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diff --git a/6010-h/6010-h.htm b/6010-h/6010-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..358e0d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/6010-h/6010-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12668 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + What's Bred in the Bone, by Grant Allen + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of What's Bred In the Bone, by Grant Allen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: What's Bred In the Bone + +Author: Grant Allen + +Release Date: May 24, 2013 [EBook #6010] +Last Updated: September 10, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE *** + + + + +Etext produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + WHAT’S BRED IN THE BONE. + </h1> + <h2> + By Grant Allen + </h2> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. — ELMA’S STRANGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. — TWO’S COMPANY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. — CYRIL WARING’S + BROTHER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. — INSIDE THE TUNNEL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. — GRATITUDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. — TWO STRANGE MEETINGS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. — KELMSCOTT OF TILGATE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. — ELMA BREAKS OUT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. — AND AFTER? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. — COLONEL KELMSCOTT’S + REPENTANCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. — A FAMILY JAR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. — IN SILENCE AND TEARS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. — BUSINESS FIRST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. — MUSIC HATH POWER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. — THE PATH OF DUTY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. — STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. — VISIONS OF WEALTH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. — GENTLE WOOER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. — SELF OR BEARER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. — MONTAGUE NEVITT FINESSES. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. — COLONEL KELMSCOTT’S + PUNISHMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. — CROSS PURPOSES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. — GUY IN LUCK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. — A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. — LEAD TRUMPS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. — A CHANCE MEETING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. — SOMETHING TO THEIR + ADVANTAGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. — MISTAKEN IDENTITY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. — WOMAN’S INTUITION + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. — FRESH DISCOVERIES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. — “GOLDEN JOYS.” + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. — A NEW DEPARTURE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. — TIME FLIES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. — A STROKE FOR FREEDOM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. — PERILS BY THE WAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. — DESERTED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. — AUX ARMES! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. — NEWS FROM THE CAPE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. — A GLEAM OF LIGHT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. — THE BOLT FALLS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. — WHAT JUDGE? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. — UNEXPECTED EVIDENCE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. — SIR GILBERT’S + TEMPTATION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. — AT BAY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. — ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS + WELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> THE END. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. — ELMA’S STRANGER. + </h2> + <p> + It was late when Elma reached the station. Her pony had jibbed on the way + downhill, and the train was just on the point of moving off as she hurried + upon the platform. Old Matthews, the stout and chubby-cheeked + station-master, seized her most unceremoniously by the left arm, and + bundled her into a carriage. He had known her from a child, so he could + venture upon such liberties. + </p> + <p> + “Second class, miss? Yes, miss. Here y’are. Look sharp, + please. Any more goin’ on? All right, Tom! Go ahead there!” + And lifting his left hand, he whistled a shrill signal to the guard to + start her. + </p> + <p> + As for Elma, somewhat hot in the face with the wild rush for her ticket, + and grasping her uncounted change, pence and all, in her little gloved + hand, she found herself thrust, hap-hazard, at the very last moment, into + the last compartment of the last carriage—alone—with an + artist. + </p> + <p> + Now, you and I, to be sure, most proverbially courteous and intelligent + reader, might never have guessed at first sight, from the young man’s + outer aspect, the nature of his occupation. The gross and clumsy male + intellect, which works in accordance with the stupid laws of inductive + logic, has a queer habit of requiring something or other, in the way of + definite evidence, before it commits itself offhand to the distinct + conclusion. But Elma Clifford was a woman; and therefore she knew a more + excellent way. HER habit was, rather to look things once fairly and + squarely in the face, and then, with the unerring intuition of her sex, to + make up her mind about them firmly, at once and for ever. That’s one + of the many glorious advantages of being born a woman. You don’t + need to learn in order to know. You know instinctively. And yet our girls + want to go to Girton, and train themselves up to be senior wranglers! + </p> + <p> + Elma Clifford, however, had NOT been to Girton, so, as she stumbled into + her place, she snatched one hurried look at Cyril Wiring’s face, and + knew at a glance he was a landscape painter. + </p> + <p> + Now, this was clever of her, even in a woman, for Cyril Waring, as he + fondly imagined, was travelling that line that day disguised as a + stock-broker. In other words, there was none of the brown velveteen + affectation about his easy get-up. He was an artist, to be sure, but he + hadn’t assiduously and obtrusively dressed his character. Instead of + cutting his beard to a Vandyke point, or enduing his body in a Titianesque + coat, or wearing on his head a slouched Rembrandt hat, stuck carelessly + just a trifle on one side in artistic disorder, he was habited, for all + the world like anybody else, in the grey tweed suit of the common British + tourist, surmounted by the light felt hat (or bowler), to match, of the + modern English country gentleman. Even the soft silk necktie of a delicate + aesthetic hue that adorned his open throat didn’t proclaim him at + once a painter by trade. It showed him merely as a man of taste, with a + decided eye for harmonies of colour. + </p> + <p> + So when Elma pronounced her fellow-traveller immediately, in her own mind, + a landscape artist, she was exercising the familiar feminine prerogative + of jumping, as if by magic, to a correct conclusion. It’s a + provoking way they have, those inscrutable women, which no mere male human + being can ever conceivably fathom. + </p> + <p> + She was just about to drop down, as propriety demands, into the corner + seat diagonally opposite to—and therefore as far as possible away + from—her handsome companion, when the stranger rose, and, with a + very flushed face, said, in a hasty, though markedly deferential and + apologetic tone— + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, but—excuse me for mentioning it—I + think you’re going to sit down upon—ur—pray don’t + be frightened—a rather large snake of mine.” + </p> + <p> + There was something so comically alarmed in the ring of his tone—as + of a naughty schoolboy detected in a piece of mischief—that, + propriety to the contrary notwithstanding, Elma couldn’t for the + life of her repress a smile. She looked down at the seat where the + stranger pointed, and there, sure enough, coiled up in huge folds, with + his glossy head in attitude to spring at her, a great banded snake lay + alert and open-eyed. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” Elma cried, drawing back a little in surprise, but + not at all in horror, as she felt she ought to do. “A snake! How + curious! I hope he’s not dangerous.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” the young man answered, still in the same + half-guilty tone of voice as before. “He’s of a poisonous + kind, you know; but his fangs have been extracted. He won’t do you + any injury. He’s perfectly harmless. Aren’t you, Sardanapalus? + Eh, eh, my beauty? But I oughtn’t to have let him loose in the + carriage, of course,” he added, after a short pause. “It’s + calculated to alarm a nervous passenger. Only I thought I was alone, and + nobody would come in; so I let him out for a bit of a run between the + stations. It’s so dull for him, poor fellow, being shut up in his + box all the time when he’s travelling.” + </p> + <p> + Elma looked down at the beautiful glossy creature with genuine admiration. + His skin was like enamel; his banded scales shone bright and silvery. She + didn’t know why, but somehow she felt she wasn’t in the least + afraid of him. “I suppose one ought to be repelled at once by a + snake,” she said, taking the opposite seat, and keeping her glance + fixed firmly upon the reptile’s eye; “but then, this is such a + handsome one! I can’t say why, but I don’t feel afraid of him + at all as I ought, to do. Every right-minded person detests snakes, don’t + they? And yet, how exquisitely flexible and beautiful he is! Oh, pray don’t + put him back in his box for me. He’s basking in the sun here. I + should be sorry to disturb him.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Waring looked at her in considerable surprise. He caught the + creature in his hands as he spoke, and transferred it at once to a tin + box, with a perforated lid, that lay beside him. “Go back, + Sardanapalus,” he said, in a very musical and pleasant voice, + forcing the huge beast into the lair with gentle but masterful hands. + “Go back, and go to sleep, sir. It’s time for your nap. ... Oh + no, I couldn’t think of letting him out any more in the carriage to + the annoyance of others. I’m ashamed enough as it is of having + unintentionally alarmed you. But you came in so unexpectedly, you see, I + hadn’t time to put my queer pet away; and, when the door opened, I + was afraid he might slip out, or get under the seats, so all I could do + was just to soothe him with my hand, and keep him quiet till the door was + shut to again.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I wasn’t at all afraid of him,” Elma answered, + slipping her change into her pocket, and looking prettier through her + blush than even her usual self. “On the contrary, I really liked to + see him. He’s such a glorious snake! The lights and shades on his + back are so glancing and so wonderful! He’s a perfect model. Of + course, you’re painting him.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger started. “I’m painting him—yes, that’s + true,” he replied, with a look of sudden surprise; “but why + ‘of course,’ please? How on earth could you tell I was an + artist even?” + </p> + <p> + Elma glanced back in his face, and wondered to herself, too. Now she came + to think of it, HOW did she know that handsome young man, with the + charming features, and the expressive eyes, and the neatly-cut brown + beard, and the attractive manner, was an artist at all, or anything like + it? And how did she know the snake was his model? For the life of her, she + couldn’t have answered those questions herself. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I just guessed it,” she answered, after a short + pause, blushing still more deeply at the sudden way she had thus been + dragged into conversation with the good-looking stranger. Elma’s + skin was dark—a clear and creamy olive-brown complexion, such as one + sometimes sees in southern Europe, though rarely in England; and the + effect of the blush through it didn’t pass unnoticed by Cyril Waring’s + artistic eye. He would have given something for the chance of transferring + that delicious effect to canvas. The delicate transparency of the blush + threw up those piercing dark eyes, and reflected lustre even on the glossy + black hair that fringed her forehead. Not an English type of beauty at + all, Elma Clifford’s, he thought to himself as he eyed her closely: + rather Spanish or Italian, or say even Hungarian. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you guessed right, at any rate,” he went on, settling + down in his seat once more, after boxing his snake, but this time face to + face with her. “I’m working at a beautiful bit of fern and + foliage—quite tropical in its way—in a wood hereabout; and I’ve + introduced Sardanapalus, coiled up in the foreground, just to give life to + the scene, don’t you know, and an excuse for a title. I mean to call + it ‘The Rajah’s Rest.’ Behind, great ferns and a mossy + bank; in front, Sardanapalus, after tiffin, rolled spirally round, and + taking his siesta.” + </p> + <p> + This meeting was a long-wished-for occasion. Elma had never before met a + real live painter. Now, it was the cherished idea of her youth to see + something some day of that wonderful non-existent fantastic world which we + still hope for and dream about and call Bohemia. She longed to move in + literary and artistic circles. She had fashioned to herself, like many + other romantic girls, a rose-coloured picture of Bohemian existence; not + knowing indeed that Bohemia is now, alas! an extinct province, since + Belgravia and Kensington swallowed it bodily down, digested, and + assimilated it. So this casual talk with the handsome young artist in the + second-class carriage, on the Great Southern line, was to Elma as a + charming and delightful glimpse of an enchanted region she could never + enter. It was Paradise to the Peri. She turned the conversation at once, + therefore, with resolute intent upon art and artists, determined to make + the most while it lasted of this unique opportunity. And since the subject + of self, with an attentive listener, is always an attractive one, even to + modest young men like Cyril Waring—especially when it’s a + pretty girl who encourages you to dilate upon it—why, the + consequence was, that before many minutes were over, the handsome young + man was discoursing from his full heart to a sympathetic soul about his + chosen art, its hopes and its ideals, accompanied, by a running fire of + thumb-nail illustrations. He had even got so far in the course of their + intimacy as to take out the portfolio, which lay hidden under the seat—out + of deference to his disguise as a stock-broker, no doubt—and to + display before Elma’s delighted eyes, with many explanatory comments + as to light and shade, or perspective and foreshortening, the studies for + the picture he had just then engaged upon. + </p> + <p> + By-and-by, as his enthusiasm warmed under Elma’s encouragement, the + young artist produced Sardanapalus himself once more from his box, and + with deftly persuasive fingers coiled him gracefully round on the opposite + seat into the precise attitude he was expected to take up when he sat for + his portrait in the mossy foreground. + </p> + <p> + Elma couldn’t say why, but that creature fascinated her. The longer + she looked at him the more intensely he interested her. Not that she was + one bit afraid of him, as she might reasonably have expected to be, + according to all womanly precedent. On the contrary, she felt an + overwhelming desire to take him up in her own hands and stroke and fondle + him. He was so lithe and beautiful; his scales so glistened! At last she + stretched out one dainty gloved hand to pet the spotted neck. + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” the painter cried, in a warning voice; “don’t + be frightened if he springs at you. He’s vicious at times. But his + fangs are drawn; he can’t possibly hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + The warning, however, was quite unnecessary. Sardanapalus, instead of + springing, seemed to recognise a friend. He darted out his forked tongue + in rapid vibration, and licked her neat grey glove respectfully. Then, + lifting his flattened head with serpentine deliberation, he coiled his + great folds slowly, slowly, with sinuous curves, round the girl’s + soft arm till he reached her neck in long, winding convolutions. There he + held up his face, and trilled his swift, sibilant tongue once more with + evident pleasure. He knew his place. He was perfectly at home at once with + the pretty, olive-skinned lady. His master looked on in profound surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you’re a perfect snake-charmer,” he cried at last, + regarding her with open eyes of wonder. “I never saw Sardanapalus + behave like that with a stranger before. He’s generally by no means + fond of new acquaintances. You must be used to snakes. Perhaps you’ve + kept one? You’re accustomed of old to their ways and manners?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” Elma cried, laughing in spite of herself, a + clear little laugh of feminine triumph; for she had made a conquest, she + saw, of Sardanapalus; “I never so much as touched one in all my life + before. And I thought I should hate them. But this one seems quite tame + and tractable. I’m not in the least afraid of him. He is so soft and + smooth, and his movements are all so perfectly gentle.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s the way with snakes, always,” Cyril Waring + put in, with an admiring glance at the pretty, fearless brunette and her + strange companion. “They know at once whether people like them or + not, and they govern themselves accordingly. I suppose it’s + instinct. When they see you’re afraid of them, they spring and hiss; + but when they see you take to them by nature, they make themselves + perfectly at home in a moment. They don’t wait to be asked. They’ve + no false modesty. Well, then, you see,” he went on, drawing + imaginary lines with his ticket on the sketch he was holding up, “I + shall work in Sardanapalus just there, like that, coiled round in a spire. + You catch the idea, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Elma’s eye, following his hand while it moved, chanced + to fall suddenly on the name of the station printed on the ticket with + which he was pointing. She gave a sharp little start. + </p> + <p> + “Warnworth!” she cried, flushing up, with some slight + embarrassment in her voice; “why, that’s ever so far back. We’re + long past Warnworth. We ran by it three or four stations behind; in fact, + it’s the next place to Chetwood, where I got in at.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Waring looked up with a half-guilty smile as embarrassed as her own. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” he said quietly. “I knew that quite well. I’m + down here often. It’s half-way between Chetwood and Warnworth I’m + painting. But I thought—well, if you’ll excuse me saying it, I + thought I was so comfortable and so happy where I was, that I might just + as well go on a station or two more, and then pay the difference, and take + the next train back to Warnworth. You see,” he added, after a pause, + with a still more apologetic and penitent air, “I saw you were so + interested in—well, in snakes, you know, and pictures.” + </p> + <p> + Gentle as he was, and courteous, and perfectly frank with her, Elma, + nevertheless, felt really half inclined to be angry at this queer avowal. + That is to say, at least, she knew it was her bounden duty, as an English + lady, to seem so; and she seemed so accordingly with most Britannic + severity. She drew herself up in a very stiff style, and stared fixedly at + him, while she began slowly and steadily to uncoil Sardanapalus from her + imprisoned arm with profound dignity. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry I should have brought you so far out of your way,” + she said, in a studied cold voice—though that was quite untrue, for, + as a matter of fact, she had enjoyed their talk together immensely. + “And besides, you’ve been wasting your valuable time when you + ought to have been painting. You’ll hardly get any work done now at + all this morning. I must ask you to get out at the very next station.” + </p> + <p> + The young man bowed with a crestfallen air. “No time could possibly + be wasted,” he began, with native politeness, “that was spent—” + Then he broke off quite suddenly. “I shall certainly get out + wherever you wish,” he went on, more slowly, in an altered voice; + “and I sincerely regret if I’ve unwittingly done anything to + annoy you in any way. The fact is, the talk carried me away. It was art + that misled me. I didn’t mean, I’m sure, to obtrude myself + upon you.” + </p> + <p> + And even as he spoke they whisked, unawares, into the darkness of a + tunnel. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. — TWO’S COMPANY. + </h2> + <p> + Elma was just engaged in debating with herself internally how a young lady + of perfect manners and impeccable breeding, travelling without a chaperon, + ought to behave under such trying circumstances, after having allowed + herself to be drawn unawares into familiar conversation with a most + attractive young artist, when all of a sudden a rapid jerk of the carriage + succeeded in extricating her perforce, and against her will, from this + awkward dilemma. Something sharp pulled up their train unexpectedly. She + was aware of a loud noise and a crash in front, almost instantaneously + followed by a thrilling jar—a low dull thud—a sound of broken + glass—a quick blank stoppage. Next instant she found herself flung + wildly forward into her neighbour’s arms, while the artist, for his + part, with outstretched hands, was vainly endeavouring to break the force + of the fall for her. + </p> + <p> + All she knew for the first few minutes was merely that there had been an + accident to the train, and they were standing still now in the darkness of + the tunnel. + </p> + <p> + For some seconds she paused, and gasped hard for breath, and tried in vain + to recall her scattered senses. Then slowly she sank back on the seat once + more, vaguely conscious that something terrible had happened to the train, + but that neither she nor her companion were seriously injured. + </p> + <p> + As she sank back in her place, Cyril Waring bent forward towards her with + sympathetic kindliness. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not hurt, I hope,” he said, holding out one hand + to help her rise. “Stand up for a minute, and see if you’re + anything worse than severely shaken. No? That’s right, then! That’s + well, as far as it goes. But I’m afraid the nervous shock must have + been very rough on you.” + </p> + <p> + Elma stood tip, with tears gathering fast in her eyes. She’d have + given the world to be able to cry now, for the jar had half stunned her + and shaken her brain; but before the artist’s face she was ashamed + to give free play to her feelings. So she only answered, in a careless + sort of tone— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s nothing much, I think. My head feels rather queer; + but I’ve no bones broken. A collision, I suppose. Oughtn’t we + to get out at once and see what’s happened to the other people?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Waring moved hastily to the door, and, letting down the window, + tried with a violent effort to turn the handle from the outside. But the + door wouldn’t open. As often happens in such accidents, the jar had + jammed it. He tried the other side, and with some difficulty at last + succeeded in forcing it open. Then he descended cautiously on to the + six-foot-way, and held out his hand to help Elma from the carriage. + </p> + <p> + It was no collision, he saw at once, but a far more curious and unusual + accident. + </p> + <p> + Looking ahead through the tunnel, all was black as night. A dense wall of + earth seemed to block and fill in the whole space in front of them. Part + of one broken and shattered carriage lay tossed about in wild confusion on + the ground close by. Their own had escaped. All the rest was darkness. + </p> + <p> + In a moment, Cyril rightly divined what must have happened to the train. + The roof of the tunnel had caved in on top of it. At least one carriage—the + one immediately in front of them—had been crushed and shattered by + the force of its fall. Their own was the last, and it had been saved as if + by a miracle. It lay just outside the scene of the subsidence. + </p> + <p> + One thought rose instinctively at once in the young man’s mind. They + must first see if any one was injured in the other compartments, or among + the débris of the broken carriage; and then they must make for the open + mouth of the tunnel, through which the light of day still gleamed bright + behind them. + </p> + <p> + He peered in hastily at the other three windows. Not a soul in any one of + the remaining compartments! It was a very empty train, he had noticed + himself, when he had got in at Tilgate; the one solitary occupant of the + front compartment of their carriage, a fat old lady with a big black bag, + had bundled out at Chetwood. They were alone in the tunnel—at this + end of the train at least; their sole duty now was to make haste and save + themselves. + </p> + <p> + He gazed overhead. The tunnel was bricked in with an arch on top. The way + through in front was blocked, of course, by the fallen mass of + water-logged sandstone. He glanced back towards the open mouth. A curious + circumstance, half-way down to the opening, attracted at once his keen and + practised eye. + </p> + <p> + Strange to say, the roof at one spot was not a true arc of a circle. It + bulged slightly downwards, in a flattened arch, as if some superincumbent + weight were pressing hard upon it. Great heavens, what was this? Another + trouble in store! He looked again, still more earnestly, and started with + horror. + </p> + <p> + In the twinkling of an eye, his reason told him, beyond the shadow of a + doubt, what was happening at the bulge. A second fall was just about to + take place close by them. Clearly there were TWO weak points m the roof of + the tunnel. One had already given way in front; the other was on the very + eve of giving way behind them. If it fell, they were imprisoned between + two impassable walls of sand and earth. Without one instant’s delay, + he turned and seized his companion’s hand hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! quick!” he cried, in a voice of eager warning. “Run, + run for your life to the mouth of the tunnel! Here, come! You’ve + only just time! It’s going, it’s going!” + </p> + <p> + But Elma’s feminine instinct worked quicker and truer than even + Cyril Waring’s manly reason. She didn’t know why; she couldn’t + say how; but in that one indivisible moment of time she had taken in and + grasped to the full all the varying terrors of the situation. Instead of + running, however, she held back her companion with a nervous force she + could never before have imagined herself capable of exerting. + </p> + <p> + “Stop here,” she cried authoritatively, wrenching his arm in + her haste. “If you go you’ll be killed. There’s no time + to run past. It’ll be down before you’re there. See, see, it’s + falling.” + </p> + <p> + Even before the words were well out of her mouth, another great crash + shook the ground behind them. With a deafening roar, the tunnel gave way + in a second place beyond. Dust and sand filled the air confusedly. For a + minute or two all was noise and smoke and darkness. What exactly had + happened neither of them could see. But now the mouth of the tunnel was + blocked at either end alike, and no daylight was visible. So far as Cyril + could judge, they two stood alone, in the dark and gloom, as in a narrow + cell, shut in with their carriage between two solid walls of fallen earth + and crumbling sandstone. + </p> + <p> + At this fresh misfortune, Elma sat down on the footboard with her face in + her hands, and began to sob bitterly. The artist leaned over her and let + her cry for a while in quiet despair. The poor girl’s nerves, it was + clear, were now wholly unstrung. She was brave, as women go, undoubtedly + brave; but the shock and the terror of such a position as this were more + than enough to terrify the bravest. At last Cyril ventured on a single + remark. + </p> + <p> + “How lucky,” he said, in an undertone, “I didn’t + get out at Warnworth after all. It would have been dreadful if you’d + been left all alone in this position.” + </p> + <p> + Elma glanced up at him with a sudden rush of gratitude. By the dim light + of the oil lamp that still flickered feebly in the carriage overhead, she + could see his face; and she knew by the look in those truthful eyes that + he really meant it. He really meant he was glad he’d come on and + exposed himself to this risk, which he might otherwise have avoided, + because he would be sorry to think a helpless woman should be left alone + by herself in the dark to face it. And, frightened as she was, she was + glad of it too. To be alone would be awful. This was pre-eminently one of + those many positions in life in which a woman prefers to have a man beside + her. + </p> + <p> + And yet most men, she knew, would have thought to themselves at once, + “What a fool I was to come on beyond my proper station, and let + myself in for this beastly scrape, just because I’d go a few miles + further with a pretty girl I never saw in my life before, and will + probably never see in my life again, if I once get well out of this + precious predicament.” + </p> + <p> + But that they would ever get out of it at all seemed to both of them now + in the highest degree improbable. Cyril, by reason, Elma, by instinct, + argued out the whole situation at once, and correctly. There had been much + rain lately. The sandstone was water-logged. It had caved in bodily, + before them and behind them. A little isthmus of archway still held out in + isolation just above their heads. At any moment that isthmus might give + way too, and, falling on their carriage, might crush them beneath its + weight. Their lives depended upon the continued resisting power of some + fifteen yards or so of dislocated masonry. + </p> + <p> + Appalled at the thought, Cyril moved from his place for a minute, and went + forward to examine the fallen block in front. Then he paced his way back + with groping steps to the equally ruinous mass behind them. Elma’s + eyes, growing gradually accustomed to the darkness and the faint glimmer + of the oil lamps, followed his action with vague and tearful interest. + </p> + <p> + “If the roof doesn’t give way,” he said calmly at last, + when he returned once more to her, “and if we can only let them know + we’re alive in the tunnel, they may possibly dig us out before we + choke. There’s air enough here for eighteen hours for us.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke very quietly and reassuringly, as if being shut up in a fallen + tunnel between two masses of earth were a matter that needn’t cause + one the slightest uneasiness; but his words suggested to Elma’s mind + a fresh and hitherto unthought-of danger. + </p> + <p> + “Eighteen hours,” she cried, horror-struck. “Do you mean + to say we may have to stop here, all alone, for eighteen hours together? + Oh, how very dreadful! How long! How frightening! And if they don’t + dig us out before eighteen hours are over, do you mean to say we shall die + of choking?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril gazed down at her with a very regretful and sympathetic face. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said; “at + least, not more than you’re frightened already; but, of course, + there’s only a certain amount of oxygen in the space that’s + left us; and as we’re using it up at every breath, it’ll + naturally hold out for a limited time only. It can’t be much more + than eighteen hours. Still, I don’t doubt they’ll begin + digging us out at once; and if they dig through fast, they may yet be in + time, even so, to save us.” + </p> + <p> + Elma bent forward with her face in her hands again, and, rocking herself + to and fro in an agony of despair, gave herself vip to a paroxysm of utter + misery. This was too, too terrible. To think of eighteen hours in that + gloom and suspense; and then to die at last, gasping hard for breath, in + the poisonous air of that pestilential tunnel. + </p> + <p> + For nearly an hour she sat there, broken down and speechless; while Cyril + Waring, taking a seat in silence by her side, tried at first with mute + sympathy to comfort and console her. Then he turned to examine the roof, + and the block at either end, to see if perchance any hope remained of + opening by main force an exit anywhere. He even began by removing a little + of the sand at the side of the line with a piece of shattered board from + the broken carriage in front; but that was clearly no use. More sand + tumbled in as fast as he removed it. He saw there was nothing left for it + but patience or despair. And of the two, his own temperament dictated + rather patience. + </p> + <p> + He returned at last, wearied out, to Elma’s side. Elma, still + sitting disconsolate on the footboard, rocking herself up and down, and + moaning low and piteously, looked up as he came with a mute glance of + inquiry. She was very pretty. That struck him even now. It made his heart + bleed to think she should be so cowed and terrified. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, after a pause, half + afraid to speak, “but there are four lamps all burning hard in these + four compartments, and using up the air we may need by-and-by for our own + breathing. If I were to climb to the top of the carriage—which I can + easily do—I could put them all out, and economize our oxygen. It + would leave us in the dark, but it’d give us one more chance of + life. Don’t you think I’d better get up and turn them off, or + squash them?” + </p> + <p> + Elma clasped her hands in horror at the bare suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no!” she cried hastily. “Please, PLEASE don’t + do that. It’s bad enough to choke slowly, like this, in the gloom. + But to die in the dark—that would be ten times more terrible. Why, + it’s a perfect Black Hole of Calcutta, even now. If you were to turn + out the lights I could never stand it.