terrible nuisance visiting your friends and going out to amusements."</p> - -<p>"We have," observed the Master in an authoritative guidebook tone, -"trains, tramways, carriages----"</p> - -<p>"So have we--but even with them it takes a long time to get about -London. We can get from one end of Melbourne to the other in a -reasonable time, but it's like an African exploring expedition to -start round London."</p> - -<p>"London," remarked Eustace in a judicious manner, "is not one but -several cities. There is the West End, which is devoted to wealth and -pleasure, the East End, famous for work and poverty. The City of -London proper, noted for its mercantile enterprise and its -stock-broking fraternity, and finally the huge shipping town which -forms the port of the Metropolis. Every person stays in the special -city with which his business is connected, therefore there is no -difficulty in getting about one's own particular local town, which is -much smaller in the aggregate than Melbourne."</p> - -<p>"I understand all that perfectly," replied Victoria, who had listened -attentively, "but suppose you chose to live on the outskirts of -London, so as to get a breath of country air. In that case if you want -to go to a theatre you have to travel for over an hour to get to one."</p> - -<p>"People who live as you say, are worshippers of Nature, and go to bed -with the sun--they don't want the gas and glare of theatres."</p> - -<p>"Oh, anyone can argue that way," said Victoria disdainfully, "so I -have nothing to say in reply. Let us talk of something else."</p> - -<p>"By all means--the weather."</p> - -<p>"And the crops. No! I am not an agriculturist."</p> - -<p>"Aunt Jelly," suggested Angus wickedly.</p> - -<p>Miss Sheldon turned towards him with a mirthful smile in her bright -eyes.</p> - -<p>"What do you know of Aunt Jelly, Mr. Macjean?" she asked, putting her -fan up to her lips to hide a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I know nothing; absolutely nothing," he replied, with mock humility, -"beyond the fact that Gartney and Errington have both mentioned her as -an eccentric character, so I wish to know more about her."</p> - -<p>If he did, his curiosity was not destined to be gratified at that -moment, for, with the whimsical caprice of a woman, Victoria suddenly -began to talk on quite a different subject, suggested by the casual -mention of a name.</p> - -<p>"Do you like Lady Errington?" she demanded, looking from one to the -other.</p> - -<p>"She is a very charming woman," said Eustace evasively. "She knows -you, I believe."</p> - -<p>"Slightly! I met her at Aunt Jelly's, when she called one day."</p> - -<p>"And what is Aunt Jelly's opinion?"</p> - -<p>The girl laughed, and then, composing her features into a kind of -stern severity, spoke in a harsh, measured voice:</p> - -<p>"Not what I approve of; limp! washed out, no backbone, but no doubt -she'll make Guy a good wife. Not a hard thing for any woman to do -seeing he's an idiot. So was his father before him, and he did not -take after his mother, thank God."</p> - -<p>"The voice is the voice of Miss Sheldon," murmured Eustace, delicately -manipulating a cigarette, "but the sentiments are those of my beloved -aunt."</p> - -<p>"How mean you are," said Victoria, rewarding Otterburn with a bright -look for having laughed at her mimicry. "I thought I did her voice to -perfection.'</p> - -<p>"Nothing but a saw-mill could do that," retorted the irreverent -Eustace. "So that is Aunt Jelly's opinion. It isn't flattering."</p> - -<p>"Neither is Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"I'm dying to know Aunt Jelly," declared Angus mirthfully, "she must -be as good as a play."</p> - -<p>"She is! tragedy."</p> - -<p>"No! No! Miss Sheldon, excuse me, comedy."</p> - -<p>"I should say burlesque, judging from your descriptions," said the -Master, gaily. "How did you drop across her, Miss Sheldon?"</p> - -<p>"I didn't drop across her," said Miss Sheldon, candidly, "she dropped -across me. My father left me to her guardianship, and I was duly -delivered in due course like a bale of goods."</p> - -<p>"Why isn't Aunt Jelly fulfilling her guardianship by seeing you -through the temptations of the Continent?" asked Eustace, severely.</p> - -<p>"Oh, she placed me under the wing of Mrs. Trubbles."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad she didn't place you under the eye of Mrs. Trubbles," -observed Otterburn, with the brutal candour of youth, "because both -her eyes are invariably closed."</p> - -<p>"What a shame--I wonder where she is?"</p> - -<p>"Asleep! don't disturb her," said Gartney, as Miss Sheldon arose to -her feet. "Physicians all agree that sleep after dinner is most -beneficial to people of the Trubbles calibre."</p> - -<p>Victoria laughed at this remark, and as she showed a desire to stroll -about, the gentlemen left their chairs and escorted her through the -grounds, one on each side, the lady being thus happily placed between -the sex masculine.</p> - -<p>A good many of the promenaders had retired for the night, evidently -worn out by the heat of the day; but some indefatigable pianist was -still hard at work in the music saloon, and the steady rhythmic beat -of the last new valse, "My heart is dead," sounded tenderly through -the still night air, broken at intervals by the light laughter of -young girls, the deeper tones of men's voices, and the melancholy -sound of the waters washing against the stone masonry of the terrace. -Beyond on the lake all was strange and mystical, filled with cold -lights and shadows, vague and dreary under the gloom of the distant -mountains; but here, by the garish lights of the hotel, the pulse of -life was beating strongly, and the indescribable tone of idle -frivolity seemed to clash with the silent solemnity of Nature.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Eustace felt this incongruity as his eyes strayed towards the -steel-coloured waters, for after a time the shallow conversation of -Victoria jarred so painfully on his ears that with a hurried excuse he -left the young couple to their own companionship, and wandered away -alone into the fragrant darkness of the night.</p> - -<p>"He's awfully fond of his own company," observed Victoria, indicating -the departing Eustace. "Such a queer taste. I hate being left to -myself."</p> - -<p>"So do I," asserted Otterburn eagerly. "I always like to be with -someone----"</p> - -<p>"Of the opposite sex," finished Miss Sheldon, laughing. "Well, yes I -women have always been my best friends."</p> - -<p>"You answer at random."</p> - -<p>"I dare say; one is incapable of concentrated thought on a perfect -night."</p> - -<p>"You are also growing poetical, then indeed it is time for a prosaic -individual like myself to retire."</p> - -<p>"No don't go yet, you can't sleep here if you go to bed early."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that is your experience," said Miss Sheldon, as a bell from a -distant campanile, showing white and slender against the sky, sounded -the hour of nine o'clock. "Well, I'll stay for a few minutes longer, -though I'm afraid Mrs. Trubbles will be dreadfully shocked."</p> - -<p>They leaned over the iron balustrade of the terrace, and watched in -charmed silence the dark waters rising and falling in the chill -moonlight. The valse still sounded silvery in the distance, with its -sad tone of regret and hopeless despair, and after a time Victoria -began to hum the melancholy refrain in a low voice:</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:5%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"My heart is dead,<br> -And pleasure hath fled,<br> -But the rose you gave me blooms fresh and red."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"What nonsense," she said contemptuously, breaking off suddenly. "I -daresay the rose was quite withered, only his imagination saw it was -blooming."</p> - -<p>"Like his love for the girl."</p> - -<p>"A bad shot, Mr. Macjean. How could it be so? His heart was dead, his -pleasure fled, so under these discouraging circumstances the rose must -certainly have been dead also."</p> - -<p>"You said Gartney was cynical," said Angus slowly, "what about -yourself?"</p> - -<p>"What about myself," she repeated with a sigh, turning round and -leaning lightly against the balustrade. "I'm sure I don't know. I've -never thought about the subject. Very likely it's not worth thinking -about."</p> - -<p>"Believe me," began the young man earnestly, "you are----"</p> - -<p>"Everything that's charming," interrupted Victoria, crossing her -hands. "Do spare me any compliments, Mr. Macjean, I'm so tired of -them. I wonder if you men think we women believe all the lies you tell -us."</p> - -<p>"But they're not lies."</p> - -<p>"Not, perhaps, for the moment, but afterwards."</p> - -<p>"Don't trouble about afterwards, the present is good enough for us."</p> - -<p>He was getting on dangerous ground, for his voice was soft, and his -young eyes flashed brightly on her face, so as Victoria had only known -him twenty-four hours, even with her reckless daring of coquetry this -was going too far, and with the utmost dexterity she changed the -subject.</p> - -<p>"By the way," she said lightly, "do you know I'm a relation of yours?"</p> - -<p>"Impossible."</p> - -<p>"Well, perhaps it is. Still you can judge for yourself. My mother's -maiden name was Macjean."</p> - -<p>"The dev--ahem! I mean good gracious. You must certainly belong to -the family somehow or other. I dare say--yes--I am sure you must be my -cousin."</p> - -<p>"Such a strained relationship. In what degree?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, never mind. Scotch clan relationships are so difficult to -unravel. Besides, we're all brothers and sisters by the Adam and Eve -theory, according to Gartney. But fancy you being a Macjean. It gives -me a kind of claim on you."</p> - -<p>"As the head of the clan, I suppose. Never! I am a free-born -Australian, so hurrah for the Southern Cross and the eight hours -system of labour!"</p> - -<p>"I haven't the least idea of what you're talking about?</p> - -<p>"Very likely. Born amid the effete civilization of a worn-out land, -you have no knowledge of our glorious institutions, which render -Australia the Paradise of Demos."</p> - -<p>"Sounds like a Parliamentary speech."</p> - -<p>"It is a Parliamentary speech," asserted Victoria, demurely, "an -effort of my father's when he was elected for the Wooloomooloo -constituency."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, would you mind spelling it?"</p> - -<p>"No you would be none the wiser if I did."</p> - -<p>"As to my obeying you," said Otterburn, reverting to the earlier part -of the conversation, "I think the opposite is more likely to happen."</p> - -<p>Dangerous ground again.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Macjean," said Victoria in a solemn tone, "the night is getting -on to morning, the tourists are getting off to bed. You are chattering -in a most nonsensical manner and I'm going to retire, so good-night."</p> - -<p>He did not make any effort to retain her, although he felt very much -inclined to do so, but then their friendship was still in its infancy -and the proprieties must be observed.</p> - -<p>"Good-night, and happy dreams," he replied, shaking the hand she held -out to him.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, but I leave that to poets--and lovers," she responded, and -thereupon vanished like a fairy vision of eternal youth.</p> - -<p>And lovers.</p> - -<p>"Now I wonder--oh, nonsense! What rubbish! I've only known her one -circle of the clock; Love isn't Jonah's gourd to spring up in a night. -Still--well she's a most delightful girl and I--Confound the valse! I -do wish they'd stop playing at this hour. It isn't respectable. -Awfully pretty!--and she's a Macjean too--ah, if I--bother, it's gone -out. I shan't smoke any more. I wonder where Gartney is. Mooning about -by himself, I suppose. I'll go and look him up. She's got lovely eyes -and such pretty feet. Eh! oh, here's Eustace--I say Gartney, I'm going -to bed. Come and have a hock and seltzer before ta-ta."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>A DAY'S SHOPPING.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller;"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">"'Tis an Italian town,<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Almost a city yet not metropolitan wholly.<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Houses red-roofed, white-walled, lofty in height with iron -balconies,<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Narrow and twisted the streets, with rough irregular pavements:<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Below are the shops with their awnings o'er windows, filled with -gaudy wares we see not in England,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Amid which stand the shop-keepers, shrill-voiced, thievish, -voluble and smiling.</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">'Questo è troopo? 'Non e molto'--question and answer and -question once more,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">While in the burning sunshine, in nooks, in corners, in courts, -in door-ways,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:5%">Lie the dark shadows, fit for the hiding of lovers, of bravos, -of damsels and men-at-arms ruffianly."</p> -</div> -<br> - -<p>Relations were rather strained between Eustace and his young friend, -the reason being as usual to be found in the unconquerable selfishness -of the former. With his habitual egotism, Gartney insisted that the -lad whom he had chosen for a friend should attend solely to him, watch -his every action with dog-like fidelity, and have nothing to do with -the rest of the world.</p> - -<p>This Otterburn, high-spirited and wilful, naturally enough refused to -do, though he had hitherto been obedient to Gartney's whims and -fancies in every way. Not having heretofore had anything to attract -his attention in any great degree, and being fascinated by the strange -nature of his poet-friend, Angus had duly given him unlimited measure -of the admiring adulation he so much desired. He had listened -patiently to Gartney's brilliant though somewhat egotistical -discourses, but now, with the irrepressible nature of youth, having -fallen in love with Victoria Sheldon he began to grow tired of his -friend's dour nature and pessimistic railings against the artfulness -of womankind.</p> - -<p>They had now been nearly a week at the Italian lakes, and from being -her boyish admirer, Otterburn had become the faithful slave of -Victoria, and finding that he could not serve both master and mistress -in a strictly impartial manner, he renounced his fidelity to Eustace. -Of course he was still very friendly with him and liked to listen to -his epigrammatic conversation--on occasions, but showed plainly that -he much preferred Miss Sheldon's society, a discovery which vexed his -quondam friend mightily, the more so as he saw in such preference a -distinct triumph for Victoria.</p> - -<p>That young lady had early announced her dislike to Eustace, deeming -him cold, vain, proud and an enemy to her sex; so, seeing Otterburn -was to a certain extent indispensable to him, she tried her hardest to -bring about a separation between these two close friends--and -succeeded.</p> - -<p>Not that she cared over much for Angus. He was certainly a very nice -boy, and wonderfully useful as a carry-and-fetch poodle--but the -possibility of Otterburn taking jest for earnest never occurred to -her, and, ignoring with the calm egotism of a woman the chance that he -might break his heart for her sake, she gave him sweet looks, -undeserved frowns, was hot and cold, kind and cruel, doleful and -capricious, just as the humour took her, and by a dexterous use of the -whole armament of female wiles successfully accomplished the task she -had set herself.</p> - -<p>So Otterburn having surrendered at discretion, which was hardly to be -wondered at against such a crafty enemy, was now devoted to his -conqueror and saw comparatively little of Eustace, who though -distinctly annoyed at his defeat cloaked his real feelings caused by -Otterburn's desertion under the guise of careless indifference, and -either mooned dismally about alone or sought solace in the society of -the Erringtons, who were now making preparations for their departure -to England.</p> - -<p>Before leaving, however, Lady Errington with characteristic good -nature had thrown aside all formality and called upon Mrs. Trubbles -and Miss Sheldon at the Villa Medici. She took a great fancy to -Victoria, both on account of her beauty and her generous -straightforward nature, while Mrs. Trubbles amused her mightily with -the eccentricities of her character, so she asked them to a dinner at -the Villa Tagni, thereby earning the eternal gratitude of Angus, who -foresaw a chance of obtaining Victoria all to himself for one whole -evening.</p> - -<p>Of course she also invited Eustace, whom she pitied for his evident -unhappiness, thinking, with the natural fondness of a woman for -romance, that it sprang from some unrequited love affair and not, as -was actually the case, from satiety and cynicism. Eustace graciously -accepted the invitation, and for once in his life looked forward to -such entertainment with some pleasure, as the cold, irresponsive -nature of Lady Errington roused his curiosity and made him anxious to -learn more of her inner life.</p> - -<p>A few days before the Errington dinner-party, Mrs. Trubbles so far -overcame her disposition to sleep as to propose a day's shopping in -Como to which Victoria eagerly agreed, being anxious to see as much -local Lombardian colour as possible. On the morning of their proposed -outing, however, Eustace, not being able to endure with equanimity the -prospect of a whole afternoon in the company of Mrs. Trubbles, -craftily betook himself on a boating excursion to the Villa Pliniana, -so Otterburn nothing loth formed the sole escort of the two ladies, -and this party of three were now standing in the Piazza awaiting the -arrival of the steamer.</p> - -<p>A large, fat, good-natured woman was Mrs. Trubbles, with a broad red -face ever wearing a sleepy smile and a portly body arrayed in rainbow -colours with plenty of jewellery. Everybody in town knew the birth, -parentage, and bringing up of Mrs. Trubbles as her history had long -ago passed the nine days' wonder of scandal, and was already somewhat -stale and forgotten by all except her most intimate friends, who never -forgot to remind the good-natured lady that she was noble only by the -accident of marriage.</p> - -<p>The Honourable Henry Trubbles was a detestable little man with a bass -voice and an overweening vanity concerning his political capabilities, -though he had long ago failed in diplomatic circles. A perusal of -Beaconsfield's novels in his youth had fired his ambition to emulate -their hero, and like a very second-rate Numa Pompilius he went to seek -an Egeria who would inspire him with great ideas. The Hon. Henry, -however, was so singularly plain in person and disagreeable in manner -that no lady in his own rank of life would agree to help him to attain -to the Cabinet, so not being able to secure rank he married money in -the person of Miss Matilda Barsip, whose papa had made a fortune in -army-contracting during the Crimean War. The noble house of which -Trubbles was a cadet offered no opposition to the match, being rather -glad to get the budding diplomatist settled and done for, so Miss -Barsip was duly married with great pomp to her withered little stick -of a lover, and six months after the army contractor had the good -taste to die, leaving them all his money.</p> - -<p>The Family, to whom Mrs. Trubbles always alluded in a tone of awe as -to some unseen divinities, took the young couple up, and having -floated them both into smooth social waters left them to carry on -their lives in their own way, which they did. The Hon. Henry, now -being in command of plenty of money, spent his life in hanging on to -the outside fringe of politics and pretended to know all the secrets -of the Cabinet, though as a matter of fact he was acquainted with -nothing but what he learned through the medium of the papers. He tried -to get into Parliament several times but was such a palpable idiot -that no constituency would elect him, so Mr. Trubbles not being able -to serve his country, which did not want him, fluttered round St. -Stephen's, worried the ministers and bored the members so much that if -they could have given him the Governorship of a nice yellow-fever -island they certainly would have done so in order to get rid of him. -All the Colonial Governors, however, were healthy at present, so the -Honourable Henry stayed in town and exasperated everyone with his -tea-cup statesmanship.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Henry on her side had no ambition whatsoever, but drifted -leisurely through life, spending her money in a comfortable homely -kind of fashion. She was presented at Court on her marriage by the -Dowager Duchess of Margate, but did not appreciate the honour, so -never went near St. James' again in spite of the orders of Henry, who -thought the appearance of his rich wife might improve his diplomatic -prospects.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding the efforts of the Misses Wilkers, whose academy she -had attended at Hampstead, English was not Mrs. Trubbles' strong -point, and being a good-natured old soul, who never pretended to be -anything else but what she was, the worthy Matilda was a great -favourite with her social circle. Her dinners were always excellent, -her dances pleasant and fashionable, and her portly person decked out -in gay colours was to be seen at many places, though for the most part -she preferred to rest in her own house whenever she got a chance.</p> - -<p>"I'm too stout to be skipping about," she said candidly; "that -worriting husband of mine is always hopping round like a cat on hot -bricks, but for my part I like peace and quietness."</p> - -<p>She was certainly a most popular lady, such as the men about Town -called a "jolly good sort" and the ladies in Society approved of -greatly, because she did not give herself airs above her position; so -in spite of her defective English, her loud taste in dress, and the -lowliness of her birth, the Hon. Mrs. Trubbles got on very well -indeed, and had a good number of friends and no enemies, which says a -good deal for her kindly disposition.</p> - -<p>The trip to Italy had been undertaken at the suggestion of the -Honourable Henry, who wanted to study some political question -concerning the Great Powers, of which he knew absolutely nothing; so -Matilda had also come with him to have a look at foreign parts, and -had taken Victoria with her, by permission of Aunt Jelly.</p> - -<p>"Where's Mr. Trubbles to-day?" asked Otterburn, digging his stick into -the gravel.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Trubbles placidly, looking at the water in a -somnolent manner, "he's gone to Bell-baggio, I think."</p> - -<p>"Bellaggio," corrected Victoria.</p> - -<p>"Something like that," replied Mrs. Trubbles complacently. "Dear! -dear! how curious these foreigners do talk!--they call a steamer a -vapour-bottle, which is a curious name. Dear me, Mr. Macjean, what are -you laughing at?"</p> - -<p>Otterburn pulled himself up promptly, and had the grace to blush under -the severe eye of Victoria.</p> - -<p>"It's <i>battello di vapore</i>," he said lightly, "but indeed, Mrs. -Trubbles, I'm as much at sea as you are about Italian. I prefer our -gude Scottish tongue."</p> - -<p>"Glesgay," suggested Victoria, whereat Angus made a gesture of horror.</p> - -<p>"No! no I mean the language of Jeannie Deans, of Highland Mary, and of -those Jacobite songs that sprang from the leal hearts of the people."</p> - -<p>"I once saw <i>Rob Roy</i>," observed Mrs. Trubbles heavily; "they were all -dressed in tartans. I don't think the dress is very respectable -myself."</p> - -<p>"Then I'll never come before you in the garb of old Gaul," said Angus -gaily.</p> - -<p>"I should think it would suit you splendidly," said Miss Sheldon -approvingly, glancing at his stalwart figure; "if you go to a fancy -dress ball you must wear it."</p> - -<p>Otterburn laughed, and promised to obey her commands, but at this -moment the steamer drew in to the pier, and they were soon on board, -steaming up to Como.</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful morning, and as yet not too warm, the heat of the -sun being tempered by the cool breeze, which, blowing from the shore, -brought with it the resinous odours of fir and pine. On either side -precipitous mountains towered up into the intense blue of the summer -sky, the innumerable villas made pleasant spots of colour here and -there, while the bosom of the lake, placidly treacherous, was of -changeful hues, like the varying colours of a peacock's neck.</p> - -<p>Plenty of tourists, in all sorts of extraordinary garbs, were on the -deck of the steamer, chattering Italian, German, English, and French, -according to their different nationalities, all laden with umbrellas, -alpenstocks, Baedekers, luncheon-bags, marine glasses, and such-like -evidences of travel. Mrs. Trubbles, having established herself in a -comfortable corner, was trying to get a short sleep prior to facing -the fatigues of Como, so Victoria and her attentive cavalier, being -left to their own devices, began to talk about everyone and -everything.</p> - -<p>"How these tourists do hold on to their guide-books," said Victoria -disdainfully, "one would think they'd be quite lost without them."</p> - -<p>"Very likely they would," replied Otterburn, pulling his straw hat -over his eyes with a yawn, "they have a prejudice against looking at -any place without knowing all about it."</p> - -<p>"It's such a trouble reading up all about cathedrals and pictures--I -like to ask questions."</p> - -<p>"Oh! guides!"</p> - -<p>"No! no I--they're worse than Baedeker. They never stop talking, and -their information is so scrappy."</p> - -<p>"Extensive but not accurate," suggested Macjean with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I'm not sure even about the extensive part," observed Victoria -gaily; "when I was in England I went to a cathedral--I won't mention -names--and the verger had a cut-and-dried story about the place. When -he finished his little narrative I began to ask him questions. You've -no idea how exasperated he became, because he knew absolutely nothing, -and at last said, in despair, 'Why, Miss, you must be an American.' I -told him I was an Australian, so he promptly replied, 'Well, Miss, -that's quite as bad--for questions.'"</p> - -<p>As in duty bound, Angus laughed at this story, which was simple enough -in itself, but the telling of it seemed to establish a more friendly -feeling between them, of which this artful young man took full -advantage, and began to point out the various objects of interest on -the lake.</p> - -<p>"You see that villa over there," he said in an official tone, "it -belongs to the Visconti lot. They used to be Dukes of Milan, you -know."</p> - -<p>"Dear me! and why aren't they Dukes of Milan now?"</p> - -<p>"Haven't the least idea," replied Angus, whose historical knowledge -was of the vaguest description. "Napoleon, you know, I think he upset -the apple-cart--turned them out, I mean. You see, Miss Sheldon, I'm -like your verger--I know a stereotyped story, but if you ask me -anything beyond I'm up a tree."</p> - -<p>"You're a very honest guide, at all events," said Victoria with a -smile. "What is that tower on the hill?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, the castle of Baradello."</p> - -<p>"And who was he?"</p> - -<p>"Some ancient Johnnie, I believe," returned the young man carelessly, -"a duke or a pirate, or a picture gallery, I forget which."</p> - -<p>"Your information is most accurate," said Miss Sheldon gravely, -putting up a large red sunshade, which cast a rosy reflection on her -piquant face, "you must study Baedeker very closely."</p> - -<p>Macjean laughed.</p> - -<p>"How severe you are," he replied lightly, "but I've got such a beastly -memory. It's like a sieve--but, I say, hadn't we better wake up Mrs. -Trubbles? Here's Como--dirty place, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Rather dingy," assented Victoria, surveying the untidy-looking town -with its picturesque red roofs, above which arose the great Duomo like -a great bubble. "What do you think, Mrs. Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"Eh? what, my dear?" said that lady, whom the stoppage of the steamer -had aroused from a very comfortable slumber. "Very nice indeed. Like a -picture I've got over the sideboard in the dining-room--but, dear me, -how dirty the streets are! I'm afraid they haven't got a Board of -Works. What does this man say?--Bill something--who is he talking to?"</p> - -<p>"Biglietti," explained Victoria, as they paused at the gangway. -"Tickets--you've got them, Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>"Yes, here they are," said Angus, and, handing them to the officer in -charge, they went ashore.</p> - -<p>"What little men," said Victoria, catching sight of some of the -military, "they look like tin soldiers."</p> - -<p>"They don't seem very well fed," observed Mrs. Trubbles meditatively; -"I don't think the food is good--very bad quality, I'm afraid. Dear -me, there's a fountain."</p> - -<p>"It's more like a squirt," said Otterburn laughing.</p> - -<p>"Plenty of water about this place," pursued Mrs. Trubbles, putting up -her eyeglass, "but I don't think these foreigners make enough use of -it. Oh, dear! dear! what a dreadful smell, they really ought to look -after the drains better. I'm so afraid of typhoid. Mr. Macjean, would -you mind smoking?--it's safer."</p> - -<p>Mr. Macjean was only too delighted, and having lighted a cigarette, -was soon blowing wreaths of smoke as they all walked up one of the -narrow streets, on their way to the Duomo.</p> - -<p>"We must do the church, you know," remarked Angus with great gravity, -"it's the big lion of Como--built by some one called Roderer or -Rodari--I'm not certain about the name. Sounds like a champagne brand, -doesn't it? It was built somewhere about the thirteenth or fourteenth -century--I'm not sure which."</p> - -<p>"You don't seem very sure of anything beyond the fact that there is a -church," said Miss Sheldon disparagingly, "and as it's straight before -you, we can be certain it exists. They say it's all built of white -marble."</p> - -<p>"It doesn't look like it then," remarked Mrs. Trubbles emphatically, -"a good coat of paint wouldn't hurt it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that would spoil it," chorused both the young people, whereupon -Mrs. Trubbles shook her head, and held firmly to her original -suggestion.</p> - -<p>Having admired the ornate front, with its delicate Renaissance -carvings they went out of the burning sunshine into the cool twilight -of the cathedral.</p> - -<p>Some service was going on as they entered, and in the dim distance -they saw the high altar glittering with gold and silver ornaments, -beneath gorgeous draperies of yellow damask depending from the -ceiling, and innumerable tapers flared like beautiful glittering stars -against the brilliant background.</p> - -<p>Numbers of worshippers, with bent heads, were kneeling on the chill -marble pavement, telling their beads, or silently moving their lips in -prayer, while a priest in splendid vestments, attended by a long train -of white-robed acolytes, officiated at the altar, and at intervals the -melodious thunder of the organ broke through the monotonous voices of -the choir. Placid-looking images of saints, dusky pictures of the -Virgin throned amid the hierarchy of heaven, before which burned the -lambent flames of slender white candles, many-coloured tapestries -representing biblical scenes, heavy gold brocaded hangings, -elaborately-carved shrines and the sudden flash of precious metals and -strangely-set jewels appeared in every nook and corner of the immense -building, while from the silver censers of the acolytes arose the -drowsy incense, in white clouds of sensuous perfume, towards the -gilded splendour of the huge dome. Here, from the lofty roof, the rapt -faces of Evangelists, saints, angels and virgins, looked gravely -downward; there, slender shafts of sunlight, streaming in through the -painted windows, tinted the white monuments of the dead with rainbow -hues, and under all this subdued splendour of colour and beauty, -softened by the dusky twilight, knelt a mixed congregation. -Bare-footed <i>contadini</i> from distant hill villages, devoutly told -their beads next to some dark-visaged soldier in all the bravery of -military trappings, and delicately beautiful ladies, arrayed in the -latest Milanese fashion, knelt beside bare-breasted peasants with -sinewy figures full of the lithe grace and suppressed fierceness of -Italian manhood.</p> - -<p>"I wonder what Mactab would say to all this?" muttered Otterburn -involuntarily, as he thought of the severe humility and bareness of -the Kirk o' Tabbylugs.</p> - -<p>"Who is Mactab?" asked Victoria in a subdued whisper. Angus chuckled -quietly.</p> - -<p>"Did I never tell you of Mactab?" he whispered--"oh! I must. He's a -prominent minister of the Free Kirk, of the severest principles."</p> - -<p>"What are his principles?"</p> - -<p>"Eh! what? Oh, he hasn't got any principals! He's a Free Kirk, I tell -you. All this heathenish worship would make him take a fit. He -believes in nothing, not even an organ, so the Mactab congregation -sing dreadfully out of tune, but they make up for this by strength of -lungs. They could give that wheezy old 'kist o' whustles' fits in -psalmody."</p> - -<p>At this moment Mrs. Trubbles, who had been gazing complacently about -her with the same sort of interest as she would have taken in a -theatre, intimated that she had seen enough, and led the way out into -the hot sunshine.</p> - -<p>"I'm rather tired of churches," said the matron in her deep voice -"we've seen such a lot of them in France."</p> - -<p>"Oh, France isn't in it with Italy in that line," observed Angus, in -his slangy way. "There are more churches than public-houses here."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's a very good thing," replied Victoria.</p> - -<p>"I should think so, considering how thin the wines are," retorted -Macjean, pausing before a variegated kind of arcade; "but look -here--this is the market."</p> - -<p>"Oh, how pretty!" cried Victoria, noting the picturesque colouring of -the different piles of fruit--"just like a scene out of Romeo and -Juliet."</p> - -<p>"And there is Juliet said the Master wickedly, waving his stick in the -direction of a ponderous female who was leaning from a projecting iron -balcony chattering to a lady below with shrill volubility over some -skinny-looking poultry.</p> - -<p>"Juliet in her old age buying Romeo's dinner," replied Victoria, -serenely. "Don't, please, take the romance out of everything."</p> - -<p>"No; I leave that to Gartney."</p> - -<p>"Horrid man!" said the girl, viciously; "he would disillusionise an -angel."</p> - -<p>"There are one or two things, my dear Victoria," observed Mrs. -Trubbles at this moment--"there are one or two things I should like to -take home with me as a kind of mementum of Italy. A fan or a -shell-box--you know, dear; a box with 'A Present from Como' on it. -Now, what is the Italian for 'A Present from Como'?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know," said Miss Sheldon, suppressing a smile. -"However, here's an old curiosity shop. Let us go in and spy out the -land."</p> - -<p>"I can't talk the language myself," said Mrs. Trubbles, doubtfully, as -her bulky figure filled up the door, "but Victoria----"</p> - -<p>"Is much worse," interrupted that young lady, quickly. "I know French, -but not Italian, except parrot-like in singing. Now Mr. Macjean----"</p> - -<p>"I'm worst of all," explained Otterburn, in the most brazen manner. -"'Questo e troppo' is all I know."</p> - -<p>"Translate, please."</p> - -<p>"It means 'That is too much."</p> - -<p>"A very good sentence to know," said the matron, decidedly. "I believe -these foreign people are rarely honest. I shall learn it--'Question he -troppus.' Is that right?"</p> - -<p>"Not quite; only three words wrong. 'Questo e troppo.'"</p> - -<p>"'Questo e troppo,'" repeated Mrs. Trubbles, carefully. "What a pity -these foreigners don't learn English. It's so much better than their -own gibberish."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid we'll have to go in for the primitive language of signs," -cried Victoria gaily, as they stood in front of the diminutive counter -behind which a smiling Italian was gesticulating politely.</p> - -<p>It would take a long time to describe the difficulties of that -shopping. How the shopkeeper, assisted by his tragic-looking wife, -raved wildly in Italian, and his three customers endeavoured vainly to -find out what they both meant. Sometimes one person would speak, then -the other four would join in, the most powerful voice taking the lead. -What with "Gran' Dio's" and "Per Bacco's" from the sellers, and -"Basta, basta," "Questo e troppo," and "Si, si" from the buyers, the -whole transaction was quite operatic in character.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trubbles' system of shopping was very simple.</p> - -<p>When the shopkeeper said two lire, she replied one; if he requested -five, she offered four, always keeping the price down, being convinced -in her own mind that these foreigners were trying to swindle her, an -idea abhorrent to her sturdy British spirit.</p> - -<p>"I've got a conversation book somewhere," she said at last, fishing in -a capacious pocket; "it's got questions in three languages."</p> - -<p>"And the truth in none," observed Angus, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> - -<p>"Oh, here it is!" exclaimed Mrs. Trubbles, producing a kind of -pamphlet. "Here, Mister Signor," holding up an olive-wood -paper-cutter, "Wie viel."</p> - -<p>A shrug of the shoulders and a gesture of dismay from the shopkeeper, -who did not understand German.</p> - -<p>"Why, he doesn't know his own language!" said Mrs. Trubbles, with -great contempt. "They need a School Board here."</p> - -<p>"I think," suggested Victoria, who was suffocating with laughter, "I -think you are talking German."</p> - -<p>"Dear! dear! you don't say so?" said the lady meekly, somewhat after -the fashion of M. Jourdain, who had talked prose for years and did not -know it. "Yes, quite right. These books are so muddling. Where's the -Italian? Oh, here; 'Quanto, quanto?'" shaking the paper-cutter -frantically. "Quanto, signor?"</p> - -<p>"Tre lire."</p> - -<p>"Bother the man! I'm not talking about a tray!" cried Mrs. Trubbles, -in an exasperated tone. "Here!--this! Use your eyes. Paper-cutter. -'Papero cuttero. Quanto?'"</p> - -<p>"Tre lire, signora."</p> - -<p>"He means three francs," explained Victoria.</p> - -<p>"Oh, does he. I'll give him two."</p> - -<p>"Questo e troppo," said Otterburn, bringing forward his only bit of -Italian with great ostentation. "Two--due--lire, signor. Ah, che la -morte."</p> - -<p>"No, no," from the shopkeeper, "non e molto."</p> - -<p>"Now what does that mean?" cried the matron, referring to her -text-book. "Here it is: 'not much,'--si, si; far too much, too molto, -due--due lire," producing them triumphantly from her purse.</p> - -<p>With many deprecating shrugs and asseverations in fluent Italian that -such a sale would ruin him, the shopkeeper at last accepted the two -lire, and Mrs. Trubbles with great satisfaction secured what she -wanted. They then bought a few more things by pursuing the same system -of beating down the prices, and all three ultimately left the shop -with the firm conviction that they had secured bargains, which they -decidedly had not.</p> - -<p>"These pigs of English," observed the astute shopkeeper to his wife, -"always talk a lot, but they pay in the end."</p> - -<p>Then the three innocents abroad wandered aimlessly through the narrow -streets, saw the statue of the great electrician, Volta, the ruined -battlements, the church of St. Abbondio, and other objects of -interest. Afterwards they had some refreshment at a café, the -proprietors of which Mrs. Trubbles, who was a spendthrift in London -but a miser abroad, denounced as robbers, and then were fortunate -enough to catch a steamer just starting for Cernobbio.</p> - -<p>"Oh dear! dear!" moaned Mrs. Trubbles, with a weary sigh, as she sat -down in a comfortable seat--"what with their language, their lies, and -their nobby-stone streets, I'm quite worn out."</p> - -<p>"I think one visit is quite enough for Como," said Victoria, as the -town receded into the far distance. "When do we leave this place, Mrs. -Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"In a week, dear," murmured the lady in a sleepy tone. "My husband -will get all his politics settled by that time, I hope."</p> - -<p>"I hope so, too. I'm tired of the lakes."</p> - -<p>"Don't say that," said Otterburn, reproachfully; "I'll be sorry to -leave the Villa Medici."</p> - -<p>"You needn't. We can go; you can stay."</p> - -<p>"I don't want to stay if you go."</p> - -<p>Clearly this obtuse young man was irrepressible, and as he was now -getting on dangerous ground again, Victoria deftly turned the -conversation.</p> - -<p>"I suppose we'll see you and Mr. Gartney at Rome?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes. Will you be glad to see us?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps. I don't like Mr. Gartney; I've told you so a dozen times."</p> - -<p>"Then will you be glad to see me?" demanded Otterburn, boldly.</p> - -<p>Victoria looked at him mischievously, with a dangerous gleam in her -dark eyes, then lowering her sunshade with a laugh, she turned -abruptly away.</p> - -<p>"I shall be glad when we arrive at the Villa Medici," she said, -lightly; "I'm so hungry."</p> - -<p>How on earth was a young man to make love to such a capricious girl?</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>LADY ERRINGTON'S LITTLE DINNER.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"An alien race beneath an alien sky,<br> -Amid strange tongues, and faces strange alone,<br> -Stout English hearts who for the moment try<br> -To form a little England of their own."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>After the constant sight of dark Italian faces, and the everlasting -clatter of restless Italian tongues, the guests at the Villa Tagni -found it pleasant to form part of an English circle once more, to eat -an English dinner, to discuss English subjects and compare everything -British to the disadvantage of all things Continental. So great a -delight did these six people take in meeting one another at a -hospitable dinner-table that one would have thought they had been for -years exiled in the centre of Africa, and far removed from all -civilizing influences. Heaven only knows there is no lack of English -tourists on the Continent, but then to a great extent they preserve -their insular stiffness towards one another; consequently when people -meet in foreign parts, who have a slight acquaintance at home, they -rush into one another's arms with tender affection, though they would -mutually consider one another insufferable bores during the London -season.</p> - -<p>This, however, was not the case with Lady Errington's guests, who were -all genuinely delighted with one another, and chatted gaily on -different kinds of subjects as if they had been bosom friends all -their lives. The Hon. Henry had been invited on account of his wife, -who in her turn had been invited on account of Victoria, but having -gone to Milan to see an Italian Count who had all the complications of -European politics at his fingers' ends, he telegraphed the sad news -that he would not be able to be present, at which Lady Errington was -secretly very glad, as an extra man would have quite upset the balance -of the party.</p> - -<p>As it was, Sir Guy took in the portly Mrs. Trubbles to dinner, his -wife was escorted by Eustace, and the Master of Otterburn realised the -wish of his heart by acting as cavalier to Miss Sheldon. So things -being thus pleasantly arranged, they all sat round the well spread -table as merry a party as it would be possible to find.</p> - -<p>In some mysterious manner Lady Errington had managed to provide a -series of English dishes, to which all present did ample justice, not -that anyone was particularly a gourmand, but Italian cookery is a -trifle monotonous and a real English dinner in Italy is something to -be appreciated. At all events, what with the food, the wine, and the -continuous strain of light badinage, all the guests were in a state of -the highest good humour, and even the pessimistic Gartney deigned to -take a moderately charitable view of things.</p> - -<p>"This is jolly and no mistake," said Otterburn, as the servant filled -his glass with champagne, "you need to go abroad to appreciate home -comforts."</p> - -<p>"I think you would appreciate them anywhere," remarked Eustace the -cynic.</p> - -<p>"And quite right too," chimed in Miss Sheldon, with a gay laugh, -"everybody does, only they don't like to confess it."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" demanded Sir Guy.</p> - -<p>Victoria looked rather nonplussed for the moment, having made an idle -statement without thinking she would be called upon to give her -reasons.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know," she replied, after some hesitation. "I suppose -people like to be thought romantic, and thinking about what you eat -and drink isn't romantic."</p> - -<p>"It's very sensible at all events," said Lady Errington; "do you not -agree with me Mrs. Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"I do," replied the matron ponderously, nodding her head, upon which -was perched a cheerful-looking cap of black lace and glittering -bugles, "people should always eat and drink well at meal times, -but no nibblin's in between. It isn't nature to despise good food -well-cooked. I've no patience with those gells who starve themselves -and pinch their waists to look pretty. Wasps I call them."</p> - -<p>"Without the sting," suggested Sir Guy.</p> - -<p>"That depends on their tempers, and their tempers," continued Mrs. -Trubbles impressively, "depend on their eating. Give them good meals -and plenty of exercise, and there's the makin' of good wives about -them. Let them starve themselves and lace tight, and it makes their -noses red and their tempers cross."</p> - -<p>"The whole duty of woman then," murmured Eustace demurely, "is to -appreciate her cook and disobey her dressmaker. They might do the -first, but never the second."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trubbles, not understanding irony, looked doubtfully at Eustace -to see if he was smiling, but so grave was the expression of his face -that she did not know whether he spoke in jest or earnest, so without -making any reply, she continued her meal while the conversation became -frivolous and general.</p> - -<p>"I think Italy a very over-rated place."</p> - -<p>"Really! In what respect--morals, scenery, manners?"</p> - -<p>"No, as regards music. It's a very barrel-organy country."</p> - -<p>"Not more so than the London streets. And after all, `Ah che la -Morte,' is more musical than 'Tommy make room for your uncle."</p> - -<p>"Both out of date."</p> - -<p>"Well, say Gounod's 'Romeo and Juliet' and the 'Boulanger March."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's much jollier than the Op. 42 <i>andante adagio con fuoco -prestissimo</i> sort of things they give you at the Richter Concerts."</p> - -<p>"Maclean," observed Eustace, gravely regarding his glass, "you are a -Philistine, and classical music of the advanced school is thrown away -on your uncultivated ear."</p> - -<p>"No doubt! I prefer 'Auld Lang Syne' to Beethoven."</p> - -<p>"Naturally, being a Scotchman. You're like the man who knew two tunes. -One was 'God save the Queen,' the other--wasn't."</p> - -<p>"I remember," observed Mrs. Trubbles, whose ideas of music were -primitive in the extreme, "that I went to a concert at St. James' -Hall, where they played something called a fuggy."</p> - -<p>"A fugue," translated Victoria for the benefit of the company. "I -know! One tune starts, a second catches it up. Then a third joins in, -and just as it successfully muddles up the other two, a fourth and a -fifth have their say in the matter."</p> - -<p>"Sounds dreadfully mixed."</p> - -<p>"Then it sounds exactly what it is," said Miss Sheldon promptly. "But -what about this particular fugue, Mrs. Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"The fugue, dear--yes, of course. There was a young man in front of me -wriggled dreadfully. I thought he was uneasy about a pin, but he was -only showing how pleased he was with the music, and kept calling out -'Oh this is food!'"</p> - -<p>"Wanted the bottle, I expect," said Eustace sweetly, "such musical -babies shouldn't be allowed to go to classical concerts. It's too much -for their nerves."</p> - -<p>"It's too much for mine," remarked Otterburn grimly. "After dinner," -said Gartney, looking thoughtfully at him, "I shall play the -'Moonlight Sonata.'"</p> - -<p>"In that case, Lady Errington, may I stay out on the terrace? Such a -suggestion is inhuman."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington laughed and gave the signal to the ladies, whereupon -they all arose to their feet.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid you're talking dreadful nonsense," she said, shaking her -head.</p> - -<p>"It's a poor heart that never rejoiceth," replied Otterburn -impudently, as he opened the door for the ladies to depart.</p> - -<p>Following the Continental fashion, Sir Guy and his guests did not -linger long over their wine, but, after a few minutes, went into the -drawing-room, whence they strolled on to the terrace for cigarettes -and coffee.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Trubbles, feeling sleepy after her dinner, found a comfortable -chair in a distant corner of the room, and went placidly to sleep, -while the remaining guests established themselves on the terrace, the -gentlemen with cigarettes and the ladies with coffee.</p> - -<p>Such a perfect night as it was. Away in the distance, dense and black -against the cold, clear sky, frowned the sombre masses of mountains, -above which hung in a cloudless firmament the silver shield of the -moon. Here and there a liquid star throbbed in the deep heart of the -heavens, and overhead shone the misty splendour of the Milky Way; not -a breath of wind ruffled the still surface of the lake, which -reflected the serene beauty of the sky, but at intervals across the -star-smitten surface would move the dark, slim form of a boat, the -oars breaking the water into thousands of flashing diamonds.</p> - -<p>Far beyond glimmered the orange-coloured lights of Blevio, and the -sudden whiteness of some tall campanile shooting up in slender beauty -from amid its dark mass of surrounding houses. A sense of perfect -fragrance in the still air, a charmed silence all around, and a -wondrous restful feeling under the cool magic of the night. Then, -mellowed by distance, faint and far like aerial music, the silver -tones of a peal of bells sounded at intervals through the clear -atmosphere, until the whole night seemed full of sweet sounds.</p> - -<p>"This is the night when Diana kisses Endymion," said Eustace dreamily, -"the antique deities which we all deny are still on earth in Italy. -They are not visible, nor will they ever be so save to the eye of -faith alone. Even then they are doubtful of revealing themselves to a -generation who would put them under the microscope and on the -dissecting table. But although we try hard to disbelieve in their -existence, the spell of their beauty is sometimes too strong, and I -never go anywhere among these hills without a secret hope of finding -Pan asleep at noontide in the ilex shade, or of seeing the laughing -face of a Dryad framed in tamarisk leaves."</p> - -<p>"And your hope is never realised," said Lady Errington sadly; "that is -so true of our modern desires."</p> - -<p>"Because we always desire the impossible," replied Eustace, clasping -his hands over his knees while the chill moonlight fell on his massive -face, "and expect to find it in crowded cities under the glare of -gaslight, instead of in these magic solitudes where the moon shines on -haunted ground."</p> - -<p>"But is it possible to reconcile man and Nature?"</p> - -<p>"According to Matthew Arnold, yes."</p> - -<p>"What a romantic way you have of looking at things, Mr. Gartney," -remarked Victoria with some impatience. "If everyone took your view of -life, I'm afraid the world would not get on."</p> - -<p>"It's all humbug," cried Otterburn, who agreed in every way with Miss -Sheldon, "that is, you know, not quite sensible."</p> - -<p>"I daresay it is not--in a worldly sense," said Eustace bitterly, "but -then you see I don't look at everything from a purely utilitarian -point of view."</p> - -<p>"I do" interposed Guy in his hearty British voice, "it's the only way -to get one's comforts in life. And one's comforts suggest smoking."</p> - -<p>Otterburn assented with avidity, for they had been sitting with -cigarettes for some time, but never lighted up, and even Eustace -departed so much from his poetic dreamings as to accept the soothing -weed.</p> - -<p>"You don't practise what you preach, Mr. Gurney," said Lady Errington, -smiling.</p> - -<p>"How many of us do?" asked Gartney complacently. "I'm afraid we talk a -lot and do nothing, now-a-days. It's the disease of the latter end of -the nineteenth century."</p> - -<p>"Oh, everything's very jolly," said Otterburn, who resembled Mark -Tapley in his disposition. "Who was it said that this was the best of -all possible worlds?"</p> - -<p>"Voltaire! But by that it was not his intention to infer he didn't -yearn after some better world."</p> - -<p>"Heaven!"</p> - -<p>"I don't think that was in M. Arouet's line."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid it isn't in any of our lines."</p> - -<p>"What a rude remark," said Lady Errington severely. "This conversation -is becoming so atheistical that I must ask Mr. Gartney to carry out -his promise and play the Moonlight Sonata. It may inspire us with -higher thoughts."</p> - -<p>"The Como Moonlight Sonata--it will be a local hit."</p> - -<p>"What nonsense you do talk, Macjean," said Eustace rising to his feet -and throwing his cigarette into the water, "you're like that man in -the Merchant of Venice."</p> - -<p>"What man in the Merchant of Venice?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, if you don't know your Shakespeare, I'm afraid I can't teach it -to you," retorted Eustace, and stepping lightly across the terrace, he -sat down at the piano, which was placed near the window of the -drawing-room, and ran his fingers lightly over the ivory keys. Within -the party on the terrace could see the gleam of the marble floor, the -dull glitter of heavily embroidered curtains, the faint reflection of -a mirror, and over all the rosy light of a red-shaded lamp the glare -of which streamed out into the pale moonlight.</p> - -<p>Everyone sat silently in the wonderful mystic world created by the -magic of the moon, and from the piano a stream of melody, sad and -melancholy, in a minor key, broke forth on the still night. The spell -of the shadows, the weirdness of the hour, and the presence of Lady -Errington, to whom he felt strangely drawn, all had their influence on -Gartney's wonderfully impressionable nature, and he began to improvise -delicate melodies on a story suggested to him by the calm lake -gleaming without.</p> - -<p>"In the crystal depths of the blue lake," he chanted in a dreamy -monotone, while the subtle harmonies wove themselves under his long -lithe fingers, "there dwells a beautiful fairy, in a wondrous palace. -She is in love with the nightingale who sings so sweetly from the -laurels that hang their green leaves over the still waters. The voice -of the hidden singer has strange power and tells her of the cool green -depths of the forest; of the rich perfumes shaken from the flowers by -the gentle night-wind, and of the ruined shrines from whence the gods -have fled. As the passionate notes well forth from amid the dusky -shadows the eyes of the beautiful fairy fill with hot tears, for she -knows that the bird sings of a long dead love, of a long dead sorrow. -But she has no soul, the beautiful fairy, and cannot feel the rapture, -the passion, the sadness of love. She rises to the glittering surface -of the lake, and waves her slender white arms to the nightingale that -sings so sweetly in the moonlight. But the dawn breaks rosy in the -eastern skies, the rough wind of the morning whitens the lake, and the -nightingale sings no more. Then the beautiful fairy, broken-hearted, -sinks far down into the placid waters, to where there blooms strange -flowers of wondrous hues, and weeps, and weeps, and weeps for the love -which she can never feel without a soul."</p> - -<p>A chord, and the player let his hands fall from the keyboard.</p> - -<p>"That is a beautiful story, such as Heine might have told," said Lady -Errington softly.</p> - -<p>"The inspiration is Heine," replied Eustace dreamily, and relapsed -into silence.</p> - -<p>Victoria, eminently a woman of the world, grew weary of this poetical -talk and made a sign to Otterburn, who, understanding her meaning, -arose to his feet as she left her chair, and they strolled along the -terrace laughing gaily. A sound from within showed that Mrs. Trubbles -was once more awake, so Guy in his capacity of host went inside to -attend to her, and Eustace, sitting at the piano, was left alone with -Lady Errington.</p> - -<p>So frail, so pale, so ethereal she looked in the thin cold beams of -the moon, lying back, still and listless, in her wicker chair, with -her hands crossed idly on her white dress. The man at the piano was in -the radiance of the rosy lamplight, but the woman, dreaming in the -silence, looked a fitter inhabitant for this weird, white world of -mystery and chilly splendour. Watching her closely, even in the -distance, Eustace caught a glimpse of her eyes for the moment, and -fancied, with the vivid imagination of a poet, that he saw in their -depths that undefinable look of unfulfilled motherhood which had led -him to call her an "incomplete Madonna."</p> - -<p>Filled with this idea, a sudden inspiration of ascertaining the truth -seized him, and without changing his position, he replaced his fingers -on the ivory keys and broke into the steady rhythmical swing of a -cradle song.</p> - -<p>His voice was a small sweet tenor, not very loud, but wonderfully soft -and sympathetic, so that he rendered the song he now sang with rare -delicacy and tenderness.</p> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> - -<h5>I.</h5> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px"> -"Sleep, little baby! peacefully rest,<br> -Mother is clasping thee close to her breast;<br> -Angels watch over thee gentle and mild,<br> -Guard thee with heavenly love undefiled.<br> -Sleep little baby, safe in thy nest,<br> -Sleep little baby! mother's own child."</p> -<br> -<h5>II.</h5> - -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Sleep, little baby! fear not the storm,<br> -Tenderly mother is holding thy form.<br> -Mother's eyes watching thee ever above<br> -Shine like twin stars with fathomless love.<br> -Sleep, little baby! safely and warm,<br> -Sleep, little baby! mother's own dove."</p> -</div> - -<p>When he had ended the song with one soft, long-drawn note, he glanced -furtively at Lady Errington, and saw that he had touched the one -sympathetic chord of her nature, for those calm blue eyes were full of -unshed tears hanging on the long lashes. Eustace delicately refrained -from noticing her emotion, but rising from the piano strolled on to -the terrace, leaned lightly over the balustrade and gazed absorbedly -at the restless water, dark and sombre under the stone wall.</p> - -<p>"A perfect night," he murmured after a pause, during which Lady -Errington found time to recover herself from the momentary fit of -emotion.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Alizon mechanically, then after a pause, "thank you -very much for the song."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you liked it," responded Eustace equably, and again there -was silence between them. The moonlight shone on both their faces, on -his, massive and masterful with a poetic look in his wonderfully -eloquent eyes, and on hers, delicate, distinct and fragile, as if it -had been carved from ivory. Light laughter from the two young people -at the end of the terrace, a deep murmur of conversation from within, -where Sir Guy strove gallantly to entertain his drowsy guest, but this -man and woman, oblivious of all else, remained absorbed in their own -thoughts.</p> - -<p>Of what was she thinking? of her past sorrow, her present happiness, -her doubtful future (for the future is doubtful with all -humanity)--Who could tell? Eustace, delicately sympathetic as he was, -stood outside the closed portals of her soul, into which no man, not -even her husband, had penetrated. But men and women, however closely -allied, how, ever passionately attached, however unreserved in their -confidences, never know one another's souls. There is always a -something behind all which is never revealed, which the soul feels -intensely itself, yet shrinks from disclosing even to nearest and -dearest, and it is this vague secret which all feel, yet none tell, -that makes humanity live in loneliest isolation from each other.</p> - -<p>Perhaps Lady Errington was thinking of this hidden secret of her soul -which none knew, nor ever would know, but Eustace, softened for the -moment by the unexpected maternal emotion his song had evoked, was -envying his cousin the possession of this cold, silent woman. Had he -known her personally before her marriage he might not have cared much -about her, save in a friendly way, but his eccentric imagination had -endowed her with a vague charm, which no other woman possessed, and -the knowledge that she belonged to another man made him bitterly -regretful. It was ever thus with the whimsical character of Eustace -Gartney. Place something within his reach, and he despised it, place -it beyond his hope of attainment, and he would strain every nerve to -possess it. He lived in the pursuit of the unattainable, which of all -things had the greatest charm for him, and this unattainable vision of -charming womanhood filled his soul with passionate anguish and desire.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, with a sigh, Lady Errington lifted up her eyes and saw -Eustace looking at her, respectfully enough, yet with a certain -meaning in his gaze which caused her vague embarrassment, she knew not -why.</p> - -<p>"Your music has made me dream, Mr. Gartney," she said, nervously -opening her fan.</p> - -<p>"You are of a sensitive nature, perhaps."</p> - -<p>She sighed again.</p> - -<p>"Yes, very sensitive. It is a most unhappy thing to be impressionable, -one feels things other people count as nothing."</p> - -<p>"Other people are wise," said Eustace in an ironical tone, "they take -Talleyrand's advice about a happy life, and--are happy."</p> - -<p>"What is your experience?"</p> - -<p>"The reverse; but then you see I have not taken Talleyrand's advice. -It is excellent and infallible to many people, but not to me."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"I refer you to one Hamlet, who said, 'The time is out of joint.'"</p> - -<p>"Hamlet was a morbid, self-analysing egotist," said Lady Errington, -emphatically.</p> - -<p>"No--you are wrong. He was a man crushed down by melancholy."</p> - -<p>"Principally of his own making, though certainly he had plenty of -excuse."</p> - -<p>"And don't you think I have any excuse for being unhappy?"</p> - -<p>Alizon looked at him critically.</p> - -<p>"You are young, healthy, rich, famous. No, I don't think you have any -excuse. Do you remember my advice to you the other night?"</p> - -<p>"About philanthropy, yes. But we did not come to any agreement on the -subject, because we were interrupted."</p> - -<p>"History repeats itself," said Lady Errington, rising, "for here come -Mrs. Trubbles and Guy."</p> - -<p>"And Macjean and Miss Sheldon. Farewell, Minerva--Momus is King."</p> - -<p>"Wisdom gives place to Folly--well, is not that a very good thing," -said Alizon laughing, "you would grow weary of a world without -change."</p> - -<p>"I daresay. To no moment of my life could I have said with Faust, -'Stay, thou art so fair.'"</p> - -<p>"Alizon, Mrs. Trubbles is going," said Sir Guy's voice, as the -ponderous matron rolled towards his wife like a war-chariot.</p> - -<p>"I'm so sorry," observed Lady Errington, taking the lady's hand.</p> - -<p>"So am I, dear," said Mrs. Trubbles in a sleepy voice, "but I always -go to bed early here, the climate makes me so sleepy. I have enjoyed -myself so much--so very much. Yes."</p> - -<p>"Next time you visit," whispered Otterburn to Victoria, "bring a -chaperon who is wide-awake."</p> - -<p>"I will--you shall choose my chaperon, Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>"You mightn't like my choice," said Macjean wickedly.</p> - -<p>"I mean a lady, of course," replied Victoria demurely, "not an -irreverent young man like--well, never mind."</p> - -<p>"Like me, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"I never said so."</p> - -<p>"No, but you looked it."</p> - -<p>Victoria laughed, and departed with Mrs. Trubbles and her hostess to -put her wraps on, while the three gentlemen had a short smoke and -conversation, after which they all separated for the night.</p> - -<p>Eustace walked silently back in the moonlight with Mrs. Trubbles who -did all the talking; and the young couple behind them talked Chinese -metaphysics.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>EUSTACE EXAMINES HIS MIND.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">"I looked into my mind,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:32%">And what did I find?</p> -<p class="t1">The waifs of the life I had left behind.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">"The tears of a girl,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:32%">A blossom--a curl,</p> -<p class="t1">The heart of a woman who married an Earl.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">"Ambitions and fears,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:32%">Gay laughter and tears,</p> -<p class="t1">Dead sorrows, dead pleasures of long perished years.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:30%">"Ah, folly to sigh</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:32%">For passions that die,</p> -<p class="t1">Sir Poet, 'tis best to let sleeping dogs lie."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"I suppose," said Eustace to his friend, "that as we are here we may -as well see something of the place."</p> - -<p>"But we have seen a lot," objected Angus, removing his post-prandial -cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" observed Gartney serenely; "it strikes me that your -'seeing a lot' has been principally confined to pottering about this -place in company with Miss Sheldon."</p> - -<p>Otterburn looked a trifle sheepish at this very pointed remark, and -resumed his cigarette with a nervous laugh.</p> - -<p>They were seated under a mulberry tree, looking at the lake flashing -in the brilliant sunshine, listening to a noisy cicada that was -singing to itself in an adjacent flower-bed, and watching the brown -lizards chasing one another over the hot stones of the parapet.</p> - -<p>"Where do you want to go to?" asked the Master, after a pause.</p> - -<p>"I was thinking of driving to Cantari. It's a queer old village, -dating from the time of Il Medeghino."</p> - -<p>"Who the deuce was he?"</p> - -<p>"A pirate of this ilk, who used to sweep the lake with a fleet of -ships."</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't take a very big fleet to do that," said Otterburn, -staring at the narrow limits of the lake. "I daresay one of our -ironclads could have knocked the whole show to kingdom-come in no -time."</p> - -<p>"Very probably," replied Eustace dryly, "but luckily for Il Medeghino -there were no ironclads in those days, and a good thing too. -Torpedoes, Gatling guns, and dynamite have taken all the romance out -of war. But this is not the question. What about Cantari. Will you -come?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I hardly know--I--do you think Miss Sheldon would care to -come?"</p> - -<p>"She might, only I'm not going to ask her. There's not much amusement -in watching her flirting with you in some old church. Besides she'd -admire the altar-cloth because it would make such a lovely dress, and -the jewels of the shrine because they would look so charming on her -own neck. No. I am not going to have my enjoyment spoilt by the -everlasting chatter of a woman's tongue."</p> - -<p>"You're horribly severe," said Angus wincing. "You don't like Miss -Sheldon."</p> - -<p>"As a pretty woman, yes. As a companion, no. She's a coquette.'</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't think so."</p> - -<p>"Don't you? Well, wait a week. Your disenchantment will soon -commence."</p> - -<p>"She's a true woman," declared Macjean hotly.</p> - -<p>"And therefore capricious. My dear lad, the two things are -inseparable. But once more--for the third time. What about Cantari?"</p> - -<p>The young man looked at the blue sky above, the blue lake below, the -brilliantly-coloured flowers, and ultimately brought his eyes back to -Eustace.</p> - -<p>"I'll come if you like," he said awkwardly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, don't trouble," replied Eustace curtly, springing to his feet, -"I'll go alone," and he walked off in a huff, Otterburn making no -attempt to stop him.</p> - -<p>"What a cross chap he is," muttered the Master to himself, "he always -wants a fellow to be dodging about those old ruins. It isn't good -enough when there's a pretty girl about--not much. Life's too short to -waste one's chances."</p> - -<p>After which slightly egotistical soliloquy, Otterburn pitched his -cigarette into a flower-bed and strolled off to the music-room, where -he found Miss Sheldon strumming waltzes on a fearfully bad piano.</p> - -<p>"Oh, here you are," she cried, rising with alacrity, "I'm so glad. I -want to go out for a stroll, and Mrs. Trubbles doesn't. That nuisance -of a husband of hers is talking her to sleep with politics."</p> - -<p>"He is rather a trial," murmured Otterburn, as they went outside.</p> - -<p>"Trial!" echoed Miss Sheldon, with supreme contempt, unfurling her -sunshade, "I should just think so. One might as well have married a -Blue-Book. Why did she marry him?"</p> - -<p>"For the sake of contrast, probably."</p> - -<p>"It's not impossible. Where is the amiable Mr. Gartney?"</p> - -<p>"Gone geologizing, or ruin-hunting. Something of that sort!"</p> - -<p>"Alone?"</p> - -<p>"Entirely."</p> - -<p>"Then he's in very good company."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I say, you know," said Angus, making a weak stand for the -character of his absent friend, "Gartney isn't a bad fellow."</p> - -<p>"I never said he was."</p> - -<p>"No--but you think----"</p> - -<p>"It's more than you do, or you wouldn't stand there talking such -nonsense," said Victoria severely. "Come and buy me some peaches."</p> - -<p>So Otterburn held his tongue in the meekest manner, and bought her -peaches, which they devoured comfortably by the lake, talking of -everything, except Eustace Gartney.</p> - -<p>In the meanwhile that gentleman, considerably upset in his own mind by -what he termed Macjean's selfishness (he was quite oblivious of his -own), had gone round to some stables in the village, selected a -carriage, and was now being driven along the dusty white road in the -direction of Cantari.</p> - -<p>The driver, a swarthy young man with a somewhat dilapidated suit of -clothes, a shining hard hat, and a good-natured smile, called the -weak-kneed animal which drew the vehicle "Tista," and "Tista" was the -nearest approach to a skeleton ever seen outside the walls of a -museum. Peppino (the driver) encouraged Tista (the horse) by first -shouting and then abusing him in voluble Italian.</p> - -<p>"Ah, pig of a horse why go so slow? Child of Satan, is not the corn of -the illustrious Signor waiting for thee at Cantari?"</p> - -<p>It might have been, but Tista seemed to have his doubts about the -truth of this statement, for he did not mend his pace, but ambled -complacently on, stopping every now and then to whisk a fly from his -hide. At last, in despair, Peppino got down from his perch and trudged -up the hill beside Tista, who shook his bells bravely and made a great -show of speed over the irregular road.</p> - -<p>"Hadn't you better carry him?" asked Eustace in Italian, observing -this comedy in sarcastic silence. "I don't think he'll live as far as -Cantari."</p> - -<p>Peppino touched his hat, grinned at the wit of the English milord, and -without any reply went on abusing the stolid Tista with the brilliant -vocabulary of a Texus mule driver. At last Tista with much difficulty -managed to gain the top of the hill, whereupon Peppino mounted his -perch once more, cracked his whip in grand style, and his attenuated -horse proceeded to tumble down the incline.</p> - -<p>Tista neither galloped, cantered, nor walked, but simply tumbled down -the hill, being considerably assisted in his descent by the weight of -the carriage behind. Then came a stretch of comparatively level road, -running along the side of the lake, where Tista resumed his ambling, -and after a deliberate journey the three, horse, driver and passenger, -reached Cantari.</p> - -<p>Here Eustace left his carriage at the Albergo Garibaldi, and, lighting -a cigarette as a preventative against the evil odours of the village, -strolled through the narrow streets with listless curiosity.</p> - -<p>Cantari is situated on the side of a steep mountain which slopes sheer -into the lake, and in fact some of the dwellings are built on stone -piles over the tideless waters. All the houses, grey and weather-worn -are huddled together as if for warmth, and from the bright green -forests high above there falls a great sheet of foaming water, which -descends through the centre of the village by several stages until it -plunges with a muffled roar into the lake.</p> - -<p>A perfect labyrinth of streets, narrow and gloomy, with tall grey -houses on either side, cobbled stone pavements sloping from both sides -to an open drain in the centre, and high above a glimpse of blue sky -rendered all the more brilliant by the chill darkness of the place -below. Then endless flights of rugged stairs, worn into hollows by the -heavy feet of many generations, long sombre passages with humid walls, -and slender stone bridges throwing a single arch across the tumbling -white torrent raging below in dusky depths of cruel seeming. Heavily -barred doors set in the massive walls, and higher up, rows of grated -windows like those of some oriental seraglio, with open green -shutters, just catching a fleeting glimpse of sunlight; still higher, -iron railed balconies over which white linen hung out to dry, and -highest of all, the vivid red of the tiled roofs, round which swooped -and twittered the swift swallows.</p> - -<p>In these dreary streets and alleys a perpetual twilight ever -reigns, adding to the uncanny feeling of the place. Now and then a -gaudily-dressed <i>contadina</i>, all red skirt, gold earrings and barbaric -colouring, clatters down in her wooden pattens; dark-browed, -mobile-faced men lounge idly against the walls, laughing gaily, and at -intervals sleek grey donkeys, laden with baskets piled with the vivid -colours of vegetables and fruit, climb painfully up the steep ascent.</p> - -<p>"It's like the Middle Ages," mused Eustace, as he toiled upward. "All -kinds of dark deeds could take place in these winding streets. I -wouldn't be surprised to see a band of the Baglioni waiting for some -foe of their house in these dark corners, or to meet Dante climbing -these steep stairs dreaming of Hell and Beatrice. Stradella might sing -in the moonlight under that high balcony, where doubtless at night a -peasant Juliet chatters love in villainous patois to some dark-browed -Romeo."</p> - -<p>A sudden turn of the stairs brought him into the brilliant sunshine -and on to a little piazza hanging midway on the green mountain between -the blue lake and the blue sky. Severally on three sides, an albergo, -a café, a church, and on the fourth a wondrous view of sparkling -waters, cloud-swathed hills, and distant pinnacles of Alpine snow.</p> - -<p>Thoroughly tired out by his climb, Eustace sat thankfully down in an -iron chair, put his feet on another, and ordered some wine from a -dreary little waiter who emerged from the café to attend to his wants. -While waiting, Eustace tilted his straw hat over his eyes, weary with -the vivid colours of the landscape, and fell fast asleep. The waiter -brought the wine, saw that the English gentleman was asleep, so -retired cautiously without waking him.</p> - -<p>In the pale blue sky the restless swallows flashed in rapid circles or -twittered around the sloping eaves of the houses. On the hot stones of -the little piazza slept the restless brown lizards, and in the centre -a fountain of sparkling water splashed musically in its wide stone -basin, all carved in Renaissance style with vines and masks and nude -figures of frenzied Bacchanals. The sun dipped behind the arid peak of -a great mountain, and threw its shadow on to the mountain village, -while the mellow bells began to ring slowly in the slender campanile. -Eustace awoke with a start, to find that he had been asleep for some -considerable time, and after drinking his wine, and feeing the dreary -little waiter, went across to have a look at the church before -descending.</p> - -<p>It was exactly the same as any other Italian church, frescoes of -angels, and saints, and wide-eyed cherubim, side altars, before which -burned the low, steady flame of oil lamps, high altar glittering with -jewels and flowers, painted windows, faint odour of incense and all -such things. A woman was kneeling at the confessional, within which -sat a severe-looking priest, and Eustace, catching a glimpse of this, -took a seat in the shadow near the door lest he should disturb them.</p> - -<p>"If I could only believe like that," he thought to himself as he -enviously watched the kneeling woman, "how much happier I should be; -but it is impossible for me to shift my burden of sins on to the -shoulders of another man. This is the age of disbelief, and I am of -it, but I would give the whole world to be able to return to the -primitive simple faith of these peasants, to believe in miracles, in -the intercession of saints, in the canonization of pious people, and -in all those beautiful fables which make their lives so bright."</p> - -<p>The still church, the faint fumes of incense, the sudden flash in the -dusky shadows of cross and pictured face, all influenced his -singularly impressionable nature. He felt lifted up from the things of -this earth into a higher region of spirituality, and in the exaltation -of the moment felt inclined to kneel down on the cold pavement and -lift up his voice in prayer. But the mocking spirit of disbelief, the -spirit which denies, damped this sudden impulse of strong faith, and -he sat there in the cold twilight, pitying himself profoundedly with -the self-commiseration of an egotist, for the weariness of his life, -which came from the selfishness of his own actions.</p> - -<p>"How infinitely dreary is this life of ours, with its cant and humbug, -its hollow aspirations and unsatisfying rewards. We try to make -ourselves happy and only succeed in rendering ourselves cynical. If -there were only some chance of compensation in the next world, but -that is such a doubtful point. We are like wanderers on a lonely moor -misled by false lights--false lights of our own creation. We know -nothing, we can prove nothing, we believe nothing--not very gratifying -after eighteen centuries of Christianity. After all, I daresay that -old Greek philosopher was right, who said 'Eat, drink, for to-morrow -we die.' Still, one grows weary of eating, and drinking, and other -things--especially other things. Marriage, for instance--I ought to -marry, and yet--it's such a hazardous experiment. I would tire of the -best woman breathing, unless I chanced on the other half of myself, -according to Plato's theory. That, I'm afraid, is impossible, though -it certainly hasn't been for the want of trying. I've loved a good -many women, but the passion has only lasted the life of a rose."</p> - -<p>At this moment of his reflections he chanced to raise his eyes, and -saw in front of him a picture of the Madonna, with the calm look of -maternity on her face, and this sight turned his thoughts in the -direction of Lady Errington.</p> - -<p>"It is curious that I should be so attracted by that woman. I wonder -what can be the reason. She is not particularly brilliant, nor clever, -nor exquisitely beautiful, and yet she seems to satisfy that hunger of -the soul I have felt all my life. One can think, but not describe a -woman's character, even the most shallow woman's; there is always -something that escapes one. Alizon Errington has that something, and -it is that which attracts me so powerfully. That calm, reposeful, -sympathetic nature which appeals so strongly to a worn-out soul. If I -were ill, I would like her to sit beside me and lay her cool hand on -my forehead--she is like moonlight, dreamy, restful and indescribable.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she is the woman of my dreams, the impossible ideal which all -men imagine and no man ever meets. If this should be the case, Fate -has played me a cruel trick in making her my cousin's wife. She does -not love him--No!--she loves nothing except a vague fancy, which will -turn to a passionate reality when she becomes a mother.</p> - -<p>"Guy is living in a fool's paradise, for he takes her sympathetic -nature for a loving one. Some day he will be undeceived and find that -he loves a statue, a snow queen, who can never respond to his passion. -When she becomes a mother she will find her soul, which will only -awaken at the cry of a child; but at present she is an Undine--a -faint, white ghost--the shadow of what a woman should be.</p> - -<p>"Do I love her?--I don't know. There is something too spiritual about -this new passion of mine. It is as evanescent as the dew, as unreal as -moonlight; there is no flesh and blood reality about such platonisms. -I am no Pygmalion to worship a statue. Still, if the gods endowed this -statue with life--What then? It is difficult to say. I would love her. -I would adore her, and yet--she is the wife of my cousin and I--I am -the fool of fortune."</p> - -<p>With a dreary laugh he rose from his seat, feeling cramped and chill -in the grim shadows. He went outside, but the sunlight had died out of -the sky and all the beautiful, brilliant world was dull and grey; the -magic light had passed away from on land and water, leaving a sombre, -weary earth, across which the wind blew cold and bleak.</p> - -<p>"Rose-coloured spectacles! Rose-coloured spectacles!" he muttered, -plunging into the gloomy stairs of the street. "If I could only buy a -pair."</p> - -<p>Peppino and Tista were waiting for him at the Albergo Garibaldi, and -in a few minutes he was on his way back to the Villa Medici.</p> - -<p>The sun had disappeared behind the distant hills, and in a -rose-coloured sky hung the faint shadow of a waning moon, looking thin -and haggard amid the fast-fading splendour.</p> - -<p>"She is like the moon," he sighed sadly, "like the pale, cold moon. As -fair--as calm--and as lifeless as that dead world."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>"OH, WILT THOU BE MY BRIDE, KATHLEEN?"</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Say 'Yes' or 'No'</p> -<p class="t2">Before we part.</p> -<p class="t1">Come joy or woe,</p> -<p class="t2">Say 'Yes' or 'No.'</p> -<p class="t1">I love thee so!</p> -<p class="t2">Hope fills my heart.</p> -<p class="t1">Say 'Yes' or 'No'</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>There was no doubt that Angus Macjean was very much in love with Miss -Sheldon, which to wiseacres would appear rather foolish, seeing that -he had only known her three weeks. But as, according to Kit Marlowe, -"He never loved who loved not at first sight," Otterburn had fulfilled -such practical advice to the letter, and however rapidly love had -sprung up in his heart in that short space of three weeks, it had -become sufficiently powerful to dominate all his other faculties.</p> - -<p>As to the wisdom of this sudden passion, he was somewhat doubtful, for -two reasons, one being that he did not know whether Victoria would -accept him, and the other that even if she did, his father might -refuse to sanction the match, a very probable contingency, seeing that -the old Lord had already settled the matrimonial future of his heir.