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril gave a respectful little nod of assent. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he answered, as calm as ever. “That’s + just as you will. I only meant to suggest it to you. My one wish is to do + the best I can for you. Perhaps”—and he hesitated—“perhaps + I’d better let it go on for an hour or two more, and then, whenever + the air begins to get very oppressive—I mean when one begins to feel + it’s really failing us—one person, you know, could live on so + much longer than two... it would be a pity not to let you stand every + chance. Perhaps I might—-” + </p> + <p> + Elma gazed at him aghast in the utmost horror. She knew what he meant at + once. She didn’t even need that he should finish his sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” she said, firmly clenching her small hand hard. + “It’s so wrong of you to think of it, even. I could never + permit it. It’s your duty to keep yourself alive at all hazards as + long as ever you can. You should remember your mother, your sisters, your + family.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that’s just it,” Cyril answered, a little + crestfallen, and feeling he had done quite a wicked thing in venturing to + suggest that his companion should have every chance for her own life. + “I’ve got no mother, you see, no sisters, no family. Nobody on + earth would ever be one penny the worse if <i>I</i> were to die, except my + twin brother; he’s the only relation I ever had in my life; and even + HE, I dare say, would very soon get over it. Whereas YOU”—he + paused and glanced at her compassionately—“there are probably + many to whom the loss would be a very serious one. If I could do anything + to save you—-” He broke off suddenly, for Elma looked up at + him once more with a little burst of despair. + </p> + <p> + “If you talk like that,” she cried, with a familiarity that + comes of association in a very great danger, “I don’t know + what I shall do; I don’t know what I shall say to you. Why, I couldn’t + bear to be left alone here to die by myself. If only for MY sake, now we’re + boxed up here together, I think you ought to wait and do the best you can + for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” Cyril answered once more, in a most obedient + tone. “If you wish me to live to keep you company in the tunnel, I’ll + live while I may. You have only to say what you wish. I’m here to + wait upon you.” + </p> + <p> + In any other circumstances, such a phrase would have been a mere piece of + conversational politeness. At that critical moment, Elma knew it for just + what it was—a simple expression of his real feeling. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. — CYRIL WARING’S BROTHER. + </h2> + <p> + It was nine o’clock that self-same night, and two men sat together + in a comfortable sitting-room under the gabled roofs of Staple Inn, + Holborn. It was as cosy a nook as any to be found within the four-mile + radius, and artistic withal in its furniture and decorations. + </p> + <p> + In the biggest arm-chair by the empty grate, a young man with a flute + paused for a moment, irresolute. He was a handsome young man, expressive + eyes, and a neatly-cut brown beard—for all the world like Cyril + Waring’s. Indeed, if Elma Clifford could that moment have been + transported from her gloomy prison in the Lavington tunnel to that cosy + room at Staple Inn, Holborn, she would have started with surprise to find + the young man who sat in the arm-chair was to all outer appearance the + self-same person as the painter she had just left at the scene of the + accident. For the two Warings were truly “as like as two peas”; + a photograph of one might almost have done duty for the photograph of the + other. + </p> + <p> + The other occupant of the room, who leaned carelessly against the + mantelshelf, was taller and older; though he, too, was handsome, but with + the somewhat cynical and unprepossessing handsomeness of a man of the + world. His forehead was high; his lips were thin; his nose inclined toward + the Roman pattern; his black moustache was carefully curled and twisted at + the extremities. Moreover, he was musical; for he held in one hand the bow + of a violin, having just laid down the instrument itself on the sofa after + a plaintive duet with Guy Waring. + </p> + <p> + “Seen this evening’s paper, by the way, Guy?” he asked, + after a pause, in a voice that was all honeyed charm and seductiveness. + “I brought the St. James’s Gazette for you, but forgot to give + you it; I was so full of this new piece of mine. Been an accident this + morning, I see, on the Great Southern line. Somewhere down Cyril’s + way, too; he’s painting near Chetwood; wonder whether he could + possibly, by any chance, have been in it?” + </p> + <p> + He drew the paper carelessly from his pocket as he spoke, and handed it + with a graceful air of inborn courtesy to his younger companion. + Everything that Montague Nevitt did, indeed, was naturally graceful and + courteous. + </p> + <p> + Guy Waring took the printed sheet from his hands without attaching much + importance to his words, and glanced over it lightly. + </p> + <p> + “At ten o’clock this morning,” the telegram said, + “a singular catastrophe occurred in a portion of the Lavington + tunnel on the Great Southern Railway. As the 9.15 way-train from Tilgate + Junction to Guildford was passing through, a segment of the roof of the + tunnel collapsed, under pressure of the dislocated rock on top, and bore + down with enormous weight upon the carriages beneath it. The engine, + tender, and four front waggons escaped unhurt; but the two hindmost, it is + feared, were crushed by the falling mass of earth. It is not yet known how + many passengers, if any, may have been occupying the wrecked compartments; + but every effort is now being made to dig out the débris.” + </p> + <p> + Guy read the paragraph through unmoved, to the outer eye, though with a + whitening face, and then took up the dog-eared “Bradshaw” that + lay close by upon the little oak writing-table. His hand trembled. One + glance at the map, however, set his mind at rest. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” he said quietly. “Cyril wouldn’t + be there. It’s beyond his beat. Lavington’s the fourth station + this way on the up-line from Chetwood. Cyril’s stopping at Tilgate + town, you know—I heard from him on Saturday—and the bit he’s + now working at’s in Chetwood Forest. He couldn’t get lodgings + at Chetwood itself, so he’s put up for the present at the White + Lion, at Tilgate, and runs over by train every day to Warnworth. It’s + three stations away—four off Lavington. He’d have been daubing + for an hour in the wood by that time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t attach any great importance to it myself,” + Nevitt went on, unconcerned. “I thought most likely Cyril wouldn’t + be there. But still I felt you’d like, at any rate, to know about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course,” Guy answered, still scanning the map in + “Bradshaw” close. “He couldn’t have been there; + but one likes to know. I think, indeed, to make sure, I’ll telegraph + to Tilgate. Naturally, when a man’s got only one relation in the + whole wide world—without being a sentimentalist—that one + relation means a good deal in life to him. And Cyril and I are more to one + another, of course, than most ordinary brothers.” He bit his thumb. + “Still, I can’t imagine how he could possibly be there,” + he went on, glancing at “Bradshaw” once more. “You see, + if he went to work, he’d have got out at Warnworth; and if he meant + to come to town to consult his dentist, he’d have taken the 9.30 + express straight through from Tilgate, which gets up to London twenty-five + minutes earlier.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but why to consult his dentist in particular?” Nevitt + asked with a smile. He had very white teeth, and he smiled accordingly + perhaps a little oftener than was quite inevitable. “You Warings are + so absolute. I never knew any such fellows in my life as you are. You + decide things so beforehand. Why mightn’t he have been coming up to + town, for example, to see a friend, or get himself fresh colours?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I said ‘to consult his dentist,’” Guy + answered, in the most matter-of-fact voice on earth, suppressing a tremor, + “because you know I’ve had toothache off and on myself, one + day with another, for the whole last fortnight. And it’s a tooth + that never ached with either of us before-this one, you see”—he + lifted his lip with his forefinger—“the second on the left + after the one we’ve lost. If Cyril was coming up to town at all, I’m + pretty sure it’d be his tooth he was coming up to see about. I went + to Eskell about mine myself last Wednesday.” + </p> + <p> + The elder man seated himself and leaned back in his chair, with his violin + in his lap; then he surveyed his friend long and curiously. + </p> + <p> + “It must be awfully odd, Guy,” he said at last, after a good + hard stare, “to lead such a queer sort of duplicate life as Cyril + and you do! Just fancy being the counterfoil to some other man’s + cheque! Just fancy being bound to do, and think, and speak, and wish as he + does! Just fancy having to get a toothache, in the very same tooth and on + the very same day! Just fancy having to consult the identical dentist that + he consults simultaneously! It’d drive ME mad. Why, it’s clean + rideeklous!” + </p> + <p> + Guy Waring looked up hastily from the telegraph form he was already + filling in, and answered, with some warmth— + </p> + <p> + “No, no; not quite so. It isn’t like that. You mistake the + situation. We’re both cheques equally, and neither is a counterfoil. + Cyril and I depend for our characters, as everybody else does, upon our + father and mother and our remoter progenitors. Only being twins, and twins + cast in very much the same sort of mould, we’re naturally the + product of the same two parents, at the same precise point in their joint + life history; and therefore we’re practically all but identical.” + </p> + <p> + As he rose from his desk, with the telegram in his hand, the porter + appeared at the door with letters. Guy seized them at once, with some + little impatience. The first was from Cyril. He tore it open in haste, and + skimmed it through rapidly. Montague Nevitt meanwhile sat languid in his + chair, striking a pensive note now and again on his violin, with his eyes + half closed and his lips parted. Guy drew a sigh of relief as he skimmed + his note. + </p> + <p> + “Just what I expected,” he said slowly. “Cyril couldn’t + have been there. He writes last night—the letter’s marked + ‘Delayed in transmission’; no doubt by the accident—‘I + shall come up to town on Friday or Saturday morning to see the dentist. + One of my teeth is troublesome; I suppose you’ve had the same; the + second on the left from the one we’ve lost; been aching a fortnight. + I want it stopped. But to-morrow I really CAN’T leave work. I’ve + got well into the swing of such a lovely bit of fern, with Sardanapalus + just gleaming like gold in the foreground.’ So that settles matters + somewhat. He can’t have been there. Though, I think, even so, I’ll + just telegraph for safety’s sake and make things certain.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt struck a chord twice with a sweep of his hand, listened to it + dreamily for a minute with far-away eyes, and then remarked once more, + without even looking up, “The same tooth lost, he says? You both had + it drawn! And now another one aches in both of you alike! How very + remarkable! How very, very curious!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that WAS queer,” Guy replied, relaxing into a smile, + “queer even for us; I won’t deny it; for it happened this way. + I was over in Brussels at the time, as correspondent for the Sphere at the + International Workmen’s Congress, and Cyril was away by himself just + then on his holiday in the Orkneys. We both got toothache in the self-same + tooth on the self-same night; and we both lay awake for hours in misery. + Early in the morning we each of us got up—five hundred miles away + from one another, remember—and as soon as we were dressed <i>I</i> + went into a dentist’s in the Montagne de la Cour, and Cyril to a + local doctor’s at Larwick; and we each of us had it out, instanter. + The dentists both declared they could save them if we wished; but we each + preferred the loss of a tooth to another such night of abject misery.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt stroked his moustache with a reflective air. This was almost + miraculous. “Well, I should think,” he said at last, after + close reflection, “where such sympathy as that exists between two + brothers, if Cyril had really been hurt in this accident, you must surely + in some way have been dimly conscious of it.” + </p> + <p> + Guy Waring, standing there, telegram in hand, looked down at his companion + with a somewhat contemptuous smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no,” he answered, with common-sense confidence; for + he loved not mysteries. “You don’t believe any nonsense of + that sort, do you? There’s nothing in the least mystical in the kind + of sympathy that exists between Cyril and myself. It’s all purely + physical. We’re very like one another. But that’s all. There’s + none of the Corsican Brothers sort of hocus-pocus about us in any way. The + whole thing is a simple caste of natural causation.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t believe in brain-waves?” Nevitt + suggested, with a gracefully appropriate undulation of his small white + hand. + </p> + <p> + Guy laughed incredulously. “All rubbish, my dear fellow,” he + answered, “all utter rubbish. If any man knows, it’s myself + and Cyril. We’re as near one another as any two men on earth could + possibly be; but when we want to communicate our ideas, each to each, we + have to speak or write, just like the rest of you. Every man is like a + clock wound up to strike certain hours. Accidents may happen, events may + intervene, the clock may get smashed, and all may be prevented. But, bar + accidents, it’ll strike all right, under ordinary circumstances, + when the hour arrives for it. Well, Cyril and I, as I always say, are like + two clocks wound up at the same time to strike together, and we strike + with very unusual regularity. But that’s the whole mystery. If <i>I</i> + get smashed by accident, there’s no reason on earth why Cyril + shouldn’t run on for years yet as usual; and if Cyril got smashed, + there’s no reason on earth why I should ever know anything about it + except from the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. — INSIDE THE TUNNEL. + </h2> + <p> + And, indeed, if brain-waves had been in question at all, they ought, + without a doubt, to have informed Guy Waring that at the very moment when + he was going out to send off his telegram, his brother Cyril was sitting + disconsolate, with dark blue lips and swollen eyelids, on the footboard of + the railway carriage in the Lavington tunnel. Cyril was worn out with + digging by this time, for he had done his best once more to clear away the + sand towards the front of the train in the vague hope that he might + succeed in letting in a little more air to their narrow prison through the + chinks and interstices of the fallen sandstone. Besides, a man in an + emergency must do something, if only to justify his claim to manliness—especially + when a lady is looking on at his efforts. + </p> + <p> + So Cyril Waring had toiled and moiled in that deadly atmosphere for some + hours in vain, and now sat, wearied out and faint from foul vapours, by + Elma’s side on the damp, cold footboard. By this time the air had + almost failed them. They gasped for breath, their heads swam vaguely. A + terrible weight seemed to oppress their bosoms. Even the lamps in the + carriages flickered low and burned blue. The atmosphere of the tunnel, + loaded from the very beginning with sulphurous smoke, was now all but + exhausted. Death stared them in the face without hope of respite—a + ghastly, slow death by gradual stifling. + </p> + <p> + “You MUST take a little water,” Elma murmured, pouring out the + last few drops for him into the tin cup—for Cyril had brought a + small bottleful that morning for his painting, as well as a packet of + sandwiches for lunch. “You’re dreadfully tired. I can see your + lips are parched and dry with digging.” + </p> + <p> + She was deathly pale herself, and her own eyes were livid, for by this + time she had fairly given up all hope of rescue; and, besides, the air in + the tunnel was so foul and stupefying, she could hardly speak; indeed, her + tongue clung to her palate. But she poured out the last few drops into the + cup for Cyril and held them up imploringly, with a gesture of + supplication. These two were no strangers to one another now. They had + begun to know each other well in those twelve long hours of deadly peril + shared in common. + </p> + <p> + Cyril waved the cup aside with a firm air of dissent. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he said, faintly, “you must drink it yourself. + Your need is greater far than mine.” + </p> + <p> + Elma tried to put it away in turn, but Cyril would not allow her. So she + moistened her mouth with those scanty last drops, and turned towards him + gratefully. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no hope left now,” she said, in a very resigned + voice. “We must make up our minds to die where we stand. But I thank + you, oh, I thank you so much, so earnestly.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril, for his part, could hardly find breath to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he gasped out, in one last despairing effort. + “Things look very black; but while there’s life there’s + hope. They may even still, perhaps, come up with us.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, a sound broke unexpectedly on the silence of their prison. A + dull thud seemed to make itself faintly heard from beyond the thick wall + of sand that cut them off from the daylight. Cyril stared with surprise. + It was a noise like a pick-axe. Stooping hastily down, he laid his ear + against the rail beside the shattered carriage. + </p> + <p> + “They’re digging!” he cried earnestly, finding words in + his joy. “They’re digging to reach us! I can hear them! I can + hear them!” + </p> + <p> + Elma glanced up at him with a certain tinge of half-incredulous surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they’re digging, of course,” she said quickly. + “I knew they’d dig for us, naturally, as soon as they missed + us. But how far off are they yet? That’s the real question. Will + they reach us in time? Are they near or distant?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril knelt down on the ground as before, in an agony of suspense, and + struck the rail three times distinctly with his walking-stick. Then he put + his ear to it and listened, and waited. In less than half a minute three + answering knocks rang, dim but unmistakable, along the buried rail. He + could even feel the vibration on the iron with his face. + </p> + <p> + “They hear us! They hear us!” he cried once more, in a tremor + of excitement. “I don’t think they’re far off. They’re + coming rapidly towards us.” + </p> + <p> + At the words Elma rose from her seat, still paler than ever, but strangely + resolute, and took the stick from his hand with a gesture of despair. She + was almost stifled. But she raised it with method. Knocking the rail + twice, she bent down her head and listened in turn. Once more two + answering knocks rang sharp along the connecting line of metal. Elma shook + her head ominously. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, they’re a very long way off still,” she + murmured, in a faltering tone. “I can hear it quite well. They can + never reach us!” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself on a fragment of the broken carriage, and buried her + face in her hands once more in silence. Her heart was full. Her head was + very heavy. She gasped and struggled. Then a sudden intuition seized her, + after her kind. If the rail could carry the sound of a tap, surely it + might carry the human voice as well. Inspired with the idea, she rose + again and leant forward. + </p> + <p> + A second time she knocked two quick little taps, ringing sharp on the + rail, as if to bespeak attention; then, putting her mouth close to the + metals, she shouted aloud along them with all the voice that was left her— + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, there, do you hear? Come soon, come fast. We’re alive, + but choking!” + </p> + <p> + Quick as lightning an answer rang back as if by magic, along the + conducting line of the rail—a strange unexpected answer. + </p> + <p> + “Break the pipe of the wires,” it said, and then subsided + instantly. + </p> + <p> + Cyril, who was leaning down at her side at the moment with his ear to the + rail, couldn’t make out one word of it. But Elma’s sharp + senses, now quickened by the crisis, were acute as an Oriental’s and + keen as a beagle’s. + </p> + <p> + “Break the pipe of the wires,” they say, she exclaimed, + starting back and pondering. “What on earth can they mean by that? + What on earth can they be driving at? ‘Break the pipe of the wires.’ + I don’t understand them.” + </p> + <p> + Hardly had she spoken, when another sharp tap resounded still more clearly + along the rail at her feet. She bent down her head once more, and laid her + eager ear beside it in terrible suspense. A rough man’s voice—a + navvy’s, no doubt, or a fireman’s—came speeding along + the metal; and it said in thick accents— + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear what I say? If you want to breathe freer, break the + pipe of the wires, and you’ll get fresh air from outside right + through it.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril this time had caught the words, and jumped up with a sudden air of + profound conviction. It was very dark, and the lamps were going out, but + he took his fusee-box from his pocket and struck a light hastily. Sure + enough, on the left-hand side of the tunnel, half buried in rubbish, an + earthenware pipe ran along by the edge near the wall of the archway. Cyril + raised his foot and brought his heel down upon it sharply with all the + strength and force he had still left in him. The pipe broke short, and + Cyril saw within it a number of telegraph wires for the railway service. + The tube communicated directly with the air outside. They were saved! They + were saved! Air would come through the pipe! He saw it all now! He dimly + understood it! + </p> + <p> + At the self-same moment, another sound of breaking was heard more + distinctly at the opposite end, some thirty or forty feet off through the + tunnel. Then a voice rang far clearer, as if issuing from the tube, in + short, sharp sentences— + </p> + <p> + “We’ll pump you in air. How many of you are there? Are you all + alive? Is any one injured?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril leant down and shouted back in reply— + </p> + <p> + “We’re two. Both alive. Not hurt. But sick and half dead with + stifling. Send us air as soon as ever you can. And if possible pass us a + bottle of water.” + </p> + <p> + Some minutes elapsed—three long, slow minutes of it—intense + anxiety. Elma, now broken down with terror and want of oxygen, fell half + fainting forward towards the shattered tube. Cyril held her up in his + supporting arms, and watched the pipe eagerly. It seemed an age; but, + after a time, he became conscious of a gust of air blowing cold on his + face. The keen freshness revived him. + </p> + <p> + He looked about him and drew a deep breath. Cool air was streaming in + through the broken place. Quick as thought, he laid Elma’s mouth as + close as he could lay it to the reviving current. Her eyes were closed. + After a painful interval, she opened them languidly. Cyril chafed her + hands with his, but his chafing seemed to produce very little effect. She + lay motionless now with her eyelids half shut, and the whites of her eyes + alone showing through them. The close, foul air of that damp and confined + spot had worked its worst, and had almost asphyxiated her. Cyril began to + fear the slight relief had arrived five minutes too late. And it must + still in all probability be some hours at least before they could be + actually disentombed from that living vault or restored to the open air of + heaven. + </p> + <p> + As he bent over her and held his breath in speechless suspense, the voice + called out again more loudly than ever— + </p> + <p> + “Look out for the ball in the tube. We’re sending you water!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril watched the pipe closely and struck another light. In a minute, a + big glass marble came rattling through, with a string attached to it. + </p> + <p> + “Pull the string!” the voice cried; and Cyril pulled with a + will. Now and again, the object attached to it struck against some + projecting ledge or angle where the pipes overlapped. But at last, with a + little humouring, it came through in safety. At the end was a large + india-rubber bottle, full of fresh water, and a flask of brandy. The young + man seized them both with delight and avidity, and bathed Elma’s + temples over and over again with the refreshing spirit. Then he poured a + little into the cup, and filling it up with water, held it to her lips + with all a woman’s tenderness. Elma gulped the draught down + unconsciously, and opened her eyes at once. For a moment she stared about + her with a wild stare of surprise. + </p> + <p> + Then, of a sudden, she recollected where she was, and why, and seizing + Cyril’s hand, pressed it long and eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “If only we can hold out for three hours more,” she cried, + with fresh hope returning, “I’m sure they’ll reach us; I’m + sure they’ll reach us!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. — GRATITUDE. + </h2> + <p> + “There were only two of you, then, in the last carriage?” Guy + asked with deep interest, the very next morning, as Cyril, none the worse + for his long imprisonment, sat quietly in their joint chambers at Staple + Inn, recounting the previous day’s adventures. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Only two of us. It was awfully fortunate. And the carriage + that was smashed had nobody at all, except in the first compartment, which + escaped being buried. So there were no lives lost, by a miracle, you may + say. But several of the people in the front part of the train got terribly + shaken.” + </p> + <p> + “And you and the other man were shut up in the tunnel there for + fifteen hours at a stretch?” Guy went on reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “At least fifteen hours,” Cyril echoed, without attempting to + correct the slight error of sex, for no man, he thought, is bound to + criminate himself, even in a flirtation. “It was two in the morning + before they dug us quite out. And my companion by that time was more dead + than alive, I can tell you, with watching and terror.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he, poor fellow?” Guy murmured, with a sympathetic face; + for Cyril had always alluded casually to his fellow-traveller in such + general terms that Guy was as yet unaware there was a lady in the case. + “And is he all right again now, do you know? Have you heard anything + more about him?” + </p> + <p> + But before Cyril could answer there came a knock at the door, and the next + moment Mr. Montague Nevitt, without his violin, entered the room in some + haste, all agog with excitement. His face was eager and his manner + cordial. It was clear he was full of some important tidings. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril, my dear fellow,” he cried, grasping the painter’s + hand with much demonstration of friendly warmth, and wringing it hard two + or three times over, “how delighted I am to see you restored to us + alive and well once more. This is really too happy. What a marvellous + escape! And what a romantic story! All the clubs are buzzing with it. A + charming girl! You’ll have to marry her, of course, that’s the + necessary climax. You and the young lady are the staple of news, I see, in + very big print, in all the evening papers!” + </p> + <p> + Guy drew back at the words with a little start of surprise. “Young + lady!” he cried aghast. “A charming girl, Nevitt! Then the + person who was shut up with you for fifteen hours in the tunnel was a + girl, Cyril!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril’s handsome face flushed slightly before his brother’s + scrutinizing gaze; but he answered with a certain little ill-concealed + embarrassment: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn’t say so, didn’t I? Well, she WAS a girl + then, of course; a certain Miss Clifford. She got in at Chetwood. Her + people live somewhere down there near Tilgate. At least, so I gathered + from what she told me.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt stared hard at the painter’s eyes, which tried, without + success, to look unconscious. + </p> + <p> + “A romance!” he said, slowly, scanning his man with deep + interest. “A romance, I can see. Young, rich, and beautiful. My dear + Cyril, I only wish I’d had half your luck. What a splendid chance, + and what a magnificent introduction! Beauty in distress! A lady in + trouble! You console her alone in a tunnel for fifteen hours by yourself + at a stretch. Heavens, what a tete-a-tete! Did British propriety ever + before allow a man such a glorious opportunity for chivalrous devotion to + a lady of family, face, and fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “Was she pretty?” Guy asked, coming down at once to a more + realistic platform. + </p> + <p> + Cyril hesitated a moment. “Well, yes,” he answered, somewhat + curtly, after a short pause. “She’s distinctly good-looking.” + And he shut his mouth sharp. But he had said quite enough. + </p> + <p> + When a man says that of a girl, and nothing more, in an unconcerned voice, + as if it didn’t matter twopence to him, you may be perfectly sure in + your own mind he’s very deeply and seriously smitten. + </p> + <p> + “And young?” Guy continued. + </p> + <p> + “I should say about twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “And rich beyond the utmost dreams of avarice?” Montague + Nevitt put in, with a faintly cynical smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know about that,” Cyril answered + truthfully. “I haven’t the least idea who she is, even. She + and I had other things to think about, you may be sure, boxed up there so + long in that narrow space, and choking for want of air, than minute + investigations into one another’s pedigrees.” + </p> + <p> + “WE’VE got no pedigree,” Guy interposed, with a bitter + smile. “So the less she investigates about that the better.” + </p> + <p> + “But SHE has, I expect,” Nevitt put in hastily; “and if + I were you, Cyril, I’d hunt her up forthwith, while the iron’s + hot, and find out all there is to find out about her. Clifford-Clifford? I + wonder whether by any chance she’s one of the Devonshire Cliffords, + now? For if so, she might really be worth a man’s serious attention. + They’re very good business. They bank at our place; and they’re + by no means paupers.” For Nevitt was a clerk in the well-known + banking firm of Drummond, Coutts, and Barclay, Limited; and being a man + who didn’t mean, as he himself said, “to throw himself away on + any girl for nothing,” he kept a sharp look-out on the current + account of every wealthy client with an only daughter. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later, as the talk ran on, some further light was unexpectedly + thrown upon this interesting topic by the entrance of the porter with a + letter for Cyril. The painter tore it open, and glanced over it, as Nevitt + observed, with evident eagerness. It was short and curt, but in its own + way courteous. + </p> + <p> + “‘Mr. Reginald Clifford, C.M.G., desires to thank Mr. Cyril + Waring for his kindness and consideration to Miss Clifford during her + temporary incarceration—-’ + </p> + <p> + “Incarceration’s good, isn’t it? How much does he charge + a thousand for that sort, I wonder?— + </p> + <p> + “‘during her temporary incarceration in the Lavington tunnel + yesterday. Mrs. and Miss Clifford wish also to express at the same time + their deep gratitude to Mr. Waring for his friendly efforts, and trust he + has experienced no further ill effects from the unfortunate accident to + which he was subjected. + </p> + <p> + “‘Craighton, Tilgate, Thursday morning.’” + </p> + <p> + “She MIGHT have written herself,” Cyril murmured half aloud. + He was evidently disappointed at this very short measure of correspondence + on the subject. + </p> + <p> + But Montague Nevitt took a more cheerful view. “Oh, Reginald + Clifford, of Craighton!” he cried with a smile, his invariable + smile. “I know all about HIM. He’s a friend of Colonel + Kelmscott’s down at Tilgate Park. C.M.G., indeed! What a ridiculous + old peacock. He was administrator of St. Kitts once upon a time, I + believe, or was it Nevis or Antigua? I don’t quite recollect, I’m + afraid; but anyhow, some comical little speck of a sugary, niggery, West + Indian Island; and he was made a Companion of St. Michael and St. George + when his term was up, just to keep him quiet, don’t you know, for he + wanted a knighthood, and to shelve him from being appointed to a + first-class post like Barbados or Trinidad. If it’s Elma Clifford + you were shut up with in the tunnel, Cyril, you might do worse, there’s + no doubt, and you might do better. She’s an only daughter, and there’s + a little money at the back of the family, I expect; but I fancy the + Companion of the Fighting Saints lives mainly on his pension, which, of + course, is purely personal, and so dies with him.