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances Otterburn, much as he was in love, felt -rather embarrassed as to the manner in which he should proceed. He -adored this bright-eyed, piquant beauty with all his soul, so, -according to the neck-or-nothing traditions of Love, should have -thrown all other considerations to the winds, but having inherited -from his father a vein of Scotch caution he deemed it wise to proceed -with due circumspection.</p> - -<p>Gartney might have advised this half-hearted lover, but Otterburn knew -that neither his lady-love nor his friend liked one another, so -thought it useless to ask for an opinion which would be diametrically -opposed to his own desires. Seeing, therefore, that there was nothing -satisfactory to be obtained from Eustace, Otterburn made up his mind -to find out indirectly what Johnnie Armstrong thought of the matter.</p> - -<p>It may appear strange that he should condescend to speak of such a -subject even indirectly to his servant, but then Johnnie was much more -to him than a servant, being an old and faithful friend of the family, -who had seen him grow up from childhood, and regarded himself in the -light of a humble adviser to the young heir in the absence of Mactab, -to whom Johnnie deferred as spiritual adviser.</p> - -<p>According to this view of the matter, which would have been quite -incomprehensible to Eustace, who regarded his valet as a useful -machine, Johnnie was no ordinary servant, and although Angus did not -intend to ask him right out how he thought such a union would be -received at Dunkeld Castle, yet he knew that once Johnnie's tongue was -set going he would soon find out all he wanted to know.</p> - -<p>Johnnie, in himself, represented the home authorities, and feeling -very doubtful in his own mind as to the views that might be taken of -the affair, after much cogitation Angus determined to ascertain the -sage Johnnie's opinion on the subject, and one morning, while he was -dressing, broached the idea in a most artful way.</p> - -<p>He was standing before the mirror brushing his hair, and Johnnie was -hunting for some special necktie he had been told to find, when the -following dialogue took place.</p> - -<p>"Johnnie," asked Angus, without turning his head, "were you ever in -love?"</p> - -<p>Johnnie paused for a moment and rubbed his bald brow with one lean red -hand.</p> - -<p>"Weel, Maister," he said, with habitual Scotch caution, "I'll nae gang -sae far as tae say I michtna hae been. There wis reed-heeded Mysie, ye -ken a canty lass wi' a braw tocher. Ye'll mind her, sir, doon the burn -near Kirsty Lachlan's but an' ben."</p> - -<p>"Can't say I recollect her," replied Angus carelessly. "All the girls -are red-headed about Dunkeld. Well, did you love Mysie?"</p> - -<p>"Maybe I did," said Johnnie coolly, "an' maybe she would hae made me a -decent gudewife if it hadna been for that blithering Sawney -Macpherson--the gowk wi' the daft mither--whae yattered her saul oot -wi' his skirlin' about her braw looks, an' sae she married him. It -wasna a happy foregathering," concluded Mr. Armstrong spitefully, "for -Sawney's ower fond o' whusky, an' the meenister had him warned fower -times i' the Kirk o' Tabbylugs."</p> - -<p>"How do you like the Italian girls?" asked the Master, who had been -listening with some impatience to Johnnie's long-winded story.</p> - -<p>"A puir lot, Maister, a puir lot. Feckless things whae warship the -Scarlet Wuman wi' gew-gaws an' tinkling ornaments in high places. -They're aye yelpin' fra morn till nicht wi' idolatrous processions an' -graven images."</p> - -<p>As these religious views of the godly Johnnie did not interest -Otterburn, he proceeded:</p> - -<p>"What do you think of Miss Sheldon, Johnnie?"</p> - -<p>"She's nae sae bad."</p> - -<p>"Oh, nonsense. She's an angel."</p> - -<p>"Weel, I've seen waur."</p> - -<p>Johnnie was evidently determined not to commit himself in any way, so -Angus spoke straight out.</p> - -<p>"What would you say if I married her, Johnnie?"</p> - -<p>"Losh me," ejaculated Armstrong in dismay, "ye'll be clean daft to dae -sic a thing. The auld Lord would never forgie ye, Maister. An' -Mistress Cranstoun----"</p> - -<p>"Oh, hang it. I'm not going to marry her," retorted Angus, snatching a -necktie from Johnnie's paralysed grasp.</p> - -<p>"I misdoubt me what the godly Mactab wull spier----"</p> - -<p>"D-- Mactab."</p> - -<p>"Hech! just listen tae him," cried Johnnie, with uplifted hands. "The -meenister whae brocht him up in the psalms o' David an' led him by -mony waters through the paraphrases."</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue!" said the Master, stamping his foot. "I didn't ask -you to make any remarks."</p> - -<p>"What's your wull then?" demanded Johnnie sourly.</p> - -<p>"Do you think there'll be a row if I married her?"</p> - -<p>"Aye I--that I do."</p> - -<p>"She's very pretty."</p> - -<p>"Ye mauna gang like th' Israelites after strange wumen."</p> - -<p>"She's got plenty of money."</p> - -<p>This artful remark appealed to Johnnie's strongest passion, and he -considered the question.</p> - -<p>"Weel, I'll nae say but what that micht dae ye some gude," he said -cautiously, "but, oh, Maister, it's nae the auld Lord I fear, it's the -meenister o' Tabbylugs, as ye weel ken. If ye but get the richt side -o' his lug, maybe ye can tac' this dochter o' Belial tae Kirk--if no, -I fear me, Maister, there'll be the deil tae pay."</p> - -<p>Angus made no reply to this speech, as he knew what Johnnie said was -perfectly true, so having thus ascertained exactly how his marriage to -Victoria would be taken, he rapidly finished his dressing and ran -downstairs, leaving his faithful henchman shaking his grizzled head in -dour Scotch fashion over the probable anger of Mactab.</p> - -<p>"The daft bit laddie," commented Johnnie, folding up his master's -clothes, "tae fly i' the face o' Providence aboot a lass. An' that -auld Jeezebel whae dodders after her would like it fine, I'm thinking, -tae see the lass Leddy Otterburn. I'll no tac' the responsibility on -me. The laddie ma gang tae the auld Laird an' the meenister, an' -they'll nay say aye, I misdoot me the Maister 'ull gang his ain gait -for aw their skirling."</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Angus was standing at the front door of the hotel, thinking -over the conversation he had just had, and having a considerable -amount of common sense saw that Johnnie Armstrong was correct in his -remarks about Mactab. Being a man of great shrewdness and genuine -piety he had attained a strong influence over the somewhat stern -nature of Lord Dunkeld, who knew that Mactab's advice if not always -palatable was essentially sound.</p> - -<p>Lord Dunkeld had set his heart on the marriage of his only son with -Miss Cranstoun, as that ill-favoured damsel was heiress to the estate -adjoining that to which Angus was heir, and such a match would -considerably increase the territorial possessions and influence of the -Macjean family in the Border land.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless Angus, though not a fortune hunter, knew that Victoria -Sheldon was very wealthy, and in this democratic age an excellent -match in every way, so provided his father was satisfied regarding the -birth of the young lady (and the fact that her mother was a Macjean -was greatly in her favour), there was a chance of success, especially -if Mactab approved, of which, however, Angus was doubtful, for the -minister greatly admired Miss Cranstoun owing to her assiduous -attendance at the Kirk.</p> - -<p>"Deuce take the whole lot of them," grumbled Otterburn, as he thought -over all this. "I wish they'd let a fellow fix up his own life. One -would think I had no feelings the way they order me about. That -Cranstoun girl is as ugly as sin, and I don't see why I should marry -her just because she's got the next estate to ours. Why doesn't my -father marry her himself if he's so jolly anxious to get the property? -As for Mactab, he ought to mind his own business instead of meddling -with mine. Hang it, I won't stand it. I'm not engaged to that -Cranstoun thing, so I can do as I like. Victoria goes away to-morrow, -and Lord only knows when I'll see her again, so I'll take the bull by -the horns and ask her to marry me. If she won't, there's no harm done, -and if she will, the whole lot at Dunkeld can howl themselves hoarse -for all I care."</p> - -<p>Having, therefore, made up his mind in this impulsive manner, -Otterburn, in order to give himself no time to change it, walked off -in search of Victoria, to offer her the heart which his father fondly -trusted was in the keeping of Miss Cranstoun of that ilk.</p> - -<p>Miss Sheldon was seated in the Chinese room writing letters, and so -absorbed was she in her occupation, that she did not hear Otterburn -enter.</p> - -<p>It was a lofty, fantastical apartment, with an oval roof tinted a dull -grey, on which were traced red lines of a symmetrical pattern to -resemble bamboo framing, and the walls were hung with Chinese paper, -forming a kind of tapestry on which the artist, ignorant of -perspective, had traced strange trees, brilliant birds, impossible -towers, bizarre bridges, and odd-looking figures. In the four corners -of the room, on slender pedestals, sat almond-eyed, burly mandarins, -cross-legged, with their long hands folded placidly on their -protuberant stomachs, and pagoda-shaped hats, with jingling bells on -their pig-tailed heads. Chinese matting on the floor, lounging chairs -of bamboo work, oblong tables, on which stood barbaric vases of -porcelain, all gave this room a strange Eastern look, suggesting -thoughts of crowded Pekin, the odour of new-gathered tea, and a vision -of queer towers rising from the rice plains, under burning skies.</p> - -<p>Otterburn was not thinking of the Flowery Land, however, as his mind -was too full of Victoria, and he stood silently watching her graceful -head bent over her writing, until, by that strange instinct which -warns everyone that someone is near, she raised her eyes and saw him -standing close to the door. "Oh, good morning," she cried gaily, as he -advanced. "Sit down for a few moments, and don't interrupt me. I'm -engaged in a most unpleasant task. Writing to Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"Why! is it so disagreeable?" said the young man, sitting down in one -of the light chairs, which creaked complainingly under his weight.</p> - -<p>"Very," replied Miss Sheldon, nodding her head and pursing up her -lips. "Very, very disagreeable. Being my guardian, she always seems to -think I'm in mischief, and I have to report myself once a week to her -like a ticket-of-leave man, or rather woman."</p> - -<p>"Do you tell her everything?" asked Otterburn, rather aghast.</p> - -<p>"With certain reservations. Yes!"</p> - -<p>"I hope I'm included in the reservations?"</p> - -<p>"Well, yes. At least, I've not yet sent Aunt Jelly a portrait of you."</p> - -<p>"And shall I ever gain that enviable distinction?"</p> - -<p>Miss Sheldon shrugged her shoulders with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"Do you think it enviable to be dissected for the benefit of a carping -old woman? I'm sure I don't. Besides, as you are a friend of Mr. -Gartney's, you will meet his dreadful aunt on your return to England, -and she can criticise you herself, instead of gaining an impression -second-hand from me."</p> - -<p>"If I do meet her, I hope the criticism will be favourable."</p> - -<p>"Why so?"</p> - -<p>"Because you are her ward."</p> - -<p>"I don't see the connection," replied Victoria, with feminine -duplicity, but her heightened colour showed that she understood his -meaning, and Otterburn, being by no means deficient in understanding -regarding the sex, immediately took advantage of the secret sympathy -thus suddenly engendered between them.</p> - -<p>"I'm a very plain sort of fellow, Miss Sheldon," he said, with a -certain boyish dignity, "and I can't talk so glibly about things as -most men, but I think you can guess what I want to say to you."</p> - -<p>He paused for a moment, but as Victoria made no observation, he drew a -long breath, and continued:</p> - -<p>"I love you, and I want you to marry me--if you'll have me."</p> - -<p>In spite of the brusqueness of this declaration, crude in the extreme, -adorned with no fine flowers of speech or passionate protestations of -eternal love, Victoria felt that he spoke from his heart, and that -this manly declaration was more to be believed than any sickly, -sentimental speech of honey and spice. Still, she made no sign to show -how deeply his honest straightforwardness had touched her, but -scribbled idly on the blotting-paper with her pen, whereupon -Otterburn, emboldened by her silence, gently took the hand which was -lying on her lap, and went on with increasing hopefulness of tone.</p> - -<p>"I trust you do not think me presumptuous in speaking so soon, but -although I have only known you a few weeks, yet in that time I have -learned to love you very dearly, and if you'll only become my wife, -I'll do everything in my power to make you happy."</p> - -<p>She withdrew her hand from his grasp, and throwing down the pen on the -table, turned her clear eyes gravely on his face, then, without any -maidenly confusion or any mock modesty, she answered him calmly, -although the tremulous quivering of her nether lip showed how deeply -she was moved.</p> - -<p>"You are doing me a great honour, Mr. Macjean, and I assure you I -appreciate the manner in which you have spoken, but--it cannot be."</p> - -<p>"Oh, surely----"</p> - -<p>"No," she replied, lifting her hand to stay his further speech. "I am -only a girl, I know, but then I have been brought up in the Colonies, -and in these matters I think Australian girls are more self-reliant -than those in England."</p> - -<p>She might have been a schoolmistress delivering a lecture on manners, -so coldly did she speak.</p> - -<p>"I like you! I respect you, but I do not love you, and I could marry -no man without loving him. We have only known each other three weeks, -so are in total ignorance of each other's character. No, Mr. Macjean, -much as I thank you for the honour you have done me--the greatest -honour a man can offer a woman--yet I must say no."</p> - -<p>"Can you give me no hope?"</p> - -<p>"I don't think it would be wise to do so. We part to-morrow, and may -meet others we like better, so it would be foolish for either you or -myself to bind ourselves in any way."</p> - -<p>Otterburn, seeing from her cool, composed speech that her mind was -made up, arose to his feet with a look of despair on his bright, young -face, upon which she also arose from her chair, and laid her hand -gently on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Believe me, you will think as I do later on," she said in a friendly -tone; "forget that this conversation has ever taken place, and let us -be on the same footing as before. We part to-morrow, as I said before, -but it is more than probable that we will meet in London--if so, let -us meet as friends."</p> - -<p>The composure with which she spoke irritated Otterburn fearfully, the -more so as it was so unexpected. This brilliant, piquant creature, who -should have been all fire and passion, talked to him as if he were a -schoolboy, and argued about love as if she was an elderly dry as-dust -professor of science. Perhaps Victoria knew this, and, as she did not -wish to marry Otterburn, thought that such a cold-blooded way of -discussing his passion, from a worldly point of view, would have the -effect of making him care less about her refusal to marry him.</p> - -<p>They stood looking at one another for a moment, the man angry at what -he considered her unjustifiable treatment, the woman composed, but -withal a trifle frightened at the tempest she had provoked.</p> - -<p>"Well, we part friends?" she said, holding out her hand with a quiet -smile.</p> - -<p>Angus looked at her with a glance of anger in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Coquette!" he growled out between his clenched teeth, and, taking no -notice of her extended hand, left the room quickly.</p> - -<p>Left to herself, Victoria sat down and thought over the scene. The -declaration of Angus had touched her by its manly honesty, but, as she -had not thought of marrying him, her mode of refusal had certainly -been the best possible in order to cool his passion. His anger, -however, and the fast word he had uttered, opened her eyes to the -situation, and she saw that her determination to spite Eustace, by -taking his friend away, had been more serious than she imagined.</p> - -<p>This reflection made her angry with herself, and of course she vented -her rage on Angus, simply because she had treated him badly.</p> - -<p>"Stupid boy," she said to herself, angrily, "he might have seen I was -not in earnest. I never gave him to understand that I would marry him. -These men are so conceited, they think they have only got to throw the -handkerchief like the Sultan. The lesson will do him good. Yet he is a -nice, honest boy, and I'm sorry we did not part friends. Never mind, I -expect he'll come back shortly. I'm sure he ought to, and beg my -pardon--if he's got any sense of decency--foolish boy."</p> - -<p>She tried to write but felt too angry with herself, Angus and the -whole world, to do so, therefore she ran up to her own room, worried -herself ill over the whole affair and ultimately ended up in having a -good cry and a fit of self-commiseration.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Otterburn' in a towering passion, walked outside, and -seeking a secluded seat under a spreading oak, sat down in a most -doleful mood.</p> - -<p>"The heartless coquette," said this ill-used young man aloud, staring -dismally at the lake. "I wonder what she thinks a man is made of to be -preached at? I asked for love and she gave me a sermon. Good Lord! I -thought she would have cried and made a fuss like other girls, but she -didn't, confound her! Fancy talking about ignorance of character and -all that stuff, when a fellow's dying of love, and as to being -friends, that's not my style. I'm not going to run after her like a -poodle dog, and be driven away every two minutes. I'll see Gartney, -and we'll go away at once. I'll never see her again, never! never! -never!"</p> - -<p>"That's emphatic, at all events," said a quiet voice at his elbow, and -on turning round, he saw Eustace standing near him complacently -smoking a cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's you," said Otterburn, in an ill-tempered tone.</p> - -<p>"Yes! forgive me, but I couldn't help overhearing the last few words -you spoke. I--I hope you've been successful in your wooing."</p> - -<p>"I don't know what you mean," retorted Angus sulkily, stretching his -long legs out, and thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," replied Eustace, ceremoniously. "I have no wish -to force your confidence."</p> - -<p>The Master made no reply, but glared savagely at his boots, while -Eustace, taking in the situation at a glance, stood silently beside -him, not without a secret gratification that Otterburn had been -punished for his base desertion of friendship for love. This was so -like Gartney, whose colossal egotism saw in the successes or failures -of others nothing but what tended to his own self-glorification.</p> - -<p>"Gartney," said Otterburn, suddenly looking up, "I'm deadly sick of -this place."</p> - -<p>"Everyone seems to be of your opinion," answered Eustace, -complacently; "the Erringtons go to-day, and Mrs. Trubbles -to-morrow--of course la Belle Victoria accompanies them--aren't you -inconsolable?"</p> - -<p>This was cruel of Eustace, and he knew it.</p> - -<p>"No, I'm not," retorted Angus, doughtily, "she's not the only girl in -the world. I wish to heaven you'd talk sense. Tell me when are we -going to start?"</p> - -<p>"When you like."</p> - -<p>"For Vienna?"</p> - -<p>"I'm rather tired of Vienna," said Gartney, listlessly, "I've been -there four times and it's always the same. If you don't mind, I'd -rather we tried a fresh locality."</p> - -<p>"I don't care," said Otterburn, with a scowl. "I'll go anywhere--to -the devil if you like."</p> - -<p>"That's looking too far ahead," replied Eustace ironically. "What do -you say to Cyprus? I've been reading Mallock's book about it and it -seems one place not in the grip of Cook's tourists and Baedeker's -Guide Books. We can take the train to Venice, and go down the -Adriatic."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Macjean, rising, with a huge sigh. "If you don't -mind, I'll go to Milan to-day. You can follow to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"All right," said Eustace quietly, judging it best to let his young -friend go away for a time and get over his disappointment in solitude. -"I will come with you to Como, and can see both you and the Erringtons -off at the same time."</p> - -<p>"Then I'll go and tell Johnnie to get my traps together."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, but look here, old fellow, although you have not honoured -me with your confidence I can guess your trouble, but don't worry -about it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's all very well for you," said Otterburn, reddening, "you're -not in love."</p> - -<p>"I'm not so sure of that," murmured Eustace in a dreary tone, whereupon -Angus laughed scornfully.</p> - -<p>"It doesn't sound like it--by-the-way, you can say goodbye to Mrs. -Trubbles for me."</p> - -<p>"And Miss Sheldon?"</p> - -<p>"Hang Miss Sheldon and you too!" retorted Otterburn, and thereupon -bolted, so as to give Eustace no opportunity of making further -remarks.</p> - -<p>"Love!" quoth Eustace the philosopher, "does not improve manners. -Macjean is like a young bear with a sore head, and Miss Sheldon--well, -she's got another scalp to hang in her wigwam."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>AUF WIEDERSEHN.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Goodbye! Goodbye!--our lives divide,<br> -We drift apart on Life's broad tide,<br> -Faint-hearted, sad and solemn-eyed,</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:15%">By Fate's decree.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Goodbye! Goodbye!--but not farewell,<br> -Tho' side by side we may not dwell.<br> -Some day we'll meet--But who can tell</p> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:15%">If this will be?"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>So the time of parting had come at last, as it must come to all, and -these men and women who had met by chance at the Italian Lakes were -about to separate. But who could tell what effect the intimacy of the -last few weeks would have on their future lives?</p> - -<p>It seemed as though the love-romance of Victoria and Otterburn were -over, killed by the woman, and even if they did meet again, it would -be under such widely different circumstances that they would surely -never be able to renew their earlier intimacy.</p> - -<p>True to his resolve Otterburn departed for Como without seeing -Victoria again, and Eustace saw him safely off in the train with the -faithful Johnnie in attendance. He then went to say goodbye to the -Erringtons, who were going up by the St. Gothard line, intending to -stay a few days in Paris prior to returning to England.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, old fellow," said Guy, shaking hands with Eustace in the -tumult of the station. "When you come back to Town don't forget to -look us up."</p> - -<p>"No, I won't forget," replied Eustace gravely, though he privately -determined to keep out of temptation's way as much as possible. "But I -don't know when I'll be in England. I go to Cyprus first, and then may -look in at Athens and go up the Dardanelles."</p> - -<p>"You should get married and settle down," said Guy gaily. "What do you -say, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid to give an opinion," replied Lady Errington discreetly. -"When Mr. Gartney returns I may be able to say something."</p> - -<p>She looked at Eustace in a friendly manner, and as he saw the cold, -pure look in her eyes, he knew at once that whatever passion for this -woman he might feel, he had not succeeded in awakening any response in -her impassive nature.</p> - -<p>"A statue! A statue," he said to himself. "Poor Guy."</p> - -<p>"Say goodbye to Mr. Macjean for me," said Lady Errington, giving him -her hand. "And as to yourself I will not say goodbye, but <i>au -revoir</i>."</p> - -<p>The whistle blew shrilly, the train moved slowly off, and Eustace, -with bare head, holding his hat in his hand, stood silently amid the -crowd with a vision before his mind's eye of the sweet face with the -cold pure light in the blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"A statue! a statue," he said again, as he went back to Cemobbio. "It -is a foolish passion I have for her, but I dare say a few months' -travelling will make me forget that such chilly perfection exists."</p> - -<p>On his return to the Villa Medici, he told his valet to pack up -everything and be ready to start by the early train next morning, in -order to meet Otterburn and leave Milan by the afternoon train for -Venice, as Victoria would be at Milan the next day, and Otterburn did -not wish to meet her again.</p> - -<p>As for that young lady, although she did not care much about -Otterburn, yet her self-love received rather a severe shock when she -learned how promptly he had taken his dismissal.</p> - -<p>"Where is Mr. Macjean?" she asked Eustace that night, after dinner, as -he sat smoking outside in the garden.</p> - -<p>"He has gone away," replied Eustace, who was anxious to prolong her -curiosity as much as he could and let her drag the facts of the case -piecemeal from his reluctant mouth.</p> - -<p>"Where to?"</p> - -<p>"Milan."</p> - -<p>Victoria flushed a little under his keen gaze and tapped her foot -impatiently on the ground.</p> - -<p>"I thought he was going with you to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"So did I. But for some reason he preferred going by himself to-day."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>There was a vexed tone in the ejaculation, and Eustace smiled to -himself as he thought of her anger. She knew the reason of this abrupt -departure, so did Eustace, and each of them perfectly understood one -another; therefore, when Victoria saw the smile curling the corners of -Gartney's mouth, she felt inclined to strike him in her exasperation.</p> - -<p>"Why did he not say goodbye?" she demanded sharply. "I don't know. He -did not honour me with his confidence."</p> - -<p>It was lucky for Eustace that Victoria did not at that moment possess -regal power, for she would then and there have ordered him off to -execution, but as she could not do this she did the next best thing to -it, and retreated gracefully from the field of battle.</p> - -<p>"If I were you, Mr. Gartney, I would teach that friend of yours -manners," she said superciliously. "However, we are not likely to meet -again, so it does not matter. You go to-morrow morning, do you not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"And we go in the afternoon, so we won't have the pleasure of being -fellow-travellers--goodbye."</p> - -<p>"Goodbye."</p> - -<p>They shook hands coldly, with mutual dislike, and then Victoria went -away gaily, so as to afford Eustace no opportunity of seeing her -mortification, but when she arrived in her own room she raged like a -young lioness.</p> - -<p>"How dare he treat me in such a way!" she said wrathfully, referring -to the absent Otterburn. "Because I do not choose to marry him, he -need not slight me so openly before his friend. Ah! that wretched Mr. -Gartney, how detestable he is. Always sneering and supercilious. I -should like to kill him, and he knows it."</p> - -<p>There was no doubt that the triumph was now with Gartney, and all -through her own fault. She had refused offers before, but the makers -of them had always taken their defeat meekly and continued to haunt -her steps. Otterburn, however, had treated her as no man had ever -treated her before, and when she grew calmer, with the whimsical -inconsequence of a woman, she actually began to admire his -independence.</p> - -<p>"He's a man at all events," she said, drying her tears, "and I'm glad -he's got a mind of his own. If I do meet him again I'll make him -propose again, in spite of his temper, and then I'll pay him out for -going off like this."</p> - -<p>It was truly a bad look-out for Otterburn if she remained in the same -mind, but then the chances were that his promptitude of action, having -secured her admiration, would end up by making her love him, and when -they met again it was doubtful who would come off victor.</p> - -<p>Eustace, on his side was very much gratified by the conversation he -had had with Victoria, and after bidding farewell to Mr. and Mrs. -Trubbles, went to bed in quite a good temper.</p> - -<p>Next morning he left Cemobbio and started for Milan.</p> - -<p>On arriving he found Otterburn at the station, looking tired and -haggard, but this was due to want of sleep and not to dissipation, as -Eustace charitably surmised. The young man was in a fearfully bad -temper, and although he was burning to question Eustace about -Victoria, yet his own sense of dignity would not allow him. So during -their journey to Venice, he sat in sulky silence, reading a book and -inwardly raging at the fickleness, ingratitude and caprices of -womankind.</p> - -<p>Since they had last occupied a railway carriage together, a change had -certainly come over both of them, and instead of friendly talk, they -sat in dour silence, each regarding the other as an insufferable -nuisance.</p> - -<p>The cynical French proverb anent women was, without doubt, very -applicable to them both in the present case, and it might have been -some gratification to Victoria's wounded pride to know that she had -effectually estranged these two quondam friends. The bond of sympathy -formerly existing between them had entirely vanished, and though each -was burning to make a confidant of the other, yet neither would make -the first advance, so both sat grimly silent, each cursing his luck in -having the other for a companion.</p> - -<p>Otterburn did not venture to speak to Eustace about his rejection by -Victoria, as he was afraid of being laughed at by the cynic, and -Eustace held his tongue concerning his passion for his cousin's wife, -as he thought, and with good reason, that Otterburn would consider it -dishonourable. It was the quick coupled with the dead, and they both -felt it, so when they reached Venice, although they put up together at -Danieli's, by tacit consent they saw as little of one another as -possible.</p> - -<p>To his great delight Otterburn picked up an old Oxford chum one day, -and finding that he was going on a shooting excursion to the -Carpathian Mountains with another friend, agreed to join him. To this -desertion, Eustace by no means objected, as he was heartily sick of -Macjean's love-lorn sulkiness, so, at the end of the week, the young -man, with his two friends, keen sportsmen and capital company, left -Eustace in Venice, and departed in high spirits on his excursion.</p> - -<p>Eustace therefore was left entirely alone, and preferred his solitude, -for had he so chosen he could have found plenty of pleasant companions -willing to go to Cyprus if needful, but having a fancy for a solitary -journey, and the idea of a new book of travels in his head, he held -aloof from Anglo-Italian society and wandered about Venice with no -other company than his own dreary thoughts.</p> - -<p>Fate, however, evidently had a spite against Mr. Gartney, for one day, -while he was sitting at Florian's, smoking cigarettes and watching the -white pigeons whirling aloft in the blue sky, someone touched him on -the shoulder, and on turning he found himself facing Billy Dolser, a -dapper little man-about-town, whom he particularly disliked.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dolser owned a spiteful society paper called "The Pepper Box," -which was always getting into trouble for the lies it told, and -Eustace himself had been pretty severely handled in its columns, as -the proprietor hated him with all the malignant venom of a little -soul. Everybody in society was afraid of Billy, who had an unpleasant -knack of finding out things people did not want known, and publishing -them in his paper, so everyone was civil to him, except one or two men -who had the bad taste to horsewhip him, but Billy did not mind, as it -made his paper sell, so there was positively no way of society ridding -itself of this little wasp.</p> - -<p>"How do, Gartney?" said Mr. Dolser, offering two fingers to Eustace, -which that gentleman refused to see. "Heard you were here--yes! Cut -away from town I suppose because of your book? No! we thought you did. -You're getting it hot--rather!"</p> - -<p>"I'm hanged if I care," retorted Eustace indolently, "it will only -make the book sell. How's 'The Pepper Box' going?"</p> - -<p>"Oh capitally--yes!" said Billy, taking a seat. "Three actions of -libel on--ha! ha!"</p> - -<p>"That sounds well--any horsewhippings?"</p> - -<p>Billy grinned, not being a bit offended at this allusion, as it all -came under the head of business.</p> - -<p>"No, dear boy, no! I'm here with the Pellingers you know--yes! Showing -them round. They're paying my ex's."</p> - -<p>"Of course. I knew you wouldn't pay them yourself."</p> - -<p>"Ah! but they like travelling with me--yes!"</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't care about a pet monkey myself," said Eustace rudely.</p> - -<p>"No! you're a Robinson Crusoe kind of chap, ain't you?" said Billy, -quite unmoved by his epithet. "By the way, I saw your cousin and his -wife in Paris--yes! Wife cut me. Beastly rude I think, when I knew her -father so well--he was a great friend of mine--rather!"</p> - -<p>"Not a very creditable thing to boast of," replied Eustace, enraged at -this reference to Lady Errington.</p> - -<p>"Oh, who cares? If Asmodeus unroofed the houses in town, you bet -there'd be 'ructions. Just so!"</p> - -<p>"You do your best to play Asmodeus."</p> - -<p>"Yes--want to purify Society. By the way, Mrs. Veilsturm was asking -after you."</p> - -<p>"Very kind of her!"</p> - -<p>"And Major Griff. I wonder Society tolerates those two, Eh?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Society tolerates all kinds of noxious beasts now-a-days," said -Eustace, with a significant glance at Billy.</p> - -<p>"Yes! horrid, isn't it? Those two have got hold of Dolly Thambits, you -know--young fool that came in for a lot of money--rather. She's -plucking him, and the Major is pocketing the feathers--yes!"</p> - -<p>"Can't you share the spoil?" asked Eustace drily.</p> - -<p>"No! wish I could, but Mrs. Veilsturm doesn't like me--not much! I -say, look here, where do you go?"</p> - -<p>"That's my business," retorted Eustace, rising. "I'm not going to tell -you my movements and have them recorded in that scurrilous paper of -yours."</p> - -<p>"No," said Billy calmly, "that's a pity, because they're all curious -about you in town--yes. Never mind, I'll say I met you at Venice."</p> - -<p>"You'll say I dropped you into the Grand Canal also, if you don't mind -your own business," growled Gartney wrathfully, moving towards him.</p> - -<p>"Eh! I don't care. Anything for a paragraph."</p> - -<p>The impudence of the little man so tickled Eustace that he burst out -laughing, and without carrying out his threat, walked away, while Mr. -Dolser, pulling out his note-book, dotted down a few remarks.</p> - -<p>"I'll get two columns out of him," he said to himself in a gratified -tone. "He's staying at Danieli's I know, so I'll look up his valet and -find out where he's off to--yes."</p> - -<p>Which Mr. Dolser did, and the result appeared in an abusive article a -fortnight afterwards in "The Pepper Box" headed "Gartney's Gaddings" -which several of the poet's friends enjoyed very much.</p> - -<p>As for Eustace, after getting rid of Billy Dolser, he went off to his -hotel, and arranged all about his departure for Cyprus, anxious to get -away at once so as to avoid another meeting with the proprietor of -"The Pepper Box."</p> - -<p>Consequently next day be found himself on board an Austrian-Lloyd -steamer, slowly steaming down the Adriatic into the shadow of the -coming night, and as he stood on the deck with the salt wind blowing -in his face, he murmured:</p> - -<p>"Well, that chapter of my life is closed."</p> - -<p>He was wrong, for that chapter of his life had just opened.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>A MAIDEN LADY.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Severe, sedate, and highly bred,<br> -Sad-tinted gown and cap on head.<br> -In high-backed chair she grimly sits,<br> -And frowns, and fumes, and talks, and knits,<br> -Her nephews, nieces, tremble still,<br> -Whene'er she talks about her will,<br> -And wonder oft in glad surmise<br> -What they will get at her demise.<br> -No King upon his throne in State<br> -Was ever such a potentate.<br> -Let others face her eye--I can't,<br> -I quail before my maiden aunt."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Few people are acquainted with Delphson Square, no doubt from the fact -that it lies on the extreme edge of the great vortex of London life, -isolated in a great measure by its position and character. Those -concerned with business or pleasure know not this severely respectable -neighbourhood, but occasionally men and women, weary of the restless -excitability of the metropolis, glance off from the huge central -whirl, and drift helplessly into this haven of rest in order to spend -the rest of their days in peace.</p> - -<p>Not a tempting place certainly, with its four sides of -forbidding-looking houses painted a dull brown, with grim iron -balconies attached to each window like prison gratings. No bright -flowers in oblong boxes to lighten the austerity of these conventual -retreats, flowers being regarded as frivolous by the utilitarian -inhabitants of the square. Spotless white blinds, heavy dark-red -curtains, occasionally a cage in some glaring window, containing a -depressed-looking canary, irreproachable white steps, exasperatingly -bright brass knockers on massive doors; these were the principal -adornment of the four rows of dwellings.</p> - -<p>In the centre of the small quadrangle grew a quincunx of -heavy-foliaged elms, encircled by a spiky iron fence of defiant -appearance, and under one of the trees a weather-stained statue of -some dead and gone warrior, with a suitable inscription in choice -Latin, which no one could read. Over all this prim locality an air of -Sabbath quiet.</p> - -<p>The doors of the houses always seemed to be closed. Rarely were any -signs of life seen behind the half screens of the windows, the -well-swept streets were empty both of traffic and pedestrians, and -viewed under a dull, leaden-coloured London sky, with a humid feeling -in the air, Delphson Square looked like some deserted city waiting to -be re-peopled.</p> - -<p>As to the inhabitants, they mostly resembled their dwellings, being -elderly, grim, and forbidding, dressed in the plainest puritanical -fashion, yet one and all stamped with the impress of wealth.</p> - -<p>Sad tints but rich stuffs, serious faces with port-wine complexions, -little jewellery, but what there was, massive in the extreme--no -ostentation, but a quietly-prosperous air, telling of snug banking -accounts. Respectable-looking carriages, with fat horses and still -fatter coachmen, at the grim doors every morning to take them drives -in the Park. A general air of subdued religion about the place--they -were all Broad Church, and held strong opinions about the ritual. No -newspaper admitted into the square except the <i>Times</i>, which was heavy -and respectable, hansoms unknown, even the sweeper who swept the -crossings was serious-minded and given to dreary hymns in wet weather. -Everybody went to bed at nine o'clock and rose at the same time in the -morning; the tradesmen were always punctual and deferential, and the -clocks were never out of order.</p> - -<p>Miss Angelica Corbin lived in this delightful locality, and, as her -residence there dated from the early part of the Victorian age, she -was regarded as one of the oldest inhabitants.</p> - -<p>A maiden lady of uncertain age and certain income, her life was -conducted in a methodical fashion, which enabled her in a great -measure to defy Time. As Miss Corbin was ten years ago she was at -present, and would in all human probability be at the end of another -decade. Quite at variance with the new-fangled ways of the present -generation, this old gentlewoman looked like some disdainful spectre -of a sedate past, solitary amid a frivolous present.</p> - -<p>Her room, old-fashioned and changeless as herself, had about it the -aroma of a former generation, when D'Orsay led the fashions, and -people were still talking about Lord Byron, Waterloo, and the Reform -Bill.</p> - -<p>Situated on the ground floor above the basement, it had three windows -of small-paned glass looking out on to the dreary square, and was -large and airy, having an oval roof painted with designs of flowers, -fruit, birds, and butterflies.</p> - -<p>Under this cheerful ceiling a remarkably comfortable room, furnished -in an antique style. Warm-coloured Turkish carpet, rather threadbare -in places, woolly mats of different tints, heavy mahogany chairs and -sofa, with slippery horsehair coverings; a solid-looking table of the -same wood, draped with dark-green cloth; out-of-date piano, rigid -against the wall, with faded drawn blue silk and tassels above its -yellow ivory keys. An ancient fireplace with elaborate brass dogs' -between which generally blazed a fire of logs (no coal for Miss -Corbin, as she thought it detestable), and a massively-carved -mantelpiece with quaint ornaments of Dresden china, in front of a -gold-framed mirror swathed in green gauze.</p> - -<p>On the left-hand side of the fireplace a tall book-case, with glass -doors, fitting into a shallow recess and surmounted by a plaster of -Parts bust of Shakespeare, imprisoned first editions of books popular -in their owner's youth, editions priceless to bibliomaniacs. These, -though now worth their weight in gold, never saw the light of day.</p> - -<p>On the red-papered walls, smoky-looking oil pictures in tarnished -frames, one or two yellow samplers, worked by dead and gone -school-girls on the table wax flowers, Berlin wool mats, and -velvet-bound Books of Beauty, from whose faded pages simpered -large-eyed beauties of the Dudu type; on the floor treacherous -footstools, always in the way, and a long bead-worked cushion, -elevated on six square mahogany legs, in front of the brass fender. -Here and there gaudy porcelain jars filled with withered rose-leaves -and dried lavender, which gave forth a faint, dreamy odour, redolent -of bygone days and vanished summers.</p> - -<p>Surrounded by all this faded splendour, in a straight-backed chair -placed by the fire-side, her feet resting on a foot-stool, and -constantly knitting, sat Miss Angelica Corbin, better known to her -friends and relations as Aunt Jelly.</p> - -<p>Tall, stiff and commanding, with rigid features, cold grey eyes, -iron-grey hair, always dressed in the same kind of silken -slate-coloured gown, with a dainty lace apron, lace cap, China crape -shawl on her shoulders, lisle thread mittens, and old-fashioned rings -on her withered hands, she never changed in the smallest degree.</p> - -<p>Her father had been a very wealthy man, connected with the H.E.I.C.S., -and on his death left his property equally divided between his three -daughters, Jane, Angelica, and Marian, the first and the last of whom -married respectively Sir Frederick Errington and Mr. Martin Gartney. -Both sisters and their husbands had long since departed this life, -leaving Guy Errington and Eustace Gartney, who thus stood in the -relation of nephews to Miss Corbin.</p> - -<p>That lady had never married, which did not seem strange to those who -knew her at present, but without doubt she must have been a handsome -woman in her youth, and presumably had had her romance, like the rest -of her sex. As a matter of fact, she had been engaged to marry Harry -Sheldon, the father of her ward, but owing to some misunderstanding, -an explanation of which was forbidden by the pride of both, they -separated, and Sheldon went out to seek his fortune in Australia, -where in due course he married Miss Macjean, and Miss Corbin, devoting -herself to perpetual maidenhood, had removed to Delphson Square, where -she had remained ever since.</p> - -<p>Having a handsome income well invested in the Funds, Miss Corbin lived -in excellent albeit old-fashioned style, and, in spite of her apparent -hardness and brusque manner, was not an ungenerous woman. When her old -lover, dying in Australia, sent home his orphan child to her -guardianship, she had promptly accepted the charge, and loved the girl -for the sake of that dead and buried romance which was still fresh in -her heart. To Victoria she was strict but kind, and the presence of -this bright young girl made a pleasant variety in her dull, methodical -life, although she never, by word or deed, betrayed such a weakness.</p> - -<p>Hard she undoubtedly was, and but little given to sentimental -feelings, which was a great grief to her companion, Miss Minnie Pelch, -who was tender-hearted in the extreme, and had oceans of tears on -every possible occasion, from a wedding to a funeral.</p> - -<p>Miss Pelch was a weak, soulful creature, the daughter of a clergyman -who had been curate at Denfield, a village near Errington Hall. The -Rev. Pelch was a widower, and his sole offspring was the fair Minnie, -but having only a small income, he saved nothing: so when he died she -was left destitute, with a doubtful future before her. She had not -enough brains for a governess, no talents except a pretty taste in -poetry, which was not a marketable commodity, and no beauty to attract -marriageable young men, so Minnie wept over the mistake of having been -born, and Heaven only knows what would have become of her had not Miss -Corbin, like a kind-hearted vulture, swooped down on the poor creature -and taken her up to London as her companion.</p> - -<p>So Minnie was provided for by brusque Aunt Jelly, although no one ever -knew what a trial she was to that sensible old lady, for Miss Pelch -was one of those exasperatingly limp creatures who always pose as -martyrs, and shed tears at the least thing.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly was not unkind by nature, but sometimes the tearful Minnie -was too much for her endurance, and if she could have got rid of her -she certainly would have had small hesitation in doing so. But there -was no chance of this coming to pass, as Minnie was one of those meek -creatures who rest where they are thrown, so Miss Corbin, regarding -her as a necessary cross, did the best she could to put up with her -tears, her milk-and-water conversation and her longings after fame.</p> - -<p>Fame! yes! this invertebrate creature, whose intellect was of the -smallest, had actually written a book of poems after the style of -L.E.L., in which she compared herself to "a withered leaf on the tree -of life." She had several times inflicted these weak rhymes, in which -mountain rhymed to fountain, and dove to love, on Miss Jelly, but that -stout old dame snorted disdainfully at her companion's poetical -fancies, whereupon Minnie retired with her manuscript, sat in the -twilight, and wished herself dead.</p> - -<p>When Eustace visited his aunt, Minnie always attacked him about the -publication of her poems, and Eustace, the cynical, the bitter, the -scornful, actually read her poor little rhymes and promised to see -what he could do with them, which proved that a good deal of his -cynicism was only skin deep. Perhaps he was forced into this promise -by Aunt Jelly, who thought if Minnie could only get her drivel -published she would perhaps hold her tongue for the rest of her life, -but this hope seemed too good to be realised.</p> - -<p>Miss Pelch had a thin drooping figure, a pensive face with pale skin, -pale eyebrows, pale eyes, pale lips, in fact she was all pallid, and -wore her thin brown hair in girlish curls, with two drooping over her -ears after the style of those called "kiss-me-quicks." She generally -wore an ancient black silk dress, with lace cuffs and lace collar -fastened by a large brooch containing the portrait (done in oil by a -village artist) of her late father.</p> - -<p>Seated at the window, in the dull light of an October day, Miss Fetch, -having been worsted in an encounter with Aunt Jelly over the question -of reading one of her effusions, was drooping like a withered flower -over the manuscript, and could hardly read her own scratchy writing -for tears.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly was is her usual place, sitting bolt upright, with her -woolly-haired poodle, Coriolanus, at her feet, and no sound disturbed -the quiet save an occasional patter of Minnie's tears, or the vicious -clicking of Aunt Jelly's needles. On the table in the centre of the -room were decanters of port and sherry and a plate of cake, for Miss -Corbin was expecting her nephew, Guy, and his wife, to call on her -that afternoon, the young couple having just arrived from the -Continent, and always gave her visitors wine in preference to tea, -which she characterised tersely as "wash."</p> - -<p>Miss Corbin opened her mouth once or twice to make a remark, but, -casting an angry glance at the tearful Minnie, shut it again without -uttering a sound, and knitted with redoubled fury. At last her -stoicism could hold out no longer, and she called out in her strong, -clear voice:</p> - -<p>"For Heaven's sake, Minnie, stop crying. There's plenty of rain -outside, without you bringing it into the house."</p> - -<p>"Very well, Miss Jelly," said Minnie meekly, and drying her eyes, she -slipped her poem into her pocket and sat with folded hands, looking as -if she carried the weight of the world on her round shoulders.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly looked at her keenly for a moment, and then issued another -command.</p> - -<p>"Come here, child."</p> - -<p>Minnie rose to her feet and drifted across the room, for her mode of -getting about could hardly be called walking.</p> - -<p>"You mustn't cry because I don't listen to your poetry," said Aunt -Jelly grimly. "I hate poetry--it's all rubbish, and I can't and won't -stand it. But I daresay your poetry's all right--it sounds sing-songy -enough. Wait till Mr. Gartney comes home, and then you can read it to -him. I've no doubt it's as good as his own. Now take a glass of port, -and stop your whimpering."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, Miss Jelly," said Minnie' in a frightened tone. "Oh, yes, -Miss Minnie," mimicked the old lady fiercely. "Do what I tell you--it -will put some blood into you."</p> - -<p>"Tea!" began Miss Pelch nervously.</p> - -<p>"Tea! wash!" snorted Aunt Jelly disdainfully, "there's no strength in -tea, girl. You might as well drink vinegar. Your blood's like water; -I'm sure I don't know how your father reared you."</p> - -<p>"Father was a vegetarian," volunteered Minnie, in mild triumph.</p> - -<p>"And a pretty example you are of the system," retorted Miss Corbin. -"If I didn't keep my eye on you I don't believe you'd eat meat."</p> - -<p>"It's so strong."</p> - -<p>"That's more than you are!"</p> - -<p>"Dr. Pargowker----" began Miss Pelch once more. "Prescribes iron, I -know all about that," said Aunt Jelly wrathfully. "I don't hold with -drugs, I never did. Meat and port wine is what you want and what -you've got to take. Hold your tongue and do what I tell you."</p> - -<p>Thus adjured Minnie did not dare to disobey, and although she hated -wine, dutifully swallowed a glass of old port, which was so strong -that it made her cough. The revivifying effect was soon seen in the -colour which came into her pale cheeks, proving that Aunt Jelly was -right in her prescription, as a long girlhood of vegetarianism had -weakened the Pelch system.</p> - -<p>Minnie now feeling better sat down and took up her work, which -consisted in crocheting antimacassars, a mode of employing time of -which Aunt Jelly approved. Indeed, the industrious Miss Pelch had -manufactured enough antimacassars to stock a bazaar, and she was -constantly at work on them except when she took a turn at talking, for -Miss Corbin would not allow her to knit, that being her own special -weakness. The two sat working in silence for a few minutes, Miss Jelly -grim and repellent as the Sphinx and Minnie weakly gay, as the wine -had slightly affected her brain.</p> - -<p>"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly suddenly, pointing to the table with one -lean finger, "wipe your glass."</p> - -<p>"Very well, Miss Jelly," responded Miss Pelch with her invariable -formula, and thereupon arose from her seat and having wiped the glass -with a duster which she took from a drawer, replaced the glass on the -tray, folded up and put away the duster, then returned to her chair -and antimacassar in meek silence.</p> - -<p>Silence, however, did not suit Aunt Jelly, who liked to be amused, so -she gave Minnie the last letter she had received from Victoria and -made her read it, keeping up a running comment on the contents -meanwhile.</p> - -<p>"Liked Rome did she!--humph! nothing but pictures and priests no -doubt. Cooking wasn't good. Of course not, all oil and garlic. Mr. -Trubbles ill! pity that fool doesn't die--not much loss about him I -should think. Wait a bit, Minnie, till I count the heel of this -stocking. One, two, three, four--go on, I can listen--ten, eleven, -twelve. My nephew gone to Cyprus--twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two--he's -always going to some out-of-the-way place--forty-five, forty-six. -He'll end up by being eaten by cannibals--fifty-three! Humph! I hope -his new book will be more respectable than the last one. Eh! The -Master of Otterburn. Who is he? Never heard of him. Coming back by -Naples!--how can they come back by Naples. Oh! the steamer, yes! I -hope Victoria won't flirt with all the young men on board. Perhaps -she'll be sea-sick. That'll take all the nonsense out of her. Is that -all?--dear me, these girls can't write a letter now-a-days. Here, give -it to me back. You read so quietly, I can't hear half you say."</p> - -<p>This terrible old woman seized the letter and put it away, frowning on -Minnie meanwhile, that damsel having meekly resumed her antimacassar.</p> - -<p>"Four o'clock," said Miss Corbin, as the clock struck the hour, "they -should be here by now, but none of you young people are punctual -now-a-days."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps they've been detained," expostulated Minnie timidly.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," snapped Miss Jelly wrathfully. "Why should they be -detained? They've been two days in town already. Gadding about I -daresay. I don't think much of his wife, but whatever she is he's -worse. I don't know however I came to have such a nephew. He hasn't -got his mother's brains. That comes of having an idiot for a father."</p> - -<p>At this moment Aunt Jelly's courteous conversation was interrupted by -a ring at the door, and Miss Pelch being sent to the window to -reconnoitre returned with the information that it was Sir Guy and Lady -Errington.</p> - -<p>Miss Corbin drew her shawl carefully round her angular shoulder, laid -her knitting on her lap, and having dismissed Minnie to a distant -corner of the room, where she sat in the shadow like an unhappy ghost, -was prepared to receive company.</p> - -<p>Bickles, the fat, pompous butler of the establishment, threw open the -door of the room and announced in a deep voice:</p> - -<p>"Sir Guy and Lady Errington."</p> - -<p>And the young couple entered into the presence of the old dragon.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>AUNT JELLY'S OPINION.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"All speech is silver, silence gold</p> -<p class="t2">(I wish it were on some occasions),</p> -<p class="t1">For though unpleasant to be told,</p> -<p class="t2">You get the truth from your relations."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Anyone hostile towards matrimony, seeing Sir Guy in the character of a -newly-returned bridegroom, would certainly have said that marriage was -not a failure in his case, for he looked wonderfully bright and happy -as he presented his wife to Aunt Jelly.</p> - -<p>Lady Errington, on the other hand, still preserved her appearance of -fragility and her air of calmness, forming with her reposeful manner a -great contrast to her husband, who was bubbling over with excitement -and looked like a happy schoolboy out on his holiday.</p> - -<p>"Here we are, Aunt Jelly," he said in his loud, hearty voice, kissing -his elderly relation, "back from foreign parts and glad to be home -once more. Don't you think Alizon is looking well?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know yet," replied Aunt Jelly sharply, with a keen look at -the young couple. "Come here, my dear, and give me a kiss."</p> - -<p>Alizon had a horror of feminine embraces, and always skilfully avoided -demonstrative friends, but from this direct command there was no -possibility of escaping, so she submitted to the ordeal with the best -grace she could and then took her seat near Miss Corbin, while Guy -went to the end of the room to shake hands with Minnie Pelch.</p> - -<p>"Well, Miss Pelch, and how are you? Jolly, eh!--ah, that's right. Been -writing any more poetry? By Jove, you're quite a literary person."</p> - -<p>Minnie smiled faintly at this compliment and glanced rather -disapprovingly at Guy, who was far too healthy and English-looking to -resemble her favourite heroes of the Manfred-Lara type, who all had -pale faces, raven hair, and no morals. Guy, however, having done his -duty towards his aunt's companion, wandered back to that redoubtable -lady and sat down by his wife.</p> - -<p>Being thus placed before the judge, Aunt Jelly commenced to -cross-examine them both in her own brusque way.</p> - -<p>"Well, Guy," she said, resuming her knitting, "now you've idled away -so many months on the Continent, I hope you've come back to look after -your property once more."</p> - -<p>"Of course I have, aunt. We would have been back long ago, but Alizon -was in love with the Italian lakes. Weren't you, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I thought they were very beautiful," replied Alizon, who, being -a comparative stranger to Aunt Jelly, hardly knew how to speak in a -way congenial to that lady, "but I'm afraid it is a very lotos-eating -place."</p> - -<p>"Humph!" remarked the old gentlewoman, with a sharp glance, "and you -don't like lotos-eating."</p> - -<p>"No! I think life means something more than idleness."</p> - -<p>"For Heaven's sake, child, understand the value of being idle. Don't -become a woman with a mission. It's a most detestable class--clatter, -clatter, chatter, chatter! They do more harm than good, in my opinion, -but then I'm an old woman and my ideas are much behind those of -to-day."</p> - -<p>"I don't think there's much chance of my becoming a woman with a -mission," replied Lady Errington, smiling, "it's not my nature, nor do -I think Guy admires them."</p> - -<p>"By Jove! no," said Sir Guy, energetically; "those women who turn -themselves into feminine men--I can't say I care for them at all. They -worry a fellow's life out with their preachings. My ideal of a woman -is--my wife."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington's eyes smiled a grateful recognition of this -compliment, and even Aunt Jelly, who hated a display of any -demonstrative affection, was not ill-pleased.</p> - -<p>"Well, well," she said grimly; "I'm glad to see a husband appreciate -his wife, 'tis such a novelty now-a-days, they generally appreciate -someone else's. By-the-way, child, you don't look very strong."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think so, aunt?" said Guy in alarm.</p> - -<p>"No! too pale--far too pale. Have you got any blood, child? Oh, of -course, you say you have. Sick people always do. You must eat more and -take port wine. Guy, pour your wife out a glass of port."</p> - -<p>Guy obediently did as he was told, but Alizon protested against being -made to drink it.</p> - -<p>"I'm really very strong, Miss Corbin----"</p> - -<p>"Aunt Jelly," interrupted the old lady.</p> - -<p>"Well, Aunt Jelly, I look delicate, but I'm not--I am----"</p> - -<p>"Never mind what you are. Drink up the port. You're as bad as Minnie. -Bless the child, do you think I don't know what's good for people? -Teetotalism fudge? It all comes of adulterated drinks, though I -daresay there's a good deal of truth in it. But a glass of good port -is what you want and what you've got to take."</p> - -<p>Alizon, anxious to please the old lady on her first visit, did as she -was told, and then, after making Guy drink some sherry, Aunt Jelly -proceeded to talk about Victoria.</p> - -<p>"Yes, we met her abroad," said Lady Errington, sipping her wine, "a -very charming girl."</p> - -<p>"Ah, her father was such a handsome man," answered Aunt Jelly, with a -secret thought of her dead and done with romance. "I never saw her -mother."</p> - -<p>"She was a Macjean, I believe," said Guy indolently, "at least -Otterburn said something about his family being mixed up with hers."</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly raised her head like an old war-horse at the sound of a -trumpet.</p> - -<p>"Otterburn! Otterburn! Who is he?" she demanded sharply. "Someone -Victoria has been flirting with, I suppose. I never heard of him, -though she does mention him in her letters."</p> - -<p>"He's new to town," explained her nephew carelessly, "the eldest son -of Lord Dunkeld. Angus Macjean, you know, his title is the Master of -Otterburn. A very nice boy and awfully in love with Victoria."</p> - -<p>"Oh, is he? And I daresay Victoria encouraged him."</p> - -<p>"Rather!"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" interposed Lady Errington, seeing a rising storm in Aunt -Jelly's frown, "I don't think she went as far as that, but you know, -Aunt jelly, Victoria is very pretty and the boy could hardly help -admiring her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I daresay she wasn't blind to his admiration," said Miss Corbin -viciously; "she's pretty, no doubt, but after all beauty is only skin -deep."</p> - -<p>A weak giggle coming out of the dark corner showed that Minnie agreed -with her, whereupon Aunt Jelly, who never permitted any familiarities, -vented her anger on Miss Pelch at once.</p> - -<p>"What are you sniffling for, Minnie?" she called out. "Come here and -show yourself. This is my niece, Lady Errington, and this is Miss -Pelch, my dear. Her father was curate at Denfield."</p> - -<p>"How do you do?" said Alizon kindly, feeling sorry for the blushing -Minnie. "I've heard about you from my husband. You write poetry, do -you not?"</p> - -<p>An affirmative snort from Aunt Jelly.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Minnie, "I do write poetry sometimes."</p> - -<p>"So Mr. Gartney told me."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Eustace," cried Aunt Jelly significantly, "where is he now? Guy, -don't go to sleep! Where is your cousin?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," retorted Guy, who had closed his eyes for a moment. -"Gone to Cyprus, or some out of-the-way place. Hasn't he written to -you?"</p> - -<p>"Does he ever write letters?" demanded Aunt Jelly in an exasperated -tone. "No! he keeps all his scribblings for the public."</p> - -<p>"Oh, he does write beautifully," said Minnie, clasping her hands.</p> - -<p>"Humph! that's a matter of opinion," responded Aunt Jelly doubtfully. -"He's as blasphemous as Lord Byron, without any of his genius. He's -more like that Lalla Rookh man that wrote such dreadful things under -the name of Little. Don't be afraid, child, I'm not going to quote -them."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gartney is a very charming talker," said Alizon quietly.</p> - -<p>"Bless me, child, you've got a good word to say for everyone," -remarked Aunt Jelly, with a benevolent scowl. "He certainly does talk -well. It's almost a lost art now-a-days. Men and women don't talk, -they drivel about their own virtues and their friends' faults. But -Eustace!--well, yes, he's more amusing than you, Guy; you, my dear, -have got all your goods in the shop window. Good appearance, but no -brains."</p> - -<p>Guy, being used to Miss Corbin's plain speaking, roared with laughter -at this flattering description, but Alizon felt indignant at her -good-looking, kind-hearted husband being thus decried, and spoke out -boldly.</p> - -<p>"I don't think so at all."</p> - -<p>"That's a very good thing--for Guy," said the old dame grimly. "Don't -take up the cudgels on your husband's account, my dear, he's big -enough to look after himself. After all, he has a better heart than -Eustace, and he doesn't write poetry, which is a blessing. We must -always be thankful for small mercies."</p> - -<p>Minnie felt rather indignant at this indirect shaft, but stood too -much in awe of Miss Corbin to venture a remonstrance, so after a -pause, during which Aunt Jelly eyed the trio like an elderly beldame -of romance, Lady Errington continued the conversation.</p> - -<p>"Well, we must allow some latitude to genius."</p> - -<p>"Genius!" scoffed Aunt Jelly, picking up a stitch she had dropped. "My -dear, in my young days every farthing rush-light did not call itself -the sun. Eustace is clever in a nasty find-faulty way, I admit, but -he's not a genius. He ought to give up writing abusive books, and -marry, but there--if he did he'd worry the best woman that ever -breathed into her grave."</p> - -<p>"He sings beautifully, at all events," said Lady Errington, feeling -rather nonplussed as to how to satisfy this contradictory woman.</p> - -<p>"God bless my soul, child I don't go through a list of my -nephew's virtues. I know them already, and from the best -authority--himself. When he returns from this tree place--what do you -call it?--Cyprus--yes, I knew it had something to do with a tree. -Well, when he returns, I hope he'll be improved--there's room for it, -great room. Guy, when do you go down to Denfield?"</p> - -<p>"To-morrow, aunt."</p> - -<p>"That's sensible. Errington Hall needs a master's eyes. I don't -believe in absenteeism myself. If I had my way--which I'm not likely -to have, because it's too sensible--I'd pack all landlords back to -their estates in the country instead of letting them waste their money -in London."</p> - -<p>"But what would London do without them?" asked Alizon, much amused at -this new view of the subject.</p> - -<p>"Much better," retorted Aunt Jelly, sharply. "In my young days, before -steam and electricity upset everything, people stayed in their own -houses. But now everyone comes up to London. A cake's no good if the -currants are all in one place. Scatter them, and it's an improvement."</p> - -<p>"There's a good deal of truth in what you say," remarked Alizon, -quietly. "If literary men and musicians, for instance, made little -centres of art and letters all over the three kingdoms, it would be -more beneficial in every way than centralising everything in London."</p> - -<p>"Literature! Bah!" said Miss Corbin, with scorn; "milk-and-water -novels about religion and society, bilious essays, and fault-finding -critics--that's what you call literature now-a-days. As for music, I -don't know much about it. 'The Maiden's Prayer' and the 'Battle of -Prague' were thought good enough when I was young. But now it's all -systems and theories, and what they call sixths and sevenths. A very -good name, too," concluded the old lady, grimly, "for the whole lot of -them do seem at sixes and sevens."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you see, everything is improving," said Guy, meekly, not having -any idea about what he was talking, but only making a vain endeavour -to stay Aunt Jelly's rancorous tongue.</p> - -<p>"It's more than manners are," replied the old lady, tartly. "Minnie, -don't twiddle your fingers so. It annoys me. Humph! so you're going -down to Errington to play the Lord of the Manor and your wife Lady -Bountiful. Mind you take care of yourself, my dear; the mists down -there are very bad for the throat."</p> - -<p>"I don't think they are bad, Aunt Jelly," expostulated Guy, indignant -that she should try to prejudice Alizon against her future home.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you think about nothing!" said Aunt Jelly, coolly. "I tell you -the place is unhealthy. Bless the man, don't I know what I'm talking -about? Look at that girl," pointing to the shrinking Minnie, who was -dreadfully upset at having public attention thus drawn to her--"she's -lived all her life at Denfield, and what has she had? Measles, -whooping-cough, neuralgia; she was a pale rickety mass of disease when -she came to me. What built her up? Port wine. I tell you the place is -unhealthy, and mind you take plenty of port wine and beef tea, Alizon, -or you'll go out some day like the snuff of a candle. I've seen -several of your sort go that way."</p> - -<p>"Aunt," cried Guy, rising to his feet in a rage, "how can you speak -so! Hang it all! talk of something more cheerful. I didn't bring my -wife here to be frightened out of her wits."</p> - -<p>"Pooh! nonsense! Don't you get angry," said the old lady, quite -pleased at upsetting her good-tempered nephew, "What's the good of -being an old woman if you can't say what you like? Well, go down home -at once, and perhaps next year I'll pay you a visit."</p> - -<p>"I wonder you're not afraid of dying in such an unhealthy place," said -Guy, scornfully.</p> - -<p>"Don't you be afraid. I shan't afford you that gratification for some -time yet," answered Aunt Jelly malignantly. "I'm a creaking door. They -hang long, you know."</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," said Alizon, holding out her hand to Miss -Corbin, for she felt she could not stand this terrible old woman any -longer. "I'll come and see you when I'm next in town."</p> - -<p>"Humph! that means if you've got ten minutes to spare," growled the -old lady, kissing Lady Errington's soft cheek. "Well! well! go on. The -old are always neglected."</p> - -<p>"They wouldn't be if they were a little more pleasant," said Guy, -still indignant, as he said goodbye.</p> - -<p>"Ah! you young folks expect to find life all honey, but there's a good -deal of vinegar in it. I dare say you'll grow tired of one another."</p> - -<p>Guy, who was at the door with his wife, turned round at this, and -called out in a rage:</p> - -<p>"No, we won't!"</p> - -<p>"I've heard better men than you say the same thing, but it always came -to pass."</p> - -<p>"It won't in this case, so your kind heart will be disappointed for -once."</p> - -<p>By this time Minnie Pelch had escorted Lady Errington to the hall -door, and Sir Guy was about to follow after his parting shot, but the -redoubtable Aunt Jelly was not one to give in without a struggle, and -would have the last word.</p> - -<p>"Go away! go away!" she said, furiously--"go away and learn manners."</p> - -<p>"I certainly won't come to you for the teaching," retorted Guy, in -great heat. "Goodbye, Aunt Jelly, and I hope you'll be in a more -Christian spirit next time we come."</p> - -<p>He closed the door after him so as to give her no opportunity of -replying, and Aunt Jelly thus being beaten, felt in an exceedingly bad -temper. She fought with every one who came to the house, and crushed -all except Eustace, whose cool sarcasm was too much for her, but this -unexpected resistance of the dutiful Guy surprised her, and she was -not ill-pleased.</p> - -<p>"I didn't think he had so much spirit," she chuckled, as she resumed -her knitting. "It comes from his mother, I'll be bound. Jane always -had a fine temper of her own and, was twice the man her milksop of a -husband was. Well, well! I'm glad Guy can speak his mind. He hasn't -much to speak, poor fool; still it's better than nothing."</p> - -<p>In fact, the old lady was so pleased with Guy's rebellion on behalf of -his wife that she became quite good-tempered, and Minnie, on her -return, found her patroness for once in her life an amiable companion.</p> - -<p>As for Guy and his wife, when they were both snugly ensconced in their -carriage and driving back to the hotel, both of them laughed heartily -over the visit.</p> - -<p>"Isn't she an old cat?" said Guy, wiping the tears from his eyes; "she -fights like the devil! It's the first time I've had a row with her."</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry it was on my account, Guy," observed Alizon, anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Don't you bother your head, my dear," he replied coolly, patting her -hand; "if it hadn't been you it would have been someone else. If Aunt -Jelly hadn't a row every now and then she'd die. I wish to Heaven she -would, and then I'd get her money!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Guy, how can you speak so?"</p> - -<p>"Why not? We need the money badly enough, I'm sure. She only wastes it -on churches and orphans' homes. I wish to Heaven I was an orphan; Aunt -Jelly might take some interest in me."</p> - -<p>"Well, you are an orphan."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but that's not the genuine article. Aunt Jelly loves a -snivelling, alone-in-the-world brat who needs reforming. A titled -orphan like myself is no fun. I can't harrow her soul."</p> - -<p>"You did your best to do so just now," said Alizon, laughing. Sir Guy -echoed her laughter, and when they arrived at their hotel both of them -came to the conclusion that they had passed a very pleasant afternoon.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>BRINGING HOME THE BRIDE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'Oh, mither! mither I've brocht hame</p> -<p class="t2">A bonnie bride upon my steed,</p> -<p class="t1">Sae lift her o'er the lintel stane,</p> -<p class="t2">An'brake a bannock o'er her heid.'</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'Oh, bairnie, syn the wand began</p> -<p class="t2">Nane saw sic sicht o' muckle wae,</p> -<p class="t1">Where gat ye, son, this witch wuman,</p> -<p class="t2">Wi gowden hair an' skin o' snaw?'</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'Oh, mither, she's a Chrisom lass</p> -<p class="t2">Wha by the Kelpie's burn did stray,</p> -<p class="t1">Wi buke an' bell an' holy mass</p> -<p class="t2">I wedded her at break o' day.'</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'Oh, bairnie, she's nae Chrisom child,</p> -<p class="t2">Sae evil glowers her een tae see,</p> -<p class="t1">She is a speerit fra the wild,</p> -<p class="t2">An brings but dule tae you an' me.'"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Sir Guy was humming this gruesome ballad as the train neared Denfield -Station, where news of their arrival had already preceded them, and -the Errington tenantry, in a state of high excitement, were waiting to -welcome the young couple home.</p> - -<p>Blithe and happy, with a faint roseate tinge in her pale cheeks, -arising from a natural feeling of anticipation, Alizon sat opposite to -her husband, who was gazing fondly at her, and the glint of her golden -hair and the whiteness of her skin set him thinking of that weird old -ballad, sung to him in childish days by an old Scotch nurse full of -the haunting superstitions of the North.</p> - -<p>"What on earth are you muttering about, Guy?" asked Alizon, in a -puzzled tone, as she heard him crooning this melancholy strain.</p> - -<p>"Only an old song about a bride's home-coming," he replied gaily, and -thereupon repeated to her all he remembered of the legend, the -foreboding strain of which made his wife, sensitive in a great measure -to supernatural hintings, shudder nervously.</p> - -<p>"Don't, Guy, don't tell me any more," she said apprehensively, putting -her gloved hand over his mouth. "It's a bad omen."</p> - -<p>"What, are you so superstitious as that?" he replied, kissing her -hand. "Do you think you are the witch-woman of the ballad, destined to -bring woe to Errington?"</p> - -<p>"No! No! I hope not! I trust not!" cried Lady Errington, shrinking -back with a vague dread in her eyes, "but I am a little superstitious. -I think everyone is more or less, and my family has been so terribly -unfortunate that I am afraid of bringing you bad luck."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! I don't mind the bad luck a bit, as long as you come along -with it," said her husband, soothingly. "I wish I hadn't put these -ideas into your foolish little head. You must have nothing but bright -thoughts to-day, my dearest, for this is your home-coming, and I hear -we are to have a great reception."</p> - -<p>"Tell me all about it," asked Lady Errington, recovering herself with -an effort.</p> - -<p>"Oh, that would take too long, besides I'm as ignorant as you are; but -there are to be banners and flowers and music and all that sort of -thing, you know, and I expect old Welstarler the Rector will read us -an address. Then, of course, everyone will have a tuck-out at the -Hall, and there is to be a dance in the evening down the village. All -Denfield's going to have a high old time, so, for once in your life -you'll be received like a royal personage."</p> - -<p>"Don't make me nervous."</p> - -<p>"Pooh! there's nothing to be nervous about. Just smile and look sweet, -I'll do all the patter."</p> - -<p>"The what?"</p> - -<p>"Patter! talk you know. I'm afraid it is slangy, but very expressive -all the same. By Jove, the train's slowing down, we'll soon be -home now. There's the square tower of Denfield Church, and yonder, -Alizon!--here, quick--on the right--that white wing of a house. That's -our place."</p> - -<p>Sir Guy was quite excited, and chattered like a schoolboy home for -his holidays, whilst Alizon, for once aroused from her coldness, stood -near him, leaning her head on his shoulder, and looked out of the -window at the various objects of interest, as the train steamed slowly -onward.</p> - -<p>At last they arrived at Denfield.</p> - -<p>The little railway station was gaudy with bunting, much to the -astonishment of the prosaic folks in the train, who could not -understand the reason of such unusual decorative splendour, and as the -train went on immediately Sir Guy and his wife alighted, they had no -time to find out what the excitement was all about, therefore departed -more in the dark than ever.</p> - -<p>The station-master, who had known Sir Guy from boyhood, was much -flattered at being shaken hands with, and presented to Lady Errington, -to whom some children offered a charming bouquet of wild flowers.</p> - -<p>Outside the station their carriage with four horses was waiting, and -they got in amid the cheers of the villagers, who mustered here in -strong force. Sturdy farmers, mounted in good style, labourers, -looking forward to unlimited beer, women, in the brightest of -dresses, talking shrilly among themselves of the beauty of the bride, -school-children, jubilant at an unexpected holiday, all these were -present, with banners, flags, and flowers unlimited. A proud man that -day was the old coachman, as he guided the prancing horses through the -long lane of happy faces, with his master and mistress sitting in the -carriage behind, responding to the acclamations resounding on all -sides, while from the grey, old church tower rang a peal of joy-bells.</p> - -<p>After all, let people pretend to despise it as they may, popularity is -a very pleasant thing, and it made life appear very bright to this -young couple, receiving such an uproarious welcome, instead of -stealing homeward amid indifferent faces. Despite the howlings of -Radicals, the spread of socialism, the groanings about agricultural -depression, the bond between landlord and tenant is too kindly, and -too deeply ingrained to yield readily to the mob-shriekings for -equality and equal division of land. Sir Guy was a great favourite in -the county, and the Erringtons had been gentry at the Hall for many -centuries, so the sturdy British yeomen and kindly neighbours of the -young pair determined to make their home-coming as pleasant as -possible--and succeeded.</p> - -<p>Driving through the quaint, narrow street of the village, followed by -a long train of horsemen, all the houses on either side were gay with -flags and flowers and handkerchiefs waving from the narrow casements. -Flowers strewed the dusty road under the feet of the horses, the -village band, in bright uniforms, playing "Home, Sweet Home," on their -brass instruments, with mighty strength of lungs, hearty cheers from -hundreds of willing throats, loud clashings from the bells overhead, -mad with joy, and at the entrance to the Park a triumphal arch of -evergreens, with the word "Welcome" inscribed thereon.</p> - -<p>Under this arch waited a gallant company of horsemen in pink, for Sir -Guy was a prominent member of the Hunt, and his brother Nimrods gave -him a hearty greeting to his paternal acres. Then, when the crowd -had cheered themselves hoarse, the old Rector, silver-haired and -kindly-faced, read an address to the happy pair wishing them long life -and happiness, to which Sir Guy responded in suitable terms, standing -up in the carriage, his hat off, and his bright, young face flushed -with excitement.</p> - -<p>Up the long avenue, still followed by the huntsmen, the farmers, and -the villagers more flags overhead among the green boughs of the -beech-trees, more flowers on the dusty road below, and at length the -wide space before the house and the long façade of Errington Hall, -with its tall gables, its innumerable diamond-paned windows, its -slender turrets and weather-stained stacks of chimneys.</p> - -<p>Cheers from the servants, waiting in two long lines to welcome their -new mistress, with whose sweet face they fell in love at once. Sir Guy -then helped his wife to alight, and they both stood on the threshold -of their new home, whilst a speech of welcome was made by the oldest -inhabitant, prompted by the village schoolmaster, to which the young -baronet responded with a few manly and straightforward words.</p> - -<p>The band then played a noisy quick step, which inspired the villagers -to further cheering, and the gentry, having seen the Erringtons safely -home, rode off to their different residences, while the tenantry and -villagers all rejoiced and made merry on the lawn in front of the -terrace.</p> - -<p>A blue sky above, a green earth below, happy faces all around, kindly -voices sounding in her ears, and her husband by her side, it was no -wonder that Alizon Errington, daughter of a social pariah, felt her -heart swell with gratitude towards God, who had guided her safely to -such a pleasant haven of joy and kindliness.</p> - -<p>But it all came to an end at last, and after the tenantry had eaten -and drank as much as they possibly could at Sir Guy's expense, they -all went down to the village to finish up the evening with dancing and -fireworks. The Erringtons, quite tired out, were left alone standing -on the terrace watching the crowd as it melted away in the coming -shadows, and the husband, putting a kindly arm round his wife, felt -that this was the brightest period of his life.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Alizon, who looked pale and worn out with excitement, burst -into a passionate flood of tears, as she leaned against her husband's -breast.</p> - -<p>"My dearest," cried Guy, in alarm, "what is the matter?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," she sobbed, putting her arms round his neck, "only--only I -am so happy."</p> - -<p>"You've got a curious way of showing it," said Guy, cheerfully, -although his own eyes were now rather wet.</p> - -<p>"Come, come, Alizon, you must not give way like this. You are tired -after your journey and all this excitement. If Aunt Jelly were here, -I'm afraid she would prescribe her favourite port wine," he added -jestingly.</p> - -<p>Alizon laughed at this, dried her eyes, and they both went inside to -dress for dinner.</p> - -<p>A very pleasant little meal they had, in the old-fashioned -dining-room, with the staid faces of the family portraits staring down -at their frivolous descendants. Guy made his wife drink some famous -champagne, which was the special pride of the Errington cellar.</p> - -<p>"I believe in fizz myself," he said sagely, holding his glass up to -the light. "Aunt Jelly pins her faith to port, but this is quite as -good and not so heavy. Look at all those ancestors of mine frowning -down on us, Alizon. No doubt if they could speak they would denounce -our conduct as frivolous."</p> - -<p>"I'm very glad they can't speak then," replied Lady Errington gaily. -"Perhaps, however, they appear at midnight. Do they? This place looks -like a haunted house."</p> - -<p>Guy shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"No! We haven't got a family ghost. It's a great pity, isn't it? -Ghosts generally run in families who have been bad lots, but the -Erringtons have always been a steady-going set, so we haven't got even -a haunted room, or a gruesome Johnnie with a clanking chain."</p> - -<p>"I don't know if that's to be regretted," answered his wife, as she -arose from the table; "besides, no one believes in ghosts now-a-days."</p> - -<p>"A good many people do not, but I firmly believe you do."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington laughed a little nervously.