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril folded up the note without noticing Nevitt’s words and put it + in his pocket, somewhat carefully and obtrusively. “Thank you,” + he said, in a very quiet tone, “I didn’t ask you about Miss + Clifford’s fortune. When I want information on that point I’ll + apply for it plainly. But meanwhile I don’t think any lady’s + name should be dragged into conversation and bandied about like that, by + an absolute stranger.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now you needn’t be huffy,” Nevitt answered, with a + still sweeter smile, showing all those pearly teeth of his to the greatest + advantage. “I didn’t mean to put your back up, and I’ll + tell you what I’ll do for you. I’ll heap coals of fire on your + head, you ungrateful man. I’ll return good for evil. You shall have + an invitation to Mrs. Holker’s garden party on Saturday week at + Chetwood Court, and there you’ll be almost sure to meet the + beautiful stranger.” + </p> + <p> + But at that very moment, at Craighton, Tilgate, Mr. Reginald Clifford, + C.M.G., a stiff little withered-up official Briton, half mummified by long + exposure to tropical suns, was sitting in his drawing-room with Mrs. + Clifford, his wife, and discussing—what subject of all others on + earth but the personality of Cyril Waring? + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was an awkward situation for Elma, of course, I admit,” + he was chirping out cheerfully, with his back turned by pure force of + habit to the empty grate, and his hands crossed behind him. “I don’t + deny it was an awkward situation. Still, there’s no harm done, I + hope and trust. Elma’s happily not a fanciful or foolishly + susceptible sort of girl. She sees it’s a case for mere ordinary + gratitude. And gratitude, in my opinion, towards a person in his position, + is sufficiently expressed once for all by letter. There’s no reason + on earth she should ever again see or hear any more of him.” + </p> + <p> + “But girls are so romantic,” Mrs. Clifford put in doubtfully, + with an anxious air. She herself was by no means romantic to look at, + being, indeed, a person of a certain age, with a plump, matronly figure, + and very staid of countenance; yet there was something in her eye, for all + that, that recalled at times the vivid keenness of Elma’s, and her + cheek had once been as delicate and creamy a brown as her pretty daughter’s. + “Girls are so romantic,” Mrs. Clifford repeated once more, in + a dreamy way, “and she was evidently impressed by him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m glad I made inquiries at once about these two young + men, anyhow,” the Companion of St. Michael and St. George responded + with fervour, clasping his wizened little hands contentedly over his + narrow waistcoat. “It’s a precious odd story, and a doubtful + story, and not at all the sort of story one likes one’s girl to be + any way mixed up with. For my part, I shall give them a very wide berth + indeed in future; and there’s no reason why Elma should ever knock + up against them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you they were nobodies?” Mrs. Clifford inquired, + drawing a wistful sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Tom Clark was at school with them,” the ex-administrator + continued, with a very cunning air, “and he knows all about them—has + heard the whole circumstances. Very odd, very odd; never met anything so + queer in all my life; most mysterious and uncanny. They never had a + father; they never had a mother; they never had anybody on earth they + could call their own; they dropped from the clouds, as it were, one rainy + day, without a friend in the world, plump down into the Charterhouse. + There they were well supplied with money, and spent their holidays with a + person at Brighton, who wasn’t even supposed to be their lawful + guardian. Looks fishy, doesn’t it? Their names are Cyril and Guy + Waring—and that’s all they know of themselves. They were + educated like gentlemen till they were twenty-one years old; and then they + were turned loose upon the world, like a pair of young bears, with a + couple of hundred pounds of capital apiece to shift for themselves with. + Uncanny, very; I don’t like the look of it. Not at all the sort of + people an impressionable girl like our Elma should ever be allowed to see + too much of.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she was very much impressed by him,” Mrs. + Clifford said with confidence. “I’ve watched her to see, and I + don’t think she’s in love with him. But by to-morrow, + Reginald, I shall be able, I’m sure, to tell you for certain.” + </p> + <p> + The Companion of the Militant Saints glanced rather uneasily across the + hearth-rug at his wife. “It’s a marvellous gift, to be sure, + this intuition of yours, Louisa,” he said, shaking his head sagely, + and swaying himself gently to and fro on the stone kerb of the fender. + “I frankly confess, my dear, I don’t quite understand it. And + Elma’s got it too, every bit as bad as you have. Runs in the family, + I suppose—runs somehow in the family. After living with you now for + twenty-two years—yes, twenty-two last April—in every part of + the world and every grade of the service, I’m compelled to admit + that your intuition in these matters is really remarkable—simply + remarkable.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford coloured through her olive-brown skin, exactly like Elma, + and rose with a somewhat embarrassed and half-guilty air, avoiding her + husband’s eyes as if afraid to meet them. + </p> + <p> + Elma had gone to bed early, wearied out as she was with her long agony in + the tunnel. Mrs. Clifford crept up to her daughter’s room with a + silent tread, like some noiseless Oriental, and, putting her ear to the + keyhole, listened outside the door in profound suspense for several + minutes. + </p> + <p> + Not a sound from within; not a gentle footfall on the carpeted floor. For + a moment she hesitated; then she turned the handle slowly, and, peering + before her, peeped into the room. Thank Heaven! no snake signs. Elma lay + asleep, with one arm above her head, as peacefully as a child, after her + terrible adventure. Her bosom heaved, but slowly and regularly. The mother + drew a deep breath, and crept down the stairs with a palpitating heart to + the drawing-room again. + </p> + <p> + “Reginald,” she said, with perfect confidence, relapsing once + more at a bound into the ordinary every-day British matron, “there’s + no harm done, I’m sure. She doesn’t think of this young man at + all. You may dismiss him from your mind at once and for ever. She’s + sleeping like a baby.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. — TWO STRANGE MEETINGS. + </h2> + <p> + “Mrs. Hugh Holker, at home, Saturday, May 29th, 3 to 6.30. Chetwood + Court; tennis.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril Waring read it out with a little thrill of triumph. To be sure, it + was by no means certain that Elma would be there; but still, Chetwood + Court was well within range of Tilgate town, and Montague Nevitt felt + convinced, he said, the Holkers were friends of the Cliffords and the + Kelmscotts. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” Guy remarked, balancing a fragment of fried + sole on his fork as he spoke, “I’m not going all that way down + to Chetwood merely to swell Mrs. Holker’s triumph.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Cyril answered, with quiet + incisiveness. He hadn’t exactly fallen in love with Elma at first + sight, but he was very much interested in her, and it struck him at once + that what interested him was likely also to interest his twin brother. And + this is just one of those rare cases in life where a man prefers that his + interest in a subject should not be shared by any other person. + </p> + <p> + Before Saturday, the 29th, arrived, however, Guy had so far changed his + mind in the matter, that he presented himself duly with Nevitt at Waterloo + to catch the same train to Chetwood station that Cyril went down by. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” he said to Nevitt, as they walked together from + the club in Piccadilly, “I may as well see what the girl’s + like, anyhow. If she’s got to be my sister-in-law—which seems + not unlikely now—I’d better have a look at her beforehand, so + to speak, on approbation.” + </p> + <p> + The Holkers’ grounds were large and well planted, with velvety lawns + on the slope of a well-wooded hill overlooking the boundless blue weald of + Surrey. Nevitt and the Warings were late to arrive, and found most of the + guests already assembled before them. + </p> + <p> + After a time Guy found himself, to his intense chagrin, told off by his + hostess to do the honours to an amiable old lady of high tonnage and great + conversational powers, who rattled on uninterruptedly in one silvery + stream about everybody on the ground, their histories and their pedigrees. + She took the talking so completely off his hands, however, that, after a + very few minutes, Guy, who was by nature of a lazy and contemplative + disposition, had almost ceased to trouble himself about what she said, + interposing “indeeds” and “reallys” with automatic + politeness at measured intervals; when suddenly the old lady, coming upon + a bench where a mother and daughter were seated in the shade, settled down + by their sides in a fervour of welcome, and shook hands with them both + effusively in a most demonstrative fashion. + </p> + <p> + The daughter was pretty—yes, distinctly pretty. She attracted Guy’s + attention at once by the piercing keenness of her lustrous dark eyes, and + the delicate olive-brown of her transparent complexion. Her expression was + merry, but with a strange and attractive undertone, he thought, of some + mysterious charm. A more taking girl, indeed, now he came to look close, + he hadn’t seen for months. He congratulated himself on his garrulous + old lady’s choice of a bench to sit upon, if it helped him to an + introduction to the beautiful stranger. + </p> + <p> + But before he could even be introduced, the pretty girl with the + olive-brown complexion had held out her hand to him frankly, and exclaimed + in a voice as sunny as her face— + </p> + <p> + “I don’t need to be told your friend’s name, I’m + sure, Mrs. Godfrey. He’s so awfully like him. I should have known + him anywhere. Of course, you’re Mr. Waring’s brother, aren’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + Guy smiled, and bowed gracefully; he was always graceful. + </p> + <p> + “I refuse to be merely MR. WARING’S BROTHER,” he + answered, with some amusement, as he took the proffered hand in his own + warmly. “If it comes to that, I’m Mr. Waring myself; and + Cyril, whom you seem to know already, is only my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but MY Mr. Waring isn’t here to-day, is he?” the + olive-brown girl put in, looking around with quite an eager interest at + the crowd in the distance. “Naturally, to me, he’s THE Mr. + Waring, of course, and you are only MY Mr. Waring’s brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Elma, my dear, what on earth will Mr. Waring think of you?” + her mother put in, with the conventional shocked face of British + propriety. “You know,” she went on, turning round quickly to + Guy, “we’re all so grateful to your brother for his kindness + to our girl in that dreadful accident the other day at Lavington, that we + can’t help thinking and talking of him all the time as our Mr. + Waring. I’m sorry he isn’t here himself this afternoon to + receive our thanks. It would be such a pleasure to all of us to give them + to him in person.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is about, somewhere,” Guy answered carelessly, still + keeping his eye fixed hard on the pretty girl. “I’ll fetch him + round by-and-by to pay his respects in due form. He’ll be only too + glad. And this, I suppose, must be Miss Clifford that I’ve heard so + much about.” + </p> + <p> + As he said those words, a little gleam of pleasure shot through Elma’s + eyes. Her painter hadn’t forgotten her, then. He had talked much + about her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew who you must be the very first moment I saw you,” + she answered, blushing; “you’re so much like him in some ways, + though not in all.... And he told me that day he had a twin brother.” + </p> + <p> + “So much like him in some ways,” Guy repeated, much amused. + “Why, I wonder you don’t take me for Cyril himself at once. + You’re the very first person I ever knew in my life, except a few + old and very intimate friends, who could tell at all the difference + between us.” + </p> + <p> + Elma drew back, almost as if shocked and hurt at the bare suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear no,” she cried quickly, scanning him over at once + with those piercing keen eyes of hers; “you’re like him, of + course—I don’t deny the likeness—as brothers may be like + one another. Your features are the same, and the colour of your hair and + eyes, and all that sort of thing; but still, I knew at a glance you weren’t + my Mr. Waring. I could never mistake you for him. The expression and the + look are so utterly different.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be a very subtle judge of faces,” the young man + answered, still smiling, “if you knew us apart at first sight; for I + never before in my life met anybody who’d seen my brother once or + twice, and who didn’t take me for him, or him for me, the very first + time he saw us apart. But then,” he added, after a short pause, with + a quick dart of his eyes, “you were with him in the tunnel for a + whole long day; and in that time, of course, you saw a good deal of him.” + </p> + <p> + Elma blushed again, and Guy noticed in passing that she blushed very + prettily. + </p> + <p> + “And how’s Sardanapalus?” she asked, in a somewhat + hurried voice, making an inartistic attempt to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sardanapalus is all right,” Guy answered, laughing. + “Cyril told me you had made friends with him, and weren’t one + bit afraid of him. Most people are so dreadfully frightened of the poor + old creature.” + </p> + <p> + “But he isn’t old,” Elma exclaimed, interrupting him + with some warmth. “He’s in the prime of life. He’s so + glossy and beautiful. I quite fell in love with him.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is Sardanapalus?” Mrs. Clifford asked, with a vague + maternal sense of discomfort and doubt. “A dog or a monkey?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sardanapalus, mother—didn’t I tell you about him?” + Elma cried enthusiastically. “Why, he’s just lovely and + beautiful. He’s such a glorious green and yellow-banded snake; and + he coiled around my arm as if he’d always known me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford drew back with a horror-stricken face, darting across at her + daughter the same stealthy sort of look she had given her husband the + night after Elma’s adventure. + </p> + <p> + “A snake!” she repeated, aghast, “a snake! Oh, Elma! + Why, you never told me that. And he coiled round your arm. How horrible!” + </p> + <p> + But Elma wasn’t to be put down by exclamations of horror. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you’re not afraid of snakes yourself, you know, mother,” + she went on, undismayed. “I remember papa saying that when you were + at St. Kitts with him you never minded them a bit, but caught them in your + hands like an Indian juggler, and treated them as playthings, so I wasn’t + afraid either. I suppose it’s hereditary.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford gazed at her fixedly for a few seconds with a very pale + face. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is,” she said slowly and stiffly, with an + evident effort. “Most things are, in fact, in this world we live in. + But I didn’t know YOU at least had inherited it, Elma.” + </p> + <p> + Just at that moment they were relieved from the temporary embarrassment + which the mention of Sardanapalus seemed to have caused the party, by the + approach of a tall and very handsome man, who came forward with a smile + towards where their group was standing. He was military in bearing, and + had dark brown hair, with a white moustache; but he hardly looked more + than fifty for all that, as Guy judged at once from his erect carriage and + the singular youthfulness of both face and figure. That he was a born + aristocrat one could see in every motion of his well-built limbs. His mien + had that ineffable air of grace and breeding which sometimes marks the + members of our old English families. Very much like Cyril, too, Guy + thought to himself, in a flash of intuition; very much like Cyril, the way + he raised his hat and then smiled urbanely on Mrs. Clifford and Elma. But + it was Cyril grown old and prematurely white, and filled full with the + grave haughtiness of an honoured aristocrat. + </p> + <p> + “Why, here’s Colonel Kelmscott!” Mrs. Clifford + exclaimed, with a sigh of relief, not a little set at ease by the timely + diversion. “We’re so glad you’ve come, Colonel. And Lady + Emily too; she’s over yonder, is she? Ah, well, I’ll look out + for her. We heard you were to be here. Oh, how kind of you; thank you. No, + Elma’s none the worse for her adventure, thank Heaven! just a little + shaken, that’s all, but not otherwise injured. And this gentleman’s + the brother of the kind friend who was so good to her in the tunnel. I’m + not quite sure of the name. I think it’s—-” + </p> + <p> + “Guy Waring,” the young man interposed blandly. Hardly any one + who looked at Colonel Kelmscott’s eyes could even have perceived the + profound surprise this announcement caused him. He bowed without moving a + muscle of that military face. Guy himself never noticed the intense + emotion the introduction aroused in the distinguished stranger. But Mrs. + Clifford and Elma, each scanning him closely with those keen grey eyes of + theirs, observed at once that, unmoved as he appeared, a thunderbolt + falling at Colonel Kelmscott’s feet could not more thoroughly or + completely have stunned him. For a second or two he gazed in the young man’s + face uneasily, his colour came and went, his bosom heaved in silence; then + he roped his moustache with his trembling fingers, and tried in vain to + pump up some harmless remark appropriate to the occasion. But no remark + came to him. Mrs. Clifford darted a furtive glance at Elma, and Elma + darted back a furtive glance at Mrs. Clifford. Neither said a word, and + each let her eyes drop to the ground at once as they met the other’s. + But each knew in her heart that something passing strange had astonished + Colonel Kelmscott; and each knew, too, that the other had observed it. + </p> + <p> + Mother and daughter, indeed, needed no spoken words to tell these things + plainly to one another. The deep intuition that descended to both was + enough to put them in sympathy at once without the need of articulate + language. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Guy Waring,” Mrs. Clifford repeated at last, + breaking the awkward silence that supervened upon the group. “The + brother of Mr. Cyril Waring, who was so kind the other day to my daughter + in the tunnel.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel started imperceptibly to the naked eye again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed,” he said, forcing himself with an effort to speak + at last. “I’ve read about it, of course; it was in all the + papers.... And—eh—is your brother here, too, this afternoon, + Mr. Waring?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. — KELMSCOTT OF TILGATE. + </h2> + <p> + To both Elma and her mother this meeting between Colonel Kelmscott and Guy + Waring was full of mystery. For the Kelmscotts, of Tilgate Park, were the + oldest county family in all that part of Surrey; and Colonel Kelmscott + himself passed as the proudest man of that haughtiest house in Southern + England. What, therefore, could have made him give so curious and almost + imperceptible a start the moment Guy Waring’s name was mentioned in + conversation? Not a word that he said, to be sure, implied to Guy himself + the depth of his surprise; but Elma, with her marvellous insight, could + see at once, for all that, by the very haze in his eyes, that he was + fascinated by Guy’s personality, somewhat as she herself had been + fascinated the other day in the train by Sardanapalus. Nay, more; he + seemed to wish, with all his heart, to leave the young man’s + presence, and yet to be glued to the spot, in spite of himself, by some + strange compulsion. + </p> + <p> + It was with a dreamy, far-away tone in his voice that the Colonel uttered + those seemingly simple words, “And is your brother here, too, this + afternoon, Mr. Waring?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he’s somewhere about,” Guy answered carelessly. + “He’ll turn up by-and-by, no doubt. He’s pretty sure to + find out, sooner or later, Miss Clifford’s here, and then he’ll + come round this way to speak to her.” + </p> + <p> + For some time they stood talking in a little group by the bench, Colonel + Kelmscott meanwhile thawing by degrees and growing gradually interested in + what Guy had to say, while Elma looked on with a devouring curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother’s a painter, you say,” the Colonel + murmured once under that heavy white moustache of his; “yes, I think + I remember. A rising painter. Had a capital landscape in the Grosvenor + last year, I recollect, and another in the Academy this spring, if I don’t + mistake—skied—skied, unfairly; yet a very pretty thing, too; + ‘At the Home of the Curlews.’” + </p> + <p> + “He’s painting a sweet one now,” Elma put in quickly, + “down here, close by, in Chetwood Forest. He told me about it; it + must be simply lovely—all fern and mosses, with, oh! such a + beautiful big snake in the foreground.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see it,” Colonel Kelmscott said slowly, not + without a pang. “If it’s painted in the forest—and by + your brother, Mr. Waring—that would give it, to me, a certain + personal value.” He paused a moment; then he added, in a little + explanatory undertone, “I’m lord of the manor, you know, at + Chetwood; and I shoot the forest.” + </p> + <p> + “Cyril would be delighted to let you see the piece when it’s + finished,” Guy answered lightly. “If you’re ever up in + town our way—we’ve rooms in Staple Inn. I dare say you know it—that + quaint, old-fashioned looking place, with big lattice windows, that + overhangs Holborn.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott started, and drew himself up still taller and stiffer + than before. + </p> + <p> + “I may have some opportunity of seeing it some day in one of the + galleries,” he answered coldly, as if not to commit himself. “To + tell you the truth, I seldom have time to lounge about in studios. It was + merely the coincidence of the picture being painted in Chetwood Forest + that made me fancy for a moment I might like to see it. But I’m no + connoisseur. Mrs. Clifford, may I take you to get a cup of tea? Tea, I + think, is laid out in the tent behind the shrubbery.” + </p> + <p> + It was said in a tone to dismiss Guy politely; and Guy, taking the hint, + accepted it as such, and fell back a pace or two to his garrulous old + lady. But before Colonel Kelmscott could walk off Mrs. Clifford and her + daughter to the marquee for refreshments, Elma gave a sudden start, and + blushed faintly pink through that olive-brown skin of hers. + </p> + <p> + “Why, there’s MY Mr. Waring!” she exclaimed, in a very + pleased tone, holding out her hand, with a delicious smile; and as she + said it, Cyril and Montague Nevitt strolled up from behind a great clump + of lilacs beside them. + </p> + <p> + Two pairs of eyes watched those young folks closely as they shook hands + once more—Guy’s and Mrs. Clifford’s. Guy observed that a + little red spot rose on Cyril’s cheek he had rarely seen there, and + that his voice trembled slightly as he said, “How do you do?” + to his pretty fellow-traveller of the famous adventure. Mrs. Clifford + observed that the faint pink faded out of the olive-brown skin as Elma + took Cyril Waring’s hand in hers, and that her face grew pale for + three minutes afterwards. And Colonel Kelmscott, looking on with a quietly + observant eye, remarked to himself that Cyril Waring was a very creditable + young man indeed, as handsome as Guy, and as like as two peas, but if + anything perhaps even a trifle more pleasing. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of that afternoon, they six kept constantly together. + </p> + <p> + Elma noted that Colonel Kelmscott was evidently ill at ease; a thing most + unusual with that proud, self-reliant aristocrat. He held himself, to be + sure, as straight and erect as ever, and moved about the grounds with that + same haughty air of perfect supremacy, as of one who was monarch of all he + surveyed in the county of Surrey. But Elma could see, for all that, that + he was absent-minded and self-contained; he answered all questions in a + distant, unthinking way; some inner trouble was undoubtedly consuming him. + His eyes were all for the two Warings. They glanced nervously right and + left every minute in haste, but returned after each excursion straight to + Guy and Cyril. The Colonel noted narrowly all they said and did; and Elma + was sure he was very much pleased at least with her painter. How could he + fail to be, indeed?—for Mr. Waring was charming. Elma wished she + could have strolled off with him about the lawn alone, were it only ten + paces in front of her mother. But somehow the fates that day were + unpropitious. The party held together as by some magnetic bond, and Mrs. + Clifford’s eye never for one moment deserted her. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel glowered. The Colonel was moody. His speech was curt. He + occupied himself mainly in listening to Guy and Cyril. A sort of mesmeric + influence seemed to draw him towards the two young men. + </p> + <p> + He drew them out deliberately. Yet the start he had given as either young + man came up towards his side was a start, not of mere neutral surprise, + but of positive disinclination and regret at the meeting. Nay, even now he + was angling hard, with all the skill of a strategist, to keep the Warings + out of Lady Emily’s way. But the more he talked to them, the more + interested he seemed. It was clear he meant to make the most of this + passing chance—and never again, if he could help it, Elma felt + certain, to see them. + </p> + <p> + Once, and once only, Granville Kelmscott, his son, strolled casually up + and joined the group by pure chance for a few short minutes. The heir of + Tilgate Park was tall and handsome, though less so than his father; and + Mrs. Clifford was not wholly indisposed to throw him and Elma together as + much as possible. Younger by a full year than the two Warings, Granville + Kelmscott was not wholly unlike them in face and manner. As a rule, his + father was proud of him, with a passing great pride, as he was proud of + every other Kelmscott possession. But to-day, Elma’s keen eye + observed that the Colonel’s glance moved quickly in a rapid dart + from Cyril and Guy to his son Granville, and back again from his son + Granville to Guy and Cyril. What was odder still, the hasty comparison + seemed to redound not altogether to Granville’s credit. The Colonel + paused, and stifled a sigh as he looked; then, in spite of Mrs. Clifford’s + profound attempts to retain the heir by her side, he sent the young man + off at a moment’s notice to hunt up Lady Emily. Now why on earth did + he want to keep Granville and the Warings apart? Mrs. Clifford and Elina + racked their brains in vain; they could make nothing of the mystery. + </p> + <p> + It was a long afternoon, and Elma enjoyed it, though she never got her + tete-a-tete after all with Cyril Waring. Just a rapid look, a dart from + the eyes, a faint pressure of her hand at parting—that was all the + romance she was able to extract from it, so closely did Mrs. Clifford play + her part as chaperon. But as the two young men and Montague Nevitt hurried + off at last to catch their train back to town, the Colonel turned to Mrs. + Clifford with a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “Splendid young fellows, those,” he exclaimed, looking after + them. “I’m not sorry I met them. Ought to have gone into a + cavalry regiment early in life; what fine leaders they’d have made, + to be sure, in a dash for the guns or a charge against a battery! But they + seem to have done well for themselves in their own way: carved out their + own fortunes, each after his fashion. Very plucky young fellows. One of + them’s a painter, and one’s a journalist; and both of them are + making their mark in their own world. I really admire them.” + </p> + <p> + And on the way to the station, that moment, Mr. Montague Nevitt, as he lit + his cigarette, was saying to Cyril, with an approving smile, “Your + Miss Clifford’s pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Cyril answered drily, “she’s not bad + looking. She looked her best to-day. And she’s capital company.” + </p> + <p> + But Guy broke out unabashed into a sudden burst of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad looking!” he cried contemptuously. “Is that all + you have to say of her? And you a painter, too! Why, she’s + beautiful! She’s charming! If Cyril was shut up in a tunnel with HER—-” + </p> + <p> + He broke off suddenly. + </p> + <p> + And for the rest of the way home he spoke but seldom. It was all too true. + The two Warings were cast in the self-same mould. What attracted one, it + was clear, no less surely and certainly attracted the other. + </p> + <p> + As they went to their separate rooms in Staple Inn that night, Guy paused + for a moment, candle in hand, by his door, and looked straight at Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t fear ME,” he said, in a very low tone. + “She’s yours. You found her. I wouldn’t be mean enough + for a minute to interfere with your find. But I’m not surprised at + you. I would do the same myself, if I could have seen her first. I won’t + see her again. I couldn’t stand it. She’s too beautiful to see + and not to fall in love with.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. — ELMA BREAKS OUT. + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford returned from Chetwood Court that clay in by no means such + high spirits as when she went there. In the first place, she hadn’t + succeeded in throwing Elma and Granville Kelmscott into one another’s + company at all, and in the second place Elma had talked much under her + very nose, for half-an-hour at a stretch, with the unknown young painter + fellow. When Elma was asked out anywhere else in the country for the next + six weeks or so, Mrs. Clifford made up her mind strictly to inquire in + private, before committing herself to an acceptance, whether that + dangerous young man was likely or not to be included in the party. + </p> + <p> + For Mrs. Clifford admitted frankly to herself that Cyril was dangerous; as + dangerous as they make them. He was just the right age; he was handsome, + he was clever, his tawny brown beard had the faintest little touch of + artistic redness, and was trimmed and dressed with provoking nicety. He + was an artist too; and girls nowadays, you know, have such an + unaccountable way of falling in love with men who can paint, or write + verses, or play the violin, or do something foolish of that sort, instead + of sticking fast to the solid attractions of the London Stock Exchange or + of ancestral acres. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford confided her fears that very night to the sympathetic ear of + the Companion of the Militant and Guardian Saints of the British Empire. + </p> + <p> + “Reginald,” she said solemnly, “I told you the other + day, when you asked about it, Elma wasn’t in love. And at the time I + was right, or very near it. But this afternoon I’ve had an + opportunity of watching them both together, and I’ve half changed my + mind. Elma thinks a great deal too much altogether, I’m afraid, + about this young Mr. Waring.