</p> - -<p>"No! I certainly believe in presentiments, but not in ghosts--there's -a great difference between the two. Are you coming with me now?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! you surely do not want me to sit in solitary state over my -wine?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not, and as it is such a pleasant evening, let us go -outside on the terrace."</p> - -<p>"You must wrap yourself up, Alizon," said Guy, anxiously, "the air is -very keen here."</p> - -<p>He sent a servant for her shawl, and in a few minutes they were -strolling up and down the terrace, arm in arm, not talking much, but -enjoying each other's company and the reposeful silence of the hour.</p> - -<p>It was an exceptional night for November, in England, being still and -restful with a moist, warm feeling in the air, and a gentle wind -stirring the distant trees. No moon, no stars were visible, as the sky -was hidden by heavy masses of clouds which seemed to press down on the -weary earth, and a kind of luminous twilight was spread around, which -made everything loom strange and spectral in its half-light.</p> - -<p>The warm, yellow light from the drawing-room poured out through the -open windows on to the terrace, and away beyond the lawns, the flower -beds, and the great masses of beech, elm, and oak lay swallowed up in -the dusky shadows. The wind rustled the dry leaves from the trees, and -made the great boughs shiver with complaining sighs, as though they -dreaded the coming of winter, while there was a salt feeling in the -air, coming from the distant sea, and, at intervals, the dull, muffled -roar of the surf, beating on the lonely coast.</p> - -<p>"This is not like Italy," said Alizon to her husband, as they stood -arm in arm, peering into the shadows, "and yet there is a kind of -similarity. This is the terrace of Villa Tagni, beyond the trees are -the distant mountains and that strip of luminous ground is the lake."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I haven't your imagination, my dear," he answered -comically, "or, perhaps, I know the place too well, but I've got a -strong feeling that I'm not in Italy, but in England, and, moreover, -that I am at home."</p> - -<p>"It's a very pleasant feeling."</p> - -<p>"Yes! I think even the most inveterate Bohemian, Eustace, for -instance, must experience a home-sickness sometimes."</p> - -<p>"Has your cousin any home?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes! At least, he owns a kind of tumble-down old ruin about four -miles from here. It overlooks the sea, and is a most dismal place. -Eustace visits it about once in a blue moon, but I don't think he -likes it. It's a haunted place, if you like."</p> - -<p>"Haunted by what?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I don't know. There's some sort of a ghost, who makes himself -objectionable--by-the-way, I'm not sure that it isn't a lady ghost, -with a rustling of silken skirts. But then ghosts have no sex."</p> - -<p>"You seem to be well up in the subject," said his wife, a little -drily, as they re-entered the house.</p> - -<p>"Not at all. I only know folk lore in a desultory sort of manner. But -when you get to know all the people round about here, you'll be told -the most gruesome stories."</p> - -<p>"I suppose for the next few weeks we won't have a moment of peace."</p> - -<p>"It's very probable," replied Guy coolly, "and then we'll have to -return all the visits. It's a deuce of a nuisance, but one must do it. -We owe it to our position.</p> - -<p>"I never heard that last phrase till I married you," said Lady -Errington, a little sadly.</p> - -<p>"Why did not your father----?"</p> - -<p>"My father! you forget, Guy. I am the daughter of a pariah."</p> - -<p>He took her in his strong, young arms, and kissed her fondly.</p> - -<p>"You are my wife, and the mistress of Errington Hall."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>AN UNDESIRABLE ACQUAINTANCE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"This ghost from the past</p> -<p class="t2">I tremble to see</p> -<p class="t1">Behind me I cast</p> -<p class="t2">This ghost from the past,</p> -<p class="t1">Life's pleasant at last,</p> -<p class="t2">So let there not be</p> -<p class="t1">This ghost from the past</p> -<p class="t2">I tremble to see."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Errington Hall, hidden in the green heart of its noble woods, was a -building of very mixed architecture, displaying in its incongruities -the various dispositions and tastes of the different owners who had -lived therein. The original structure was evidently the large hall -(from whence the building took its name) which had been erected by the -first Errington after the Battle of Bosworth Field, when England was -once more settling down to domesticity, after the tumult and strife of -the Wars of the Roses. To this noble room, lofty, majestic, and -sombre, the various masters of the Hall had added other and smaller -rooms, long, winding corridors, and innumerable outhouses, as the -fancy took them, or as their needs required them, so that the centre -apartment was quite lost amid the huge wings and gables which -surrounded it on all sides. The result was a bizarre combination which -made the old mansion wonderfully attractive to architects and -archeologists, while the lapse of centuries had mellowed the whole -mass into one delicate tone of warm-hued loveliness.</p> - -<p>From the central hall, with its carven roof, its long narrow windows, -and quaint oaken gallery, ran many crooked corridors, full of -unexpected angles, queer corners, sudden depressions, and shallow -flights of steps, leading to long ranges of bedrooms, to the kitchen -and the servants' wing. This portion was Elizabethan and the outside -presented the usual Tudoresque aspect of battlements, venerable walls -of grey stone, covered with ivy, diamond-paned windows, and grotesque -gargoyles. After the building of this, the Erringtons were evidently -too busy with the Parliamentary Wars to attend to their home, for the -next portion added to the original fabric was of Queen Anne date, of -dark-hued red brick, wide casements and heavy doors. Again there was -an architectural interval, as the Hanoverian Erringtons were engaged -in making their peace with the new German sovereigns of England for -suspected Jacobite practices, and the last notable addition took place -in the reign of the third George, when the front wing was added to the -house, a vast façade of dull white stone with innumerable windows, -ranges of heavy balustrades, and confused decorations in the -Renaissance style, of nude figures, fantastic flowers, birds, scrolls -and such-like dainty devices. A balustrade ran along the front of the -roof, hiding the leads, and in the centre an elaborate carving of the -Errington coat-of-arms, supported by two greyhounds, with the motto, -"Curro, Capio, Teneo." A broad terrace, with statues and urns thereon, -stretched from end to end, and a double flight of marble steps led -downward to the smooth, green lawn, from whence the great white pile -standing on its hill presented a noble appearance. The Victorian -Erringtons added but little to the house, for the simple reason, that -the builder of the Renaissance wing had not only exhausted the family -resources in doing so, but had encumbered the estate with heavy -mortgages, which his descendants had not yet paid off. Sir Frederick -Errington had a turn for amateur gardening, and added long lines of -hot-houses to the side of the house, and also a kind of winter garden, -while Sir Guy had done his share in the adornment of the place, by -building a handsome range of stables. Altogether it was a wonderfully -fine place, but far too expensive and costly for the Errington -rent-roll, which was not particularly large. So there it stood, a -monument of vanity and folly, which often made its present possessor -curse his bad luck in owning such a white elephant.</p> - -<p>The interior was quite in keeping with the palatial exterior, for the -state apartments, situated in the front wing, were of enormous size, -splendidly furnished, but which looked lonely in the extreme unless -full of company, a gaily-dressed crowd being needed to set them off to -advantage. The Errington family were proud of these state-rooms, which -were really wonderfully imposing, but, except on grand occasions, when -they were thrown open to the county gentry, preferred to inhabit a -smaller range of rooms on the western side, which were more -comfortable, both as regards size and furniture, than the chilly -splendours of the great apartments.</p> - -<p>One of these rooms had been especially fitted up for Alizon by her -husband, a charming octagon-shaped apartment with windows looking on -to a quaint garden set forth in the Dutch fashion, with trim -symmetrical lines of box and sombre yew trees clipped into fantastic -shapes, known by the name of "My Lady's Pleasaunce."</p> - -<p>"I think this is delightful, Guy," said Alizon, as she stood in the -garden with her husband; "it is so shut out from the world."</p> - -<p>They were amusing themselves by exploring the great house, and Alizon -was quite overwhelmed by the size and magnificence of everything. -Range after range of splendidly furnished rooms shut up and left to -the dust and spiders, lofty wide passages with figures in armour on -either side, stained glass windows here and there in which blushed the -Errington escutcheon. It was all angles, and turrets, and gables, and -crooked windings, so that Alizon clung closely to Guy as they wandered -through the lonely rooms, feeling quite afraid of the vastness of the -building.</p> - -<p>"It puts me in mind of Mrs. Radcliffe's stories," she said with a -shudder, "there's something quite awesome about the place."</p> - -<p>"Awesome? not a bit of it," replied Guy cheerfully, opening a shutter -and letting a flood of sunlight into a room, "it requires living in, -that's all. You see, dear, my parents died ages ago, and I've been -living here very little, so the whole place has got a little musty. -But now we're here we'll have more servants, and a lot of people to -come and see us. That will wake the place up a bit."</p> - -<p>"But it's so large, Guy. Why was it built so large?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know," said the young man somewhat ruefully, "it's a -deuce of a barn, isn't it? The Erringtons always had a mania for -building, and whenever they'd nothing else to do they added wings. -More fools they, as it ran away with all the money and put these -confounded mortgages on the property. This is a dear old place, and -I'm very fond of it, but it's miles too big for us, and is a regular -white elephant."</p> - -<p>"It must take a lot of money to keep it up."</p> - -<p>"It does! So much that there's none left for anything else. I wish to -heaven I wasn't sentimental, or I'd pull down a lot of it."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Guy!"</p> - -<p>"Well, what is the use of all these empty rooms? It takes an army of -servants to keep them clean, and for no purpose. We haven't got enough -money to keep open house, or I could fill all these rooms with people -I know, but what with this place, and the mortgages, and bad tenants, -it's a deuce of a nuisance altogether. I wish someone would take the -Hall off my hands as a museum, or an almshouse, after the style of -Hampton Court."</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't sell it?"</p> - -<p>"No, I daresay I wouldn't. I can't do with it, and I can't do without -it. It's a dead lock. But, if Aunt Jelly would only give up the ghost -and leave us her tin, we could keep the whole shop going beautifully."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid there's no chance of that."</p> - -<p>"No, there isn't. Aunt Jelly is one of those aggravating old women -who'll see the end of the present century."</p> - -<p>"Well, that's not far off," said Alizon mischievously.</p> - -<p>"Too far off for us to get her money, my dear," replied Guy candidly. -"I believe she's immortal."</p> - -<p>They left the room in which they were standing and resumed their walk -through the house, stopping in the picture gallery which contained the -Errington portraits, and also a number of celebrated pictures, all of -which Guy contemplated ruefully.</p> - -<p>"Can't even sell these," he said with a groan. "Fancy, what -humbug--they're all heirlooms, and I'd have to apply to Chancery to -get permission, which I daresay they'd refuse. It takes me all my time -to keep up this place and live decently, yet all this money is hanging -on the wall in the shape of these pictures. It's awful bosh, just like -making a child the present of a shilling on condition he doesn't spend -it. Humbug!"</p> - -<p>"What! would you sell your ancestors, like Charles Surface?"</p> - -<p>"No, I wouldn't go so far as that. But these pictures are wasting -their sweetness on the desert air in being shut up here, and, as I -need money more than pictures, I would sell them if I could. I don't -see much chance of doing so, however, for the Errington cousins--and -I've got about a hundred--would come down on me as a lunatic if I did -so. Hang them! I wish they'd this place to keep up on a small income, -they wouldn't be so anxious to keep these miles of painted canvas. But -never mind, while there's Aunt Jelly there's hope, so come along and -look at the hall from the gallery. It's the best place to see it."</p> - -<p>So they went along a narrow passage into the older portion of the -house, and soon found themselves in the wide gallery running round the -hall at a height of about forty feet. A wonderfully impressive place -it was, with its lance-shaped windows, filled with stained glass, -through which the pale sunlight streamed, casting fantastic patterns -on the oaken floor. Between every window, shields, spears and battle -axes, with faded banners drooping above them, telling of ancient wars -and the days of chivalry, when the deserted hall was filled with -men-at-arms and bold knights in steel armour, before the invention of -gunpowder relegated their iron panoply to the obscurity of country -houses and museums. At the upper end of the room a raised dais, above -which a royal canopy and the Errington arms flashing in gilt splendour -from the dusky shadows, while high above arose the pointed roof with -its great oaken rafters faintly seen in the gloom. It was certainly a -fine specimen of the mediæval ages and doubtless many stirring tales -could be told of the generations that had feasted under its lofty -roof, or departed from thence to harry the lands of weaker neighbours, -as was the kindly fashion in those misnamed good old days.</p> - -<p>"A wonderful old place, isn't it?" said Guy, as they stood looking -from the height of the gallery at the immense space below, "and -genuine too. None of the sham antiquity of Abbotsford here. All this -is the real thing, and just as it was in the old days when the -Erringtons wore those absurd suits of armour, and poked their -neighbours' eyes out with those long spears."</p> - -<p>"You ought to be very proud of your race, Guy."</p> - -<p>"I don't see much to be proud of in them," he replied candidly, -throwing his arm round his wife's waist, "they were a humdrum lot at -best the Erringtons. Went to church, minded their own business, and -left other people's wives alone. They always seemed to have been on -the safe side in keeping their property, however, and if it hadn't -been for their building craze, I'd be decently off. According to their -ideas there was no place like home, however, and that is why they -spent such a lot of money over it. I am proud of the dear old Hall, -but I do wish it wasn't quite so large."</p> - -<p>"Do you use this place at all?" asked Alizon as they left the gallery.</p> - -<p>"Only for dances, and tenants' dinners," he answered carelessly; "it -looks very pretty when it's full, but at present one would think it -was haunted. Quite a mistake, as there isn't a single ghost in the -whole place. A pity, isn't it, for this queer old house just looks a -fit place for shadowy figures and gruesome legends."</p> - -<p>"I suppose there are plenty of stories about the Hall."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes! but very mild stories, I'm afraid, not even equal to the -average shilling shocker. Errington Hall has no history which would -delight novelists or antiquaries. Queen Elizabeth didn't stop here on -a royal progress, Oliver Cromwell's Ironsides didn't besiege the -place, and though I think the Hanoverian Erringtons were mixed up in -Jacobite plots they hid neither Prince James nor Prince Charlie. We -are a very prosaic lot, my dear, and although the whole house is -romantic enough in appearance, there isn't a story about it that would -frighten a five-year-old child."</p> - -<p>By this time they were on the terrace in the pale November sunlight, -and could see below the smooth green lawn surrounding the house, -girdled by the ancient trees of the park, which were now shedding -their leaves for winter time. The carriage drive swept round the front -of the terrace in a graceful curve, and then disappeared into the -green wood, while beyond the tops of the trees appeared the grey -square tower of Denfield Church, sombre against the dull sky. Some -pigeons, white as milk, were whirling aloft in the moist air, and the -sun, invisible behind the grey clouds, diffused a pale chilly -radiance, which made Alizon long for the blue skies and burning heat -of Italy.</p> - -<p>"Come inside, Alizon," said Sir Guy, seeing his wife shivering, "this -is cold after the South, and you'd better lie down for a time after -luncheon, as I daresay for the next week or two you'll have quite -enough to do in receiving our neighbours."</p> - -<p>What Guy said was true enough, and for the next few weeks Alizon had -as much as she could do in receiving the county magnates, all eager to -see Lady Errington, of whom they had heard much, but of whose father -they had heard still more. Despite Sir Guy's lack of ready money the -Errington estates were very large, the Errington position a very high -one in the county, and many a daughter of the Shires would have been -pleased to have become the mistress of Errington Hall, particularly as -its master, young, handsome and debonnaire, was favourite enough with -the gentle sex independently of his rank and position.</p> - -<p>When, however, it came to be known that this eligible bachelor had -married Alizon Mostyn, the county, at least the female part of it, -felt vexed that an outsider should have carried off the matrimonial -prize, and the provincial belles felt none too well disposed towards -the young wife, although they masked their real feelings under many -sweet smiles and smooth words.</p> - -<p>The "Pepper Box," with its customary good manners, had set forth in -its columns the story of Gabriel Mostyn, and although there was -nothing in it but what redounded to Alizon's credit, yet the fact that -she had such a scamp for a father was not desirable in itself. Sir Guy -managed to put an end to the "Pepper Box" chatter by threatening to -thrash Billy Dolser, and as that gentleman was getting rather tired of -being horsewhipped he held his tongue, so nothing more was revealed in -that quarter, but Society having got a pretty good idea of the Mostyn -history pursued the whole affair to the end, and found out all -Gabriel's iniquities and Alizon's filial affection. When Lady -Errington therefore received the county families, she knew perfectly -well that all these smooth smiling people were well acquainted with -her history, and although she had nothing personally to fear from -their venomous tongues, yet the fact that the history of her -iniquitous father was known to them down to the minutest detail, made -her position anything but a pleasant one.</p> - -<p>The county, however, made a virtue of necessity, and seeing that Lady -Errington was of good birth, and that there was nothing against her, -whatever there might have been against her scamp of a father, made her -welcome among them in the heartiest manner, although a few wiseacres -shook their heads doubtfully over Sir Guy's wife.</p> - -<p>"What's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh," they whispered -one to the other, "and it's curious if she does not inherit some of -her father's bad qualities as well as her mother's good ones."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington guessed the somewhat unfriendly feeling they bore -towards her because she had become mistress of Errington Hall, but -spoke of it to no one, not even Guy, who never for a moment dreamt of -such a thing, and was delighted to see how his neighbours seemed to -like his wife. This calm, statuesque woman, with the impassive face, -bore herself with stately grace towards the visitors that called at -Errington Hall, and although they all respected her, yet her manner -chilled them with its coldness, and no one professed any strong liking -for her. The men admired her greatly, but thought her cold and -haughty, while the ladies, finding she did not take an interest in -their provincial frivolities, said disagreeable things behind her -back, and smiled to her face, which did not for a moment deceive -Alizon, as she knew what their friendship was worth.</p> - -<p>No one could deny, however, that she was a beautiful woman, and filled -her position admirably in every way, yet curiously enough everyone -arrived at the same conclusion as Eustace, and pitied Sir Guy as a -warm-hearted young man married to a statue. Lady Errington was not -therefore an unqualified success, but her husband never perceived this -and took all the lip service of his friends for gospel truth, while -Alizon, although she guessed pretty well the true state of things, did -not undeceive him.</p> - -<p>She knew she was not disliked, as she had done her best to conciliate -everyone, but on the other hand she knew perfectly well that a gulf -lay between herself and these people which could not be bridged over -in any way. They all wanted to take her to their bosom and gush over -her, while she, cold, reserved and self-reliant, objected to the -obvious hint of patronage in this desire; so although she received and -made visits, went to all provincial gaities, and presided at her own -dinner-table in returning hospitality, yet she felt she was an exile -among these people, a stranger in a strange land, who could neither -learn their ways nor make them understand her own.</p> - -<p>In fact, now that the glamour of the honeymoon had worn off, there -were times when even Sir Guy felt the chill of her manner towards him, -and although he tried to analyse the feeling, never succeeded in doing -so. She was perfect in every way, almost too perfect, and at times he -had his doubts as to whether it would not have been wiser on his part -to have married a common-place provincial belle than this ethereal -creature, whose nature he vaguely perceived was utterly at variance -with his own. Such ideas as these, however, he rejected as heretical -against the woman he loved, and he assured himself with unnecessary -vehemence that he had gained a woman who would be perfect in every way -both as mother and wife. Therefore the county and Sir Guy were both -pleased with Alizon in this somewhat doubtful fashion, and she, -knowing the real mistrust she had innocently provoked by her icy -reserve, did not trouble herself about it, but went calmly on her way, -fulfilling her position as mistress of Errington Hall, and one of the -great ladies of the place.</p> - -<p>One event, however, took place which showed Guy that under her -impassive demeanour there was a strong will and a considerable spice -of temper, both of which came to light in the episode of Mrs. -Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>Everyone far and near had called at the Hall. Stalwart county squires -with their comfortable wives and frivolous daughters, loud-voiced, -hearty young men whose ideas rarely extended beyond the hunting-field, -occasionally an effete inhabitant of Belgravia, whose ancestral acres -were but rarely visited, meek curates who wanted Alizon to become the -Lady Bountiful of the parish, and gay country damsels who revelled in -lawn-tennis and slily copied Lady Errington's dresses with feminine -subtlety--all these had called at the Hall and been received by Alizon -with friendly reserve, after which she returned their visits in -company with Guy, feeling she had done her duty. Nothing out of the -way happened till Mrs. Veilsturm left her card.</p> - -<p>They had been paying a visit to some county magnate, and on their -return Alizon had gone inside, while Sir Guy remained without for a -moment giving some directions to the grooms about the horses. Having -done so he ran up the steps into the entrance-hall, to find his wife -even paler than usual, standing by a small table looking at a card -with a look of horror on her face.</p> - -<p>"Why, what's the matter, dear?" he asked, coming forward anxiously, -"is anything wrong?"</p> - -<p>She handed him the card without a word, and having looked at the name, -he glanced at her in puzzled surprise. "Well, what's wrong about Mrs. -Veilsturm?" he said inquiringly. "She's a jolly sort of woman, isn't -she?"</p> - -<p>"Do you know her?" asked his wife coldly.</p> - -<p>"No, I can't say I do personally. She came down while I was away and -bought old Darton's place, about two miles from here. But what do you -look so horrified at?"</p> - -<p>"Come in here, Guy, and I'll tell you," answered Alizon, with an -effort, and walked into the drawing-room, followed by her husband in a -state of wonder as to what could have occurred to upset his wife.</p> - -<p>Alizon sat down under the window, twisting her gloves in her hands -with a look of anger on her face, while Guy stood near her with his -tall hat on the back of his head, looking at her in a state of -bewilderment.</p> - -<p>"I never saw you so upset before, Alizon," he said, with an uneasy -laugh; "is there anything particularly wrong about Mrs. Veilsturm--is -she a leper, or is her character no better than it should be?"</p> - -<p>"Have you heard anything against her character?"</p> - -<p>"Not a word," replied Guy, promptly. "She's a great favourite with -everyone. Her husband was a captain in some regiment that was -stationed out at the Bermudas or Jamaica, and I believe he married her -out there. When he died he left her well off, and she's a lively sort -of woman, but I never heard anything against her morals."</p> - -<p>"What about Major Griff?"</p> - -<p>"Major Griff!--oh, he was a friend of her husband's, I believe, and -wants to marry her, only she won't accept him. I hear that he is her -trustee, and looks after her property for her; but what on earth do -you know about her, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>"I know too much to allow her to visit here."</p> - -<p>"The deuce you do," cried Sir Guy, taking a seat, "and who told you -anything about her?"</p> - -<p>"My father," she replied quickly, turning her pale face towards him.</p> - -<p>Sir Guy whistled, and looked thoughtfully out of the window, knowing -well enough that Gabriel Mostyn's name being mentioned did not bode -any good to Mrs. Veilsturm. He said nothing, however, as he judged it -best to let his wife tell the story her own way, and that this course -was the right one was proved by what followed.</p> - -<p>"As you know, I attended my father during those four years when he was -dying, and although I don't want to say a word against him, seeing -that after all he was my father, yet, I heard sufficient from his own -lips to convince me that his life had been a vile one. Not even the -fact that I was his child prevented him boasting in my presence of his -horrible actions, and although I invariably left the room when he -began to talk like this, I could not help overhearing more than I -cared to."</p> - -<p>"I wonder you did not leave him altogether," said Sir Guy indignantly.</p> - -<p>"He was my father after all," she replied simply. "No one would stay -by him except me, and I could not let him die alone, like a dog."</p> - -<p>Sir Guy shifted uneasily in his seat, finding a difficulty in making -an answer.</p> - -<p>"No, I suppose you couldn't," he answered reluctantly; "blood's -thicker than water, but still--you are a good woman, Alizon."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington smiled faintly and shook her head.</p> - -<p>"Don't put me on a pedestal," she said, a trifle bitterly, "or you -will find your goddess has feet of clay after all. Well, about Mrs. -Veilsturm. I need not tell you all I heard about her, but only this. -That my father knew her--intimately--and that her life before she set -up for a woman of fashion in England, was not all that could be -desired."</p> - -<p>"Where did he meet her?" demanded Sir Guy abruptly.</p> - -<p>"In South America. She is a Creole, you know, and when my father knew -her she was not married to Captain Veilsturm. She may have lived -decently since she became wife and widow, for all I know, but when she -was in South America----"</p> - -<p>Lady Errington broke off abruptly, and rose quickly to her feet.</p> - -<p>"How dare she call on me--how dare she?"</p> - -<p>"I daresay she thinks you know nothing about her," said Sir Guy, -rising also.</p> - -<p>"She knows I am Gabriel Mostyn's daughter, and that ought to be enough -to make her keep away from me."</p> - -<p>"But of what do you accuse her?"</p> - -<p>"I accuse her of nothing, at present," said Alizon, looking steadily -at him. "I only tell you that she is not a fit woman to cross the -threshold of Errington Hall, and she will not do so while I am -mistress here."</p> - -<p>"What are you going to do then?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going to return the card she had the audacity to leave here, and -write her a note forbidding her to call again."</p> - -<p>Sir Guy thought for a moment, and then spoke out.</p> - -<p>"You are the best judge as to whom you make your friends, Alizon, but -if you do this Mrs. Veilsturm will demand an explanation, and there -will be a row."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington paused with her hand on the door and looked back.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Veilsturm will not demand an explanation," she said coldly, "but -if she wishes for one I can easily satisfy her on that point. But -while I am mistress of Errington Hall if that infamous woman dares to -come here I'll have her turned out by my servants."</p> - -<p>"But she----"</p> - -<p>"She!" echoed his wife decisively. "She will take the hint conveyed by -the return of this card and keep a wide distance between Gabriel -Mostyn's daughter and herself."</p> - -<p>The door closed after her, and Guy, after a pause of amazement at the -change in his usually calm wife, turned towards the window with a half -frown on his face.</p> - -<p>"She's got a temper after all," he said to himself, thrusting his -hands into his pockets. "I might have guessed it. Sleeping volcanoes -are always the worst when they do start."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<h5>A WOMAN SCORNED.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"What! will she place her foot upon my neck,<br> -And hold me helpless, writhing in the dust?<br> -Nay, such a thing is folly at the best,<br> -'Tis ill to tamper with the meanest worm,<br> -For, serpent-like, I'll wound her in the heel,<br> -And when she falls from her magnificence,<br> -I'll twist my coils around her dainty throat<br> -And sting!--and sting!--and sting!--until she dies."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"Who is Mrs. Veilsturm?"</p> - -<p>A good many people asked this question, when a woman, black-browed, -voluptuous, and imperious as Cleopatra, flashed like an unknown star -into the brilliance of a London season four years ago. No one could -answer this question, the quidnuncs for once were at fault, and -although ladies in drawing-rooms and men in clubs set their wits to -work to find out all about her, no one could give an opinion with -certainty as to who she was, where she came from, and what was the -source of her income.</p> - -<p>The society papers, who usually know everything, could not unravel -this riddle, and it was reserved for the indefatigable Billy Dolser to -lift in some measure the veil which hung over the past of this -beautiful enigmatical woman. Under the heading of "A Cleopatra of -To-day," an article appeared in the "Pepperbox," setting forth a very -delightful story which satisfied everyone except a few suspicious -grumblers, but whether it was fact or fiction, no one was quite sure.</p> - -<p>According to this veracious chronicle, Mrs. Veilsturm (or as the -"Pepperbox," thinly veiling her identity, called her, Cleopatra) was a -West Indian Creole, born in the island of Cuba, the daughter of a -wealthy planter. Her parents died when she was young, and according to -all reports, she lived a life of semi-barbaric magnificence in the -somnolent Spanish island. Later, becoming tired of her secluded life, -she went to Jamaica, and there met Captain Veilsturm, at that time -reputed to be the handsomest man in the island. He married her, and -for some time she reigned as Queen of the Regiment, but her husband -dying suddenly of yellow fever, she left Jamaica, and came to England, -intending with her great wealth to enter into London society.</p> - -<p>In this laudable ambition she was helped by Major Griff, a well-known -man about town, who had been in Veilsturm's regiment, and who, if -report spoke truly, would have been glad to have married his lovely -widow. Mrs. Veilsturm, however, did not care to tempt matrimony a -second time, and refused the Major, who, nevertheless, remained her -closest friend, for her deceased husband had made him his executor. So -the wily Major looked after all the entire property of the husband -(consisting of a small house in the country), and the large property -of the wife (consisting of West Indian estates), to the mutual -satisfaction of both himself and the widow.</p> - -<p>Major Griff was invaluable to her in more senses than one, as he knew -everyone and everything, and was enabled to float her successfully in -London society through the influence of his friends.</p> - -<p>How it was done the "Pepperbox" scribe did not venture to say, -although he hinted that the Major's influence in inducing his friends -to take up the lovely widow, was not due so much to their friendship -as to the Major's possession of certain disagreeable secrets. However, -let the means used be what they might, Mrs. Veilsturm obtained a -social success in a select circle, and became quite the rage of the -season. The Major's tactics and her own craftiness, added to her -undeniable beauty, enabled her to take up an excellent position, and -although the next season some people showed a desire to drop her, Mrs. -Veilsturm was too clever to let them do so, and managed to confirm her -social prestige in the most dexterous manner.</p> - -<p>She had plenty of money, great beauty, a delightful house in Park -Lane, and was an admirable hostess, so with this galaxy of virtue -Society was fain to be content, and spoke well of her to her face, -although behind her back they characterised her as an adventuress. It -was dangerous to do this, however, as Major Griff was ubiquitous and, -constituting himself her protector, dared any man or woman to speak -evil of Cleopatra, whose character and life were above suspicion.</p> - -<p>With certain reservations this was the story the "Pepperbox" told, and -whether people chose to believe or doubt, it did not matter to Mrs. -Veilsturm, who went serenely on her way, protected by the faithful -Major. Some houses, however, were closed against her, as the Major was -not omnipotent, and in these some disagreeable stories were told about -the beautiful Creole, but Mrs. Veilsturm's set, although undeniably -fast, was also as undeniably "in the swim," so she was supremely -indifferent to such scandal.</p> - -<p>As to the houses closed against her, she did not pose as an exiled -Peri at the gates of a Paradise guarded by Mrs. Grundy, but set -herself up in rebel authority over her own friends, and defied the -ultra-exclusive people in every way. As they did not invite her to -visit them in Paradise, she returned the compliment by not asking -the pleasure of their company to--well, the other place, and as she -gave most delightful entertainments, the dwellers in the Mrs. -Grundy-guarded-Paradise could not help feeling rather annoyed. They -looked down on Mrs. Veilsturm, they called her an adventuress, they -wondered how any decent people could tolerate such a woman, and yet -they regretted that the laws of social respectability forced them to -ignore such an attractive woman.</p> - -<p>This being the position of affairs, rebellious Cleopatra would, -without doubt, have gained her ambition, and obliged even these -jealously-guarded doors to be opened to her, but for an unfortunate -rumour which originated no one knew where, and, creeping through -society like a snake, raised its head and hissed disagreeable things -regarding gambling.</p> - -<p>Gambling!</p> - -<p>Yes! Rumour, in the guise of bewigged old ladies over tea, and -would-be juvenile old men over something stronger, said that Mrs. -Veilsturm had very charming Sunday evenings, very charming indeed, but -a trifle expensive to those not greatly blessed with this world's -goods. At these Sunday evening receptions, at a late hour of the -night, certain green-covered tables made their appearance, and such -production led to the playing of nap, of unlimited loo, baccarat, and -such like games, over which a good deal of money changed hands.</p> - -<p>It was also observed that who ever lost, Major Griff did not, but that -a good deal of the money on the tables managed to find its way into -his pockets. This had nothing to do with Mrs. Veilsturm certainly, -still it was curious that this wealthy woman should permit her house -to be turned into a gambling saloon, for the sake of giving Major -Griff a nice little income, so rumour once more set to work to solve -the problem, and made several startling assertions.</p> - -<p>First, that Society had been imposed upon, as Mrs. Veilsturm was by no -means wealthy, and that the West Indian estates were a myth, emanating -from the fertile brain of Major Griff.</p> - -<p>Second, that the relationship between the beautiful Creole and the -disinterested Major was by no means as artless as was supposed, and -that the money gained by the Major went to keep up the house in Park -Lane.</p> - -<p>Third, that Mrs. Veilsturm and the Major were in partnership together -for the purpose of making money, and that the woman's beauty and the -man's skill were the stock-in-trade of the said partnership.</p> - -<p>Then these disagreeable reports were whispered everywhere, and even -Major Griff, astute and cunning as a fox, could not find anyone to -whom he could give the lie; and despite his emphatic contradiction of -such report; people began to fight shy of fascinating Mrs. Veilsturm, -and the dainty little house in Park Lane.</p> - -<p>The second season of Cleopatra in London, however, was nearly over, so -Major Griff, being an old campaigner, knew that out of sight is out of -mind, and determined to withdraw himself and his partner from town for -a time, until the next year, when he hoped to come back to Mayfair, -and proceed with more caution. Accordingly, Mrs. Veilsturm announced -to her dearest friends in confidence (so that it would sure to be -repeated) that she was tired of town, and was going to her little -place at Denfield, which she did shortly before the end of the season, -and the fact was duly chronicled in the Society papers.</p> - -<p>The Major did not accompany her, as he did not want to give colour to -the reports about his relationship with Mrs. Veilsturm, and moreover, -wanted to hear the result of this dexterous move. The result was -exactly as the astute Major calculated, for people began to say that -Mrs. Veilsturm was greatly maligned, as the Major had not accompanied -her into the country, and that had she been the adventuress she was -asserted to be, she would not have left London, where she was reaping -such a rich harvest, for a dull country house. The Major's diplomacy, -therefore, was entirely successful, and Society was quite prepared to -receive Mrs. Veilsturm when she chose to come back to Park Lane. So -after the lapse of some weeks, Major Griff joined Mrs. Veilsturm at -Denfield, to talk over the success of their clever move.</p> - -<p>He found her in clover, for as no disagreeable rumours had found their -way to this out-of-the-world locality, and she was known to be a -leading lady in society (videlicet the Society papers), all the -provincial gentry called upon her, and she visited at their houses, -fascinating everyone with her brilliancy and beauty.</p> - -<p>"Major Griff, a great friend of my poor husband," was duly introduced, -and being an admirable sportsman, and a bold rider, soon succeeded in -becoming as popular as Cleopatra, so he was perfectly satisfied with -the attitude of things as he foresaw the return of the firm to London -would be after the fashion of a triumphal entry. Provincial gentry -were dull company, certainly, but a guarantee of respectability, and -the fact that Mrs. Veilsturm was at all the great houses in the -country would be duly chronicled in the papers, and being seen by the -London folk, would shew that she was not an adventuress, but a lady of -great wealth, moving in the best society.</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. Veilsturm made a mistake.</p> - -<p>Against the advice of the Major, who had known and detested Gabriel -Mostyn, she called on Gabriel Mostyn's daughter and left her card, -with the hope that the visit would be returned. On the evening of the -day she had done this, she was waiting for dinner in the little -drawing-room, and Major Griff, in evening dress, was lounging against -the mantelpiece with a glass of sherry at his elbow, listening to her -remarks.</p> - -<p>A handsome woman was Mrs. Veilsturm, as she leaned back in a deep -arm-chair, fanning herself slowly with all the grace and languor of a -Creole. A dusky skin, masses of coal-black hair, with a suspicion of -frizziness, betraying the African blood, large black eyes, a sensual, -full-lipped mouth, and the figure of a Juno, she was a wonderfully -handsome woman in a full-blooded way. Her arms and neck were -beautifully proportioned, and dressed as she was, with the negro's -love for bright tints, in a lemon-coloured dress, with great masses of -crimson flowers at her breast and in her hair, she looked a beautiful -imperious creature, with a touch of the treacherous grace of the tiger -in the indolent repose of her lithe limbs. A painter would have -admired her voluptuous form, a poet would have raved on the dusky -beauty of her face, with the sombre light in the sleepy eyes; but no -man who had any instinct of self-preservation would have trusted this -feline loveliness, so suggestive of treachery and craft. Some highly -imaginative man averred that Mrs. Veilsturm put him in mind of a -snake, and certainly there was more than a resemblance to a serpent in -the sinuous grace of her evil beauty.</p> - -<p>As for Major Griff, he was a tall, dried-up man, like a stick; with a -hard, handsome face, iron-grey hair and moustache, and keen eyes, -which looked everyone straight in the face. A thorough scamp, it was -true, yet with sufficient dexterity to hide his scampishness, and a -military cut-and-dried brevity which disarmed suspicion. Some rogues -fawn and supplicate to gain their ends, but not so the Major, who -habitually grave, plain in his speech, and brusque in his manner, gave -everyone the impression of being a blunt, straightforward soldier. He -was stopping at a friend's house in the town of Starton, which was a -short distance away, and had come over on a friendly visit to Mrs. -Veilsturm, who lived mostly alone, as her house was not large enough -to enable her to receive company. This did not matter, as she -generally dined out every night, but on this special evening, the two -had to consult about their plans, so Mrs. Veilsturm had refused an -invitation with many thanks, but "you see I have to speak about -business connected with my West Indian Estates with my trustee, Major -Griff," and the givers of the invitation were quite impressed with an -idea of her wealth. The West Indian Estates were a capital bait -wherewith to gull people as, being at a distance, no one could deny -their existence, and the very mention of them had a golden sound, -suggestive of toiling slaves and untold riches.</p> - -<p>"So you did do what I told you not to, Maraquita?" growled the Major, -who called Mrs. Veilsturm by her Christian name when alone.</p> - -<p>"If you mean in the way of calling upon Lady Errington, yes," she -replied indolently, sweeping her sandal-wood fan to and fro and -diffusing a subtle eastern perfume through the room.</p> - -<p>She had a beautiful voice, full, rich and mellow, yet with a certain -roughness which grew more pronounced when she became excited. Anyone -would have been fascinated by this voluptuous beauty lounging in the -chair, while the dreamy fragrance of the sandal-wood seemed to add to -her rich, eastern look, but custom had habituated Major Griff to this -barbaric loveliness, and he spoke curtly, being annoyed and making no -effort to conceal his annoyance.</p> - -<p>"You were wrong, quite wrong, I tell you," he observed, taking a sip -of sherry.</p> - -<p>"Do you think I'm a fool?" asked Mrs. Veilsturm harshly, with a frown.</p> - -<p>"I do! What woman isn't--on occasions?" was the polite response.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm laughed in a sneering fashion, in nowise offended, as -the private conversations of this precious pair were apt to be rather -disagreeable at times, but the Major, always cool and imperturbable, -knew better than to provoke the Creole's wrath, which resembled, in -its force and terror, the storms of her native land.</p> - -<p>"You are polite, I must say," said Maraquita, coolly, "but I'm used to -your manners by this time, so we need not argue about them. Let us -talk business, and tell me why you object to my leaving a card on Lady -Errington, seeing that she is a great personage down here, and may be -useful to us."</p> - -<p>"You ask me a question of which you know the answer well enough," -returned the Major deliberately. "Lady Errington is the daughter of -Gabriel Mostyn, and I don't suppose you want your relationship with -him raked up."</p> - -<p>"I don't see there is much chance of that," she replied -contemptuously. "Mostyn is dead, and his daughter knows nothing about -me."</p> - -<p>"Don't you be too sure of that," said Griff significantly. "This girl -attended to her father for four years when he was ill, and Mostyn with -his monkeyish nature was just the man to torture a woman by telling -her all kinds of things of which she would rather have remained -ignorant."</p> - -<p>"Still, she was his daughter, and even Mostyn would hold his tongue -about some things to her."</p> - -<p>"Humph! I'm not so sure of that."</p> - -<p>"Are you not?--I am."</p> - -<p>The Major frowned, pulled his moustache, and then finishing his sherry -at one gulp, spoke sharply.</p> - -<p>"You appear to be sure of a good many things, Maraquita, but perhaps -you will be kind enough to remember that union means strength, and -that your well-being in the eyes of the world is of just as much -importance to our schemes as my knowledge of human nature. If I hadn't -made you leave London, things would have been said which would have -closed every door against you."</p> - -<p>"And what about yourself?" asked the Creole her dark eyes flashing -dangerously as she shut her fan with a sharp click.</p> - -<p>"The same thing precisely," retorted Griff; coolly. "People were -beginning to think I knew too much about cards, so it was wise in me -to have made an end of things as I did. Don't you make any mistake, -Mrs. Veilsturm, I am no more blind to my own defects than I am to -yours, and you have just as much right to pull me up if you catch me -tripping as I have to keep an eye on your conduct. And let me tell you -that your calling on Lady Errington is a mistake, as the good she can -do to us is nothing to the harm she might do to you."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! I tell you she knows nothing."</p> - -<p>"So you said before, and I hope she doesn't, but if she does there -will be trouble."</p> - -<p>"What can she do?" demanded Mrs. Veilsturm with supreme contempt.</p> - -<p>"If she she knows anything, she can tell all her friends about that -South American business."</p> - -<p>"If she comes to measuring swords with me in that way," said Maraquita -with vicious slowness, "I can tell a few stories about her late father -which won't be pleasant for her to hear."</p> - -<p>"Pish! what good will that do? You can't tell stories about Mostyn -without inculpating yourself. It won't harm his memory, which is black -enough. It will only harm you, and through you, me. No, no, Mrs. -Veilsturm, I've too much at stake to risk the world finding out what -we want kept quiet, and if Lady Errington does not return your call, -put your cursed pride in your pocket and hold your tongue."</p> - -<p>"I've got my wits about me as well as you," said Cleopatra coolly, "so -you needn't lecture me as if I were a school-girl. Besides, my -position is too strong in Society to be hurt by Lady Errington or any -other silly fool of a woman."</p> - -<p>"Your position, my dear," remarked Griff with cruel candour, "hangs by -a thread, and that thread is Mr. William Dolser, of 'The Pepper Box.' -He put in what I wanted, and made people shut their mouths, but if he -turned nasty, he could find out quite enough to make them open them -again."</p> - -<p>"If he tried to, you could promise him a thrashing."</p> - -<p>"That wouldn't do much good. He's used to the horsewhip."</p> - -<p>"Then you could have an action for libel against the paper."</p> - -<p>"And very nicely we'd come out of it. Whether we won or lost it would -be the death-knell of our campaign in town. No! no, I'll keep The -'Pepper Box' in a good temper by judicious bribes, and you on the -other hand, don't play with fire or you'll have the whole place in a -blaze."</p> - -<p>The dexterous arguing of Major Griff evidently impressed Mrs. -Veilsturm, for she made no reply, but looked down frowning at one -dainty foot in a high-heeled slipper that was resting on the green -velvet foot-stool. She knew her partner was right in all he said, but -with feminine persistence was about to renew the argument and have the -last word, when a servant entered the room and presenting a letter to -his mistress, left it again, closing the door noiselessly after him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm, leaning back languidly in her chair, was about to open -the letter, when Major Griff stopped her.</p> - -<p>"Wait a moment, Maraquita," he said deliberately, with a certain -anxious look on his face. "You know I often have an instinct as to how -things will go?"</p> - -<p>She bowed her head, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>"I had an instinct that your calling on Lady Errington was a mistake, -and that letter is from Lady Errington to tell you so."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm laughed scornfully as she tore open the envelope, but -the Major, putting his hands behind his back, leaned against the -mantelpiece, and looked steadily at her with a satisfied smile on his -lips.</p> - -<p>The woman had wonderful self-command, for as she read Lady Errington's -curt note, no sign of anger escaped from her lips, but her dark skin -flushed an angry red and a venomous smile curled the corners of her -full mouth. Still she gave no further sign of being moved, but having -read the note through in the most deliberate manner, handed it to the -Major with a low, fierce laugh.</p> - -<p>Major Griff adjusted his eyeglass carefully, smoothed out the sheet -of cream-coloured paper, and read as follows in a subdued voice:</p> -<br> -<br> -<p>"Lady Errington presents her compliments to Mrs. Veilsturm, and -returns the enclosed card, which was evidently left to-day at the Hall -by some mistake."</p> -<br> -<br> -<p>"So I was right, you see," observed Griff, leisurely folding up this -short epistle and letting his eyeglass drop down. "Mostyn did tell -her about you after all--damn him!"</p> - -<p>The Major swore in a tranquil manner, without any sign of anger, but -that he was greatly annoyed could be seen by the twitching of his thin -lips under his grizzled moustache. As for Mrs. Veilsturm, her temper -had got the better of her discretion, and having left her seat, she -was sweeping up and down the little room like an angry panther in its -cage.</p> - -<p>"Well Maraquita," said Griff quietly, after a pause, "you see Lady -Errington has declared war, as I knew she would."</p> - -<p>"You knew no more than I did," hissed Maraquita viciously.</p> - -<p>Major Griff smiled at her in a pitying manner.</p> - -<p>"Instinct, my dear! Instinct! I told you what was in that letter -before you opened it."</p> - -<p>"I should like to kill her," said Cleopatra, glaring at him in a kind -of cold fury.</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt you would, but, as you can't, why waste time in useless -threats?"</p> - -<p>"That she, a school-girl--a brainless fool--should dare to put such an -insult on me," raged Mrs. Veilsturm, clenching her fan tightly. "How -dare she? How dare she? Does she know what I am?"</p> - -<p>"She does," replied the Major drily, "her letter shows she does."</p> - -<p>Maraquita looked from left to right in wrathful despair, then throwing -all prudence to the wind, snapped her fan in two, threw it on the -ground, and stamped on the fragments.</p> - -<p>"I wish she was there! I wish she was there! What can I do to punish -her? What can I do?"</p> - -<p>"You can do nothing," replied Griff, examining his nails. "To make war -on Lady Errington would be like throwing feathers at a granite image -in order to hurt it. She has an assured position in Society. You have -not. She has a past that will bear looking into--you have not. She has -everything in her favour--you have nothing, so be a philosopher, my -dear Maraquita. Grin and bear it. Vulgar certainly, but sound advice, -very sound advice."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm turned on her dear friend in a fury, and stamped her -foot on the broken fan, looking like a demon with her blazing eyes and -clenched white teeth, which showed viciously through her drawn lips.</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue," she shrieked wrathfully, "don't stand sneering -there you fool. Tell me what I'm to do."</p> - -<p>The Major poured out another glass of sherry from the decanter on the -table and advanced towards her.</p> - -<p>"Have a glass of sherry, and keep your temper," he said soothingly.</p> - -<p>Cleopatra glared at him in speechless anger, then struck the glass -from his hand with such violence that it shattered to pieces on the -carpet. Griff shrugged his shoulders, and walked back to the -fireplace.</p> - -<p>"You're acting like a fool, Mrs. Veilsturm," he observed, tranquilly; -"first you broke a fan, now you break a glass--silly, my dear, very -silly! It doesn't hurt Lady Errington, but only yourself. By-the-way," -glancing at his watch, "it's seven o'clock. I wonder when dinner will -be ready, I'm dreadfully hungry."</p> - -<p>His partner, however, was not listening to him, but a sudden thought -seemed to have struck her, for the fire died out of her eyes and her -complexion resumed its usual rich hue of health. After a pause, a -gratified smile broke over her face, and bending down she picked up -the fan.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry I broke this," she said, quietly, advancing towards the -Major; "it was such a pretty fan. Dolly Thambits gave it to me. Never -mind, I'll make him give me another."</p> - -<p>She spoke quite cheerfully, and the Major stared at her in silent -surprise at this sudden change from intense anger to languid -tranquillity.</p> - -<p>"Upon my word, you puzzle me, Maraquita," he said doubtfully. "A -moment ago you were like a devil, now you are within reasonable -distance of an angel. What is the meaning of this change?"</p> - -<p>The beautiful widow put one slender foot on the fender, looked in the -glass, touched some ornaments in her hair, then replied, in a -wonderfully calm manner:</p> - -<p>"Simply this, that I see my way to punishing Lady Errington."</p> - -<p>"The deuce you do."</p> - -<p>"Yes; she is newly married, and, no doubt, loves her husband--he's a -fool, for I've seen him in London, so through her husband I'll punish -her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I see," said the Major, grimly; "you intend to make love to the -husband."</p> - -<p>"What acute penetration, my dear Griff! That's exactly what I intend -to do."</p> - -<p>"No good," answered the man, shaking his head. "Errington is newly -married, and can see no beauty in any woman save his wife."</p> - -<p>"He's a fool I tell you," retorted Mrs. Veilsturm, coolly, "and I -never met a man yet I couldn't twist round my finger. He may be -difficult to manage in his character of a newly married man, but I'll -gain my ends somehow."</p> - -<p>"And then?" queried Major Griff.</p> - -<p>"And then," echoed Cleopatra, viciously, "when I've estranged him from -her and possibly led to a divorce, I'll have my revenge."</p> - -<p>"At the cost of your own position."</p> - -<p>"Don't you be afraid. I'll look after that! I'll keep my position and -ruin her happiness at the same time."</p> - -<p>"You're playing with fire."</p> - -<p>"Fire that will burn them, not myself! Come, dinner is ready, give me -your arm."</p> - -<p>"One moment! When do you intend to begin the business?"</p> - -<p>"That depends on Sir Guy Errington. As a newly married man, I dare say -I can do nothing with him. Newly married men sometimes get tired of -honey. When he does, then I will step in."</p> - -<p>"Suppose he does not get tired?"</p> - -<p>"But he will. I tell you he's a fool."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> -<h5>THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN MONTHS.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Time flies onward with tireless wings.<br> -Divers gifts to us all he brings,</p> -<p class="t2">Joy and sorrow<br> -On every morrow,</p> -<p class="t1">A thousand pleasures, a thousand stings.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Love he hath brought to a maiden fair,<br> -Hate hath sundered a loving pair,</p> -<p class="t2">Gauds that glitter,<br> -And memories bitter,</p> -<p class="t1">Each of us born hath his fated share.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Life is evil, the wise man saith.<br> -Joy comes but at the last-drawn breath,</p> -<p class="t2">Earth's false pleasures<br> -Yield no treasures,</p> -<p class="t1">There is no gift like the gift of death."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Perhaps it is due to the way we live now, or possibly to the inherent -restlessness of the present generation, but Time certainly seems to -pass more rapidly with us than it did with our grandfathers.</p> - -<p>They lived in a delightfully leisurely fashion, not without its charm, -and either stayed complacently at home, or, if they did travel, went -in a sober-sides mode by stage coach and sailing vessel. If they did -make a journey through Europe, it was called a Grand Tour, and seemed -to have been somewhat after the style of a royal progress, Judging -from the stately manner in which it was conducted. Ah, there is, no -doubt, our steady-going ancestors knew the value of being idle, an art -which we have quite lost, and took life in a wonderfully sedate way, -sauntering, as it were, in an idle fashion, from the cradle to the -grave.</p> - -<p>We, alas, have changed this somnolent existence, and made the latter -end of this nineteenth century somewhat trying to a man whose health -is not of the best, or to him who desires to shine among his fellow -creatures. The struggle for existence is keener, the survival of the -fittest more certain than ever, and the art of enjoyment has resolved -itself into a series of hurried glances at a multiplicity of things.</p> - -<p>If we want to travel, steam whirls us from one end of the world to the -other, giving us no time to examine things; if we wish to read, -hundreds of books, fresh from the press, call for attention; if we -desire to enjoy ourselves, theatres, balls, picture galleries, all -offer their attractions in such profusion, that it is difficult to -know where to begin. We have gained many aids to enjoyment, yet it is -questionable if those very aids have not lost us the faculty itself; -for a breathless scamper after pleasure, with a hurried glance here, -and a momentary pause there, can hardly be called true enjoyment. The -world, and we who live therein, are so busy getting things in order -for the beginning of the next century, that all hands are pressed into -the service, and no one has a moment to be idle, or to admire the -profusion of good things spread before him.</p> - -<p>Therefore, amid all this hurry and bustle, Time flies much more -quickly than formerly; our ancestors yawned through twelve hours of -leisurely work, we scarcely find twenty-four long enough for all we -want to do. We eat, drink, marry, and give in marriage, welcome the -newly born, and forget the newly dead, with the utmost despatch and -rapidity, and no sooner is one year, with all its troubles and -breathless enjoyment, at an end, than we have mapped out the cares of -the next twelve months before they are fairly started.</p> - -<p>Eighteen months had, therefore, passed very rapidly since the -Erringtons took possession of the Hall, and a good many important -events, both to nations and individuals, had happened in the meantime. -It was now the middle of the London season, and those who had parted -months before at Como, were now about to meet again under widely -different circumstances.</p> - -<p>Victoria Sheldon had duly returned home with Mrs. Trubbles, and taken -up her abode once more with Aunt Jelly, who was privately very glad to -see her, although she took good care that the girl should not know of -such weakness on her part. She asked Victoria a good many questions -concerning the people she had met abroad, and particularly about -Otterburn, of whom Miss Sheldon gave an account quite at variance with -the real state of affairs, carefully suppressing the fact that the -young man had proposed and been refused. In fact, she passed over her -acquaintance with him so very lightly, that she succeeded in deceiving -lynx-eyed Miss Corbin as to her feelings towards him, and never, by -word or deed, hinted that he had any interest for her in any way.</p> - -<p>But although she might deceive the world, she could not deceive -herself, and in reality she thought a good deal about the man she had -rejected, regretting, with the curious caprice of a woman, that she -had done so. The manner in which he had received her refusal had -greatly impressed her, for it differed greatly from the behaviour of -her other suitors, and if Angus had only asked her again a few months -after her arrival in England, he would doubtless have gained her -consent to the marriage.</p> - -<p>Otterburn, however, had been deeply wounded at what he deemed her -unjustifiable coquetry, and being intensely proud, resolved not to -submit himself to a second slight, therefore kept out of her way. If -some kind fairy had only brought these two foolish young people -together, everything would doubtless have been arranged in a -satisfactory manner between them, but as such aid was not forthcoming, -seeing we live in times when Oberon has resigned his sceptre, they -remained apart, each in ignorance of the other's feelings, and -mutually blamed one another for the position of affairs.</p> - -<p>Absence, in this case, made Victoria's heart grow fonder, and she felt -that she was really and truly in love with Angus, but as she neither -saw nor heard of him, she had to lock up her secret in her own breast, -which did not add to the pleasures of life.</p> - -<p>At the invitation of Lady Errington, she went down to the Hall at -Christmas, and had a very pleasant time, despite her heart-ache, as -her hostess made a great deal of her, and the young Nimrods of the -county quite lost their heads over "Such a jolly girl who rode so -straight to hounds, taking the fences like a bird, by Jove." She could -have been married three or four times had she so chosen, but neither -her suitors nor their possession of houses and lands tempted her, so -she returned to town and Aunt Jelly still heart-whole, except as -regarding the little affair of Angus Macjean.</p> - -<p>During the season she kept a keen look-out for him at all the places -she went to under the wing of Mrs. Trubbles, but Otterburn did not -make his appearance, and it was only by chance that she heard he had -gone to America for some big game shooting in the Rockies. Evidently -there was no chance of his proposing a second time, and Victoria -should have put all thought of his doing so out of her heart, but she -felt that she loved him too much to do so, and hugged her secret with -all its pain closer to her breast, until she grew pale and thin, so -that Aunt Jelly became alarmed about her lungs, thinking she was going -into consumption. With this idea the old lady, who hated change, took -a villa at San Remo and stayed there for some months with Victoria and -Minnie Pelch. The change did both girls good, and when the trio -returned to Town, Aunt Jelly took Victoria a round of visits to -several country houses, which proved so successful that Miss Sheldon -quite recovered her lost spirits and came back to London eager for the -pleasures of her third season in the great city.</p> - -<p>While Victoria was thus paying the penalty of her prompt rejection of -Otterburn's suit, that young gentleman was having by no means a -pleasant time of it himself. The shooting expedition to the -Carpathians had been a great success, and the excitement of sport had -for the time quite put Victoria out of his head, notwithstanding the -genuine love he had for the brilliant Australian beauty. Returned to -England, however, he found his thoughts constantly running on her, and -with her piquant face constantly in his mind he felt inclined to seek -her and try his luck a second time, but his pride forbade him to do -so, which was certainly a very foolish view to take of the subject.</p> - -<p>Angus, however, was remarkably obstinate in some things, and, as he -was determined not to run the chance of a second refusal, put himself -out of the way of temptation by going up to Scotland on a visit to his -father, thinking that at Dunkeld Castle, at least, he would have peace -of mind. He was mistaken in this supposition, for his father, being -delighted to find him so improved, immediately urged on him the -necessity of a speedy marriage with Miss Cranstoun.</p> - -<p>The Master, however, to his father's dismay, proved very obstinate on -this point and flatly refused to marry the lady, which refusal brought -down on him the wrath of both Lord Dunkeld and Mr. Mactab, who tried -to bully the young reprobate into acquiescence. Plain-looking Miss -Cranstoun, however, proved too much for Otterburn, seeing that the -charming face of Victoria Sheldon was constantly haunting his fancy, -and notwithstanding all the arts which were brought to bear on him, he -held out against the match in the most stubborn manner.</p> - -<p>Lord Dunkeld raved, and Mactab quoted Scripture, all to no purpose, -and at length, becoming weary of dour looks and continual lectures, -Otterburn abruptly left his ancestral home in company with Johnnie, -and, together with the chum whom he had met in Venice, started for -America in order to have some sport in the Rocky Mountains. The wrath -of the home authorities at this unexpected revolt of the hitherto -obedient Angus can be better imagined than described, but as there -seemed to be absolutely no way of bringing the young man to reason, -they were forced to let him do as he pleased. For very shame Lord -Dunkeld could not cut off the allowance of his only son, so he had to -acquiesce in impotent anger in Otterburn's disobedience, hoping that a -lengthened tour in America would bring the young prodigal to reason -and induce him to return to Dunkeld Castle and matrimony.</p> - -<p>Submission such as this, however, was very far from Otterburn's -thoughts, as he had made up his mind not to marry Miss Cranstoun, and -moreover considered he was perfectly entitled to choose his own wife, -seeing it was he who would have to live with her, so he went off to -the States with a light heart. His adventures and that of his friends -would take a long time to describe, as they had a splendid time of it -in the Rockies after big game, and becoming quite enamoured of the -uncivilized life drifted down Montana way, where they met with -cow-boys and plenty of young Englishmen who were cattle ranching in -the wilds.</p> - -<p>During this wild existence, which had such an ineffable charm for -them, Otterburn told his chum, a merry young fellow called Laxton, of -his admiration for Victoria, whereupon Laxton, being versed in affairs -of the heart, lectured his friend and advised him to once more try his -luck.</p> - -<p>"And I'll lay two dollars," said this sagacious young man, who had -Americanised his speech, "that she won't say 'no' a second time."</p> - -<p>With this idea in his head, Otterburn became anxious to return home, -and Laxton, being somewhat tired of primeval simplicity, consented to -leave the wide rolling prairies for the delights of Pall Mall. Laxton -wanted to return in a leisurely fashion by making for San Francisco -and going home again by New Zealand and Australia, but then he was -heart-whole and had not the vision of a charming face constantly in -his mind's eye. This fact being urged by Otterburn as an argument in -favour of taking the shortest route possible to London, Laxton, being -really a good-natured young fellow, consented, and leaving their -delightfully savage life behind they went to New York. After a few -days' stay in that city they went across to Liverpool by one of the -big Cunarders, and duly arrived after a pleasant passage.</p> - -<p>Laxton went off to see his people in Yorkshire, but Otterburn did not -venture to trust himself within the grim walls of Dunkeld Castle, well -knowing the stormy reception he would meet with, so journeyed straight -to the Metropolis, where he engaged a comfortable set of chambers in -the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and started on his matrimonial -campaign with a dogged determination to succeed in winning Victoria -Sheldon for his wife, or, in case of failure, to depart for an -uninhabited island and live a Robinson Crusoe misogamistic existence -till he died.</p> - -<p>Many events had happened in the Errington household since the young -couple had arrived at the Hall, the most important being the birth of -a little boy, which had greatly rejoiced Guy's heart, as he now had an -heir to succeed to the estates. Aunt Jelly also signified her approval -in her own grim way, and actually stood godmother to the child, whom -she insisted on christening Henry, after her old love, Sheldon, -although no one knew or guessed her reason for doing so.</p> - -<p>Eustace Gartney had been right in his estimate of Alizon's character, -for the birth of the child transformed her from a cold statue into a -loving, breathing woman, rendered perfect by her motherhood. No one -who saw her, with her delicate face flushed with joy bending over the -cradle of the child, would have thought it was the same woman who had -been so chill and impassive in her appearance and demeanour. The cold, -white snow-drop had changed into the warm, red rose, and the -passionate idolatry she had for the child seemed to fill out and -complete her life, hitherto so void and empty for the want of -something to love.</p> - -<p>Guy adored his little son, to whom, for some inexplicable reason, he -gave the name of "Sammy," and laughingly averred that Alizon bestowed -so much love on the son that she had none left for the father, which -assertion his wife smilingly denied, though it was true in the main. -Lady Errington gave up going out a great deal, devoting herself -entirely to the child, so Guy was left to a great extent to himself, -which he by no means relished; yet he made no complaint, as it would -have seemed ridiculous to blame a mother for being over fond of her -first born. Still, Guy felt a little sore on this point, and much as -he had desired an heir and loved his son, he almost wished the child -had never been born, so much did it seem to come between them. Had -Alizon been a wise woman, she would have seen the folly of loving her -child to the exclusion of her husband, but blinded by maternal love -she neither saw nor felt anything that did not pertain to the tiny -babe she clasped so ardently to her breast.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm made no further attempt to force her friendship on Lady -Errington, but shortly after the rebuff she had received--the -knowledge of which she kept to herself--departed for a trip on the -Continent, which, for her, meant Monte Carlo, where she was afterwards -joined in the most casual way by Major Griff. The partners were too -clever to travel together, as it might have attracted attention, but -when one was at any special place the other was sure to turn up a few -weeks later on business connected with the West Indian estates. So on -her return to England for the season, Mrs. Veilsturm told her dear -friends that she had sold one estate, although, as a matter of fact, -the money she averred she had received therefor was due to luck at the -green tables.</p> - -<p>Cleopatra and her friend were much more circumspect in their second -season in London. They did not wish to run the risk of any more -disagreeable reports, and as their winnings at Monte Carlo had been -very large the firm was enabled to dispense, to some extent, with -baccarat on Sunday evenings. Mrs. Veilsturm fully re-established her -position in London, and the Major was more devoted than ever, so the -charming widow departed for her health to Algiers with the good wishes -of everyone.</p> - -<p>"Next year, Maraquita," said the Major in a satisfied tone, as they -discussed their plans in a pleasant room looking out on to the blue -waters of the Mediterranean, "we will go in for making money and then -we can go off to America."</p> - -<p>"I don't like giving up London," objected Mrs. Veilsturm angrily.</p> - -<p>"You must, sooner or later," replied Major Griff shrewdly. "However, -we will get together as much cash next season as we can, and if no one -says anything so much the better, if they do--well, there is always -America."</p> - -<p>At the end of this eighteen months Eustace Gartney returned to Town, -having heralded his appearance by a book of travels entitled "Arabian -Knights," in which he described all his wanderings in the native land -of Mahomet. Judging from the brilliant descriptions given in this book -with its bizarre title, he seemed to have made good use of his time, -and the fascinating pages of the volume opened an enchanted land to -Western readers. The mysterious deserts with their romantic -inhabitants, the lonely cities far in the interior, whose very names -were suggestive of the fantastic stories of the "Thousand and One -Nights," the poetic descriptions of the melancholy wastes of sand, -whose sadness seemed akin to his own sombre spirit, and the wayward -fierceness of the Arab love-songs scattered like gems through the book -all made up a charming volume, and even the critics, much as they -disliked Eustace for the contempt and indifference with which he -treated them, were fain to acknowledge that this "Arabian Knights," -whose punning title they ridiculed, was a worthy addition to English -literature.</p> - -<p>Eustace himself, in spite of the wide interval of time which had -elapsed, was now returning to England in very much the same frame of -mind as that in which he had set out. He had gone away to forget -Alizon Errington, and he came back more in love than ever, not with -the real woman exactly but with an ideal woman whom he had created out -of her personality. He was in love with a phantom of delight, conjured -up by his vivid imagination, and fancied that she dwelt on earth in -the guise of his cousin's wife, but, having still some feelings of -honour left, he determined to avoid the earthly representation of his -ideal, as he hardly judged himself strong enough to withstand the -temptation.</p> - -<p>With his usual egotistical complacency--a trait which all his -travelling had failed to eradicate--he never for a moment thought of -looking at the question from Lady Errington's point of view. He was -Sultan, and if he threw the handkerchief she would follow, so he would -be merciful both to this woman and to her husband, and put a curb on -his desire to take her to himself. He came back to England it is true, -but with the resolve only to stay a month, and then go to Egypt, as he -had an idea of exploring the land of the Pharoahs in a new direction.</p> - -<p>He loved Alizon Errington, or rather the glorified Alizon Errington of -his imagination, and determined neither to see nor speak to her while -in England, because he did not wish to ruin Guy's happiness. He heard -she was a mother, and wondered if the change he had prophesied at Como -had come over her. If so he would like to see it for himself; still -the flesh was weak, and he did not know but that he might be tempted -to make love to her, which would be distinctly wrong.</p> - -<p>So Eustace Gartney, blinded by self-complacency, prosed on to himself -as he travelled homeward in one of the Orient steamers, and the -curious part of it was that he actually believed that he was talking -sense. A few sharp words from a sensible man or woman might have -dispelled his visions of being an irresistible lover and have shown -him that Lady Errington was not likely to give up everything for the -sake of a man she cared nothing about; but Eustace made a confidant of -no one, and, absorbed in his ridiculous dreamings, deemed himself -quite a hero for resisting a dishonourable impulse, which, had he -given way to it, would certainly have resulted in a manner vastly -different to that which he anticipated.</p> - -<p>So the puppets were all on the stage, and it only remained for Fate in -the guise of a showman to move them hither and thither according to -their several destinies.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> -<h5>GOSSIP.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"If friends are poor and you can't use 'em,<br> -'Tis always pleasant to abuse 'em,<br> -Although in their turn it is true,<br> -They're sure to speak the worst of you.<br> -The pot may call the kettle black,<br> -But kettle pays the favour back,<br> -And useless is all indignation,<br> -For 'tis the law of compensation."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Otterburn's chambers in a pleasant street off Piccadilly were -furnished in a very comfortable fashion, having been the property of -an extravagant young man who came to grief on the turf, and thereupon -disposed of his rooms and their contents to Angus Macjean, who was -looking for apartments. As the Master had not much idea of arranging -furniture according to individual taste, beyond banishing some rather -"rapid" pictures from the walls and replacing them by hunting trophies -from his American trip, he left the rooms in their original state, -which was by no means a bad one.</p> - -<p>Johnnie Armstrong indeed had been moved to wrath by seeing such a lot -of money spent on costly trifles, for the charming little statuettes -in bronze, the delicate ornaments in Dresden china, and the thousand -and one nick-nacks suggestive of cultured taste were all so many -objects of horror in the eyes of Mr. Armstrong, being evidence of -sinful waste on the part of their purchaser. In spite of his love for -the turf, the former proprietor of these rooms must have had a -cultured mind, rare among the gilded youth of to-day, as Angus during -the earlier days of his occupancy often came across some tiny -water-colour, or some rare edition of a book which showed both good -taste and critical judgment.</p> - -<p>"What a pity for such a clever fellow as Bamfield to go to the dogs -through racing, when he could appreciate all this sort of thing," he -said half aloud one day, on turning over a charming edition of -Villon's poems.</p> - -<p>"It's an ill wind that blaws naebody ony guid," observed Johnnie, who -overheard this remark, "an' ye got the hail thing cheap enow."</p> - -<p>This view of the situation was quite characteristic of Johnnie. He -despised the costly furnishing of the room as sinful waste, but was -quite content that all this splendour should be paid for by someone -else, seeing that his master had got it cheap. Economy in Johnnie's -eyes was the greatest of virtues, and he delighted to make bargains -for things which he did not want for the mere sake of getting the -better of the seller. This was not strictly speaking economy at -all, seeing that the things bought were superfluous, but it pleased -Johnnie and amused Angus, so the dour old man pottered on in his own -narrow-minded way without interruption.</p> - -<p>The rooms, therefore, were furnished in a fashion calculated to please -the most fastidious critic, and Angus was very comfortably settled in -Town for the season. He had not yet seen Victoria, as he intended to -woo his lady love in a somewhat cautious fashion, but had asked Dolly -Thambits to breakfast with a view to finding out her movements in -Society.</p> - -<p>Mr. Thambits was a good-natured young fool, with the comfortable -income of thirty-thousand a year and not the slightest idea how to -spend it. His father having been an inventor, had made a large fortune -by genuine talent and dexterous advertising, and resolved to make his -son a gentleman, in which laudable ambition he succeeded fairly well, -for Adolphus Thambits was not a bad sort of fellow on the whole, -although a monstrous fool in many ways. Not all the tuition of Harrow -and Cambridge could put any sense into his silly head, and his father -having died suddenly, he was left alone in the world with this large -income and not the slightest idea how to guide his life.</p> - -<p>For the sake of his money he was asked everywhere, and as he always -conducted himself well, and was very good-natured, people liked him -after a fashion, although they despised and profited by his weakness -of character. Cleopatra had taken him up, and, assisted by Major -Griff, was teaching him experience of the world in a manner beneficial -to herself and partner, but decidedly detrimental to the pocket of the -unfortunate Dolly.</p> - -<p>As Angus heard that Thambits was rather smitten with Victoria, he -foresaw in him a possible rival, so had invited him to breakfast to -find out Victoria's movements, which Dolly would be sure to know, and -also to ascertain if he had any intention of offering himself and his -large fortune to the Australian beauty. So Dolly, who liked Otterburn -in his own weak way, arrived at that young man's rooms, accompanied by -Mr. Jiddy, a fat, little man, with a timid manner and a frightened eye -in his head, who imposed upon Thambits' good nature by borrowing money -from him.</p> - -<p>While the three were seated at breakfast, somewhere about eleven -o'clock, Laxton made his appearance, having returned from Yorkshire, -where he had been playing the part of the prodigal son. Being tired of -the domestic veal, he had looked up Angus, to propose another hunting -expedition to the wilds of Africa.</p> - -<p>Laxton, having had his breakfast, sat in a comfortable arm-chair and -smoked, while Angus and his two guests proceeded with their meal under -the vigilant eye of Johnnie Armstrong, who hovered around with an air -of strong disapproval of breakfast at such a late hour of the day.</p> - -<p>"Well, Angus, old fellow," observed Laxton, when he had made himself -at home with a pet meerschaum of his host's, "aren't you tired of -civilization yet?"</p> - -<p>"Hardly?" replied Angus drily, "seeing that I've only had three weeks -of it. What do you want to do now."</p> - -<p>"Try Africa--we'll get some elephant shooting."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that rather dangerous?" said Thambits mildly.</p> - -<p>"Dangerous!" echoed Laxton with contempt. "Pooh! nonsense--not a bit -of it. Jolliest thing out. It's life, my boy--life!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, and on some occasions it's death, my boy--death," rejoined Angus -with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I have always heard," remarked Mr. Jiddy, who sat curled up on the -edge of a chair like a white rabbit, "that there is no pleasure -without an element of danger."</p> - -<p>"Who said there was," said Laxton, who hated Jiddy as a parasite and a -milksop. "What do you know about danger?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," replied Mr. Jiddy, who never took offence, being -essentially milk and water in his nature, "but I've read a good deal -about it."