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” Mr. Clifford asked, staring her hard in the + face, and nodding solemnly. + </p> + <p> + The British matron hesitated. “How do I know anything?” she + answered at last, driven to bay by the question. “I never know how. + I only know I know it. But whatever we do we must be careful not to let + Elma and the young man get thrown together again. I should say myself it + wouldn’t be a bad plan if we were to send her away somewhere for the + rest of the summer, but I can tell you better about all this to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Elma, for her part, had come home from Chetwood Court more full than ever + of Cyril Waring. He looked so handsome and so manly that afternoon at the + Holkers’. Elma hoped she’d be asked out where he was going to + be again. + </p> + <p> + She sat long in her own bedroom, thinking it over with herself, while the + candle burnt down in its socket very low, and the house was still, and the + rain pattered hard on the roof overhead, and her father and mother were + discussing her by themselves downstairs in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + She sat long on her chair without caring to begin undressing. She sat and + mused with her hands crossed on her lap. She sat and thought, and her + thoughts were all about Cyril Waring. + </p> + <p> + For more than an hour she sat there dreamily, and told herself over, one + by one, in long order, the afternoon’s events from beginning to the + end of them. She repeated every word Cyril had spoken in her ear. She + remembered every glance, every look he had darted at her. She thought of + that faint pressure of his hand as he said farewell. The tender blush came + back to her brown cheek once more with maidenly shame as she told it all + over. He was so handsome and so nice, and so very, very kind, and, + perhaps, after this, she might never again meet him. Her bosom heaved. She + was conscious of a new sense just aroused within her. + </p> + <p> + Presently her heart began to beat more violently. She didn’t know + why. It had never beaten in her life like that before—not even in + the tunnel, nor yet when Cyril came up to-day and spoke first to her. + Slowly, slowly, she rose from her seat. The fit was upon her. Could this + be a dream? Some strange impulse made her glide forward and stand for a + minute or two irresolute, in the middle of the room. Then she turned + round, once, twice, thrice, half unconsciously. She turned round, + wondering to herself all the while what this strange thing could mean; + faster, faster, faster, her heart within her beating at each turn with + more frantic haste and speed than ever. For some minutes she turned, + glowing with red shame, yet unable to stop, and still more unable to say + to herself why or wherefore. + </p> + <p> + At first that was all. She merely turned and panted. But as she whirled + and whirled, new moods and figures seemed to force themselves upon her. + She lifted her hands and swayed them about above her head gracefully. She + was posturing she knew, but why she had no idea. It all came upon her as + suddenly and as uncontrollably as a blush. She was whirling around the + room, now slow, now fast, but always with her arms held out lissom, like a + dancing-girl’s. Sometimes her body bent this way, and sometimes + that, her hands keeping time to her movements meanwhile in long graceful + curves, but all as if compelled by some extrinsic necessity. + </p> + <p> + It was an instinct within her over which she had no control. Surely, + surely, she must be possessed. A spirit that was not her seemed to be + catching her round the waist, and twisting her about, and making her spin + headlong over the floor through this wild fierce dance. It was terrible, + terrible. Yet she could not prevent it. A force not her own seemed to + sustain and impel her. + </p> + <p> + And all the time, as she whirled, she was conscious also of some strange + dim need. A sense of discomfort oppressed her arms. She hadn’t + everything she required for this solitary orgy. Something more was lacking + her. Something essential, vital. But what on earth it could be she knew + not; she knew not. + </p> + <p> + By-and-by she paused, and, as she glanced right and left, the sense of + discomfort grew clearer and more vivid. It was her hands that were wrong. + Her hands were empty. She must have something to fill them. Something + alive, lithe, curling, sinuous. These wavings and swayings, to this side + and to that, seemed so meaningless and void—without some life to + guide them. There was nothing for her to hold; nothing to tame and subdue; + nothing to cling and writhe and give point to her movements. Oh! heavens, + how horrible! + </p> + <p> + She drew herself up suddenly, and by dint of a fierce brief effort of will + repressed for awhile the mad dance that overmastered her. The spirit + within her, if spirit it were, kept quiet for a moment, awed and subdued + by her proud determination. Then it began once more and led her + resistlessly forward. She moved over to the chest of drawers still + rhythmically and with set steps, but to the phantom strain of some unheard + low music. The music was running vaguely through her head all the time—wild + Aeolian music—it sounded like a rude tune on a harp or zither. And + surely the cymbals clashed now and again overhead; and the timbrel rang + clear; and the castanets tinkled, keeping time with the measure. She stood + still and listened. No, no, not a sound save the rain on the roof. It was + the music of her own heart, beating irregularly and fiercely to an + intermittent lilt, like a Hungarian waltz or a Roumanian tarantella. + </p> + <p> + By this time, Elina was thoroughly frightened. Was she going mad? she + asked herself, or had some evil spirit taken up his abode within her? What + made her spin and twirl about like this—irresponsibly, + unintentionally, irrepressibly, meaninglessly? Oh, what would her mother + say, if only she knew all? And what on earth would Cyril Waring think of + her? + </p> + <p> + Cyril Waring! Cyril Waring! It was all Cyril Waring. And yet, if he knew—oh, + mercy, mercy! + </p> + <p> + Still, in spite of these doubts, misgivings, fears, she walked over + towards the chest of drawers with a firm and rhythmical tread, to the bars + of the internal music that rang loud through her brain, and began opening + one drawer after another in an aimless fashion. She was looking for + something—she didn’t know what; and she never could rest now + until she’d found it. + </p> + <p> + Drawer upon drawer she opened and shut wearily, but nothing that her eyes + fell upon seemed to suit her mood. Dresses and jackets and underlinen were + there; she glanced at them all with a deep sense of profound contempt; + none of these gewgaws of civilized life could be of any use to supply the + vague want her soul felt so dimly and yet so acutely. They were dead, + dead, dead, so close and clinging! Go further! Go further! At last she + opened the bottom drawer of all, and her eye fell askance upon a feather + boa, curled up at the bottom—soft, smooth, and long; a winding, + coiling, serpentine boa. In a second, she had fallen upon it bodily with + greedy hands, and was twisting it round her waist, and holding it high and + low, and fighting fiercely at times, and figuring with it like a + posturant. Some dormant impulse of her race seemed to stir in her blood, + with frantic leaps and bounds, at its first conscious awakening. She gave + herself up to it wildly now. She was mad. She was mad. She was glad. She + was happy. + </p> + <p> + Then she began to turn round again, slowly, slowly, slowly. As she turned, + she raised the boa now high above her head; now held it low on one side, + now stooped down and caressed it. At times, as she played with it, the + lifeless thing seemed to glide from her grasp in curling folds and elude + her; at others, she caught it round the neck like a snake, and twisted it + about her arm, or let it twine and encircle her writhing body. Like a + snake! like a snake! That idea ran like wildfire through her burning + veins. It was a snake, indeed, she wanted; a real live snake; what would + she not have given, if it were only Sardanapalus! + </p> + <p> + Sardanapalus, so glossy, so beautiful, so supple, that glorious green + serpent, with his large smooth coils, and his silvery scales, and his + darting red tongue, and his long lithe movements. Sardanapalus, + Sardanapalus, Sardanapalus! The very name seemed to link itself with the + music in her head. It coursed with her blood. It rang through her brain. + And another as well. Cyril Waring, Cyril Waring, Cyril Waring, Cyril + Waring! Oh! great heavens, what would Cyril Waring say now, if only he + could see her in her mad mood that moment! + </p> + <p> + And yet it was not she, not she, not she, but some spirit, some weird, + some unseen power within her. It was no more she than that boa there was a + snake. A real live snake. Oh, for a real live snake! And then she could + dance—tarantel, tarantella—as the spirit within her prompted + her to dance it. + </p> + <p> + “Faster, faster,” said the spirit; and she answered him back, + “Faster!” + </p> + <p> + Faster, faster, faster, faster she whirled round the room; the boa grew + alive; it coiled about her; it strangled her. Her candle failed; the wick + in the socket flickered and died; but Elma danced on, unheeding, in the + darkness. Dance, dance, dance, dance; never mind for the light! Oh! what + madness was this? What insanity had come over her? Would her feet never + stop? Must she go on till she dropped? Must she go on for ever? + </p> + <p> + Ashamed and terrified with her maidenly sense, overawed and obscured by + this hateful charm, yet unable to stay herself, unable to resist it, in a + transport of fear and remorse, she danced on irresponsibly. Check herself + she couldn’t, let her do what she would. Her whole being seemed to + go forth into that weird, wild dance. She trembled and shook. She stood + aghast at her own shame. She had hard work to restrain herself from crying + aloud in her horror. + </p> + <p> + At last, a lull, a stillness, a recess. Her limbs seemed to yield and give + way beneath her. She half fainted with fatigue. She staggered and fell. + Too weary to undress, she flung herself upon the bed, just as she was, + clothes and all. Her overwrought nerves lost consciousness at once. In + three minutes she was asleep, breathing fast but peacefully. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. — AND AFTER? + </h2> + <p> + When Elma woke up next morning, it was broad daylight. She woke with a + start, to find herself lying upon the bed where she had flung herself. For + a minute or two she couldn’t recollect or recall to herself how it + had all come about. It was too remote from anything in her previous waking + thought, too dream-like, too impossible. Then an unspeakable horror + flashed over her unawares. Her face flushed hot. Shame and terror overcame + her. She buried her head in her hands in an agony of awe. Her own + self-respect was literally outraged. It wasn’t exactly remorse; it + wasn’t exactly fear; it was a strange creeping feeling of ineffable + disgust and incredulous astonishment. + </p> + <p> + There could be but one explanation of this impossible episode. She must + have gone mad all at once! She must be a frantic lunatic! + </p> + <p> + A single thought usurped her whole soul. If she was going mad—if + this was really mania—she could never, never, never—marry + Cyril Waring. + </p> + <p> + For in a flash of intuition she knew that now. She knew she was in love. + She knew he loved her. + </p> + <p> + In that wild moment of awakening all the rest mattered nothing. The + solitary idea that ran now through her head, as the impulse to dance had + run through it last night, was the idea that she could never marry Cyril + Waring. And if Cyril Waring could have seen her just then! her cheeks + burned yet a brighter scarlet at that thought than even before. One + virginal blush suffused her face from chin to forehead. The maidenly sense + of shame consumed and devoured her. + </p> + <p> + Was she mad? Was she mad? And was this a lucid interval? + </p> + <p> + Presently, as she lay still on her bed all dressed, and with her face in + her hands, trembling for very shame, a little knock sounded tentatively at + the door of her bedroom. It was a timid, small knock, very low and soft, + and, as it were, inquiring. It seemed to say in an apologetic sort of + undertone, “I don’t know whether you’re awake or not + just yet; and if you’re still asleep, pray don’t let me for a + moment disturb or arouse you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s there?” Elma mustered up courage to ask, in a + hushed voice of terror, hiding her head under the bed-clothes. + </p> + <p> + “It’s me, darling,” Mrs. Clifford answered, very softly + and sweetly. Elma had never heard her mother speak in so tender and gentle + a tone before, though they loved one another well, and were far more + sympathetic than most mothers and daughters. And besides, that knock was + so unlike mamma’s. Why so soft and low? + </p> + <p> + Had mamma discovered her? With a despairing sense of being caught she + looked down at her tell-tale clothes and the unslept-in bed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what shall I ever do?” she thought to herself, + confusedly. “I can’t let mamma come in and catch me like this. + She’ll ask why on earth I didn’t undress last night. And then + what could I ever say? How could I ever explain to her?” + </p> + <p> + The awful sense of shame-facedness grew upon her still more deeply than + ever. She jumped up and whispered through the door, in a very penitent + voice, “Oh, mother, I can’t let you in just yet. Do you mind + waiting five minutes? Come again by-and-by. I—I—I’m so + awfully tired and queer this morning somehow.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford’s voice had an answering little ring of terror in it, + as she replied at once, in the same soft tone— + </p> + <p> + “Very well, darling. That’s all right. Stay as long as you + like. Don’t trouble to get up if you’d rather have your + breakfast in bed. And don’t hurry yourself at all. I’ll come + back by-and-by and see what’s the matter.” + </p> + <p> + Elma didn’t know why, but by the very tone of her mother’s + voice she felt dimly conscious something strange had happened. Mrs. + Clifford spoke with unusual gentleness, yet with an unwonted tremor. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dear,” Elma answered through the door, going back + to the bedside and beginning to undress in a tumult of shame. “Come + again by-and-by. In just five minutes.” It would do her good, she + knew, in spite of her shyness, to talk with her mother. Then she folded + her clothes neatly, one by one, on a chair; hid the peccant boa away in + its own lower drawer; buttoned her neat little embroidered nightdress + tightly round her throat; arranged her front hair into a careless + disorder; and tried to cool down her fiery red cheeks with copious bathing + in cold water. When Mrs. Clifford came back five minutes later, everything + looked to the outer eye of a mere casual observer exactly as if Elma had + laid in bed all night, curled up between the sheets, in the most orthodox + fashion. + </p> + <p> + But all these elaborate preparations didn’t for one moment deceive + the mother’s watchful glance, or the keen intuition shared by all + the women of the Clifford family. She looked tenderly at Elma—Elma + with her face half buried in the pillows, and the tell-tale flush still + crimsoning her cheek in a single round spot; then she turned for a second + to the clothes, too neatly folded on the chair by the bedside, as she + murmured low— + </p> + <p> + “You’re not well this morning, my child. You’d better + not get up. I’ll bring you a cup of tea and some toast myself. You + don’t feel hungry, of course. Ah, no, I thought not. Just a slice of + dry toast—yes, yes. I have been there. Some eau de Cologne on your + forehead, dear? There, there, don’t cry, Elma. You’ll be + better by-and-by. Stop in bed till lunch-time. I won’t let Lucy come + up with the tea, of course. You’d rather be alone. You were tired + last night. Don’t be afraid, my darling. It’ll soon pass off. + There’s nothing on earth, nothing at all to be alarmed at.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand nervously on Elma’s arm. Half dead with shame as + she was, Elma noticed it trembled. She noticed, too, that mamma seemed + almost afraid to catch her eye. When their glance met for an instant the + mother’s eyelids fell, and her cheek, too, burned bright red, almost + as red, Elma felt, as her own that nestled hot so deep in the pillow. + Neither said a word to the other of what she thought or felt. But their + mute sympathy itself made them more shame-faced than ever. In some dim, + indefinite, instinctive fashion, Elma knew her mother was vaguely aware + what she had done last night. Her gaze fell half unconsciously on the + bottom drawer. With quick insight, Mrs. Clifford’s eye followed her + daughter’s. Then it fell as before. Elma looked up at her terrified, + and burst into a sudden flood of tears. Her mother stooped down and caught + her wildly in her arms. “Cry, cry, my darling,” ahe murmured, + clasping her hard to her breast. “Cry, cry; it’ll do you good; + there’s safety in crying. Nobody but I shall come near you to-day. + Nobody else shall know! Don’t be afraid of me! Have not I been + there, too? It’s nothing, nothing.” + </p> + <p> + With a burst of despair, Elma laid her face in her mother’s bosom. + Some minutes later, Mrs. Clifford went down to meet her husband in the + breakfast-room. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” the father asked, shortly, looking hard at his wife’s + face, which told its own tale at once, for it was white and pallid. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” Mrs. Clifford answered, with a pre-occupied air. + “Elma’s not herself this morning at all. Had a nervous turn + after she went to her room last night. I know what it is. I suffered from + them myself when I was about her age.” Her eyes fell quickly and she + shrank from her husband’s searching glance. She was a plump-faced + and well-favoured British matron now, but once, many years before, as a + slim young girl, she had been in love with somebody—somebody whom by + superior parental wisdom she was never allowed to marry, being put off + instead with a well-connected match, young Mr. Clifford of the Colonial + Office. That was all. No more romance than that. The common romance of + every woman’s heart. A forgotten love. Yet she tingled to remember + it. + </p> + <p> + “And you think?” Mr. Clifford asked, laying down his newspaper + and looking very grave. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think. I know,” his wife answered hastily. + “I was wrong the other day, and Elma’s in love with that young + man, Cyril Waring. I know more than that, Reginald; I know you may crush + her; I know you may kill her; but if you don’t want to do that, I + know she must marry him. Whether we wish it, or whether we don’t, + there’s nothing else to be done. As things stand now, it’s + inevitable, unavoidable. She’ll never be happy with anybody else—she + must have HIM—and I, for one, won’t try to prevent her.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Reginald Clifford, C.M.G., sometime Administrator of the island of St. + Kitts, gazed at his wife in blank astonishment. She spoke decidedly; he + had never heard her speak with such firmness in his life before. It fairly + took his breath away. He gazed at his wife blankly as he repeated to + himself in very slow and solemn tones, each word distinct, “You, for + one, won’t try to prevent her!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t,” Mrs. Clifford retorted defiantly, assured + in her own mind she was acting right. “Elma’s really in love + with him; and I won’t let Elma’s life be wrecked—as some + lives have been wrecked, and as some mothers would wreck it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clifford leaned back in his chair, one mass of astonishment, and let + the Japanese paper-knife he was holding in his right hand drop clattering + from his fingers. “If I hadn’t heard you say it yourself, + Louisa,” he answered, with a gasp, “I could never have + believed it. I could—never—have—believed it. I don’t + believe it even now. It’s impossible, incredible.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s true,” Mrs. Clifford repeated. “Elma + must marry the man she’s in love with.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile poor Elma lay alone in her bedroom upstairs, that awful sense of + remorse and shame still making her cheeks tingle with unspeakable horror. + Mrs. Clifford brought up her cup of tea herself. Elma took it with + gratitude, but still never dared to look her mother in the face. Mrs. + Clifford, too, kept her own eyes averted. It made Elma’s + self-abasement even profounder than before to feel that her mother + instinctively knew everything. + </p> + <p> + The poor child lay there long, with a burning face and tingling ears, too + ashamed to get up and dress herself and face the outer world, too ashamed + to go down before her father’s eyes, till long after lunchtime. Then + there came a noise at the door once more; the rustling of a dress; a + retreating footstep. Somebody pushed an envelope stealthily under the + door. Elma picked it up and examined it curiously. It bore a penny stamp, + and the local postmark. It must have come then by the two o’clock + delivery, without a doubt; but the address, why, the address was written + in some unknown hand, and in printing capitals. Elma tore it open with a + beating heart, and read the one line of manuscript it contained, which was + also written in the same print-like letters. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid,” the letter said, “It will do + you no harm. Resist it when it comes. If you do, you will get the better + of it.” + </p> + <p> + Elma looked at the letter over and over again in a fever of dismay. She + was certain it was her mother had written that note. But she read it with + tears, only half-reassured—and then burnt it to ashes, and proceeded + to dress herself. + </p> + <p> + When she went down to the drawing-room, Mrs. Clifford rose from her seat, + and took her hand in her own, and kissed her on one cheek as if nothing + out of the common had happened in any way. The talk between them was + obtrusively commonplace. But all that day long, Elma noticed her mother + was far tenderer to her than usual; and when she went up to bed Mrs. + Clifford held her fingers for a moment with a gentle pressure, and kissed + her twice upon her eyes, and stifled a sigh, and then broke from the room + as if afraid to speak to her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. — COLONEL KELMSCOTT’S REPENTANCE. + </h2> + <p> + Elma Clifford wasn’t the only person who passed a terrible night and + suffered a painful awakening on the morning after the Holkers’ + garden-party. Colonel Kelmscott, too, had his bad half-hour or so before + he finally fell asleep; and he woke up next day to a sense of shame and + remorse far more definite, and, therefore, more poignant and more real + than Elma’s. + </p> + <p> + Hour after hour, indeed, he lay there on his bed, afraid to toss or turn + lest he should wake Lady Emily, but with his limbs all fevered and his + throat all parched, thinking over the strange chance that had thus brought + him face to face, on the threshold of his honoured age, with the two lads + he had wronged so long and so cruelly. + </p> + <p> + The shock of meeting them had been a sudden and a painful one. To be sure, + the Colonel had always felt the time might come when his two eldest sons + would cross his path in the intricate maze of London society. He had + steeled himself, as he thought, to meet them there with dignity and with + stoical reserve. He had made up his mind that if ever the names he had + imposed upon them were to fall upon his startled ears, no human being that + stood by and looked on should note for one second a single tremor of his + lips, a faint shudder of surprise, an almost imperceptible flush or pallor + on his impassive countenance. And when the shock came, indeed, he had + borne it, as he meant to bear it, with military calmness. Not even Mrs. + Clifford, he thought, could have discovered from any undertone of his + voice or manner that the two lads he received with such well-bred + unconcern were his own twin sons, the true heirs and inheritors of the + Tilgate Park property. + </p> + <p> + And yet, the actual crisis had taken him quite by surprise, and shaken him + far more than he could ever have conceived possible. For one thing, though + he quite expected that some day he would run up unawares against Guy and + Cyril, he did NOT expect it would be down in the country, and still less + within a few miles’ drive of Tilgate. In London, of course, all + things are possible. Sooner or later, there, everybody hustles and clashes + against everybody. For that reason, he had tried to suggest, by indirect + means, when he launched them on the world, that the twins should tempt + their fortune in India or the colonies. He would have liked to think they + were well out of his way, and out of Granville’s, too. But, against + his advice, they had stayed on in England. So he expected to meet them + some day, at the Academy private view, perhaps, or in Mrs. Bouverie Barton’s + literary saloon, but certainly NOT on the close sward of the Holkers’ + lawn, within a few short miles of his own home at Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + And now he had met them, his conscience, that had lain asleep so long, + woke up of a sudden with a terrible start, and began to prick him + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + If only they had been ugly, misshapen, vulgar; if only they had spoken + with coarse, rough voices, or irritated him by their inferior social tone, + or shown themselves unworthy to be the heirs of Tilgate—why then, + the Colonel might possibly have forgiven himself! But to see his own two + sons, the sons he had never set eyes on for twenty-five years or more, + grown up into such handsome, well-set, noble-looking fellows—so + clever, so bright, so able, so charming—to feel they were in every + way as much gentlemen born as Granville himself, and to know he had done + all three an irreparable wrong, oh, THAT was too much for him. For he had + kept two of his sons out of their own all these years, only in order to + make the position and prospects of the third, at last, certainly doubtful, + and perhaps wretched. + </p> + <p> + There was much to excuse him to himself, no doubt, he cried to his own + soul piteously in the night watches. Proud man as he was, he could not so + wholly abase himself even to his inmost self as to admit he had sinned + without deep provocation. He thought it all over in his heart, just there, + exactly as it all happened, that simple and natural tale of a common + wrong, that terrible secret of a lifetime that he was still to repent in + sackcloth and ashes. + </p> + <p> + It was so long before—all those twenty-six years, or was it + twenty-eight?—since his regiment had been quartered away down in + Devonshire. He was a handsome subaltern then, with a frank open face—Harry + Kelmscott, of the Greys—just such another man, he said to himself in + his remorse, as his son Granville now—or rather, perhaps, as Guy and + Cyril Waring. For he couldn’t conceal from himself any longer the + patent fact that Lucy Waring’s sons were like his own old self, and + sturdier, handsomer young fellows into the bargain than Lady Emily + Kelmscott’s boy Granville, whom he had made into the heir of the + Tilgate manors. The moor, where the Greys were quartered that summer, was + as dull as ditch-water. No society, no dances, no hunting, no sport; what + wonder a man of his tastes, spoiling for want of a drawing-room to + conquer, should have kept his hand in with pretty Lucy Waring? + </p> + <p> + But he married her—he married her. He did her no wrong in the end. + He hadn’t that sin at least to lay to his conscience. + </p> + <p> + Ah, well, poor Lucy! he had really been fond of her; as fond as a + Kelmscott of Tilgate could reasonably be expected ever to prove towards + the daughter of a simple Dartmoor farmer. It began in flirtation, of + course, as such things will begin; and it ended, as they will end, too, in + love, at least on poor Lucy’s side, for what can you expect from a + Kelmscott of Tilgate? And, indeed, indeed, he said to himself earnestly, + he meant her no harm, though he seemed at times to be cruel to her. As + soon as he gathered how deeply she was entangled—how seriously she + took it all—how much she was in love with him—he tried hard to + break it off, he tried hard to put matters to her in their proper light; + he tried to show her that an officer and a gentleman, a Kelmscott of + Tilgate, could never really have dreamed of marrying the half-educated, + half-peasant daughter of a Devonshire farmer. Though, to be sure, she was + a lady in her way, too, poor Lucy; as much of a lady in manner and in + heart as Emily herself, whose father was an earl, and whose mother was a + marquis’s eldest daughter. + </p> + <p> + So much a lady in her way, in deed, in thought, and all that—one of + nature’s gentlewomen—that when Lucy cried and broke her heart + at his halting explanations, he was unmanned by her sobs, and did a thing + no Kelmscott of Tilgate should ever have stooped to do—yes, promised + to marry her. Of course, he didn’t attempt in his own heart to + justify that initial folly, as lie thought it, to himself. He didn’t + pretend to condone it. He only allowed he had acted like a fool. A + Kelmscott of Tilgate should have drawn back long before, or else, having + gone so far, should have told the girl plainly—at whatever cost, to + her—he could go no further and have no more to say to her. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, that would have killed the poor thing outright. But a + Kelmscott, you know, should respect his order, and shouldn’t shrink + for a moment from these trifling sacrifices! + </p> + <p> + However, his own heart was better, in those days, than his class + philosophy. He couldn’t trample on poor Lucy Waring. So he made a + fool of himself in the end—and married Lucy. Ah, well! ah, well! + every man makes a fool of himself once or twice in his life; and though + the Colonel was ashamed now of having so far bemeaned his order as to + marry the girl, why, if the truth must out, he would have been more + ashamed still, in his heart of hearts, even then, if he hadn’t + married her. He was better than his creed. He could never have crushed + her. + </p> + <p> + Married her, yes; but not publicly, of course. At least, he respected + public decency. He married her under his own name, to be sure, but by + special licence, and at a remote little village on the far side of the + moor, where nobody knew either himself or Lucy. In those days, he hadn’t + yet come into possession of the Tilgate estates; and if his father had + known of it—well, the Admiral was such a despotic old man that he’d + have insisted on his son’s selling out at once, and going off to + Australia or heaven knows where, on a journey round the world, and + breaking poor Lucy’s heart by his absence. Partly for her sake, the + Colonel said to himself now in the silent night, and partly for his own, + he had concealed the marriage—for the time being—from the + Admiral. + </p> + <p> + And then came that horrible embroilment—oh, how well he remembered + it. Ah me, ah me, it seemed but yesterday—when his father insisted + he was to marry Lady Emily Croke, Lord Aldeburgh’s daughter; and he + dared not marry her, of course, having a wife already, and he dared not + tell his father, on the other hand, why he couldn’t marry her. It + was a hateful time. He shrank from recalling it. He was keeping Lucy, then + his own wedded wife, as Mrs. Waring, in small rooms in Plymouth; and yet + he was running up to town now and again, on leave, as the gay young + bachelor, the heir of Tilgate Park—and meeting Emily Croke at every + party he went to in London—and braving the Admiral’s wrath by + refusing to propose to her. What he would ever have done if Lucy had + lived, he couldn’t imagine. But, there! Lucy DIDN’T live; so + he was saved that bother. Poor child, it brought tears to his eyes even + now to think of her. He brushed them furtively away, lest he should waken + Lady Emily. + </p> + <p> + And yet it was a shock to him, the night Lucy died. Just then, he could + hardly realize how lucky was the accident. He sat there by her side, the + day the twins were born, to see her safely through her trouble; for he had + always done his duty, after a fashion, by Lucy. When a girl of that class + marries a gentleman, don’t you see, and consents, too, mind you, to + marry him privately, she can’t expect to share much of her husband’s + company. She can’t expect he should stultify himself by + acknowledging her publicly before his own class. And, indeed, he always + meant to acknowledge her in the end—after his father’s death, + when there was no fear of the Admiral’s cutting off his allowance. + </p> + <p> + But how curiously events often turn out of themselves. The twins were born + on a Friday morning, and by the Saturday night, poor Lucy was lying dead, + a pale, sweet corpse, in her own little room, near the Hoe, at Plymouth. + It was a happy release for him though he really loved her. But still, when + a man’s fool enough to love a girl below his own station in life—the + Colonel paused and broke off. It was twenty-seven years ago now, yet he + really loved her. He couldn’t find it in his heart even then to + indorse to the full the common philosophy of his own order. + </p> + <p> + So there he was left with the two boys on his hands, but free, if he + liked, to marry Lady Emily. No reason on earth, of course, why he shouldn’t + marry her now. So, naturally, he married her—after a fortnight’s + interval. The Admiral was all smiles and paternal blessings at this sudden + change of front on his son’s part. Why the dickens Harry hadn’t + wanted to marry the girl before, to be sure he couldn’t conceive; + hankering after some missy in the country, he supposed, that silly rot + about what they call love, no doubt; but now that Harry had come to his + senses at last, and taken the Earl’s lass, why, the Admiral was + indulgence and munificence itself; the young people should have an ample + allowance, and my daughter-in-law, Lady Emily, should live on the best + that Tilgate and Chetwood could possibly afford her. + </p> + <p> + What would you have? the Colonel asked piteously, in the dead of night, of + his own conscience. How else could he have acted? He said nothing. That + was all, mind you, he declared to himself more than once in his own soul. + He told no lies. He made no complications. While the Admiral lived, he + brought up Lucy’s sons, quite privately, at Plymouth. And as soon as + ever the Admiral died, he really and truly meant to acknowledge them. + </p> + <p> + But fathers never die—in entailed estates. The Admiral lived so long—quite, + quite too long for Guy and Cyril. Granville was born, and grew to be a big + boy, and was treated by everybody as the heir to Tilgate. And now the + Colonel’s difficulties gathered thicker around him. At last, in the + fulness of time, the Admiral died, and slept with his fathers, whose + Elizabethan ruff’s were the honour and glory of the chancel at + Tilgate; and then the day of reckoning was fairly upon him. How well he + remembered that awful hour. He couldn’t, he couldn’t. He knew + it was his duty to acknowledge his rightful sons and heirs, but he hadn’t + the courage. Things had all altered so much. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Guy and Cyril had gone to Charterhouse as nobody’s wards, + and been brought up in the expectation of earning their own livelihood, so + no wrong, he said casuistically, had been done to THEM, at any rate. And + Granville had been brought up as the heir of Tilgate. Lady Emily naturally + expected her son to succeed his father. He had gone too far to turn back + at last. And yet— + </p> + <p> + And yet, in his own heart, disguise it as he might, he knew he was keeping + his lawful sons out of their own in the end, and it was his duty to + acknowledge them as the heirs of Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. — A FAMILY JAR. + </h2> + <p> + Hour after hour the unhappy man lay still as death on his bed and reasoned + in vain with his accusing conscience. To be sure, he said to himself, no + man was bound by the law of England to name his heir. It is for the eldest + son himself to come forward and make his claim. If Guy and Cyril could + prove their title to the Tilgate estates when he himself was dead, that + was their private business. He wasn’t bound to do anything special + to make the way easy for them beforehand. + </p> + <p> + But still, when he saw them, his heart arose and smote him. His very class + prejudices fought hard on their behalf. These men were gentlemen, the + eldest sons of a Kelmscott of Tilgate—true Kelmscotts to the core—handsome, + courtly, erect of bearing. Guy was the very image of the Kelmscott of + Tilgate Park who bled for King Charles at Marston Moor; Cyril had the + exact mien of Sir Rupert Kelmscott, Knight of Chetwood, the ablest of + their race, whose portrait, by Kneller, hung in the great hall between his + father; the Admiral, and his uncle, Sir Frederick. They had all the + qualities the Colonel himself associated with the Kelmscott name. They + were strong, brave, vigorous, able to hold their own against all comers. + To leave them out in the cold was not only wrong—it was also, he + felt in his heart of hearts, a treason to his order. + </p> + <p> + At last, after long watching, he fell asleep. But he slept uneasily. When + he woke, it was with a start. He found himself murmuring to himself in his + troubled sleep, “Break the entail, and settle a sum on the two that + will quiet them.” + </p> + <p> + It was the only way left to prevent public scandal, and to save Lady Emily + and his son Granville from a painful disclosure: while, at the same time, + it would to some extent satisfy the claims of his conscience. + </p> + <p> + Compromise, compromise; there’s nothing like compromise. Colonel + Kelmscott had always had by temperament a truly British love of + compromise. + </p> + <p> + To carry out his plan, indeed, it would be necessary to break the entail + twice; once formally, and once again really. He must begin by getting + Granville’s consent to the proposed arrangement, so as to raise + ready money with which to bribe the young men; and as soon as Granville’s + consent was obtained, he must put it plainly to Guy and Cyril, as an + anonymous benefactor, that if they would consent to accept a fixed sum in + lieu of all contingencies, then the secret of their birth would be + revealed to them at last, and they would be asked to break the entail on + the estates as eldest sons of a gentleman of property. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard bargain; a very hard bargain; but then these boys would jump + at it, no doubt; expecting nothing as they did, they’d certainly + jump at it. It’s a great point, you see, to come in suddenly, when + you expect nothing, to a nice lump sum of five or six thousand! + </p> + <p> + So much so, indeed, that the real difficulty, he thought, would rather lie + in approaching Granville. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast that morning, however, he tapped his son on the shoulder + as he was leaving the table, and said to him, in his distinctly business + tone, “Granville, will you step with me into the library for ten + minutes’ talk? There’s a small matter of the estate I desire + to discuss with you.” + </p> + <p> + Granville looked back at him with a curiously amused air. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” he said shortly. “It’s a very odd + coincidence. But do you know, I was going this morning myself to ask for a + chance of ten minutes’ talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, and followed his father into the oak-panelled library. The + Colonel sat down on one of the uncomfortable library chairs, especially + designed, with their knobs and excrescences, to prevent the bare + possibility of serious study. Granville took a seat opposite him, across + the formal oak table. Colonel Kelmscott paused; and cleared his throat + nervously. Then, with military promptitude, he darted straight into the + very thick of the fray. + </p> + <p> + “Granville,” he said abruptly, “I want to speak with you + about a rather big affair. The fact of it is, I’m going to break the + entail. I want to raise some money.” + </p> + <p> + The son gave a little start of surprise and amusement. “Why, this is + very odd,” he exclaimed once more, in an astonished tone. “That’s + just the precise thing I wanted to talk about with you.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott eyed him with an answering start. + </p> + <p> + “Not debts!” he said slowly. “My boy, my boy, this is + bad. Not debts surely, Granville; I never suspected it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear no,” Granville answered frankly. “No debts, + you may be sure. But I wanted to feel myself on a satisfactory basis—as + to income and so forth: and I was prepared to pay for my freedom well. To + tell you the truth outright, I want to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott eyed him close with a very puzzled look. “Not Elma + Clifford, my boy,” he said again quickly. “For of course, if + it is her, Granville, I need hardly say—” + </p> + <p> + The young man cut him short with a hasty little laugh. “Elma + Clifford,” he repeated, with some scorn in his musical voice, + “Oh, dear no, not HER. If it had been her you may be sure there’d + be no reason of any sort for breaking the entail. But the fact is this: I + dislike allowances one way or the other. I want to feel once for all I’m + my own master. I want to marry—not this girl or that, but whom ever + I will. I don’t care to come to you with my hat in my hand, asking + how much you’ll be kind enough to allow me if I venture to take Miss + So-and-so or Miss What-you-may-call-it. And as I know you want money + yourself for this new wing you’re thinking of, why, I’m + prepared to break the entail at once, and sell whatever building land you + think right and proper.” + </p> + <p> + The father held his breath. What on earth could this mean? “And who + is the girl, Granville?” he asked, with unconcealed interest. + </p> + <p> + “You won’t care to hear,” his son answered carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott looked across at him with a very red face. “Not + some girl who’ll bring disgrace upon your mother, I hope?” he + said, with a half-pang of remorse, remembering Lucy. “Not some young + woman beneath your own station in life. For to that, you may be sure, I’ll + never consent under any circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + Granville drew himself up proudly, with a haughty smile. He was a + Kelmscott, too, as arrogant as the best of them. + </p> + <p> + “No, that’s not the difficulty,” he answered, looking + rather amused than annoyed or frightened. “My tastes are NOT low. I + hope I know better than to disgrace my family. The lady I want to marry, + and for whose sake I wish you to make some arrangement beforehand is—don’t + be surprised—well, Gwendoline Gildersleeve.” + </p> + <p> + “Gwendoline Gildersleeve,” his father echoed, astonished; for + there was feud between the families, “That rascally, land-grabbing + barrister’s daughter! Why, how on earth do you come to know anything + of her, Granville? Nobody in Surrey ever had the impertinence yet to ask + me or mine to meet the Gildersleeves anywhere, since that disgraceful + behaviour of his about the boundary fences. And I didn’t suppose you’d + ever even seen her.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody in Surrey ever did ask me to meet her,” Granville + answered somewhat curtly. “But you can’t expect every one in + London society to keep watch over the quarrels of every country parish in + provincial England! It wouldn’t be reasonable. I met Gwendoline, if + you want to know, at the Bertrams’, in Berkeley Square, and she and + I got on so well together that we’ve—well, we’ve met + from time to time in the Park, since our return from town, and we think by + this time we may consider ourselves informally engaged to one another.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott gazed at his son in a perfect access of indignant + amazement. Gilbert Gildersleeve’s daughter! That rascally Q.C.‘s! + At any other moment such a proposal would have driven him forthwith into + open hostilities. If Granville chose to marry a girl like that, why, + Granville might have lived on what his father would allow him. + </p> + <p> + Just now, however, with this keen fit of remorse quite fresh upon his soul + about poor Lucy’s sons, Colonel Kelmscott was almost disposed to + accept the opening thus laid before him by Granville’s proposal. + </p> + <p> + So he temporized for awhile, nursing his chin with his hand, and then, + after much discussion, yielded at last a conditional consent—conditional + upon their mutual agreement as to the terms on which the entail was to be + finally broken. + </p> + <p> + “And what sort of arrangement do you propose I should make for your + personal maintenance, and this Gildersleeve girl’s household?” + the Colonel asked at length, with a very red face, descending to details. + </p> + <p> + His son, without appearing to notice the implied slight to Gwendoline, + named the terms that he thought would satisfy him. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a very stiff sum,” the master of Tilgate + retorted; “but perhaps I could manage it; per—haps I could + manage it. We must sell the Dowlands farm at once, that’s certain, + and I must take the twelve thousand or so the land will fetch for my own + use, absolutely and without restriction.” + </p> + <p> + “To build the new wing with?” the son put in, with a gesture + of assent. + </p> + <p> + “To build the new wing with? Why, certainly not,” his father + answered angrily. “Am I to bargain with my son what use I’m to + make of my own property? Mark my words, I won’t submit to + interference. To do precisely as I choose with, sir. To roll in if I like! + To fling into the sea, if the fancy takes me!” + </p> + <p> + Granville Kelmscott stared hard at him. Twelve thousand pounds! What on + earth could his father mean by this whim? he wondered. “Twelve + thousand pounds is a very big sum to fling away from the estate without a + question asked,” he retorted, growing hot “It seems to me, you + too closely resemble our ancestors who came over from Holland. In matters + of business, you know, the fault of the Dutch is giving too little and + asking too much.” + </p> + <p> + His father glared at him. That’s the worst of this huckstering and + higgling with your own flesh and blood. You have to put up with such + intolerable insults. But he controlled himself, and continued. The longer + he talked, however, the hotter and angrier he became by degrees. And what + made him the hottest and angriest of all was the knowledge meanwhile that + he was doing it every bit for Granville’s own sake; nay, more, that + consideration for Granville alone had brought him originally into this + peck of trouble. + </p> + <p> + At last he could contain himself with indignation no longer. His temper + broke down. He flared up and out with it. “Take care what you do!” + he cried. “Take care what you say, Granville! I’m not going to + be bearded with impunity in my den. If you press me too hard, remember, I’ll + ruin all. I can cut you off with a shilling, sir, if I choose—cut + you off with a shilling. Yes, and do justice to others I’ve wronged + for your sake. Don’t provoke me too far, I say, If you do, you’ll + repent it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cut me off with a shilling, sir!” his son answered angrily, + rising and staring hard at him. “Why, what do you mean by that? You + know you can’t do it, My interest in the estate’s as good as + your own. I’m the eldest son—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off suddenly; for at those fatal words, Colonel Kelmscott’s + face, fiery red till then, grew instantly blanched and white with terror. + “Oh, what have I done?” the unhappy man cried, seeing his son’s + eyes read some glimpse of the truth too clearly in his look. “Oh, + what have I said? Forget it, Granny, forget it! I didn’t mean to go + so far as I did in my anger. I was a fool—a fool! I gave way too + much. For Heaven’s sake, my boy, forget it, forget it!” + </p> + <p> + The young man looked across at him with a dazed and puzzled look, yet very + full of meaning. “I shall never forget it,” he said slowly. + “I shall learn what it means. I don’t know how things stand; + but I see you meant it. Do as you like about the entail. It’s no + business of mine. Take your pound of flesh, your twelve thousand down, and + pay your hush-money! I don’t know whom you bribe, and I have nothing + to say to it. I never dragged the honour of the Kelmscotts in the dust. I + won’t drag it now. I wash my hands clean from it. I ask no + questions. I demand no explanations. I only say this. Until I know what + you mean—know whether I’m lawful heir to Tilgate Park or not, + I won’t marry the girl I meant to marry. I have too much regard for + her, and for the honour of our house, to take her on what may prove to be + false expectations. Break the entail, I say! Raise your twelve thousand. + Pay off your bloodhounds. But never expect me to touch a penny of your + money, henceforth and for ever, till I know whether it was yours and mine + at all to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott bent down his proud head meekly. “As you will, + Granville,” he answered, quite broken with remorse, and silenced by + shame. “My boy, my boy, I only wanted to save you!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. — IN SILENCE AND TEARS. + </h2> + <p> + When he had time to think, Colonel Kelmscott determined in his own mind + that he would still do his best to save Granville, whether Granville + himself wished it or otherwise. So he proceeded to take all the necessary + steps for breaking the entail and raising the money he needed for Guy and + Cyril. + </p> + <p> + In all this, Granville neither acquiesced nor dissented. He signed + mechanically whatever documents his father presented to him, and he stood + by his bargain with a certain sullen, undeviating, hard-featured loyalty; + but he never forgot those few angry words in which his father had half let + out his long-guarded life secret. + </p> + <p> + Thinking the matter over continually with himself, however, he came in the + end to the natural conclusion that one explanation alone would fit all the + facts. He was not his father’s eldest son at all. Colonel Kelmscott + must have been married to some one else before his marriage with Lady + Emily. That some one else’s son was the real heir of Tilgate. And it + was to him that his father, in his passionate penitence, proposed, after + many years, to do one-sided justice. Now Granville Kelmscott, though a + haughty and somewhat head-strong fellow, after the fashion of his race, + was a young man of principle and of honour. The moment this hideous doubt + occurred to his mind, he couldn’t rest in his bed till he had + cleared it all up and settled it for ever, one way or the other. If + Tilgate wasn’t his, by law and right, he wanted none of it. If his + father was trying to buy off the real heir to the estate with a pitiful + pittance, in order to preserve the ill-gotten remainder for Lady Emily’s + son, why, Granville for his part would be no active party to such a + miserable compromise. If some other man was the Colonel’s lawful + heir, let that other man take the property and enjoy it; but he, Granville + Kelmscott, would go forth upon the world, an honest adventurer, to seek + his fortune with his own right hand wherever he might find it. + </p> + <p> + Still, he could take no active step, on the other hand, to hunt up the + truth about the Colonel’s real or supposed first marriage. For here + an awful dilemma blocked the way before him. If the Colonel had married + before, and if by that former marriage he had a son or sons—how + could Granville be sure the supposed first wife was dead before the second + was married? And supposing, for a moment, she was not dead—supposing + his father had been even more criminal and more unjust than he at first + imagined—how could he take the initiative himself in showing that + his own mother, Lady Emily Kelmscott, was no wife at all in the sight of + the law? that some other woman was his father’s lawful consort? The + bare possibility of such an issue was too horrible for any son on earth to + face undismayed. So, tortured and distracted by his divided duty, + Granville Kelmscott shrank alike from action or inaction. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of such doubts and difficulties, however, one duty shone out + clear as day before him. Till the mystery was cleared up, till the problem + was solved, he must see no more of Gwendoline Gildersleeve. He had engaged + himself to her as the heir of Tilgate. She had accepted him under that + guise, and looked forward to an early and happy marriage. Now, all was + changed. He was, or might be, a beggar and an outcast. To be sure, he knew + Gwendoline loved him for himself; but how could he marry her if he didn’t + even know he had anything of his own in the world to marry upon? The park + and fallow deer had been a part of himself; without them, he felt he was + hardly even a Kelmscott. It was his plain duty, now, for Gwendoline’s + sake, to release her from her promise to a man who might perhaps be + penniless, and who couldn’t even feel sure he was the lawful son of + his own father. And yet—for Lady Emily’s sake—he mustn’t + hint, even to Gwendoline, the real reason which moved him to offer her + this release. He must throw himself upon her mercy, without cause + assigned, and ask her for the time being to have faith in him and to + believe him. + </p> + <p> + So, a day or two after the interview with his father in the library, the + self-disinherited heir of Tilgate took the path through the glade that led + into the dell beyond the boundary fence—that dell which had once + been accounted a component part of Tilgate Park, but which Gilbert + Gildersleeve had proved, in his cold-blooded documentary legal way, to + belong in reality to the grounds of Woodlands. It was in the dell that + Granville sometimes ran up against Gwendoline. He sat down on the broken + ledge of ironstone that overhung the little brook. It was eleven o’clock + gone. By eleven o’clock, three mornings in the week, chance—pure + chance—the patron god of lovers, brought Gwendoline into the dell to + meet him. + </p> + <p> + Presently, a light footfall rang soft upon the path, and next moment a + tall and beautiful girl, with a wealth of auburn hair, and a bright colour + in her cheeks, tripped lightly down the slope, as if strolling through the + wood in maiden meditation, fancy free, unexpecting any one. + </p> + <p> + “What, you here, Mr. Kelmscott?” she exclaimed, as she saw + him, her pink cheek deepening as she spoke to a still profounder crimson. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m here, Gwendoline,” Granville Kelmscott + answered, with a smile of recognition at her maidenly pretence of an + undesigned coincidence. “And I’m here, to say the truth, + because I quite expected this morning to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + He took her hand gravely. Gwendoline let her eyes fall modestly on the + ground, as if some warmer greeting were more often bestowed between them. + The young man blushed with a certain manly shame. “No, not to-day, + dear,” he said, with an effort, as she held her cheek aside, half + courting and half deprecating the expected kiss. “Oh, Gwendoline, I + don’t know how to begin. I don’t know how to say it. But I’ve + got very sad news for you—news that I can’t bear to break—that + I can’t venture to explain—that I don’t even properly + understand myself. I must throw myself upon your faith. I must just ask + you to trust me.” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline let him seat her, unresisting, upon the ledge by his side, and + her cheek grew suddenly ashy pale, as she answered with a gasp, forgetting + the “Mr. Kelmscott” at this sudden leap into the stern + realities of life, “Why, Granville, what do you mean? You know I can + trust you. You know, whatever it may be, I believe you implicitly.” + </p> + <p> + The young man took her hand in his with a tender pressure. It was a + terrible message to have to deliver. He bungled and blundered on, with + many twists and turns, through some inarticulate attempt at an indefinite + explanation. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her—oh, + devotedly, eternally, she must know that well; she never could doubt it. + It wasn’t that any shadow had arisen between him and her, it wasn’t + anything he could speak about, or anything she must say to any soul on + earth—oh, for his mother’s sake, he hoped and trusted she + would religiously keep his secret inviolate! But something had happened to + him within the last few days—something unspeakable, indefinite, + uncertain, vague, yet very full of the most dreadful possibilities; + something that might make him unable to support a wife; something that at + least must delay or postpone for an unknown time the long-hoped-for + prospect of his claiming her and marrying her. Some day, perhaps—he + broke off suddenly, and looked with a wistful look into her deep grey + eyes. His resolution failed him. “One kiss,” he said, “Gwendoline!” + His voice was choking. The beautiful girl, turning towards him with a wild + sob, fell, yielding herself on his breast, and cried hot tears of joy at + that evident sign that, in spite of all he said, he still really loved + her. + </p> + <p> + They sat there long, hand in hand, and eye on eye, talking it all over, as + lovers will, with infinite delays, yet getting no nearer towards a + solution either way. Gwendoline, for her part, didn’t care, of + course—what true woman does?—whether Granville was the heir of + Tilgate or not; she would marry him all the more, she said, if he were a + penniless nobody. All she wanted was to love him and be near him. Let him + marry her now, marry her to-day, and then go where he would in the world + to seek his livelihood. But Granville, poor fellow, alarmed at the bare + suggestion—for his mother’s sake—that Tilgate might + really not be his, checked her at once in her outburst with a grave, + silent look; he was still, he said calmly, the inheritor of Tilgate. It + wasn’t that. At least, not as she took it. He didn’t know + precisely what it was himself. She must have faith in him and trust him. + She must wait and see. In the end, he hoped, he would come back and marry + her. + </p> + <p> + And Gwendoline made answer, with many tears, that she knew it was so, and + that she loved him and trusted him. So, after sitting there long, hand + locked in hand, and heart intent on heart, the two young people rose at + last to go, protesting and vowing their mutual love on either side, as + happy and as miserable in their divided lives as two young people in all + England that moment. Over and over again they kissed and said good-bye; + then they stood with one another’s fingers clasped hard in their + own, unwilling to part, and unable to loose them. After that, they kissed + again, and declared once more they were broken-hearted, and could never + leave one another. But still, Granville added, half aside, he must make up + his mind not to see Gwendoline again—honour demanded that sacrifice—till + he could come at last a rich man to claim her. Meanwhile, she was free; + and he—he was ever hers, devotedly, whole-souledly. But they were no + longer engaged. He was hers in heart only. Let her try to forget him. He + could never forget her. + </p> + <p> + And Gwendoline, sobbing and tearful, but believing him implicitly, + retreated with slow steps, looking back at each turn of the zigzag path, + and sending the ghosts of dead kisses from her finger-tips to greet him. + </p> + <p> + Below in the dell Granville stood still, and watched her depart in + breathless silence. Then, in an agony of despair, he flung himself down on + the ground and burst into tears, and sobbed like a child over his broken + daydream. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline, coming back to make sure, saw him lying and sobbing so; and, + woman-like, felt compelled to step down just one minute to comfort him. + Granville in turn refused her proffered comfort—it was better so—he + mustn’t listen to her any more; he must steel himself to say No; he + must remember it was dishonourable of him to drag a delicately nurtured + girl into a penniless marriage. Then they kissed once more and made it all + up again; and they sobbed and wept as before, and broke it off for ever; + and they said good-bye for the very last time; and they decided they must + never meet till Granville came back; and they hoped they would sometimes + catch just a glimpse of one another in the outer world, and whatever the + other one said or did, they would each in their hearts be always true to + their first great love; and they were more miserable still, and they were + happier than they had ever been in their lives before; and they parted at + last, with a desperate effort, each perfectly sure of the other’s + love, and each vowing in soul they would never, never see one another + again, but each, for all that, perfectly certain that some day or other + they would be husband and wife, though Tilgate and the wretched little + fallow deer should sink, unwept, to the bottom of the ocean. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. — BUSINESS FIRST. + </h2> + <p> + The manager at Messrs. Drummond, Coutts and Barclay’s, Limited, + received Colonel Kelmscott with distinguished consideration. A courteous, + conciliatory sort of man, that manager, with his close-shaven face and his + spotless shirt-front. + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes, my dear sir?” he exclaimed, with warmth, + motioning his visitor blandly into the leather-covered chair. “Half + an hour, if you wish it. We always have leisure to receive our clients. + Any service we can render them, we’re only too happy.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is a very peculiar bit of business,” Colonel + Kelmscott answered, humming and hawing with obvious hesitation. “It + isn’t quite in the regular way of banking, I believe. Perhaps, + indeed, I ought rather to have put it into the hands of my solicitor. But, + even if you can’t manage the thing yourself, you may be able to put + me in the way of finding out how best I can get it managed elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The manager bowed. His smile was a smile of genuine satisfaction. Colonel + Kelmscott of Tilgate was in a most gracious humour. The manager, with + deference, held himself wholly at his client’s disposition. + </p> + <p> + So the Colonel proceeded to unfold his business. There were two young men, + now knocking about town, of the names of Guy and Cyril Waring—the + one a journalist, the other a painter—and they had rooms in Staple + Inn, Holborn, which would doubtless form a sufficient clue by which to + identify them. Colonel Kelmscott desired unobtrusively to know where these + young men banked—if indeed they were in a position to keep an + account; and when that was found out, he wished Messrs. Drummond, Coutts + and Barclay, Limited, to place a sum of money at their bankers to their + credit, without mentioning the name of the person so placing it, as well + as to transmit to them a sealed envelope, containing instructions as to + the use to be made of the money in question. + </p> + <p> + The manager nodded a cautious acquiescence. To place the money to the + credit of the two young men, indeed, would be quite in their way. But to + send the sealed envelope, without being aware of its contents, or the + nature of the business on which it was despatched, would be much less + regular. Perhaps the Colonel might find some other means of managing + without their aid that portion of the business arrangement. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel, for his part, fell in readily enough with this modest point + of view. It amply sufficed for him if the money were paid to the young men’s + credit, and a receipt, forwarded to him in due course, under cover of a + number, to the care of the bankers. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” the manager answered, rubbing his hands + contentedly. “Our confidential clerk will settle all that for you. A + most sagacious person, our confidential clerk. No eyes, no ears, no tongue + for anything but our clients’ interests.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel smiled, and sat a little longer, giving further details as the + precise amount he wished sent, and the particular way he wished to send it—the + whole sum to be, in fact, twelve thousand pounds, amount of the purchase + money of the Dowlands farms, whereof only six thousand had as yet been + paid down; and that six thousand he wished to place forthwith to the + credit of Cyril Waring, the painter. The remaining six thousand, to be + settled, as agreed, in five weeks’ time, he would then make over + under the self-same conditions to the other brother, Guy Waring, the + journalist. It had gone a trifle too cheap, that land at Dowlands, the + Colonel opined; but still, in days like these he was very glad, indeed, to + find a purchaser for the place at anything like its value. + </p> + <p> + “I think a Miss Ewes was the fortunate bidder, wasn’t she?” + the manager asked, just to make a certain decent show of interest in his + client’s estate. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss Elma Ewes of Kenilworth,” the Colonel answered, + letting loose for a moment his tongue, that unruly member. “She’s + the composer, you know—writes songs and dances; remotely connected + with Reginald Clifford, the man who was Governor of some West Indian + Dutch-oven—St. Kitts, I think, or Antigua—he lives down our + way, and he’s a neighbour of mine at Tilgate. Or rather she’s + connected with Mrs. Clifford, the Governor’s wife, who was one of + the younger branch, a Miss Ewes of Worthing, daughter of the Ewes who was + Dean of Dorchester. Elma’s been a family name for years with all the + lot of Eweses, good, bad, or indifferent. Came down to them, don’t + you know, from that Roumanian ancestress.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” the manager answered, now beginning to be really + interested—for the Cliffords were clients too, and it behoves a + banker to know everything about everybody’s business. “So Mrs. + Clifford had an ancestress who was a Roumanian, had she? Well, I’ve + noticed at times her complexion looked very southern and gipsy-like—distinctly + un-English.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they call it Roumanian,” Colonel Kelmscott went on in a + confidential tone, roping his white moustache, and growing more and more + conversational; “they call it Roumanian, because it sounds more + respectable; but I believe, if you go right down to the very bottom of the + thing, it was much more like some kind of Oriental gipsy. Sir Michael + Ewes, the founder of the house, in George the Second’s time, was + ambassador for awhile at Constantinople. He began life, indeed, I believe, + as a Turkey merchant. Well, at Pera one day, so the story goes—you’ll + find it all in Horace Walpole’s diary—he picked up with this + dark-skinned gipsy-woman, who was a wonderful creature in her way, a sort + of mesmeric sorceress, who belonged to some tribe of far eastern serpent + charmers. It seems that women of this particular tribe were regularly + trained by the men to be capering priestesses—or fortune-tellers, if + you like—who performed some extraordinary sacred antics of a + mystical kind, much after the fashion of the howling dervishes. However + that may be, Sir Michael, at any rate, pacing the streets of Pera, saw the + woman that she was passing fair, and fell in love with her outright at + some dervish entertainment. But being a very well-behaved old man, + combining a liking for Orientals with a British taste for the highest + respectability, he had the girl baptized and made into a proper Christian + first; and then he married her off-hand and brought her home with him as + my Lady Ewes to England. She was presented at Court, to George the Second; + and Lady Mary Wortley Montagu stood her sponsor on the occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did it all turn out?” the manager asked, with an air + of intelligent historical interest. + </p> + <p> + “Turn out? Well, it turned out in a thumping big family of thirteen + children,” the Colonel answered; “most of whom, happily for + the father, died young, But the five who survived, and who married at last + into very good connections, all had one peculiarity, which they + transmitted to all their female descendants. Very odd these hereditary + traits, to be sure. Very singular! Very singular!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, to be sure,” the manager answered, turning over a pile of + letters. “And what was the hereditary trait handed down, as you say, + in the family of the Roumanian lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in the first place,” the Colonel continued, leaning back + in his chair, and making himself perfectly comfortable, “all the + girls of the Ewes connection, to the third and fourth generation, have + olive-brown complexions, creamy and soft, but clear as crystal. Then + again, they’ve all got most extraordinary intuition—a + perfectly marvellous gift of reading faces. By George, sir,” the + Colonel exclaimed, growing hot and red at the memory of that afternoon on + the Holkers’ lawn, “I don’t like to see those women’s + eyes fixed upon my cheek when there’s anything going on I don’t + want them to know. A man’s transparent like glass before them. They + see into his very soul. They look right through him.” + </p> + <p> + “If the lady who founded the family habits was a fortune-teller,” + the manager interposed, with a scientific air, “that’s not so + remarkable; for fortune-tellers must always be quick-witted people, keen + to perceive the changes of countenance in the dupes who employ them, and + prompt at humouring all the fads and fancies of their customers, mustn’t + they?