</p> - -<p>"Sunday-school books, I suppose?" said Laxton with a sneer. "'Little -Henry and his Bearer' is about your style, I think."</p> - -<p>"I've read that book," observed Dolly with a gratified chuckle, "but -it is rather a slow story isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Not quite so rapid as Zola," said Otterburn, who was beginning to -find both Thambits and his friend a trifle tiresome. "By-the-way, -Laxton, have you read the 'Arabian Knights'?"</p> - -<p>"I have," said Dolly again, "in my schooldays!'</p> - -<p>"Oh, bosh!" returned Laxton with supreme contempt. "We're not talking -of that."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," chirruped Mr. Jiddy, delighted at knowing something, "it's -the Arabian Knights with a 'K.'"</p> - -<p>"What on earth are the Arabian Nights with a K?" demanded Thambits -blankly, whereupon both Angus and Laxton burst out laughing at the -bewildered look on his face.</p> - -<p>"It's Gartney's book about Arabia," explained Angus, rising from the -table and lighting a cigarette, his example being followed by his -guests.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I've heard of it," said Thambits, complacently. "Billy Dolser -tells me he does not think much of it."</p> - -<p>"Is Billy Dolser a judge?" asked Laxton, with great scorn.</p> - -<p>Thambits turned on him a look of mild reproach.</p> - -<p>"Of course! Why he's got a paper of his own."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that settles it!" returned Laxton, drily. "I thought myself it -was a jolly good book, and written by a man who knew what he was -talking about, but as that little blackguard Dolser hasn't been -further East than Italy, he must be a capital judge of the book!"</p> - -<p>"Why do you call him a blackguard?" asked Jiddy, removing his -cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Because he is one," growled Laxton, wrathfully--"a mean little sneak -who vilifies people's character in that rag of a paper which ought to -be burnt by the public hangman! Snakes and mosquitoes were created for -some purpose, I suppose, but why such a little reptile as Dolser -should be allowed to exist, I don't know."</p> - -<p>Mr. Jiddy contributed himself to the "Pepper Box" in an underhand way, -by listening to things he was not meant to hear, so he took up the -cudgels on behalf of Mr. Dolser in a weakly, ferocious manner.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I say, you know those words are actionable?"</p> - -<p>"Are they," said Laxton, who had risen to his feet and was looking -down from his tall height at the scrap of limp humanity in the chair, -"you can repeat them to Dolser if you like, and if he doesn't think -they are actionable I'll be happy to add a thrashing, so that he can -have me up for assault."</p> - -<p>Mr. Jiddy wriggled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken, -and resumed his cigarette, while Otterburn, who agreed with every word -Laxton said, but could hardly endorse it in his character of host, -hastened to make an observation.</p> - -<p>"By the way, Gartney's in London."</p> - -<p>"Just come in time to hear Mr. Dolser's opinion about his book," said -Laxton, grimly.</p> - -<p>"I don't think that would trouble Gartney much," replied Otterburn, -smiling, "but after eighteen months' travel in the wilds, I'll suppose -he'll stay at home for some time."</p> - -<p>"I'll lay you a level fiver he doesn't," said Mr. Laxton, removing his -pipe, "he's got prairie fever."</p> - -<p>"What's prairie fever?" demanded Dolly.</p> - -<p>"Do you know what a prairie is?" said Laxton, answering one question -by asking another.</p> - -<p>"A large field, isn't it?" said Mr. Jiddy, complacently. Angus roared.</p> - -<p>"Yes, a very large field," he replied, "much larger than any you'll -get in England. I shot that buffalo on the prairie," he added, -pointing to a huge shaggy head adorning the opposite wall.</p> - -<p>"It's a very large head," observed Mr. Jiddy, wisely. "A buffalo--a -kind of cow, isn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Not exactly," returned Laxton, drily; "it's more like an enraged -bull. But to return to prairie fever. It's the feeling a man gets when -he once sees those undulating grass plains and which haunts him ever -afterwards."</p> - -<p>"What haunts him ever afterwards?" asked the intelligent Dolly, -lighting another cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Oh, damn!" retorted Laxton, politely, and turned on his heel, quite -disgusted with the ignorance of the young man. Thambits was not in the -least put out by Laxton's rudeness, but began to talk to Angus about -Mrs. Veilsturm, while Jiddy tried to extract a paragraph out of Laxton -by a series of mild little questions about buffaloes.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Veilsturm's an awfully jolly woman, Macjean," said Thambits--"real -good sort, you know! I think you'd like her immensely."</p> - -<p>"Would I?" replied Angus absently, wondering how he was to ask Dolly -about Miss Sheldon.</p> - -<p>"Yes; she's got awfully jolly Sunday evenings, you know. Are you fond -of baccarat?"</p> - -<p>"Not much. Are you?" asked Otterburn, fixing his keen grey eyes on the -weak face of the young man.</p> - -<p>"Yes, rather. Only I always lose. I'm so unlucky."</p> - -<p>"Oh, you lose at Mrs. Veilsturm's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. We play there on Sunday evenings. It's awfully jolly!"</p> - -<p>"It must be--for Mrs. Veilsturm!" retorted Otterburn, doubtfully, at -once forming an unfavourable opinion of that lady; "but if you're so -unlucky, you shouldn't play baccarat."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but I'll win when I get to be a better player."</p> - -<p>"Will you? I wish you all success. Do many people go to Mrs. -Veilsturm's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, lots. All the jolliest people in town. She's quite in the swim -you know. You meet all sorts of pretty girls there."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! Not on Sunday evening, I presume?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no; on week-days. I met that pretty Australian girl there last -Thursday for the first time this season."</p> - -<p>"Eh? Miss Sheldon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Awfully jolly girl. Do you know her?"</p> - -<p>"Slightly," replied Angus, carelessly; "I met her once in Italy. She's -quite the belle of London, I hear."</p> - -<p>"Yes, rather. And such a nice girl! No humbug about her. Lots of -fellows want to marry her."</p> - -<p>"You among the number, I suppose?" said Otterburn, with an uneasy -laugh.</p> - -<p>"Eh? Oh, no! There's not much chance for me. I've got no brains, and -she doesn't care for fellows who can't talk, you know."</p> - -<p>"You're very modest, at all events," said Otterburn, feeling rather -amused by this candid admission.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, I'm not," replied Mr. Thambits wisely; "people think I'm a -fool because I've got lots of money, you know. But I see further than -they think. But about Mrs. Veilsturm--you'll call and see her with me, -won't you?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," said Angus, shortly; "perhaps."</p> - -<p>"She's going to have a fancy dress ball, soon," rambled on Mr. -Thambits in a weakly fashion. "I'm going as a Crusader. How do you -think I'll look as a Crusader?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, the usual thing, I suppose," replied Otterburn, good-naturedly -suppressing a laugh at the idea of Dolly Thambits in chain armour. "I -don't think any one at a fancy dress ball looks like what he pretends -to be. I suppose Miss Sheldon will be there?"</p> - -<p>"Rather. Everyone in London is going."</p> - -<p>"Then I may as well follow the example of everyone in London," said -Otterburn, quickly. "I'll call on Mrs. Veilsturm whenever you like."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's jolly! But, I say, I've got to meet a fellow at the -Carnation Club, you know. Jiddy, I'm going."</p> - -<p>"So am I," replied Mr. Jiddy, slipping off a chair where he had been -seated like a whipped schoolboy under the severe eye of Mr. Laxton. -"Thank you for telling me about your travels, Mr. Laxton; they're most -entertaining."</p> - -<p>"It's more than you are!" growled Laxton, grimly.</p> - -<p>Dolly Thambits and his friend Jiddy took their departure, to the great -relief of both Angus and Laxton, who were quite sick of their -frivolous small talk and milk-and-water mannerisms.</p> - -<p>"Good heavens, Macjean!" said Laxton, when the door closed on the -pair, "what the deuce do you have such fools here for?"</p> - -<p>"They are fools, aren't they?" replied Otterburn, selecting a pipe -from his rack; "but the fact is, I asked Thambits to find out -something, and Mr. Jiddy came uninvited."</p> - -<p>"Like his cheek! Why didn't you drop him out of the window?"</p> - -<p>"Because we're in London--not in America," replied Angus, mildly; "my -dear Laxton, do remember that!"</p> - -<p>"I never get a chance of forgetting that," groaned Laxton, sitting -down. "I'm sick of this narrow humdrum life. Most of the men I meet -are idiots, and the women worse. Let's go off to Africa, old chap. -I've found out all about the country, and we'll get another man to -join us--Helstone, you know. He's got a jolly yacht, and we can take -our own time."</p> - -<p>"It sounds tempting," said Angus, wistfully; "but you see, Laxton, I -came here with a purpose, and until I carry out that purpose I can't -leave England."</p> - -<p>"It's that girl, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>Angus nodded.</p> - -<p>"Yes. I haven't seen her yet, but intend to shortly. If she refuses -me, I'll go out to Africa with you, but if she accepts me----"</p> - -<p>"Well?" demanded Laxton, grumpily.</p> - -<p>"I'll ask you to be best man at the wedding," replied Angus, laughing.</p> - -<p>His friend arose to his feet with a resigned expression of -countenance, and held out his hand.</p> - -<p>"It's no good arguing with a man in love," he said, in a dismal tone; -"but fancy giving up a jolly expedition for the sake of a woman! Let -me know soon, as if you don't go I will, for I'm dying to get out of -these clothes."</p> - -<p>He looked down with disgust at his well-fitting frock coat, grey -trousers, and neat patent leather boots, all of which he was willing -to change for a rough hunter's dress and a life of danger, such is the -instinctive leaning of young Englishmen towards the barbaric delights -of their woad-stained ancestors.</p> - -<p>"Well, you are a queer stick, old fellow!" said Angus, laughing; -"you'll give up all the comforts of life for what?--jungle fever, -Liebig's Extract, and a dangerous existence!"</p> - -<p>"Don't prose, my boy," retorted Laxton good-humouredly, taking up his -hat, "you'd do the same if you weren't in love. Well, goodbye at -present. I'll look you up again, and if you want to see me in the -meantime, just drop a line to the Globe Trotters' Club.'"</p> - -<p>When he departed Angus stood for a moment in deep thought, filling his -pipe, with a strange smile on his face.</p> - -<p>"I'm in love am I?" he said, striking a match. "Well, that's true -enough, but whether it's a wise thing to be in love is quite another -affair! Humph!" lighting his pipe, "it all depends on Victoria."</p> - -<p>He picked up the morning paper, and was about to settle himself down -for a good read, when a knock came to the door.</p> - -<p>"Confound it!" grumbled Otterburn, folding up the paper, as he heard -Johnnie Armstrong going to the door. "I wonder who that is?"</p> - -<p>His question was answered in another moment by himself, for suddenly a -massive figure appeared at the door of the small sitting-room, and -Otterburn sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure:</p> - -<p>"Eustace Gartney."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_18" href="#div1Ref_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>FROM FOREIGN PARTS.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I have come from lands fantastic,</p> -<p class="t2">Which the desert sands environ,</p> -<p class="t1">Where the Koran's laws adrastic</p> -<p class="t2">Bind the soul in chains of iron.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"All the land is full of magic,</p> -<p class="t2">Danger 'neath delight reposes,</p> -<p class="t1">Love is fierce and dark and tragic.</p> -<p class="t2">Cypress mingles with the roses."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It was Eustace Gartney in the flesh, returned to quiet old England -after his perilous wanderings in distant lands beyond the verge of -civilization, and Otterburn felt most unaccountably glad to see him -once more. Why this should be the case seems somewhat strange, seeing -that they had tired of one another in their former intimacy, and -parted with mutual satisfaction, yet in the heart of each there lurked -a kindly feeling which cast a certain glamour round their old -friendship, and made them mutually glad to meet again.</p> - -<p>Otterburn shook the hand of his former Mentor with [* * *] pleasure, -thrust him into the most comfortable chair in the room, and prepared -to ask a series of breathless [* * *] as to all that had taken place -since their parting at [* * *] many months ago. Eustace, on his part, -felt a [* * *] this enthusiastic reception, and was glad to think that -at least one friend remembered him in a kindly manner.</p> - -<p>They had both changed in outward appearance since their last meeting, -Gartney being much thinner than formerly, but his face, lean and -brown, still retained its dreamy expression, which was, indeed, -deepened by his habit of thoughtful self-communings in solitary -deserts. For the rest, he was as badly dressed as ever, being now -arrayed in a loose suit of grey home-spun, which would have startled -the accurately dressed denizens of St. James' Street on the person of -any one else but Eustace Gartney. But, then, he was a privileged -person, and, as his poetic book of travels had rendered him more -famous than ever, his former friends greeted him heartily, all of -which greetings, although kindly meant, Eustace estimated in a cynical -fashion at their proper value, until genuinely touched by the boyish -and demonstrative affection of Otterburn.</p> - -<p>That young man, on his part, had wonderfully improved from the slender -boy of eighteen months before, for, although the space of time seems -short, Macjean was at that age when the change from adolescence to -manhood is very sudden and very marked. The semi-uncivilized life he -had led had also a great deal to do with the shaping of his physical -characteristics, and he was more manly, more self-reliant, and more -matured in every way than the unformed youth from whom Eustace had -parted. A heavy moustache adorned his upper lip, he carried himself in -a dashing, self-confident manner, and the tones of his voice were -deeper and more mellow than formerly. Still he retained that boyish, -impulsive manner that had so fascinated the cynical man of the world, -and Eustace looked upon him approvingly, as he leaned forward in his -chair, with eager eyes and parted lips, anxious to hear all about the -elder man's adventures.</p> - -<p>"What a jolly time you've had, Gartney!" said Otterburn, gaily, "but, -by Jove, what a queer fish you are. You started for a month's tour in -Cyprus, and you end up by a year and a half's exploration of Arabia."</p> - -<p>"The seductive influence of travel drew me onward," replied Gartney, -crossing his legs and folding his hands. "After all you might as well -have come with me that time at Venice, instead of going off to Central -Europe."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I've been to America since then."</p> - -<p>"Yes, so I heard. Same man you went that Carpathian trip with?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Awfully good sort of fellow, but a mania for wild life. He was -here a few minutes ago, wanting me to start off to Africa on another -expedition."</p> - -<p>"And you, being very comfortably settled here, declined."</p> - -<p>"Rather! I like breathing time you know. Will you have a cigarette?" -said Angus, holding out his open case.</p> - -<p>"No, thank you. I've contracted the vice of pipe-smoking," replied -Eustace, producing a well-worn briar-root, and filling it leisurely. -"You've got very pleasant rooms here."</p> - -<p>"Yes, are they not? I bought the whole box and dice just as they stand -from Bamfield. Got them at a bargain, much to the delight of Johnnie."</p> - -<p>"Is Johnnie still with you?"</p> - -<p>"Of course! he's part and parcel of my life, and circumnavigated the -globe with me, like a Scotch Sir Francis Drake. Do you want a light? -Here you are."</p> - -<p>He struck a match, and handed it to Eustace, who lighted his pipe, and -then leaned contentedly back in his chair, listening to the vivacious -chatter of the young man.</p> - -<p>"Of course you know your book has been a great success," said -Otterburn, pointing to a copy on the table, "there it is. I got it as -soon as it was published. Some of the critics, however, have been -giving it fits, especially the chapter called 'The Puritans of -Islam.'"</p> - -<p>"Indeed! And what do the critics know about the Wahhabees?" asked -Eustace, with calm surprise.</p> - -<p>"According to their own showing, everything."</p> - -<p>"Ah, we all know the omniscience of critics! They are truly wonderful -men, before whose vast experience and knowledge I remain dumb. And the -rapidity of their work, their marvellous grasp of every subject in -literature, from a Child's Primer to a novel of George Meredith's. -Nothing appalls them, nothing daunts them. Oh, what wonderful men they -are! truly wonderful, so calm, so learned, so kind-hearted. Why do you -know, Macjean, I met a critic once who thought nothing of Dickens as -an author! Think of that! Think of the wonderful mind of that man who -could afford to speak contemptuously about one of the master spirits -of the age."</p> - -<p>"Did he write books himself?" asked Otterburn, shrewdly, at which -Eustace looked at him in grave reproof.</p> - -<p>"Of course not," he replied quietly, "he was a most self-denying man. -He did write one novel I believe, but it was so far in advance of our -present age that the publisher was afraid to print it--fancy that, a -publisher afraid! Well, it was so, and now this critic only reviews -other people's books--what self-denial. And then his decisions. Why he -makes up his mind about a book, that has taken months to write, in -five minutes. I've known him analyse a book without cutting the leaves -to read it. Of course it is marvellous, simply marvellous, but our age -is prolific in such clever men. I've met many such, and always felt -like a whipped schoolboy before their calm, clear gaze. If you boil -down twenty of our best authors you may make one critic, but then it's -quality not quantity."</p> - -<p>"I thought you did not like critics?"</p> - -<p>"Not like critics, my dear fellow?" said Eustace sweetly, "why they -are my dearest friends, my best benefactors. They always read my -books, and give half an hour to each, actually a whole half hour. What -friendship! And then, you know, they are so kind, they point out all -my mistakes, and if I copy any ideas of foreign authors, they always -look them up to see if I have done so correctly, and mention -it--really mention it--in their articles. If there is anything naughty -in my chapters, they reprove me, oh, so kindly, and tell the public -where to look for the worst bits. And then they are so modest; they -never tell me they wrote these articles, when I meet them in society. -I always put my name to my books, they never do to their articles, and -yet my books are full of mistakes which they try to correct for me."</p> - -<p>"How kind of them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, is it not? I wish I was a critic, Angus, instead of a poor -author. I am always wrong, you know, and they are constantly right, -but then I don't know so much as they do. When I write a book I've to -see things for myself, but they can sit down and correct me without -going outside the four walls of their study. What a pity Shakespeare -had not critics in his day! They would have pointed out all the -defects in Hamlet, and good-naturedly corrected Lear for him. I -daresay they would have shown him how to improve his blank verse. It -does need improving, you know, because I heard a poet say so the other -day. A real poet, much better than Browning or Tennyson, only he -wasn't known so well. Just twenty-two years of age, and yet could talk -like that--wonderful. But don't speak any more about critics, because -I'm so fond of them that I could praise them for hours. Let us talk of -meaner things. Tell me all the news of the day, the scandals of the -hour, the gossip of the drawing-rooms, and stories of clubs."</p> - -<p>"Faith, I don't know that I've much to tell you," said Otterburn -candidly. "I've been on the war-path as well as yourself, so am just -an ignorant of town as you are."</p> - -<p>Gartney smoked on quietly for a few moments, and then suddenly asked -the question nearest his heart:</p> - -<p>"What about the Erringtons, Macjean?"</p> - -<p>"I haven't the least idea," replied Angus carelessly, "as I have not -seen them since you did at Como. I believe they are still living at -their place in the country, and that Lady Errington has presented her -husband with a son and heir."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I heard that," said Gartney, with a slight smile. "I wonder if -my prophecy has come true?"</p> - -<p>"Eh!--what prophecy?"</p> - -<p>"About the Incomplete Madonna."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, I remember now," responded Otterburn indolently, "you said -she was unfinished, didn't you? Well, I suppose she's happy now, as -she has gained her heart's desire and become a mother."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt she's happy," said Eustace significantly; "but what -about her husband?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know! You seem to take a great interest in the -Erringtons?"</p> - -<p>Eustace flushed a little under the bronze colour of his skin, and -moved uneasily in his seat.</p> - -<p>"Do I? A mere whim, I assure you, to see if my prophecy about the -incomplete Madonna turns out correct. But never mind, I'm going to -call on Aunt Jelly this afternoon, and she'll give me more accurate -information than you can. Have you met Aunt Jelly yet?"</p> - -<p>"No! You forget I told you I have been away from England also," -answered Otterburn stiffly.</p> - -<p>"True! I forgot that, but you see my dear relations haven't written a -word to me since I've been away, and I'm obliged to ask a stranger for -information. Is Aunt Jelly's ward married yet?"</p> - -<p>"No; she is still Miss Sheldon."</p> - -<p>"You were rather fond of her, were you not?"</p> - -<p>"So fond of her that I asked her to be my wife at Como, and she -refused me."</p> - -<p>"I guessed as much," replied Eustace calmly; "however, that was merely -a boyish fancy."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon. No!"</p> - -<p>"Indeed! You don't mean to say you are in love with Victoria Sheldon -still?"</p> - -<p>Otterburn arose to his feet with an angry laugh, and began to walk -slowly to and fro with his hands in his pockets.</p> - -<p>"Is there anything so extraordinary in that? I loved Miss Sheldon and -she refused to marry me, so I tried to forget her. Well, I haven't -forgotten her, and I've come back to Town expressly to ask her to be -my wife. I daresay I'm a fool, but you're not in love, and cannot -understand the feeling."</p> - -<p>"Can I not!" answered Gartney serenely, thinking of Lady Errington, -"well, I don't know so much about that. Have you met Miss Sheldon -yet?"</p> - -<p>"No.</p> - -<p>"That doesn't sound like an eager lover."</p> - -<p>"I daresay it doesn't," retorted Angus coolly, "but you see I've -learnt sense since my first rebuff, and now gang warily, as the Scotch -say. I'm not going to let Miss Sheldon see I care two straws about her -till I find out the state of her feelings towards me."</p> - -<p>"Astute diplomatist!--then I suppose you won't call with me on my -respected aunt?"</p> - -<p>"And meet Miss Sheldon!--hardly! I'm going to wait till I see her at a -fancy-dress ball Mrs. Veilsturm gives shortly."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Eustace, removing his pipe, "is that lady still in the -flesh?"</p> - -<p>"Very much so, indeed According to Mr. Adolphus Thambits--of whom -you've no doubt heard--her house is quite a fashionable centre."</p> - -<p>Gartney made a gesture of disgust, and arose to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord! what are we coming to? I thought people would have found -out Mrs. Veilsturm and her scamp of a Major long ago. I met them last -time I was in London. I suppose they still have the little Sunday -evenings, and talk about the West Indian estates?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I believe so."</p> - -<p>"Humph! I should not have thought Aunt Jelly would have let her ward -visit Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"Why not? She is in the odour of sanctity--no one knows her little -peccadilloes, or, if they do, don't talk about them. I suppose few -people except the initiated know about the real business of those -Sunday evenings. Mrs. Veilsturm is all white--on the surface--so not -even her dearest friend can throw mud at her."</p> - -<p>"You are getting quite eloquent, Otterburn," observed Eustace smiling; -"I suppose, when you're married and settled we'll hear of you in -Parliament."</p> - -<p>"I'm not married and settled yet!--perhaps I never will be," replied -Otterburn gloomily.</p> - -<p>"You don't seem very hopeful," remarked Eustace, with gentle sarcasm, -"but as you won't come to Aunt Jelly's, suppose I play the part of -Cupid's messenger, and find out how the land lies with Victoria -Sheldon."</p> - -<p>"Oh, if you only would," cried Angus eagerly; "but no! I'm afraid -there's not much chance for me. I daresay she has forgotten I ever -existed."</p> - -<p>"Oh, if that is the case I'll soon improve her memory! Cheer up--while -there's life there's hope."</p> - -<p>"Not always," responded Angus gloomily, "particularly in this case. I -called her a coquette last time we parted."</p> - -<p>"No doubt she fully deserved the name, if I remember rightly," said -Eustace drily, putting on his hat, "and she'll remember you for that -out of spite."</p> - -<p>"Well, do what you like, Gartney," replied Otterburn, grasping his -friend's hand, "I'm awfully glad to see you safe and sound once more. -When will you look me up again?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not quite sure! I've got to see Aunt Jelly first--my lawyers -second--about a dozen tradesmen, to make myself respectable, and then -I am going to run down home for a few days."</p> - -<p>"I didn't know you had a home."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes!--the cot where I was born, and all that kind of thing. A -tumble-down old place, looking out on to the German Ocean."</p> - -<p>"Well, don't let me lose sight of you yet," said Macjean, accompanying -his guest to the door.</p> - -<p>"No!--by-the-way, I'll come back and tell you my impressions of Miss -Sheldon, and you can shape your course accordingly--in love with the -same woman for eighteen months! Good Lord! what constancy! Ah, Johnnie -and how are you?"</p> - -<p>"Brawly! Brawly! thank ye for speiring, sir," replied Mr. Armstrong, -who stood holding the door open, "may I tac' the leeberty of -obsairving, sir, that ye look a wee bit brown, it's the weather na -doot."</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it, Johnnie--the sun, my man, the sun."</p> - -<p>"Hech! Hech! Au thocht it was the dochter," replied Johnnie, laughing -at his own wit.</p> - -<p>Eustace did not take offence, as Johnnie's dour ways rather amused -him, so he laughed also and departed, while Angus went back to his -dressing-room to get ready for paying a round of visits.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_19" href="#div1Ref_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> -<h5>AUNT JELLY DISCUSSES FAMILY AFFAIRS.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"You know the marriage service where it says--<br> -'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,'<br> -That answers for an interfering third,<br> -Who sows dissension in a happy home;<br> -But wife and husband can do just the same,<br> -Unless there's give and take betwixt the pair,<br> -Black looks, neglect, hard words, and other ills,<br> -Will put asunder A and B new wed,<br> -As surely as if C had played the rogue."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Aunt Jelly was a lady whom everyone judged best to leave alone, as -she, being of a tart and aggressive nature, was disposed to be -exceedingly disagreeable when meddled with. Old Father Time appeared -to be of the same opinion, for he never seemed to come near her in any -way, and though year after year went by, changing youth to age, -dimming bright eyes, whitening heads brown and golden, and turning -mellow voices to shrill trebles, Miss Corbin still preserved the same -grim appearance, as if she was indeed the granite figure to which so -many of her friends likened her. If Time did add another wrinkle in a -stealthy way, or make her blood course more slowly through her -withered frame, he did it in such a manner that no one, not even the -closest observer, could notice it; and Aunt Jelly, straight and -defiant as ever, sat grimly silent in her chair, knitting, knitting, -knitting, as though she were some immortal hag weaving the destinies -of short-lived humanity.</p> - -<p>The old lady had heard of Eustace's return from abroad, and was in a -high state of indignation that he had not called to see her as soon as -he arrived in Town, but having received a note from him saying he -would pay her a visit that afternoon, she was now waiting with the -firm determination to give him an unpleasant reception.</p> - -<p>Victoria had already gone out in the carriage to do some shopping for -the old dame, and no one was with Miss Corbin except Minnie Pelch, -who, more tearful than ever, was seated at the window, like Sister -Anne, watching for the approach of Mr. Gartney.</p> - -<p>The room had the same old-fashioned look about it, save that here and -there a bunch of flowers or some dainty feminine adornment showed that -Victoria Sheldon had striven to make things somewhat more home-like. -Aunt Jelly sat in her chair with woolly-haired Coriolanus at her feet, -and knitted on in severe silence, only opening her mouth every now and -then to speak to the tearful Miss Pelch.</p> - -<p>That young-old lady was in a state of suppressed excitement at the -prospect of seeing Eustace again, as she contemplated making a final -assault on him regarding the publication of her poems, but Aunt Jelly -had so harassed and worried her, that she was reduced to a state of -extreme limpness, and wept in a stealthy manner, making her eyes red, -which by no means added to the beauty of her appearance.</p> - -<p>The port and sherry decanters were on the table with the usual plate -of cake, for though Miss Corbin intended to give Eustace a -disagreeable reception she did not think of neglecting the duties of -hospitality; fulfilled in her eyes by the production of cake and wine.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Miss Corbin sharply, for the seventh time, "is he -coming?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," replied Minnie meekly, after the fashion of Sister Anne.</p> - -<p>Miss Corbin snorted like an old war-horse, tossed her head in an -indignant manner, and resumed her work.</p> - -<p>"In my young days," she observed at length in her usual harsh fashion, -"the juniors were always civil to the seniors. Civility cost nothing -then--now it appears to be unpurchasable. Eh! what do you say, Minnie? -Nothing!--it's your sniffling then! how often have I told you to -correct that habit. Look again--is he coming?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," answered Miss Pelch once more, "it's only three o'clock."</p> - -<p>"I didn't ask you the time," rejoined Aunt Jelly tartly. "I suppose -you're going to worry him about that poetry of yours?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going to ask him to get it published," said Minnie with tearful -dignity, "bound in blue and gold with my portrait at the beginning."</p> - -<p>"Poor child," said Aunt Jelly, pausing a moment, "how you do build -castles in the air. Well, I hope my nephew will help you to do what -you wish. Nobody will read the book except the critics, and they'll -abuse you. If they do," continued Miss Corbin, shaking her finger, -"don't come to me for sympathy, for I've warned you. Is he coming?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!" cried Minnie, in a state of excitement, seeing a hansom rattle -round the corner and pull up before the door, "he's in a cab."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed, couldn't walk I suppose," grumbled Miss Corbin grimly, -"better for his pocket and his liver if he did. Hand me that last -volume of his rubbish, Minnie, I've got a few words to say about it."</p> - -<p>Minnie obediently did as she was told and Aunt Jelly took the heavy -book on her knee, while the door was flung open by the butler, who -announced in his usual pompous voice:</p> - -<p>"Mr. Eustace Gartney."</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Aunt Jelly?" said Eustace, walking across to the old -lady as if he had only parted with her the day before, "you don't look -a day older."</p> - -<p>"Humph! I'm sorry I can't return the compliment" replied Miss Corbin, -presenting her withered cheek to be saluted. "Arabia hasn't done you -much good, at all events."</p> - -<p>"You're as candid as ever, I see," said Gartney carelessly, turning to -Minnie. "I hope you are well, Miss Pelch."</p> - -<p>"Oh quite, thank you, dear Mr. Gartney," answered Minnie, in a state -of fluttering excitement. "I'm so delighted to see you back."</p> - -<p>"So kind of you," murmured Eustace, taking a seat in the chair Minnie -pushed forward for him. "Well, Aunt Jelly, and how has the world been -using you?"</p> - -<p>"The same as I've been using it," retorted Miss Jelly -epigrammatically. "I keep the world at its distance."</p> - -<p>"Like oil paintings. They always look best at a distance, you know."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk books to me," said the old lady, "I've had quite enough of -your smart sayings in this," touching the volume on her lap.</p> - -<p>"So I see! I told my publishers to send you a copy. I hope you like -it."</p> - -<p>"I do very, very much," cried Minnie clasping her hands, "it's simply -too lovely for anything."</p> - -<p>"The critics don't think so," said Aunt Jelly spitefully.</p> - -<p>"And I suppose you agree with the critics," replied Eustace.</p> - -<p>"Did you hear me say so?" demanded his aunt fiercely.</p> - -<p>"No but----"</p> - -<p>"Then don't cry out till you are hurt. Take a glass of wine--Minnie, -the wine."</p> - -<p>Miss Pelch poured out the wine with trembling hand, so excited she was -at the presence of the great author, and Eustace, knowing his aunt's -determination on the subject of port, drank it meekly although it was -a wine he hated.</p> - -<p>"The book," said Miss Corbin, after a pause, "is not at all bad. I -daresay there are a good many lies in it, still they're decently told -lies. You've improved this time, Eustace."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, my dear aunt, I'm glad to have your good opinion, but the -critics----"</p> - -<p>"Critics," snorted Aunt Jelly scornfully, "do you mean those idiots -that scribble for the papers and who would abuse their parents for two -pence three farthings? Pooh! I don't call those critics. In the palmy -days of the <i>Quarterly Review</i> there were decent reviewers, but -now--rubbish! they write nothing but drivel, though to be sure it's -drivel they criticise. I'm not talking about your book, Eustace, my -dear. It's good!--very good, and I wouldn't say so if I didn't think -so."</p> - -<p>"No, I'm sure you wouldn't," replied Eustace meekly. "And how are -things, aunt?"</p> - -<p>"What kind of things, child? Be more explicit."</p> - -<p>"Well, my cousin Errington, is he all right?"</p> - -<p>"Humph! right enough."</p> - -<p>"And his wife?"</p> - -<p>"She's a fool," remarked Aunt Jelly politely, at which Eustace felt -quite indignant.</p> - -<p>"I don't think so."</p> - -<p>"What do you know about it?" retorted the old lady sharply. "I tell -you she is a fool. Guy was up to see me the other day."</p> - -<p>"Well, you can hardly expect me to believe that Guy spoke like that to -you about his wife.</p> - -<p>"Who said he did, you blind bat? Don't jump to conclusions, Eustace, -for you're not clever enough to land at them."</p> - -<p>"Well, tell me why you speak of Lady Errington like this"</p> - -<p>"I take my own time and own way of telling things," replied Miss Jelly -deliberately. "Minnie, my dear, go upstairs and look for your poetry, -I daresay Mr. Gartney will glance at it before he goes."</p> - -<p>Minnie had her precious manuscript in her pocket, but knowing from -Miss Corbin's hint that she wanted to discuss private affairs with her -nephew, meekly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after -her.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what I've done that you should inflict Minnie's poetry -on me," said Eustace in an injured tone.</p> - -<p>"Pooh, nonsense! don't be selfish. It gives the poor child pleasure to -have her milk-and-water rubbish looked at by you. Do a kind action for -once in your life, Eustace. I'm sure it's little enough you do for -your fellow-creatures."</p> - -<p>"They aren't worth it."</p> - -<p>"I daresay, but no doubt they make the same remark about you."</p> - -<p>"Well, don't bother about my failings, Aunt Jelly," said Eustace -impatiently, "tell me about the Erringtons."</p> - -<p>"It's just this," observed Miss Jelly, letting her knitting fall on -her lap, "you know how fond Guy is of that wife of his, a piece of ice -with no more feeling in her than that pair of tongs. Well, since this -child was born, she has changed altogether, nothing but love and -affection, and the Lord knows what!"</p> - -<p>"All the better for Guy, I should say," said Eustace, who knew what -was coming.</p> - -<p>"All the worse you mean," retorted his aunt. "Bless my soul, I don't -mind the woman melting, no one could go on loving such an icicle, but -she's melted the wrong way, and every particle of affection she has is -given to the child."</p> - -<p>"Well that's only natural."</p> - -<p>"It's nothing of the sort, sir," objected Aunt Jelly energetically. -"Why should a woman love nothing but her child, and take no more -notice of her husband than if he was a sign-post? Every woman ought to -love her children, certainly, but they owe something to the father of -the children as well."</p> - -<p>"No doubt! but perhaps Guy exaggerates his wife's neglect."</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly shook her head in a doubtful manner.</p> - -<p>"I don't think so," she replied, deliberately, "Guy isn't the man to -cry out, unless he's hurt. From what he says, it appears Alizon is -always with the child, and the poor lad is left to wander about by -himself. Sometimes, she won't even come to meals. Now, that can't -possibly be right, can it?"</p> - -<p>"No, I suppose not," answered Eustace, after a pause, wondering to -himself at finding his prophecy so literally fulfilled, "but, perhaps, -the child is ill, and needs care."</p> - -<p>"The child is as well as you are," retorted Aunt jelly, snappishly, -"though that is not saying much, for you look as if you were sickening -for some disease, but in plain words Alizon is neglecting her husband -in the most silly manner for the child. If this is the case, how will -it end?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know!"</p> - -<p>"You never know anything! Then I'll tell you, they'll learn to do -without one another, and that's a bad thing. She'll be all right, -because she's got the child, but Guy's got nothing, and he's not the -man to put-up with such treatment. If she neglects him, he'll find -consolation with some other woman."</p> - -<p>"Oh, aunt!"</p> - -<p>"I've shocked you, have I?" said the old lady grimly. "Get your nerves -better under control, then. I call a spade a spade, and am telling you -the truth. If Alizon Errington goes on like this, the first woman that -comes along will snap up her husband, and the consequence will be of -her own making."</p> - -<p>"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Eustace, blankly.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know," said Aunt Jelly, with an air of vexation, -resuming her knitting. "I don't want to see the affair end in the -Divorce Court, and that's the direction it's going in at present. Guy -was up the other day, and told me some long rigmarole about his -feelings, so the best thing you can do is to go down to the Hall, and -see what you can do."</p> - -<p>"I!" cried Eustace, jumping to his feet in a state of agitation. "I -can do nothing."</p> - -<p>"Take a glass of wine, my dear, take a glass of wine," said Aunt -Jelly, sharply. "Your nerves are all crooked. That comes of gadding -about the world."</p> - -<p>Eustace made no reply to this onslaught, but walked to and fro in -silence. He was considerably puzzled how to act in this dilemma, as he -had made up his mind not to see Lady Errington, thinking his feelings -towards her were too strong for him to keep silence. Curiously enough -it never seemed to strike him that as Alizon was neglecting her own -husband for the child, it was unlikely she would respond to his -passion in any way, seeing that she had neither eyes nor ears for -anything save her first-born. Gartney's egotism blinded him on this -occasion, as it did on many others, but he felt that he was being -forced into a situation, towards the woman he loved, from whence there -was no escape. Looking at it in his narrow-minded fashion, it seemed a -struggle between love and honour, and he was undecided how to act. All -his life, however, he had been accustomed to deny himself nothing, and -in this case he carried out his ruling principle of selfishly -gratifying himself, so there and then made up his mind to accept Aunt -Jelly's mission and go down to Errington Hall.</p> - -<p>"Well, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly sharply, quite unaware of the -struggle going on in her nephew's mind, "what do you say--will you do -a kind action for once in your life?"</p> - -<p>Eustace having made up his mind, came slowly back to his elderly -relation and resumed his chair.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry you've got such a bad opinion of me, Aunt Jelly," he said -coolly, "and I'll have much pleasure in proving you're wrong for once -in your life, by going down to Ellington Hall, and having a talk with -Guy."</p> - -<p>"That's right," replied Miss Corbin, much gratified. "And I suppose -you'll have a look at your own place."</p> - -<p>"Of course!"</p> - -<p>"I thought so, you never did a thing in your life without a double -motive," said Aunt Jelly, unjustly. "However, I don't care two straws -what you go down for, so long as you try and put things right between -those two idiots."</p> - -<p>"Kindly opinion you've got of human nature, Aunt."</p> - -<p>"No doubt, I have," retorted Miss Jelly, coolly, "but that's human -nature's own fault, not mine."</p> - -<p>"Do you remember what wise La Rochefoucauld says?" observed Eustace, -thoughtfully. "'Many people judge the world as if they were its -judges, and not its denizens.' That is true, I think."</p> - -<p>"I don't like your cut and dried wisdom, Mr. Quoter-of-old-saws," -replied Aunt Jelly, "there's sure to be a flaw in it somewhere."</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed and leaned back in his chair.</p> - -<p>"You've got an answer for everything, Aunt Jelly! Well, I'll go down -to Errington, and do my best, but I'm doubtful of success. It's -foolish work meddling between man and wife."</p> - -<p>Miss Corbin sniffed in a doubtful manner, and was about to make some -bitter reply, when the door opened and Victoria, bright and piquant as -ever, entered the room.</p> - -<p>"Here I am, Aunt Jelly," she cried gaily, "with not one of your orders -forgotten--Mr. Gartney!"</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Miss Sheldon?" said that gentleman rising from his -seat, "it's some time since we met."</p> - -<p>The memory of their ill-concealed enmity at Como, and of the -circumstances under which, she had parted from Otterburn, all rushed -suddenly into Victoria's mind, and she blushed deeply, but with her -usual self-command she suppressed all other signs of emotion, as she -held out her hand frankly to Eustace.</p> - -<p>"It's eighteen months since we last saw one another," she said, -equably, "and since then, judging from your book, you have been -leading a delightfully dangerous life."</p> - -<p>"More fool he!" muttered Aunt Jelly disdainfully.</p> - -<p>"And you, Miss Sheldon," said Eustace, taking no notice of the old -lady's ill-nature, "what kind of a life have you been leading?"</p> - -<p>Victoria slipped into a chair, and took off her gloves carelessly, -though, truth to tell, her heart was beating somewhat rapidly at this -meeting.</p> - -<p>"Oh, the usual London life!" she replied nonchalantly. "Theatre, Park, -Ball, Church--Church, Ball, Park, Theatre. The only change you can get -is to reverse them."</p> - -<p>"You young girls don't know how to enjoy yourselves in a rational -way," said Miss Corbin, politely; "you ought to marry and settle -down."</p> - -<p>"That's your advice to everyone, Aunt Jelly," retorted Victoria, her -cheeks growing hot; "but you have not practised what you now preach."</p> - -<p>"Circumstances alter cases, child," returned Aunt Jelly, composedly. -"I had my reasons--you, no doubt, would call them ridiculous -reasons--but they were good enough for me."</p> - -<p>Victoria did not know of the old love romance between her father and -this faded beauty, or she would never have spoken as she did; but as -Miss Corbin, with a softened look in her eyes, bent over her work, she -felt vaguely that this sharp-tongued woman had suffered, and touched -the withered hand with a pretty gesture of penitence.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como, Miss Sheldon?" said Eustace, -remembering his promise to Otterburn, and artfully trying to find out -if she still remembered the boy.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no! I liked Como very much! The scenery was delightful."</p> - -<p>She spoke quietly enough, but Eustace was an acute observer of human -nature, and his keen ear caught an inflection of a tremor in her voice -which considerably guided him in framing his next remark.</p> - -<p>"Yes, the scenery was charming, was it not?" he remarked -significantly; "and the friends we met there also. What a pleasant -party we were. The Erringtons, Mrs. Trubbles, yourself and--Macjean."</p> - -<p>"And what has become of Mr. Macjean?" she asked in a low voice, taking -up Aunt Jelly's ball of wool.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Otterburn is in London."</p> - -<p>"In London!" she echoed, starting violently.</p> - -<p>"Dear me, Victoria," said Aunt Jelly, snappishly, "how nervous you -are, child! You've upset my wool all over the place."</p> - -<p>Victoria, glad of an excuse to hide her face, bent down to pick up the -ball, and Aunt Jelly, having caught Otterburn's name, went on talking.</p> - -<p>"Otterburn, eh? I know that name. Wasn't that the young man you -flirted with at Como, Victoria?"</p> - -<p>"I didn't flirt with him," cried Victoria, raising her head defiantly. -"At least," she added, catching sight of Gartney's keen eye fixed on -her, "at least, not much."</p> - -<p>"That's so like you, child," observed Aunt Jelly, disentangling her -yarn, "you will play with fire--some day you'll burn your fingers."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps that catastrophe has happened already," said Eustace quickly.</p> - -<p>Miss Sheldon laughed in a somewhat artificial manner at this remark, -and promptly denied it.</p> - -<p>"I'm sure it hasn't," she said, looking straight at Eustace with -crimson cheeks. "I take too good care of myself for that. But talking -about Mr. Macjean, how is it I have not seen him?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know I'm sure," replied Gartney carelessly; "he's only been a -short time in Town, you know. I wanted him to come here to-day, but he -was engaged."</p> - -<p>Victoria felt all her old hatred of Eustace revive as he spoke the -last words, as she felt sure he was talking sarcastically, and would -have liked to reply sharply, but she could hardly do so without -betraying an unwonted interest in Otterburn, which might have placed -lynx-eyed Aunt Jelly on the <i>qui vive</i>, so wisely held her tongue.</p> - -<p>Eustace himself, being satisfied that Victoria still felt an interest -in his young friend, inwardly congratulated himself on the result of -his diplomacy, and arose to go.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Aunt Jelly," he said, kissing his relative. "I'll go down -home to-morrow and tell you what I've done on my return."</p> - -<p>"That's right, Eustace," said Aunt Jelly, much pleased; "have a glass -of wine before you go?"</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," replied Gartney, walking to the door, "one glass is -enough for me."</p> - -<p>"Weak head," muttered Aunt Jelly, "just like your father."</p> - -<p>"Better than a weak character," retorted Eustace, gaily. "<i>Au revoir</i>, -Miss Sheldon. I'll tell Mr. Macjean I've seen you."</p> - -<p>"No, don't," said Victoria hastily, then, feeling that she had -committed an error, strove to mend it. "I mean yes, of course I'll be -very pleased to see Mr. Macjean again."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt you will," muttered Eustace to himself, as he got into -his cab; "she's still in love with him, so Otterburn has only to ask -and to have."</p> - -<p>Mr. Gartney would hardly have been so confident had he seen Victoria -at that moment, for she had ran hastily up to her room and was lying -on her bed in a passion of tears.</p> - -<p>"He wouldn't come and see me, I suppose," she said viciously. "Oh, -very well, I'll punish him for this. He's forgotten all about me, but -I'll make him propose again if it's only for the pleasure of refusing -him."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_20" href="#div1Ref_20">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> -<h5>THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Curs'd by Superstition eerie,<br> -Grim it stands a ruin dreary,<br> -Round it spread the marshes lonely,<br> -Haunted by dim shadows only,<br> -Shadows of an evil seeming,<br> -Such as rise in ghastly dreaming,<br> -Overhead the sky of crimson,<br> -Reddens slowly from the dim sun,<br> -Silently the sluggish waters<br> -Undermine the tower which totters,<br> -And the ocean's sullen boom,<br> -Prophesies the coming doom,<br> -When the house shall sudden sink,<br> -Shattered o'er destruction's brink,<br> -And the dark night's gloomy pall<br> -Evermore brood over all."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Eustace, with his whimsical fancy for bestowing appropriate names on -all things, had christened his ancestral residence Castle Grim, and he -certainly could not have hit upon a happier title for such a dreary -place.</p> - -<p>Standing on the verge of wide-spreading marshes, it faced towards the -sea, which was only a little distance away, and the salt winds from -the ocean roared day and night round the lonely house. For it was -lonely, no habitation being within miles, owing to the malaria which -arose from the marshes making the whole neighbourhood unhealthy to -live in. Gartney had another residence, much more comfortable, -situated in the midland shires, but, with his usual fantastic nature, -preferred when staying in the country to inhabit this semi-ruinous -mansion.</p> - -<p>Whoever built it must have been fond of solitude, and much given to -self-communings of a dreary nature, for certainly no one with a -healthy mind could have found pleasure in contemplating the melancholy -stretches of the marshes and in hearkening to the sullen roar of the -surges breaking on the sandy shore. Few of the Gartney family had -stayed in it since its erection, and it was reserved for Eustace, in -whom the melancholy nature of some far-off ancestor was revived, to -make it a habitable residence.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the weirdness of the place had a fascination for his poet -nature, or the dismal fenlands pleased his distorted imagination, but -at all events, Eustace was rarely in England without paying a visit to -Castle Grim, and staying there a few days, before his departure to -distant lands.</p> - -<p>Other people not being so fond of this awesome place, Gartney could -get no ordinary servants to stay in it, and consequently it was left -to the care of an aged pair, man and wife, who did not mind where they -lived so long as they had a roof to cover them, food to eat, and a -chance of earning a decent income. They looked after the crazy old -place thoroughly, and when their master paid it a visit contrived to -make him pretty comfortable considering all things. But as a rule, -they lived a Robinson Crusoe-like life, seeing no one from week's end -to week's end, save when they went into Denfield for provisions.</p> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Javelrack, the guardians of this unpleasant mansion, had -received a telegram from its owner, telling them that he was coming, -and consequently the male Javelrack had driven to the Denfield Station -for his master, while the female Javelrack set the rooms in order and -prepared a meal for Mr. Gartney.</p> - -<p>Eustace had not brought his valet to Castle Grim, as that worthy would -immediately have given notice had he been asked to stay in such a -nerve-shaking place. So he drove away from the station slowly in the -dog-cart with his quaint old retainer beside him, and his portmanteau -behind.</p> - -<p>It was a very decent dog-cart taking it all round, and the horse in -the shafts was not by any means a bad specimen of his kind, as Gartney -allowed the Javelracks a decent sum yearly to keep up the place, and -they made amends for their lonely life by surrounding themselves with -all the luxuries they were able. Report said they were misers, and -perhaps there was some truth in the rumour, but whenever Eustace came -down, he always found things in order, so he never troubled his head -to ascertain what proportion of the income he allowed they had spent -on the place, or what portion they stowed away in odd corners. Indeed, -if he had found that these two old servants were spending as little as -they could without being found out, and putting the rest by for a -rainy day, he would not have been particularly annoyed, for they were -only within their rights in having some pleasure in Castle Grim.</p> - -<p>Eustace wrapped himself well up in his ulster, for the winds blew very -keenly across the marshes, and as the horse was restive, they soon -left the village behind and were moving rapidly across the straight -road which stretched a narrow white thread until it vanished on the -verge of the horizon. The gables of Errington Hall showed whitely -above the sombre woods around it, but after a rapid glance at the roof -which covered the woman he loved, Gartney shook the reins impatiently -to make the horse go faster, and stared resolutely at the red glare of -the sky lowering over the wild waste landscape.</p> - -<p>"I'll see her to-morrow," he thought, as the hoofs of the horse beat -steadily on the hard white road, "and then I can see for myself how -things stand between her and Guy."</p> - -<p>Some long sombre clouds lowered heavily over the crimson of the -horizon as if Night, like some dark-winged bird, was waiting to settle -down on the chill earth, and a keen cold wind, blowing sharply from -the distant ocean, brought the salt odours of the sea to their -nostrils.</p> - -<p>Javelrack, his huge form bowed by age and rheumatism caught from the -marsh mists, sat grimly silent beside his master with his large, -hairy, brown hands clasped on his lap, and his mahogany-coloured face -with its wiry black beard, so screwed up with facing the cutting wind, -that under his weather-stained brown hat he looked like a fantastic -Chinese idol. Eustace, wrapped up in his own thoughts, paid no -attention to his silent companion, but, bowing his head against the -blast, indulged in visions of Alizon Errington.</p> - -<p>A dreary country, with the wide spreading marshes stretching on either -side for miles, and the long straight road running through the heart -of the swamp. Sluggish, slimy pools of oily stillness, fringes of -stately reeds swaying to and fro in the blast, smooth patches of green -grass, pleasing to the eye but treacherous to the unwary foot. Here -and there a broken-down fence, deeply implanted in weeds of luxuriant -growth, bordering deep ditches of black earth filled with stagnant -water, on which floated green slime, rows of depressed-looking -willows, and on occasions the gaunt stump of a tree sticking up as if -to mark the site of a submerged forest.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly against the dull red of the sky a misshapen pile of -gables and chimneys on the verge of a slight rise, girdled by a gaunt -ring of leafless trees. Beyond, heaps of wind-blown sand covered with -sparse vegetation standing as a barrier between the marshes and the -ocean, which tossed in waves of blood under the evil red sky as it -moaned in a querulous voice on the starved-looking strip of sandy -beach. And this was Castle Grim.</p> - -<p>Eustace stopped the tired horse at the door of the house (or rather -the horse stopped of its own accord), and giving the reins to -Javelrack, jumped down. At the door he was met by Mrs. Javelrack, -large and gaunt as her husband, with the same embrowned face and the -same distorted features, suggestive of Chinese deities. Indeed, as the -male Javelrack took the portmanteau into the house and stood by his -wife, they looked like two ogres inhabiting Castle Grim, who were -prepared to make a meal of Eustace as soon as he was safely within the -walls.</p> - -<p>The male ogre, however, took his master's portmanteau into his -bedroom, and then coming out again, took the dog-cart round to the -stables, while Mrs. Javelrack, her face twisted into a hideous grin -meant for a smile, brought hot water for the weary traveller.</p> - -<p>"Don't be long with the dinner, Mrs. Javelrack," called Eustace as she -closed the door.</p> - -<p>"No sir," croaked Mrs. Javelrack in a hoarse voice, as if she had been -a frog out of the marsh, "it 'ull be ready as soon as you, sir."</p> - -<p>Mr. Gartney washed himself in the warm water, which took away the -smarting feeling in his face caused by the keen salt wind, and having -changed his clothes sauntered into the one habitable room of the -place, which did for dining-room, drawing-room, and music-room, for -Eustace had sent down a very good piano, which stood in one corner.</p> - -<p>"Humph! rather spoilt by the damp," he said to himself; as he ran his -lithe fingers over the keys, "or perhaps the amiable Mrs. Javelrack -has been trying to cultivate music."</p> - -<p>The ogress brought in the dinner and waited on Eustace in a ponderous -manner, giving him all the news of the neighbourhood, which was -remarkably scant, and talked all through the meal in a subdued roar. -When Eustace had finished, she removed the dishes, brought in some -coffee, and, after making up the fire, retired to the kitchen and the -company of Mr. Javelrack. Gartney heard them chatting even through the -thick walls, for the dampness of the marshes had made them both -somewhat deaf, and consequently they shouted so loudly at one another, -that it was difficult at times to tell whether it was the ocean -roaring or the ogres conversing.</p> - -<p>It was a very comfortable room, having been furnished by Eustace -according to his own ideas, and the walls, instead of being papered, -were hung with dull red cloth after the fashion of tapestry, which -waved at intervals as the searching winds crept in shrilly through -crack and cranny. A wide fireplace in which blazed a large coal fire -between the grotesque brass dogs, several comfortable arm-chairs, and -on one side, a small book-case containing a selection of Gartney's -favourite authors. At the distant end of the room a grand piano, with -the music piled neatly beside it, a cumbersome, old-fashioned sofa, -and a deep, square window with diamond panes, and a quaint oaken seat -set in its depths.</p> - -<p>Eustace drew an arm-chair close to the fire and near to the small -table upon which Mrs. Javelrack had placed his coffee, produced his -pipe, and was soon puffing away in a most comfortable manner. He -picked up a slim volume of poems entitled "Rose dreamings," and turned -over the pages listlessly as he sipped his coffee, feeling a drowsy -sensation steal over him. A verse in the poem called "Temptation," -however, roused him from this lethargic state, and throwing down the -book, he paced restlessly up and down the room repeating the four -lines quietly to himself:</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"This love so hard the winning.</p> -<p class="t2">For ever will endure,</p> -<p class="t1">If all the world be sinning,</p> -<p class="t2">Why should we two be pure?"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"I'm afraid she won't take the same view as that," he muttered to -himself discontentedly, thinking of Lady Errington. "And yet, if she -doesn't love her husband, she may have a kindly feeling for me. As to -the child, surely no woman--not even this Madonna--can devote herself -exclusively to it. Still, the child is the obstacle between herself -and her husband, so perhaps it will be the obstacle between herself -and me. Oh! I could love her! I could love her if she would only let -me! She will let me! I'm certain of it! Guy has no brains, and she is -starving for the want of intellectual food. The child is the excuse, -but that is the real reason of the coldness between them."</p> - -<p>One of the most extraordinary parts of Gartney's delusion concerning -his chance of success with Lady Errington lay in the fact that his -present reasoning was diametrically opposed to the views he held when -first meeting Lady Errington. He then asserted that she would never -care for her husband, but when she became a mother would lavish all -her love on the child. This view of Alizon's character was a correct -one, as Eustace in his innermost heart well knew, but he wilfully -deceived himself in thinking that now she had obtained her heart's -desire she would give it up for the sake of a man whom she had hardly -seen. Eustace, however, had been so uniformly triumphant with the -female sex, that the idea of failing with Alizon never entered his -mind, and he thought that if he laid siege to Lady Errington, in a -dexterous fashion, she would give up everything--husband, child, name, -and home--in order to gratify his selfish desire.</p> - -<p>When he came to England after his many months' absence in Arabia, -Gartney had determined not to see Lady Errington, feeling that he -loved her, or rather her idolized memory, so much, that he would not -be able to suppress his passion, and thus behave dishonourably towards -his cousin Guy by running away with his wife. Aunt Jelly, however, by -telling him of the estrangement between the pair had banished this -honourable hesitation from his heart, as he felt himself forced by -Fate to see the woman he loved face to face. It was a very convenient -excuse with which to quiet his conscience for this wrong-doing, and -having settled in his own selfish mind that Fate was too strong for -him, he determined to estrange husband and wife still further, so that -he would have less trouble in overcoming Lady Errington's scruples to -his dishonourable proposals.</p> - -<p>This idea which he held had been singularly strengthened by the remark -of Aunt Jelly, when she said that Guy in his present state would be -the prey of the first clever woman that came along. Eustace therefore -determined to introduce Guy to some clever woman who would entangle -him in her net, and the woman he had fixed upon in his own mind for -this vile purpose was--Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>It was curious that he should have fixed on this special woman to do -this, seeing that he was ignorant of Mrs. Veilsturm's grudge against -Lady Errington, and did not know how eagerly she would seize this -opportunity of revenging herself on the woman who had slighted her so -scathingly. He merely chose Mrs. Veilsturm because she was beautiful, -clever, and unscrupulous, so a hint to her would be quite sufficient -to induce her to fascinate Guy by all the means in her power.</p> - -<p>Eustace Gartney was by no means a thoroughly bad man. Indeed, he had -very good qualities, although they were, to a great extent, -neutralized by his indomitable selfishness, and therefore he suffered -several qualms of conscience over the dishonourable scheme he had in -hand.</p> - -<p>His intense egotism and love of gratifying self, however, came to his -aid, and he argued himself into a satisfactory frame of mind by Heaven -only knows what sophistry.</p> - -<p>"She doesn't care a bit about her husband," he reflected, pacing the -room with measured strides, "she never did care about him, and it's a -pity to see a clever woman like that tied to an unsympathetic log. -With me, her life will be much happier than with him, and after he -gets a divorce I will marry her, and we will live abroad, where there -will be no narrow-minded bigots to scoff at what they will call her -false step. I'll do it, at whatever cost! My life will be a blank -without her, and she will be unhappy with Guy, so it will be far the -best for both of us to come together, even at the cost of a public -scandal. I'm sorry for Guy, but the one must suffer for the many, and -I daresay in after years he will thank me for taking from him a wife -from whom, even now, after less than two years of married life, he is -estranged."</p> - -<p>So Eustace, sophist as he was, argued in favour of his dishonourable -passion, and would have even succeeded in persuading himself that he -was a much-injured person by having to undergo such trouble, but for a -certain uneasy feeling that he ruthlessly crushed down.</p> - -<p>Having settled his plans to his own satisfaction, Eustace had another -smoke, then going to the window, drew aside the curtains and looked -forth into the black night.</p> - -<p>The wind was rising and whistled shrilly round the house, lashing -the dark waves into lines of seething white foam which glimmered -ghost-like through the gloom, while overhead the thin filmy clouds -raced across the sky over the face of the haggard-looking moon. He -could hear the thunder of the surge on the distant beach, the wind -muttering drearily among the trees, and casting his eyes overhead he -saw the pallid moonlight streaming in ghastly radiance through the -ragged clouds.</p> - -<p>Dropping the curtain with a sigh, he sauntered across to the piano, -and began to improvise a weird fantasy in keeping with the feelings -aroused by the wild scene without. The roll of the sea, the wuthering -of the wind, and the rustle of the reeds were all transmuted into -strange harmonies under the touch of his skilful fingers, and stealing -out at intervals from amid the tempest of sound, stole a strange, -sobbing strain, fitful and wayward as the breeze, as if some malicious -demon were piping heart-stealing love-songs to the sky, and the night, -and the lonely marsh.</p> - -<p>He remained some time at the piano, following his changeful fancies, -but when the clock struck nine he closed the instrument, and had one -final pipe before going to bed. As he sat in front of the fire, -looking into the heart of the burning coals, he went over again in his -own mind the details of the scheme by which he hoped to secure his -cousin's wife to himself.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he said aloud in the silence of the room, "it is all right! -There is no flaw!"</p> - -<p>There was a flaw, however, and one which, in his blind egotism and -complacent selfishness, he entirely overlooked, and that was the love -of the mother for her child.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_21" href="#div1Ref_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> -<h5>FROM THE HUSBAND'S POINT OF VIEW.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"A statue cut in marble white<br> -To me gives but a cold delight,</p> -<p class="t2">Although 'tis fair<br> -I do not care,</p> -<p class="t1">For joy begins and ends with sight.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"A woman pure as virgin snows,<br> -Within whose veins the life-blood flows,</p> -<p class="t2">Whose smile reveals<br> -The love she feels,</p> -<p class="t1">Ah, such a one is Love's true rose."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>The next morning Eustace made up his mind to go to Errington Hall in -the afternoon, and meanwhile amused himself in leisurely strolling -along the beach watching the waves rolling landward.</p> - -<p>Behind him the sand hills rose in low mounds with their scanty -vegetation, shutting out the marshes beyond, then came the narrow -strip of sandy beach on which his footsteps left deeply imprinted -marks, and before him, sombre under the leaden coloured sky, stretched -the heaving ocean, with thin lines of white-crested waves breaking to -cold foam at his feet. The sky, filled with rain-charged clouds, -lowered heavily on the chill earth, and midway flew a wide-winged -sea-gull, uttering discordant cries.</p> - -<p>It was a dreary scene, and Eustace, with his hands clasped behind him, -stared at the dismal prospect, which was quite in keeping with his own -disturbed feelings. He was meditating a dishonourable action, and he -knew it, so in spite of his determination to carry it through to the -bitter end, he felt oppressed by a vague feeling of dread that all his -villainy would be of no avail. In the course of his selfish life he -had done many foolish things, at which the world had looked askance, -but hitherto his pride had preserved him from dishonour, but now he -stood on the edge of an abyss into which he was about to plunge of his -own free will, and, in spite of his egotistical philosophy, he -trembled at the prospect before him.</p> - -<p>Supposing he did induce Lady Errington to return his passion and leave -England with him, what benefit would it bring to him or to her? To her -a ruined home, the memory of a deserted child, the prospect of exile -from all social circles, and an endless regret for her fall; to him, -delighted companionship for a time, and then a sense of weary disgust, -of futile sorrow for a past that could not be undone, and constant -discord between himself and the partner of his shame.</p> - -<p>Was it worth the risk he was running, for a chimera, a fanciful -creation of his own brain, a desire for a vision that might never be -realised? And all this time with characteristic selfishness, not a -thought for the deserted husband, for the motherless child.</p> - -<p>"Hallo, Eustace! Where are you?"</p> - -<p>Gartney arose to his feet with an ejaculation, the red blood rushing -to his face.</p> - -<p>"Guy!"</p> - -<p>It was Guy, his cousin, the man whose wife he loved, the man whose -home he intended to destroy, and, even wrapped as he was in his triple -armour of pride, egotism, and self-complacency, he felt the sting of -remorse. It was too late, however, to think of such things, he having -fully made up his mind to act; so he crushed down the feeling which -might have made him a better man, and went forward to meet his cousin, -who was walking smartly along the beach.</p> - -<p>Eighteen months had not made much change in Errington, save that he -was a little stouter, but he looked as handsome as ever, only there -was a discontented look on his face, as if he were thoroughly -dissatisfied with his life, as indeed he was. He had evidently ridden -over, as he was in a riding dress, and he advanced towards Eustace -with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his hunting crop with -which he carelessly switched his boots.</p> - -<p>"Well, dear old fellow, I am glad to see you again," he said, coming -to his cousin and holding out his hand.</p> - -<p>"You are very kind, Guy," faltered Eustace, quietly shaking hands, -with the feeling of remorse again dominant in his breast. "I was going -over to see you this afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Were you?" said Errington, listlessly. "Oh, yes!--of course, but I -heard at the village you had come to Castle Grim, so, as I was -mounted, I thought I'd come on here. I've left my horse with that old -Caliban of yours and came down to look you up."</p> - -<p>"I'm very glad to see you," returned Eustace, turning away his head. -"Shall we go back to the house?"</p> - -<p>"No, not yet," responded Errington, throwing himself down on the dry -sand. "Let us talk here. I want to speak to you privately, Eustace, and -this is the best place."</p> - -<p>Gartney knew in his own mind that Errington wanted to speak about his -wife, so sat down near the recumbent form of his cousin, and waited -for him to begin the conversation.</p> - -<p>Nothing was said, however, until, after a moment's silence, Guy looked -up at Gartney's face with a frown.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord, man, have you left your tongue behind in Arabia?" he said -roughly, leaning his cheek on his hand.</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed a little bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it would have been as well if I had done so," he said -deliberately, "it might save my soul the burden of many lies."</p> - -<p>"As whimsical as ever!"</p> - -<p>"Do you think so? No doubt! Solitude is rather apt to confirm a man in -his eccentric habits. By-the-way, you have not told me how your wife -is?"</p> - -<p>"Quite well," replied Errington shortly.</p> - -<p>"And the son and heir, on whose birth I must congratulate you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's all right."</p> - -<p>Guy spoke this last sentence in such a bitter tone that Eustace could -not help turning round and looking at him. He was gazing moodily at -the sand, but glanced upward, as he felt rather than saw that Gartney -had turned round, and smiled ironically.</p> - -<p>"You seem surprised?" he said at length.</p> - -<p>"I am surprised," answered Eustace deliberately. "When I saw you in -Italy, you spoke very differently--very differently indeed."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but you see that was in my character of a newly-married man," -sneered Guy, picking up a handful of sand and letting it stream -through his fingers. "All that sort of thing is over."</p> - -<p>"And why is it over?" asked Eustace, coldly. "Eighteen months can -scarcely make so much difference----"</p> - -<p>"It makes every difference--in my case."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>Guy sat up suddenly, clasped his hands round his knees, and staring at -the ocean, answered in a dreary voice utterly devoid of any feeling:</p> - -<p>"I daresay it will sound ridiculous to a man like yourself, Eustace, -and no doubt you and the world will laugh at me when you know my -reason. But I cannot help it. I've fought against the feeling, as much -as ever I could. I've made all sorts of excuses for my wife, but it's -all of no use."</p> - -<p>"I'm quite in the dark as to what you are talking about."</p> - -<p>"I'm talking about my wife," said Guy deliberately. "You know how much -in love I was with her when we married?"</p> - -<p>"And are you not in love with her now?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am!"</p> - -<p>"Then what have you to complain of?"</p> - -<p>"Complain of!" echoed Errington with a bitter laugh. "I have nothing -to complain of, according to the views of the world. Alizon is a -perfect wife, a perfect mother, a perfect woman in every way. In fact, -that is what I do complain of! She's too perfect."</p> - -<p>"Good Heavens, man!" cried Eustace, now thoroughly exasperated. "I -don't understand a word you are saying. If Alizon is perfect, both as -wife and mother, what more do you want?"</p> - -<p>"I want love," returned Guy, in a low, deep voice, the blood rushing -to his face. "I want love and affection. I'm starving for one kind -word and I cannot obtain it. It sounds ridiculous, does it not, for a -man of my years to whimper about love like a silly schoolboy? But I -cannot help it. I married Alizon in order to have a true and loving -wife, and I find I am tied to a statue."</p> - -<p>"But I cannot understand----"</p> - -<p>"Of course, you can't," cried Errington vehemently, leaping to his -feet, "how could you? a cold-blooded man, who can do without love and -affection, who doesn't care two straws about any human being, and only -adores the phantom creations of his own brain. Great Heaven!" said the -unfortunate young man, staring wildly up at the leaden-coloured sky, -"if I were only a man like that how happy I should be. But I'm not, -I'm only a fellow who wants to be loved by his wife, but even that is -denied me. I married Alizon for love. I loved her then, I love her -now, and she cares no more for me than she does for yonder ocean."</p> - -<p>"But surely the child is a bond of union between you?"</p> - -<p>"The child!" repeated Errington fiercely, "no! the child, which should -have drawn us closer together, has put us farther asunder than ever. I -longed for a child to succeed me in the estates, and, now I have -obtained my desire, I wish it had never been born. I hate the child! -It seems horrible, Eustace, but I do. I hate it."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk like that, Guy," cried Eustace, springing to his feet, and -laying his hand on his cousin's arm, "it's terrible--your own child!"</p> - -<p>"My own child! my own child," repeated Guy with senseless reiteration. -"Yes! my own child."</p> - -<p>He thrust his hands into his pockets, and abruptly turning away, -walked a short distance in order to conceal his emotion, while Eustace -stood silently in the same place, wondering at his cousin's grief over -what appeared to him to be such a trivial matter. It might seem so to -him, but it certainly was not to Guy, whose whole nature was smarting -under a sense of neglect and injury.</p> - -<p>After a few moments Errington returned, with a hard look on his face, -and a cynical laugh on his lips.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, Eustace," he said ceremoniously, "for troubling -you about these affairs, but if I hadn't someone to talk to about it, -I believe I should go mad. I went up to Aunt Jelly the other day, and -told her what I am now telling you, but she didn't seem to think much -of it."</p> - -<p>"You make a mistake there," said Gartney, quickly. "Aunt Jelly thought -a great deal about it. In fact, it is because she urged me to see what -I could do, that I am down here."</p> - -<p>"You can't do anything," replied Errington listlessly, "no one can do -anything. Alizon and myself are an ill-wedded pair. The quick coupled -with the dead. She is a perfect wife, a perfect mother, and I, in the -eyes of the world possessing a treasure in the matrimonial way, am the -most miserable devil alive."</p> - -<p>Eustace felt a sudden pang of compunction at the idea of the misery he -proposed to add to the unhappy young man's life, and after a short -struggle between the generous and selfish instincts of his nature, the -former triumphed, and he determined to do his best to reconcile -husband and wife. With this new resolve in his mind, he approached -Guy, and taking him by the arm, walked slowly across the beach with -him towards Castle Grim.</p> - -<p>"Come to the house, old fellow," he said kindly. "You are working -yourself into a perfect state over nothing. Have luncheon with me, and -then we'll drive over together, and I'll do my best to put things -right."</p> - -<p>"Impossible," said Guy, gloomily, "quite impossible."</p> - -<p>"How so?"</p> - -<p>"It's easy enough explained! When I married my wife, I thought her -coldness would wear off, but it did not. To all my love and -tenderness, she was as cold as ice. Kind enough in a cold-blooded sort -of way, but as far as any answering tenderness or feeling of sympathy, -she might as well have been a statue. That was hard enough to bear, as -you may imagine, but when the child was born it was much worse. She -isn't a statue now, by any means, but her whole soul is wrapped up in -the child. She's never away from him, she never stops talking about -him, she lives in the nursery, and never comes near me. If I offer to -caress her, she frowns and resents any display of affection. All her -love, all her heart, is given to the child, and I've got to be content -with cold looks, and about five minutes' conversation a day. I hardly -ever see her, sometimes she doesn't even come to meals, and when I -remonstrated with her, she turned on me in a cold fury, and asked me -if I wanted her to neglect the child. What am I to do, Eustace? I -can't force her to love me against her will. I can't keep her from the -child. There seems nothing for me to do, but to be satisfied with the -life I am leading now, and it's Hell, Eustace, Hell. It's a big word -to describe a little thing, isn't it? The world would laugh at me if -they heard me talk, but no one can understand it, unless they undergo -it."</p> - -<p>He spoke with great emotion, and although Eustace failed in a great -measure to understand his deep feelings on the subject, he could not -but see that his cousin had great cause to speak. A young man of -ardent nature, to whom love is a necessity, finding himself tied to a -woman who chilled every demonstration of affection, and lavished all -her adoration on the child of which he was the father--it was truly a -pitiable situation, and yet one at which the world would laugh, -because the tragic elements therein were so simple.</p> - -<p>Gartney listened in silence to the long speech, and saying nothing in -reply, made his cousin have some luncheon, while he thought over the -whole affair.</p> - -<p>"I won't speak to Mrs. Veilsturm," he thought to himself, pouring out -Guy a glass of wine, "if I can I'll bring them together again and then -leave England for ever."</p> - -<p>During the luncheon, he talked gaily enough to Errington, cheering him -up by every means in his power, making up his mind in the meantime as -to what was the best course to pursue.</p> - -<p>When the meal was finished, he ordered Javelrack to bring round a -horse, and, with Sir Guy, was soon trotting along the road on the way -to Errington Hall.</p> - -<p>"Now, listen to me, Guy," he said, when they were some distance on -their journey. "I think you exaggerate a good deal of this thing. It's -not half so bad as you make out. Alizon is a young mother, and you -know they always adore their first-born to the exclusion of everything -else. I don't think she is naturally of a cold nature, and when her -first outburst of joy on the child is exhausted, she will, doubtless, -give you that love which is your due, and which you so much need. But, -in the meantime, it is foolish of you to remain at the Hall, as you -will only work yourself up into a frenzy over nothing. Solitude is the -worst thing in the world for a man in your condition, so the best -thing you can do is to come up to town with me for a week or so."</p> - -<p>"But I cannot leave Alizon alone," objected Errington in perplexity.</p> - -<p>"Why not? She won't be lonely, as she has the child, and besides, if -she neglects you as you say, it is because you are always near her. A -few weeks' absence would make a wonderful change in her demeanour, I -can tell you."</p> - -<p>"Do you really think so?" asked poor Guy, his face lighting up.</p> - -<p>"I'm certain of it. In spite of your years, my dear boy, I'm afraid -you don't know much about feminine nature. Learn then, that to make a -woman value a thing truly, it is necessary to put it out of her reach. -Immediately it is in that position, then she'll strain every nerve to -get it back again. Therefore, if you leave your wife, and neglect her -for a time, she will begin to grow jealous, and see how wrongly she -has treated you. When you come back again, she will alter her conduct, -and things will be all right."</p> - -<p>"I don't believe in that prescription," retorted Guy, sharply.</p> - -<p>"Don't you? It does sound rather difficult of belief, but it's true -for all that. And I can tell you of a case in question, that of -Victoria Sheldon and Macjean."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand----"</p> - -<p>"No! then I'll explain. If you will carry your memory back to the time -we were in Italy, you will remember that Otterburn was very much in -love with Victoria Sheldon."</p> - -<p>"To tell you the truth, I've almost forgotten Otterburn himself. Was -he not your companion then?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!--we parted at Venice, and I saw him again for the first time -last week. Well, Otterburn was so much in love with Victoria that he -proposed. She refused him, so Otterburn, having a spirit of his own, -departed, and has never seen her since. Finding, therefore, that he -stood on his dignity, she fell in love with him, and I feel certain, -that if Otterburn chooses to ask her again, she will say yes."</p> - -<p>"But will he choose?"</p> - -<p>"He will! They love one another devotedly, and each is ignorant of the -other's feelings, but when they meet everything will be arranged -satisfactorily. So you see, my dear Guy, the value of absence, for if -Otterburn hadn't gone away, he certainly would not have won the heart -of Victoria Sheldon."</p> - -<p>"And you advise me to do the same?"</p> - -<p>"I do, decidedly! Leave your wife for a few weeks, and if she has any -love for you--which she must have, or else she would not have married -you--she will miss you hourly, and when you come back--well the game -will be in your own hands."</p> - -<p>Guy did not reply for a few minutes, but urged his horse into a -canter, and the two rode along for some distance in silence. When -nearing Denfield, however, Errington suddenly drew his horse up, and -turned his head towards Eustace.</p> - -<p>"I will take your advice," he said abruptly, "it can do no harm, and -it may do good."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_22" href="#div1Ref_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> -<h5>FROM THE WIFE'S POINT OF VIEW.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px"> -"What is the purest love on earth?<br> -A maiden's love for summer mirth?<br> -A lover's worship of his idol<br> -When bells ring out his happy bridal?<br> -A patriot's when on foreign strand<br> -He suffers for his native land?<br> -A poet's or musician's love<br> -For thoughts inspired from above?<br> -Ah, no, the love most undefiled<br> -Is that the mother gives the child."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Lady Errington was as usual in the nursery, sitting in a low chair -near the window, watching "Sammy" playing on the floor. "Sammy," -otherwise Henry Gerald Guy Errington, was now a year old, and looked -what he was, a remarkably fine child, of which any mother might be -proud. "Proud," however, is too weak a word to use in connection with -Alizon's love for her child, seeing that this small scrap of humanity -rolling about at her feet was worshipped by her with an affection -absolutely idolatrous. All her ideas, her thoughts, her affections, -were bound up in Sammy, and had it been a question of death for mother -or child, there is no doubt that Alizon would have cheerfully yielded -up her own life to save that of her baby.</p> - -<p>Nor was Sammy undeserving of worship, for he was really a beautiful -boy, with the frank expression of his father's handsome face, and a -healthy, sturdy little frame, which seemed to defy disease. During his -twelve months of existence he had been very healthy, and even in the -delicate matter of cutting his teeth had been more successful than the -generality of infants. With his rosy little face, his big, blue eyes -and soft yellow curls of hair, he looked as an obsequious nurse -expressed it, "a perfect picter." That worthy lady, Mrs. Tasker by -name, and fat, plethoric and red-faced by nature, was at the end of -the nursery attending to some articles of the young gentleman's -toilet, and Alizon had her child all to herself, for which privilege -she was profoundly grateful, as Mrs. Tasker was a terrible autocrat.</p> - -<p>A wonderful change had come over her since she had become a mother, -for the statue had become a woman, the iceberg had melted, and in all -her life she never looked so womanly as she did at this moment. Her -face, flushed a delicate rose-colour, was sparkling with animation, -her lips were parted in a merry laugh, and her eyes, soft and tender, -absolutely seemed to devour the child as she bent forward to play with -him.</p> - -<p>Sammy was sitting like an infant Marius among the ruins of a Carthage -of toys, for around him on all sides lay the evidences of his -destructive capabilities. A woolly quadruped, something between a dog -and a cow, dignified with the name of "Ba-lamb," lay on its back, -piteously extending one mangled leg, the other three having been -bitten off, and an indecent india-rubber doll, with no clothes and a -squeak, was being dragged about by a string. There were several other -things, such as a drum (broken), a toy soldier (head missing), a -wooden Noah (paint sucked off), and last, but not least, a hunting -crop of his father's, which was Sammy's special delight, because it -wasn't supposed to be proper for him to have it.</p> - -<p>Sammy at present was hammering "Eliza" (the doll aforesaid) with the -whip, when suddenly discovering that one shoe had come off in his -exertions, he rendered things equal by pulling off the other shoe, and -then chuckled with delight at his success.</p> - -<p>"Naughty Sammy," reproved his mother, bending down to pick up the -shoes. "Mustn't do that--ah, bad child!"</p> - -<p>The bad child, attracted by the fact that both shoes were out of his -reach, made a snatch at them, with the result that he over-balanced -himself, and came down heavily on his head. He was undecided whether -to howl or not, when his mother settled the question by picking him up -with a cry of pity, whereat, knowing the right thing to do, he howled -vigorously.</p> - -<p>"Mother's own precious! mother's own darling!" lamented Alizon, -rocking him to and fro on her breast; upon which Sammy, finding the -rocking pleasant, roared louder than ever, whereupon Mrs. Tasker -hurried forward to give her opinion.</p> - -<p>"Why, whatever's the matter, my lady?" she asked anxiously. "He hasn't -swallowed anything has he?"</p> - -<p>This was Mrs. Tasker's constant nightmare, for Sammy had an -ostrich-like capacity for swallowing anything that came handy, and -disposed of all sorts of things in this manner, to the great detriment -of his stomach.</p> - -<p>"He's hurt his head, Nurse," explained Lady Errington, anxiously, -while Sammy, satisfied at being the centre of attraction, stopped -roaring. "His poor head. He fell over on the floor."</p> - -<p>"He's allay's doin' that," said Nurse in despair. "I nivir did see -sich a topply child. Feathers is lead to his upsettings."</p> - -<p>The comparison was not a particularly happy one, but it served Mrs. -Tasker, who thereupon wanted to take Sammy from his mother, a -proceeding to which Lady Errington strongly objected.</p> - -<p>"No, don't Nurse please! let me hold him a little time! See he's quite -good now."</p> - -<p>And indeed, Sammy was now behaving like an angel, for being attracted -by a small gold brooch his mother wore, he was standing up on his -sturdy legs, plucking at it with chubby fingers, and gurgling to -himself in a most satisfied manner.</p> - -<p>"I nivir did see such a dear child," remarked Mrs. Tasker admiringly. -"'Is 'owls is hoff as soon as on. Why the last as I nussed, my lady, -were that givin' to hollerin' as you might 'ave thought I'd put 'im to -bed with a pin-cushing. But as for Master Sammy, well----" and casting -up her little eyes to the ceiling, Mrs. Tasker expressed in pantomime, -with a pair of dumpy red hands, that words failed her.</p> - -<p>"He's an angel! an angel!" murmured Alizon fondly, covering the rosy -little face with kisses. "Oh, nurse, isn't he perfect?"</p> - -<p>Nurse expressed her firm conviction that there never was nor never -would be such a perfectly angelic child, and then the two women -indulged in a lavish display of grovelling affection, with many -inarticulated words, tender fondlings and indistinct kisses, all of -which Sammy accepted with the greatest calmness as his just due.</p> - -<p>At this moment a servant entered the nursery to inform Lady Errington -that Sir Guy and Mr. Eustace Gartney were waiting for her in the Dutch -room, at which Alizon was in despair, for it was now the time when -Sammy took his airing, and therefore one of the most interesting -events of the day. However, much as she disliked leaving the child, -she could hardly refuse to see Eustace without appearing pointedly -rude, so sent the servant away with the information that she would be -down immediately.</p> - -<p>"I won't be longer than I can help, Nurse," she said dolefully, -delivering Sammy into the extended arms of Mrs. Tasker. "Be sure you -take the greatest care in dressing him."</p> - -<p>"Well, my lady," said Mrs. Tasker, with scathing irony, "I 'opes as -I've dressed a child afore."</p> - -<p>"Yes! Yes! of course," replied Lady Errington hastily, for she had a -wholesome fear of the autocrat's temper, "but you know how anxious I -am! and his bottle, Nurse! take care it's warm, and Nurse! please -don't go out until I send up a message."</p> - -<p>"Will it be long?" demanded Mrs. Tasker determinedly, "because there -ain't much sun, and this blessed child must git as much as he can. It -makes 'im grow."</p> - -<p>"No! only a few minutes," said Alizon quickly. "You see, Nurse, I'll -want to show him to Mr. Gartney. Take the greatest care--the very -greatest care--goodbye, mother's angel--kiss mother, dearest."</p> - -<p>Sammy opened his button of a mouth and bestowed a damp caress on his -mother, which was his idea of kissing, and then Lady Errington, -yielding to stern necessity, withdrew slowly, with her eyes fixed on -the child to the last, and even when she closed the nursery door, she -strained her ears to hear him crowing.</p> - -<p>Both gentlemen were waiting in the Dutch room, which received its name -from the fact that it looked out on to the prim garden, with the rows -of box-wood, the beds of gaudy tulips and the fantastically clipped -yew trees. Guy was in a much more cheerful mood than usual, as he -thought that the panacea prescribed by Eustace would make an end of -all his troubles, and Gartney himself experienced a wonderful feeling -of exhilaration at the near prospect of seeing his visionary lady of -Como once more.</p> - -<p>The soft sweep of a robe, the turning of the handle of the door, and -in another moment she stood before him, a fair, gracious woman, who -advanced slowly with outstretched hand and a kindly smile.</p> - -<p>"How do you do, Mr. Gartney, after all this time?" she said sweetly, -clasping his extended hand. "I thought we were never going to see you -again."</p> - -<p>Was this the pale, cold Undine he had last seen at Como, more ethereal -than the visioned spirits of romance? Was this the perfect, bloodless -statue of whom Guy complained? This lovely breathing woman, aflush -with all the tender grace of motherhood, with delicately pink cheeks, -eyes brilliant with animation, and a voice rich and mellow as the -sound of a silver bell. Yes! his prophecy had come true; the haunting, -hungry look had departed from her eyes, for in the full satisfaction -of the strong maternal instinct the thin, unsubstantial ghost of -maidenhood had disappeared; and in this beautiful woman, aglow with -exuberant vitality, he recognized the reality of the visionary -creation of his dreaming brain.</p> - -<p>"Did you think I was lost in Arabian solitudes?" he said, recovering -from his momentary fit of abstraction. "I'm afraid I'm not the sort of -man to be lost. I always come back again, like a modern Prodigal Son."</p> - -<p>Alizon laughed when he spoke thus, but months afterwards she -recollected those careless words. At present, however, she sat down -near him, and began to talk, while Guy, who had uttered no word since -she entered the room, stood silently at the window, staring out at the -quaint Dutch garden.</p> - -<p>"Now I suppose you are going to stay at home, and tell your tales from -your own chimney corner?" said Lady Errington, clasping her hands -loosely on her knees.</p> - -<p>Eustace shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I thought so the other day, but now--I'm going on an exploring -expedition up the Nile."</p> - -<p>"You must have the blood of the Wandering Jew in your veins."</p> - -<p>"Or Cain!--he was rather fond of travelling, wasn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Don't be profane, Mr. Gartney," said Alizon, trying to look serious. -"But really you ought to settle down and marry."</p> - -<p>"Yes, shouldn't he?" observed Guy caustically, turning round. "Go in -for the delights of the family circle."</p> - -<p>"That all depends whether he would appreciate them or not," replied -Lady Errington coldly, flashing an indignant look at her husband, upon -which Eustace to avoid unpleasantness made a hasty observation.</p> - -<p>"By the way, talking of the family circle, I have to congratulate you, -Lady Errington, on the birth of a son."</p> - -<p>Alizon's eyes, which had hardened while looking at Guy, grew wondrous -soft and tender.</p> - -<p>"Yes!--he is the dearest child in the world--everyone loves him except -his father."</p> - -<p>"What nonsense Alizon!" said Guy, hastily turning towards his wife. -"I'm very fond of him indeed, but one gets tired of babies."</p> - -<p>"I daresay, but not of their own children," answered Lady Errington -indignantly. "You must see him, Mr. Gartney, and I'm sure you'll say -you never saw such a lovely child."</p> - -<p>She arose from her seat and left the room quickly, while Eustace -looked reproachfully at Guy.</p> - -<p>"You shouldn't talk like that," he said quietly, "I don't wonder you -find things disagreeable if you sneer at the child."</p> - -<p>"I don't sneer at the child," retorted Guy sullenly, "but I'm tired of -hearing nothing but baby chatter all day long."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps, if you were as attentive to the baby as your wife, it would -be advisable."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! I can't be on my knees before a cradle all day, and besides -Alizon won't let me come near it. One would think I was going to -murder the child the way she looks at me when I lay a finger on it."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gartney," said Lady Errington's voice at the door. "Come upstairs -with me to the nursery."</p> - -<p>"Can't I come to Paradise also?" observed Guy wistfully as his cousin -was leaving the room.</p> - -<p>"Certainly, come if you care to," replied Alizon coldly.</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," replied Errington abruptly, his brow growing black -with rage at the coldness of the invitation.</p> - -<p>"I'll stay here till you return."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington went upstairs slowly with Eustace, with a look of anger -on her face.</p> - -<p>"You see," she said bitterly, pausing at the nursery door, "he does -not care a bit about his child."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I think he does," answered Eustace discreetly, "but he thought -you did not want him to come."</p> - -<p>"I am always glad for him to come," remarked Alizon coldly, "but when -he does he only makes disagreeable remarks about the boy, so his -visits are never very pleasant."</p> - -<p>Things were decidedly wrong between this young couple, and they so -thoroughly misunderstood one another that Eustace was at a loss how to -set them right. He was saved the trouble of further thought, however, -by Lady Errington opening the door and preceding him into the nursery.</p> - -<p>"There he is, Mr. Gartney," said the young mother, "look at my -precious."</p> - -<p>"My precious," in all the glory of white hat, white cape and woolly -gloves and shoes, was seated in his perambulator ready to go out for -his airing, and Mrs. Tasker, with the under-nurse, were both attached -to the wheels of his chariot. At the sight of Gartney's bronzed face, -he set up a howl, and was only pacified by being taken out of his -carriage into the protecting arms of his mother.</p> - -<p>"The complete Madonna now," thought Eustace, as he looked at the -flushed face of the young mother bending over the rosy one of the -child.</p> - -<p>"Did he cry then! sweetest! What do you think of him, Mr. Gartney?"</p> - -<p>"There can be but one opinion," replied that gentleman solemnly, "he's -a very beautiful child, and you may well be proud of him, Lady -Errington."</p> - -<p>"Did you ever see a finer child?" demanded Alizon, insatiable for -praise.</p> - -<p>"No, never," answered Eustace, which was true enough, as he hated -babies and never looked at them unless forced to. "Hi, baby, chuck! -chuck!"</p> - -<p>"Goo! goo! goo!" gurgled Master Errington, and stretched out his -chubby arms to Gartney, intimating thereby a desire to improve his -acquaintance with that gentleman.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's quite taken to you," said Lady Errington gaily. "Just feel -what a weight he is."</p> - -<p>So Eustace was forced to take the child in his arms, and looked as -awkward as a man usually does when burdened with a baby. Ultimately -Sammy was returned to his mother's arms, and she took him down the -stairs, while the footman and Mrs. Tasker between them carried down -the light wickerwork perambulator.</p> - -<p>"Wheel him up and down the terrace for a time, Nurse," said Alizon, -when the child was once more replaced in his little carriage. "I'll be -out soon."</p> - -<p>They were standing at the door, and Lady Errington waited there until -Mrs. Tasker vanished with the baby round the corner on to the wide -terrace, when she turned to Eustace with a sigh.</p> - -<p>"Does that mean that you are anxious to get to the baby?" asked -Eustace, raising his eyebrows, as they walked back to the Dutch room.</p> - -<p>"Oh no, really," replied Lady Errington, with polite mendacity, "do -you think I am never happy away from Sammy?"</p> - -<p>"Are you?" he asked, eyeing her keenly.</p> - -<p>Alizon flushed a bright crimson, laughed in an uneasy manner and -fidgeted nervously.</p> - -<p>"What a shame to push me into a corner!" she said at length, raising -her clear eyes to his face. "No!--I am never happy away from my child. -I am so afraid of any accident happening! Dear me, what has become of -Guy?"</p> - -<p>They had entered the Dutch room by this time and found it empty, but -on the table afternoon tea was laid out, so Alizon sat down to pour -out Eustace a cup. Gartney looked at her furtively as she did this, -and thought he had never seen her look so charming.</p> - -<p>"Lucky Guy," he said at length, taking the cup she handed to him.</p> - -<p>"Because of Sammy?" she asked, looking at him with a bright smile.</p> - -<p>"No! because of you!" replied Eustace boldly, whereat she shook her -blonde head gaily, though her lips wore a somewhat scornful look.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid Guy doesn't think so!"</p> - -<p>Eustace judged this a good opening from which to lead up to his -attempt at reconciliation, so spoke out at once.</p> - -<p>"Lady Errington, don't you think you are rather hard upon Guy?"</p> - -<p>She turned her face towards him sharply.</p> - -<p>"Why do you ask that?" she demanded coldly.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid it is a liberty," answered Eustace slowly, "but you see I -am Guy's cousin, so the near relationship must excuse my apparent -rudeness. But the fact is you don't seem perfectly happy."</p> - -<p>"I am happy, perfectly happy I have everything in the world I -desire--health, wealth and my darling child."</p> - -<p>"I see you don't count your husband among your blessings," said -Eustace.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes! I'm very fond of Guy. He is the father of my child!"</p> - -<p>"Is that the only reason you are fond of him?"</p> - -<p>"Really, Mr. Gartney, I do not see by what right you speak like this -to me," she said with great hauteur.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said Eustace, with cold politeness. "I was wrong -to do so."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington began to twist her marriage ring round and round, as if -she wanted to pull it off, and a frown passed across her mobile face. -Eustace, versed in the ways of her sex, knew that those signs -betokened further remarks on her part, so he wisely said nothing, but -waited for the outburst, which came exactly as he expected.</p> - -<p>"I am very fond of Guy," she asserted defiantly. "I would not have -married him if I had not been fond of him. What makes you think I'm -not? I suppose Aunt Jelly has been saying something?"</p> - -<p>"My dear Lady Errington," responded Gartney replacing, his cup on the -table, "I had no right to speak as I did. I beg your pardon."</p> - -<p>"Please answer my question, Mr. Gartney," she said angrily, a red spot -of colour burning on either cheek. "Has Aunt Jelly been saying -anything?"</p> - -<p>Gartney was not the man to remain in any difficulty where a lie could -help him out of it, so he replied to her question with the greatest -deliberation.</p> - -<p>"Aunt Jelly has been saying nothing. The only reason that makes me -speak is that you seem to me to be fonder of the baby than of your own -husband."</p> - -<p>The murder was out, and he was prepared for a storm, but it did not -come, as Alizon had quite as much self-control as himself.</p> - -<p>"Well, and what is wrong in that?" she said coldly. "I do love my -child more than my husband, any mother would."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that rather hard on the husband?"</p> - -<p>"No! I do not see it! Of course, I love Guy very much--much more than -he loves his child," she finished with a burst of passion.</p> - -<p>"I think Guy is very fond of the child," said Eustace quietly.</p> - -<p>"He is not," she replied angrily, rising to her feet; "he grudges -every hour I spend with the boy. He would have me neglect the child -in order to be always with him. But there, what is the use of -talking?--neither you nor Guy can understand the feelings of a -mother."</p> - -<p>This remark closed the discussion so far as Eustace was concerned, for -he deemed it useless to argue with a woman who was so blind to -everything except her maternal feelings, so he hastened to turn the -conversation.</p> - -<p>"You are right there, Lady Errington," he said good-humouredly, "I am -a bachelor, so know absolutely nothing about these things. But Guy -looks a little knocked up, so I want to take him to town with me."</p> - -<p>"Oh, certainly," replied Alizon indifferently. "A run up to town will -do him good. I want Guy to enjoy himself in every way. But now, Mr. -Gartney, excuse me for a time, as I must go and see how the baby is -getting on. Will you stay to dinner?"</p> - -<p>"No, thank you," said Eustace, rising and holding out his hand. "I -have some letters to write this evening, but I will come over -to-morrow and see you before I go back to town."</p> - -<p>"That's right," answered Lady Errington, smiling as she pressed his -hand. "Goodbye at present. Come to-morrow, and I will show you the -baby again."</p> - -<p>She went to the door, when it suddenly opened, and Guy entered.</p> - -<p>"Oh, here you are, Guy," she said sweetly, as he stood holding the -door open for her to pass through, "I was just going to send for you. -Mr. Gartney is going away."</p> - -<p>"And where are you going?" asked Guy, with a half-smile on his stern -face.</p> - -<p>"Can you ask?" she said archly. "To the baby, of course." And with a -laugh she vanished through the doorway, while Guy, with a scowl, -pushed the door roughly to, and strode across the room to Eustace.</p> - -<p>"Well?" he demanded curtly.</p> - -<p>"Well," answered Eustace coolly, "I did what I could--but of course, -my dear fellow, it's a very delicate matter, and really I had no right -to interfere in any way."</p> - -<p>"What did she say?" demanded Guy roughly, turning as white as a sheet.</p> - -<p>"She said you had better go to Town with me," answered Gartney -reluctantly.</p> - -<p>Guy burst out with a harsh laugh, and turned towards the window with a -gesture of despair.</p> - -<p>"Good God! and I'm breaking my heart for that statue."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_23" href="#div1Ref_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>MRS. VEILSTURM'S "AT HOME."</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I hate 'At Homes,' they're simply Inquisitions</p> -<p class="t2">To torture human beings into fits;</p> -<p class="t1">A mixture of plebeians and patricians,</p> -<p class="t2">On whom in judgment Mrs. Grundy sits;</p> -<p class="t1">Sonatas played by second-rate musicians,</p> -<p class="t2">And milk-and-water jokes by would-be wits;</p> -<p class="t1">Such squallings, scandals, crush of men and ladies--<br> -It's like a family party down in Hades."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>As this was the first victory he had ever obtained over his -egotistical nature, Eustace felt most unjustifiably proud, and viewed -his actions with great self-complacency, therefore the good results of -such victory merely became egotism in another form. His attitude -towards Lady Errington had certainly altered, but not for the better, -as the fantastic adoration he had formerly felt towards a vision of -his own creation had changed to an earthly love for the real woman, in -which there was mingled more of sensuality than platonism. Eustace was -certainly not a coarse man in any sense of the word, but he had -regarded the visionary Lady Errington so long as his own special -property, withheld from him by the accident of her marriage with -Guy, that when he saw the flesh-and-blood woman <i>riant</i> in all her -newly-found vitality, he viewed her as a Sultan might view a fresh -odalisque added to his <i>serail</i>. The pale lily had changed into the -rich red rose, and the spiritual being of his fevered imagination had -taken the form of a beautiful woman, full of temptation to an ardent -lover.</p> - -<p>Any sensible man would have seen from the short conversation he had -had with Lady Errington that love for the child filled her heart to -the exclusion of all else, but Eustace, with supreme egotism, deemed -that she loved the child simply because her husband was not worthy of -her affection and when he deigned to worship her she would certainly -forget the pale passion of maternal love under the fierce ardour of -his devotion.</p> - -<p>With this idea in his mind it was no wonder he felt that he was -exercising great self-denial in trying to bring husband and wife -together, and in renouncing his desire to gain possession of a woman -for whom he felt an unreasoning admiration. However, being determined -to carry out this new mood of asceticism to the end, he took Guy up to -Town with him, and tried to amuse that moody young man to the best of -his power, which was a somewhat unsatisfactory task.</p> - -<p>Seeing that he had abandoned his scheme to gain Alizon's love, he did -not intend to speak to Mrs. Veilsturm, as he had now no desire to -entangle Guy with another woman, but as he was going to an "At Home" -given by Cleopatra, he did not hesitate to take his cousin with him in -the ordinary course of things.</p> - -<p>Eustace knew more about Mrs. Veilsturm than she cared he should know, -as he had met her at Lima, in South America, when she was--well, not -Mrs. Veilsturm--and he judged a woman of her harpy-like nature would -not strive to annex anyone but a rich man. Guy was not rich, so -Eustace thought she would leave him alone--a most fatal mistake, as he -had unconsciously placed Cleopatra's revenge within her grasp. Mrs. -Veilsturm had neither forgiven nor forgotten the deadly insult offered -to her by Lady Errington, but hitherto, owing to Guy's devotion to his -wife, had been unable to entangle him in any way. Now, however, Fate -was playing into her hands, and when she received a note from Eustace, -asking if he might bring his cousin to the house in Park Lane she felt -a savage delight at such a stroke of unforeseen luck, but, being too -clever a woman to compromise her scheme in any way, wrote a cold reply -to Mr. Gartney, telling him he could bring Sir Guy Errington--if he -liked.</p> - -<p>Of course Eustace did like, and as Guy, who had quite forgotten all -about the episode between Mrs. Veilsturm and his wife, listlessly -acquiesced, they both arrived at Cleopatra's "At Home" somewhere about -five o'clock.</p> - -<p>"I seem to remember the name," said Guy, as they struggled up the -crowded stairs.</p> - -<p>"You certainly ought to," responded Eustace, "seeing that she is about -the best-known person in Town."</p> - -<p>"Ah, but you see I'm a country cousin now," said Guy with a faint -smile. "Hang it! what a crush there is here."</p> - -<p>"That's the art of giving an 'At Home,'" answered Eustace drily, "you -put fifty people who hate one another in a room built to hold twenty, -and when they're thoroughly uncomfortable you give them bad music, -weak tea, and thin bread-and-butter. After an hour of these delights -they go away in a rollicking humour to another Sardine Party. Oh, it's -most amusing, I assure you, and--well, here we are, and here is Mrs. -Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>Cleopatra had certainly not lost any of her charms, and looked as -imperious and majestic as ever, standing in the centre of her guests, -arrayed in a startling costume of black and yellow, which gave her a -strange, barbaric appearance. There was no doubt that she wore too -many diamonds, but this was due to her African love for ornaments, and -with every movement of her body the gems flashed out sparkles of light -in the mellow twilight of the room.</p> - -<p>A foreign musician, with long hair and pale face, was playing some -weird Eastern dance on the piano as Eustace entered and bowed before -her, and it suddenly flashed across his mind that this sensuously -beautiful woman was quite out of place amid these cold English blondes -and undecided brunettes. She ought to be tossing her slender arms in a -tropical forest, to the shrill music of pipes and muffled throbbing of -serpent-skin drums, whirling in the mystic gyrations of some sacred -dance before the shrine of a veiled goddess. The sickly odour of -pastilles, which she was fond of burning in her drawing-room, assisted -this fancy, and he was only roused from this strange vision by the -mellow voice of his hostess bidding him welcome, as she touched his -hand with her slender fingers.</p> - -<p>"I am glad to see you, Mr. Gartney," she said, with a slow smile; "it -is indeed kind of you to call so soon after your return. And your -friend, whom you were to bring?"</p> - -<p>"Is here," replied Eustace, presenting his cousin, "Sir Guy -Errington."</p> - -<p>Guy bowed, feeling somewhat bewildered at her rich loveliness, and, -with a swift glance from under her heavy eye-lashes, she shook hands -with him.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gartney's friends are mine also--but you are welcome on your own -account, Sir Guy."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," answered Errington mechanically, "I think the -obligation is on my side, however."</p> - -<p>"He's a fool," decided Mrs. Veilsturm in her own mind, as she looked -at his fresh, simple face; "I can twist him round my finger, and I -will, if it's only to spite his wife."</p> - -<p>At this moment Eustace was seized upon by Mr. Dolser, who was on the -look-out for copy, and, much against his will, was dragged to the -other end of the room by the pertinacious little man, leaving his -cousin in conversation with Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>The room was quite full of all sorts and conditions of men and women. -Cleopatra knew everybody in the literary, artistic, and musical world, -and they all came to her receptions, so that it was quite a treat to -find somebody there who had done nothing. This happened on occasions -when someone who had not done anything was brought to worship someone -who had. There were plenty of lady novelists in all shades, from -blonde to brunette, picking up ideas for their next three-volume -publication; pale young poets, with long hair and undecided legs, who -wrote rondels, triolets, and ballads, hinting, in wonderful rhyme, at -things fantastical; dramatists, young and old, full of three-act plays -and hatred of managers and critics. A haggard young man of the -impressionist school drooped in a corner, discoursing of Art, in the -newest jargon of the studios, to the last fashionable manageress, who -did not understand a word he was saying, but pretended to do so, as -she wanted him to paint her picture. Everyone present had an eye to -business, and each was pursuing his or her aim with vicious -pertinacity.</p> - -<p>"Mixed lot, ain't they?--yes!" said Mr. Dolser superciliously, when -he had got the unhappy Eustace pinned up in a corner; "don't they -cackle about themselves too--rather See that stout old party in the -corner, in the damaged millinery--new novelist, you know--disease -school--Baudelaire without his genius--wrote 'The Body Snatcher' ---yes!--read it?"</p> - -<p>"No," responded Eustace, shortly, "and I don't intend to."</p> - -<p>"It is rather a corker for weak nerves," said "The Pepper Box" -proprietor, affably; "there's Gibbles--perfect genius as critic; -always slashes a book without reading it. He's destroyed more -reputations than any one I know. Yes! Ah! fancy Maniswarkoffi -being here--pianist, you know. English, only they wouldn't have -him under his real name of Grubs, so he went abroad and dug up -his present jawbreaker. Draws money now, and smashes two pianos a -week--beautiful!"</p> - -<p>In this way Mr. Dolser artlessly prattled along, destroying a -reputation every time he opened his mouth, much to the disgust of -Gartney, who wanted to get away.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," he said, in despair, "but I see a friend over there."</p> - -<p>"Ah! do you really?" replied Dolser, putting up his eyeglass. "Oh, -Macjean, isn't it? Yes. Just come back from America. Had a row with pa -because he wanted him to marry some Scotch lassie. Yes."</p> - -<p>"You seem to know all about it?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes; oh, yes. Business, you know--and by Jove! talking about -that, I want an interview with you about your book."</p> - -<p>"Then you won't get one."</p> - -<p>"That's all you know," retorted Mr. Dolser. "What? You won't tell me -anything? Never mind, I'll make up a few fairy tales. If they ain't -true that's your look-out. Ta, ta! Look in 'The Pepper Box' next week. -Jove! there's Quibbles. 'Cuse me, I want to ask about Bundy's -divorce," and he disappeared into the crowd.</p> - -<p>It was no use being angry with the little man, as he was so very -good-natured with all his impudence, so Eustace merely smiled, and -moving across the room to Otterburn, touched him on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>"You here?" he said, in a tone of glad surprise. "I <i>am</i> glad! I was -just going away."</p> - -<p>"Not enjoying yourself?" observed Eustace, leaning against the wall.</p> - -<p>"Can any one enjoy himself here?" retorted Otterburn in disgust. "I'm -tired of hearing people talk about themselves; and if they talk about -anyone else----"</p> - -<p>"They abuse them thoroughly. My dear boy, it's the way of the world. -By the way, you got my note about Victoria?"</p> - -<p>Otterburn coloured.</p> - -<p>"Yes; I'm very much obliged to you," he replied, in his boyish -fashion. "If it is only true what you think, that she does care for -me----"</p> - -<p>"Of course she cares for you."</p> - -<p>"It seems too good to be true."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" said Gartney, drily. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I -forgot you are in love!"</p> - -<p>"Cold-blooded cynic," laughed Otterburn, "go thou and do likewise."</p> - -<p>"With your awful example before me--hardly," replied Mr. Gartney, with -a kindly look in his eyes. "Did I tell you Errington is here to-day?"</p> - -<p>"No. Is he really?--and Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, she's in the country. But Errington seemed as if he wanted waking -up, so I brought him to town with me."</p> - -<p>"By the way, how is Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"Very much changed--and for the better. My prophecy concerning the -incomplete Madonna has come to pass. She is a mother now, and adores -her child."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! And is she going to adore her child for the rest of her -life?" asked Otterburn, flippantly.</p> - -<p>Eustace shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"I suppose so. She certainly can't adore her husband. Guy is a real -good fellow, as I've always maintained, but no woman in the world -would put him on a pedestal."</p> - -<p>"Poor Errington! Is he as fond of his wife as ever?"</p> - -<p>"Fonder, if possible."</p> - -<p>"Then I pity him!" said Macjean, emphatically--"I pity any man who -gives his heart to a woman to play with."</p> - -<p>"Yet that is really what you propose to do with yours."</p> - -<p>"Not at all. I am going to ask Miss Sheldon to be my wife once more. -If she accepts me, well and good, as I've no doubt we'll make an -exemplary married couple. But if she refuses--well, I'm not going to -wear my heart on my sleeve by any means. There is always Laxton, -Africa, and good shooting."</p> - -<p>"All of which will console you for the loss of the woman you profess -to adore. What a prosaic idea!"</p> - -<p>"A very sensible one, at all events," retorted Macjean, with a grim -smile. "I've no fancy to play shuttlecock to any woman's battledore. -Oh! there is Errington talking to our fair hostess."</p> - -<p>"Or rather, our fair hostess is talking to Errington."</p> - -<p>"Precisely. You shouldn't have led this unfortunate fly into the -spider's parlour, Gartney."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" replied Eustace, superciliously. "I assure you the fly is -all right. It is not rich enough for Mrs. Spider Veilsturm to seize -on. She only cares for opulent flies."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I can't take your view of the situation, seeing what I now -see."</p> - -<p>Gartney, moved by a sudden curiosity, looked sharply at Cleopatra, who -was certainly putting forth all her fascinations towards Guy, and that -gentleman, who had apparently forgotten his wife for the moment, was -talking rapidly to her with a flushed face and considerable -earnestness. Eustace was puzzled at this, and frowned amiably at the -pair.</p> - -<p>"Now what the deuce is that for?" he muttered to himself. "I certainly -did not ask her to fascinate him, and she has no reason to do so. -Humph! Perhaps Fate is once more interfering. If so----Well, -Otterburn?"</p> - -<p>But Otterburn had disappeared, and Eustace found that his place was -taken by Dolly Thambits, attended by Mr. Jiddy, both gentlemen -watching Mrs. Veilsturm over Gartney's shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Ah! how do you do, Thambits?" said Gartney, taking no notice of the -Jiddy parasite.</p> - -<p>"I'm quite well," replied Dolly, whose mild face wore anything but a -pleasant expression. "I say, who is he--the chap talking to Mrs. -Veilsturm? He came with you, didn't he?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; that is Sir Guy Errington, my cousin and very good friend."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" returned Mr. Thambits, after a pause. "I thought he was -married?"</p> - -<p>"Of course--married Miss Mostyn," murmured Jiddy, meekly.</p> - -<p>"Well, marriage isn't a crime," said Eustace, raising his eyebrows. -"What is the meaning of the remark?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?" answered Dolly, vacantly, with another scowl at Cleopatra. "Oh, -nothing only--oh, bother! they've gone into the next room. Come, -Jiddy!" and the young man vanished into the crowd, accompanied by his -umbra, leaving Eustace in a state of considerable bewilderment.</p> - -<p>"Is the boy mad," said that gentleman to himself, "or only jealous? -The latter, I think. He sees it too. Confound it! What does it mean? -She's surely not going to fight an enemy unworthy of her spear? Yet, I -don't know. Women are strange creatures. She must have some reason. -I'll go and see what Major Griff says about it."</p> - -<p>That redoubtable warrior, looking stiffer, airier, and more military -than ever, was talking in his sharp voice to a ponderous gentleman -somewhat after the Dr. Johnson type, who was listening attentively.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," the Major was saying, "I am growing tired of town. I think -I'll take a run across to New York."</p> - -<p>"And Mrs. Veilsturm?"</p> - -<p>"I am not aware what Mrs. Veilsturm's plans may be," said Griff, in a -frigid tone, "as she does not honour me with her confidence so far."</p> - -<p>The ponderous gentleman smiled meaningly, as he, in common with the -rest of society, was beginning to doubt the platonic relationship said -to exist between the Major and Cleopatra. Major Griff saw the smile, -and, ever on the alert to defend Mrs. Veilsturm from the slightest -breath of scandal, would have made some sharp remark, but at that -moment Eustace touched him on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, Major," he said courteously, "but could I speak to you for -a few moments?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, certainly," answered Griff, with great readiness. "Mr. -Waldon, we will resume our conversation on some other occasion."</p> - -<p>He was always willing to oblige Eustace from motives of diplomacy, as -he was well aware Mr. Gartney was to a certain extent behind the -scenes, and judged himself and Cleopatra from a very different -standpoint to that of the world. Eustace indeed knew that both Major -Griff and his fair friend were neither more nor less than a couple of -clever adventurers, but with indolent good nature he never imparted -this opinion to any one, as he saw no reason to topple down the house -of cards they had so laboriously built up. Besides, he hated the -trouble which the exposing of the pair would entail, and, in his -innermost heart deeming them not much worse than the rest of London -society, he permitted them to continue their predatory career -unchecked. The Major knew that Eustace would leave himself and partner -alone, but was always scrupulously polite to him, so that nothing -disagreeable should arise to mar the perfect understanding between -them.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad to see you back again, Mr. Gartney," said the Major, -mendaciously, when they were established in a comfortable corner out -of earshot.</p> - -<p>"It's very kind of you to say so," responded Gartney, who quite -appreciated and understood the sincerity of the remark, "I thought you -would have been glad to have heard of my death in Arabia."</p> - -<p>"And why?" demanded Griff, warmly--"why, Mr. Gartney?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, if you don't know I'm sure I can't tell you," retorted Eustace, -maliciously; "but don't trouble yourself to pay fictitious -compliments, Major. I think we understand one another."</p> - -<p>"Of course," assented the Major, with great dignity; "between -gentlemen there is always a sympathetic feeling."</p> - -<p>Gartney would have liked to have argued this point, but having no time -to do so, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and resumed the -conversation.</p> - -<p>"I brought my cousin, Sir Guy Errington, here to-day."</p> - -<p>"The devil you did!" ejaculated Griff, considerably astonished.</p> - -<p>Struck by the Major's tone, Eustace fixed his eyes keenly on him.</p> - -<p>"If you doubt me," he said coolly, "you will be convinced by going to -the refreshment room, where, at present, he is in conversation with -Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"Egad! she's got him at last," muttered Griff, pulling his grey -moustache with an air of vexation.</p> - -<p>"What do you say?" asked Gartney sharply.</p> - -<p>Major Griff did not answer, being apparently in deep thought, but when -Gartney addressed him the second time he had evidently made up his -mind what course to pursue, and spoke accordingly.</p> - -<p>"It doesn't suit me," said the Major deliberately, "and I'm sure it -won't suit you, nor your cousin, nor your cousin's wife."</p> - -<p>"It is as I thought," observed Eustace coolly; "there is something at -the bottom of all this, therefore, if you will be less enigmatic, -Major, I shall understand your meaning all the sooner."</p> - -<p>"I don't like to show my hand," remarked Griff, taking an illustration -from his favourite pursuit, "but in this case I'll treat you as a -partner and do so. I know why you want to speak to me."</p> - -<p>"Do you?" said Eustace imperturbably.</p> - -<p>"Yes! She"--referring to Mrs. Veilsturm--"is no doubt making the -running with Sir Guy Errington to an extent which surprises you, and -you want to know the reason."</p> - -<p>"Seeing that my cousin is not rich enough to tempt either Mrs. V. or -yourself, I do," returned Eustace with brutal candour.</p> - -<p>Whereupon, the Major, like the daring old campaigner he was, told -Gartney the whole story of the card episode, to which he listened -attentively, and saw clearly the pit into which he had innocently led -his cousin.</p> - -<p>"Well, Mr. Gartney," said Griff, when the story was finished and -Eustace made no remark, "what do you say?"</p> - -<p>Eustace took out his watch and glanced at the time before replying. -Then he replaced it in his pocket and answered the Major.</p> - -<p>"At present, I say nothing; later on, I may."</p> - -<p>"Oh, ho!" quoth Griff sharply, "then you have some idea----"</p> - -<p>"I have no idea whatever," replied Gartney sharply. "Your story was -quite new to me. I brought my cousin here innocently enough, and if -Mrs. Veilsturm thinks him sufficiently handsome to captivate, that's -her business, not mine."</p> - -<p>He turned on his heel and went off, leaving Griff staring after him in -the most astonished manner.</p> - -<p>"What does it mean?" pondered the old campaigner. "Oh! he doesn't seem -to mind Maraquita playing the devil with his cousin, as she intends -to. Now I shouldn't wonder," said the Major grimly, "I shouldn't -wonder a bit if there was another lady mixed up in this affair."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_24" href="#div1Ref_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>"ON REVIENT TOUJOURS À SES PREMIÈRES AMOURS."</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"You have returned,</p> -<p class="t2">I thought you would,</p> -<p class="t1">Tho' you I spurned,<br> -You have returned;<br> -The lesson learned</p> -<p class="t2">Will do you good.</p> -<p class="t1">You have returned,</p> -<p class="t2">I thought you would."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>When Otterburn disappeared so suddenly from the sight of his friend, -he had gone straight across the room to where a slender girl dressed -in a dark-green walking costume was standing near the door.</p> - -<p>"Can you remember an old friend, Miss Sheldon?" he said in a low -voice.</p> - -<p>She turned round with a cry of surprise, flushing violently -as she recognised him, and held out her hand with the greatest -self-possession.</p> - -<p>"Of course Mr. Macjean! My memory is not quite so short as you think."</p> - -<p>They were both overcome by this unexpected meeting, but as the eyes of -the world were on them they were perforce obliged to hide their -emotions under a polite mask of indifference. No one, looking at this -charming girl and this handsome young man, would have thought there -was anything between them but the merest feelings of acquaintanceship. -And yet they were both profoundly moved, and each, in some instinctive -way, guessed the feelings of the other, although their greeting was so -cold and studied.</p> - -<p>"I did not expect to meet you here," said Victoria in a friendly tone.</p> - -<p>"I suppose not," replied Otterburn politely, "as I only returned to -Town about three weeks ago.'</p> - -<p>"You have been away?"</p> - -<p>"All over the world. Africa is the only place left for me to explore."</p> - -<p>"And I daresay you are thinking of going there next?" Otterburn -laughed.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps! It all depends."</p> - -<p>"Upon what?"</p> - -<p>"Truth to tell, I hardly know," answered Macjean coolly. "Whims, -fancies and desires of sport, I think."</p> - -<p>"He doesn't care a bit about me or he would not talk so coldly about -going away," thought Victoria, with a sad feeling at her heart, but, -being too proud to show her real feelings, merely laughed as she -answered his remark.</p> - -<p>"There's nothing like enthusiasm! Well, Mr. Macjean, I'm glad to see -you again."</p> - -<p>"Do you really mean that?" he said anxiously, "or is it only the -conventional society phrase?"</p> - -<p>"Why should you think so?" replied Miss Sheldon in a displeased tone. -"You know I always spoke my mind regardless of social observances."</p> - -<p>"I have not forgotten that," observed Otterburn quietly. "Candour is -such a wonderful thing to meet with now-a-days, that anyone with such -a virtue is sure to be remembered."</p> - -<p>"For nine days, I suppose? she said jestingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes! or eighteen months," he responded meaningly.</p> - -<p>Otterburn was evidently as audacious as ever in trespassing upon -dangerous ground, so Victoria, although her heart beat rapidly at his -last remark, deftly turned the conversation as she used to do in the -old days.</p> - -<p>"You have an excellent memory, Mr. Macjean," she said gaily, "but you -have forgotten that I have been standing for the last ten minutes, -that you have not asked me to have a cup of tea, and that I'm both -tired and thirsty."</p> - -<p>"A thousand pardons," said Otterburn, penitently offering his arm. "I -plead guilty! As you are strong, be merciful."</p> - -<p>"To your failings, certainly! I've got too many of my own to refuse -absolution. Oh, there's Miss Lossins going to sing. I can't bear these -drawing-room songs, so let us go at once."</p> - -<p>She took his arm, and as they moved downstairs he felt a thrill run -through his body at the light pressure of her hand. He felt inclined -to speak boldly then and there, but a vague fear of the result -withheld him, and in the presence of the woman he loved, Angus -Macjean, man of the world as he was, felt like an awkward schoolboy.</p> - -<p>On her part, Victoria felt that she still had an influence on his -life, and derived from this instinctive feeling a wonderful amount of -pleasure, which could only have been engendered in her breast by a -sentiment of reciprocity.</p> - -<p>Owing to some ridiculous feeling of pride, neither of them referred to -Como during the whole of their conversation, as their parting at that -place had been so painful, and although they were both thinking about -it yet they talked of everything in the world except what was -uppermost in their minds. They had thought of, dreamt of, loved, and -desired one another all through these weary eighteen months, and now -when they were together and a word would have removed all -misunderstandings, neither the man nor the woman had the courage to -utter it.</p> - -<p>At present, however, they were downstairs indulging in the slight -dissipation of afternoon tea, and Victoria, knowing that Otterburn was -still her admirer, was quite at her ease, talking gaily about -everything and everyone.</p> - -<p>"This is awfully nice tea," she said, nodding her head to the Master. -"Why don't you try some?"</p> - -<p>"I will, on your recommendation," he replied, taking a cup the maid -was holding out, "but won't you have some cake?"</p> - -<p>"If there's some very curranty cake, I will," said Miss Sheldon -gluttonously. "I'll have the brown outside piece."</p> - -<p>"Why should that be more desirable than any other piece?" said Macjean -as she took it.</p> - -<p>"More currants in it! I'm fond of currants."</p> - -<p>"So it seems."</p> - -<p>"Now don't be severe. Let's talk about something else. Mr. Gartney, -for instance."</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's here to-day."</p> - -<p>"Is he really? I thought it would be too frivolous for him. The -Arabian desert is more in his style."</p> - -<p>"Well, judging from his book, the Arabian Desert is not entirely -devoid of feminine interest."</p> - -<p>"Don't be horrid! It's a very charming book."</p> - -<p>"Nobody said it wasn't. But I'm astonished to hear you defend Gartney -like this. You used to hate him."</p> - -<p>"No, no! I didn't exactly hate him, but I must say I didn't like him."</p> - -<p>"Isn't that splitting straws?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all," retorted Miss Sheldon gaily, "the two things are widely -different. But to return to Mr. Gartney. He's really very nice."</p> - -<p>"I'm so glad you think so," said Otterburn gravely. "I'll tell him -so."</p> - -<p>"No, don't," exclaimed Victoria, with genuine alarm. "I wouldn't have -him know it for the world."</p> - -<p>"Why hide the Sheldon light under the Gartney bushel?"</p> - -<p>"You're talking nonsense, but you always did talk nonsense. But, good -gracious, look at the time--six o'clock."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that clock's wrong."</p> - -<p>"So am I--in listening to you. Mr. Macjean, I must go. My chaperon -will be waiting for me."</p> - -<p>"Who is your chaperon?" asked Otterburn, as they ascended the stairs. -"Mrs. Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"No! she's in the country. Now I am under the care of Mrs. Dills. Do -you know her?"</p> - -<p>"Only as the wife of Mr. Dills."</p> - -<p>"She's a most amiable woman, but not pretty."</p> - -<p>"Curious thing, amiable women never are."</p> - -<p>"How cruel--to me."</p> - -<p>"Pardon! you are the exception----"</p> - -<p>"To prove your extremely severe rule! Thank you!"</p> - -<p>Talking in this light and airy manner, which was really assumed to -hide their real feelings, Miss Sheldon and her lover arrived at the -drawing-room, found Mrs. Dills, small, spiteful and vivacious, to whom -Victoria introduced the Master, and then went off to say goodbye to -Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>When she returned, and Otterburn was escorting her downstairs in the -train of Mrs. Dills he noticed a puzzled look on her face, and -promptly asked the reason of it. She did not answer at first, but as -they stood on the step, waiting for the carriage, suddenly asked him a -question.</p> - -<p>"Who introduced Sir Guy Errington to Mrs. Veilsturm?"</p> - -<p>"Gartney did--to-day."</p> - -<p>"To-day," she repeated, in astonishment. "Why from their manner to one -another I thought they were old friends."</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Veilsturm has such a sympathetic manner you see."</p> - -<p>"Yes, very sympathetic," replied Victoria, sarcastically. "But here is -the carriage Goodbye, Mr. Macjean. Come and call on Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"Certainly! I am anxious to make the acquaintance of Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"So anxious that you delayed the pleasure by three months," replied -Miss Sheldon laughing, as the carriage drove away, leaving Otterburn -on the steps in a very jubilant frame of mind.</p> - -<p>When he had somewhat recovered his presence of mind, he went off to -find Eustace, being so overburdened with his secret happiness that he -felt it a necessity to speak to some one on the subject. Eustace knew -all about his passion, Eustace had been a good friend in finding out -Victoria's sentiments towards him, so Eustace was undoubtedly the -proper person to speak to in this emergency.</p> - -<p>After a hunt of some moments' duration, he found Mr. Gartney in -company with Errington, talking to Mrs. Veilsturm, and while the -latter seemed flushed and excited, the face of the former wore an -enigmatic smile. Mrs. Veilsturm herself had been aroused from her -habitual languor, and was chatting gaily, while Major Griff, -ostensibly talking to Dolly Thambits, was in reality looking at -Errington with a frown. It was quite a little comedy, and Eustace -alone possessed the requisite understanding to enjoy it, although from -the studied expression of his face it was impossible to tell his real -feelings.</p> - -<p>Otterburn touched Eustace on the shoulder, and drew him away from the -group.</p> - -<p>"I say, I believe it's all right," he said, in a eager whisper.</p> - -<p>"What is all right?" asked Eustace, in a puzzled voice. "Oh, you -know," replied Otterburn, with some disgust at his friend's density. -"I met Miss Sheldon here, and--and I spoke to her."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's it, is it?" observed Gartney, with a kindly smile. "I -suppose I must congratulate you?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet. But I think it's all right," said Otterburn, repeating his -first remark. "The way she talked, you know, and I talked also, -and--and----"</p> - -<p>"And you're counting your chickens before they're hatched," said -Gartney impatiently. "Don't be angry, Macjean," he added, seeing Angus -looked annoyed, "it's only my fun! I think it will be all right--that -is if she's forgiven you for the Como business."</p> - -<p>"Eh?" said Otterburn, obtusely. "I think it's she who requires to be -forgiven."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid you won't find her take that view of the question," -replied Gartney cruelly. "In love, the woman is always right and the -man everlastingly wrong."</p> - -<p>"What a dog-in-the-manger you are, Gartney," said Otterburn angrily, -the brightness dying out of his face, "you won't love anyone yourself, -or let anyone else do it. I tell you Miss Sheldon and myself -understand one another. She asked me to call and see Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"How delightful--for Aunt Jelly," remarked Eustace sarcastically. "I -hope the pair of you won't indulge in sentiment before the old -lady--she doesn't believe in it."</p> - -<p>"I'll take my chance of that," observed Angus cheerfully. "But I've -got such a lot to tell you about Victoria. Come along with me to the -Club."</p> - -<p>"Very well," replied Gartney, in a resigned manner. "It seems my fate -to hear love confidences. I'll come as soon as I can persuade Guy to -leave Mrs. Veilsturm, or rather as soon as I can persuade Mrs. -Veilsturm to let Guy go."</p> - -<p>"It seems to me six of one and half a dozen of the other, as far as -that goes," said Otterburn shrewdly.</p> - -<p>Eustace did not reply, but walked up to his cousin and the lady.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid we must go, Mrs. Veilsturm," he said, smiling at -Cleopatra.</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's early yet," remarked Cleopatra languidly. "Must you go, Sir -Guy?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," answered Errington, looking at his watch. "Time, tide -and dinner wait for no man. It's past six."</p> - -<p>"So like a man," laughed Cleopatra, "thinking of his dinner before -everything else."</p> - -<p>"No, really," responded Errington, colouring at this rude remark, "but -I've got an engagement, and I always like to be punctual."</p> - -<p>"In that case don't forget my 'At Home' next week," said the lady, -with a bewitching glance.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, I won't forget that," replied Errington coolly, much more -coolly than Cleopatra liked, but she suppressed her anger at his -nonchalance, and turned to Eustace.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Mr. Gartney, so good of you to have come to-day. Mr. -Maclean, I've no doubt I'll see you to-night at Lady Kerstoke's dance. -Sir Guy, I hope you will find your way here again. Goodbye, all of -you," and then her attention was claimed by another batch of departing -guests, while the three gentlemen went downstairs.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Eustace, with a sigh of relief, as they walked down Park -Lane, "I must candidly confess I hate 'At Homes."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no," replied Otterburn, with his mind full of Victoria, "they're -very jolly."</p> - -<p>"Oh, for the freshness of youth!" sighed Gartney, looking at the -bright face of his companion. "Guy, what is your opinion?"</p> - -<p>"What about?" asked Errington, rousing himself from a fit of -abstraction. "Mrs. Veilsturm?"</p> - -<p>"We were talking about 'At Homes,'" said Eustace, equably, "but as -you've mentioned Mrs. Veilsturm, what is your opinion on that lady?"</p> - -<p>"She's very pleasant, but rather overpowering," was Errington's -verdict.</p> - -<p>"And that's her reward for devoting the whole afternoon to you--'Oh, -the ingratitude of man!'"</p> - -<p>"She's not a woman I would fall in love with," said Otterburn, with an -air of having settled the question.</p> - -<p>"Nor I," echoed Sir Guy, so very resolutely that Eustace knew at once -he was doubtful of his own strength of will.</p> - -<p>"Self righteous Pharisees, both," he said scoffingly, "you talk -bravely, but if Cleopatra put forth her strength she could twist you -both round her finger."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_25" href="#div1Ref_25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> -<h5>FASCINATION.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Snake! snake! your treacherous eyes,<br> -Grow and deepen to marvellous skies,<br> -Stars shine out in the rosy space,<br> -Every star is a woman's face,<br> -Flushed and wreathed with amorous smiles,<br> -Drawing my soul with magical wiles,<br> -Vision! while I am rapt in thee,<br> -Death is coming unknown to me.<br> -Snake hath caught me fast in his toils,<br> -Round me winding his shining coils,<br> -Ah, from dreams with a start I wake,<br> -Thou host stung me, oh cruel snake."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Most men of strongly imaginative natures are superstitious, and -Gartney was no exception to the rule, his instinctive leanings in this -direction having been strengthened to a considerable extent by his -contact with the fatalistic dreamers of the East. He had travelled -over a goodly portion of the world without having been infected by the -habits or thoughts of the so-called civilized races but the many -months he had dwelt among the descendants of Ishmael, had inoculated -him imperceptibly with their strong belief in predestination. In fact, -his adaptability to the ways and customs of the East, seemed, to -himself, so marvellous, that he almost inclined to the theory of -transmigration, and believed he had lived before amid these lonely -deserts.</p> - -<p>At all events, his last sojourn among them had developed his -instinctive vein of superstition in the strongest fashion, and he came -back to England fully convinced that all things were preordained by -the deity we call Fate. It was a very convenient doctrine, as it -enabled him to blame a supernatural power for his own shortcomings, -and when anything happened out of the ordinary course of events, he -said "Kismet," like the veriest follower of Mahomet.</p> - -<p>With this belief, it was little to be wondered at that he believed he -saw the finger of Fate intervening in the matter of his love for Lady -Errington, and argued the question in this style:</p> - -<p>On his return to England, he had determined to abstain from seeing -Alizon so as to keep out of the way of temptation, but Fate, in the -person of Aunt Jelly, had forced him to meet her against his will in -order to see if he could bring about an understanding between the -young couple. Yielding to his passion, he had made up his mind to -gratify it, but moved by the spectacle of Guy's misery, had gained a -victory over himself, and strove to reconcile husband and wife.</p> - -<p>With this aim, he had taken Guy up to Town, thinking a short absence -might be beneficial, but Fate for the second time interfered, and in -the most innocent fashion in the world he (Fate's instrument) had -delivered the young man into the power of his bitterest enemy, by -introducing him to Mrs. Veilsturm. She hated Lady Errington, and would -certainly do her best to estrange husband and wife still further, thus -the field was left open to Eustace to declare his dishonourable -passion.</p> - -<p>Twice, therefore, had he striven to conquer his feeling, and twice -Fate had intervened, so that he now felt inclined to fight no longer. -Had he given way to his present desires, he would have left Guy to the -tender mercies of Cleopatra, and gone down to stay at Castle Grim from -whence he would have been able to go over to Errington Hall daily and -pay his court to Alizon. All feelings of honour, however, were not -absolutely dead in his breast, so he determined to await the course of -events and see if Mrs. Veilsturm would manage to subjugate Guy, in -which case he determined to interfere. He knew quite enough about Mrs. -Veilsturm, for his opinion to carry considerable weight with that -lady, and although it was not a pleasant thing to step between a -panther and its prey, yet he made up his mind to do so should occasion -arise. But if Fate intervened for the third time, and rendered his -trouble useless, Eustace felt in his own heart that further struggling -against Destiny would be beyond his strength.</p> - -<p>At present, however, he had rather over-estimated the situation, as -Guy was by no means the abject slave of Mrs. Veilsturm he deemed him -to be. Love for Alizon, although but ill-requited, still had -possession of Guy's whole being, and formed a safeguard against the -dangerous assaults of Cleopatra. Errington was constantly in -attendance on her, and she put forth all her arts to enmesh him in her -toils, but although three weeks had now passed, she saw that she had -not made much headway. Guy liked her for her kindly manner towards -him, admired her for her beauty, felt flattered by her preference, but -in reality was as heart-whole as when he first saw her, and had his -wife lifted her little finger, he would have flown to her side without -a moment's hesitation.</p> - -<p>Cleopatra was much too clever a woman not to see this, and felt rather -nettled that any man should dare to withstand her charms. Moreover, -being bent on separating Errington from his wife, she had a very -powerful reason to do her best in reducing him to a state of bondage; -therefore spared neither time nor trouble in attempting to do so. -Errington's love for his wife, however, stood him in good stead, and -despite the temptations to which he was subjected, he did not succumb -in any way.</p> - -<p>Major Griff was by no means pleased with this new fancy of his -friend and partner. As a rule, by dexterous management, he could make -her do what he liked, but on some occasions she broke away from -leading-strings, and did what she pleased. This present desire to -captivate Errington was due, not to a feeling of love, but to the more -powerful one of revenge, and Griff, being an astute reader of -character, saw that in her present frame of mind he could do nothing -with her.</p> - -<p>It was a terrible trouble to the Major that things should be like -this, as during this season Rumour had once more been busy with -Cleopatra's name, and to such a good purpose, that many doors hitherto -open were now closed against her. Society began to talk of the number -of men who had lost large sums of money at Mrs. Veilsturm's, hinted -that the West Indian estates were a myth, and that Cleopatra was no -better than an adventuress. Society suddenly discovered that it had -been deceived, that a base woman had passed herself off as the purest -of her sex, that it had nourished a viper in its bosom; so now -Society, in righteous wrath, was prepared to denounce Mrs. Veilsturm -and Major Griff with the bitterest vindictiveness from the house-tops. -The storm had not broken yet, but could be heard muttering in the -distance, and now this foolish passion of Cleopatra so openly -displayed would accelerate the period of its bursting.</p> - -<p>The Major, having his eyes and ears open on every possible occasion, -saw all this, and took measures to secure a safe retreat in case of an -unexpected collapse of the London campaign. America was to be the next -field of the firm's operations, and both the Major and his fair friend -had determined to signalize their departure by a grand fancy dress -ball, to which friends and foes alike were to be invited, after which -they could depart with flying colours to New York.</p> - -<p>This little scheme had been very nicely arranged, but unluckily this -Errington affair threatened to upset the whole business. Knowing she -had very little time at her disposal, and being determined to ruin -Guy's life if she possibly could, Cleopatra went beyond all the bounds -of prudence, and blazoned her preference for Errington so very openly -that everyone was scandalized.</p> - -<p>In vain the Major implored Cleopatra to be cautious and not ruin -everything by her mad folly; but, carried away by a fierce feeling of -revenge against Lady Errington, she merely laughed at his entreaties -and prosecuted her scheme of entangling Guy with redoubled ardour. -Major Griff spoke to Eustace, thinking he could stop the affair by -taking his cousin away, but Gartney, being determined to leave the -matter in the hands of Fate, simply shrugged his shoulders and said he -could do nothing. Being therefore unable to do anything, the Major -could only look on in a cold fury at Cleopatra striving to ruin -herself, Errington, and himself in a fit of mad anger.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm's intimate friends were also very indignant about what -they pleased to call her infatuation, little dreaming of the real -reason of this sudden passion. It was only the Major's influence over -Mr. Dolser that kept the affair out of the scurrilous pages of "The -Pepper Box," but although it had not appeared in print, the whole -affair was an open secret.</p> - -<p>Dolly Thambits, who was in love with Cleopatra, was furious at the way -in which he was neglected, but this kind of treatment only made him -all the more in love with his disdainful mistress, much to the relief -of Griff, who was afraid that the boy would escape from his toils.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this whirl of rage, envy, and revenge, Guy, seeing no -special favour in Cleopatra's condescension, was quite cool and -composed, being the most unconcerned person of the whole lot. Of -course, no one dared to speak to him about the real facts of the case, -and of the enmity he had provoked, so he remained in complete -ignorance, anxiously awaiting for a letter from his wife asking him to -return.</p> - -<p>That letter never came, however, for Alizon was perfectly happy with -her baby, and missed Errington no more than if he had been a stock or -stone. She knew nothing of the perils to which her husband was -exposed, and, curiously enough, none of her London friends wrote and -told her, else she might have been for once startled from the serene -pleasures of motherhood.</p> - -<p>According to his promise, Otterburn called upon Aunt Jelly, and was -graciously received by that strong-minded lady, who took a great fancy -to him. As yet, he had not spoken outright to Victoria, but still the -young couple understood one another, and such understanding was -approved of by Miss Corbin, who saw in Otterburn the very husband she -would have chosen for her ward. So Otterburn called on the old lady -pretty often, and brought her all the news of the town, while -Victoria, feeling completely at rest concerning her lover, listened -quietly.</p> - -<p>All her ideas of making Otterburn propose, and then refusing him out -of revenge, had quite vanished, as she was now passionately in love -with him, and according to the position now strangely altered since -those old days at Como, it was for her to crave and for him to grant. -Otterburn, however, knew nothing of this, but wooed in all honour and -timidity, while Aunt Jelly, like a good but grim cherub, looked on in -silent approval.</p> - -<p>It was during one of Otterburn's visits, that by chance he let fall -something of what was going on between Mrs. Veilsturm and Guy, -whereupon the old lady, having an eye like a hawk, immediately saw -that something was going on of which she knew nothing. With this idea -she waited till Maclean departed, and then put Victoria through her -facings, with the result that she found out all about it and was -terribly wroth against her nephew.</p> - -<p>Eustace called to see her, and she spoke to him about it, but Eustace -point-blank refused to interfere again, saying he had done his best, -but could now do no more. Aunt Jelly, therefore, being alarmed, not -only for the happiness but for the respectability of the Errington -household, wrote a note to Guy, asking him to call.</p> - -<p>Having despatched this, she worked herself up into such a fury over -the whole affair that she took a fit, and for some time was in danger -of dying, but her indomitable spirit asserted itself, and with iron -determination she arose from her bed of sickness to see her nephew.</p> - -<p>It was a fight between Cleopatra and Aunt Jelly for possession of Guy, -but all this time Guy had no more idea of playing his wife false, than -he had of returning Mrs. Veilsturm's openly-displayed passion.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_26" href="#div1Ref_26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>AUNT JELLY INTERFERES.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"What vows you made at the marriage altar,</p> -<p class="t2">For better and worse, to take your wife;</p> -<p class="t1">Yet at the moment of need you falter,</p> -<p class="t2">Quail at rumours of coming strife.</p> -<p class="t1">Nay, it were wiser to cling and cherish,</p> -<p class="t2">Altho' things evil be said and done;</p> -<p class="t1">If in the future you both should perish,</p> -<p class="t2">Husband and wife should be lost as one."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Aunt Jelly was looking very pale and ill on the day she elected to see -Guy in order to expostulate with him on the wild way in which he was -behaving. She was suffering from a very serious disease connected with -the heart, and Dr. Pargowker warned her against any undue excitement, -as it might prove fatal. He was seated with her now, a fat, oily man -of the Chadband species, and talked about her ill-health in his usual -unctuous manner.</p> - -<p>In her accustomed chair sat Miss Corbin, looking worn with illness, -but as grim and defiant as ever, while the doctor standing near her -felt her pulse with one hand, and held his watch with the other. -Minnie, ever watchful of her patroness's comfort, hovered round like -an unquiet spirit, bringing all sorts of unnecessary things, which -made Aunt Jelly very irritable and led her to say unpleasant things to -Miss Pelch which reduced the poetess to tears.</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Miss Corbin sharply, when Dr. Pargowker had finished with -her pulse, "what do you say? Is this illness serious?"</p> - -<p>The doctor lifted one fat white hand in gentle protest, and resumed -his seat with a comfortable sigh.</p> - -<p>"No, dearest lady, no," he said in his heavy, soft voice, "do not I -beg of you think you are so bad as all that. You remind me, if I may -be permitted to make the comparison, of a dear friend of mine who -departed----"</p> - -<p>"Bother your dear friend!" snapped Aunt Jelly in her grimmest manner. -"I didn't ask you here to tell me other people's histories. I want to -know about my own state of health."</p> - -<p>Dr. Pargowker folded his chubby hands complacently on his rotund -stomach and meekly ventured a protest against this language.</p> - -<p>"Do not, oh dearest lady," he said unctuously, "do not excite yourself -like this. It is bad for you, dearest lady, very bad."</p> - -<p>"Very bad, dear Miss Corbin," echoed Minnie tearfully.</p> - -<p>"And might lead to complications," pursued the doctor, shaking his -head.</p> - -<p>"Complications," echoed Miss Pelch, putting her handkerchief to her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly politely, "you're getting a bigger fool -every day. Have the goodness to hold your tongue and not talk of -things you know nothing about. Dr. Pargowker, if you will kindly leave -off nodding your head like a Chinese mandarin, and tell me straight -out what you mean, I should feel obliged."</p> - -<p>"Dearest lady," growled the doctor, "it is useless to conceal from you -the painful fact that you are very ill."</p> - -<p>"I know that sir," retorted Aunt Jelly coolly, "go on."</p> - -<p>"You must avoid all undue excitement, such as dances, theatres, and -seeing friends."</p> - -<p>"I haven't been to a dance for the last twenty years," said Miss -Corbin wrathfully, "and as for a theatre, I've got no time to waste on -that rubbish. What do you mean by talking such nonsense to me?"</p> - -<p>"Easily upset, I see," murmured Pargowker, apparently to himself, -"very easily upset."</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't you like a little pillow for your head, dear Miss Jelly?" -said Minnie, holding one over Miss Corbin as though she were going to -play Othello to the old lady's Desdemona.</p> - -<p>"I'd like a little common sense," retorted Miss Corbin, pushing away -the pillow, "but it seems I'm not likely to get it."</p> - -<p>"Be calm, dear lady, be calm," observed Dr. Pargowker, nodding his -head. "If you will permit me, I will write out a prescription."</p> - -<p>"Pen, ink, and paper, Minnie!" ordered Aunt jelly, glaring at the -doctor.</p> - -<p>The obliging Minnie flew to obtain these necessaries, and having done -so, placed them on a little table near the physician, who wheeled his -chair round and began to write.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly and Dr. Pargowker were old friends, and never parted -without a fight, which, however, was principally conducted by Miss -Corbin, as the doctor resolutely kept his temper, and always left the -room as bland, cool, and unruffled as when he entered it. In spite of -his round-about way of putting things, Pargowker was really very -clever at his profession, and Aunt Jelly reposed the utmost confidence -in his power, although she never could resist using her sharp tongue -on him when occasion offered, and as it did so now, Aunt Jelly began -to talk, showing thereby that she was not so ill as she seemed.</p> - -<p>"Lord knows how you get patients," she said, folding her bony hands, -"it's all chat with you and nothing else."</p> - -<p>"Dear, dear," murmured Pargowker, going on placidly with his writing, -"this is bad, very, very bad."</p> - -<p>"Are you talking about your prescription, or yourself?" snapped Miss -Corbin, dauntlessly. "I daresay they're much of a muchness. If one -doesn't kill me, I've no doubt the other will."</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, dearest lady," said the doctor, smiling blandly, "you are -in error. This prescription will do you a great deal of good. Oh, we -will pull you round, yes--yes. I think I may venture to say we will -pull you round."</p> - -<p>"Pull me round or square, it's easily seen I'm not long for this -world," replied Miss Corbin.</p> - -<p>"Oh, do not speak like that, Miss Jelly," whimpered Minnie, "you will -get quite well, I'm sure of it."</p> - -<p>"Aye! aye!" remarked Pargowker, folding up his prescription. "While -there's life, there's hope."</p> - -<p>"Don't quote your proverbs to me," said Aunt Jelly, determined not to -be pleased by anything, "they're nothing but traditional lies; but -seriously speaking, doctor, if you can speak seriously, which I'm very -much inclined to doubt, I want to see my nephew, Sir Guy Errington, -to-day."</p> - -<p>"No! dearest lady, no!" said Pargowker, rising from his seat, and -raising one hand in protest, "pardon me, no!--the very worst person -you could see!"</p> - -<p>"If you knew him as well as I do, you might well say that," replied -Miss Corbin, malignantly, "but I must see him. It's imperative."</p> - -<p>"If you will not excite yourself----"</p> - -<p>"I'm not going to excite myself," retorted Aunt Jelly, "but I'm going -to excite him."</p> - -<p>Dr. Pargowker took up his hat and buttoned his coat with the air of a -man who washed his hands of the whole affair.</p> - -<p>"If you attend to my orders," he said, speaking more sharply than was -usual with him, "you will see no one. But I know you of old, Miss -Corbin. You expect to be cured, but won't do what you're told."</p> - -<p>"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Aunt Jelly, with feeble merriment. "Have -you taken to poetry also? The idea is good, doctor, but the poetry is -worse than Minnie's."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Miss Jelly!" murmured Minnie, in tearful protest.</p> - -<p>"Well, well," said Pargowker, good-humouredly, shaking hands with Miss -Corbin, "poetry or not, dear lady, do what I tell you. Keep yourself -calm, see no one, take this prescription, and I think, yes, I think -you will be quite safe."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt about it," cried Aunt Jelly, as he paused at the door, -"safe for the nearest cemetery. Go along with you, doctor. I tell you -I've made up my mind to see my nephew. It's a case of life and death."</p> - -<p>"Certainly with you, dear lady--certainly with you," said Dr. -Pargowker emphatically. "Miss Pelch, will you honour me by seeing me -to the door?"</p> - -<p>"You want to talk about me behind my back," said Miss Corbin, -suspiciously. "It's no use. I'll make Minnie tell me everything." She -darted a threatening look at that young lady, which made her shake, -and then Minnie disappeared through the door, while the doctor -prepared to follow, first giving a parting word to his refractory -patient.</p> - -<p>"It's no use, dear lady," he said, with playful ponderousness, -"calling in the doctor if you don't intend to obey him."</p> - -<p>"I never obeyed anyone in my life," said Aunt Jelly, stiffening her -back, "and I'm certainly not going to begin with you."</p> - -<p>"Dearest Miss Corbin, I am in earnest."</p> - -<p>"So am I," retorted the old lady, frowning. "There! there! go away, -I'll do everything you tell me, but I must see my nephew to-day."</p> - -<p>Dr. Pargowker sighed, yielded to stern necessity, and spoke.</p> - -<p>"Well, you can do so, my dear, old friend, but only for five -minutes--only for five minutes."</p> - -<p>"Quite enough for all I've got to say."</p> - -<p>The doctor looked waggishly at Miss Corbin, in order to keep up her -spirits, but his face grew very grave as he spoke to Minnie at the -door.</p> - -<p>"She must not see anyone," he said emphatically, "mind that, Miss -Pelch. I was obliged to say she could speak to Sir Guy Errington for -five minutes, as she grows so excited over being contradicted. If he -does come, let her see him for that time, but don't let her grow -excited. I'll call in again to-night, to see how she is."</p> - -<p>"Is she very ill?" asked Minnie in dismay.</p> - -<p>"So ill," said Pargowker, putting on his hat, "that if she's not kept -absolutely quiet, she won't recover."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Miss Pelch in an alarmed tone, and would have asked more -questions, only Dr. Pargowker was already in his brougham, on his way -to another patient.</p> - -<p>Minnie returned to the drawing-room, with a cheerful face, so as not -to let Miss Corbin see her feelings, but that indomitable lady was -determined to have the truth, and tackled her at once.</p> - -<p>"Well, what did he say?" she demanded, sharply.</p> - -<p>"Only that you were to keep yourself quiet, dear Miss Jelly," replied -Minnie, taking up her work, a green parrot being embroidered on a red -tree, against a yellow ground and a purple sky.</p> - -<p>"What else?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing!"</p> - -<p>"Minnie, you are deceiving me," said Aunt Jelly solemnly. "I can see -it in your face. Do you think it's right to deceive a dying person?"</p> - -<p>"You're not dying," whimpered Minnie, beginning to cry.</p> - -<p>"I'm not far off it, at all events," retorted Miss Corbin, with a -sigh. "I know my own constitution quite as well as that fool of a -doctor, and I'm pretty sure I won't get well this time."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you will--you will," cried Minnie, weeping.</p> - -<p>"Pooh! nonsense, child," said Miss Corbin, kindly, "don't waste your -tears over an old woman like me. I've had a long life, but by no means -a happy one. Quantity not quality, I suppose. If I can only see -Victoria engaged to that nice Macjean boy, and persuade my nephew out -of his folly, I'll not be sorry to go."</p> - -<p>"Dr. Pargowker said you were not to see Sir Guy longer than five -minutes, Miss Jelly."</p> - -<p>"Quite long enough."</p> - -<p>"And were not to excite yourself."</p> - -<p>"There, there, Minnie!" said Miss Jelly, impatiently. "I'll take good -care of myself, you may be sure. What time did Sir Guy say he would be -here?"</p> - -<p>"Four o'clock, dear Miss Corbin."</p> - -<p>"It's nearly that now," observed Aunt Jelly, looking at the clock. "I -hope he won't keep me waiting. Young men are so careless now-a-days. -Miss Sheldon has gone out?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! to the Academy with Mrs. Trubbles and Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>"Neither of whom know anything about pictures. It means flirting, not -art, I've no doubt. Well! well, we must not be too hard on the young. -Let me leave the world in peace, that's all I ask."</p> - -<p>Minnie put down her work, and came close to Miss Corbin, whose thin -cold hand she took in her own.</p> - -<p>"Dear Miss jelly, don't talk like that," she said, softly, "indeed you -will get well, I'm sure you will."</p> - -<p>"No, child, no!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, but, yes," persisted her companion, fondly. "Why, whatever would -I do, if you did not live to read my little volume?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's coming out, then?" said Aunt Jelly, grimly, with a flash of -her old spirit.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Gartney has arranged it all. I was going to keep it a -secret, but when you talk about dying, I can't," and poor Minnie -fairly broke down, which touched Aunt Jelly more than she liked to -acknowledge.</p> - -<p>"There! there!" she said, touching Minnie's face, with unaccustomed -tenderness, "you're a good child, Minnie. Tell me all about this -poetry book."</p> - -<p>"It's going to be called 'Heart Throbs and Sad Sobs, by Minnie -Pelch,'" said the poetess, radiantly, "'dedicated to Miss Angelica -Corbin, by her sincere friend, the Authoress.'"</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly was silent for a few minutes, feeling, rather a choking in -her throat. She had laughed at poor Minnie's simple rhymes on many -occasions, and now the poetess had returned good for evil, paying her -the high compliment of inscribing her name on the front of the book. -Minnie mistook her silence for indignation at not having asked -permission, and tried to pacify the old lady.</p> - -<p>"I hope you're not angry," she said, timidly smoothing Aunt Jelly's -hand, "but I wanted to surprise you by the dedication. There's a -poem about you too, Miss Jelly, and I think it's the best in the -book--really the best."</p> - -<p>The old lady was so touched by Minnie's poor little attempt to -propitiate her, that she could not trust herself to speak, and when -she did there were tears rolling down her hard old face, as she bent -down and kissed her.</p> - -<p>"It's very good of you, child," she said, in a tremulous voice, "and I -feel very much honoured, indeed. Perhaps I've not been so kind to you -as I ought to have been.</p> - -<p>"Oh, but you have!--you have!" cried Minnie, throwing herself on her -knees, with tears in her eyes. "If it had not been for you, I would -have starved, dear Miss Jelly. Indeed, I would. It is so hard to get -paid for poetry. And you have been such a kind, good friend--such a -kind good friend!"</p> - -<p>"If I have spoken harshly to you, dear, on occasions," said Aunt -Jelly, brokenly, "it was from no want of feeling. Age, my dear Minnie, -age, and an embittered nature. But the heart was there, my dear, all -the time the heart was there."</p> - -<p>"I know it was!--I know it was!" wept Minnie, patting the withered -hand of her old friend. "I have never doubted that."</p> - -<p>"Yes! yes!" muttered the old dame dreamily, "the heart was there."</p> - -<p>And there was silence for a few minutes, only broken by the sobs of -Minnie, then Aunt Jelly recovered her usual manner with an effort, and -ordered wine and cake to be placed on the table. Miss Pelch had barely -time to do this, when there came a ring at the front door, and shortly -afterwards Sir Guy Errington entered the room. Aunt Jelly, now quite -her own grim self, received her nephew coldly, and then sent Minnie -out of the room, as she wanted to talk to Sir Guy in private. Miss -Pelch, however, mindful of the doctor's order, did not go far, but -waited in the hall, so as to be ready to enter when the five minutes -had expired.</p> - -<p>Guy looked rather haggard about the face, as he sat down near his -elderly relation, which Aunt Jelly put down to fast living, although, -in reality, it was due to worrying about his wife. This idea did not -make her feel very tenderly towards Errington, and she prepared -herself to do battle.</p> - -<p>"So you've come at last?" she said, straightening her back, and -folding her hands on her knees.</p> - -<p>"I came as soon as you sent for me," answered Guy, quietly.</p> - -<p>"You should have come without an invitation," said Aunt Jelly, with a -frown, "but young men of the present day seem to take a delight in -neglecting those nearest and dearest to them."</p> - -<p>This was said pointedly, with a view to drawing forth some remark -about Alizon, but Guy did not take it in that sense.</p> - -<p>"I don't want to neglect you, aunt," he said moodily, "but our -conversations are not so pleasant that I should look forward to them."</p> - -<p>"I only speak for your good."</p> - -<p>"People always do that when they make disagreeable remarks," replied -Errington sarcastically. "You're not looking well to-day, Aunt Jelly."</p> - -<p>"I don't feel well either," responded his aunt shortly. "I'm dying."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, don't say that," said Guy, heartily shocked at her remark.</p> - -<p>"But I will say it," retorted Miss Corbin, nodding her head -vigorously, "and I'll say something else too that you won't like."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt you will," answered Guy crossly, rising to his feet. -"Look here, Aunt Jelly, you're not well to-day, and if you brought me -here to quarrel, I'm not fit for it."</p> - -<p>"You're fit for nothing in my opinion except the Divorce Court," said -Aunt Jelly viciously. "Sit down."</p> - -<p>"I don't know what you mean by talking about the Divorce Court," -answered Errington calmly, obeying her command.</p> - -<p>"Think and see."</p> - -<p>"What's the good of my doing that?" cried Errington angrily, "I don't -know what you mean."</p> - -<p>"Don't shriek," said Miss Corbin coolly, "it goes through my head."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon aunt," replied Guy politely, "but if you would tell -me what you're driving at I would feel obliged."</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly sat in silence for a moment, rapping the fingers of one -hand on the knuckles of the other, then spoke out sharply.</p> - -<p>"What's all this talk about you and Mrs. Veilsturm?" Guy sat bolt -upright in his chair and stared at her in amazement.</p> - -<p>"Oh, is that it?" he said with a short laugh. "Don't worry your head -about Mrs. Veilsturm, aunt. All the world can know the relations that -exist between us."</p> - -<p>"All the world does know."</p> - -<p>Errington arose from his seat with a smothered ejaculation, and -thrusting his hands into his pockets, began to walk backwards and -forwards.</p> - -<p>"You needn't use bad language, my dear Guy," said Aunt Jelly, with -aggravating placidity. "All I want to know is what you mean by leaving -your wife and running after Mrs. Veilsturm?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not running after Mrs. Veilsturm," said her nephew angrily, "and -I've not left my wife. I'm simply up in Town for a spell, and have -called once or twice to see a very pleasant woman."</p> - -<p>"A very pleasant woman, indeed," sneered Aunt Jelly scornfully.</p> - -<p>"If you think so badly of her, I wonder you let your ward go near -her."</p> - -<p>"I don't know anything against the woman's character," replied Miss -Corbin, "so there's no reason I should keep Victoria away. I daresay -she's as bad as the rest of them, and conceals it better. But that's -nothing to do with my question. It has come to my ears that you are -paying marked attentions to Mrs. Veilsturm, and I want to know if it -is true."</p> - -<p>"No, it is not true?" answered Errington slowly. "I have been a great -deal with Mrs. Veilsturm since I came up to Town, but that was simply -because she asked me to visit her, and without being absolutely rude, -I could not refuse."</p> - -<p>"A very nice explanation," said his aunt disbelievingly, "but do you -think it is one your wife will accept?"</p> - -<p>"My wife knows nothing about my visits to Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"Indeed she does," replied Aunt Jelly coolly. "I wrote and told her -all about them."</p> - -<p>Guy's face grew as pale as that of a corpse, and he stared at Miss -Corbin as if he had been turned into stone. At length, with an effort, -he arose to his feet and repeated her answer in a harsh, strained -voice.</p> - -<p>"You wrote and told her all about them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! I did not think your conduct was right, so, as your wife has -most influence with you, I wrote and told her to call you back to -Ellington."</p> - -<p>All the blood in his body seemed to surge up into his head with the -violent effort he made to suppress his anger. Had it been any one else -but this feeble old woman, he would have simply let his passion master -him, but in this case, with such an adversary he could do nothing.</p> - -<p>"God forgive you, Aunt Jelly," he said at length, "you've done a cruel -thing," and he turned and walked slowly to the door.</p> - -<p>"I have done what was right," said Miss Corbin bravely. "You were -deceiving your wife, and I was determined she should know of your -deception."</p> - -<p>Sir Guy turned towards her as he paused at the door, and when she -finished speaking, answered her slowly and deliberately.</p> - -<p>"You are quite wrong. I was not deceiving my wife, as I can prove to -you. As you know, my wife has treated me very cruelly during the last -year, and neglected me in every way, giving all her love to the child. -Eustace came down the other day, and advised me to leave my wife for a -few weeks, thinking she would not be so indifferent on my return. I -took his advice and came up to Town. Eustace took me to Mrs. -Veilsturm, and finding her a very pleasant woman, I simply went there -in order to amuse myself. But as for caring about her, I love and -respect my wife and my name too much to degrade myself so far. -Unluckily, until the other day, I did not remember that Alizon -disliked Mrs. Veilsturm, because she was mixed up with her father in -some way, and forbade her to visit at the Hall. Had I remembered this, -I would not have gone there, but it's too late now to think of it. By -believing all these malicious stories, which I give you my word of -honour have no foundation, and writing to her, she will believe that I -went to see this woman on purpose, and she will never forgive me. I am -going down to the Hall by to-night's train, and will try and explain -everything to her, but I'm afraid she will not believe me. No doubt -you acted for the best, Aunt Jelly, but in doing so you have simply -ruined my life."</p> - -<p>"Guy! Guy!" moaned the old woman, who had listened to all this with a -sense of stunned amazement. "Forgive me! I did it for the best, but I -will write again and tell her how wrong I have been."</p> - -<p>"It is too late," he replied sadly, "too late."</p> - -<p>"No, it's not too late, Guy. But forgive me! forgive me!"</p> - -<p>Errington looked at her coldly.</p> - -<p>"If my wife forgives me I will forgive you," he answered, and left the -room.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly stared at the closed door, and strove to call him back, but -her voice died in her throat, a mist came before her eyes, and -overwhelmed by the fatal discovery she had made, and the excitement -she had undergone, she fell back in a dead faint.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_27" href="#div1Ref_27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE DEITY CALLED FATE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Believe me, sir, the deity called Fate,<br> -Is stronger than the strongest of us all,<br> -Fate! Fortune! Destiny! what name you will!<br> -We are the sport of some malignant power,<br> -Who twists and turns the actions of our lives,<br> -In such strange fashion that our best intents<br> ---Not evil in themselves--breed evil things,<br> -And wreck our fairest ventures, tho' we strive<br> -To bring them holily to some quiet port."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>On leaving Miss Corbin's house Errington's first impulse was to drive -straight to the railway station, catch the six-thirty train, and go -down to the Hall at once, in order to explain matters to his wife. A -moment's reflection, however, convinced him that this would be a -foolish thing to do, as he could not possibly reach home before eight -o'clock, and his late arrival at such an hour without being expected -would be sure to cause comment among the servants. They already -guessed more of the strained relations between himself and his wife -than he liked, so in order to avoid the slightest chance of any -further remark being made, he determined to go down to Denfield next -day in the ordinary course of things.</p> - -<p>He therefore drove back to his hotel, and while dressing for dinner -pondered deeply as to the best course to pursue with Alizon. On this -night he was engaged to dine with Macjean at the Soudan Hotel, and -recollected that his cousin was to be of the party. Eustace was a man -in whom he had a profound belief, and frequently deferred to his -cousin's judgment in delicate matters, so on this present occasion he -made up his mind to speak to Gartney, whose clear head would doubtless -be able to solve the problem.</p> - -<p>It was true that Mrs. Veilsturm expected him to call for her at the -Marlowe Theatre, where she had a box. But the idea of being in her -company again after what had transpired was too much for him, so he -hastily scribbled a note excusing himself on the plea of sudden -indisposition, and sent it off to Park Lane by a special messenger.</p> - -<p>"Macjean and Laxton can go to the theatre as arranged," he thought, as -he went slowly down the stairs, "and I'll make Eustace take me to his -rooms, where we can talk over things at our ease."</p> - -<p>With this determination he jumped into a hansom and drove off to the -Soudan Hotel in Piccadilly, where he found Otterburn waiting for him -in company with Laxton.</p> - -<p>"Where's Gartney?" asked the Master after greeting his friend, "he -promised to be early."</p> - -<p>"Eustace's promises are like pie crust," replied Errington, giving his -cloak and hat to the waiter, "made to be broken."</p> - -<p>"You look very broken yourself," remarked Macjean meditatively, as the -gaslight fell on Guy's face. "What is the matter? Have you had bad -news? Will you have a glass of sherry?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing is the matter," replied the baronet categorically. "I have -not had bad news, and I will take a glass of sherry."</p> - -<p>He really felt very worried over the position in which he now found -himself regarding his wife, but it was better he should dine in -company than alone, as a solitary meal would only make matters appear -much worse than they really were. Besides he was going to consult -Eustace, who, he felt certain, would advise him for the best, so he -put the best face he could on the matter, and chatted gaily over his -sherry to the two young men while waiting for his cousin.</p> - -<p>Presently Eustace, cool, calm and unconcerned, arrived, with a large -appetite and an apology for being late.</p> - -<p>"I've got a man who is in the habit of mislaying things," he explained -as they all sat down to dinner, "he mislaid his brains when he was -born, and hasn't found them yet, so I suffer in consequence. No sherry -for me, thank you! Water, please!"</p> - -<p>"Ugh, London water," groaned Laxton, holding up his sherry to the -light.</p> - -<p>"Water," remarked Mr. Gartney sententiously, "is the purest of all -elements."</p> - -<p>"Not in town," retorted Macjean with a grimace. "I don't believe in -Adam's wine."</p> - -<p>"No Scotchman ever did as far as I know," said Eustace drily. -"Presbyterian wine is what you all prefer north of the Tweed."</p> - -<p>"And a very good idea too," observed Guy, contributing his quota to -the conversation, "especially on wet days."</p> - -<p>"That's why such a lot of whisky is consumed in the Land o' Cakes," -explained Eustace gravely, "it's always wet up there. Scotch mist and -Scotch whisky invariably go together."</p> - -<p>"This," remarked Laxton, alluding to the conversation, "is not a -teetotol meeting."</p> - -<p>"No one could possibly accuse it of being that," retorted Gartney, -with a significant glance at the full glasses, "but if you three -gentlemen don't mind talking, I'll eat in the meantime. The Soudan -cook is a good one, the Gartney appetite is a large one, so thank God -for all His mercies and leave me to pay attention to the good things -of this life."</p> - -<p>His three friends laughed at his humorous way of putting things, and -devoted themselves to the fish. The conversation went on in a more or -less frivolous fashion, the last scandal, the blunders of the Cabinet, -the new novel of the realistic school, the prospects of a war in the -East--all these were discussed in their turn by the quartette, and -then Laxton began to argue with Otterburn about the African -expedition, so seizing the opportunity Guy bent forward to speak to -Eustace.</p> - -<p>"I want to talk to you after dinner," he said in a low voice.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," replied Gartney carelessly, "but will you have time? What -about the theatre?"</p> - -<p>"I've changed my mind," said Guy quickly, "so I sent an excuse to Mrs. -Veilsturm. Have you anything particular to do? If not we can go to -your rooms. I won't detain you long."</p> - -<p>Eustace flashed a keen look on his cousin, and paused a moment before -replying:</p> - -<p>"I was going to look in at one or two drawing-rooms to-night," he said -at length, "but as my engagements really aren't very particular, I'll -not trouble about them, so I will be at your disposal."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," answered Guy, drawing a long breath.</p> - -<p>"Nothing wrong, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"Well that is as it turns out. I saw Aunt Jelly to-day."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Eustace in a significant tone, knowing that an interview -with Aunt Jelly always meant trouble of some sort. "I think I can -understand. However, let us go on with our meal. Pleasure and appetite -first, business and Aunt Jelly afterwards. What are those two boys -fighting about?"</p> - -<p>The two boys were still engaged in the African argument, and had -arrived at a dead lock, each being firmly convinced in his own mind -that his view of the subject was the right one.</p> - -<p>"You're all wrong, I tell you," said Otterburn hotly, "you're talking -just like you did at Montana. Africa isn't America."</p> - -<p>"Nobody said it was," returned Laxton ungracefully, "but I daresay the -sport is very much the same in both places. Africa is not a new -planet."</p> - -<p>"You might as well say that potting walrus in the Arctic regions is -the same as jungle shooting in India."</p> - -<p>"It's merely a matter of temperature," declared Laxton decidedly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, if you pin your faith to the thermometer, I've nothing more to -say," replied Otterburn, throwing himself back in his chair with the -air of a man who has crushed his opponent.</p> - -<p>"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about," observed -Eustace leisurely, "and judging from what I've overheard you both seem -to be in the same predicament."</p> - -<p>"We'll discuss it later on," said Otterburn gaily. "What a pity I -can't come out with you to Africa, Laxton, and settle the argument -that way."</p> - -<p>"Well, why don't you come?" demanded Laxton quickly.</p> - -<p>Otterburn reddened and laughed in an embarrassed fashion, while -Eustace threw a roguish glance at him, and made answer for the bashful -lover.</p> - -<p>"Don't you bother your head, Laxton There are more important things -than shooting expeditions in this world--at least, Otterburn thinks -so."</p> - -<p>Laxton was quite in the dark regarding the meaning of these mystic -utterances, when it suddenly dawned on him that the lady whom -Otterburn had spoken about in America might have something to do with -the turn the conversation had taken, and lifted his glass with a smile -as he looked towards Macjean.</p> - -<p>"To the health of the something more important than shooting -expeditions," he said gravely, and finished the wine.</p> - -<p>"Thank you," responded Otterburn laughing. "May I some day drink the -same health to you?"</p> - -<p>"Never!"</p> - -<p>"Never's a long time."</p> - -<p>"And talking about time," remarked Guy, glancing at his watch, "if you -two boys have any idea of the theatre to-night you'll have to be off."</p> - -<p>"Aren't you coming too?" chorussed Otterburn and his comrade.</p> - -<p>"No! I received an important piece of news to-night, about which I -wish to speak to my cousin."</p> - -<p>"What will Mrs. V. say?" asked Laxton gaily.</p> - -<p>"Who can foretell a woman's remarks?" said Eustace quizzically, seeing -that Guy was disinclined to speak.</p> - -<p>"Depends upon how much you know of the woman," responded Otterburn -smartly.</p> - -<p>"Woman," retorted the cynic, "is an unknown quantity."</p> - -<p>"What about quality?"</p> - -<p>"This conversation," said Eustace, looking at his glass of water, "is -getting problematic. After dinner is a bad time to solve puzzles, -therefore--coffee."</p> - -<p>It seemed a good suggestion, so they all adjourned to the -smoking-room, and indulged in further conversation while they enjoyed -their coffee and cigarettes. Shortly afterwards Otterburn and his -friend departed for the Marlowe Theatre, while Eustace in company with -Guy went off to his rooms in Half Moon Street, Piccadilly.</p> - -<p>Used as he was to hardships in foreign lands, Eustace always took care -to make up for his deprivations by making himself very comfortable at -home, consequently his rooms left nothing to be desired in the way of -luxury. His valet was well accustomed to his master coming in at all -kinds of unexpected times, consequently when they arrived the room -was well lighted, the chairs disposed in tempting corners, and a -spirit-stand with glasses and soda-water stood ready for any thirsty -soul.</p> - -<p>Eustace placed his cousin in a well-cushioned chair, gave him an -excellent cigar, then, lighting one himself, took his seat opposite to -Guy and prepared to play the part of father confessor.</p> - -<p>It was a hot night and the windows were standing slightly open, -letting in the pleasant, confused noise of the street, with its -rattling of cabs, voices of people, and footfalls of innumerable -pedestrians. The faint sound of a barrel organ playing the last new -tune, "Oh, she's left me for another," came softly to their ears, and -they sat smoking silently for a few moments until Errington spoke.</p> - -<p>"I told you I saw Aunt Jelly to-day."</p> - -<p>"Yes and what did she say?"</p> - -<p>"A good many disagreeable things," replied Guy bitterly; "according to -her showing, I must be a singularly wicked man."</p> - -<p>"Aunt Jelly," observed Eustace philosophically, "knows very little -about the actual world, and having lived apart from her fellow -creatures for many years, has formed in her own mind an ideal life to -which she expects all her friends and relations to conform. -Unfortunately, the majority of nineteenth century people are neither -Lucreces nor Bayards, consequently Aunt Jelly, in Pharisee fashion, -rails at the world and says, 'Thank God, I'm not as other women are.'"</p> - -<p>"She is as other women are in the matter of listening to gossip," said -Guy emphatically, "for she tells me it is common talk that I have left -my wife for the superior attractions of Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>Eustace looked up suddenly in dismay.</p> - -<p>"My dear fellow, you must be making a mistake."</p> - -<p>"I'm making no mistake," returned Guy doggedly. "Aunt Jelly says it is -common talk. Have you heard anything about it?"</p> - -<p>"You know I never pay attention to gossip," said Gartney evasively, "I -don't even listen to it, but you may be certain that anyone who poses -as the <i>cher ami</i> of Mrs. Veilsturm won't escape calumny."</p> - -<p>"I don't pose as the <i>cher ami</i> of Mrs. Veilsturm," said Errington -fiercely. "I don't care two straws about her."</p> - -<p>"Actions speak louder than words. You certainly have acted as if you -did."</p> - -<p>"Good Heavens, Eustace, you surely don't believe all these lies?" -retorted Guy wrathfully, rising from his chair.</p> - -<p>"I never said I did," answered his cousin coolly, "but I'm looking at -it now from the world's point of view. Mrs. Veilsturm has certainly -made a dead set at you, and you, thinking it was natural amiability, -have played into her hands. You, no doubt, call it friendship, but the -world doesn't."</p> - -<p>"It is friendship. Indeed, hardly that as far as I am concerned, as I -don't care if I never saw Mrs. Veilsturm again. She has taken an -unaccountable fancy to me, and I'm no Joseph where a pretty woman is -concerned, but as for leaving my dear wife for a meretricious woman -like that--Good God!"</p> - -<p>"Well, let the world talk as it likes, so long as it isn't speaking -the truth," said Eustace impatiently. "Who cares? If you expect -justice from your fellow creatures, you won't get it. As to Aunt -Jelly, old women are privileged gossips. It don't matter to you."</p> - -<p>"But it does matter to me, I tell you," cried Guy violently, walking -to and fro, "she has written all about these lies to my wife."</p> - -<p>The barrel organ outside was still grinding out the popular tune, -being now assisted by the shrill voice of a girl singing the words of -the song.</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1">"Oh, she's left me for another,</p> -<p class="t2">Mary Anne! Mary Anne!</p> -<p class="t1">And she said he was her brother,</p> -<p class="t2">Mary Anne.</p> -<p class="t1">It may be true, for all I know,<br> -But would she kiss her brother so,<br> -And would she leave me for him? No!</p> -<p class="t2">Mary Anne, Mary Anne!"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>The regular beat of the melody seemed to repeat itself everlastingly -in Gartney's ears as he sat there in silence wondering over the -statement Errington had made. If Alizon knew all, she would never -forgive her husband and then--was it Fate that so persistently -smoothed the road for his evil doing? He felt dull and stupid at the -unexpected announcement he had heard, and, after a pause, lifted his -heavy eyes to Guy.</p> - -<p>"Well," he said drearily, "and what do you intend to do?"</p> - -<p>Errington sat down heavily in his chair and stretched out his hands -with a weary gesture.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what to do," he answered in a dull voice. "I suppose the -best thing will be for me to go down and explain matters to Alizon."</p> - -<p>"But will she accept your explanation?"</p> - -<p>"No!"</p> - -<p>"Then why make it?"</p> - -<p>"A drowning man will grasp at a straw. I must do something! I can't -let my wife think I have wilfully wronged her. Good heavens! surely -she must know I love her dearly."</p> - -<p>"I should think it is very probable she does," answered Eustace -slowly, "besides, I think Lady Errington is too sensible a woman to -give ear to lying reports. Tell her all you have told me, and I'm -certain you will have no difficulty in making your peace with her."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" asked Guy, his sad face brightening, "but no, I'm -afraid not. You remember the story I told you about Mrs. Veilsturm's -card being returned."</p> - -<p>Eustace nodded.</p> - -<p>"That is the difficulty. If it had been any other woman than Mrs. -Veilsturm--but as it is, she'll think I did it wilfully."</p> - -<p>"Surely not."</p> - -<p>"My dear fellow, you've never loved a statue," said Errington -bitterly, rising to his feet and putting on his cloak, "but it's no -use talking any more. Aunt Jelly has done more harm than she knows of. -I'll go down to the Hall to-morrow, and tell Alizon everything. If she -believes my explanation, well and good, if she does not----"</p> - -<p>"Well?" asked Eustace, seeing his cousin hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Well!" repeated the other harshly, "I shall come back to London and -Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>He was gone before Eustace could offer a word of remonstrance on the -folly of such a determination, and then Gartney returned to his seat -with an air of utter lassitude.</p> - -<p>"Kismet," he said to himself, after a long pause. "It is Destiny."</p> - -<p>Was it indeed Destiny that had interfered for the third time? Was it -fixed by Fate that he should be Lady Errington's lover, and lose his -honourable name for her sake? It seemed like it, seeing that all -barriers he had set up against this illicit love, were swept away by -the actions of other people, and the field left open to him. Still, -Alison had not yet had her interview with Guy, and, as she must know -how much he loved her, surely she would accept his explanation of the -lying reports concerning his infatuation for Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>If she did so, all would be well with them both, but if she refused to -believe his story, and dismissed him coldly, then----</p> - -<p>Eustace arose to his feet, and walking over to the window, looked out -into the hot night. Below, the glare and glitter of gas-lamps--above, -the luminous light of the stars--and far in the east, rising over the -sombre masses of clouds, burned an evil planet, which was dreaded of -old by the Chaldeans.</p> - -<p>The man looking at it with troubled eyes felt the twin powers of good -and evil strive in his heart.</p> - -<p>And the star gleamed steadily in the thunderous sky.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_28" href="#div1Ref_28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>HUSBAND AND WIFE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"You have broken your oath</p> -<p class="t2">And broken my heart,</p> -<p class="t1">Oh, sorrow for both,<br> -You have broken your oath;<br> -Although I am loth</p> -<p class="t2">In anger to part,</p> -<p class="t1">You have broken your oath</p> -<p class="t2">And broken my heart."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Alizon Errington was seated in the Dutch room with Aunt Jelly's letter -clenched in her hand, and Sammy playing on the carpet beside her. The -child, rolling among his toys was babbling inarticulate words of -endearment to them, but the mother's eyes were fixed on the gaudy bed -of tulips blazing in the sunshine as she thought over the words she -had just read.</p> - -<p>So this was her husband! This man who had gone straight from his home, -from his wife, from his child, to the arms of this infamous woman. He -knew more than the world did about the character of Mrs. Veilsturm, -for she had told him herself. He knew that she, his wife, had refused -to receive this adventuress and had returned her card! He knew that -Mrs. Veilsturm, Cleopatra, whatever she liked to call herself, had -been connected with disreputable Gabriel Mostyn, and yet, in spite of -all this, he had dared to enter her house, to clasp hands with her as -a friend, to sacrifice his honour and that of his wife to this vile -woman.</p> - -<p>Was there any faith or honesty in man?</p> - -<p>Her father had been bad and vicious all his life; he had destroyed his -daughter's belief in the male sex by the terrible revelations of his -death-bed, but her husband--oh!--she had thought him better than this: -she had respected and admired him, she had been a good wife, holding -her head high and keeping her honour spotless. She was a good mother -to his child, and she had done her best in all ways to fulfil the vows -made at the marriage altar.</p> - -<p>This was her reward! She was deserted for another woman, for a woman -who was the vilest of her sex. Her wifely honour had been dragged in -the mud, her wifely name had been placed with jeers in the mouths of -men and women, and the marriage tie, so sacred in her eyes, had been -violated by her husband, by the very man who should have respected its -sanctity.</p> - -<p>Her first born was playing at her feet in the happy innocence of -childhood, a pure soul fresh from the hand of God, who had given her -this treasure to nurse and cherish. Yet even now, in its artless -babyhood, the shadow of a dark shame was hovering over its golden -head, the name it bore was already smirched in the eyes of the world, -and its father, who was responsible to God for its well-being, had -already degraded it by his own shameful passion.</p> - -<p>Ah! all men were the same. Her father was only the type of many -others. They loved a woman, or said they loved her, and stayed beside -her for a time, yet as soon as they grew weary of her, they flew to -the arms of some newer fancy, and not even the sanctity of the -marriage tie could restrain their brutal natures. Guy, whom she -thought so good and kind, had turned out the same as his fellow men. -He had been a good husband for a time, but now, grown weary of his -quiet home, satiated with domestic love, weary of his prattling child, -he had deliberately flung himself into the arms of this light-o'-love. -Well, he would have his reward. The wages of sin is death! and he -would be dragged down to destruction by those arms that encircled him -so fondly.</p> - -<p>But what about herself? What could she do in order to free herself -from the companionship of this man who prized her less than he did his -dissolute companions? Divorce! Yes, that was the way to break the -chain which bound her to the husband she despised. But it was -impossible that she could take advantage of the law, for it would -reflect on the child in the future, and for the child's sake she would -have to remain in the bondage of marriage.</p> - -<p>Tearless, cold, and pale as a lily, she sat there with her hands -clasping the hateful letter which told her of her husband's treachery -and destroyed the happiness of her life. The child, weary of its toys, -crawled across the carpet to her feet, and clutching her dress raised -itself to its feet with a plaintive cry. She looked downward in -dry-eyed misery, saw the wax-like tiny hands clasping her dress, and -heard the thin little voice utter its inarticulate prayer to lie on -her breast.</p> - -<p>The full horror of her position broke on her dulled brain like a flash -of light, and with a burst of tears she took up the child and strained -him convulsively to her bosom.</p> - -<p>Ah, how those tears fell--hot, scalding tears that blistered her -cheeks, that burned into her very soul, and that fell on the -frightened face of the baby like rain, bitter and salt as the waves of -the sea. The child was afraid at this passionate outburst of sorrow -and began to cry, but she held him close to her breast and, -restraining her tears, hushed him to slumber with a low lullaby -rocking to and fro, her heart heavy as lead.</p> - -<p>"Alizon!"</p> - -<p>With a cry she arose to her feet, the sleeping child in her arms, and -saw her husband, travel-stained, worn, and haggard, standing at the -door with a look of imploring agony on his face. She drew herself up -to her full height and shrank against the wall, with one arm stretched -out to keep him off, the other holding the tiny form of the child, and -at her feet the crumpled letter that had been the cause of all this -undoing.</p> - -<p>Guy made a step forward and stretched out his arms.</p> - -<p>"Alizon!"</p> - -<p>"Don't--don't come near me!" she said in a low, hoarse voice, with a -look of horror on her pale face.</p> - -<p>"I come to explain----"</p> - -<p>"Nothing can explain that," she answered, pointing to the letter on -the floor, "nothing can explain that."</p> - -<p>"I can explain it, if you will only listen," he said vehemently. The -marks of tears were still on her cheeks, but no other traces of -emotion remained to show how she had suffered.</p> - -<p>As her husband spoke, a cold, scornful smile crept over her face, and -she signed to him to go on, still shrinking against the wall with her -arms folded round the child as if she would keep it from being -contaminated by its father.</p> - -<p>"I saw Aunt Jelly," said Sir Guy hurriedly, "and she told me what she -had done. Written to you about--about Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>He brought out the hated name with a great effort, but his wife, -neither shrinking nor wincing, stared straight at him with that -terrible frozen smile on her face.</p> - -<p>"She writes under a mistake," pursued Errington, clasping the back of -a chair in his strong fingers as though he would crush it to dust. "It -is not true what she says. I told her all about it and she believed -me. I am going to tell you now, and you will believe me, will you not, -Alizon?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell."</p> - -<p>The words dropped slowly from her mouth, and he flung out his arms -towards her with a cry of anguish.</p> - -<p>"You must believe me--you must, I tell you," he said breathlessly. "It -is not true about that woman. I went up to Town with Eustace, and -called at her house----"</p> - -<p>A flush of angry red passed over her face, and she turned on him like -a tigress.</p> - -<p>"You called on her! You called on that woman!" she said in a clear, -vibrating voice, tremulous with anger. "The woman about whom I told -you--whom I would not receive, and you--you--my husband, dared to put -this insult upon me."</p> - -<p>"Alizon----"</p> - -<p>"Don't speak further! I have heard enough. That letter is true, and -you cannot deny it."</p> - -<p>"I do deny it," he cried fiercely. "I tell you it is all a mistake. I -forgot all about your refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Had I -remembered I would not have gone."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" she said with ineffable scorn, "if you had remembered. What -excuse is that to make? Do my words weigh so lightly with you that you -could forget them so easily? It was not for anything that Mrs. -Veilsturm had done to me that I declined to receive her. But I heard -my father, on his death-bed, speak of her--speak of her as men such as -he was speak of such a woman as she is. I told you this, and yet you -forget my words and visit her."</p> - -<p>"As God is my judge, I did forget," he said desperately. "I did not -think about it until it was too late."</p> - -<p>"Ah, you did remember at last."</p> - -<p>"Yes! only it was too late. I had been to her house and she----"</p> - -<p>"And she," echoed his wife bitterly. "Oh, I well know what you are -going to say. She did her best to captivate you with her vile arts, -tried her hardest to win your heart from me----"</p> - -<p>"But she did not succeed--she did not succeed," he said earnestly.</p> - -<p>"Do you think I care if she did or if she did not?" replied Lady -Errington scornfully. "Do you think I would place myself in rivalry -with that woman? No! you have chosen her in preference to me, your -lawful wife. Go to her as soon as you like, but don't dare to come -near me."</p> - -<p>"I will come near you," said Guy desperately. "You have no right to -judge me like this."</p> - -<p>"I have the right of a wronged woman."</p> - -<p>"No, no! I swear you have not. On my soul; on my honour----"</p> - -<p>"On your honour," she interrupted with a sneer, "the honour of a man -who could act as you have done!"</p> - -<p>"Whose fault is it if I have acted badly?" he cried, rendered -desperate by her jeers.</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to infer it's mine?" said his wife quietly.</p> - -<p>He gnawed his moustache viciously and did not respond, whereupon she -was about to ask the question again, when a knock came to the door and -startled them both.</p> - -<p>"It is the child's nurse," said Lady Errington, going to the door. -"Wait a moment."</p> - -<p>Guy turned towards the window so that the servant should not see how -upset he was, and Lady Errington, opening the door, kept her face bent -over the sleeping child as she placed it in Mrs. Tasker's arms.</p> - -<p>"He's sound asleep, Nurse," she said quietly, as the old woman took -him. "Take him up to the nursery, and I'll come to him in a short -time."</p> - -<p>Her voice was perfectly under control, and Mrs. Tasker never for a -moment suspected anything was wrong between her master and mistress as -she toiled slowly up the stairs carrying the child tenderly in her -stout arms.</p> - -<p>Lady Errington drew a long breath as Mrs. Tasker disappeared, and -then, closing the door quietly, turned once more to her husband, who -still stood looking out at the bright sunshine, which seemed to mock -his misery by its glare and cheerful brilliancy.</p> - -<p>"I am waiting for your answer," said his wife's steady voice behind -him, whereupon he turned swiftly round, and crossing to where she -stood, stern and silent by the table, caught one of her hands before -she could prevent him.</p> - -<p>"Alizon," he said earnestly, "for your own sake, for the sake of our -child, listen to me quietly, and I will try and explain things to your -satisfaction. I did go to Mrs. Veilsturm's, but I swear by all that is -sacred, that I did not remember anything about her. Not even her name. -Think for a moment, the whole affair passed in five minutes--your -explanation was a hurried one, and you never referred to it again. It -is eighteen months ago, and since then her name has never been -mentioned between us, so you can hardly wonder that I quite forgot -about the woman. Had I remembered, I would not have gone--give me at -least that credit. I went innocently enough with Eustace, and Mrs. -Veilsturm, I suppose out of revenge for the slight she received from -you, was very attentive to me. I did not respond to her advances in -any way, and saw as little of her as I could. I was not responsible -for the coupling of our names together. You know how the world talks -and magnifies the most innocent things into evidences of guilt. The -scandal reached the ears of my aunt, and she, innocently enough, wrote -that letter to you--a letter which she now bitterly regrets having -sent to you. When she told me about it, I explained all, and she asked -my pardon for having written the letter. I came down here at once to -tell you everything, and I have now done so. On my honour, Alizon, -that is the whole affair. I acted wrongly in forgetting about Mrs. -Veilsturm's past, and I ask your pardon. Let this misunderstanding -cease between us. I love you dearly. I have always loved you, never so -much as now. Do not let our lives be blighted like this. I have acted -wrongly, and I ask your pardon. You in your turn grant it to me, and -let us forget this terrible mistake."</p> - -<p>All the time he was pleading, she listened to him without any sign of -emotion, her face looking impassable as a marble mask, but at the -conclusion of his speech, she withdrew her hand from his with a cold -smile of disbelief, which showed how little his tenderness affected -her.</p> - -<p>"Your explanation would satisfy the world," she said with chilly -dignity, "but it does not satisfy me. I cannot believe that you forgot -about my refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Even if you did forget, -that only makes your conduct worse, for you still went to visit her -after you recollected the affair, as you acknowledge yourself. I have -been a good wife to you, I have been a good mother to your child, and -in return you have not even given me the common fidelity of a husband, -which every woman has a right to expect."</p> - -<p>"I see it is no use pleading to a cold piece of perfection like you," -said Guy, drawing himself up with dignity. "I have stooped to explain -this affair, and you decline to believe me. I can do no more. You are -convinced, without the shadow of a reason, that I am vile, and it is -impossible for me to undeceive you further than I have done. Under -these circumstances it is impossible for us to live together as man -and wife. You doubt me, and I resent your doing so, therefore it will -be best for us to at once make some arrangement about our future -lives."</p> - -<p>He spoke calmly enough, but his heart was hot with indignation, that -he should receive such treatment from the woman he loved best on -earth. He was innocent, and he knew himself to be innocent, therefore -all his nature rose in revolt against the unjust attitude taken up by -his wife.</p> - -<p>She, on her side, was also indignant, deeming that his explanation was -false from beginning to end, so she refused to forgive him, or to -believe the skilful tissue of falsehoods he had put forward as a plea -for her mercy.</p> - -<p>It was a case of misunderstanding on both sides, and as the stubborn -pride of each refused to bend, nothing was now left but separation.</p> - -<p>"For the sake of the child," she said coldly, "I am unwilling there -should be any scandal, so it will be best for me to stay down here to -look after the boy, and you can take up your abode in London, or -wherever else it pleases you. Regarding money matters, I presume you -will allow me sufficient to live on in a style befitting the mistress -of this place. My life will be devoted to bringing up the child, -yours--well, I have nothing to do with that, and you are free to act -as you desire. These are the only terms upon which I will consent to -pass over the matter, and I think there is nothing more to be said."</p> - -<p>Slowly and deliberately she uttered these cruel words, which fell like -ice on his heart, and showed him how utterly futile it was to hope for -any reconcilement with this pure woman, so pure that she could neither -understand nor forgive the infidelity of which she accused him. All -his manhood arose in rebellion against such treatment, and, mad with -anger, he stepped to her side as she turned to leave the room.</p> - -<p>"There is more to be said," he cried furiously. "I have told you the -truth, which you decline to believe. But if I had conducted myself as -you say--if I had voluntarily gone to this woman whom you hate, who is -to blame, you or I? Have I not been a good husband to you since our -marriage? Have I not striven by every means in my power to win your -heart? and what have I received in return?--cold words and frigid -smiles. Do you think that I did not feel all this? Yes, I did feel it, -but you, wrapped up in your icy nature, cannot understand my feelings."</p> - -<p>"I have treated you with all respect----"</p> - -<p>"Respect! Respect!" he reiterated bitterly. "I ask for love, you give -me respect. I ask for bread, you offer me a stone. All the feelings of -my heart have been crushed down by your cold superiority, by your -chilly self-respect, which forbade you giving to me those attentions -that other men receive from their wives."</p> - -<p>"You dare to talk to me like this," she said angrily, "you, who have -had no respect either for me or for your child!"</p> - -<p>"Ah, the child," he retorted with a sneering laugh, "it was the child -that came between us. You have lavished upon it all the love and -affection which is due to me. Am I not the child's father? Why should -you treat me as if I were a block of marble? In my own house I have -been lonely. In my own house I have been neglected, while you, leaving -me to starve, gave all your love to the child."</p> - -<p>"Is it a crime for a mother to love her child?"</p> - -<p>"No, it is no crime. I did not say it was. But it is a crime--worse -than a crime--to cherish and love the child to the exclusion of the -husband and father. The husband has the first claim on the wife's -heart, the child the second."</p> - -<p>"You are wrong."</p> - -<p>"No, I am right," he replied vehemently, "and if driven forth by -neglect, and hungry for love, I left my home to go to another woman, -you reproach me for what is your own work! But I have not done so. I -have been as true to you as you have been to me. Alizon, let things be -as they were before this miserable misunderstanding, and let there be -love and affection between us. I will forgive you all the neglect I -have suffered these eighteen months, if you will overlook my -forgetfulness about Mrs. Veilsturm, and act towards me as a wife -should act."</p> - -<p>"You forgive me," she said contemptuously, "you forgive me? No. It is -I who have the right to do that. I do not forgive you. I never shall."</p> - -<p>"Are those your last words?"</p> - -<p>"My last words."</p> - -<p>Errington looked at her in silence for a moment, and then, without a -word, walked towards the door of the room, at which he paused.</p> - -<p>"I have implored and entreated you to be merciful," he said, with -terrible calmness, "you have refused to grant what I ask. Now I go -back to London, to Mrs. Veilsturm, the woman you despise so much. You -have driven me to this, and the result of it rests on your own head. -You do not love me, you never have loved me, so I leave you alone in -your immaculate purity, to forget the man whom you have despised and -wronged."</p> - -<p>He was gone before she could utter a word, and she was left alone in -the room, alone in the world, with nothing but her child to comfort -her in the hour of need.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_29" href="#div1Ref_29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>THE QUESTION OF MARRIAGE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"The sea is cruel, its white waves hide me,<br> -Lo I am weary and scant of breath,<br> -Thou to a haven of safety guide me,<br> -Stretch out thy hand, lest I swoon to death.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Thou art my God in this hour of peril,<br> -Yet in thy sight, I am lost and vile,<br> -All thy love, as the sea is sterile,<br> -I sink, I perish, beneath thy smile."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>There are always two sides to a question, especially to the question -of marriage.</p> - -<p>One side is invariably taken by the husband, the other by the wife.</p> - -<p>Both claim their side to be right, and, as this is an impossibility, -one side must be wrong.</p> - -<p>Which?</p> - -<p>It is a difficult question to settle, more difficult than the judgment -of Solomon, more difficult than the judgment of Paris, and though the -world, represented by the Law, generally plays the part of arbitrator -in conjugal disputes, in this case it was referred to neither by the -husband nor the wife.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances it will be as well to argue both sides -fairly, and pronounce a verdict in favour of the strongest.</p> - -<p>A case for the opinion of Society, unrepresented by any legal -tribunal, the parties concerned conducting their own cases personally.</p> - -<p>On the part of the wife--</p> - -<p>"When I married Guy Errington, I had no belief whatsoever in the -masculine sex, such scepticism being due to my knowledge of the -character of my father, Gabriel Mostyn. Before his illness I lived in -almost conventual seclusion, and from the reading of books formed an -ideal world, which I have since found to be as unreal as the fantastic -visions of Oriental dreamers.</p> - -<p>"My world was based upon a delusive belief in the chivalry of men and -the purity of women, and resembled in its visionary loveliness the -Garden of Eden, before Eve tempted Adam with the fatal fruit. In this -unreal world men were always young, handsome and true-hearted, while -the women were beautiful in their forms and faces, pure in their -lives. I dreamed that some day I, an inhabitant of this beautiful -universe, would meet with a lover who would dedicate his life to mine, -and we would go through life side by side in love and purity, until we -exchanged this heaven upon earth for one even fairer.</p> - -<p>"Alas! these were but the virginal dreams of a girl, unsullied by -contact with the world, and my ideal life was shattered by the vile -cynicism of my father, who took a delight in destroying all my -illusions, and in dragging me down from the light of fancy to the -darkness of reality.</p> - -<p>"So evil had been his life, that no one would stay by him in his hour -of need, and I, a young girl, unsophisticated and innocent, was forced -to remain beside his bed. To him I dedicated my youth, my innocence, -my womanly feeling, my filial tenderness, and received as a reward a -brutal unveiling of the most horrible things on earth. When I went to -his bedside at the beginning of those four bitter years I was an -innocent girl, when I turned away, leaving him stiff and stark in his -coffin, I was, in knowledge, an accomplished woman of the world. I -believed in no one. I doubted the motives of all. I looked upon my -fellow-creatures as birds of prey who would turn and rend me were I -not dexterous enough to foil them with their own weapons. Is it then -to be wondered at that I dreaded marriage with a man who would -doubtless be as evil in his thoughts and deeds as was my father?</p> - -<p>"Had I been in receipt of a sufficient income to keep me from -starving, had I been able to earn my own living, I would never have -married; but under the grudging hospitality of my relatives, and the -iron grip of poverty, the strongest resolution must give way. I was no -heroine to battle with the merciless world as represented to me by my -father, so, in despair, I married Guy Errington.</p> - -<p>"To my surprise and delight, I found him to resemble the ideal -inhabitants of my fanciful world, and honoured and respected him for -those qualities which I had never seen in my father. He was good, -kind, loving and tender, all of which qualities to me, in a man, were -like a revelation from God. Still, the teachings of my father could -not be easily eradicated, and I dreaded lest some chance should rend -the veil which hid his real nature and show me the innate brutality -which my father assured me existed in all mankind.</p> - -<p>"Meanwhile, I was thankful for his kindness, and strove to show by -every means in my power how I reciprocated his love. If he accuses me -of coldness, I can offer no defence. I am not a demonstrative woman, -as all my timid outbursts of affection were ruthlessly crushed by my -father, and self-restraint has become a habit with me. Besides, -dreading lest my married happiness should not last, I wore my coldness -as an armour against a possible disappointment.</p> - -<p>"I loved my husband, but the invincible mistrust which my father had -inculcated in my breast isolated me during the earlier portion of our -married life, and I was afraid to let my husband see how much I loved -him, lest he took advantage of such confidence. Still, I wanted -something to love, something that I could worship, could cling to, -something that I could trust in fully and that would not deceive me.</p> - -<p>"It came at last, a pure, little, white soul from the hand of God; and -to my child I gave the whole of the love, the adoration, the passion, -which had been pent up in my breast for so many years for want of some -one on whom I could bestow them without fear of the consequence.</p> - -<p>"My husband hated to see me so fond of the child, for his jealous -nature would be content with nothing but undivided love, and in spite -of my desire to make him happy, I could not leave my child unloved in -order to pander to his selfish passion. He resented my reproval of his -folly and withdrew himself from my society, so that I had no one to -love but my child, and, although we lived in the same house, the poles -were not further asunder than we were.</p> - -<p>"Then she came between us--that vile woman whom my father knew in -South America--and my husband, weary of his home, of his wife, of his -child, left all to go to her. What wife could put up with such an -insult? Had it been any other woman, it would have been bad enough, -but this special woman whom he knew I despised, whom he knew from my -lips to be an infamous creature, this was the woman for whom he -forsook me.</p> - -<p>"How can I believe his explanations? They are all false, glibly as -they are uttered. No! I am deceived no longer, he is the same as my -father, and seeks only the selfish gratification of his own appetites. -The end has come, as I knew it would--the mask is torn off, and I see -my husband, whom I loved and trusted during the early days of our -marriage, as he really is. My father was right; there is no faith, -honour, honesty, nor truth, in men; and I have only acted rightly in -refusing to live with a man who could behave so to his wife and child.</p> - -<p>"Even now he is with that woman, on the feeble plea that my coldness -drove him away. Does that excuse his vice? No! He should have waited -until perfect love, perfect understanding, was established between us, -but now we are parted for ever. He has gone back to the life most -congenial to him, and I--I, like many other women, can do nothing but -pray that my son may not grow up to follow in the evil footsteps of -his father."</p> - -<p>On the part of the husband--</p> - -<p>"Saints do not live among men, except in the canonization of the -Church, and before my marriage I was neither better nor worse than any -other young man. But without being either a Saint Anthony or a Saint -Francis, I did my best to lead a decent life in every way, and if I -had a few vices--or what ascetics term vices--they were so small that -they were invisible except to the microscope of certain Pharisees who -pass their lives in finding out their neighbours' faults, and thanking -God they are not as other men are.</p> - -<p>"I loved my wife from the first moment I saw her, being in the first -place attracted by the beauty of her person, and in the second by the -difference in her nature to that of other women. I do not put myself -forward either as a deep thinker or as a student of humanity, but must -confess I grew weary of the ordinary Society woman, married or -unmarried. They talked in a frivolous fashion of the most trivial -things, but Alizon Mostyn attracted me by the charm of her -conversation, not that she was very learned, or particularly -brilliant, but she talked of ordinary matters in an original way, -which was wonderfully fascinating. I loved her dearly, and saw in this -pale, quiet girl, one who would be a companion to me, who would make -me a better man, and aid me to lead my life on a higher plane to that -which I had hitherto done.</p> - -<p>"It was for this reason I married her, and though she was cold in her -manner towards me, this very coldness had a certain charm about it -which I could not resist. I knew that she had been badly treated by -her father, so strove in every way by tenderness and love to make -amends for the misery of her early life.</p> - -<p>"After marriage I was perfectly satisfied with my wife, and although -at times her persistent coldness wounded me, yet I thought by -unfailing love and attention to make her open her heart to me. No -doubt I would have achieved this object if it had not been for the -birth of the child, which has, in a great measure, been the cause of -all the trouble of our later married life.</p> - -<p>"I was glad to welcome the child, as I thought it would form a new -link between us, and by thawing her frigid disposition draw us closer -together. But, instead of doing this, the boy was the cause of our -estrangement, as she lavished upon him all the love of which her -nature was capable, and I was persistently neglected.</p> - -<p>"No doubt the world would think I had little to complain of--my wife -was perfect, both in her conjugal and maternal capacity--the only -trouble being the cherishing of the child to the neglect of the -father.</p> - -<p>"But, look at the matter from my point of view. I had married my wife -for companionship, for the sake of satisfying the craving of human -nature to be loved, and instead of my ideas being realized, I found -myself shut out of Paradise, while my wife, with her child, rested -happily within. She was never away from the boy, and day after day I -was forced to live a lonely life, neglected and uncared for by a woman -I adored. All her ideas, conversation, and desires, were bound up in -the child, so that she had neither the time nor inclination to take an -interest in my pursuits, or in my life. We dwelt together as man and -wife, to all appearances we were a happy and attached couple, yet the -child stood between us, like an evil shadow, which isolated us the one -from the other. Often I tried to break down this barrier, by praising -the child, but the mother seemed jealous even of the father; she -wanted the child all to herself, and, secure in such possession, was -contented to treat her husband as an ordinary friend.</p> - -<p>"I resented this state of things, I revolted at being condemned to -occupy such an isolated position, but I could do nothing. My wife was -perfect in every other way, and to have complained would have been -ridiculous, so I was forced to suffer in silence. God alone knows how -I did suffer in the solitude to which I was condemned, at seeing the -love and caresses bestowed on the child, love and caresses in which I -had no share. All her life was in the child, and she possessed him. My -life was in her--and I was a stranger to her in every way.</p> - -<p>"Under the circumstances I thought it best to go away for a few weeks, -thinking that she would miss me in some little measure, and would be -more affectionate and tender when I returned. Whether such an idea was -right or wrong I do not know, I never shall know, for between our -parting and our meeting occurred the episode of Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>"On my honour, I went innocently enough into the presence of this -woman. I had forgotten all about my wife's refusal to receive her, for -had I remembered I certainly would not have gone. But, as I said -before, I had forgotten. I had never seen the woman; I did not even -know her name. How then was I to recollect the episode of eighteen -months before?--an episode the memory of which had not lasted longer -than a few days.</p> - -<p>"I went to Mrs. Veilsturm's 'At home.' I found her a charming woman, -and, at her express invitation, I went often to her house. She was -different from the ordinary run of women, and I took pleasure in her -society, but there was no warmer feeling between us, at least, not on -my part. With the scandal of the world I have nothing to do, sin and -purity are treated the same way, and the mere fact of my being once or -twice seen with Mrs. Veilsturm was sufficient to set afloat the lying -story which came to my wife's ears through the medium of Aunt Jelly.</p> - -<p>"To my wife I told the whole story, but she refused to believe me. I -confessed that I had remembered about Mrs. Veilsturm when it was too -late, but she accused me of knowing the truth from the first, and of -having wilfully acted as I had done. Nothing I could say could shake -her belief in this matter, and she swore she would never forgive me -for the insult I had placed upon her.</p> - -<p>"What could I do? Nothing! except retire from the scene. In vain I -assured her of my complete innocence. She refused to believe my -statement, and drove me from her presence--from my home--with cruel -words. This woman, wrapped up in an armour of purity--of selfish -purity--could not credit my innocence in any way. She judged me from -the 'I-would-not-have-acted-thus' standpoint, and insisted that I had -betrayed her basely, although she had no further proof than the gossip -of the world.</p> - -<p>"I left her. I came back to London to see Mrs. Veilsturm again. It is -wrong--I know it is wrong--but what am I to do? Live an isolated -existence, pass days and nights of abject misery, only to pander to -her self-righteous ideas? For eighteen months, in spite of all my -tenderness and love, she has wilfully neglected me, she has refused to -acknowledge that I have been a good husband, she has rendered my life -miserable, and now she has driven me forth from my own home on account -of a sin--if it can be called so--of which I am guiltless.</p> - -<p>"What am I to do? Live the life of a hermit in order to right myself -in her eyes and be called back and pardoned, as if I were indeed -guilty? No! I will not do so. It is her fault, not mine, that I am -placed in such a miserable position. Unable to win her by tenderness, -by love, I will henceforth live my own life and see what neglect will -do. For every pang she has inflicted upon me I will inflict a pang -upon her, for her months of neglect I will repay her in full, for her -coldness I will give coldness in my turn, and to any remonstrances she -may offer I will say then what I say now--'It is your work.'"</p> -<br> -<br> -<p>So far the cases of husband and wife, each arguing from their own -point of view. Now which of them is right, the man or the woman? The -husband who strove to win his wife's love, or the wife who refused to -give the husband that love which was his due.</p> - -<p>Errington was now acting wrongly, as he himself knew; he was -voluntarily flinging himself into the arms of a woman whom he knew to -be worthless, but who can say he had no provocation? He had done his -best to win his wife's love, he had suffered in silence during the -period of his married life, and in return she had shamefully neglected -him, and had finally, with hardly any proof, accused him of -voluntarily making a friend of a worthless woman. Outraged by this -treatment, the husband left her presence, and she had driven him into -the very jaws of destruction.</p> - -<p>Doubtless he should have stood firm, and by years of patient -self-sacrifice showed her that she was wrong. But how many of us are -capable of such asceticism? How many of us would stand for long years -in the outer darkness, knowing himself to be guiltless of the crime -laid to his charge?</p> - -<p>This woman--pure wife, affectionate mother, as she was--had acted as -if she were above the weaknesses of human nature. She had arrogated to -herself the functions of the Deity in judging and condemning a poor -human soul, who, weary with beseeching for what it never received, -fell away in despair into the gulf of sin and misery.</p> - -<p>Who was wrong--the man who sought evil in despair, or the woman whose -coldness and purity had denied him the mercy which would have saved -him?</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_30" href="#div1Ref_30">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h4> -<h5>CLEOPATRA VICTRIX.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"To my chariot wheels have I bound him,</p> -<p class="t2">To bear him in triumph away;</p> -<p class="t1">As master and king have I crowned him,</p> -<p class="t2">To reign but the length of a day.</p> -<p class="t1">I woo but to kiss and betray him,</p> -<p class="t2">We meet but a moment to part;</p> -<p class="t1">In the hour of his joy will I slay him,</p> -<p class="t2">wheels will go over his heart."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm's drawing-room was not by any means an artistic -apartment, being full of violent contrasts in the way of decoration -and furniture, yet not without a certain picturesqueness of its own. -It was bizarre, gaudy, fantastic, strange, and a faithful reflection -of the curious mind of its mistress. The European side of her nature -inspired her with a certain amount of artistic taste, while the -African blood in her veins made her delight in brilliant colouring and -barbaric ornamentation. The eyes ached as they rested on the confused -mass of tints, variegated as a flower-garden, and yet there was a -certain design and harmony throughout, something like the tangled -patterns of those Oriental carpets, those Indian shawls, which -represent the cloudy splendours haunting an Eastern mind.</p> - -<p>The paper on the walls of this room, oblong and lofty, was of a -dark-red tint, stamped with golden sunflowers rising from their -velvety-green leaves. Delicate lace curtains of milky white, -interwoven with threads of silver, fell before the three long windows, -from under massive gilt cornices. The carpet was of black and yellow -stripes in undulating lines, like the skin of a tiger, and here and -there a rug of silky-white hair contrasted curiously with the -fantastic ground upon which it rested. The furniture was of dark -walnut, upholstered with bright yellow satin, smooth and shining as -the inside of a buttercup.</p> - -<p>In the corners of the room stood slender palms with heavily-drooping -leaves, vividly-green ferns with feathery fronds, prickly, fleshy -cactus and spiky, fan-shaped plants, suggestive of tropical -skies--some rising from the porous red jars of Egypt, others springing -from misshapen vases of porcelain, on which, in crimson and green, -sprawled the sacred Chinese dragon, and a few growing in shallow -basins of pale-yellow pottery.</p> - -<p>At the end of the room, behind the veil of Indian bead curtains, was a -cool-looking conservatory, skilfully lighted by electric lamps in -globes of pale green, which diffused a kind of fictitious moonlight. -In the drawing-room the mass of colour, strange and incongruous, was -softened, blended, and confused by the tremulous red light that -streamed from the tall brass lamps with their umbrella-like shades of -crimson silk. Add to this fantasy of light and colour, the sickly -odours of the pastilles constantly burning, and it can be imagined how -curiously appropriate this strange room was to the rich Eastern beauty -and oddly barbaric costume of Cleopatra.</p> - -<p>On this night, having been down at Hurlingham, she was too tired to go -out, so preferred to remain at home and receive a few friends.</p> - -<p>At present, she was lying negligently back in a low chair, arrayed in -her favourite costume of amber and black, but, despite the attentions -of Dolly Thambits, who was talking to her, she seemed to be out of -temper. Mr. Jiddy, seated on the extreme edge of a chair like a white -cat, was listening to the conversation of Major Griff, who, stiff and -grim, was leaning against the mantelpiece. No other people were -present, nor did Mrs. Veilsturm seem very much inclined to receive -company, for she yawned once or twice, and looked at the Major -significantly, as if to hint that he might take away Mr. Thambits and -friend as soon as he liked.</p> - -<p>The Major, however, wanted to speak to Mrs. Veilsturm himself, so he -did not take the hint, but resolutely waited on, in the hope that the -two young men would shortly depart and leave him alone with the -charming widow. Meanwhile he chatted about pigeon-shooting to Mr. -Jiddy, who knew nothing about it, and Thambits bored Mrs. Veilsturm to -death by his dreary small talk.</p> - -<p>"I say, you know," drawled Dolly, after a pause, during which Mrs. -Veilsturm had been wondering how she could get rid of him, "what about -your fancy-dress ball?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I've put it off," replied Mrs. Veilsturm idly, "a week or two -does not make much difference, and my costume was not ready."</p> - -<p>"What are you going to appear as?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! that is the question," said Cleopatra smiling. "I'm not going to -tell you. I'm not going to tell anyone. I will appear at my own ball -in the most unexpected fashion."</p> - -<p>"Like a surprise packet?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! as you elegantly put it--like a surprise packet."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's jolly," observed Mr. Thambits brilliantly, then relapsed -into silence.</p> - -<p>"I say, Mrs. Veilsturm!" he said at last.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Errington's gone to the country again."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm could not suppress an angry start at this information. -She had missed Guy for the last three or four days, and, having heard -nothing from him since she received his note excusing himself from -coming to the Marlowe Theatre, was considerably enraged at this -neglect. She was too clever, however, to betray herself to Dolly -Thambits, who was jealously vigilant, so she asked quietly:</p> - -<p>"Indeed! who told you so?"</p> - -<p>"Gartney! He went about four days ago. Got tired of Town, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"No doubt! Town does get wearisome at times."</p> - -<p>"I don't think so while you are here," said Mr. Thambits tenderly.</p> - -<p>"What a charming compliment," answered Mrs. Veilsturm with a forced -laugh, shutting her fan savagely, for when Dolly was amorous he was -simply detestable.</p> - -<p>"Not to you," he murmured softly.</p> - -<p>"More compliments," she said coolly. "You must pass your days making -them up. By-the-way, would you mind telling me the time?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. It is now a few minutes past nine."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I say, is it?" cried Mr. Jiddy, jumping up from his chair. "I -say, Dolly, we've got to go to Lady Kalsmith's you know."</p> - -<p>"I thought you were coming also, Mrs. Veilsturm?" said Dolly, rising -reluctantly.</p> - -<p>"I! No," she answered, lifting her eyebrows. "Would I be dressed like -this if I were going?"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Veilsturm," explained Major Griff, graciously, "is too tired to -go out to-night, and thinks a rest will do her good."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid we've tired you," said Thambits, looking at his divinity.</p> - -<p>"Oh dear, not at all," responded Mrs. Veilsturm, lying with the utmost -dexterity. "So glad to see you. <i>Au revoir</i> at present."</p> - -<p>"I'll call and see if you are better to-morrow," said Dolly, making -his adieux with manifest reluctance.</p> - -<p>"Delighted! goodbye, Mr. Jiddy! Major?"</p> - -<p>Grill took the hint, and ushered Dolly and his friend out of the room -before they had time to change their minds, and having seen them -safely bestowed in a hansom, returned to Mrs. Veilsturm, whom he found -sitting in her old place, frowning savagely at the fireplace. The -Major resumed his lounging attitude on the hearthrug, and lighted a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>"Don't smoke," said Mrs. Veilsturm sharply. "I don't want my -drawing-room to smell like a bar."</p> - -<p>"There's not much chance of that," retorted the Major coolly, throwing -the match into the fireplace, and blowing a cloud of smoke. "No one -will come to-night, and those abominable pastilles you are so fond of -burning will dissipate the smoke by to-morrow."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm offered no further remonstrance, but tapped her fan -thoughtfully in the palm of her hand. Major Griff watched her in -silence for a moment, and then made a polite remark.</p> - -<p>"You're a fool, Maraquita."</p> - -<p>"And why?"</p> - -<p>"Because you're thinking about that young Errington. He's no good to -us."</p> - -<p>"Us! Us!" she reiterated savagely, "always us! Do you think I've -nothing else to do but to think of you?"</p> - -<p>"At present, No," replied Griff coolly. "Now don't get in a rage, my -dear. It doesn't improve your looks, and certainly does not carry any -weight with me. I tell you again you're a fool for thinking about -Errington. He's gone back to his wife in spite of your cleverness. -Didn't you hear that idiot say so?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!"</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Well!" she echoed scornfully, raising her eyes to his face, "what of -that? Do you think I'm going to let him go so easily?"</p> - -<p>"I don't see you've much option in the matter," said Griff grimly.</p> - -<p>"You see nothing except what suits your own ends."</p> - -<p>"Very likely. That's the way to succeed in the world."</p> - -<p>"You don't seem to have made much headway yet," replied Cleopatra with -a sneer.</p> - -<p>"Oh, pretty well--pretty well," said the Major airily. "I think this -room--this house--your dress--your diamonds--your position--are all -evidences of success. And we'll do better if you only keep your head -clear, and not sacrifice everything for this Errington."</p> - -<p>"I don't intend to sacrifice anything for Sir Guy Errington," she -replied viciously, "but I intend he shall sacrifice all for me; his -wife! his home! his honour! all he holds dearest in the world."</p> - -<p>"And then?"</p> - -<p>"And then he can go his own way. I have done with him," said Mrs. -Veilsturm calmly.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't talk in such a melodramatic fashion if I were you," -observed Griff leisurely, "revenge is all very well on the stage, but -it's silly in real life. You stand to gain nothing, and lose a good -deal."</p> - -<p>"Do you think I can forget the insult his wife put upon me?"</p> - -<p>"Well then punish the wife."</p> - -<p>"I intend to--through the husband."</p> - -<p>"Now look here, Maraquita," said her partner earnestly, emphasizing -his remarks with his finger. "You take care what you're about. We've -had a good time in London, but the game is pretty well played out. -It's always advisable to leave a place with flying colours, so that -one can come back again. People are talking about you already, don't -let them talk any more, or you'll find all your lady friends give you -the cold shoulder, and if they do, you may rest assured they won't be -satisfied till they induce their husbands, fathers, and brothers to -follow their example. I don't see the fun of such a scandal, -especially as there's nothing to be got out of Errington. He's as poor -as a church mouse. So leave him alone, and after the ball, we can go -for America in good odour with everyone, and after a year or two in -the States, we can come back here when a new generation arises that -don't know Joseph. My advice is sound, Maraquita, and you know it."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm sat perfectly still during this speech, with her eyes -cast down on the closed fan lying on her lap, but when the Major -ended, she looked up suddenly with a sombre frown on her face.</p> - -<p>"I've made up my mind what to do, and neither you nor anyone else will -turn me from my purpose."</p> - -<p>Major Griff shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly to the other end -of the room. He was a man who never wasted words, and seeing from the -set expression of Mrs. Veilsturm's face that she was determined to -carry out her purpose, he judged it useless to argue about the matter. -Yet, although he kept his temper well under control, he could not help -saying something disagreeable to this woman who was sacrificing -everything for the sake of revenge.</p> - -<p>"In spite of your cleverness, my dear Maraquita, I shrewdly suspect -that Sir Guy sees through your little game, he has placed himself -beyond the reach of temptation."</p> - -<p>"He will come back," she said curtly.</p> - -<p>"I doubt it. The moth does not come back to the flame that has once -singed its wings. The fly doesn't trust itself in the spider's web a -second time."</p> - -<p>"He will come back."</p> - -<p>The Major returned to the fireplace, produced his pocketbook in the -most leisurely manner, and took a gold pencil case hanging at the end -of his chain in his fingers.</p> - -<p>"I'll bet you the worth of that diamond star in your hair he does -not."</p> - -<p>"Don't be rash, the star cost two hundred pounds."</p> - -<p>"So. I'll lay you two hundred pounds to the promise that you'll behave -decently, that Errington does not come back."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm opened her fan with a grand wave, and looked at him -serenely.</p> - -<p>"Book it," she said curtly.</p> - -<p>Major Griff did so, and restored the book to his pocket. "Well, I must -be off," he said, stretching himself. "I want to see Dolser about -putting a paragraph in his paper concerning the ball. Can I do -anything for you?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, thank you. Good-night."</p> - -<p>"Good-night."</p> - -<p>He went towards the door, and without vouchsafing a glance at her, -left the room.</p> - -<p>If Mrs. Veilsturm was tired, she did not make any attempt to go to -bed, but remained seated in her chair pondering over the position of -affairs.</p> - -<p>She was not by any means as confident over Errington's return as she -pretended to be, for she was far too clever a woman to misjudge the -impression she had made. Guy had gone away from Town without a word of -farewell; therefore she was easily satisfied that he was still -heart-whole. As he had acted thus, she could do absolutely nothing, -for he certainly would not come back to a woman about whom he did not -care. And yet she had done everything in her power to entangle him in -her nets. The fool, to leave a woman like her for a pale, sickly wife. -Were her charms fading, that he had treated her so scornfully? Was the -prize not worth the winning? Was there really a man in the world who -could turn coldly away from her beauty when she smiled invitation?</p> - -<p>As these thoughts passed through her mind, she arose from her chair -rapidly, and leaning her arms on the white marble mantelpiece, -examined her face carefully in the glass. The rich, dusky skin, -through which flushed redly the hot blood, the delicately drawn -eyebrows, arched over the liquid eyes, the shining coils of hair above -the low forehead, the full, red lips, the shell-like ears, tinged with -pink, the slender neck; she examined them all in a severely critical -fashion, and saw that there was no flaw anywhere. A slow smile of -triumph curved the corners of her mouth as she looked at her beautiful -face in the mirror, and she turned away exulting in her physical -perfection.</p> - -<p>"Can he resist me?" she whispered to her heart, and her heart -answered, "No."</p> - -<p>At this moment a servant entered the room with a magnificent bouquet -of white lilies, which he presented to his mistress, and then retired. -She held them in her hands, inhaling their faint perfume, and admiring -the stainless purity of their deep cups; then, catching sight of a -card thrust into the centre of the flowers, she took it out to read -the name.</p> - -<p>"Sir Guy Errington."</p> - -<p>With a low laugh of triumph she tossed the flowers on the table, and, -with the card still in her hand, swept across the room to a desk of -rosewood near the window. Sitting down she wrote a note to Major -Griff:</p> -<br> - -<p>"<span class="sc">Dear Major</span>,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:20%">"Kindly bring with you to-morrow your cheque for £200. He has come -back.</p> -<br> -<p style="text-indent:50%">"<span class="sc">Maraquita Veilsturm</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p>Placing this in an envelope, she directed it to Major Griff, at the -Globetrotters' Club, then ringing the bell, gave it to the servant, -with instructions that it was to be delivered at once.</p> - -<p>When she was once more alone, she picked up Sir Guy's card, and smiled -cruelly as she looked at the name.</p> - -<p>"You fool," she whispered softly. "Oh, you fool."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_31" href="#div1Ref_31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h4> -<h5>IN THE COILS OF THE SERPENT.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"By the magic of thine eyes</p> -<p class="t2">Thou hast drawn me to the brake,</p> -<p class="t1">As thy victim slowly dies,</p> -<p class="t2">Hiss in triumph, cruel snake.</p> -<p class="t1">Strangled now I gasp for breath,</p> -<p class="t2">Thus ensnared within thy toils,</p> -<p class="t1">I can only wait for death,</p> -<p class="t2">Helpless in thy shining coils."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm was a lady who once having learnt a lesson from -experience, never needed to go to that unpleasant school a second -time. She saw plainly that her first tactics with regard to Errington -had been entirely wrong, as it was a mistake to treat such a -non-appreciative person with kindness. Therefore, when he returned to -her for a second time, she behaved towards him with cold disdain, -which had the effect of making him simply furious, as it resembled the -way in which he had been treated by his wife. Instead of taking -offence, however, and leaving his capricious divinity in disgust, he -followed her everywhere, resolved with dogged perseverance to force -her to revert to her earlier demeanour.</p> - -<p>Wherever Cleopatra went, Errington was to be seen in attendance, -and at balls, theatres, garden-parties, the Park, Hurlingham, his -haggard-looking face appeared ever beside her. All the world of -London, seeing Mrs. Veilsturm's change of front, thought that she was -tired of her last fancy, and began to pity her for the persistent -manner in which she was followed by her discarded lover. When -questioned on the subject, she simply laughed, and talked pathetically -about being a lonely widow, so that everyone said that she had been -badly treated in being suspected of favouring Errington in any way.</p> - -<p>"A charming woman, my dear," whispered the world, behind its fan, -"always behaved with the greatest delicacy in every way. But that -young Errington! Oh! good gracious! a young libertine--persecutes her -with attentions and she can't possibly get rid of him. A bad young -man, my dear, a very bad young man."</p> - -<p>So the world, in its usual capricious manner, changed round -altogether, and whitewashed Mrs. Veilsturm as a saint, while it -blackened poor Guy's character as that of an irredeemable scamp. He -had a wife, whom he treated very badly, kept her shut up in a gloomy -place in the country. Spent all his income in leading a fast life. -Terribly in debt, and mixed up with the Hebrews. Mrs. Veilsturm had -implored him, with tears in her eyes, to go back to his wife, but he -resolutely declined. She was really behaving very well, but as for -young Errington--well, what could be expected now-a-days?</p> - -<p>As for Saint Cleopatra, she was placed on a pedestal from whence she -smiled kindly on her crowd of worshippers, and, possibly, laughed in -her sleeve at the way in which she was gulling them. She had -completely recovered her position in the eyes of society, and the -Major chuckled complacently over the clever tactics of his friend and -partner. The ball at which she was to make her last appearance in -Town, was near at hand, and it seemed as though the firm were about to -depart for the States in a blaze of triumph.</p> - -<p>A great change had come over Guy since his return to the feet of Mrs. -Veilsturm. Formerly so hearty and cheery, he was now gloomy and -morose, with a frown on his good-looking face and a pain in his heart. -His wife's cruelty had wounded him deeply, and though he did not care -in the least for Mrs. Veilsturm, yet he was determined, out of -bravado, to persevere in his pursuit. After a time, however, he became -fascinated by her beauty and persistent neglect, which feeling -Cleopatra saw, and determined to profit by it when she judged fit. At -present, however, in the eyes of the world she was simply a virtuous -woman exposed to the addresses of a libertine, and gained a great deal -of undeserved pity thereby.</p> - -<p>Eustace was still in Town, and was considerably puzzled over the whole -affair, especially by the way in which Mrs. Veilsturm was behaving. He -knew that she wanted to fascinate Guy for her own wicked ends, and -wondered that she treated him in a way that was calculated to lose her -the very prize which she strove to win. From constant observation, -however, he gained a clear idea of the means she was adopting both to -attract Errington and silence scandal, and could not refrain from -admiring the dexterous fashion with which she played this very -difficult game.</p> - -<p>With regard to his cousin, he, of course, guessed that he had -quarrelled with Alizon, but was unable to ascertain clearly what had -occurred, as on asking Guy he was savagely told to mind his own -business. Eustace would have taken offence at such treatment from -anyone else, but he pitied his cousin for his obvious unhappiness, -therefore took no notice of his rudeness.</p> - -<p>He saw plainly, however, that husband and wife had parted in anger, so -the way was made clear for him to carry out his intentions with regard -to Lady Errington. But curiously enough, now that the very thing he -desired was made so easy for him, he could not make up his mind to go -down to Castle Grim, near the home of the woman he loved. Eustace was -as selfish and egotistical as ever, still in spite of his strong -inclination for Alizon, in spite of the three interpositions of -Destiny, which had such an effect on his fatalistic nature! he -hesitated about carrying out his project, and lingered in Town in a -vacillating frame of mind eminently unsatisfactory to himself.</p> - -<p>Once or twice, with an idea that he was doing his duty, he ventured to -speak to his cousin about the way he was haunting the footsteps of -Mrs. Veilsturm, but such well-meant intentions were received by Guy -with such bad grace that he judged it best to remain neutral.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly heard of Guy's behaviour, and also of the position taken up -by Mrs. Veilsturm, by whose conduct she, in common with the rest of -the world, was completely blinded. She sent for Guy in order to -remonstrate with him, but he curtly refused to see her at all, and in -despair she asked Eustace to speak to his cousin. Eustace told her he -had done so without any result, and declined to interfere in the -matter again. Miss Corbin would have liked to have written to Alizon, -but her last attempt to mend matters had resulted in such a fiasco -that she was afraid to do anything. So the poor old lady, already very -ill, worried and fretted herself to a shadow over the helpless -position in which she found herself.</p> - -<p>Seriously angry with Guy, she had altered her will in favour of -Eustace, and then took to her bed, resolving to meddle no more in -mundane affairs. Victoria and Minnie attended her with great devotion, -as she was clearly destined never to recover, but her indomitable -spirit held out to the end, and she forbade any of her relations to be -summoned. One thing displeased her seriously, that Otterburn had not -yet spoken to Victoria, and one day she asked him plainly if he -intended to do so, upon which the boy told her the whole state of the -case.</p> - -<p>"So you see, Miss Corbin," he said, when he finished, "that I'm afraid -to try my luck a second time, in case the answer will be no."</p> - -<p>"You have no fear of that," replied Aunt Jelly, patting his hand. "No -one regrets her refusal more than Victoria. You ask her again, and -I'll warrant the answer will be what you desire."</p> - -<p>So Otterburn, having received this encouragement, made up his mind to -speak to Victoria at Mrs. Veilsturm's ball. Aunt Jelly had not -intended to let Miss Sheldon go to this festivity at first, thinking -that Mrs. Veilsturm had designedly attracted Guy, but when she heard -the way in which she was behaving, she withdrew her prohibition and -insisted upon Victoria going. Not only that, but she herself selected -a costume for her ward, and considerably astonished that young damsel -when she told her what she wanted her to appear as.</p> - -<p>"Why Flora Macdonald?" asked Victoria, in surprise. "I'm not a bit -Scotch."</p> - -<p>"Are you not?" said Aunt Jelly drily. "I thought your mother was?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, but----"</p> - -<p>"Don't make nonsensical objections, child," replied Miss Corbin -sharply, with a flash of her old spirit. "I want you to go as Flora -Macdonald, and I've no doubt you'll find out the reason before the -ball is ended."</p> - -<p>Whereat Victoria, being less innocent of the reason than she pretended -to be, laughed gaily, and went off with Minnie Pelch on a shopping -excursion.</p> - -<p>"Minnie," she said to her companion, when they left Miss Corbin, "do -you know anything about Flora Macdonald?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes," said Minnie, delighted at displaying her historical -knowledge. "She was in love with Bonnie Prince Charlie, and saved his -life, you know."</p> - -<p>"Bonnie Prince Charlie," repeated Victoria thoughtfully, "perhaps I'll -meet him at the ball."</p> - -<p>"I shouldn't wonder," replied Miss Pelch significantly, for being a -true woman, and dearly loving a romance, she had seen long ago how -matters stood between Otterburn and Miss Sheldon.</p> - -<p>So they went shopping all that bright afternoon, hunting up tartans, -talking learnedly about Cairngorm brooches, and white cockades, and -Jacobite songs, and the Lord knows what else.</p> - -<p>Ah me, how strangely does Fate deal with our lives. Here was Guy -drifting away from his wife day by day, and Angus being drawn nearer -and nearer to Victoria. What Sir Guy Errington and Alizon Mostyn were -two years before, they were about to become now--would their future be -the same?</p> - -<p>Who could tell? Fortune, blind and capricious, whirls her wheel round -and round, raising and abasing men and women daily, hourly, -momentarily, unaware herself, by reason of her bandage, of the good -and evil she allots to one and another.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_32" href="#div1Ref_32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h4> -<h5>WHAT MADE THE BALL SAE FINE?</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Sure this wild fantastic band<br> -Must have come from Fairy-land.<br> -Those who live in History's page,<br> -Step once more upon Life's stage.<br> -All the poet's dreamings bright,<br> -In the flesh appear to-night,<br> -Columbine and Harlequin,<br> -Knight, Crusader, Saracen,<br> -Cleopatra and her Roman,<br> -Herod, Borgia loved of no man,<br> -Antoinette and Louis Seize,<br> -Faust with Mephistopheles,<br> -All beneath the gas-lamps' gleam,<br> -Dance as in some magic dream.<br> -Surely at the break of day,<br> -Will the vision fade away,<br> -And these spirits bright and fair,<br> -Vanish into viewless air."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm had certainly no reason to complain of lack of -popularity, as she looked at her salons thronged with all fashionable -London. Her diplomatic behaviour towards Errington for the last few -weeks had borne good fruit, having converted foes into friends, and -friends into red-hot partizans, therefore everyone came to her fancy -dress ball, and this entertainment which signalised her exit from -London Society was proving a wonderful success.</p> - -<p>Never had she looked so perfectly lovely as she did on this night, -when, robed as Cleopatra, she stood near the door receiving her -guests. Swathed in diaphanous tissues, broidered with strange figures -in gold and silver, with jewels flashing star-like from every portion -of her dress, the double crown of Egypt on her lustrous coils of hair, -and a trailing mantle of imperial purple silk drooping from her -shoulders, she looked like the embodiment of some splendid -civilization long since perished from the earth. Truly this woman, -with her majestic bearing, her voluptuous form, her rich Eastern -beauty, and slow sensuous movements, looked like that antique coquette -of the slow-flowing Nile, whose face, fair and deathless, still smiles -at us across the long centuries from out the darkness of old Egypt.</p> - -<p>The huge room resembled a garden of flowers blown by the wind, as the -restless dancers in their brilliant costumes swayed hither and thither -to the music of the band. Dainty Watteau shepherdesses, serene Greek -maidens, mediæval pages, steel-clad knights, Cavaliers, Louis Quatorze -musketeers, and divers other picturesque figures, mingled together in -gay confusion, laughing, talking, jesting, smiling, flirting and -whispering, without pause or rest. And above the murmur of voices, the -sound of feet gliding over the polished floor, and the indistinct -frou-frou of dresses, sounded the rhythmical swing of the valse -"Caprice d'une femme," played by an unseen orchestra. The gas-lamps in -their many-coloured shades gleamed softly over the noisy crowd, the -faint perfume of myriad flowers, drooping in the heat on the decorated -walls, floated dreamily on the heavy air, and round and round with -laughter and jesting swept the dancers, while the fitful music arose -and fell with its recurrent burden of passionate tenderness.</p> - -<p>"Dear, dear!" observed a ponderous Britannia, fanning her red face -with her shield, "how hot it is to be sure! I wonder if there's such a -thing as an ice to be had?"</p> - -<p>"Or champagne?" said a faded-looking Dawn sitting near her. "I'm -positively dying for champagne."</p> - -<p>"Young men are so selfish," sighed Britannia, looking in vain for a -friendly face; "they come to my dances, but never think of looking -after me when I'm not in my own house. One might starve for all they -care, and an ice----"</p> - -<p>"Would, no doubt, save you from such a fate," said a languid voice, as -a tall, heavily-built man, in a monkish dress, paused near the -representative of the British Empire. "Come then, Mrs. Trubbles, and -I'll get you one."</p> - -<p>"Dear me, Mr. Gartney," observed Mrs. Trubbles, shifting her trident -to her left hand in order to welcome Eustace. "Well, I am astonished."</p> - -<p>"At seeing me here, or at my dress? Both things rather extraordinary, -I must confess. I'm rather fond of fancy dress balls, all the same. -It's so pleasant to see one's friends making fools of themselves."</p> - -<p>"How unamiable, Mr. Gartney," said Dawn, screwing her wrinkled face -into what was meant for a fascinating smile.</p> - -<p>"But how true, Mrs. Dills," responded Gartney, with a bow, "but I see -both you ladies are longing for supper, so perhaps I can make myself -useful."</p> - -<p>"Indeed you can," said both eagerly, rising and taking an arm each.</p> - -<p>"I feel like the royal arms, between the lion and the unicorn," -remarked Eustace, jestingly.</p> - -<p>"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dills, who set up for being a wit, "we've got -the lion between us. But what might you be, Mr. Gartney?"</p> - -<p>"Rabelais."</p> - -<p>"What's Rabelais? cried Britannia, with a faint idea it might be -something to eat.</p> - -<p>"Rabelais," explained Eustace, gravely, "was the creator of Pantagruel -and Gargantua."</p> - -<p>"I never heard of him," said Mrs. Dills crossly, being in want of her -supper.</p> - -<p>"Oh, fame! fame!"</p> - -<p>"Bother fame," observed Mrs. Trubbles, as the two ladies sat down at -the table. "I would give the fame of Nebuchadnezzar for a good meal."</p> - -<p>"You shall have it and without such a sacrifice," said Eustace, -assisting Dawn and Britannia plenteously; "by-the-way, isn't Miss -Sheldon with you, to-night?"</p> - -<p>"Yes Flora Macdonald, whoever she was," said Mrs. Trubbles, heavily, -"she's with that young Macjean. Do you remember him at Como, Mr. -Gartney? He's in a Scotch dress to-night."</p> - -<p>"Bonnie Prince Charlie, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Or a tobacconist's sign," said Mrs. Dills who was an adept at saying -nasty things. "By-the-way, Mr. Gartney, isn't the company rather -mixed?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dills' papa had been an opulent linen-draper, and Mr. Dills had -made his money by a speciality in sheets, so she thought herself quite -justified in criticising aristocratic society.</p> - -<p>Eustace knew all about Mrs. Dills, and was so amused by the little -woman's insolence, that he did not reply half so severely as he had -intended to do.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you see I've not had your opportunities for judging," he replied -drily, "but as far as I can judge, there's nobody here that isn't -somebody."</p> - -<p>"But their characters," hinted Mrs. Dills, with a seraphic look.</p> - -<p>"Ah, bah! I'm no Asmodeus to unroof people's houses."</p> - -<p>"What a lucky thing--for the people."</p> - -<p>"And what a disappointment--for their friends," said Eustace, -significantly.</p> - -<p>He hated Mrs. Dills, who was an adept at damning with faint praise, -and took away people's characters with the look of a four-year-old -child and the tongue of a serpent. Mrs. Dills saw Gartney's meaning, -and resenting it with all the viciousness of a small mind, began to be -nasty.</p> - -<p>"I see Sir Guy Errington is here," she said, smiling blandly, "as -Edgar of Ravenswood. He looks like a thundercloud in black velvet. I'm -so sorry for him."</p> - -<p>"That's really very kind of you," retorted Eustace, sarcastically.</p> - -<p>"Not at all," murmured Dawn, sympathetically; "it's such a pity to see -his infatuation."</p> - -<p>"For what?" demanded Gartney, obtusely.</p> - -<p>"Oh, really! You know! of course you do! Poor Lady Errington! And then -the 'Other' doesn't care for him."</p> - -<p>"Little viper," thought Eustace, looking smilingly at her, but saying -nothing, which encouraged Mrs. Dills to proceed.</p> - -<p>"It's a dreadful scandal, but not 'Her' fault--oh, dear no! but he -ought to go back to his wife, especially as the 'Other' doesn't care -for him."</p> - -<p>"You talk like a sphinx," said Eustace, coldly. "Whom do you mean by -the 'Other'?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dills smiled sweetly, and having finished her supper arose to -take his arm.</p> - -<p>"When one is in Rome, one must not speak evil of the Pope," she -replied cleverly. "Are you quite ready, Mrs. Trubbles?"</p> - -<p>"Quite, my dear," said that matron, who had made an excellent supper. -"We'll go back now, Mr. Gartney. Dear me, there's Mr. Thambits. How do -you do? What is your character, Mr. Thambits?"</p> - -<p>"I'm Richard C[oe]ur de Lion," answered Dolly, who looked very ill at -ease in his armour, "and Jiddy is Blondel."</p> - -<p>"Is he really?" said Britannia, poking Jiddy in the back with her -trident to make him turn round. "Very nice. I saw Blondin on the -tight-rope once."</p> - -<p>"Not Blondin, but Blondel," explained Jiddy, meekly, "he was a harper, -you know, and sang songs."</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't carry your impersonation so far as that," said Mrs. -Dills, spitefully.</p> - -<p>"I've had singing lessons," began Blondel, indignantly, "and I -sing----"</p> - -<p>"You do, I've heard you," said Eustace, significantly, and then -hurried his two ladies quickly back to their seats, being somewhat -tired of Mrs. Dills' spiteful tongue and Britannia's ponderous -conversation.</p> - -<p>Having thus performed his duty, he went away to look for Otterburn, -being anxious to know how that young man had sped in his wooing. Near -the door, however, a man brushed roughly past him with a muttered -apology, and Eustace, turning to see whom this ill-bred person could -be, found himself face to face with Guy Errington. He was dressed as -the Master of Ravenswood, and, in his sombre dress of dark velvet, his -high riding boots of black Spanish leather, and his broad sombrero -with its drooping white plume of feathers, looked remarkably handsome, -though, as Mrs. Dills had remarked, "like a thundercloud in black -velvet," such was the gloom of his face.</p> - -<p>"How are you, Guy?" said his cousin, laying a detaining hand upon the -young man's shoulder. "I've been looking for you everywhere."</p> - -<p>"I've only been here half-an-hour," replied Errington listlessly. -"Anything wrong?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no I only you've avoided me for the last week or so, and I want -to know the reason."</p> - -<p>"There's no reason that I know of, and I haven't avoided you."</p> - -<p>As he spoke, his eyes were looking over the heads of the crowd, and in -following their gaze. Eustace saw they rested on Cleopatra, who was -talking to Major Griff.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I see the reason," said Eustace coolly, "and a very handsome -reason it is."</p> - -<p>Errington laughed in a sneering manner and made no reply.</p> - -<p>"I say Guy," remarked Eustace complacently, "isn't it about time you -stopped making a fool of yourself?"</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you."</p> - -<p>"No? you wish me to speak plainer?"</p> - -<p>"I do not wish you to speak at all," retorted Errington fiercely, his -eyes full of sombre fire. "Our relationship has its privileges, -Gartney, but don't take too much advantage of them."</p> - -<p>He shook off his cousin's hand impatiently, and without another word -disappeared in the crowd, leaving Eustace considerably perturbed.</p> - -<p>"I've done all I can," he muttered disconsolately. "He's bent on going -to the devil via Mrs. Veilsturm, so I can't stop him. If I only dared -to console his wife, but she's got the boy--that's consolation enough -for a piece of ice like her."</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Errington, pushing his way through the dancers, made his -way to Cleopatra, who, having finished with Griff, was chatting to a -young F.O. man. On seeing Errington, she turned towards him with a -slight bow, and began to talk, upon which the F.O. went off to find -some one else.</p> - -<p>"Are you not dancing, Sir Guy?" she asked, looking at him brightly.</p> - -<p>"No, I don't care about it, unless you dance with me."</p> - -<p>"And what about my duties as hostess?"</p> - -<p>"I think you've done enough penance for one evening."</p> - -<p>"Meaning that my reward is to dance with you," she said mischievously. -"Thank you, Monsieur."</p> - -<p>She was more amiable to him this evening than she had been of late. -And Guy, feeling the change, thawed wonderfully under the sunshine of -her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Well, am I to have my dance?" he asked, with a smile.</p> - -<p>Cleopatra took up her programme and ran her eyes over the series of -scratches which did duty for names opposite the dances.</p> - -<p>"I don't know if you deserve one," she whispered coquetishly.</p> - -<p>"Don't say that. As you are strong, be merciful."</p> - -<p>She handed him the card with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"You can have that valse," she said, indicating one far down, "by that -time I will be released from durance vile."</p> - -<p>Errington scribbled his name, and giving her back the card, was about -to renew the conversation, when she dismissed him imperiously.</p> - -<p>"Now you have got what you wanted, go away. I have a number of people -to talk to."</p> - -<p>"A lot of fools," he muttered peevishly.</p> - -<p>"Possibly--we can't all be Ravenswoods, you know."</p> - -<p>"Maraquita!"</p> - -<p>"Hold your tongue," she said, in a fierce whisper, "do you want to -compromise me before all these people? Go away, and don't come near me -till our valse."</p> - -<p>"And afterwards?"</p> - -<p>"Entirely depends upon the humour I am in."</p> - -<p>He took his dismissal in a sufficiently sulky manner, which made Mrs. -Veilsturm smile blandly, on seeing which he turned away with a stifled -curse. It was extraordinary, the change in this man, who, from being a -good-natured-enough fellow, had suddenly changed, through his wife's -cruelty and his temptress's caprices, into a morose, disagreeable -individual, whom nobody cared to speak with.</p> - -<p>"Is that Sir Guy Errington?" asked a soft voice behind him. "See if it -is, Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>"There is no need," responded Errington with forced civility, turning -round to Otterburn and Miss Shelton. "You have very sharp eyes."</p> - -<p>"Ah, you see I knew what your costume was going to be," said Victoria, -who looked wonderfully pretty as Flora Macdonald. "Aunt Jelly told -me."</p> - -<p>"By the way, how is Aunt Jelly?"</p> - -<p>"She's not at all well," replied Victoria, reproachfully, "and you have -not been near her for some weeks."</p> - -<p>"More pleasantly employed, eh?" said Otterburn, laughing, for which he -was rewarded by a fierce glance from Errington.</p> - -<p>"I've been busy," he said briefly. "I'll call shortly. Hope you'll -enjoy this foolery, Miss Sheldon."</p> - -<p>Jerking out these polite sentences he went off, leaving the young -couple looking after him in undisguised astonishment.</p> - -<p>"I don't know what's come over Sir Guy," said Macjean, as they -pursued their way towards the conservatory, "he used to be such a -good-tempered fellow."</p> - -<p>"Oh, <i>cherchez la femme</i>."</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't have to seek far I'm afraid," replied Angus, glancing at the -distant form of Mrs. Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>"She's a horrid woman," said Victoria, viciously, as they entered the -conservatory, and found a comfortable nook.</p> - -<p>"I quite agree with you."</p> - -<p>"You shouldn't talk of your hostess in that way," observed Miss -Sheldon reprovingly.</p> - -<p>"But I say, you know," replied Otterburn, rather bewildered at this -sudden change of front, "you say----"</p> - -<p>"I say lots of things I do not mean."</p> - -<p>"I wish I could be sure of that."</p> - -<p>"Indeed why?"</p> - -<p>"Because--oh! you understand?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't," replied Miss Sheldon, demurely, then looking up, -she caught his eye, and they both laughed gaily.</p> - -<p>The conservatory was certainly a very pleasant place, with its wealth -of palms, of cactuses, of ferns and such-like tropical vegetation. A -pale, emerald radiance from green-shaded lamps bathed the whole place, -and at one end a slender jet of water shot up like a silver rod -from the stillness of a wide pool, in which floated great white -water-lilies. The band in the distant ball-room were playing a <i>pot -pourri</i> of airs from the latest opera, and Otterburn sat under the -drooping fronds of a palm-tree beside Victoria, with the fatal words -which would bind him for life trembling on his lips. So handsome he -looked in his picturesque Scotch dress, with the waving tartans and -gleam of Cairngorm brooches, and his bright young face bent towards -her, full of tender meaning. Victoria knew quite well that he intended -to propose again, and her heart beat rapidly as her eyes fell before -the fiery light which burned in his own.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como?" said Otterburn, in what he -meant to be a matter-of-fact tone.</p> - -<p>Miss Sheldon began to draw designs on the floor with the toe of her -dainty boot, and laughed nervously.</p> - -<p>"Oh no! it was the first time I was in Italy, you know, and first -impressions----"</p> - -<p>"Are always excellent."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I suppose so."</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't think the same about first refusals."</p> - -<p>"Refusals of what?" she replied, wilfully misunderstanding his -meaning, at which Otterburn felt somewhat disappointed.</p> - -<p>"Ah, your memory is treacherous."</p> - -<p>"I think not! I can remember most things--when I choose."</p> - -<p>"Then do you remember how we talked about Scotch costumes, and I said -I'd put mine on the first Fancy Dress Ball we went to."</p> - -<p>"Yes! I remember that."</p> - -<p>"This is the first Fancy Dress Ball."</p> - -<p>"And you are in your tartans," she answered, with a sudden glance. -"How curiously it all comes about. I thought you had forgotten."</p> - -<p>"I never forget anything you say," he replied eagerly. "I wish I -could."</p> - -<p>"Now that's very unkind of you! Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because I wish to forget how cruel you were to me at the Villa -Medici."</p> - -<p>"Was I cruel?" she asked, with sudden compunction.</p> - -<p>"You know you were," he answered reproachfully, "so I think you ought -to make up for it."</p> - -<p>He took her hand that was lying on her lap, and drew her towards him. -She made no resistance, but still kept her eyes cast down.</p> - -<p>"How can I make up for it?" she asked, in a low voice. "By saying Yes, -instead of No," he replied ardently.</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Yes, instead of No."</p> - -<p>"How cruel you are still," he said impatiently. "You understand what I -mean quite well. You sent me away to wander all over the face of the -earth because you were----"</p> - -<p>"A coquette," she interrupted.</p> - -<p>"I never said so," he answered, rather taken aback.</p> - -<p>"You did--then."</p> - -<p>"I? Well I do not now. I'll say you are the dearest, sweetest girl in -the world if you'll only say----"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Ah, you've said it," he said joyfully, slipping his arm round her -waist. "You have said, 'yes.'"</p> - -<p>"Ah! perhaps I did not mean it," she answered coquettishly.</p> - -<p>"I don't care," he retorted recklessly, "you have said it, and I hold -you----"</p> - -<p>"Yes you do," she murmured with a smile.</p> - -<p>"To your word," he finished gaily. "Victoria, say you love me a -little."</p> - -<p>"No, I can't say that."</p> - -<p>His face whitened, and a pained look came into his eyes, but she laid -her head on his shoulder, and looking up, whispered softly:</p> - -<p>"Because I love you a great deal."</p> - -<p>"My darling."</p> - -<p>He bent down and kissed her fondly, and then--then--ah, who can repeat -truly the conversation of lovers, who can write down coldly all the -fond, foolish words, the tender endearments, that go to make up the -happy time that succeeds the little word "yes?"</p> - -<p>The music in the distance ceased, there was the noise of approaching -feet, and Victoria sprang to her feet quickly.</p> - -<p>"We must go back to the ball-room, Mr. Macjean."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Macjean!"</p> - -<p>"Well, then, 'Angus.'"</p> - -<p>"Ah, that's much better," he said gaily, giving her his arm. "You are -no doubt engaged for the next dance, but I cannot give you up so soon. -Now I've got you I'll keep you for ever."</p> - -<p>"Ever's a long time," laughed Victoria, whose face was beaming with -smiles, as she looked at her handsome young lover walking so proudly -beside her.</p> - -<p>"It won't be long enough for me," he said fondly, and they passed into -the brilliant ball-room at peace with themselves and the world.</p> - -<p>On the way they met Eustace, who glanced keenly at both of them, and -then held out his hands with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I congratulate you both," he said, smiling; "you will both be -happy--till you get tired of one another."</p> - -<p>"That horrid man," said Victoria with a shiver as he passed onward. -"We will never get tired, Mr.--I mean Angus?"</p> - -<p>"Never," he whispered fervently.</p> - -<p>There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream, but what -a pity there should be any awakening.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></h4> -<h5>PALLIDA MORS.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-10px">"He comes unsought</p> -<p class="t5">To young and old,</p> -<p class="t4">Can ne'er be bought</p> -<p class="t5">By tears or gold,</p> -<p class="t1">He buries us all in the churchyard's mould.</p> -<br> -<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-10px">"Oh, man, why weep?</p> -<p class="t5">His gifts are blest,</p> -<p class="t4">He brings us sleep,</p> -<p class="t5">He gives us rest.</p> -<p class="t1">And the world's care ceases upon his breast.</p> -<br> -<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-10px">"Receive, if wise,</p> -<p class="t5">Affliction's rod,</p> -<p class="t4">The body lies</p> -<p class="t5">Beneath the sod,</p> -<p class="t1">But the soul we love is at home with God."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It was now nearly the end of the season, and Society was preparing to -amuse itself in another fashion. Brighton, and Trouville, and Dieppe, -and Scarborough were thronged with languid men and women, slowly -regaining from the fresh salt breeze of the sea the strength they had -wasted during the feverish existence of the season. After her -brilliant entertainment, Mrs. Veilsturm had taken a villa at San Remo -for a month or so, prior to departing for the States, and managed to -amuse herself very comfortably by the blue Mediterranean, with an -occasional run over to Monte Carlo and Nice.</p> - -<p>The Major was in Paris, looking after some business connected with the -inevitable West Indian estate, though what Paris had to do with the -West Indies nobody could find out. However, his business being duly -finished, he went South, at the kind invitation of Mrs. Veilsturm, and -found Anthony at the feet of Cleopatra, in other words, Sir Guy -Errington in attendance.</p> - -<p>Yes! Guy, in spite of the calls of honour and respectability, had -followed his charmer to the Continent, and being released from the -microscopic vision of Mrs. Grundy, Cleopatra had been very kind to -him, fully recouping him for the cavalier fashion in which she had -treated him in Town. He had never written to his wife since leaving -her, except a curt note telling her he was leaving England for an -indefinite period, and to this he had received no answer. Angered at -her silence, he abandoned any scruples he might have had and went off -to dishonour and Mrs. Veilsturm, who was delighted at the easy victory -she had secured over her hated rival. She flattered and caressed -Errington with all the infinite charm of which she was mistress, was -kind and cruel by turns, but never permitted him to go beyond a -certain limit, which cautious conduct perplexed him exceedingly. He -had thrown up everything for her, and expected a like sacrifice in -return, but Mrs. Veilsturm was not by any means prepared to give up -her hardly-won position even for revenge. All she wanted was to -destroy the married life of Lady Errington, and she was quite willing -to accomplish this by keeping Guy near her under the shadow of -suspicion, without giving that suspicion any real grounds. Therefore, -she kept him in a fool's paradise of meaningless caresses, which meant -nothing, and had he been a wise man he would have seen that he had -given up the substance for the shadow.</p> - -<p>He was not a wise man, however, and dangled after Mrs. Veilsturm in a -manner that would have won his own contempt had he thought. But he -never thought, or if he did, it was more of the wife he had left -behind than this capricious woman, whose slave he was supposed to be. -He did not love her, but was content to surrender himself to the spell -of her evil beauty, and acted as he did more from a sense of revolt -against his wife's scorn, than any innate desire to do wrong. It was -an unsatisfactory position, and he felt it to be so, but Mrs. -Veilsturm was too clever to let him go until her revenge was quite -complete, and every day wound her chains closer round him.</p> - -<p>Major Griff was not pleased to find Errington in this position, as he -thought it would compromise Cleopatra's reputation too much, but when -he saw the way in which she was conducting the campaign he was -perfectly satisfied, and smiled grimly at the dexterous manner in -which she was revenging herself for the insult she had received.</p> - -<p>Dolly Thambits, in company with the faithful Jiddy, was staying at -Monte Carlo, and losing his money with wonderful skill at the tables. -This, however, seemed a waste of God's best gifts to the Major, and, -aided by the seductions of Cleopatra, he inveigled Dolly to San Remo -and kept him under his own eye. He won a lot of money from him, which -came in useful, and occasionally went out with him to Monaco, so as to -make such pigeon-plucking look less glaring.</p> - -<p>Dolly was anxious to marry Mrs. Veilsturm, who simply laughed at his -frequent proposals, as she was by no means tired of being a free -lance, but she decided in her own mind, that when she was she would -marry Mr. Thambits and give the cold shoulder to Major Griff. At -present, however, she coquetted with Guy so as to retain him in her -toils, and made poor Dolly deadly jealous of the good-looking baronet, -which was useful in keeping him by her side out of contrariness. She -was a clever woman, Maraquita Veilsturm, and kept everyone well in -hand, so that not even the astute Major suspected her designs.</p> - -<p>While Guy was thus abandoning himself to the spell of Circe, Eustace -had gone down to Castle Grim, and was seeing a good deal of the -deserted wife. He did not make much progress, however, in his wooing, -as Alizon was not a woman to wear her heart on her sleeve, and never -spoke of her husband in any way. She simply said that her husband was -abroad, made no reference to the reason of their separation, and for -the rest, passed her days with her child, and treated Eustace in a -kindly fashion when he came over on a visit.</p> - -<p>Astute man of the world as he was, Gartney was quite at a loss how to -proceed, and might have retired from the unequal contest in despair, -much as he loved her, had not an event happened which gave him the -opening he desired.</p> - -<p>Aunt Jelly died.</p> - -<p>She had been ailing for a long time, poor soul, and was glad when the -time came to leave this world, in which she had found such small -pleasure. Her imperious spirit held out to the last, but she was -strangely gentle at times, especially to Minnie Pelch, whom she knew -would be left quite alone in the world when she died. Otterburn's -engagement to Victoria gave her the greatest delight, and she insisted -that they should get married at once, so that she could leave the -world satisfied that the child of her old lover was under the safe -protection of a husband.</p> - -<p>Otterburn was quite willing that the marriage should take place -without delay, and wrote a letter to Lord Dunkeld announcing his -determination. By the advice of Johnnie (who was greatly pleased with -his new mistress, pronouncing her a "canty lass," which was -complimentary if not intelligible), he wrote a crafty letter to -Mactab, enlisting his good offices to gain the consent of the old -lord. Mactab thought a good deal over the letter, but when he -discovered that the proposed bride was handsome, good, and had a large -income, he came to the conclusion that "the laddie micht hae din -waur," and went to interview Lord Dunkeld.</p> - -<p>The fiery old gentleman was in a great rage, averring that neither -money nor good looks could make up for want of birth, but the -discovery that Victoria's mother was a Macjean, and therefore -connected with the family, calmed his anger and after some hesitation -he consented to the match. Not only that, but he came up to London to -the marriage and brought the redoubtable Mactab to tie the nuptial -knot, so everything was really very pleasant.</p> - -<p>They were married in a quiet fashion at Aunt jelly's house, and Lord -Dunkeld was very much pleased with his new daughter, both as regards -fortune and looks. The young couple went off to Ventnor for their -honeymoon, and after a fortnight in Town, round which they were shewn -by Eustace, Lord Dunkeld and his spiritual adviser returned to the -North, satisfied that the future head of the clan had obtained a "guid -doonsettin'."</p> - -<p>Before the end of the honeymoon, however, Mrs. Macjean was summoned -home to the bedside of Aunt Jelly, but alas, before she arrived, Aunt -Jelly had already passed away attended to the last by Minnie Pelch. -Both Otterburn and his young wife were sorry for the death of the -stern old woman, who had been so kind to them both; and their sorrow -was shared by Eustace, who came up from Castle Grim for the funeral. -Guy was telegraphed to, but as his relations with his aunt had not -been of the best during the latter part of his life, and he blamed her -for making trouble between himself and his wife, he refused to come -over.</p> - -<p>"Aunt jelly hated me," he wrote to Eustace, "and although I would -liked to have made it up with her before she died, yet I cannot forget -the letter she wrote to my wife, which has been the cause of all my -trouble. She will no doubt leave you all her money, as I know she had -every intention of altering the will she made in my favour, and I am -sorry for my son's sake, if not for my own."</p> - -<p>There was much more in the letter which Eustace pondered over, as he -understood perfectly that Guy was not happy, but as he did not see how -he could alter things, he left them alone.</p> - -<p>On the will being read, it turned out exactly as Guy had anticipated, -for Aunt Jelly left all her real and personal estate to Eustace, with -the exception of two hundred a year to Minnie Pelch, and some legacies -to her servants, Victoria and Doctor Pargowker. To Guy she did not -leave a single thing, his name not even being mentioned in the will.</p> - -<p>Eustace wrote to his cousin and offered him half the fortune, but Guy -refused, so Gartney found himself an enormously rich man, and more -miserable than ever.</p> - -<p>He sincerely loved Alizon Errington, but did not know how to make his -love known to her, and as he could not see how to remedy the terrible -misunderstanding between husband and wife, he was forced to take up a -neutral position.</p> - -<p>Mr. and Mrs. Macjean, after the funeral, took their departure to -Dunkeld Castle, on a visit to the old lord, and after installing -Minnie Pelch as mistress of the house in Delphson Square, Eustace went -down to Castle Grim, in order to tell Lady Errington about the will.</p> - -<p>It was a terribly bitter situation altogether. Husband parted from -wife by a miserable misunderstanding, and this man, wealthy and -clever, wavering between honour and dishonour, between respect for Guy -and love for Alizon.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_34" href="#div1Ref_34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></h4> -<h5>THE ASSAULTS OF THE EVIL ONE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I sit beside the gate of the heart<br> -That bars the soul of this woman from me;<br> -The little white soul, that dwelleth apart,<br> -Safe from temptation and evil dart,<br> -Nor one chink in the gate can I see.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Would I could open this gate of the heart,<br> -Enter within, as a conqueror wild;<br> -Nay, but I see a sentinel start,<br> -To guard its treasure from earthly smart,<br> -Evil shrinks from this little white child."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It was summer down at Denfield, and the noble woods around -Errington Hall were waving their heavily foliaged branches over the -flower-pranked earth. The wayside hedges were gay with blossoms, the -swallows wheeled aloft in the bright blue sky, the farmer looking over -the green fields was calculating the promise of harvest, and there was -sunshine throughout the land.</p> - -<p>Sunshine from dawn till eve over the teeming earth: sunshine in the -hearts of village maidens, thinking of plighted troths; sunshine in -the stolid faces of farming lads, tramping beside their sleek horses; -sunshine among the cronies, seated outside the alehouse, in the warm -summer air, but, in the heart of Alizon Errington--ah, there was no -sunshine there!</p> - -<p>She was walking slowly up and down the terrace of the Hall, dividing -her attention between her own sad thoughts, and the gambols of Sammy, -who was rolling amid his toys on an outspread bearskin. Straight and -slender as an arrow, in her clinging white dress, with a red cluster -of summer roses at her throat, but in her face a stern look, which -melted into an adoring smile when she looked upon the child.</p> - -<p>Since her husband's departure, Lady Errington had not been happy. -Perhaps she had been too hasty in judging him, perhaps she might have -won him back from his evil ways by kindly words, but there, it was no -use regretting the past, he was an exile on the Continent, and she was -alone in her beautiful home. Not quite alone, however, for the child -was there; her darling child, who was the joy of her life, the light -of her eyes, and the comfort of her heart!</p> - -<p>Still, she missed her husband, in spite of her self-congratulations -that she had acted as she had done; she missed his kindly ways, his -affectionate smile, his thousand little acts of tenderness, which had -passed unnoticed when done, but now seemed to start out of the past -like a reproach for her severity. Had she been too severe after all? -He had sinned, it was true! She felt sure that his character, like -that of all men, resembled that of her father, and yet--he had -indignantly denied his fault; he had pleaded for one kind look, one -parting word, and she had refused his prayer. If his heart was evil, -would it not have been better for her to have striven to draw it -closer to her by that one strand of affection than sever the strand -altogether, and let it sink back into the gulf of iniquity from which -it strove to emerge.</p> - -<p>Alizon Errington was a good woman, who tried to do her best according -to her lights, to whom the very thought of vice was utterly abhorrent, -yet sometimes, as at this moment, unpleasant accusations of Pharisaism -and self-righteousness were in her mind.</p> - -<p>All the tenderness and dog-like fidelity of her husband had failed to -touch her heart, but now that he had (as she verily believed) slighted -her wilfully, and voluntarily left a life of purity for one of guilt, -she felt that he was more to her than anyone else in the world, save -his child. If his heart, if his instincts, were as evil as she -believed, all the more credit to him for the way in which he strove to -act honestly, but if on the other hand she had misjudged him and -driven a good man into evil by cruel words and harsh looks, then -indeed she was to blame. Either way she looked at things now it seemed -to her that she was in the wrong, and yet she could not, would not, -acknowledge that she had not acted justly.</p> - -<p>"If he had only waited for a time," she told herself restlessly. "If -he he had only shown by his actions that he desired to do right, I -would have believed him in time. But to go back to that vile woman -after what I said--no!--he is like all the rest--he makes evil his -God, and would break my heart, and ruin his child's future, sooner -than deny himself the gratification of his brutal instincts."</p> - -<p>Strong words certainly, but then she felt strongly. She was not a -broad-minded woman, for the horror with which her father had inspired -her, had narrowed down her views of life to Puritanical exactness. She -demanded from the world purity--absolute purity--which was an -impossibility. What man could come to a woman and say, "I am as pure -in my life as you are"? Not one. Why then did she demand it from her -husband? but this was quite another view of the question. Her thoughts -had gone from one thing to another, until they had become involved and -complex.</p> - -<p>With a weary sigh she shook her head, as though to drive away all -those ideas, and sat down in a low chair, in order to play with the -boy.</p> - -<p>"Sammy! Sammy! You musn't put pitty things in mouse mouse."</p> - -<p>"Mum! mum!" from Sammy, who was making a bold attempt to swallow his -coral necklace. Finding this a failure he crawled quickly across the -bearskin, drew himself up to his mother's knees, and stood grinning, -in a self-congratulatory manner, on his unsteady little legs.</p> - -<p>"Come, then," said Alizon, holding out her arms.</p> - -<p>Frantic attempts on the part of Sammy to crawl up on her lap, ending -with a fall, and then a quick catching up into the desired place under -a shower of kisses.</p> - -<p>They made a pretty picture, mother and son; the pale, sad-looking -woman, with the fresh, rosy boy, and Eustace paused a moment, -at the end of the terrace, to admire it. The boy had caught the -tortoise-shell pin in his mother's hair with one chubby hand, and, -before she could laughingly prevent him, had pulled it out, so that -the fair ringlets came falling over her breast in a golden shower.</p> - -<p>"Oh, naughty Sammy," she said, gaily tossing him in the air with her -two hands. "Look at poor mother's hair--bad child!"</p> - -<p>Sammy, however, appeared to have a different opinion, and chuckled -indistinctly to himself, until he caught sight of Eustace, of whom he -was very fond, and stretched out his arms with a merry crow.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gartney,' said Lady Errington, flushing a rosy red at the -disorder of her hair, just see what this scamp has done."</p> - -<p>"Young Turk!" said Eustace, taking the boy with a smile, while Alizon -hastily twisted up her hair into a loose knot. "How are you, to-day, -Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"Quite well, thank you," she replied quietly, as he sat down near her, -with Sammy still on his knee. "I thought you were up in town?"</p> - -<p>"So I was. Came down last night," answered Gartney, while the baby -made futile grabs at his watch chain. "Well, my prince, and how are -you?"</p> - -<p>"He's never ill," said the young mother, with great pride. "I never -saw such a healthy child. Not an illness since his birth."</p> - -<p>"Lucky Sammy! if his future life is only as pleasant as the first year -of it, what a delightful time he will have."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington's face had grown very grave during this speech, as she -had caught sight of the crape on his arm, and suddenly remembered why -he had gone up to town.</p> - -<p>"You went to the funeral?" she asked, the colour flushing in her face.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" he replied, smoothing the child's fair curls with gentle hand. -"I went to the funeral. Poor Aunt Jelly! I don't think she was sorry -to die."</p> - -<p>Alizon made no reply, but sat perfectly still, looking steadily at him -with a questioning look on her face. He knew what she so much desired -to know, and broke the bad news to her as gently as he was able.</p> - -<p>"I heard the will read," he said awkwardly, reddening a little through -the bronze of his complexion, "and she has left all her property to -me."</p> - -<p>"To you?"</p> - -<p>"Believe me, I neither expected nor desired it," he cried hastily. "I -have got plenty of money, without wishing more, and I thought she was -going to leave it to Guy. I really thought she intended to do so."</p> - -<p>"My poor child!"</p> - -<p>That was all she said--not a thought, not a word of pity for her -absent husband. All her sorrow was for the unconscious child playing -on Gartney's knee.</p> - -<p>"I assure you," began Eustace, feeling like a robber, "that I----"</p> - -<p>"That you could not help it," she answered quietly. "I know that -perfectly well. Who can be accountable for such things? But I am -thinking of the future of my son. This property is deeply mortgaged, -and most of the income goes to pay the interest. If Guy lived with me -here we might save during the boy's minority, but he is far away -spending the money that is to be his son's. I thought Aunt Jelly would -have left the boy something, if she did not the father, and now he -will be a pauper when he comes of age. This place will have to be -sold, and my poor lad will never be Errington of the Hall--Oh, poor -soul!--poor soul!"</p> - -<p>Her voice ended in a tragic wail, and it was with difficulty that she -restrained her tears. Eustace never felt so awkward in his life, as he -did not know what to say in excuse for having unwittingly thwarted her -hopes. Sammy had clambered down off his knee, and was now contentedly -covering his toys with his mother's handkerchief, while she, poor -woman, was sitting looking at him silently, with an expression of mute -misery on her face.</p> - -<p>"Lady Errington," said Eustace earnestly after a pause, "believe me, I -am as sorry as you are, but I do not know how to act. I wrote to Guy, -offering him half the property by deed of gift, and he refused to take -it."</p> - -<p>"He could do no less," she answered dully. "What right have we to rob -you?"</p> - -<p>"It's not robbery," he replied vehemently. "I have more money than I -want. Whenever Guy likes to accept, he shall have half the property."</p> - -<p>Without answering his question, she looked down at the baby playing at -her feet, and then glanced at him keenly. "Where is my husband?" she -asked quickly.</p> - -<p>"On the Continent--at San Remo."</p> - -<p>"With!--with that woman?"</p> - -<p>"I!--I don't know," replied Eustace in a low voice, turning his face -away.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Gartney?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Lady Errington."</p> - -<p>"Look me in the face."</p> - -<p>He did so unwillingly, and found her eyes fastened on his with a -determined expression.</p> - -<p>"Is my husband with that woman?"</p> - -<p>"No! I don't think so, but I certainly heard she was at San Remo," he -answered evasively.</p> - -<p>"Ah!" she drew a long breath, and a look of anger swept across her -pale face. "He is with her then. I thought so."</p> - -<p>"You must not be too hard on Guy," said Eustace, very feebly it must -be confessed.</p> - -<p>"Hard on Guy," she repeated scornfully. "Hard on a man who leaves his -wife and child for a vile woman like that. You, of course, take his -side."</p> - -<p>"Why should I?" demanded Eustace hotly, "because I am his cousin?"</p> - -<p>"No, because you are a man. Men always stand up for one another. It's -a kind of <i>esprit du corps</i> with them I suppose. It is no wrong to -betray a woman in their eyes."</p> - -<p>"I don't know why you expect me to stand up for my sex, I'm sure," -said Eustace cynically. "I think very little of them I assure you, and -am quite incompetent to undertake the Herculean task of defending -their failings. I've got too many of my own to account for."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt," replied Lady Errington bitterly. "You men are all the -same."</p> - -<p>"I sincerely hope not," retorted Eustace imperturbably. "I've no -desire to resemble certain fools of my acquaintance. My character is -no better nor no worse than my fellow-creatures', and had some good -woman like yourself taken charge of my life I might have improved."</p> - -<p>"You ought to get married."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so--from your own experience?"</p> - -<p>She flushed crimson, and in order to hide her confusion stooped down -to pick up the child.</p> - -<p>"Marriages are made in heaven," she said, trying to pass the thing off -lightly.</p> - -<p>"I understand there's a tradition to that effect," responded Eustace, -indolently. "If that is the case, it is a pity Heaven gives a woman to -one man who doesn't care about her, instead of bestowing her on -another who cannot be happy without her."</p> - -<p>"Is that your case?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>There was a pause, during which she looked at him curiously. He met -her gaze calmly, and not an idea of his meaning crossed her mind.</p> - -<p>"So you love a married woman?"</p> - -<p>"I do, and therefore no doubt am an object of horror in your eyes?"</p> - -<p>The child had fallen asleep on her breast, and rising to her feet she -walked slowly to and fro, rocking him in her arms.</p> - -<p>"I have no right to judge you," she said evasively, "but you can -hardly expect me--a wife and a mother--to say that I approve of such a -dishonourable passion."</p> - -<p>Eustace winced at the scorn of the last words.</p> - -<p>"No, I cannot," he answered slowly, "but let me put the case before -you in another way. Suppose a woman is married to a man who cares -absolutely nothing about her, neglects her in every way, insults her -by his passion for another woman----"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she cried, shrinking as if he had struck her a blow.</p> - -<p>"I am putting a supposititious case, remember," he said hastily. -"Well, this woman has a lover who adores her, but who has never -ventured to express this passion, which the world calls dishonourable. -The woman returns that passion and has only to say one word to the -lover in order to be released from the curse of a loveless marriage, a -neglectful husband, an unhappy home. What should that woman do in such -a case?"</p> - -<p>"Remain true to her marriage vows," she said grandly.</p> - -<p>"But if the husband is not true."</p> - -<p>"Is she to sink to the level of the husband? No, Mr. Gartney. Let the -wife shame the husband by her fidelity to the vows which he has -broken."</p> - -<p>"And the lover?"</p> - -<p>"Is not a true lover, or he would not wish to drag the woman he -professes to love through the mud of the world."</p> - -<p>"So you would condemn two lives to perpetual misery for the sake of -one man, who does not appreciate the sacrifice?"</p> - -<p>"Not for the sake of the one man, but for the sake of virtue, of -honour, of uprightness."</p> - -<p>Eustace was silent under the cold purity of her look. This woman was -no dreamer as he had thought, but had a soul like that Roman Lucrece, -who preferred death to dishonour.</p> - -<p>"Your creed is severe," he said at last, with a frown on his strongly -marked features.</p> - -<p>"My creed is right," she replied simply.</p> - -<p>"Yes! according to the world."</p> - -<p>"No! according to God."</p> - -<p>As a rule, Gartney was not to be daunted by any woman, but there was -something about Alizon Errington that made him afraid to talk in his -usual cynical vein. Standing a short distance away, with the child in -her arms and the golden glory of the sunshine behind her, this young -mother looked like the realisation of the Madonna. So pure, so calm, -so lovely, with the look of motherhood in her eyes that he -involuntarily turned away his head, as though he was not worthy to -profane such purity even by a glance.</p> - -<p>"You talk above my head," he said at length, rising to his feet, -"it is the language of an ideal world, not to be realized in -this matter-of-fact century. But if you will forgive me, Lady -Errington----"</p> - -<p>"Why not call me Alizon?" she said cordially. "We are cousins, you -know, and titles are so formal--Eustace."</p> - -<p>"It's very kind of you to grant me such permission," replied Gartney -frankly, taking the hand she held out to him. "Goodbye--Alizon."</p> - -<p>"Not goodbye, but <i>au revoir</i>."</p> - -<p>"May I come over again?" he asked eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Of course. I am always glad to see you, besides Sammy loves his kind -friend who plays with him."</p> - -<p>"And you?"</p> - -<p>Their eyes met, a wave of crimson passed over her face, and with an -air of displeasure, she turned away coldly, without answering his -question.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Mr. Gartney."</p> - -<p>Seeing that his freedom had offended her, he was too wise to make any -further remark, but bowing slightly walked slowly away.</p> - -<p>At the end of the terrace he looked back, and saw she was bending over -the sleeping child, crooning some cradle-song to soothe his slumbers.</p> - -<p>"The castle is well defended," he said bitterly, as he resumed his -walk. "I will never succeed in entering that heart, for the child -stands ever as sentinel."</p> - -<p>He mounted his horse and rode slowly down the avenue into the green -arcade of trees, through the boughs of which came golden shafts of -sunlight.</p> - -<p>"A saint! a saint!" he cried, touching his horse with the spur. "And -yet the saint drove her husband to evil."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_35" href="#div1Ref_35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></h4> -<h5>FOR MY CHILD'S SAKE.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I'll look my dear boy in the face</p> -<p class="t2">In after years,</p> -<p class="t1">Without the shadow of disgrace</p> -<p class="t2">Or shameful tears.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Oh, folly did I sin with you,</p> -<p class="t2">And cause him pain,</p> -<p class="t1">If hands are clean, and hearts are true,</p> -<p class="t2">His is the gain.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Through future days of toil and fret,</p> -<p class="t2">Come dull or fair,</p> -<p class="t1">Dear God, ah, let him ne'er forget</p> -<p class="t2">His mother's care!"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>It was very dull down at Castle Grim, for even the bright sunshine of -summer could not lift the shadow which seemed to lower over the place. -Eustace amused himself as well as he could, strolling on the lonely -beach, reading his books, playing his piano, and occasionally visiting -at Errington Hall, which he did about three times a week.</p> - -<p>Alizon was genuinely glad to see him, as in spite of her desire not to -do so she missed her husband more than she cared to say, and Gartney's -bright, cheerful talk was a great pleasure to her. Besides, the child -was fond of him, and that counted for a great deal in the eyes of the -young mother, who was never tired of telling her complaisant visitor -about the pretty ways and infantile tricks of her treasure.</p> - -<p>As a rule, he rode over in the afternoon and stayed to dinner, after -which, he returned to Castle Grim in the shadows of the summer -twilight. What long conversations they used to have on the terrace in -the gloaming, talks about books, and the burning questions of the day, -and travels in far distant lands. Eustace found his companion -singularly charming from an intellectual point of view, as, during her -lonely girlhood, she had read a great deal, and moreover, remembered -what she had read.</p> - -<p>They never touched on the subject of their first conversation, -however, as Alizon entrenched herself within her reserve, and refused -to be drawn into further argument in the matter. Under these -circumstances, Eustace was unable to tell whether he had made any -impression upon her, and was forced to play the part of an ordinary -friend, a <i>rôle</i> not at all to his liking.</p> - -<p>After all, it was very questionable whether this platonism would -change to a warmer feeling, as the cold demeanour of Alizon entirely -forbade, in a tacit manner, any over-stepping of the limit of -friendship. Eustace, owing to his inherent cynicism, and peculiar mode -of life, had not much belief in woman, but this time he was obliged to -confess to himself that he had not entirely mastered the feminine sex.</p> - -<p>He loved her devotedly--the actual woman this time--for the pale, -virginal vision which had haunted his brain during his travels in -Arabia had entirely vanished, and in place of this unsatisfying dream, -he adored the living, breathing woman herself. Doubtless he invested -the reality with many of the attributes of the ideal, but, at the same -time, he found in Alizon Errington the first companion of the other -sex, who satisfied his artistic eye and his intellectual desires. -Could he have married her, he would have been perfectly happy, and -forgotten the old, empty, aimless existence of the past, but, as it -was impossible, seeing she was the wife of another man, he could only -stand outside the gates of the Paradise he could never hope to enter, -and envy the impossible.</p> - -<p>All idea that his passion was dishonourable had now vanished, and his -dearest hope was that she should divorce her present husband, in order -to become his wife. Although he did not understand the actual -circumstances of the case, he was well aware that Alizon considered -herself outraged by her husband's companionship with Mrs. Veilsturm. -He knew that Guy had shown a marked preference for the society of -Cleopatra, and, as he had followed his charmer over to the Continent, -Eustace began to actually believe that Errington was in love with the -beautiful Creole.</p> - -<p>"Small blame to him," thought Eustace to himself as he drove over to -the Hall one evening. "She set her mind upon making a conquest of him, -and when a woman does that, a man may as well give in to the -inevitable with a good grace. At all events it's not my fault. I never -spoke to Mrs. Veilsturm in any way. I never told his wife about the -affair, it's Fate and nothing else, and seeing that he has forgotten -all a husband's duties, they will never come together again, so I -don't see why I should not profit by the occasion."</p> - -<p>In this way did Eustace pacify his conscience to his own satisfaction, -although at times he had an uneasy feeling that a good deal of hard, -bitter truth underlay all this sophistry. A good many weeks had gone -by, and Lady Errington had come to look upon him as a firm friend. -Still, not being satisfied with this, and suffering all the tortures -of a restless mind, he determined, as soon as possible, to find out if -she was prepared to divorce her husband for his infidelity, and, if -so, thought he would plead his own cause.</p> - -<p>"If there's a chance for me, I'll stay in England and try my hardest," -he said to himself as he alighted from the dog-cart at the Hall. "If -not, I'll go out to Africa with Laxton."</p> - -<p>Javelrack drove the dog-cart off in the direction of the stables, and -Eustace, after one look at the opaline evening sky, in which glimmered -a pale star over the treetops, went inside, where Lady Errington was -expecting him to dinner.</p> - -<p>She was in the little Dutch room, which was her favourite, and when -Eustace was announced by the servant, was standing by the table -tossing Sammy in the air, while Tasker, well pleased, waited to bear -off the young gentleman to bed.</p> - -<p>"See my treasure?" she cried, as Gartney approached her, "he has come -to say good-night. Excuse me shaking hands, Eustace."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, I yield to stronger claims," said Gartney, looking at the -laughing child, and at the happy young mother, in her long, white, -dinner-dress. "You ought to be in your nursery, you young scamp."</p> - -<p>"So he ought," laughed Lady Errington, devouring the baby face with -kisses, "but he cried for me so much that Nurse had to bring him -down."</p> - -<p>"He hollered, sir," confirmed Mrs. Tasker, placidly. "I never did see -sich a child for his mother."</p> - -<p>"The sweetest, dearest treasure in the world!" said Alizon taking -Sammy across to his nurse, "here, Nurse, take him--oh! he's got my -flowers, naughty boy."</p> - -<p>And indeed, Master Errington, crowing with delight, carried off a -mangled geranium in triumph to his nursery, kicking vigorously in Mrs. -Tasker's strong arms.</p> - -<p>"How you idolize that child, Alizon," said Eustace enviously.</p> - -<p>"He is all I have in the world," she replied with a sigh. "I don't -know what I should do without him."</p> - -<p>"Don't inspire the angels with envy," murmured Gartney, a little -cruelly, "it might be dangerous for him."</p> - -<p>"Oh!"</p> - -<p>She laid her hand on her heart with a cry, and a pallor over-spread -her face.</p> - -<p>"It is cruel to talk like that," she said hurriedly; "you don't think -he looks ill, do you? He's such a strong child. There's no chance of -his dying. Oh, Eustace, you don't think that, do you?"</p> - -<p>"No! no! of course I don't," he replied, soothingly. "Don't get these -foolish fancies into your head. Sammy will live to be a great trouble -to you I've no doubt."</p> - -<p>"He'll never be that," answered Lady Errington, recovering herself. -"Ah! there's the gong."</p> - -<p>"Dinner is served, my lady," announced a servant at the door, and -taking Gartney's arm, she went with him into the dining-room.</p> - -<p>It was "Alizon" and "Eustace" with them now, for after all, they were -cousins, if only by marriage, and it was so disagreeable to constantly -use the formality of titles. Still, there was always that indefinable -barrier between them, which kept Eustace within the limits of kindly -friendship, and on her part, Alizon never forgot her dignity as a -married woman.</p> - -<p>"It's very kind of you, Alizon, to take pity on a poor hermit," said -Gartney, towards the end of the meal, "but I don't know what the -county will say at this <i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner."</p> - -<p>"The county can hardly complain, seeing we are cousins."</p> - -<p>"By marriage."</p> - -<p>"Yes, by marriage," she assented, changing the conversation from such -a distasteful subject, which reminded her of Guy. "By the way, -Eustace, I want you to sing to me this evening."</p> - -<p>"I think I do that pretty nearly every time I come over," replied -Eustace, smiling. "Is there anything special you want?"</p> - -<p>"I remember your improvisation at Como about the fairy and the -nightingale. It was very charming."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you remember that?" he cried, his face lighting up. "It was too -delightful to forget."</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed a trifle disbelievingly.</p> - -<p>"Is that genuine, or a society romance?"</p> - -<p>"I always say what I mean," she answered, with cold dignity.</p> - -<p>"I'm glad everybody else does not," retorted Gartney fervently. "What -a disagreeable world it would be, if that was the case."</p> - -<p>"A very honest world, at all events."</p> - -<p>"And therefore disagreeable--the two are inseparable."</p> - -<p>"Why should they be?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! why shouldn't they?" said Eustace meaningly. "If the truth was -pleasant, nobody would mind hearing it, but then the truth is not -always pleasant."</p> - -<p>"That is the fault of the person spoken of."</p> - -<p>"I daresay, but he doesn't look at it in that philosophical light."</p> - -<p>"You are as cynical as ever," she said with a sigh, as she arose to -leave the table.</p> - -<p>"The fault of the world, as I said before," he responded, opening the -door. "I would like to believe in my fellow-creatures, only they won't -let me."</p> - -<p>When she had vanished, he returned to his wine, and began to ponder -over her words. He saw plainly enough that she did not care about him -at all, but with ingrained vanity and egotism would not admit the -coldness to himself.</p> - -<p>"I'll try what a song can do," he thought, as he followed her to the -drawing-room. "I can say in a song what I dare not say in plain -words."</p> - -<p>Of course, Lady Errington had run up to the nursery to take a look at -the baby, but shortly afterwards came down with an apology, to find -Eustace seated at the piano.</p> - -<p>Outside was the luminous twilight of July, with a pale, starlit sky, -arched over the prim Dutch garden. The windows were open, and a warm -breath of summer, heavy with the perfume of flowers, floated into the -room. The sombre trees stood black and dense against the clear sky, -the garden was filled with wavering shadows, and a nightingale was -singing deliciously in the heart of the still leaves as the bats -glided like ghosts through the air. Lady Errington established herself -in a comfortable chair near the open window, with a white wrap as a -protection against the falling dews, and Eustace, sitting at the -Erard, in the bright light of the lamp, ran his fingers delicately -over the keys.</p> - -<p>"What can I do against that immortal music?" he said absently, -alluding to the nightingale.</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:5%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Hark how the bursts come crowding through the trees.<br> -What passion, and what pain."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"You don't know Matthew Arnold's poems, I suppose, Lady Errington?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! you are wrong there," she replied quietly. "I am very fond of his -melancholy verse."</p> - -<p>"Very melancholy," he answered musingly. "I agree with you there. I -wonder, if in the whole range of English literature, there is a more -bitterly true line than that famous one:</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:15%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'We mortal millions live alone.'"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"That is not my favourite," said Alizon dreamily, "I like that -couplet:</p> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:15%; font-size:smaller"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"'And bade betwixt their shores to be<br> -The unplumb'd salt estranging sea.'"</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>"It means very much the same thing," observed Eustace after a pause, -"and it's in the same poem, I think. But how true it is! Lovers, -friends, married or single, we all live alone, isolated by the -'estranging sea.' No one really knows the heart of a fellow-creature."</p> - -<p>"But surely if a perfect harmony exists----"</p> - -<p>"There is always a something," said Gartney decisively, "like the -perfume of a flower, the sigh of a wind, the throb of joy in the voice -of a bird, that escapes us utterly. It is felt, but cannot be -communicated."</p> - -<p>"A sad idea."</p> - -<p>"Very sad, but alas, very true."</p> - -<p>There was a silence between them for a few minutes, only broken by the -song of the hidden bird and the ripple of notes from the piano, and -then Eustace, with a deep sigh, shook off his sombre thoughts and -spoke cheerfully.</p> - -<p>"I must sing you something, Lady Errington," he said lightly, "all -this conversation will make you melancholy."</p> - -<p>"I like to feel melancholy. It's suitable to the hour."</p> - -<p>"Then I must make my song the same," he observed gaily, and thereupon -played a soft dreamy prelude, at the end of which his sweet, -sympathetic voice arose tenderly on the still air:</p> -<div style="margin-left:10%; font-size:smaller"> - -<h5>I.</h5> - -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I love a star that shines above</p> -<p class="t2">When day is blending with the night,</p> -<p class="t1">Alas, what pain this foolish love,</p> -<p class="t2">Such worship brings but cold delight.</p> -<p class="t1">I cannot scale the twilight sky,</p> -<p class="t2">My love to tell in accents sweet;</p> -<p class="t1">It comes not down altho' I sigh,</p> -<p class="t2">And So my star I ne'er can meet.</p> -<br> -<h5>II.</h5> - -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Oh foolish heart! oh cruel star!</p> -<p class="t2">Your love I dare not hope to gain;</p> -<p class="t1">Yet still you shine each night afar,</p> -<p class="t2">To mock my anguish and my pain</p> -<p class="t1">And yet thou art so sweet, so pure,</p> -<p class="t2">I may not--dare not thee forsake;</p> -<p class="t1">For tho' this pain for aye endure</p> -<p class="t2">I'll love thee--but my heart will break."</p> -</div> - -<p>"The story of an impossible love," said Lady Errington when he ended.</p> - -<p>"Yes! It is called 'My Star in Heaven.'"</p> - -<p>"As if any man loved so hopelessly and purely--absurd!"</p> - -<p>"There are more varieties of the human race than you know of, Alizon."</p> - -<p>"No doubt. But I'm not particularly impressed with those I have met -with."</p> - -<p>"You are talking of me."</p> - -<p>"I am talking of my husband."</p> - -<p>Eustace left the piano and stepped outside into the beautiful still -night. The moon was looking over the fantastic gables of the hall, and -filled the garden with trembling shadows. It was exquisitely -beautiful, but human beings bring the prose of life into all the -poetry of Nature. Eustace did so now.</p> - -<p>"May I smoke a cigarette, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly!"</p> - -<p>He lighted a cigarette and leaned against the wall of the house, -watching the ghostly curls of smoke melting in the moonshine. Both -were silent for a few minutes, occupied with their own thoughts, and -then Eustace spoke.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you divorce your husband?"</p> - -<p>Lady Errington started violently, for, strange to say, she was -thinking of the same thing. She felt inclined to resent Gartney's -plain speaking, but the light from the lamp was striking full on his -grave face, and, seeing how much in earnest he was, she changed her -mind.</p> - -<p>"I shall never do that," she replied quietly, with a slight shiver. It -might have been the night air or the idea of divorce, but she shivered -as she spoke.</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Can you ask? Think of the disgrace it would be to the child."</p> - -<p>It was all over. Eustace had an intuitive feeling that the last word -had been said on the subject. She would never divorce her husband, she -would never listen to his offers of affection, for the child was at -once her safeguard and her idol.</p> - -<p>Had he been wise he would have said nothing more. Not being wise, -however, he did.</p> - -<p>"You have been very kind to me, Alizon," he said slowly, "very--very -kind, and I shall treasure your kindness in my heart when I leave -you."</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" she asked in a startled tone.</p> - -<p>"I am going to Africa."</p> - -<p>"Have you any reason?"</p> - -<p>"The best of all possible reasons. I love you too well for my own -peace of mind."</p> - -<p>Lady Errington arose, with a slight cry, from her chair, and stood -looking at him with wild eyes.</p> - -<p>"Are you mad?"</p> - -<p>"I have been," he answered sadly, "but I am mad no longer."</p> - -<p>She put out her hand to grasp the back of the chair and steady -herself, still looking at him in amazement. She was not indignant--she -was not angered--she was simply bewildered.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you," she said at length, in a dull tone. "What -are you saying to me? What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"I mean that I love you too well for my own peace of mind," he said -steadily.</p> - -<p>"Love me?--the wife of another man!"</p> - -<p>"Will you sit down, Lady Errington?" observed Eustace, in a measured -tone; "I will tell you all."</p> - -<p>"I cannot listen. Such words from you are an insult."</p> - -<p>"You will not say so when you hear what I have to tell."</p> - -<p>Alizon sat down again in her chair, clasped her slender hands -together, then, looking steadily at his face, made a sign for him to -go on, but otherwise gave no token of emotion.</p> - -<p>"When I met you at Como," said Eustace, his usually slow enunciation -quickened by a powerful emotion, "I fell in love with you. Ah, you -need not make that gesture of indignation--the passion was none of my -seeking. The most virtuous woman could take no exception to such -unrequited homage. I always was a strange man in my likes and -dislikes, as you have no doubt heard. Never before had I met a woman I -cared about. They tired me with their falseness and follies, but in -you I saw for the first time an ideal which had been in my mind for -many years. I dared not speak, as you were the wife of my cousin, and -it would have been dishonourable, therefore I went away, and for many -months strove to forget. Nature, however, was stronger than I was, and -when I came back and saw you again, I found that I was more in love -than ever. Still I said nothing, and kept out of your presence as much -as I was able. Through the difference between yourself and Guy, I was -unavoidably forced to see you often. What could I do? A man's passions -are not always under his control. All women are not as pure and cold -as you. I was afraid of myself, I was afraid of you, and in order to -solve the difficulty I did my best to bring you and Guy together. I -spoke to you--I spoke to Guy--but all was useless. He has gone back to -Mrs. Veilsturm, and forgets with her all his duties to you. I do not -say he is right, but I say he is much to be pitied. Still, whatever my -feelings may be towards him, the actual facts remain the same. He is -with another woman, and you are left alone in the world. I foolishly -dreamed that it might be my fate to release you from this unhappy -position. I thought you might divorce the husband who has wronged you, -but you refuse to do so, for the sake of the child. Ah, that is the -god of your idolatry--you care for nothing in the world save your -child. It is the selfish passion of motherhood--pure, good, elevating ---but still selfish. It is the child that came between you and your -husband--it is the child who comes now between you and me. My love -remains unaltered--it will always be the same--and had you been free I -might have spoken to you without dishonour. You refuse to loosen the -bonds of your loveless marriage, and as I cannot be your lover or your -husband, I dare not be your friend. Your husband is parted from -you--he will never return. I am going away on a perilous journey--I -will never return. Therefore you will be alone with what you love best -in the world--your child."</p> - -<p>With her clear eyes fixed steadily on his face she heard him to the -end of this long speech without a quiver of the eyelids--without the -trembling of her lip--and when he finished:</p> - -<p>"So I am the married woman you said you loved?" she asked coldly.</p> - -<p>"Yes! and you say----"</p> - -<p>"I say now what I said then," she answered sternly, "no man can be a -true lover if he would wish to drag the woman he loves through the mud -of the world."</p> - -<p>Eustace flushed deeply.</p> - -<p>"You misunderstand me," he said hurriedly; "I do not want to drag you -down. I would not have spoken, only I thought a divorce----"</p> - -<p>"A divorce!" she echoed, rising to her feet, "and what is that but -dishonour to me and to the child?"</p> - -<p>"Always the child," he said sullenly.</p> - -<p>"And why not? The only pure thing in the world I have to love. My -husband has deceived me. You have changed from a friend to a lover. I -cannot listen to you without dishonour. What you said was perfectly -true--my love for the child is the selfish passion of motherhood. I -pardon the words which you have spoken to me to-night, but we must -never meet again."</p> - -<p>"We will not," he muttered hoarsely, "I leave England for ever."</p> - -<p>"Then we understand each other, and nothing now remains but to say -goodbye."</p> - -<p>"Have you no word of pity?"</p> - -<p>"I am sorry for your foolish passion," she said gently, "but can I say -more without lowering myself in your eyes?</p> - -<p>"No--you are right. It is best for me to go. The star will never come -down from Heaven for me, but it will always shine there."</p> - -<p>He caught her hand and touched it with his hot lips.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Alizon. God--God bless you, my dearest!"</p> - -<p>Was it a fancy that a burning tear had fallen on her chill hand? She -looked, and lo! her hand was wet. The door had closed--she was alone -in the room, deserted both by husband and lover.</p> - -<p>"Poor Eustace," she said softly, "I am sorry for his madness; but if -he is unhappy I also am miserable. My husband and friend have both -left me, but I have always my child."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_36" href="#div1Ref_36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></h4> -<h5>THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Dead! Deed!<br> -His soul hath sped,<br> -The turf lies over his golden head.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Cold! Cold!<br> -In churchyard mould,<br> -And just one stroke hath the death-bell tolled.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Child! Child!<br> -The angels smiled,<br> -Then carried thee heavenward undefiled."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>After the departure of Eustace, life went on in the same old fashion -at the Hall. Alizon passed her days and nights with Sammy, received -the few visitors that called, and was as happy as she could be under -the circumstances. She deeply regretted the kind friend who had been -such a comfort to her in her loneliness, but looking back on what she -had done, could not wish things otherwise. True, he had spoken most -delicately, and in such a way as could offend no woman, still she was -glad that he had gone, as his presence would have been a perpetual -reminder to her of his unhappy passion.</p> - -<p>"If I had married him," she thought sometimes, "perhaps he would have -made me a better husband than Guy. But no! his love was a mere passion -of envy, wishing for what he could not obtain. Had I been single, very -probably he would not have spoken to me as he did. The fact that I am -the wife of another man is the true reason of his desire that I should -love him. Ah! these men, they are all the same. Eustace is a poet, and -his pleading was more delicate than another man's would have been, but -his instincts resemble those of the rest of his sex."</p> - -<p>Thus she talked to herself, trying to harden her heart against the -misery of the man who loved her so devotedly and hopelessly. He was -going away from England, to exile, perhaps to death, and all for her -sake; even the least vain of woman could not but feel a thrill of -responsive feeling to such unutterable worship. But whenever she found -herself thinking in this dangerous fashion, she tried to change the -current of her thoughts. She was the wife of Guy Errington, and, -little as he deserved it, he had a right to expect entire purity of -thought and deed in his wife, yet, in spite of her Puritanical nature, -she dreamed at times of the unhappy exile whose love she had rejected.</p> - -<p>Guy never wrote to his wife, nor gave any sign of existence, and she, -on her part, acted in the same way, so it seemed as if their lives -were parted for ever. Yet she frequently thought about him and began -to believe that she had been too harsh in her judgment. If such was -the case, let him come back and ask her forgiveness. If he did -so--well she might pardon him, and then--but no, there could never be -any trust or affection between them. The phantom of the past would -always come between them; so far as she could see, nothing remained to -make her life happy but the child.</p> - -<p>Sammy was the idol of her heart. She forgot everything when she had -him in her arms, and she felt that the whole world might go to ruin as -long as this blue-eyed darling was left untouched, safe on the tender -bosom of his mother. In her daily life she adapted all things to suit -the living of her child, and never knew a happy moment when she was -away from his side.</p> - -<p>The first thing in the morning the child was brought down to her -bedroom, and sprawled on the coverlet, while she lay looking at him -with happy eyes, babbling fond nonsense suited to his baby -understanding. When he slept in the morning she sat beside his crib -watching the flushed little face, the tangled golden curls, and the -tiny dimpled hands. She went out with him for his daily drive, -accompanied by Mrs. Tasker, and would hardly let that worthy woman -touch him, so jealous she was of his liking for anyone save herself. -He played at her feet for hours, and she sat beside him in a low chair -singing tender little songs, playing baby games, amusing him with his -toys, and when he grew fretful with wakefulness, lulled him to sleep -on her breast. Every hour of the day she found some new perfection in -him, she was never tired of talking about his clever ways, his -infantile wisdom, his loving disposition, and when he was laid to rest -at night, she hung over him like an enamoured lover breathing -blessings on his unconscious head.</p> - -<p>The world will doubtless laugh at such tender devotion, at such -intense absorption in an unformed infant, but no one but a woman, no -one but a mother, can understand the wondrous power of maternal love -that dominates every other feeling in the feminine heart. All the -passion of lovers, the ecstacies of poets, the blind adoration of men -for those they love, pale before this strongest of all feelings -implanted in the human breast. Perhaps some will say that -self-preservation is stronger, but this is not so, as a mother in an -extreme case will sacrifice her life for that of her child, thereby -proving the superiority of the maternal feeling.</p> - -<p>In this worship of the child she forgot earth, she forgot heaven, she -forgot God.</p> - -<p>And God punished her.</p> - -<p>Sammy was cutting his teeth, and was feverish and fretful for some -days, but although every care was lavished upon him neither Alizon nor -Mrs. Tasker deemed the illness to be anything worse than a slight -infantile malady. But one evening, Alizon bending over his sleeping -form, saw his face grow black, his little limbs begin to twitch, and -in a moment the poor child was in strong convulsions. Pale with -terror, she shrieked for Mrs. Tasker and sent off a groom at once for -the village doctor who had attended to Sammy since his birth. Mrs. -Tasker, terribly anxious, yet restraining herself so as not to -affright the agonised mother, did what she could under the -circumstances and placed the child in a hot bath. The doctor arrived -as quickly as possible, but he was too late--the child was dead.</p> - -<p>Dead!</p> - -<p>When the doctor told her, she could not believe it, and throwing -herself on her knees beside the tiny corpse, tried in vain to see some -sign of life. Alas it was all in vain, and after an hour of agonising -dread she was obliged to accept the inevitable.</p> - -<p>She did not lament, she did not weep, but only sat in dumb tearless -silence by the side of her dead child. One thing only she muttered, -with ashen lips, and restless hands plucking at her dress.</p> - -<p>"It is the judgment of God, because I loved His creature better than -Himself."</p> - -<p>There is no grief so terrible as that silent, self-concentrated agony -which gives no sign. All through the lonely hours of the night she sat -beside the crib, where all that she held dearest and best was lying -stiff and cold, the tiny hands crossed on the breast, a smile on the -placid little face. They tried in vain to persuade her to go to bed, -to take some refreshment, to leave the room where the dead child lay, -but all in vain, for rejecting all offers of consolation and kindness, -she sat frozen with grief in the darkened room.</p> - -<p>The morning came, the time that she had been accustomed to hear the -merry little voice and see the happy face, but the voice was silent -now for evermore, and the face--could that still, white mask be the -face she had seen smiling in her own, the face that she had covered so -often with kisses? She could not cry, although tears would have been a -relief, she could not talk, although it would have eased her pain, she -could only sit in a trance of speechless, thoughtless horror beside -her dead.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Tasker, wise old woman that she was, knew that unless something -was done, and that speedily, to rouse her mistress from this apathetic -state, there would be danger of the mind becoming unhinged, so finding -out Mr. Gartney's address in London, which she obtained by sending -over to Castle Grim, sent a telegram and afterwards a letter to him -urging him to bring the husband, the father, to the stricken mother.</p> - -<p>Eustace was leading an aimless life in Town, when he received the -news, and was terribly grieved about it. Without delay, he wired to -Errington at San Remo, and then wrote to Victoria at Dunkeld Castle, -asking her to come at once to the unhappy woman. Mrs. Macjean, much -moved by the intelligence, came south without delay, in company with -her husband, and went down to the Hall. The sight of the young bride's -kind face did more good to Lady Errington than anything else, and -after all the apathy and horror of those dark days succeeding the -death, the blessed tears came to relieve her overburdened heart. The -two women wept in one another's arms, and hand in hand stood by the -little coffin wherein lay the tiny body of the child. Otterburn kept -out of their way as much as he could, feeling that his rough masculine -nature was but ill-suited to this house of mourning, but attended to -all the details of the funeral pending the arrival of Errington.</p> - -<p>And Guy?</p> - -<p>Surely he would come over now that his child was dead, come over to -bury his first-born and console the afflicted mother! Eustace waited -hopefully for a telegram saying that he was on his way, but at length -received a wire asking him to come over to San Remo and see his cousin -there. He crushed the telegram up in his hand with an oath.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" he said to himself in dismay, "surely that woman cannot -have besotted him so far that he cannot come to the funeral of his own -child."</p> - -<p>He did not hesitate a moment, but wrote a letter to Otterburn at the -Hall, telling him he was going over to San Remo to bring back -Errington, and then, hastily packing a few things, started from -Victoria Station for the Continent.</p> - -<p>During the last few weeks since his departure from Castle Grim, he had -arranged all his affairs prior to his departure for Africa. Laxton was -still in Town as, Otterburn being married, he had not been able to -find anyone to go with him as a companion, so when Eustace offered -himself, he was greatly delighted. It had been Laxton's intention to -go down to Cape Town, but Gartney persuaded him to alter his -destination to the Nile, and, go far up into Nubia, in order to follow -in the footsteps of Speke and Bruce. This arrangement was -satisfactory, and Eustace and his friend began to arrange everything -for their trip, which now began to assume more the appearance of an -exploring expedition than a mere shooting excursion.</p> - -<p>When he had to go to San Remo in order to bring back Guy, all the -preparations were left in Laxton's hands, which did not, by any means, -prove irksome to that young man, as he was going in heart and soul for -the business.</p> - -<p>Eustace, as he stood on the deck of a Channel steamer in the dark -night, drinking in the sea breezes, thought all the time of the woman -he loved kneeling beside the open coffin.</p> - -<p>"She has nothing to care for now," he said to himself. "God has taken -away her idol, so if I bring back Guy with me, she will forgive and -love him for coming to her in her sorrow."</p> - -<p>The fact was, that for the first time in his life Gartney was -sacrificing self for the benefit of other people. Hitherto he had -gratified without scruple all his egotistical desires, but the -hopeless love he cherished for Alizon Ellington had brought to light -the nobler traits of his nature, and probably he was never a better -man than now, when he was striving to bring wife and husband together -for their mutual happiness before leaving his native country for an -everlasting exile, and perchance death in a savage land.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_37" href="#div1Ref_37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. VEILSTURM.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"We all have skeletons, everyone,<br> -We hide away from the cheerful sun,<br> -Tearful and sad, or merry and gay,<br> -We all have skeletons hidden away."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Eustace duly arrived at San Remo, tired out by his long journey, and, -as he had written to Guy before leaving London, was rather surprised -not to find his cousin waiting for him at the railway station. -However, he took the matter philosophically enough, after his usual -fashion, although he was seriously annoyed at what seemed like wilful -negligence, and drove to the Hotel de la Mer, where Errington was -staying. There he found Guy's valet awaiting his arrival in the hall, -and speedily received an explanation, from which it appeared that -Errington was seriously ill, and confined to his bed.</p> - -<p>"I would have come myself, sir," concluded the man, "but Sir Guy -wouldn't let me leave him, and I've just slipped down stairs for a -moment to explain things. I'm very glad you've come, sir."</p> - -<p>"So am I," thought Eustace, as he followed the servant upstairs, "I -hadn't any idea he was ill. No wonder he could not come to England."</p> - -<p>When he entered the bedroom he found his cousin was really seriously -ill, being in a highly excited state. He asked Eustace all kinds of -questions about Alizon, about the death of the child, and talked -incoherently about Mrs. Veilsturm, mixing everything up in a most -nonsensical fashion, being evidently quite light-headed. Gartney -answered his questions, and soothed him as well as he was able, but -was very much perturbed over the matter, although he did not show his -real feelings. At last he got Guy to lie down quietly, and then, -leaving the room, sent for the doctor who was attending the young man.</p> - -<p>In a few minutes Dr. Storge arrived, a tall, spare man, with a keen, -clever face, and a sharp manner, who talked straight and to the point, -without any loss of time.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Mr. Gartney," he replied briskly to Eustace's enquiry. "Sir Guy -is very ill, indeed. In a highly excited state brought on by worry and -fretting. I saw that he was in a bad way about a week ago, when he -first consulted me, but something he will not tell me about has -occurred since then, and the result--well you see it upstairs."</p> - -<p>"But surely--when--Errington consulted you, he explained----"</p> - -<p>"He explained nothing, my dear sir, and now he is so ill that I dare -not ask him, as it makes him excited, and that is what I wish to -avoid. Perhaps you can give me some idea of what is wrong."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I can. Is it necessary you should know?"</p> - -<p>"What's the good of calling in a medical man if you don't intend to -confide in him?" said Storge coolly. "You know what Balzac says, that -a man reveals nothing to the priest, what suits him to the lawyer, and -everything to the physician. I want to find out the cause of Sir Guy's -excitement, and then I may do some good. As it is--well, you see for -yourself, I am working in the dark."</p> - -<p>This reasoning appeared to be very just, so Gartney, making a virtue -of necessity, drew his chair close to that of the doctor, and told him -everything.</p> - -<p>"The fact is," said Eustace after a pause, during which he collected -his thoughts, "my cousin and his wife have had a quarrel about a -woman."</p> - -<p>"Ah! I thought as much--Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"What! You know----"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied the doctor sharply. "I've only -put two and two together, and any fool knows that makes four--more or -less."</p> - -<p>"Well, Sir Guy loves his wife very dearly, but she believes that he -has compromised himself with--but I don't know if I ought to tell you -this."</p> - -<p>Dr. Storge made a gesture of despair.</p> - -<p>"I thought you were a man of the world, Mr. Gartney," he said quickly, -"but although I appreciate your delicacy with regard to--well, say our -mutual friend, though I only know her by sight--I must insist upon you -telling me all. 'Go on, my dear sir, go on. Your confession is as safe -with me as it would be with one of those dingy priests in the town."</p> - -<p>Being satisfied with this explanation, Gartney smothered his scruples, -and went on talking.</p> - -<p>"I see it's no use beating about the bush, doctor. My cousin has -quarrelled with his wife on account of Mrs. Veilsturm, whom he -loves----"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, No," interrupted Storge smartly, "you mean she loves -him--a vastly different thing."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense! She doesn't care two straws about him," said Eustace -bluntly.</p> - -<p>"If you don't explain, Mr. Gartney," cried the doctor angrily, "you -will have me as bad as your friend upstairs."</p> - -<p>"Then listen, my dear sir, and pray don't interrupt me," said Eustace -tartly. "Mrs. Veilsturm, who is a lady holding a good position in -London Society, thought herself slighted by Lady Errington--in what -way it does not matter. She determined to revenge herself by taking -Lady Errington's husband away from her, and she has succeeded. My -cousin does not really care for Mrs. Veilsturm, but, owing to an -unfortunate misunderstanding with his wife, he has drifted into a -false position. This woman has entangled him in her net and won't let -him go until she can bring about a divorce, which will certainly be -the end. Errington, I've no doubt, has worried himself into a fever -over things, thinking he is between the devil and the deep sea, and -the other day his only child died, so I expect the news of the death -put the finishing stroke to the whole business."</p> - -<p>"I understand," said Storge, who had been listening attentively, "I -can quite appreciate the position, and need hardly tell you Mr. -Gartney, that your cousin is dangerously ill. He is an honourable man, -who finds himself in a dishonourable position, through no fault of his -own, and the knowledge has worked him up into a state of frenzy. I am -afraid of brain fever."</p> - -<p>"Good Heavens I hope not."</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid so," returned the doctor sagaciously, "he's quite off the -balance, with all this business. However, now you are here, things may -turn out better, for he must be kept quiet--perfect rest is what is -needed."</p> - -<p>"And what am I to do?"</p> - -<p>"Keep Mrs. Veilsturm away."</p> - -<p>"But she surely doesn't visit him," said Eustace in an astonished -tone, "because, in the first place, she doesn't care for him, and in -the second, she's too cautious to jeopardise her position in Society."</p> - -<p>"She does not exactly visit him," replied Storge, rising, "but she -sends messages, flowers, fruit, three-cornered notes, and all that -rubbish. Of course it keeps Errington perpetually thinking about -her--then he thinks about his wife, and between the two I'm afraid of -the result."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm," said Eustace grimly. "I've no -doubt I'll be able to persuade her to leave my cousin alone."</p> - -<p>"I don't envy you the interview," observed Storge, who was a sharp -observer, "nor her either. Still she's a fine woman."</p> - -<p>"A fine devil," retorted Gartney, with less than his usual caution.</p> - -<p>"She looks like it," said the doctor coolly, going to the door. "A -Creole, isn't she?--ah! I thought so. Got a considerable touch of the -tiger in her I should say. I wouldn't like to be under her claws--too -risky. Well I'll go up and see our patient."</p> - -<p>"And I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"You'd better have your lunch first," said Storge "you'll need all -your strength."</p> - -<p>"Very good advice, Doctor, I'll adopt it; at the same time don't be -afraid of me--I'm a match for her."</p> - -<p>Storge laughed and looked keenly at Gartney's powerful face.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think you are," he said carelessly, "I've read your -looks--goodbye at present."</p> - -<p>When the Doctor had vanished, Eustace sat down to consider the -situation, which was certainly rather problematic at present, -especially with regard to the Errington-Veilsturm episode. When a -strikingly handsome and decidedly unscrupulous woman sets her heart -upon turning the head of a disconsolate man, with a somewhat weak -character, she generally succeeds in her task. Guy had been certainly -rather weak with regard to the sex feminine in his bachelor days, but -since marriage, his love for his wife had been a safeguard against the -dangerous raids of daring free-lances. Owing to his unfortunate -quarrel with Alizon, however, he had lost his shield, and of this Mrs. -Veilsturm had taken instant advantage, securing thereby an -indisputable victory.</p> - -<p>In England, Gartney had felt some doubts regarding the entanglement of -his cousin with Cleopatra, but now he saw plainly that Guy was still -true to his wife, and that it required the utmost dexterity of his -charmer to keep her captive in chains. If he could only be brought -face to face with his wife, Eustace was convinced that everything -could be arranged, and the influence of Mrs. Veilsturm over this weak -soul destroyed. He would like to have written to Alizon, and asked her -to come over in order to nurse him, and be reconciled to her husband, -but he was afraid she would not do so. The only thing to be done, -therefore, was to try and get Errington cured as soon as possible, and -take him away from the dangerous neighbourhood of Cleopatra.</p> - -<p>In order to do this, according to the doctor, it was necessary to -force Mrs. Veilsturm to leave her victim alone, as she brought herself -constantly to his mind, and exercised a malignant influence upon his -whole nature highly detrimental to recovery. Eustace, therefore, -agreed with the doctor, that the first thing to be done was to deal -with Mrs. Veilsturm, and this he made up his mind to do without delay. -As Guy could not be removed from the neighbourhood of Mrs. Veilsturm, -the next best thing was to remove Mrs. Veilsturm from the -neighbourhood of Guy, or, in plain words, to make her leave San Remo -at once. It was a difficult task, and involved a disagreeable -interview; still, desperate diseases require desperate remedies, so -Eustace wasted no time in hesitation, but determined to call upon Mrs. -Veilsturm that afternoon.</p> - -<p>As Mr. Gartney was nothing if not methodical, he proceeded very -deliberately with his preparations, and, truth to tell, felt rather -jubilant at the prospect of a tussle with Cleopatra, who was a foeman, -or rather foewoman, worthy of anyone's steel. After a cold bath, which -invigorated him considerably after his tiresome journey, he changed -his travelling suit for one more in conformity with an afternoon -visit, and then made an early luncheon, followed by a soothing cigar. -His physical wants thus having been attended to, he ascertained from -the "Liste d'Étrangers," that Mrs. Veilsturm was staying at the Villa -Garcia, and departed on his errand of mercy.</p> - -<p>Cleopatra had certainly an aptitude for making herself comfortable, -for the Villa Garcia was a charming little house, with white walls, -vivid green shutters, and dusky, red-tiled roof. Embosomed among the -grey olive trees and slender palms, it stood some distance back from -the Corso Imperatrice, and from its broad terrace there could be seen -the tideless blue of the Mediterranean Sea, the church of the Madonna -della Guardia on Capo Verde, and sometimes a glimpse of far-off -Corsica floating in a golden mist, or lying amid the rose-red clouds -of dawn, like Brünnhilde within the magic circle of Wotan's fire.</p> - -<p>Happily for Eustace the lady he sought was at home, so on sending in -his card, he was conducted to an artificially darkened drawing-room, -where Mrs. Veilsturm was seated in a comfortable-looking chair, -occupied with a French novel and a fan. No one was with her, as Major -Griff had gone off with Thambits and Mr. Jiddy for a day's pleasure at -Monte Carlo and, Errington not being obtainable, Mrs. Veilsturm was -delighted to see Eustace, who was much more amusing than her own -thoughts. She was arrayed in a loose dress of white Chinese silk, with -great masses of scarlet geranium at her throat and waist, which suited -her so well that Eustace, with a view to making everything pleasant, -could not help congratulating her on her appearance.</p> - -<p>"I know I'm looking well," said Cleopatra indolently, as Gartney -settled himself in a low chair near her. "The South always agrees with -me so much better than that smoky London. That comes of being a -daughter of the Tropics I suppose."</p> - -<p>"You look in your proper place under a burning sky," observed Eustace -poetically. "There is more of the gorgeous cactus about you than the -English rose."</p> - -<p>"Am I to take that as a compliment?"</p> - -<p>"Most women would."</p> - -<p>"I daresay, but then you see I'm unlike most women," replied -Cleopatra, fanning herself slowly. "It's rather a good thing I think -myself. What a horrible idea to be a replica of half a dozen of one's -dearest enemies."</p> - -<p>"Have you any enemies?" asked Eustace, looking keenly at her.</p> - -<p>"Plenty! principally of my own sex I think. It doesn't trouble me, -however, as I think it is rather a distinction than otherwise. A -person without enemies must be without character. By-the-way, Mr. -Gartney, I haven't asked you what you are doing in San Remo."</p> - -<p>"What do you think?"</p> - -<p>"It's too hot to answer riddles," replied Mrs. Veilsturm languidly. -"I'm sure I can't tell. Restoring your health, writing a book, hiding -from your friends. There, I've given you a choice of three answers."</p> - -<p>"None of which are right. I've come over to attend to my cousin -Errington."</p> - -<p>"How devoted of you," said the lady ironically. "I was not aware you -were so fond of your cousin as all that."</p> - -<p>"Were you not?" answered Eustace nonchalantly. "Rather an oversight on -your part, seeing that Errington and myself have been close friends -all our lives."</p> - -<p>An angry colour glowed in Cleopatra's swarthy face as she detected a -covert insolence in this reply, but, having a sharp tongue of her own, -she lost no time in answering.</p> - -<p>"Ah! I see, like does not always draw to like."</p> - -<p>"Certainly not in this case, but the reverse is true. I am not a bit -like Errington in any way. For example, I can always take care of -myself."</p> - -<p>"And Sir Guy cannot, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Not when there's a woman in the case, as there is now."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Veilsturm had never liked Eustace, as he knew more about her -former life than she cared he should, but being an eminently -diplomatic woman she had always treated him as a friend. Now, however, -she saw that his attitude was distinctly hostile, and prepared to give -battle. They were now matching their wits against one another, and -each knew it would take wonderful skill and cautious dealing in order -to come off victor in such a remarkably equal contest.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, after a pause.</p> - -<p>"Try," responded Eustace curtly.</p> - -<p>"Why should I?"</p> - -<p>"Because you understand well enough, only you won't admit it."</p> - -<p>"Do you know, Mr. Gartney, you are very rude?" said the Creole -quietly.</p> - -<p>"Pshaw!" cried Eustace angrily, "it's no use our fencing with buttons -on the foils. I've come here for a certain purpose, and you know what -it is."</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't," said Mrs. Veilsturm doggedly.</p> - -<p>"None so blind as those who won't see."</p> - -<p>"Pithy," retorted Cleopatra sneeringly, "very pithy, but irrelevant."</p> - -<p>"Not at all, as I will soon show you. Look here, Mrs. Veilsturm, I'm -going to be plain, brutally plain."</p> - -<p>"To do you justice you generally are."</p> - -<p>"It is necessary in some cases, especially in this one," said Gartney -quietly, "but I'm not here to discuss my personal character, but to -save my cousin."</p> - -<p>"From me, I presume."</p> - -<p>"Exactly! I did not think you would have admitted that."</p> - -<p>She had made a false move in doing so, and saw that Eustace had taken -advantage of her rashness, so, throwing down her book, she sat -straight up in her chair, and spoke with firm deliberation.</p> - -<p>"You're talking nonsense, my dear Mr. Gartney, which is a thing I -don't care about. You say you have come here for a certain purpose, -perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me the meaning of that remark."</p> - -<p>"Certainly," replied Gartney promptly. "I know all about the way you -consider yourself to have been slighted by Lady Errington. I know that -you have tried your best to inveigle Errington into your net in order -to be revenged, and I've come here to ask you to leave my cousin -alone, and leave San Remo."</p> - -<p>"A very cool request, upon my word," cried the Creole viciously, with -an evil smile on her angry face, "but one I don't intend to comply -with."</p> - -<p>"I think it will be as well for you to do so."</p> - -<p>She sprang to her feet in a fury, and stood looking at him, with -clenched hands and face convulsed with rage.</p> - -<p>"You threaten me, do you?" she shrieked savagely. "How dare you--how -dare you? I shall tell Major Griff--I shall tell----"</p> - -<p>"You'll tell no one," said Gartney calmly, "that is, you won't if you -are wise."</p> - -<p>Cleopatra stood silent for a moment, struggling with her temper, then, -stamping her foot, walked rapidly up and down the room, Eustace -watching her meanwhile, with a sardonic smile on his lips. He, also, -had risen to his feet, as, knowing Maraquita's temper of old, he -thought it wise to be prepared for possibilities. At last the lady -collected herself sufficiently to talk quietly, and stopping opposite -her antagonist, spoke in a low, suppressed voice, which was far more -deadly in its meaning than the first outburst of wrath.</p> - -<p>"As you say, we may as well take the buttons off the foils. Consider -them removed."</p> - -<p>"So far, so good," assented Eustace, not taking his eyes off her. "Go -on."</p> - -<p>"Carambo!"</p> - -<p>"You still remember your Spanish, I see," he said mockingly, "but -we're not in South America now."</p> - -<p>"I wish we were," she hissed savagely, bringing her beautiful, -distorted face so close to his own that he felt her hot breath on his -cheek. "Oh, I wish we were."</p> - -<p>"I don't," he replied, without blenching. "You might treat me as you -did Manuel----"</p> - -<p>"No! No!" she cried, a terrified expression flitting across her face. -"Not that name!--not that name here!"</p> - -<p>"Then let us keep to the subject in hand," said Eustace politely.</p> - -<p>If a look could have killed Gartney, he would have there and then -fallen dead at the feet of the Creole, but suddenly changing her -tactics, she flung herself on the sofa in a storm of tears.</p> - -<p>"How cruel you are, oh, how cruel," she wailed, hiding her face in the -cushions. "I am only a woman, you coward--only a woman."</p> - -<p>"You're a remarkably good actress, my dear Mrs. Veilsturm;" replied -Eustace coolly, in no wise moved by her sorrow, "but tears are very -weak. Try something else more original."</p> - -<p>After this scoffing remark he resumed his seat, and waited till her -passion should have exhausted itself, which happened very soon, for -Mrs. Veilsturm was too sensible a woman to waste her weapons when she -found they were useless. Drying her eyes carefully, she sat up again -quite cool and composed, which warned Eustace that he must be more on -his guard than ever.</p> - -<p>"Your cousin's a fool," she said viciously. "Do you think it was any -pleasure for me to have him running after me? No! I hate and detest -him, the persistent bore that he is."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think you'd better drop these flowers of speech?" replied -Eustace leisurely. "They're neither pretty nor necessary. Go on with -the main subject."</p> - -<p>"I'll come to that quick enough," retorted Mrs. Veilsturm sullenly. -"You are right about Lady Errington--she did slight me, and in a way -no woman can forgive nor forget. I'd hate her if it were only for the -fact that she is Gabriel Mostyn's daughter--the traitor--but I hate -her twice as much on my own account. I vowed I'd punish her for the -insult--and I will too."</p> - -<p>"By causing a divorce?"</p> - -<p>"Either that or separating them altogether. And I think I've managed -that now."</p> - -<p>"You can think what you please," said Eustace coolly, "but at all -events you've done your worst."</p> - -<p>"Not yet--not yet."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, you have. Now you are going to write my cousin a letter, -saying you don't care about him, or--well, say what you like, but give -him to understand you won't see him again."</p> - -<p>"And then?" she demanded, with a sneer.</p> - -<p>"And then you'll leave San Remo as soon as you conveniently can."</p> - -<p>She burst out into a peal of ironical laughter.</p> - -<p>"Do you actually expect me to do that?"</p> - -<p>"I do, and I'm certain you'll do it."</p> - -<p>"I will not."</p> - -<p>"No?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>They looked at one another in silence, she tapping her foot on the -ground with a scornful smile, he eyeing her with calm deliberation.</p> - -<p>"If you don't go to that desk and write what I ask you," he said at -length, in a low, clear voice, "I'll tell the world all I know about -Lola Trujillo."</p> - -<p>Her face grew very pale, but she answered defiantly:</p> - -<p>"Do so! No one can connect her with me."</p> - -<p>"Ah, so you think, but I have enough proofs to do so."</p> - -<p>"Do what you like. I defy you."</p> - -<p>"I don t think it will be wise of you to do so," said Eustace in a low -voice of concentrated fury. "You know me, Lola, and I know you, and -all the world of South America knows you also."</p> - -<p>He jumped up, and crossing over to the sofa, bent down and whispered -in her ear:</p> - -<p>"I can tell about your connection with Gabriel Mostyn, in regard to -that boy, his son--who disappeared."</p> - -<p>"I had nothing to do with it," she muttered, shrinking from him.</p> - -<p>"And Manuel Lopez."</p> - -<p>"Be silent!"</p> - -<p>"And that little gambling saloon at Lima."</p> - -<p>"Hush! for God's sake. You will ruin me."</p> - -<p>"I intend to," said Eustace relentlessly, "unless----" and he pointed -to the desk.</p> - -<p>Without saying a word, she arose to her feet, and dragging herself -slowly across the room sat down at the desk and began to write. -Eustace said nothing, but remained standing by the sofa with a smile -of satisfaction on his massive features. Nothing was heard in the room -but the steady ticking of the clock, and the scratching of Mrs. -Veilsturm's pen as it moved rapidly over the paper. In a few minutes -she came back to him holding out a sheet of paper, which he read -carefully without taking it out of her hand.</p> - -<p>"That will do," he said quietly. "Will you be so kind as to put it -into an envelope and direct it?"</p> - -<p>Darting a look of hatred at him, which showed how hard it was for her -to control her temper, she returned to the desk and did what he asked. -Then, leaving it on the blotting-paper, she went to her seat by the -window, while Eustace, picking up the letter, glanced at the address -and slipped it into his inner pocket.</p> - -<p>"And about leaving San Remo?" he asked, turning towards Mrs. -Veilsturm.</p> - -<p>"I will leave in three days," she replied harshly. "Will that suit -you?</p> - -<p>"Yes! I won't see you again. <i>Bon voyage</i>."</p> - -<p>He turned to go, but Mrs. Veilsturm's voice arrested him. "Of course -you will say nothing about South America?" she said quietly.</p> - -<p>"No! You have done your part, and I will do mine."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't go to Lima again if I were you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, with -deadly hatred, "it might be dangerous."</p> - -<p>"I've no doubt of that," replied Eustace carelessly. "If you want to -turn the tables you had better send your emissaries to Africa."</p> - -<p>He left the room without another word, and Cleopatra, sitting at the -window, saw him walking down the garden path. She was holding her -handkerchief in her hands, and with a sudden anger tore it in two.</p> - -<p>"If it had only been in South America," she said in a low, fierce -voice. "Oh, if it had only been in South America!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_38" href="#div1Ref_38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></h4> -<h5>THE LAST TEMPTATION.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Death ever rends asunder marriage bonds,<br> -So should he die, this husband undesired,<br> -She would be free to woo and wed again<br> -And I might haply gain her hand, her heart.<br> -Yet there is folly in this argument,<br> -For such a course would breed but sterile love,<br> -Seeing the first link in the chain of circumstance<br> -Is ominous indeed--a dead man's grave."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>Having thus routed the enemy, Eustace returned to his hotel very well -satisfied with his victory, which he hoped would be productive -of good in removing the obstacle to the reconciliation of husband -and wife. For his own part, he felt considerable astonishment at the -self-abnegation of his conduct, seeing that he was doing his best to -place the woman he loved so devotedly beyond any possible chance of -being anything to him. But since his last interview with Lady -Errington, the astute man of the world had been quick to read her true -feelings, and had therefore given up all hope of winning her love. -Besides, he had arranged with Laxton to go to Africa, and had it not -been for the accident of Guy's illness would have started almost -immediately for that mysterious continent, but since things had turned -out otherwise, he resolved to do his duty by his cousin even against -his desire of gratifying self. It was true he had done all in his -power to conquer this dominant faculty of egotism, he had parted with -Alizon for ever, he had saved Errington from the machinations of Mrs. -Veilsturm but the great temptation was yet to come, and in a guise -least anticipated by the tempted.</p> - -<p>Of course, he told Dr. Storge about his success in the delicate matter -of Mrs. Veilsturm, at which success the physician expressed himself -highly delighted, as he undoubtedly thought that the removal of this -disturbing influence on Errington's life would have a beneficial -result on his health.</p> - -<p>Doctors are not infallible, however, and the result of this attempt to -quiet the patient's mind only succeeded in exciting it still more, -which state of the case considerably dismayed both Storge and Gartney.</p> - -<p>Guy, being under the impression that his wife had cast him off for -ever, had been touched by the interest displayed towards him by Mrs. -Veilsturm, and clung to the idea of her disinterested affection as a -drowning man clings to a straw. An old simile, certainly, but one that -holds good in this case. He thought that his wife did not love him, -that she had never loved him, and that Cleopatra was the only woman -who had any tender feelings towards him in her heart. It was true that -the world, a notoriously ungenerous critic, said that she was -capricious, cruel, fickle as the wind--still, so cleverly had she -feigned a love she did not feel, that Errington really believed he had -inspired a genuine feeling in her hard heart.</p> - -<p>Every day, when tender messages arrived for him with presents of fruit -and flowers, he mentally thanked Heaven that one woman, at least, -truly loved and remembered him in his hour of trouble. When, however, -the messages with their accompanying gifts of fruit and flowers ceased -to arrive, he wondered at the omission and became querulously -suspicious. Why had she forgotten him? What was the reason of this -sudden change? Could she be false to him, seeing that she had made -such protestations of love? No, it could not be, and yet--there must -be some reason. These were the questions he kept continually asking -himself, and thereby working himself into such mad frenzies, that it -seemed as though nothing could avert the threatened attack of brain -fever.</p> - -<p>True to her promise, which would cost her too much to break, Mrs. -Veilsturm had departed from San Remo and taken up her abode at Nice, -together with the Major, Dolly Thambits and Mr. Jiddy, alleging that -she found the Italian watering-place dull and preferred the lively -Gauls to the more sedate Latins. Errington, however, knew nothing of -this sudden exodus, and his excited brain suggested a thousand reasons -for the sudden silence of his quondam charmer. She was ill! She was -afraid of exciting him. She had been called to England on business! -What could be the reason of this sudden change from attention to -neglect, from warmth to coldness? And day and night, and night and -day, the weary brain puzzled over these perplexing questions, -suggesting and discarding a thousand answers with every tick of the -clock.</p> - -<p>Eustace did his best to allay his cousin's excitement without telling -him the truth, but all to no purpose, so, in despair, he spoke -seriously to Storge as to what was best to be done under the -circumstances.</p> - -<p>"Things can't go on like this much longer," he said decisively, "if my -cousin was ill when I arrived, he seems to me to be much worse now."</p> - -<p>"It's a very difficult case," remarked Storge musingly. "So difficult, -that I hardly know what step to take. I've made him keep to his room, -see no one, given him sedatives, and yet he is no better. In fact, I -think we're only at the beginning of the trouble."</p> - -<p>"Well, I've got that woman out of the way," said Eustace bluntly, "so -that is something gained."</p> - -<p>"I'm not so sure of that," replied the doctor, biting his nails, a -habit he had when irritated; "of course I advised it, and it was done -for the best, still, upon my soul Mr. Gartney you must think me a -fool. Here am I, a duly accredited M.D., yet I don't know what steps -to take in order to cure my patient."</p> - -<p>"It is perplexing," sighed Eustace, drumming with his fingers on the -table. "Errington has got it into his head that this woman is his good -angel--faugh! to what lengths will love carry a man."</p> - -<p>"But you said he was not in love with her."</p> - -<p>"Neither is he! This is one of those rare cases which are veritable -enigmas. Most unaccountable. As far as I can see, the whole thing is -simply this. My cousin thinks his wife hates him, and, as Mrs. -Veilsturm has played her game so cleverly, believes she loves him. He -doesn't love her, but he is intensely grateful for what he thinks is -her disinterested kindness. Now she has withdrawn the light of her -countenance, he imagines that he is forsaken for the second time, and -his feeling is one of absolute despair."</p> - -<p>"'Thou cans't not minister to a mind diseased," quoted Storge, -musingly. "A very true remark of Shakespeare's. It seems to me, -judging from your theory, with which I must say I agree, that I'm in -very much the same dilemma. My drugs are no use while his mind is in -such a turmoil. You cure his mind, Gartney, and I'll cure his body."</p> - -<p>"It's all very well saying that," replied Eustace pettishly. "You give -me the hardest task."</p> - -<p>"Suppose you send for his wife?"</p> - -<p>"She won't come."</p> - -<p>"But surely when she knows----"</p> - -<p>"I tell you she won't come," repeated Eustace sternly, "she thinks he -has behaved shamefully, and I'm afraid she is rather unforgiving."</p> - -<p>Storge ran his hands through his hair in a most perplexed fashion, but -made no reply, as he was quite at his wits' end what to suggest. It -was as he suggested more a mental than a physical case, and though he -felt himself competent to deal with nerves, brain, or tissues, he was -quite helpless in this emergency, which required the aid of external -circumstances. Those external circumstances were best known to Eustace -Gartney, so that gentleman was the only man who could have any -influence in the matter.</p> - -<p>"I tell you what," said Gartney, after a pause, during which he had -been thinking deeply, "Errington imagines Mrs. Veilsturm an angel of -light, and is worrying himself because he thinks a good woman has -forgotten him. Suppose I show her to him in her true colours, and -then----"</p> - -<p>"And then," finished the doctor caustically, "you'll fix him up nicely -for a very bad attack of brain fever."</p> - -<p>"That is one presumption!"</p> - -<p>"The only one."</p> - -<p>"I don't agree with you! I'll undeceive him about Mrs. Veilsturm, and -then he'll see the snare he has escaped."</p> - -<p>"Oh, and do you think that will quiet him?" asked Dr. Storge -sarcastically.</p> - -<p>"I think it will turn his thoughts back to his wife. If so, I'll write -to her to come over----"</p> - -<p>"What about the forgiveness?"</p> - -<p>"I'll tell her it's a case of life and death. That will surely soften -her."</p> - -<p>"You whirl about like a weather-cock, my friend," said Storge grimly, -"you tell me decisively that the wife is unforgiving, and won't come, -then you say she might soften--which view is the right one?"</p> - -<p>"Both."</p> - -<p>"Impossible!"</p> - -<p>"Nothing is impossible with regard to a woman. But what do you say to -my plan?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know what to say."</p> - -<p>"Then I'll try it," said Eustace determinedly.</p> - -<p>"I don't approve of it," remarked Storge in desperation, "still, as -it's a case of brain fever if things go on like this, the chance of -accelerating the disease doesn't make much difference, so you'd better -begin your disillusionising at once."</p> - -<p>"Very well," replied Gartney with a sigh of relief, and this closed -the conversation.</p> - -<p>It was a disagreeable task to undertake, but not more so than that -connected with Mrs. Veilsturm, and Eustace made up his mind to speak -to Errington at once.</p> - -<p>"The sooner things are brought to a crisis the better," he thought, as -he went up to his cousin's room. "As they stand now, it's quite -impossible to move either way."</p> - -<p>Guy was lying with his arms outside the counterpane, when Mr. Gartney -entered, and turned his eyes, unnaturally bright, in the direction of -the door when he heard his cousin's footstep.</p> - -<p>"Anything from Mrs. Veilsturm?" he asked eagerly.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," responded Eustace, and took a seat beside the bed.</p> - -<p>"What can be the matter with her?" said Guy, feverishly. "Eustace, why -don't you find out? It's cruel of you to keep me in suspense."</p> - -<p>"I won't keep you in suspense any longer."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>Guy sat up in his bed with a cry, but Eustace forced him to lie down -again.</p> - -<p>"Keep quiet, or I won't tell you," he said sternly. "By-the-way, if -you don't want Albert, he had better go downstairs. I want to speak to -you privately."</p> - -<p>"Yes! yes! you can go, Albert. Mr. Gartney will stay with me."</p> - -<p>The well-trained valet bowed his head in answer, arranged a few things -on the little table beside the bed, and then noiselessly withdrew, -leaving the cousins together.</p> - -<p>"Well, Eustace, well?" said Guy, plucking restlessly at the -bedclothes. "What is the matter? Nothing wrong with Mrs. Veilsturm."</p> - -<p>"Not that I'm aware of," responded Gartney drily. "She is a lady who -can take remarkably good care of herself."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk like that about her," said Guy, with weak anger, "she is -my friend."</p> - -<p>"Your friend!" repeated Eustace scornfully. "Yes, the same kind of -friend as she is to every man!"</p> - -<p>"Eustace!"</p> - -<p>He sat up again with a fierce look on his face, but the calm gaze of -his cousin disconcerted him, and he sank back on the pillows with an -impatient sigh.</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you," he said fretfully. "I don't understand--my -head is aching--aching terribly."</p> - -<p>"Guy, old fellow," said Eustace, in his low, soft voice, which had -such an indescribable charm in its tones, "I want to speak to you -about your wife."</p> - -<p>"My wife?"</p> - -<p>"Yes! I have a confession to make to you. I love your wife."</p> - -<p>Guy looked at his cousin vacantly, and as if he did not understand.</p> - -<p>"You love my wife?" he repeated mechanically. "You love my wife?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Eustace, steadily, going through his self-imposed ordeal -with stern determination, although his face was grey with anguish and -his heart ached with pain and self-humiliation. "It's a terrible thing -to confess to you--to her husband--but true nevertheless. When I first -saw her at Como, I worshipped her for that calm, spiritual loveliness -which made her so beautiful in my eyes. But I said nothing, and went -into exile for her sake, trusting to come back and find her a happy -wife and mother. I went away to forget, and I came back to remember. -Oh, Guy, if you only knew how I have despised myself for thus thinking -about your wife; but believe me, it was not in the sensual fashion of -the world that I loved her. I worshipped her as one might worship a -star which is higher and purer than he who kneels to its splendour. My -love was pure, still I strove to crush it out of my heart, but all in -vain. I came back to England and saw her once more, a happy mother -indeed, but not a happy wife. It was not your fault, my poor boy, for -I know you did your best to win her heart, but her child blinded her -better nature, and she could not see that the father yearned for love, -and required it as much as the son. Then came the episode of Mrs. -Veilsturm, which was one of those cruel decrees of Fate which no man -can guard against. It parted you, as I thought, for ever, and you -obeyed the instincts of your lower nature, while she remained sternly -unforgiving in her purity--a purity which could not understand the -temptations of a weaker soul. I tried my best to make her look more -kindly on your mistake--as I am a living man, Guy, I did my best to -bring you together again, but it was all useless. Then I lost my head, -the devil whispered in my ear, and I spoke to her of love, and the -result was what you might have expected from your wife. She told me -that she loved her child, and would not stoop to dishonour for his -sake. But she said more--not in words indeed, but in looks, in manner, -in irrepressible tears--that she loved you, Guy, that she was sorry -for her cruel justice, that she longed for the father of her child, -for the husband of her vows, to clasp her in his arms once more. I was -punished for my daring to lift my eyes to her--I saw that I could be -nothing to such spotless purity of soul, and I left--I went away into -the outer darkness, intending to exile myself for ever from her sight. -Then the child died--the child whom she worshipped--the child who was -your strongest rival in her affections, and now she sits alone and in -solitude--robbed of her nearest and dearest--waiting for the sound of -her husband's voice, for the clasp of his arms, for the touch of his -lips."</p> - -<p>In his fervour, he had slipped from his chair, and was now kneeling -beside the bed, holding his cousin's hot hand in his own. The sick man -had listened dully to the long speech, but at the end he flung up his -disengaged hand with a bitter cry.</p> - -<p>"No! no! It is too late, it is too late."</p> - -<p>"It is not too late," said Eustace, earnestly. "I have told you the -truth. I have humiliated myself in your eyes because I am anxious to -repair my fault, to bring you together again. Let me send for your -wife, Guy, and believe me, she will come, only too gladly, to your -sick bed with words of forgiveness and regret."</p> - -<p>But the sick man rolled his head from side to side on the pillow with -dreary despair.</p> - -<p>"No; no! it cannot be. My wife can never be mine again--Maraquita----"</p> - -<p>"Maraquita Veilsturm!" interrupted Eustace, sternly. "Don't mention her -name in connection with that of your wife."</p> - -<p>"She was kind to me when Alizon was so cruel."</p> - -<p>"Kind, yes, for her own ends. Listen to me, Guy. Mrs. Veilsturm has -been using you as a means of revenge against your wife."</p> - -<p>All the listless despair disappeared from Errington's face, and he -wrenched his hand angrily away from Eustace. "What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly what I say," said Eustace hurriedly, seeing that his cousin -was getting excited, and determined to have the whole thing over and -done with it at once. "Do you think Mrs. Veilsturm ever forgave or -forgot the slight she received from your wife? Not she! I know Mrs. -Veilsturm, none better. However, I'm going to say nothing about her -except this, that she pretended to love you in order to cause trouble -between yourself and your wife. And now that she has succeeded, she -has gone off and left you, ill as you are, to do the best you can -without her."</p> - -<p>"No! it's not true! It can't be true," raved Guy, fiercely. "You -malign her, she is a true good woman, she loves me--she loves me."</p> - -<p>"I tell you she does not," said Eustace, rising to his feet, so as to -be ready for any emergency, for Guy looked so wild that he was afraid -he would spring upon him.</p> - -<p>"Liar! You cannot prove it!"</p> - -<p>"I can, and by her own handwriting."</p> - -<p>Guy snatched the letter Eustace held out to him, tore open the -envelope, glanced over the few cruel words of dismissal, and then, -dropping the paper, covered his face with his hands, moaning -pitifully.</p> - -<p>"You see now, my dear Guy, what this woman really is," said Gartney -tranquilly, picking up the letter; "a vindictive vixen, who simply -used you for her own ends."</p> - -<p>The baronet uncovered his face, and looked at Eustace in a vacant -manner, his eyes large and bright, his lips twitching with nervous -agitation, and a feverish flush on his hot, dry skin.</p> - -<p>"I must go to her," he said in a shrill voice, trying to rise from his -bed. "I must see her."</p> - -<p>"No! no! it's impossible," cried Eustace in alarm, holding him back; -"be reasonable, Guy, be reasonable. Stay where you are, Guy!"</p> - -<p>But Guy was now past all understanding, and struggled vehemently with -Eustace, uttering short cries of rage and terror like a caged animal. -His cousin's heart bled for the frenzied agony of the unhappy man, but -he saw that Guy was rapidly getting worse, and shouted for assistance. -No one answered, however, so having forced Guy to lie down with a -great effort, Eustace ran to the electric bell, and in a moment its -shrill summons rang through the house. In that moment, however, Guy -was out of bed, making for the window, swaying, staggering, raving, -with outstretched hands, and Eustace had just time to throw himself -on the madman--for he was nothing else at present--and prevent him -breaking the glass.</p> - -<p>Albert entered, and, seeing the state of affairs, shouted for aid, and -came forward to help Gartney, whose valet also came up stairs in -answer to their cries, and between them the three men managed to get -Guy back to bed, where they held him down, raving, crying, shrieking, -and entirely insane. Leaving the two servants in charge, Eustace went -down stairs and sent for the doctor, who arrived speedily on the scene -and prescribed such remedies as were necessary, although, truth to -tell, he could do but little.</p> - -<p>"Just what I expected," he said grimly, when things were going -smoother, "and now, Mr. Gartney, as you've carried out your first -intention, perhaps you'll carry out the second, and send for his -wife."</p> - -<p>"I suppose I must."</p> - -<p>"It's a case of life and death," said Storge, and walked out of the -room.</p> - -<p>In two minutes Eustace was on his way to the telegraph office. As he -walked rapidly down the street, the temptation came, the terrible -temptation that whispered to him not to send for Alizon.</p> - -<p>"If you do not," whispered the devil on his left, "Guy will die, and -you will be able to gain her for your wife."</p> - -<p>"No," said the good angel on his right. "She can never love you, you -could buy nothing, not even happiness, at the price of your cousin's -death."</p> - -<p>So Eustace walked along with these two angels, the bad and the good, -whispering in his ears, now inclining to one, now to the other, -fighting desperately against the temptations of the devil, and again -yielding to the insidious whisper of future joy to be won by a simple -act of neglect. In that short walk a whole life-time of agony passed, -but no one looking at this stalwart, calm-faced man striding along the -Street, could have guessed the hell that raged within.</p> - -<p>The powers of good and evil fought desperately for the possession of -this weak, wavering soul, that was in such sore straits, but in the -end the good angel prevailed, and Eustace sat down to write his -telegram.</p> - -<p>He wrote one to Alizon, as strongly worded as he was able, and a -second to Otterburn, telling him he must bring Lady Errington over at -once. In both he wrote the words, "It is a case of life and death," -those words that had been ringing in his ears ever since the doctor -had said them.</p> - -<p>Then, as he handed the telegram to the clerk, the temptation again -assailed him. It was not too late, let him withdraw the messages, tear -them up, and there would be a chance of his winning the woman he loved -instead of going into voluntarily exile. But at the price of a man's -life? No! that was too big a price to pay, and yet--he put down the -money demanded by the clerk and walked out of the post office.</p> - -<p>Outside in the sunshine he stood with drops of sweat on his forehead, -and the soul that had been saved from the commission of a great crime, -put up a prayer of thanks to God that this last temptation had passed, -and that the powers of evil had not prevailed in the hour of weakness.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_39" href="#div1Ref_39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></h4> -<h5>"AND KISSED AGAIN WITH TEARS."</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"You have returned with your face so fair,<br> -Your sweet blue eyes and your golden hair,<br> -Again to cherish--again to share<br> -This life of mine with its joy and care.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Alas, my dearest, the days were long,<br> -When memories came in a countless throng,<br> -To sing to my heart such a haunting song,<br> -Of things once right that had changed to wrong.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"You have returned just to heal the smart<br> -That Sorrow made with her cruel dart,<br> -Never again will we sigh and part.<br> -You once more are my leal sweetheart."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>The Hon. Angus Macjean's experiences of early married life could -hardly be called pleasant, seeing the demands made upon himself and -his bride by their mutual friends. Shortly after their marriage, Aunt -Jelly had died, thereby causing them to return to London before the -end of the honeymoon, then, during their visit to Lord Dunkeld, Mrs. -Macjean had been summoned south in order to console Lady Errington for -the loss of her child, and now as Eustace had telegraphed Alizon to -come over to her sick husband at San Remo, it was necessary that -Otterburn should escort her, for it was impossible, in her present -state of grief, that she could travel alone. The young couple, -therefore, did not get so much of each other's company as they -desired, and it said a great deal for the good nature of both, that -they were so ready to comfort the mourner, at the sacrifice of their -own desires, and the upsetting of all their plans.</p> - -<p>Life at Errington Hall was very dreary after the death of the heir, as -Victoria was constantly with the unhappy mother and Otterburn was left -to wander about with nothing but his own thoughts, which were not -particularly cheerful in the present aspect of affairs. Then came the -funeral, which Macjean had to look after entirely by himself, as -Eustace and Errington were both absent. The young man had received a -letter from Gartney, stating that Guy was too ill to travel, and -Victoria had shown it to Alizon, but, wrapped up in the selfishness of -grief for her great loss, she had made hardly any remark about this -new blow.</p> - -<p>Then came the peremptory telegrams summoning the wife to the bedside -of her sick husband, and Otterburn, through his wife, delicately -offered to accompany Lady Errington to San Remo as soon as she was -ready to start.</p> - -<p>Alizon was a long time making up her mind about going, as she -considered that her husband had grossly insulted her by his -openly-displayed passion for Mrs. Veilsturm. Still, on calm -reflection, she saw that she was to a great extent blameable for his -folly, and as the death of Sammy had considerably softened her heart -towards his wrong-doing, she determined to fulfil her duty as a wife -and go across to the Riviera at once. The child's death had left a -blank in her heart, and she felt that she must have someone to love -and console her, or she would go mad in the loneliness of her grief; -so with these thoughts in her heart she sent a telegram to Eustace, -announcing her departure, and prepared for the journey.</p> - -<p>She accepted Otterburn's escort as far as San Remo, but promised that -as soon as she was established by Guy's sick bed, Angus should return -to his wife, who was to be left behind at Errington Hall. Angus agreed -to this, and in company with the young man and her maid, she left -Victoria Station <i>en route</i> for the Italian Riviera.</p> - -<p>The whole journey seemed to her like a dream; the bright English -landscape, which she knew so well; the breezy passage across the -Channel, with the tossing waves and blue sky; Calais, with its -bustling crowd of natives and tourists; the long journey through the -pleasant Norman country, and then Paris, gay and glittering, where -they stayed all night. Next morning again in the train rushing -southward, past quaint, mediæval towns, with their high-peaked houses, -over slow-flowing rivers, through ancient forests already bearing the -touch of Autumn's finger--still onward, onward, till they reached -Marseilles, sitting by the blue waters of the Mediterranean. -Afterwards they continued their journey through smiling Provence, -along the sunny Riviera--Cannes, Mentone, Nice, all passed in their -turn; a glimpse of Monte Carlo, where the Goddess of Play sits -enthroned on high--palm-crowned Bordighera--deserted Ospedaletti, with -its lonely Casino--and at last San Remo, amid her grey olive-groves, -at the foot of the blue hills.</p> - -<p>Eustace was waiting for them at the railway-station, looking very -grave, and bowed silently to Lady Errington, as she stepped out of the -carriage.</p> - -<p>"Is he better?" she asked, looking haggardly at him, a tall slender -figure in her sweeping black robes.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid not--still we hope for the best."</p> - -<p>She made no reply, so after greeting Otterburn, Eustace conducted them -to a carriage, and they drove to the Hotel de la Mer. Alizon lost no -time, but asked to be taken at once to her husband's room. Eustace -tried to prepare her mind, so that the shock of seeing him should not -be too much, but she disregarded all his entreaties, and went up to -the darkened apartment where her husband was lying. One question only -she asked Gartney before she entered:</p> - -<p>"Is that woman here?"</p> - -<p>"Do you think I would have sent for you had she been?" he replied, -deeply hurt. "No I She has left San Remo, and will trouble you no -more."</p> - -<p>"Your doing?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>She gave him her slender, black-gloved hand for a moment, and then -passed to her husband's bedside, where her place was henceforth to be.</p> - -<p>The next morning Otterburn, having discharged his duty, returned to -his wife, and Lady Errington was left alone with Eustace to nurse the -man whom she never thought to meet with kindly feeling again.</p> - -<p>Guy was terribly ill for a long time, but as out of evil good -sometimes comes, there was no doubt that this illness was beneficial, -inasmuch as it showed Alizon the true state of her husband's heart. In -those long, dreary hours, as she sat beside the bed listening to his -incoherent ravings, she heard sufficient to convince her that Guy had -always tenderly loved her--that his apparent infidelity was the result -of despair, and that a word of forgiveness from her would have saved -him from the misery he had suffered. No explanation on the part of -Eustace Gartney--no explanation from her husband, had he been in good -health--would have convinced her of the truth, and there would always -have lurked in her heart a terrible suspicion that she had been sinned -against, which would have embittered her whole life. She would have -perhaps forgiven her husband, but she nevertheless would have believed -him guilty, and his presence would have been a constant regret and -reproach to the purity of her soul. But these wild mutterings, these -agonised ravings, revealed the true state of things--revealed at once -his weakness and his strength; so little by little the scales fell -from her eyes, and she saw how noble was this nature, how weak was the -soul, and how needful to its well-being was love and tenderness.</p> - -<p>Again, since the death of her child a terrible sense of utter -loneliness had fallen upon her, and now that she saw her mistaken -judgment of Guy's character all her being yearned for his love, and -this woman, who had only respected and admired him when he was well -and strong, now that he was prostrate and weak, passionately loved him -with all the intensity of her nature. The coldness of her nature had -departed, the frozen heart had melted, and often, overcome with terror -and dread, she flung herself on her knees beside the bed, praying to -God to spare her the husband she had never understood nor loved till -now. She never spoke to Eustace about Mrs. Veilsturm--all she knew or -cared to know was that this obstacle that had stood between herself -and her husband had been removed, and that the true feelings of that -husband had been revealed to her by the hand of God.</p> - -<p>During all this time Eustace acted the part of a brother, and never by -word or deed betrayed the true state of his feelings. Heaven alone -knew how he suffered in maintaining a cold, patient demeanour towards -the woman he loved, and his life, from the time of her arrival till -the hour he left San Remo, was one long martyrdom. Often she wondered -at his stoical calmness and apparent forgetfulness of the words he had -spoken to her at Errington Hall, but neither of them made any -reference to the past, and she thought that he was now cured of his -passion. Cured! Eustace laughed aloud to himself as he divined her -thoughts and contentment that it should be so, and he counted the -hours feverishly until such time as he could leave her with a -convalescent husband and depart from her presence, where he had to -hide his real feelings under a mask of cynical indifference.</p> - -<p>Owing to the unintermitting care of Dr. Storge, the careful nursing of -his wife, and the watchful tenderness of Gartney, the man who had been -sick unto death slowly recovered. The long nights of agony and -delirium were succeeded by hours of peaceful slumber, the disordered -brain righted itself slowly, and the vacant stare of the eyes and -babble of the tongue were succeeded by the light of sanity and the -words of sense. He was weak, it is true--very weak--but the first -moment of joy she had known since the death of her child came to -Alizon when one morning, while kneeling beside his bed, he called her -faintly by her name.</p> - -<p>"Alizon."</p> - -<p>"Yes, dear!--your wife."</p> - -<p>His wife!--was this his cold, stately wife who knelt so fondly beside -him? Were those eyes--shining with love, wet with tears--the cold blue -eyes that had so often frozen all demonstrations of affection? Was -that face, full of joyful relief and emotion, the marble countenance -that had never smiled lovingly on him since he had first beheld it? -No!--it could not be Alizon--it was some deceptive vision of the -brain, painting what might have been and yet---- She saw his state of -bewilderment, and, bending over, kissed him tenderly.</p> - -<p>"It is I--your wife!--wife not in name only, but in love and trust."</p> - -<p>A smile of joy flitted across his worn face, and he strove to put out -one weak hand.</p> - -<p>"Forgive," he said faintly, "forgive."</p> - -<p>"It is I who should ask forgiveness," she replied in a broken voice; -"I was harsh and cold, my dearest, and I do ask your forgiveness. Hush -do not say a word--you are very weak, and must not talk. Let me nurse -you back to health again, and then I will strive to be a better wife -to you than I have hitherto been."</p> - -<p>He said nothing, but lay on his pillows, with eyes shining with love, -a contented smile on his lips, and fell asleep, still holding his -wife's hand in his own.</p> - -<p>After this he mended quickly, for with the return of Alizon's -affection the desire of life had come back, and each day he grew -stronger because the vexed brain was now at rest, and the love of his -wife was a better medicine than any drugs of the doctor.</p> - -<p>"You see," said Storge to Eustace on leaving the chamber one day when -Guy had been pronounced convalescent, "what has cured him is not my -medicines, but his wife's affection. Ah, Shakespeare was a wise man -when he said, 'Thou canst not minister unto a mind diseased.' Love is -the only cure there."</p> - -<p>"Lucky mind to have such a cure," replied Gartney with a sigh; "some -minds have to bear their diseases till the end of life with no chance -of being mended."</p> - -<p>Storge said nothing, but he looked at him curiously, for he half -guessed the real state of the case, and sincerely pitied Eustace for -his unhappy passion.</p> - -<p>"Poor fellow," he thought as he departed, "he has wealth, health, fame -and popularity, yet he would give all these for what he will never -obtain--the heart of that woman."</p> - -<p>Guy's complete recovery was now only a question of a few weeks, so -Eustace, feeling that he could not keep up the pretence of -indifference much longer, made up his mind to depart. With this idea -he produced a letter from Laxton one evening when he was seated with -Alizon by the bed of the convalescent.</p> - -<p>"I've just got a letter from my friend," he said cheerfully, "and he -wants me to come back to England at once."</p> - -<p>"What for?" asked Guy quickly.</p> - -<p>"Oh, our African expedition, you know," replied Eustace, smoothing out -the letter. "I put it off because of your illness, but now you are on -the way to recovery I can leave you with safety in the hands of -Alizon."</p> - -<p>"I never saw such a fellow," said Guy, fretfully. "Why on earth can't -you stay at home, instead of scampering all round the world?"</p> - -<p>Eustace laughed, yet his mirth was rather forced.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I've got a strain of gipsy blood in me somewhere," he -said, jokingly, "and I can't rest; besides, I really and truly prefer -savages to civilized idiots of the London type. They're every bit as -decent, and much more amusing."</p> - -<p>All this time, Lady Errington had remained silent in deep thought, but -at the conclusion of Gartney's speech, she looked up with a grave -face.</p> - -<p>"When do you start?" she asked quietly.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow morning."</p> - -<p>"So soon?" she said, with a start.</p> - -<p>"Hang it, Eustace, you might have given us longer notice," remarked -Guy, in a displeased tone of voice.</p> - -<p>"<i>Cui bono?</i>" said Gartney, listlessly. "Long leave-takings are a -mistake, I think--the opposite of 'linked sweetness long drawn out.' I -always like to come and go quickly, so I'll say goodbye to-night, and -be off the first thing in the morning."</p> - -<p>Neither Guy nor his wife made any further remark, as they both felt -dimly that it would be happier for Eustace to go away as soon as -possible. It was not ingratitude, it was not a desire to lose his -company, but what he had said to the wife, and what he had said to the -husband, recurred to both their memories, and they silently acquiesced -in his decision.</p> - -<p>"Before I go," said Eustace, after a pause, "there is one thing I wish -to say. Can I speak to you both without offence?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," replied Guy, wondering what was coming. "We both owe you -more than we can ever repay."</p> - -<p>"You can repay it easily," said Gartney, quickly, "by accepting the -proposition I am about to make."</p> - -<p>"Let us hear what it is first," observed Alizon, looking up for a -moment with a faint smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>"It will not take long to explain," answered Gartney, in a -matter-of-fact tone. "You know I am rich enough to indulge all my -whims and fancies, so this new access of wealth from Aunt Jelly, is -absolutely useless to me. It ought to have been left to Guy, and had I -spoken to Aunt Jelly before she died, no doubt I would have made her -see this. As it is, however, it has been left to me, and I do not want -it. Guy, however, does so. I wish to make him a free gift of all the -property before leaving for Africa."</p> - -<p>"No," said Guy resolutely, "I will not take a penny."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Because it was left to you. I do not want to rob you."</p> - -<p>"It's not a question of robbery," said Eustace, coolly, "if the money -was of any use to me, I'd keep it. But it is not. I do not even know -that I would touch it, so it's far better to be employed by you than -lying idle in my bank. What do you say, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>She flushed painfully.</p> - -<p>"What can I say?"</p> - -<p>"That you will persuade this obstinate husband of yours to take the -money."</p> - -<p>"But suppose he won't accept?"</p> - -<p>"Which is his firm intention," said Guy, quickly.</p> - -<p>"In that case," remarked Eustace grimly, "I shall simply hand it over -to the most convenient charity, say 'The Society for the Suppression -of Critics,' or 'The Fund for Converted Publishers'--but keep it, I -will not."</p> - -<p>"You're talking nonsense," cried Guy, impatiently. "The sober truth, I -assure you."</p> - -<p>There was silence for a few moments, and at last the silence was -broken by Guy.</p> - -<p>"If I thought you were in earnest----" he began slowly.</p> - -<p>"Dead earnest," said Eustace.</p> - -<p>"Then I suppose it will be best to accept your Quixotic offer."</p> - -<p>"I'm glad you look at it in such a sensible light," retorted Gartney, -with an air of great relief. "You agree with Guy, Alizon?"</p> - -<p>She raised her eyes slowly to his face, and looked steadily at him -before making her reply.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I agree with Guy," she answered frankly.</p> - -<p>"Then it's settled," said Eustace with a huge sigh. "I can't tell you -how glad I am to escape being buried under this weight of wealth, like -Tarpeia under the shields of the Sabines. An old illustration, is it -not, but remarkably apt. You will be able to clear the mortgages off -the Hall, Guy, and live there in a manner befitting the place. I will -see my lawyers as soon as I return to England, so you will have no -further trouble over the matter."</p> - -<p>"And what about yourself?" asked Alizon, impulsively.</p> - -<p>"Myself?" he echoed, rising slowly from his chair. "Oh, I am going -away to foreign parts. The land of Khem--the blameless Ethiopians--the -secret sources of the Nile, and all that kind of thing."</p> - -<p>"But when you come back?" said Errington, raising himself on his -elbow.</p> - -<p>"When I come back," said Eustace sadly, a presentiment of coming doom -heavy on his soul, "then I'll see you both happy and honoured. Perhaps -you'll find a domestic seat for me by the domestic hearth, and I'll -tell stories of mysterious lands to future generations of Erringtons."</p> - -<p>Again silence, a painful, oppressive silence, which seemed to last an -eternity.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, dear old fellow," said Eustace at last, with a mighty -effort.</p> - -<p>Guy clasped his hand without a word, his heart being too full to -speak.</p> - -<p>"And you also, Alizon."</p> - -<p>She gave him her hand also, and there they stood, husband and wife, -with their hands clasped in those of the man whom they both knew had -fought a good fight--and conquered.</p> - -<p>"Goodbye, Eustace," whispered the woman at last, with a look of -infinite gratitude and pity in her deep eyes. "May God keep -you--brother."</p> - -<p>And under the spell of that gentle benediction, he passed away from -their sight for ever.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_40" href="#div1Ref_40">CHAPTER XL.</a></h4> -<h5>A LETTER FROM HOME.</h5> -<br> -<div style="font-size:smaller; margin-left:10%"> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"I thought that our old life was over and done with,</p> -<p class="t2">And ever apart we would wander alone,</p> -<p class="t1">That Clotho had broken the distaff she spun with,</p> -<p class="t1">Weaving the weird web that made my life one with</p> -<p class="t2">Your own.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Yea, but this letter unbidden appeareth,</p> -<p class="t2">A sorrowful ghost of the sweetness of yore.</p> -<p class="t1">Bringing dear thoughts which the lonely heart cheereth,</p> -<p class="t1">Recalling the words which the heavy soul heareth</p> -<p class="t2">No more.</p> -<br> -<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-10px">"Ah, but love's blossom can ne'er bloom again, love,</p> -<p class="t2">Withered and brown it lies dead in my heart,</p> -<p class="t2">There let it faded and broken remain, love,</p> -<p class="t1">We must live ever while years wax and wane, love,</p> -<p class="t2">Apart."</p> -</div> -<br> -<p>At the entrance to a tent a man sat silent, watching the setting sun. -A wild scene, truly, far beyond the bounds of civilization, where the -foot of the white man had never trodden before, where the savage -tribes had lived since the first of Time in primeval simplicity, where -Nature, with lavish hand, spread her uncultured luxuriance in forest, -in mountain, and in plain, under a burning, tropical sky. It was a -scene far in the interior of Africa, that mysterious continent, which -has yet to yield up her secrets to the dogged curiosity of European -races.</p> - -<p>The man was reading a letter, a letter that had come through swamp, -through jungle, over mountains, across plains, by the hands of savage -carriers, the last letter he would receive before plunging still -deeper into the unknown lands beyond, the last link that bound him to -civilization--a letter from home.</p> - -<p>Inside the tent, another man was also reading letters, from friends -and club companions, which gave him all the latest gossip of that -London, now so far away, but he read them lightly, and tossed them -aside with a careless hand. The man outside, however, had only one -letter, and, as he read it, his eyes grew moist, blinding him so much -that he could not see the writing, and looking up, gazed at the scene -before him through a blurred mist of tears.</p> - -<p>Undulating grass plains, a wide river winding through the country like -a silver serpent, clumps of tropical trees, and a distant vision of -fantastic peaks, all flushed with splendid colours under the fierce -light of the sunset. And the sky, like a delicate shell of pale pink, -fading off in the east to cold blue and sombre shadows, in the west -deepening into vivid billowy masses of golden clouds, which tried -unsuccessfully to veil the intolerable splendour of the sinking sun. A -breath of odorous wind under the burning sky, the chattering of -monkeys, the shrieking of brilliant-coloured parrots, and the low, -guttural song of a naked negro cleaning his weapons in the near camp.</p> - -<p>The man looked at all this with vague, unseeing eyes, for his thoughts -were far away, then, dashing away the tears, he once more began to -read the letter he held in his hand.</p> - -<br> -<p class="continue">"<span class="sc">My dear Eustace</span>,</p> - -<p>"I can hardly believe that it is nine months since you left us. I -wonder in what part of Africa you will read this letter, that is, if -it ever reaches you, of which I have considerable doubt. The papers, -of course, informed us of your many months of delay at Zanzibar before -you could go forward, so perhaps this letter may reach you before you -get beyond the confines of civilization. I was very much astonished to -hear you were at Zanzibar, as I thought you left England with the -intention of going up the Nile, and getting into the inland country -that way. However, I suppose you had good reason for changing your -plans, and are now pushing forward into unknown lands.</p> - -<p>"I have a great deal to tell you about ourselves and friends, which I -am sure you will be pleased to hear. In the first place, both my wife -and myself are completely happy--all the clouds of our earlier life -have vanished, and I think that no married pair can have such perfect -confidence and love for one another. I ascribe this happy state of -things to you, dear old fellow, for had you not made Mrs. Veilsturm -leave San Remo, and brought my wife to my sick bed, we could never -have come together again. I know, good friend that you are, you -will be pleased to hear we are so perfectly happy, and that every -year--every day--every hour, my wife grows dearer to me. As I write -these words her dear face is bending over my shoulder to read what I -have set down, and she cordially endorses what I have said.</p> - -<p>"Thanks to your kind gift of Aunt Jelly's money, all things -pecuniarily are well with me. I have paid off the mortgages on the -Hall, and invested the rest of the money, so what with the income -arising from such investments, and my rents, now regularly coming to -me instead of to the lawyers, I am quite a rich man, and the -Erringtons can once wore hold up their head in the county as a -representative family.</p> - -<p>"By-the-way, I have some news to give you about our mutual friend, -Mrs. Veilsturm, with whom I was so infatuated. She went on to New -York, followed by Dolly Thambits, and has now married him. He is a -young idiot to be sure, but then he has an excellent income, and that -is all she cares about. Won't she spend his thousands for him? Well, I -think you and I agree on that subject. Regarding Major Griff, she -evidently found him less useful after than before she became Mrs. -Thambits, so she has pensioned him off with a few thousands, and I -hear the Major has gone to Central America, with a view to entering -the service of one of the republics of those regions. His future fate -is not hard to prophesy, as he will either become President or be -shot, but in either event I don't think he'll trouble our fair friend -again who has retired so peacefully into married life. Next year, I -believe, she is coming to town, and is going to cut a great dash, -so no doubt Mrs. Thambits will be even more popular than Mrs. -Veilsturm--although, I dare say, there will not be any Sunday evenings -of the Monte Carlo style.</p> - -<p>"You will perhaps wonder at my writing so coolly about this lady, but -the fact is, I now see only too clearly the danger I escaped. She -would have ruined my life, and certainly made a good attempt to do so, -only you fortunately intervened in time. What magic you used to force -her to leave me alone I do not know, but I certainly have to thank you -for extricating me from a very perilous position.</p> - -<p>"Another item of news. Mrs. Macjean has presented the delighted -Otterburn with a son and heir. By-the-way, I should not call him -Otterburn, as, by the death of his father four months ago, he is -now Lord Dunkeld. But old habits are hard to get rid of, and I always -talk of them as Mrs. Macjean and Otterburn. They are very happy, as -they deserve to be, for Dunkeld is a real good fellow, and Lady -Dunkeld--well, she is all that is charming.</p> - -<p>"Do you remember Miss Minnie Pelch, poor Aunt Jelly's companion? She -is now down at Errington with us, as she was so lonely in town that -Alizon took pity on her, and she is installed as companion at the -Hall. Her volume of verse came out in due splendour, and was entirely -overlooked by the press, at which I am not sorry, as if the poems had -been noticed--well, you know the poems of old. Minnie, however, thinks -this silence is jealousy, and quite looks upon herself as a shining -light of the Victorian age, so neither Alizon nor I undeceive her, for -she is a good little woman, though somewhat of a bore with her -infernal--I mean eternal--poetry.</p> - -<p>"I really don't think there is any more news to tell you, except that -good old Mrs. Trubbles is dead--apoplexy--and her dear Harry is now on -the look-out for another spouse with political influence--I wish it -was 'poetical influence,' and we might manage to marry him to Miss -Pelch.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Dolser and 'The Pepper Box' have both gone under, never to rise -again I hope. Some dreadful libel on a high personage appeared, at -which the H.P. took umbrage, and the editor is now expiating his -offence in prison. I can't say I'm very sorry, as when he is released -Mr. Dolser will no doubt leave other people's affairs alone. Such men -as he are the curse of the present age, and should all be sunk in the -Atlantic for at least half an hour--after that I think we'd have no -more trouble with them.</p> - -<p>"And now, my dear cousin, I must close this long letter, but first, in -confidence, let me hint to you that my wife is expecting an -interesting event to take place shortly, which will once more render -the nursery a necessity. Poor Alizon has borne up bravely since the -death of Sammy, but I know she longs for a child of her own to fill -the vacant place in her heart. I am no longer afraid of having a rival -in my child, as my wife loves and trusts me now, and my lot is as -perfectly happy a one as any mortal can hope for.</p> - -<p>"So now goodbye, my dear Eustace. I hope we will soon see you back -again at the Hall, where there is always a place for you. My wife -sends her kindest regards to you, and so do I, thus closing this -letter, and remaining</p> - -<p style="text-indent:40%">"Your affectionate Cousin,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">"<span class="sc">Guy Errington</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p>When Eustace finished reading the letter he let it fall on the ground, -and laughed bitterly.</p> - -<p>"Kindest regards," he said sadly, "and I gave her love."</p> - -<p>The sun was sinking swiftly behind the dark hills, and Gartney, with -his hand supporting his chin, sat watching it, thinking of the days -that were no more.</p> - -<p>So sad, so melancholy he felt, as he thought of the past, of the woman -he loved so fondly, whom he had restored to the arms of her husband at -the cost of his own happiness. Surely, if he had been selfish, vain -and egotistical all his life, he had expiated these sins by his -voluntary sacrifice of self--a sacrifice that had banished all delight -from his heart.</p> - -<p>And he sat there a lonely exile, with sorrow behind him, and danger -before him, while the sun sank in the burning west, and the sable -wings of night spread over the earth like a sombre pall.</p> - -<p>There was darkness on the world, there was darkness in his heart, and -from the midst of the shadows still sounded the melancholy chaunt of -the slave.</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:1em">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<h4><span class="sc">Extract from "The Morning Planet."</span></h4> - -<p>"By a telegram from Zanzibar there now seems no doubt that the two -young Englishmen, who went into the interior of Africa some months -ago, have been massacred. Only one survivor of the expedition escaped -and managed to get safely to the coast. According to his story, Mr. -Laxton was speared first by hostile natives from an ambush. Afterwards -Mr. Gartney met with the same fate, although he defended himself for -some time with his revolver.</p> - -<p>"Much regret will be felt in England at this sad news, as the two -deceased gentlemen were both very popular, Mr. Gartney especially -being widely known as a charming poet and essayist. He, was very -wealthy, and we hear that all his property, by a will executed before -he left England, has been left to Lady Errington, of Errington Hall, -Dreamshire."</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:1em">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p>So that was the end of Eustace Gartney.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>FINIS</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Whom God Hath Joined, by Fergus Hume - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHOM GOD HATH JOINED *** - -***** This file should be named 55571-h.htm or 55571-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/5/7/55571/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (University of Illinois Library) - -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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