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” the Colonel echoed. “You’ve hit it on + the nail. And this particular lady—Esmeralda they call her, so that + Elma, which is short for Esmeralda, understand, has come to be the regular + Christian name among all her women descendants—this particular lady + belonged to what you might call a caste or priestly family, as it were, of + hereditary fortune-tellers, every one of whose ancestors had been + specially selected for generations for the work, till a kind of + transmissible mesmeric habit got developed among them. And they do say,” + the Colonel went on, lowering his voice a little more to a confidential + whisper, “that all the girls descended from Madame Esmeralda—Lady + Ewes of Charlwood, as she was in England—retain to this day another + still odder and uncannier mark of their peculiar origin; but, of course, + it’s a story that would be hard to substantiate, though I’ve + heard it discussed more than once among the friends of the family.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! What’s that?” the manager asked, in a tone of + marked curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they do say,” the Colonel went on, now fairly launched + upon a piece of after-dinner gossip, “that the eastern snake-dance + of Madame Esmeralda’s people is hereditary even still among the + women of the family, and that, sooner or later, it breaks out unexpectedly + in every one of them. When the fit comes on, they shut themselves up in + their own rooms, I’ve been told, and twirl round and round for hours + like dancing dervishes, with anything they can get in their hands to + represent a serpent, till they fall exhausted with the hysterical effort. + Even if a woman of Esmeralda’s blood escapes it at all other times, + it’s sure to break out when she first sees a real live snake, or + falls in love for the first time. Then the dormant instincts of the race + come over her with a rush, at the very dawn of womanhood, all quickened + and aroused, as it were, in the general awakening.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very curious!” the manager said, leaning back in + his chair in turn, and twirling his thumbs, “very curious indeed; + and yet, in its way, very probable, very probable. For habits like those + must set themselves deep in the very core of the system, don’t you + think, Colonel? If this woman, now, was descended from a whole line of + ancestresses, who had all been trained for their work into a sort of + ecstatic fervour, the ecstasy and all that went with it must have got so + deeply ingrained—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” the Colonel interrupted, consulting his + watch and seizing his hat hastily—for as a Kelmscott, he refused + point-blank to be lectured—“I’ve an appointment at my + club at half-past three, and I must not wait any longer. Well, you’ll + get these young men’s address for me, then, at the very earliest + possible opportunity?” + </p> + <p> + The manager pocketed the snub, and bowed his farewell. “Oh, + certainly,” he answered, trying to look as pleased and gracious as + his features would permit. “Our confidential clerk will hunt them up + immediately. We’re delighted to be of use to you. Good morning. Good + morning.” + </p> + <p> + And as soon as the Colonel’s back was turned, the manager rang twice + on his sharp little bell for the confidential clerk to receive his orders. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Montague Nevitt immediately presented himself in answer to the + summons. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Nevitt,” the manager said, with a dry, small cough, + “here’s a bit of business of the most domestic kind—strict + seal of secrecy, not a word on any account. Colonel Kelmscott of Tilgate + wants to know where two young men, named Guy and Cyril Waring, keep their + banking account, if any; and, as soon as he knows, he wishes to pay in a + substantial sum, quite privately, to their credit.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Montague Nevitt bowed a bow of assent; without the faintest sign of + passing recognition. “Guy and Cyril Waring,” he repeated to + himself, looking close at the scrap of paper his chief had handed him; + “Guy and Cyril Waring, Staple Inn, Holborn. I can find out to-day, + sir, if you attach any special and pressing importance to promptitude in + the matter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. — MUSIC HATH POWER. + </h2> + <p> + For Mr. Montague Nevitt was a cautious, cool, and calculating person. He + knew, better than most of us that knowledge is power. So when the manager + mentioned to him casually in the way of business the names of Guy and + Cyril Waring, Mr. Montague Nevitt didn’t respond at once, “Oh, + dear yes; one of them’s my most intimate personal friend, and the + other’s his brother,” as a man of less discretion might have + been tempted to do. For, in the first place, by finding out, or seeming to + find out, the facts about the Warings that very afternoon, he could + increase his character with his employers for zeal and ability. And, in + the second place, if he had let out too soon that he knew the Warings + personally, he might most likely on that very account have been no further + employed in carrying into execution this delicate little piece of family + business. + </p> + <p> + So Nevitt held his peace discreetly, like a wise man that he was, and + answered merely, in a most submissive voice, “I’ll do my best + to ascertain where they bank, at once,” as if he had never before in + his life heard the name of Waring. + </p> + <p> + For the self-same reason, Mr. Montague Nevitt didn’t hint that + evening to Guy that he had become possessed during the course of the day + of a secret of the first importance to Guy’s fortune and future. Of + course, a man so astute as Montague Nevitt jumped at once at the correct + conclusion, that Colonel Kelmscott must be the two Warings’ father. + But he wasn’t going to be fool enough to chuck his chance away by + sharing that information with any second person. A secret is far too + valuable a lever in life to be carelessly flung aside by a man of + ambition. And Montague Nevitt saw this secret in particular was doubly + valuable to him. He could use it, wedge-wise, with both the Warings in all + his future dealings, by promising to reveal to one or other of them a + matter of importance and probable money-value, and he could use it also as + a perpetual threat to hold over Colonel Kelmscott, if ever it should be + needful to extort blackmail from the possessor of Tilgate, or to thwart + his schemes by some active interference. + </p> + <p> + So when Nevitt strolled round about nine o’clock that night to + Staple Inn, violin-case in hand, and cigarette in mouth, he gave not a + sign of the curious information he had that day acquired, to the person + most interested in learning the truth as to the precise genealogy of the + Waring family. + </p> + <p> + There was no great underlying community of interests between the clever + young journalist and his banking companion. A common love for music was + the main bond of union between the two men. Yet Montague Nevitt exercised + over Guy a strange and fatal fascination which Cyril always found + positively unaccountable. And on this particular evening, as Nevitt stood + swaying himself to and fro upon the hearth-rug before the empty grate, + with his eyes half closed, drawing low, weird music with his enchanted bow + from those submissive strings, Guy leaned back on the sofa and listened, + entranced, with a hopeless feeling of utter inability ever to approach the + wizard-like and supreme execution of that masterly hand and those + superhuman fingers. How he twisted and turned them as though his bones + were india-rubber. His palms were all joints, and his eyes all ecstasy. He + seemed able to do what he liked with his violin. He played on his + instrument, indeed, as he played on Guy—with the consummate art of a + skilful executant. + </p> + <p> + “That’s marvellous, Nevitt,” Guy broke out at last; + “never heard even Sarasate himself do anything quite so wild and + weird as that. What’s the piece called? It seems to have something + almost impish or sprite-like in its wailing music. It’s Hungarian, + of course, or Polish or Greek; I detect at once the Oriental tinge in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong for once, my dear boy,” Nevitt answered, smiling, + “it’s English, pure English, and by a lady what’s more—one + of the Eweses of Kenilworth. She’s a distant relation of Cyril’s + Miss Clifford, I believe. An Elma, too; name runs in the family. But she + composes wonderfully. Everything she writes is in that mystic key. It + sounds like a reminiscence of some dim and lamp-lit eastern temple. The + sort of thing a nautch-girl might be supposed to compose, to sing to the + clash and clang of cymbals, while she was performing the snake-dance + before some Juggernaut idol!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” Guy answered, shutting his eyes dreamily. “That’s + just the very picture it brings up before my mind’s eye—as you + render it, Nevitt. I seem to see vague visions of some vast and + dimly-lighted rock-hewn cavern, with long vistas of pillars cut from the + solid stone, while dark-limbed priestesses, clad in white muslin robes, + swing censers in the foreground to solemn music. Upon my word, the power + of sound is something simply wonderful. There’s almost nothing, I + believe, good music wouldn’t drive me to—or rather lead me to; + for it sways one and guides even more than it impels one.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” Nevitt mused, in slow tones to himself, taking up + his violin again, and drawing his bow over the chords, with half-closed + eyes, in a seemingly listless, aimless manner, “I don’t + believe music’s your real first love, Guy. You took it up only to be + different from Cyril. The artistic impulse in both of you is the same at + bottom. If you’d let it have it’s own way, you’d have + taken, not to this, I’m sure, but to painting. But Cyril painted, + so, to make yourself different, you went in for music. That’s you + all over! You always have such a hankering after being what you are not!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hang it all, a man wants to have SOME individuality,” + Guy answered apologetically. “He doesn’t like to be a mere + copy or repetition of his brother.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt reflected quietly to himself that Cyril never wanted to be + different from Guy, his was by far the stronger nature of the two: he was + content to be himself without regard to his brother. But Nevitt didn’t + say so. Indeed, why should he? He merely went on playing a few + disconnected bars of a very lively, hopeful utopian sort of a tune—a + tune all youth and health, and go and gaiety—as he interjected from + time to time some brief financial remarks on the numerous good strokes he’d + pulled off of late in his transactions in the City. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t do them in my own name, you know,” he observed + lightly, at last laying down his bow, and replacing the dainty white rose + in his left top buttonhole. “Not official for a bank EMPLOYE to + operate on the Stock Exchange. The chiefs object to it. So I do my little + ventures in Tom’s name instead, my brother-in-law, Tom Whitley’s. + Those Cedulas went up another eighth yesterday. Well hit again: I’m + always lucky. And that was a good thing I put you on last week, too, wasn’t + it? Did you sell out to-day? They’re up at 96, and you bought in at + 80.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t sell to-day,” Guy answered, with a yawn. + “I’m holding on still for a further rise. I thought I’d + sell out when they reached the even hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, you’re wrong,” Nevitt put in eagerly. + “You ought to have sold to-day. It’s the top of the market. + They’ll begin to decline soon, and when once they begin they’ll + come down with a crash, as P.L.‘s did on Saturday. You take my + advice and sell out first thing to-morrow morning. You’ll clear + sixteen pounds on each of your shares. That’s enough for any man. + You bought ten shares, I think, didn’t you? Well, there you are, you + see; a hundred and sixty off-hand for you on your bargain.” + </p> + <p> + Guy paused and reflected a doubtful moment. “Yes, I’ll sell + out to-morrow, Nevitt,” he said, after a struggle, “or what + comes to the same thing, you can sell out for me. But, do you know, my + dear fellow, I sometimes fancy I’m a fool for my pains, going in for + all this silly speculation. Better stick to my guinea a column in the + Morning Mail. The risks are so great, and the gains so small. I don’t + believe outsiders ought to back their luck at all like this on the Stock + Exchange.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt acquiesced with cheerful promptitude. “I agree with + you down to the ground,” he said, lighting a cigarette, and puffing + away at it vigorously. “Outsiders ought not to back their luck on + the Stock Exchange. That, I take it, is a self-evident proposition. But + the point is, here, that you’re not an outsider; and you don’t + back your luck, which alters the case, you’ll admit, somewhat. You + embark on speculations on my advice only, and I’m in a position to + judge, as well as any other expert in the City of London, what things are + genuine and what things are not worth a wise man’s attention.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched himself on the sofa with a lazy, luxurious air, and continued + to puff away in silence at his cigarette for another ten minutes. Then he + drew unostentatiously from his pocket a folded sheet of foolscap paper, + printed after the fashion of the common company prospectus. For a second + or two he read it over to himself in silence, till Guy’s curiosity + was sufficiently roused by his mute proceeding. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got there?” the journalist asked at last, + eyeing it inquiringly, as the fly eyes the cobweb. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” Nevitt answered, folding the paper up neatly + and returning it to his pocket. “You’ve sworn off now, so it + does not concern you. Just the prospectus of a little fresh thing coming + out next week—a very exceptional chance—but you don’t + want to go in for it. I mean to apply for three hundred shares myself, I’m + so certain of its success; and I had thought of advising you to take a + hundred and fifty on your own account as well, with that hundred and fifty + you cleared over the Cordova Cattle bonds. They’re ten-pound shares, + at a merely nominal price—ten bob on application and ten on + allotment—you could take a hundred and fifty as easy as look at it. + No further calls will ever be made. It’s really a most remarkable + investment.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see the prospectus,” Guy murmured, faltering, the + fever of speculation once more getting the better of him. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt pretended to hang back like a man with fine scruples. “It’s + the Rio Negro Diamond and Sapphire Mine, Limited,” he said, with a + deprecatory air. “But you’d better not go in for it. I expect + to make a pot out of the thing myself. It’s a unique occasion. + Still, no doubt you’re right, and I don’t like the + responsibility of advising any other fellow. Though you can see for + yourself what the promoters say. Very first-class names. And Klink thinks + most highly of it.” + </p> + <p> + He handed Guy the paper, and took up his violin as if by pure accident, + while Guy scanned it closely. + </p> + <p> + The journalist bent over the prospectus with eager eyes, and Nevitt poured + forth strange music as he read, music like the murmur of the stream of + Pactolus. It was an inspiring strain; the violin seemed to possess the + true Midas touch; gold flowed like water in liquid rills from its catgut. + Guy finished, and rose, and dipped a pen in the ink-pot. “All right,” + he said low, half hesitating still. “I’ll give you an order to + sell out at once, and I’ll fill up this application for three + hundred shares—why not three hundred? I may as well go as many as + you do. If it’s really such a good thing as you say, why shouldn’t + I profit by it? Send this to Klink to-morrow early; strike while the iron’s + hot, and get the thing finished.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt looked at the paper with an attentive eye. “How curious it + is,” he said, regarding the signature narrowly, “that you and + Cyril, who are so much alike in everything else, should write so + differently. I should have expected your hands to be almost identical.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you know why that is?” Guy answered, with an + innocent smile. “I do it on purpose. Cyril writes sloping forward, + the ordinary way, so I slope backward just to prevent confusion. And I + form all my letters as unlike his as I can, though if I follow my own bent + they turn out the same; his way is more natural to me, in fact, than the + way I write myself. But I must do something to keep our letters apart. + That’s why we always bank at a different banker’s. If I liked + I could write exactly like Cyril. See, here’s his own signature to + his letter this morning, and here’s my imitation of it, written + off-hand, in my own natural manner. No forger on earth could ever need + anything more absolutely identical.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt took it up, and examined it with interest. “Well, + this is wonderful,” he said, comparing the two, stroke for stroke, + with the practised eye of an expert. “The signatures are as if + written by the self-same hand. Any cashier in England would accept your + cheque at sight for Cyril’s.” + </p> + <p> + He didn’t add aloud that such similarity was very convenient. But, + none the less, in his own mind he thought so. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. — THE PATH OF DUTY. + </h2> + <p> + Down at Tilgate, meanwhile, Elma Clifford had met more than once with + Cyril Waring at friends’ houses around, for ever since the accident, + Society had made up its mind that Elma ought to marry her companion in the + tunnel; and, when Society once makes up its mind on a question of this + sort, why, it does its level best in the long run to insure the fulfilment + of its own prediction. + </p> + <p> + Wherever Elma had met her painter, however, during those few short weeks, + she had seen him only before the quizzing eyes of all the world; and + though she admitted to herself that she liked him very much, she was + nevertheless so thoroughly frightened by her own performance after the + Holkers’ party that she almost avoided him, in spite of officious + friends—partly, it is true, from a pure feeling of maidenly shame, + but partly also from a deeper-seated and profoundly moral belief that with + this fierce mad taint upon her as she naturally thought, it would be + nothing short of wrong in her even to marry. She couldn’t meet Cyril + now without thinking at once of that irresistible impulse which had seized + her by the throat, as it were, and bent her to its wild will in her own + room after their interview at the Holkers’; and the thought did far + more than bring a deep blush into her rich brown cheek—it made her + feel most acutely she must never dream of burdening him with that terrible + uncertainty and all it might enclose in it of sinister import. + </p> + <p> + For Elma felt sure she was mad that night. And, if so, oh, how could she + poison Cyril Waring’s life with so unspeakable an inheritance for + himself and his children? + </p> + <p> + She didn’t know, what any psychologist might at once have told her, + that no one with the fatal taint of madness in her blood could ever even + have thought of that righteous self-denial. Such scruples have no place in + the selfish insane temperament; they belong only to the highest and purest + types of moral nature. + </p> + <p> + One morning, however, a few weeks later, Elma had strolled off by herself + into Chetwood Forest, without any intention of going anywhere in + particular, save for a solitary walk, when suddenly, a turn round the + corner of a devious path brought her face to face all at once with a piece + of white canvas, stretched opposite her on an easel; at the other side of + which, to her profound dismay, an artist in a grey tweed suit was busily + working. + </p> + <p> + The artist, as it happened, didn’t see her at once, for the canvas + stretched between them, shutting her out from his eyes, and Elma’s + light footstep on the mossy ground hadn’t aroused his attention. So + the girl’s first impulse was to retrace her way unobtrusively + without exchanging a word, and retire round the corner again, before Cyril + could recognise her. But somehow, when she came to try, she couldn’t. + Her feet refused point blank to obey her will. And this time, in her own + heart, she knew very well why. For there in the background, coiled up + against the dense wall of rock and fern, Sardanapalus lay knotted in + sleepy folds, with his great ringed back shining blue in the sunlight that + struggled in round patches through the shimmering foliage. More + consciously now than even in the train, the beautiful deadly creature + seemed to fascinate Elma and bind her to the spot. For a moment she + hesitated, unable to resist the strange, inexplicable attraction that ran + in her blood. That brief interval settled it. Even as she paused, Cyril + glanced round at the snake to note the passing effect of a gleam of light + that fell slantwise through the leaves to dapple his spotty back—and + caught sight of Elma. The poor girl gave a start. It was too late now to + retreat. She stood there rooted. + </p> + <p> + Cyril moved forward to meet her with a frankly outstretched hand. “Good + morning, Miss Clifford,” he said, in his cheery manly voice. “So + you’ve dropped down by accident upon my lair here, have you? Well, I’m + glad you’ve happened to pass by to-day, for this, do you know, is my + very last morning. I’m putting the finishing touches upon my picture + now before I take it back to town. I go away to-morrow, perhaps to North + Wales, perhaps to Scotland.” + </p> + <p> + Elma trembled a little at those words, in spite of resolution; for though + she could never, never, never marry him, it was nice, of course, to feel + he was near at hand, and to have the chance of seeing him, and avoiding + him as far as possible, on other people’s lawns at garden parties. + She trembled and turned pale. She could never MARRY him, to be sure; but + then she could never marry any one else either; and that being so, she + liked to SEE him now and again, on neutral ground, as it were, and to know + he was somewhere that she could meet him occasionally. Wales and Scotland + are so distant from Surrey. Elma showed in her face at once that she + thought them both unpleasantly remote from Craighton, Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + With timid and shrinking steps, she came in front of the picture, and + gazed at it in detail long and attentively. Never before did she know how + fond she was of art. + </p> + <p> + “It’s beautiful,” she said, after a pause; “I like + it immensely. That moss is so soft, and the ferns are so delicate. And how + lovely that patch of rich golden light is on Sardanapalus’s + shoulder.” + </p> + <p> + The painter stepped back a pace or two and examined his own handicraft, + with his head on one side, in a very critical attitude. “I don’t + know that I’m quite satisfied after all with the colour-scheme,” + he said, glancing askance at Elma. “I fancy it’s, perhaps, + just a trifle too green. It looks all right, of course, out here in the + open; but the question is, when it’s hung in the Academy, surrounded + by warm reds, and purples, and blues, won’t it look by comparison + much too cabbagey and too grassy?” + </p> + <p> + Elma drew a deep breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Waring,” she cried, in a deprecating tone, holding + her breath for awe. + </p> + <p> + It pained her that anybody—even Cyril himself—should speak so + lightly about so beautiful a picture. + </p> + <p> + “Then you like it?” Cyril asked, turning round to her full + face and fronting her as she stood there, all beautiful blushes through + her creamy white skin. + </p> + <p> + “Like it? I love it,” Elma answered enthusiastically. “Apart + from its being yours, I think it simply beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “And you like ME, too, then?” the painter asked, once more, + making a sudden dash at the question that was nearest to both their + hearts, after all, that moment. He was going away to-morrow, and this was + a last opportunity. Who could tell how soon somebody might come up through + the woods and interrupt their interview? He must make the best use of his + time. He must make haste to ask her. + </p> + <p> + Elma let her eyes drop, and her heart beat hard. She laid her hand upon + the easel to steady herself as she answered slowly, “You know I like + you, Mr. Waring; I like you very, very much indeed. You were so kind to me + in the tunnel. And I felt your kindness. You could see that day I was—very, + very grateful to you.” + </p> + <p> + “When I asked you if you liked my picture, Elma,” the young + man said reproachfully, taking her other hand in his, and looking straight + into her eyes, “you said, ‘Like it? I love it.’ But when + I ask you if you like me—ask you if you will take me—you only + say you’re very, very grateful.” + </p> + <p> + Elma let him take her hand, all trembling, in his. She let him call her by + her name. She let him lean forward and gaze at her, lover-like. Her heart + throbbed high. She couldn’t refuse him. She knew she loved him. But + to marry him—oh no. That was quite another thing. There duty + interposed. It would be cruel, unworthy, disgraceful, wicked. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself back a little with maidenly dignity, as she answered low, + “Mr. Waring, we two saw into one another’s hearts so deep in + the tunnel that day we spent together, that it would be foolish for us now + to make false barriers between us. I’ll tell you the plain truth.” + She trembled like an aspen-leaf. “I love you, I think; but I can + never marry you.” + </p> + <p> + She said it so simply, yet with such an earnestness of despair, that Cyril + knew with a pang she really meant it. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he cried eagerly, raising her hand to his lips, and + kissing it with fervour. “If you tell me you love me, Elma, all the + rest must come. Say that, and you say all. So long as I’ve gained + your heart, I don’t care for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Elma drew her hand away with stately reserve. “I mean it, Mr. + Waring,” she said slowly, sitting down on the bank, and gasping a + little for air, just as she had done in the tunnel. “I really mean + it. I LIKED you in the train that day; I was GRATEFUL to you in the + accident; I knew I LOVED you the afternoon we met at the Holkers’. + There, I’ve told you that plainly—more plainly than I thought + I ever could tell it to any man on earth—because we knew one another + so well when we thought we were dying side by side, and because—because + I can see you really love me.... Well, it can never be. I can never marry + you.” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him wistfully. Cyril sat down by her side, and talked it all + over with her from a hundred points of view. He pressed his suit hard, + till Elma felt, if words could win, her painter would have won her. But + she couldn’t yield, she said for HIS sake a thousand times more than + for her own, she must never marry. As the man grew more earnest the girl + in turn grew more frank and confiding. She could never marry HIM, to be + sure, she said fervently, but then she could never, never, never marry any + one else. If she married at all she would marry Cyril. He took her hand + again. Without one shadow of resistance she let him take it and hold it. + Yes, yes, he might love her, if he liked, no harm at all in that; and SHE, + she would always, always love him. All her life through, she cried, + letting her passionate southern nature get the better of her at last, she + would love him every hour of every day in the year, and love him only. But + she could never marry him. Why, she must never say. It was no use his + trying to read her secret. He must never find it out; never, never, never. + But she, for her part, could never forget it. + </p> + <p> + So Cyril, eagerly pressing his suit with every art he knew, was forced in + the end to content himself with that scanty measure. She would love him, + she would write to him, even; but she would never marry him. + </p> + <p> + At last the time came when they must really part, or she would be late for + lunch, and mamma would know all; mamma would read everything. He looked + her wistfully in the face. Elma held out her lips, obedient to that mute + demand, with remorseful blush of maidenly shame on her cheek. “Only + once,” she murmured. “Just to seal our compact. For the first + and last time. You go away to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “That was BEFORE you said you loved me,” Cyril cried with + delight, emboldened by success. “Mayn’t I stay on now, just + one little week longer?” + </p> + <p> + At the proposal, Elma drew back her face in haste before he had time to + kiss it, and answered, in a very serious voice— + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, don’t ask me. After this, I daren’t stand the + strain of seeing you again—at least not just now—not so very, + very soon. Please, please, don’t ask me. Go to-morrow, as you said. + If you don’t, I can’t let you,” she blushed, and held + out her blushing face once more. “Only if you promise me to go + to-morrow, mind,” she said, with a half-coquettish, half-tearful + smile at him. + </p> + <p> + Cyril hesitated for a second. He was inclined to temporize. “Those + are very hard terms,” he said. Then impulse proved too much for him. + He bent forward, and pressed his lips just once on that olive-brown cheek. + “But I may come back again very soon,” he murmured, pushing + home his advantage. + </p> + <p> + Elma seized his hand in hers, wrung it hard and tremulously, and then + turned and ran like a frightened fawn, without pausing to look back, down + the path homeward. Yet she whispered one broken sentence through her + tears, for all that, before she went. + </p> + <p> + “I shall love you always; but spare me, spare me.” + </p> + <p> + And Cyril was left behind by himself in the wood, completely mystified. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. — STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. + </h2> + <p> + Elma hurried home full of intense misgivings. She dreaded having to meet + her mother’s eye. How on earth could she hide from that searching + glance the whole truth as to what had happened in the wood that morning? + When she reached home, however, she learned to her relief, from the maid + who opened the door to her, that their neighbour, Mr. Gilbert + Gildersleeve, the distinguished Q.C., had dropped in for lunch, and this + chance diversion supplied Elma with a little fresh courage to face the + inevitable. She went straight up to her own room the moment she entered + the house, without seeing her mother, and there she waited, bathing her + face copiously till some minutes after the lunch bell had rung. For she + felt sure she would blush crimson when she met her mother; but as she + blushed habitually when strangers came in, the cause of it might thus, + perhaps, she vainly flattered herself, escape even those lynx-like eyes of + Mrs. Clifford’s. + </p> + <p> + The great Q.C., a big, overbearing man, with a pair of huge burly hands + that somehow seemed to form his chief feature, was a little bit blustering + in his talk, as usual; the more so because he had just learned + incidentally that something had gone wrong between his daughter Gwendoline + and Granville Kelmscott. For though that little episode of private wooing + had run its course nominally without the knowledge or consent of either + family, Mr. Gilbert Gildersleeve, at least, had none the less been aware + for many weeks past of the frequent meetings between Gwendoline and + Granville in the dell just beyond the disputed boundary line. And as Mr. + Gildersleeve disliked Colonel Kelmscott of Tilgate Park, for a pig-headed + esquire, almost as cordially as Colonel Kelmscott disliked Mr. + Gildersleeve in return for a rascally lawyer, it had given the great Q.C. + no little secret satisfaction in his own soul to learn that his daughter + Gwendoline was likely to marry the Colonel’s son and heir, directly + against the wishes and consent of his father. + </p> + <p> + Only that very morning, however, poor Mrs. Gildersleeve, that tired, + crushed wife, had imparted to her lord and master, in fear and trembling, + the unpleasant intelligence that, so far as she could make out, there was + something wrong between Granville and Gwendoline. And this something wrong + she ventured to suggest was no mere lover’s tiff of the ordinary + kiss-and-make-it-up description, but a really serious difficulty in the + way of their marriage. So Mr. Gildersleeve, thus suddenly deprived of his + expected triumph, took it out another way by more than even his wonted + boisterousness of manner in talking about the fortunes of the Kelmscott + family. + </p> + <p> + “I fancy, myself, you know, Mrs. Clifford,” he was saying, + very loud, as Elma entered, “there’s a screw loose just now in + the Kelmscott affairs—something rotten somewhere in the state of + Denmark. That young fellow, Granville, who’s by no means such a bad + lot as his father all round—too good for the family, in fact; too + good for the family—Granville’s been accustomed of late to + come over into my grounds, beyond the boundary wall, and being anxious + above all things to cultivate friendly relations with all my neighbours in + the county, I’ve allowed him to come—I’ve allowed him, + and I may even say to a certain extent I’ve encouraged him. There at + times he’s met by accident my daughter Gwendoline. Oh, dear no”—with + uplifted hand, and deprecating lips—“I assure you, nothing of + THAT sort, my dear Mrs. Clifford. Gwendoline’s far too young, and I + couldn’t dream of allowing her to marry into Colonel Kelmscott’s + family. But, however, be that as it may, he’s been in the habit of + coming there, till very recently, when all of a sudden, only a week or ten + days back, to my immense surprise he ceased at once, and ever since has + dropped into the defensive, exactly as he used to do. And I interpret it + to mean—” + </p> + <p> + Elma heard no more of that pompous speech. Her knees shook under her. For + she was aware only of Mrs. Clifford’s eyes, fixed mildly and calmly + upon her face, not in anger, as she feared, or reproach, but rather in + infinite pity. For a second their glances met in mute intercourse of soul, + then each dropped their eyelashes as suddenly as before. Through the rest + of that lunch Elma sat as in a maze, hearing and seeing nothing. What she + ate, or drank, or talked about, she knew not. Mr. Gildersleeve’s + pungent and embellished anecdotes of the Kelmscott family and their + unneighbourly pride went in at one ear and out at the other. All she was + conscious of was her mother’s sympathetic yet unerring eye; she felt + sure that at one glance that wonderful thought-reader had divined + everything, and seen through and through their interview that morning. + </p> + <p> + After lunch, the two men strolled upon the lawn to enjoy their cigars, and + Elma and her mother were left alone in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes neither could make up her mind to break the ice and + speak. They sat shame-faced beside one another on the sofa, like a pair of + shy and frightened maidens. At last Mrs. Clifford braced herself up to + interrupt the awkward silence. “You’ve been in Chetwood + Forest, Elma,” she murmured low, looking down and averting her eyes + carefully from her trembling daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” Elma answered, all aglow with conscious + blushes. “In Chetwood Forest.” + </p> + <p> + “And you met him, dear?” The mother spoke tenderly and + sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + Elma’s heart stood still. “Yes, mother, I met him.” + </p> + <p> + “And he had the snake there?” + </p> + <p> + Elma started in surprise. Why dwell upon that seemingly unimportant + detail? “Oh yes,” she answered, still redder and hotter than + ever. “He had it there. He was painting it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford paused a minute. Then she went on, with pain. “And he + asked you, Elma?” + </p> + <p> + Elma bowed her head. “Yes, he asked me—and I refused him,” + she answered, with a terrible wrench. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, darling; I know it,” Mrs. Clifford cried, seizing both + cold hands in hers. “And I know why, too. But, Elma, believe me, you + needn’t have done it. My daughter, my daughter, you might just as + well have taken him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, never,” Elma cried, rising from her seat and moving + towards the door in an agony of shame. “I couldn’t. I daren’t. + It would be wrong. It would be cruel. But, mother, don’t speak to me + of it. Don’t mention it again. Even before you it makes me more + wretched and ashamed than I can say to allude to it.” + </p> + <p> + She rushed from the room, with cheeks burning like fire. Come what might, + she never could talk to any living soul again about that awful episode. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Clifford sat on, on the sofa where Elma left her, and cried to + herself silently, silently, silently. What a mother should do in these + hateful circumstances she could hardly even guess. She only knew she could + never speak it out, and even if she did, Elma would never have the courage + or the heart to listen to her. + </p> + <p> + That same evening, when Elma went up to bed, a strange longing came across + her to sit up late, and think over to herself again all the painful + details of the morning’s interview. She seated herself by her + bedside in her evening dress, and began to think it all out again, exactly + as it happened. As she did so, the picture of Sardanapalus, on his bed of + fern, came up clear in her mind, just as he lay coiled round in Cyril + Waring’s landscape. Beautiful Sardanapalus, so sleek and smooth and + glossy, if only she had him here now—she paused and hesitated. In a + moment, the wild impulse rushed upon her once more. It clutched her by the + throat; it held her fast as in a vice. She must get up and dance; she must + obey the mandate; she must whirl till she fell in that mystical ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + She rose, and seemed for a moment as though she must yield to the + temptation. The boa—the boa was in the lower drawer. Reluctantly, + remorsefully, she opened the drawer and took it out in her hands. Fluff + and feathers, fluff and feathers—nothing more than that! But oh, how + soft, how smooth, how yielding, how serpentine! With a violent effort she + steadied herself, and looked round for her scissors. They lay on the + dressing-table. She took them up with a fixed and determined air. “If + thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,” she thought to herself. + Then she began ruthlessly hacking the boa into short little lengths of a + few inches each, which she gathered up in her hands as soon as she had + finished, and replaced with care in the drawer where she had originally + found them. + </p> + <p> + After that her mind felt somewhat more at ease and a trifle less + turbulent. She loved Cyril Waring—oh yes, she loved him with all her + heart; it was hard to give him up; hard not to yield to that pressing + impulse in such a moment of doubt and despondency. The boa had said to + her, as it were, “Come, dance, go mad, and forget your trouble!” + But she had resisted the temptation. And now— + </p> + <p> + Why, now, she would undress, and creep into bed, like any other good + English girl under similar circumstances, and cry herself asleep with + thoughts of Cyril. + </p> + <p> + And so she did in truth. She let her emotion take its natural outlet. She + lay awake for an hour or two, till her eyes were red and sore and swollen. + Then at last she dropped off, for very weariness, and slept soundly an + unbroken sleep till morning. + </p> + <p> + At eight o’clock, Mrs. Clifford knocked her tentative little knock + at the door. “Come in, mother,” Elma cried, starting up in her + surprise; and her mother, much wondering, turned the handle and entered. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the bed, she gave a little cry of amazement. “Why, + Elma,” she exclaimed, staring her hard and long in the face; “my + darling, what’s this? Your eyes are red! How strange! You’ve + been crying!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” Elma answered, turning her face to the wall, + but a thousand times less ashamed than she had been the day before when + her mother spoke to her. “I couldn’t help it, dearest.” + She took that soft white hand in hers and pressed it hard in silence. + “It’s no wonder, you know,” she said at last, after a + long deep pause. “He’s going away from Chetwood to-day—and + it was so very, very hard to say good-bye to him for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I know, darling,” Mrs. Clifford answered, eyeing her + harder than ever now with a half-incredulous look. “I know all that. + But—you’ve had a good night in spite of everything, Elma.” + </p> + <p> + Elma guessed what she meant. They two could converse together quite + plainly without words. “Well, yes, a better night,” she + answered, hesitating, and shutting her eyes under the bed-clothes for very + shame. “A little disturbed—don’t you know—just at + first; but I had a good cry very soon, and then that mended everything.” + </p> + <p> + Her mother still looked at her, half doubting and half delighted. “A + good cry’s the right thing,” she said slowly, in a very low + voice. “The exact right thing, perfectly proper and normal. A good + cry never did any girl on this earth one atom of harm. It’s the best + safety-valve. You’re lucky, Elma, my child, in being able to get + one.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” Elma answered, with her head still buried. + “Very lucky indeed. So I think, too, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford’s eye fell aimlessly upon certain tiny bits of + feathery fluff that flecked the floor here and there like floating + fragments of thistledown. In a second, her keen instinct divined what they + meant. Without one word she rose silently and noiselessly, and opened the + lower drawer, where the boa usually reposed among the furs and feathers. + One glimpse of those mangled morsels showed her the truth at a glance. She + shut the drawer again noiselessly and silently as she had opened it. But + Elma, lying still with her eyes closed tight, yet knew perfectly well how + her mother had been occupied. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Clifford came back, and, stooping over her daughter’s bed, + kissed her forehead tenderly. “Elma, darling,” she said, while + a hot tear or two fell silently upon the girl’s burning cheek, + “you’re very, very brave. I’m so pleased with you, so + proud of you! I couldn’t have done it myself. You’re + stronger-minded than I am. My child, he kissed you for good-bye yesterday. + You needn’t say yes, you needn’t say no. I read it in your + face. No need for you to tell me of it. Well, darling, it wasn’t + good-bye after all, I’m certain of that. Believe me, my child, he’ll + come back some day, and you’ll know you can marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” Elma cried, hiding her face still more passionately + and wildly than before beneath great folds of the bed-clothes. “Don’t + speak to me of him any more, mother! Never! Never! Never!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. — VISIONS OF WEALTH. + </h2> + <p> + Cyril Waring, thus dismissed, and as in honour bound, hurried up to London + with a mind preoccupied by many pressing doubts and misgivings. He thought + much of Elma, but he thought much, too, of sundry strange events that had + happened of late to his own private fortunes. For one thing he had sold, + and sold mysteriously, at a very good price, the picture of Sardanapalus + in the glade at Chetwood. A well-known London dealer had written down to + him at Tilgate making an excellent offer for the unfinished work, as soon + as it should be ready, on behalf of a customer whose name he didn’t + happen to mention. And who could that customer be, Cyril thought to + himself, but Colonel Kelmscott? But that wasn’t all. The dealer who + had offered him a round sum down for “The Rajah’s Rest” + had also at the same time commissioned him to go over to the Belgian + Ardennes to paint a picture or two, at a specified price, of certain + selected scenes upon the Meuse and its tributaries. The price offered for + the work was a very respectable one, and yet—he had some internal + misgivings, somehow, about this mysterious commission. Could it be to get + rid of him? He had an uncomfortable suspicion in the back chambers of his + mind, that whoever had commissioned the pictures might be more anxious to + send him well away from Tilgate than to possess a series of picturesque + sketches on the Meuse and its tributaries. + </p> + <p> + And who could have an interest in keeping him far from Tilgate? That was + the question. Was there anybody whom his presence there could in any way + incommode? Could it be Elma’s father who wanted to send him so + quickly away from England? + </p> + <p> + And what was the meaning of Elma’s profound resolution, so strangely + and strongly expressed, never, never to marry him? + </p> + <p> + A painful idea flitted across the young man’s puzzled brain. Had the + Cliffords alone discovered the secret of his birth? and was that secret of + such a disgraceful sort that Elma’s father shrank from owning him as + a prospective son-in-law, while even Elma herself could not bring herself + to accept him as her future husband? If so, what could that ghastly secret + be? Were he and Guy the inheritors of some deadly crime? Had their origin + been concealed from them, more in mercy than in cruelty, only lest some + hideous taint of murder or of madness might mar their future and make + their whole lives miserable? + </p> + <p> + When he reached Staple Inn, he found Guy and Montague Nevitt already in + their joint rooms, and arrears of three days’ correspondence + awaiting him. + </p> + <p> + A close observer—like Elma Clifford—might perhaps have noted + in Montague Nevitt’s eye certain well-restrained symptoms of + suppressed curiosity. But Cyril Waring, in his straightforward, simple + English manliness, was not sharp enough to perceive that Nevitt watched + him close while he broke the envelopes and glanced over his letters; or + that Nevitt’s keen anxiety grew at once far deeper and more + carefully concealed as Cyril turned to one big missive with an + official-looking seal and a distinctly important legal aspect. On the + contrary, to the outer eye or ear all that could be observed in Montague + Nevitt’s manner was the nervous way he went on tightening his violin + strings with a tremulous hand and whistling low to himself a few soft and + tender bars of some melancholy scrap from Miss Ewes’s refectory. + </p> + <p> + As Cyril read through that letter, however, his breath came and went in + short little gasps, and his cheek flushed hotly with a sudden and + overpowering flood of emotion. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” Guy asked, looking over his + shoulder curiously. And Cyril, almost faint with the innumerable ideas and + suspicions that the tidings conjured up in his brain at once, said with an + evident effort, “Read it, Guy; read it.” + </p> + <p> + Guy took the letter and read, Montague Nevitt gazing at it by his side + meanwhile with profound interest. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they had glanced through its carefully-worded sentences, each + drew a long breath and stared hard at the other. Then Cyril added in a + whirl, “And here’s a letter from my own bankers saying they’ve + duly received the six thousand pounds and put it to my credit.” + </p> + <p> + Guy’s face was pale, but he faltered out none the less with ashy + lips, staring hard at the words all the time, “It isn’t only + the money, of course, one thinks about, Cyril; but the clue it seems to + promise us to our father and mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” Cyril answered, with a responsive nod. “The + money I won’t take. I don’t know what it means. But the clue I’ll + follow up till I’ve run to earth the whole truth about who we are + and where we come from.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt glanced quickly from one to the other with an incredulous + air. “Not take the money,” he exclaimed, in cynical surprise. + “Why, of course you’ll take it. Twelve thousand pounds isn’t + to be sneezed at in these days, I can tell you. And as for the clue, why, + there isn’t any clue. Not a jot or a tittle, a ghost or a shadow of + it. The unnatural parent, whoever he may be—for I take it for + granted the unnatural parent’s the person at the bottom of the offer—takes + jolly good care not to let you know who on earth he is. He wraps himself + up in a double cloak of mystery. Drummonds pay in the money to your + account at your own bank, you see, and while they’re authorized to + receive your acknowledgment of the sum remitted, they are clearly NOT + authorized to receive to the sender’s credit any return cheque for + the amount or cash in repayment. The unnatural parent evidently intends to + remain, for the present at least, strictly anonymous. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t you find out for us at Drummond, Coutts and Barclay’s + who the sender is?” Guy asked, with some hesitation, still turning + over in his hand the mysterious letter. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt shook his head with prompt decision. “No, certainly not,” + he answered, assuming an air of the severest probity. “It would be + absolutely impossible. The secrets in a bank are secrets of honour. We are + the depositaries of tales that might ruin thousands, and we never say a + word about one of them to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + As for Cyril, he felt himself almost too astonished for words. It was long + before he could even discuss the matter quietly. The whole episode seemed + so strange, so mysterious, so uncanny. And no wonder he hesitated. For the + unknown writer of the letter with the legal seal had proposed a most + curious and unsatisfactory arrangement. Six thousand pounds down on the + nail to Cyril, six thousand more in a few weeks to Guy. But not for + nothing. As in all law business, “valuable consideration” + loomed large in the background. They were both to repair, on a given day, + at a given hour, to a given office, in a given street, where they were to + sign without inquiry, and even without perusal, whatever documents might + then and there be presented to them. This course, the writer pointed out, + with perspicuous plainness, was all in the end to their own greater + advantage. + </p> + <p> + For unless they signed, they would get nothing more, and it would be + useless for them at attempt the unravelling of the mystery. But if they + consented to sign, then, the writer declared, the anonymous benefactor at + whose instigation he wrote would leave them by his will a further + substantial sum, not one penny of which would ever otherwise come to them. + </p> + <p> + And Montague Nevitt, as a man of business, looking the facts in the face, + without sentiment or nonsense, advised them to sign, and make the best of + a good bargain. + </p> + <p> + For Montague Nevitt saw at once in his own mind that this course would + prove the most useful in the end for his own interests, both as regards + the Warings and Colonel Kelmscott. + </p> + <p> + The two persons most concerned, however, viewed the matter in a very + different light. To them, this letter, with its obscure half-hints, opened + up a chance of solving at last the mystery of their position which had so + long oppressed them. They might now perhaps find out who they really were, + if only they could follow up this pregnant clue; and the clue itself + suggested so many things. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever else it shows,” Guy said emphatically, “it + shows we must be the lawful sons of some person of property, or else why + should he want us to sign away our rights like this, all blindfold? And + whatever the rights themselves may be, they must be very considerable, or + else why should he bribe us so heavily to sign ourselves out of them? + Depend upon it, Nevitt, it’s an entailed estate, and the man who + dictated that letter is in possession of the property, which ought to + belong to Cyril and me. For my part, I’m opposed to all bargaining + in the dark. I’ll sign nothing, and I’ll give away nothing, + without knowing what it is. And that’s what I advise Cyril to write + back and tell him.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril, however, was revolving in his own mind meanwhile a still more + painful question. Could it be any blood-relationship between himself and + Elma, unknown to him, but just made known to her, that gave rise to her + firm and obviously recent determination never to marry him? A week or two + since, he was sure, Elma knew of no cause or just impediment why they + should not be joined together in holy matrimony. Could she have learned it + meanwhile, before she met him in the wood? and could the fact of her so + learning it have thus pricked the slumbering conscience of their unknown + kinsman or their supposed supplanter? + </p> + <p> + They sat there long and late, discussing the question from all possible + standpoints—save the one thus silently started in his own mind by + Cyril. But, in the end, Cyril’s resolution remained unshaken. He + would leave the six thousand pounds in the bank, untouched; but he would + write back at once to the unknown sender, declining plainly, once for all, + to have anything to do with it or with the proposed transactions. If + anything was his by right, he would take it as of right, but he would be + no party to such hole-and-corner renunciations of unknown contingencies as + the writer suggested. If the writer was willing to state at once all the + facts of the case, in clear and succinct language, and to come to terms + thus openly with himself and his brother, why then, Cyril averred, he was + ready to promise they would deal with his claims in a spirit of the utmost + generosity and consideration. But if this was an attempt to do them out of + their rights by a fraudulent bribe, he for one would have nothing to say + to it. He would therefore hold the six thousand pounds paid in to his + account entirely at his anonymous correspondent’s disposition. + </p> + <p> + “And as there isn’t any use in my wasting the summer, Guy,” + he said, in conclusion, “I won’t let this red-herring, trailed + across my path, prevent me from going over at once, as I originally + intended, to Dinant and Spa, and fulfilling the commission for those + pictures of Dale and Norton’s; You and Nevitt can see meanwhile what + it’s possible for us to do in the matter of hunting up this family + mystery. You can telegraph if you want me, and I’ll come back at + once. But more than ever now I feel the need of redeeming the time and + working as hard as I can go at my profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” Guy answered, as if both their thoughts ran + naturally in the self-same channel. “I agree with you there. She’s + been accustomed to luxury. No man has a right to marry any girl if he can’t + provide for her in the comfort and style she’s always been used to. + And from that point of view, when one looks it in the face, Cyril, six + thousand pounds would come in handy.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. — GENTLE WOOER. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Montague Nevitt rubbed his hands with delight in the sacred privacy of + his own apartment. Mr. Nevitt, indeed, had laid his plans deep. He had + everybody’s secrets all round in his hands, and he meant to make + everybody pay dear in the end for his information. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Nevitt was free. His holidays were on at Drummond, Coutts and Barclay’s, + Limited. He loved the sea, the sun, and the summer. He was off that day on + a projected series of short country runs, in which it was his intention + strictly to combine business and pleasure. Dartmoor, for example, as + everybody knows, is a most delightful and bracing tourist district; but + what more amusing to a man of taste than to go a round of the Moor with + its heather-clad tors, and at the same time hunt up the parish registers + of the neighbourhood for the purpose of discovering, if possible, the + supposed marriage record of Colonel Kelmscott of Tilgate with the Warings’ + mother? For that there WAS a marriage Montague Nevitt felt certain in his + own wise mind, and having early arrived at that correct conclusion, why, + he had quietly offered forthwith, in Plymouth papers, a considerable + reward to parish clerks and others who would supply him with any + information as to the births, marriages, or deaths of any person or + persons of the name of Waring for some eighteen months or so before or + after the reputed date when Guy and Cyril began their earthly pilgrimage. + </p> + <p> + For deaths, Nevitt said to himself, with a sinister smile, were every bit + as important to him as births or marriages. He knew the date of Colonel + Kelmscott’s wedding with Lady Emily Croke, and if at that date wife + number one was not yet dead, when the Colonel took to himself wife number + two, who now did the honours of Tilgate Park for him, why, there you had + as clear and convincing a case of bigamy as any man could wish to find out + against another, and to utilize some day for his own good purposes. + </p> + <p> + As he thought these thoughts, Montague Nevitt gave the last delicate + twirl, the final touch of art, to the wire-like ends of his waxed + moustache, in front of his mirror, and, after surveying the result in the + glass with considerable satisfaction, proceeded to set out, on very good + terms with himself, for his summer holiday. + </p> + <p> + Devonshire, however, wasn’t his first destination. Montague Nevitt, + besides being a man of business and a man of taste, was also in due season + a man of feeling. A heart beat beneath that white rosebud in his left top + button-hole. All his thoughts were not thoughts of greed and of gain. He + was bound to Tilgate to-day, and to see a lady. + </p> + <p> + It isn’t so easy in England to see a lady alone. But fortune favours + the brave. Luck always attended Mr. Montague Nevitt’s most + unimportant schemes. Hardly had he got into the field path across the + meadows between Tilgate station and the grounds of Woodlands than, at the + seat by the bend, what should he see but a lady sitting down in an airy + white summer dress, her head leaning on her hand, most pensive and + melancholy. Montague Nevitt’s heart gave a sudden bound. In luck + once more. It was Gwendoline Gildersleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning!” he said briskly, coming up before Gwendoline + had time to perceive him—and fly. “This is really most + fortunate. I’ve run down from town today on purpose to see you, but + hardly hoped I should have the good fortune to get a tete-a-tete with you—at + least so easily. I’m so glad I’m in time. Now, don’t + look so cross. You must at any rate admit, you know, my persistence is + flattering.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel flattered by it, Mr. Nevitt,” Gwendoline + answered coldly, holding out her gloved hand to him with marked + disinclination. “I thought last time I had said good-bye to you for + good and for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt took her hand, and held it in his own a trifle longer than was + strictly necessary. “Now don’t talk like that, Gwendoline,” + he said coaxingly. “Don’t crush me quite flat. Remember at + least that you ONCE were kind to me. It isn’t my fault, surely, if + <i>I</i> still recollect it.” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline withdrew her hand from his with yet more evident coolness. + “Circumstances alter cases,” she said severely. “That + was before I really knew you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was before you knew Granville Kelmscott, you mean,” + Nevitt responded with an unpleasantly knowing air. “Oh yes, you + needn’t wince; I’ve heard all about that. It’s my + business to hear and find out everything. But circumstances alter cases, + as you justly say, Gwendoline. And I’ve discovered some + circumstances about Granville Kelmscott that may alter the case as regards + your opinion of that rich young man, whose estate weighed down a poor + fellow like me in what you’ve graciously pleased to call your + affections.” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline rose, and looked down at the man contemptuously. “Mr. + Nevitt,” she said, in a chilling voice, “you’ve no right + to call me Gwendoline any longer now. You’ve no right to speak to me + of Mr. Granville Kelmscott. I refused your advances, not for any one else’s + sake, or any one else’s estate, but simply and solely because I came + to know you better than I knew you at first; and the more I knew of you + the less I liked you. I am NOT engaged to Mr. Granville Kelmscott. I don’t + mean to see him again. I don’t mean to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt took his cue at once, like a clever hand that he was, and followed + it up remorselessly. “Well, I’m glad to hear that anyhow,” + he answered, assuming a careless air of utter unconcern, “for your + sake as well as for his, Miss Gildersleeve; for Granville Kelmscott, as I + happen to know in the course of business, is a ruined man—a ruined + man this moment. He isn’t, and never was, the heir of Tilgate. And I’m + sure it was very honourable of him, the minute he found he was a penniless + beggar, to release you from such an unequal engagement.” + </p> + <p> + He had played his card well. He had delivered his shot neatly. Gwendoline, + though anxious to withdraw from his hateful presence, couldn’t help + but stay and learn more about this terrible hint of his. A light broke in + upon her even as the fellow spoke. Was it this, then, that had made + Granville talk so strangely to her that morning by the dell in the + Woodlands? Was it this which, as he told her, rendered their marriage + impossible? Why, if THAT were all—Gwendoline drew a deep breath and + clasped her hands together in a sudden access of mingled hope and despair. + “Oh, what do you mean, Mr. Nevitt,” she cried eagerly. “What + can Granville have done? Don’t keep me in suspense! Do tell me what + you mean by it.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt, still seated, looked up at her with a smile of quiet + satisfaction. He played with her for a moment as a cat plays with a mouse. + She was such a beautiful creature, so tall and fair and graceful, and she + was so awfully afraid, and he was so awfully fond of her, that he loved to + torture her thus and hold her dangling in his power. “No, + Gwendoline,” he said slowly, drawing his words out by driblets, so + as to prolong her suspense, “I oughtn’t to have mentioned it + at all. It’s a professional secret. I retract what I said. Forget + that I said it. Excuse me on the ground of my natural reluctance to see a + woman I still love so deeply and so purely—whatever she may happen + to think of ME—throw herself away on a man without a name or a + penny. However, as Kelmscott seems to have done the honourable thing of + his own accord, and given you up the minute he knew he couldn’t keep + you in the way you’ve been accustomed to—why, there’s no + need, of course, of any warning from me. I’ll say no more on the + subject.” + </p> + <p> + His studied air of mystery piqued and drew on his victim. Gwendoline knew + in her own heart she ought to go at once; her own dignity demanded it, and + she should consult her dignity. But still, she couldn’t help longing + to know what Nevitt’s half-hints and innuendoes might mean. After + all, she was a woman! “Oh, do tell me,” she cried, clasping + her hands in suspense once more; “what have you heard about Mr. + Kelmscott? I’m not engaged to him; I don’t want to know for + that, but—” she broke down, blushing crimson, and Montague + Nevitt, gazing fixedly at her delicate peach-like cheek, remarked to + himself how extremely well that blush became her. + </p> + <p> + “No, but remember,” he said in a very grave voice, in his + favourite impersonation of the man of honour, “whatever I tell you—if + I give way at all and tell you anything—you must hear in confidence, + and must repeat to nobody. If you do repeat it, you’ll get me into + very serious trouble. And not only so, but as nobody knows it except + myself, you’ll as good as proclaim to all the world that you heard + it from ME. If I tell you what I know, will you promise me this—not + to breathe a syllable of what I say to anybody?” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline, glancing down, and thoroughly ashamed of herself, yet answered + in a very low and trembling voice, “I’ll promise, Mr. Nevitt.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the facts are these,” the man of feeling went on, with + an undercurrent of malicious triumph in his musical voice. “Kelmscott + is NOT his father’s eldest son; he’s NOT, and never was, the + heir of Tilgate. More than that, nobody knows these facts but myself. And + I know the true heirs, and I can prove their title. Well, now, Miss + Gildersleeve—if it’s to be Miss Gildersleeve still—this + is the circumstance that alters the case as regards Granville Kelmscott. I + have it in my hands to ruin Kelmscott. And what I’ve taken the + trouble to come down and say to you to-day is simply this for your own + advantage; beware, at least, how you throw yourself away upon a penniless + man, with neither name nor fortune! When you’ve quite got over that + dream, you’ll be glad to return to the man you threw overboard for + the rich squire’s son. No circumstances have ever altered him. He + loved you from the first, and he will always love you.” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline looked him back in the face again, as pale as death. “Mr. + Nevitt,” she said scornfully, unmoved by his tale, “I do not + love you, and I will never love you. You have no right to say such things + to me as this. I’m glad you’ve told me, for I now know what + Mr. Kelmscott meant. And if he was as poor as a church mouse, I’d + marry him to-morrow—I said just now I didn’t mean to marry + him. I retract that word. Circumstances alter cases, and what you’ve + just told me alters this one. I withdraw what I said. I’ll marry + Granville Kelmscott to-morrow if he asks me.” + </p> + <p> + She looked down at him so proudly, so defiantly, so haughtily, that + Montague Nevitt, sitting there with his cynical smile on his thin red + lips, flinched and wavered before her. He saw in a moment the game was up. + He had played the wrong card; he had mistaken his woman and tried false + tactics. It was too late now to retreat. An empty revenge was all that + remained to him. “Very well,” he said sullenly, looking her + back in the face with a nasty scowl—for indeed he loved that girl + and was loath to lose her—“remember your promise, and say + nothing to anybody. You’ll find it best so for your own reputation + in the end. But mark my words; be sure I won’t spare Granville + Kelmscott now. I’ll play my own game. I’ll ruin him + ruthlessly. He’s in my power, I tell you, and I’ll crush him + under my heel. Well, that’s settled at last. I’m off to + Devonshire to-morrow—on the hunt of the records—to the skirts + of Dartmoor, to a place in the wilds by the name of Mambury.” He + raised his hat, and, curling his lip maliciously, walked away, without + even so much as shaking hands with her. He knew it was all up. That game + was lost. And, being a man of feeling, he regretted it bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline, for her part, hurried home, all aglow with remorse and + excitement. When she reached the house, she went straight up in haste to + her own bedroom. In spite of her promise, all woman that she was, she + couldn’t resist sitting down at once and inditing a hurried note to + Granville Kelmscott. + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Granville,” it said, in a very shaky hand, not + unblurred by tears, “I know all now, and I wonder you thought it + could ever matter. I know you’re not the eldest son, and that + somebody else is the heir of Tilgate. And I care for all that a great deal + less than nothing. I love you ten thousand times too dearly to mind one + pin whether you’re rich or poor. And, rich or poor, whenever you + like, I’ll marry you. + </p> + <p> + “Yours ever devotedly and unalterably, + </p> + <h3> + “GWENDOLINE.” + </h3> + <p> + She sealed it up in haste and ran out with it, all tremors, to the post by + herself. Her hands were hot. She was in a high fever. But Mr. Montague + Nevitt, that man of feeling, thus balked of his game, walked off his + disappointment as well as he could by a long smart tramp across the + springy downs, lunching at a wayside inn on bread and cheese and beer, and + descending as the evening shades drew in on the Guildford station. Thence + he ran up to town by the first fast train, and sauntered sulkily across + Waterloo Bridge to his rooms on the Embankment. As he went a poster caught + his eye on the bridge. It riveted his attention by one fatal phrase. + “Financial News. Collapse of the Rio Negro Diamond and Sapphire + Mines!” + </p> + <p> + He stared at the placard with a dim sense of disaster. What on earth could + this mean? It fairly took his breath away. The mines were the best things + out this season. He held three hundred shares on his own account. If this + rumour were true, he had let himself in for a loss of a clear three + thousand! + </p> + <p> + But being a person of restricted sympathies, he didn’t reflect till + several minutes had passed that he must at the same time have let Guy + Waring in for three thousand also. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. — SELF OR BEARER. + </h2> + <p> + At Charing Cross Station Montague Nevitt bought a Financial News and + proceeded forthwith to his own rooms to read of the sudden collapse of his + pet speculation. It was only too true. The Rio Negro Diamond and Sapphire + Mines had gone entirely in one of the periodical South American crashes + which involved them in the liabilities of several other companies. A call + would be made at once to the full extent of the nominal capital. And he + would have to find three thousand pounds down to meet the demand on his + credit immediately. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt hadn’t three thousand pounds in the world to pay. The little + he possessed beyond his salary was locked up, here and there, in + speculative undertakings, where he couldn’t touch it except at long + notice. It was a crushing blow. He had need of steadying. Some men would + have flown in such a plight to brandy. Montague Nevitt flew, instead, to + the consolations of music. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes, indeed, he paced his room up and down in solemn silence. + Then his eye fell by accident on the violin case in the corner. Ah, that + would do! That beloved violin would inspire him with ideas; was it suicide + or fraud? or some honest way out: be it this plan or that the violin would + help him. Screwing up the strings for a minute with those deft, long, + double-jointed fingers of his, he took the bow in his right hand, and, + still pacing the room with great strides, like a wild beast in its cage, + began to discourse low passionate music to himself from one of those + serpentine pieces of Miss Ewes’s of Leamington. + </p> + <p> + As he played and played, his whole soul in his fingers, a plan began to + frame itself, vaguely, dimly at first, then more and more definitely by + slow degrees—shape, form, and features—as it grew and + developed. A beautiful chord, that last! Oh, how subtle, how beautiful! It + seemed to curl and glide on like a serpent through the grass, leaving + strange trails behind as of a flowing signature; a flowing signature with + bold twirls and flourishes—twirls and flourishes—twirls and + flourishes—twirls, twirls, twirls and flourishes; the signature to a + cheque; to a cheque for money; three thousand pounds at Drummond, Coutts + and Barclay’s. + </p> + <p> + It ran through his head, keeping time with the bars. Four thousand pounds; + five thousand; six thousand. + </p> + <p> + The longer he played the clearer and sharper the plan stood out. He saw + his way now as clear as daylight. And his way too, to make a deal more in + the end by it. + </p> + <p> + “Pay self or bearer six thousand pounds! Six thousand pounds; + signed, Cyril Waring!” + </p> + <p> + For hours he paced up and down there, playing long and low. Oh, music, how + he loved it; it seemed to set everything straight all at once in his head. + With bow in hand and violin at rest, he surpassed himself that evening in + ingenuity of fingering. He trembled to think of his own cleverness and + skill. What a miracle of device! What a triumph of cunning! Not an element + was overlooked. It was safe as houses. He could go to bed now, and drop + off like a child; having arranged before he went to make Guy Waring his + cat’s paw, and turn this sad stroke of ill-luck in the end to his + own ultimate greater and wider advantage. + </p> + <p> + And he was quite right too. He did sleep as he expected. Next morning he + woke in a very good humour, and proceeded at once to Guy Waring’s + rooms the moment after breakfast. + </p> + <p> + He found Guy, as he expected, in a tumult of excitement, having only just + that moment received by post the final call for the Rio Negro capital. + </p> + <p> + When other men are excited the wise man takes care to be perfectly calm. + Montague Nevitt was calm under this crushing blow. He pointed out blandly + that everything would yet go well. All was not lost. They had other irons + in the fire. And even the Rio Negros themselves were not an absolute + failure. The diamonds, the diamonds themselves, he insisted, were still + there, and the sapphires also. They studded the soil, they were to be had + for the picking. Every bit of their money would come back to them in the + end. It was a question of meeting an immediate emergency only. + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t three thousand pounds in the world to meet it + with,” Guy exclaimed in despair. “I shall be ruined, of + course. I don’t mind about that; but I never shall be able to make + good my liabilities!” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt lighted a cigarette with a philosophical smile. The hotter Guy + waxed, the faster did he cool down. + </p> + <p> + “Neither have I, my dear boy,” he said, in his most careless + voice, puffing out rings of smoke in the interval between his clauses; + “but I don’t, therefore, go mad. I don’t tear my hair + over it; though, to be sure, I’m a deal worse off than you. My + position’s at stake. If Drummonds were to hear of it—sack—sack + instanter. As to making yourself responsible for what you don’t + possess, that’s simply speculation. Everybody on the Stock Exchange + always does it. If they didn’t there’d be no such thing as + enterprise at all. You can’t make a fortune by risking a ha’penny.” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do?” Guy cried wildly. “However am I + to raise three thousand pounds? I should be ashamed to let Cyril know I’d + defaulted like this. If I can’t find the money I shall go mad or + kill myself.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt played him gently, as an experienced angler plays a + plunging trout, before proceeding to land him. At last, after offering Guy + much sympathetic advice, and suggesting several intentionally feeble + schemes, only to quash them instantly, he observed with a certain + apologetic air of unobtrusive friendliness, “Well, if the worst + comes to the worst, you’ve one thing to fall back upon: There’s + that six-thousand, of course, coming in by-and-by from the unknown + benefactor.” + </p> + <p> + Guy flung himself down in his easy-chair, with a look of utter despondency + upon his handsome face. “But I promised Cyril,” he exclaimed, + with a groan, “I’d never touch that. If I were to spend it I + don’t know how I could ever face Cyril.” + </p> + <p> + “I was told yesterday,” Nevitt answered, with a bitter little + smile, “and by a lady, too, many times over, that circumstances + alter cases, till I began to believe it. When you promised Cyril you weren’t + face to face with a financial crisis. If you were to use the money + temporarily—mind, I say only temporarily; for to my certain + knowledge Rio Negros will pull through all right in the end—if you + were to use it temporarily in such an emergency as this, no blame of any + sort could possibly attach to you. The unknown benefactor won’t mind + whether your money’s at your banker’s, or employed for the + time being in paying your debts. Your creditors will. If I were you, + therefore, I’d use it up in paying them.” + </p> + <p> + “You would?” Guy inquired, glancing across at him, with a + faint gleam of hope in his eye. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt fixed him at once with his strange cold stare, He had caught his + man now. He could play upon him as readily as he could play his violin. + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly I would,” he answered, with confidence, + striking the new chord full. “Cyril himself would do the same in + your place, I’ll bet you. And the proof that he would is simply this—you + yourself will do it. Depend upon it, if you can do anything, under given + circumstances, Cyril would do it too, in the same set of conditions. And + if ever Cyril feels inclined to criticise what you’ve done, you can + answer him back, ‘I know your heart as you know mine. In my place, I + know you’d have acted as I did.’” + </p> + <p> + “Cyril and I are not absolutely identical,” Guy answered + slowly, his eyes still fixed on Montague Nevitt’s. “Sometimes + I feel he does things I wouldn’t do.” + </p> + <p> + “He has more initiative than you,” Nevitt answered, as if + carelessly, though with deep design in his heart. “He acts where you + debate. You’re often afraid to take a serious step. Cyril never + hesitates. You draw back and falter; Cyril goes straight ahead. But all + the more reason, accordingly, that Cyril should admit the lightness of + whatever you do, for if you do anything—anything in the nature of a + definite step, I mean—why, far more readily, then, would Cyril, in + like case, have done it.” + </p> + <p> + “You think he has more initiative?” Guy asked, with a somewhat + nettled air. He hated to be thought less individual than Cyril. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he has, my dear boy,” Nevitt answered, smiling. + “He’d use the money at once, without a second’s + hesitation.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t got the money to use,” Guy continued, + after a short pause. + </p> + <p> + “Cyril has, though,” Nevitt responded, with a significant nod. + </p> + <p> + Guy perused his boots, and made no immediate answer. Nevitt wanted none + just then; he waited some seconds, humming all the while an appropriate + tune. Then he caught Guy’s eye again, and fixed him a second time. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity we don’t know Cyril’s address in + Belgium,” he said, in a musing tone. “We might telegraph + across for leave to use his money meanwhile. Remember, I’m just as + deeply compromised as you, or even more so. It’s a pity we should + both be ruined, with six thousand pounds standing at this very moment to + Cyril’s account at the London and West Country. But it can’t + be helped. There’s no time to lose. The money must be paid in sharp + by this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “By this evening!” Guy exclaimed, starting up excitedly. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt nodded assent. “Yes, by this evening, of course,” he + answered unperturbed, “or we become ipso facto defaulters and + bankrupts.” + </p> + <p> + That was a lie to be sure; but it served his purpose. Guy was a child at + business, and believed whatever nonsense Nevitt chose to foist upon him. + </p> + <p> + The journalist rose and paced the room twice or thrice with a frantic air + of unspeakable misery. + </p> + <p> + “I shall lose my place at our bank, no doubt,” Nevitt went on, + in a resigned tone. “But that doesn’t much matter. Though a + temporary loan—I could pay every penny in six weeks if I’d + time—a temporary loan would set things all straight again.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to heaven Cyril was here,” Guy exclaimed, in piteous + tones. + </p> + <p> + “He is, practically, when you’re here,” Nevitt answered, + with a knowing smile. “You can act as his deputy.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” Guy asked, turning round upon him + open-mouthed. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt paused, and smiled sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “This is his cheque-book, I think,” he replied, in the oblique + retort, picking it up and looking at it. He tore out a cheque, as if + pensively and by accident. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a precious odd thing,” he went on, “that + you showed me the other day, don’t you know, about your signature + and Cyril’s being so absolutely identical.” + </p> + <p> + Guy gazed at him in horror. “Oh, don’t talk about that!” + he cried, running his hand through his hair. “If I were even to + entertain such an idea for a moment, my self-respect would be gone for + ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so,” Nevitt put in, with a satirical smile. “I + said so just now. You’ve no initiative. Cyril wouldn’t be + afraid. Knowing the interests at stake, he’d take a firm stand and + act off-hand on his own discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” Guy faltered, in a hesitating voice. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt held him with his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Do I think so?” he echoed, “do I think so? I know it. + Look here, Guy, you and Cyril are practically one. If Cyril were here we’d + ask him at once to lend us the money. If we knew where Cyril was we’d + telegraph across and get his leave like a bird. But as he isn’t + here, and as we don’t know where he is, we must show some + initiative; we must act for once on our own responsibility, exactly as + Cyril would. It’s only for six weeks. At the end of that time the + unknown benefactor stumps up your share. You needn’t even tell + Cyril, if you don’t like, of this little transaction. See! here’s + his cheque. You fill it in and sign it. Nobody can tell the signature isn’t + Cyril’s. You take the money and release us both. In six weeks’ + time you get your own share of the unnatural parent’s bribe. You pay + it in to his credit, and not a living soul on earth but ourselves need + ever be one penny the wiser.” + </p> + <p> + Guy tried to look away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Nevitt + held him fixed with his penetrating gaze. Guy moved uneasily. He felt as + if he had a stiff neck, so hard was it to turn. Nevitt took a pen, and + dipped it quick in the ink. + </p> + <p> + “Just as an experiment,” he said firmly, yet in a coaxing + voice, “sit down and sign. Let me see what it looks like. There. + Write it just here. Write ‘Cyril Waring.’” + </p> + <p> + Guy sat down as in a maze, and took the pen from his hand like an obedient + schoolboy. For a second the pen trembled in his vacillating fingers; then + he wrote on the cheque, in a free and flowing hand, where the signature + ought to be, his brother’s name. He wrote it without stopping. + </p> + <p> + “Capital! Capital!” Nevitt cried in delight, looking over his + shoulder. “It’s a splendid facsimile! Now date and amount if + you please. Six thousand pounds. It’s your own natural hand after + all. Ah, capital, capital!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Guy framed the fatal words like one dreaming or entranced, on + the slip of paper before him. “Pay Self or Bearer Six Thousand + Pounds (L6,000), Cyril Waring.” + </p> + <p> + Nevitt looked at it critically. “That’ll do all right,” + he said, with his eye still fixed in between whiles on Guy’s + bloodless face. “Now the only one thing you have still left to do + is, to take it to the bank and get it cashed instanter.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. — MONTAGUE NEVITT FINESSES. + </h2> + <p> + Guy rose mechanically, and followed him to the door. Nevitt still held the + forged cheque in his hand. Guy thought of it so to himself in plain terms, + as the forgery. Yet somehow, he knew not why, he followed that sinister + figure through the passage and down the stairs like one irresistibly and + magnetically drawn forward. Why, he couldn’t let any one go forth + upon the streets of London—with the cheque he himself had forged in + his hands—unwatched and unshadowed. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt called a cab; and jumped in, and beckoned him. Guy, still as in a + dream, jumped after him hastily. + </p> + <p> + “To the London and West Country Bank, in Lombard Street,” + Nevitt called through the flap. + </p> + <p> + The cab drove off; and Guy Waring leaned back, all trembling and + irresolute, with his head on the cushions. + </p> + <p> + At last, after a short drive, during which Guy’s head seemed to be + swimming most dreamily, they reached the bank—that crowded bank in + Lombard Street. Nevitt thrust the cheque bodily into his companion’s + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Take it in, now, and cash it,” he said with an authoritative + air. “Do you hear what I say? Take it in—and cash it.” + </p> + <p> + Guy, as if impelled by some superior power, walked inside the door, and + presented it timidly. + </p> + <p> + The cashier glanced at the sum inscribed on the cheque with no little + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a rather large amount, Mr. Waring,” he said, + scanning his face closely. “How will you take it?” + </p> + <p> + Guy trembled violently from head to foot as he answered, in a voice half + choked with terror, “Bank of England hundreds, if you please. It is + a large sum, as you say; but I’m placing it elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The cashier retired for a few minutes; then he returned once more, + bringing a big roll of notes, and a second clerk by his side—just to + prevent mistake—stared hard at the customer. “All square,” + the second clerk said, in a half-whispered aside. “It’s him + right enough.” + </p> + <p> + And the cashier proceeded to count out the notes with oft-wetted fingers. + </p> + <p> + Guy took them up mechanically, like a drunken man, counted them over one + by one in a strange, dazed way; and staggered out at last to the cab to + Nevitt. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt leaned forward and took the bundle from his hands. Guy stood on the + pavement and looked vacantly in at him! “That’s right,” + Nevitt said, clasping the bundle tight. “Rio Negro Diamond and + Sapphire Mines, cabby, 127, Knatchbull Street, Cheapside.” + </p> + <p> + The cabman whipped up his horse and disappeared round the corner, leaving + Guy Waring alone—like a fool—on the pavement. + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two the dazed and dazzled journalist stood there awaking + by degrees as from some trance or stupefaction. At first he could only + stand still and gaze vacantly down the street after the disappearing cab; + but as his brain cleared slowly, and the mist that hung over his mind + dispelled itself bit by bit, he was able to walk a few steps at a time + towards the nearest shops, where he looked in at the windows intently with + a hollow stare, and tried to collect his scattered wits for a great effort + at understanding this strange transaction. + </p> + <p> + All at once, as he looked, the full folly of his deed burst in its true + light upon his muddled brain. He had handed Nevitt six thousand pounds in + Bank of England notes; to waste, or lose, or speculate, or run away with. + </p> + <p> + Six—thousand—pounds of Cyril’s money! Not that for one + moment he suspected Nevitt. Guy Waring was too innocent to suspect + anybody. But as he woke up more fully now to the nature of his own act, a + horrible sense of guilt and pollution crept slowly over him. He put his + hand ito his forehead. Cold sweat stood in clammy small drops upon his + brow. Bit by bit, the hateful truth dawned clearly upon him. Nevitt had + lured him by strange means, he knew not how, into hateful crime—into + a disgraceful conspiracy. Word by word, the self-accusing sentence framed + itself upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + He spoke it out, aloud: “Why—this—is forgery!” + </p> + <p> + Dazzled and stunned by the intensity of that awful awaking from some weird + possession or suggestion of evil by a stronger mind, Guy Waring began to + walk on in a feverish fashion, fast, fast, oh, so fast, not knowing where + he went, but conscious only that he must keep moving, lest an accusing + conscience should gnaw his very heart out. + </p> + <p> + Whither, he hadn’t as yet the faintest idea. His whole being for the + moment was centred and summed up in that unspeakable remorse. He had done + a great wrong. He had made himself a felon. And now, in the first recoil + of his revolted nature, he must go after the man who held the evidences of + his guilt, and by force or persuasion demand them at once from him. Those + notes were Cyril’s. He must get them. He must get them. + </p> + <p> + Possessed by this one idea, with devouring force, but still in a very + nebulous and hazy form, Guy began walking towards the Strand and the + Embankment, at the hot top of his speed, to get the notes back—at + Montague Nevitt’s chambers. He had walked with fiery zeal in that + wrong direction for nearly a mile, his heart burning within him all the + way, and his brain in a whirl, before it began to strike him, in a flash + of common sense, that Montague Nevitt wouldn’t be there at all. He + had driven off to the office. Guy clapped his hand to his forehead once + more, in an agony of remorse. Great heavens, what folly! He had heard him + tell the cabman the address himself—“127, Knatchbull Street, + Cheapside.” + </p> + <p> + Even now he hadn’t sense enough to hail a cab and go after him. His + faculties were still numbed and entranced by that horrible spell of + Montague Nevitt’s eye. He had but one thought—to walk on, walk + hastily. He tramped along the streets in the direction of Cheapside, + straining every muscle to arrive at the office before Nevitt had parted + with Cyril’s six thousand—but he never even thought of saving + the precious moments by driving the distance between instead of walking + it. Montague Nevitt’s personality still weighed down half his brain, + and rendered his mind almost childish or imbecile. + </p> + <p> + Hurrying on so through the crowded streets, now walking, now running, now + pausing, now panting, knocking up here against a little knot of wayfarers, + and delayed again there by an untimely block at some crowded crossing, he + turned the corner at last with a beating heart into the narrow pavement of + an alley marked up as Knatchbull Street. Number 127 was visible from afar. + </p> + <p> + A mob of excited people marked its site by loitering about the door. Two + policemen held off the angrier spirits among the shareholders. But, + nothing daunted by the press, Guy forced his way in and looked around the + room trembling, for Montague Nevitt. Too late! Too late! Nevitt wasn’t + there. The unhappy dupe turned to the clerk in charge. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Montague Nevitt been here?” he asked, in a voice all + tremulous with emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Montague Nevitt?” the clerk responded. “Just gone + ten minutes ago. Came to settle Mr. Whitley’s call—his + brother-in-law’s. Went off in a cab. Can I do anything for you?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s paid in six thousand pounds?” Guy gasped out + interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + The clerk gazed at him hard with a suspicious glance. “Are you a + shareholder?” he asked, with one eye on the policeman. “What + do you want to know for?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m a shareholder, unfortunately,” Guy answered, + still in a maze. “I hold three hundred original shares. My name’s + Guy Waring. You’ve got me on your books. Mr. Nevitt has paid three + thousand in Mr. Whitley’s name, and three thousand for me. That was + our arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk glanced hard at him again. “Waring!” he repeated, + turning over the leaves of his big book for further verification. “Waring! + Waring! Waring! Ah, here it is; Waring, Guy; journalist; 22, Staple Inn; + 300 shares. Three hundred pounds paid. Then we call up to three thousand. + No, Mr. Nevitt didn’t settle for you, sir. He paid Mr. Whitley’s + call in full. That was all. Nothing else. You’re still our debtor.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t pay up!” Guy exclaimed, clapping his hands to + his head, all the black guile and treachery of the man coining home to him + at once, at one fell blow. “He didn’t pay up for me! Oh, this + is too, too terrible!” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment. Floods of feeling rushed over him. He knew now + that he had committed that forgery for nothing. Cyril’s money was + gone. And Montague Nevitt had stolen the three thousand Guy intrusted to + him at the bank for the second payment. Yet Guy knew he had no legal + remedy save by acknowledging the forgery! This was almost more than human + nature could stand. If Montague Nevitt had been by his side that moment + Guy would have leapt at his throat, and it would have gone hard with him + if he had left the villain living. + </p> + <p> + He clapped his hands to his ears in the horror and agony of that hideous + disclosure. + </p> + <p> + “The thief!” he cried aloud, in a choking voice. “Did he + pay what he paid from a big roll of notes, and did he take the rest of the + notes in the roll away with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just so,” the clerk answered calmly. “He didn’t + mention your name. But perhaps he’s coming back by-and-by to settle + for you.” + </p> + <p> + Guy knew better. He saw through the man’s whole black nature at + once. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been robbed,” he said slowly. “I’ve + been robbed and deserted. I must follow the man and compel him to + disgorge. When I’ve got the cash back I’ll return and pay you. + ... No, I won’t, though. I forgot. I’ll take it home to the + bank for Cyril.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk gazed at him with a smile of pitying contempt. Mad, mad; quite + mad! The loss of his fortune had, no doubt, unhinged this shareholder’s + reason. But Guy, never heeding him, rushed out into the street and hailed + a passing cab. + </p> + <p> + “Temple Flats,” he cried aloud, and drove to Nevitt’s + chambers. Too late, once more! The housekeeper told him Mr. Nevitt was + out. He’d just started off, portmanteau and all, as hard as a hansom + could drive, to Waterloo Station. + </p> + <p> + “Waterloo, then!” Guy shouted, in wild despair, to the cabman. + “We must follow this man post haste. Alive or dead, I won’t + rest till I catch him!” + </p> + <p> + It was an unhappy phrase. In the events that came after, it was remembered + against him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. — COLONEL KELMSCOTT’S PUNISHMENT. + </h2> + <p> + While Montague Nevitt was thus congenially engaged in pulling off his + treble coup of settling his own share in the Rio Negro deficit, pocketing + three thousand pounds, pro tem, for incidental expenses, and getting Guy + Waring thoroughly into his power by his knowledge of a forgery, two other + events were taking place elsewhere, which were destined to prove of no + small importance to the future of the twins and their immediate + surroundings. Things generally were converging towards a crisis in their + affairs. Colonel Kelmscott’s wrong-doing was bearing first-fruit + abundantly. + </p> + <p> + For as soon as Granville Kelmscott received that strangely-worded note + from Gwendoline Gildersleeve, he proceeded, as was natural, straight down, + in his doubt, to his father’s library. There, bursting into the + room, with Gwendoline’s letter still crushed in his hand in the side + pocket of his coat, and a face like thunder, he stood in the attitude of + avenging fate before his father’s chair, and gazed down upon him + angrily. + </p> + <p> + “What does THIS mean?” he asked, in a low but fuming voice, + brandishing the note before his eyes as he spoke. “Is every one in + the county to be told it but I? Is everybody else to hear my business + before you tell me a word of it? A letter comes to me this morning—no + matter from whom—and here’s what it says: ‘I know you’re + not the eldest son, and that somebody else is the heir of Tilgate.’ + Surely, if anybody was to know, <i>I</i> should have known it first. + Surely, if I’m to be turned adrift on the world, after being brought + up to think myself a man of means so long, I should, at least, be turned + adrift with my eyes open.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott gazed at him open-mouthed with horror. + </p> + <p> + “Did Gwendoline Gildersleeve write that to you?” he cried, + overpowered at once by remorse and awe. “Did Gwendoline Gildersleeve + write that to you? Well, if Gwendoline Gildersleeve knows it, it’s + all up with the scheme! That rascally lawyer, her father, has found out + everything. These two young men must have put their case in the fellow’s + hands. He must be hunting up the facts. He must be preparing to contest + it. My boy, my boy, we’re ruined! we’re ruined!” + </p> + <p> + “These two young men,” Granville repeated, with a puzzled air + of surprise. “WHAT two young men? I don’t know them. I never + heard of them.” Then suddenly one of those flashes of intuition + burst in upon him that burst in upon us all at moments of critical + importance to our lives. “Father, father,” he cried, loaning + forward in his anguish and clutching the oak chair, “you don’t + mean to tell me those fellows, the Warings, that we met at Chetwood Court, + are your lawful sons—and that THAT was why you bought the landscape + with the snake in it?” + </p> + <p> + Kelmscott, of Tilgate, bent his proud head down to the table unchecked. + “My son, my son,” he cried, in his despair, “you have + said it yourself. Your own mouth has suggested it. What use my trying to + keep it from you any longer? These lads—are Kelmscotts.” + </p> + <p> + “And—my mother?” Granville Kelmscott burst out, in a + very tremulous voice. The question was almost more than a man dare ask. + But he asked it in the first bitterness of a terrible awakening. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother,” Colonel Kelmscott answered, lifting his head + once more, with a terrible effort, and looking his son point-blank in the + face—“your mother is just what I have always called her—my + lawful wife—Lady Emily Kelmscott. The mother of these lads, to whom + I was also once duly married, died before my marriage with my present wife—thank + God I can say so. I may have acted foolishly, cruelly, criminally; but at + least I never acted quite so basely and so ill as you impute to me, + Granville.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven for that,” his son answered fervently, with one + hand on his breast, drawing a deep sigh as he spoke. “You’re + my father, sir, and it isn’t for me to reproach you; but if you had + only done THAT—oh, my mother! my mother! I don’t know, sir, I’m + sure, how I could ever have forgiven you; I don’t know how I could + ever have kept my hands off you.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott straightened himself up, and looked hard at his son. A + terrible pathos gleamed in his proud brown eyes. His white moustache had + more dignity than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Granville,” he said slowly, like a broken man, “I don’t + ask you to forgive me; you can never forgive me; I don’t ask you to + sympathise with me; a father knows better than to accept sympathy from a + son; but I do ask you to bear with me while I try to explain myself.” + </p> + <p> + He braced himself up, and with many long pauses, and many inarticulate + attempts to set forth the facts in the least unfavourable aspect, told his + story all through, in minute detail, to that hardest of all critics, his + own dispossessed and disinherited boy. + </p> + <p> + “If you’re hard upon me, Granville,” he cried at last as + he finished, looking wistfully for pity into his son’s face, “you + should remember, at least, it was for your sake I did it, my boy; it was + for your sake I did it—yours, yours, and your mother’s.” + </p> + <p> + Granville let him relate his whole story in full to the bitter end, though + it was with difficulty at times that that proud and grey-haired man nerved + himself up to tell it. Then, as soon as all was told, he looked in his + father’s face once more, and said slowly, with the pitilessness of + sons in general towards the faults and failings of their erring parents— + </p> + <p> + “It’s not my place to blame you, I know. You did it, I + suppose, as you say so, for me and my mother. But it IS my place to tell + you plainly, father, that I, for one, will have nothing at all to do with + the fruits of your deception. I was no party to the fraud; I will be no + party either to its results or its clearing up. I, too, have to think, as + you say, of my mother. For her sake, I won’t urge you to break her + heart at once by disinheriting her son, now and here, too openly. You can + make what arrangements you like with these blood-sucking Warings. You can + do as you will in providing them with hush-money. Let them take their + black-mail! You’ve handed them over half the sum you got for + Dowlands already, I suppose. You can buy them off for awhile by handing + them over the remainder. Twelve thousand will do. Leeches as they are, + that will surely content them, at least for the present.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott raised one hand and tried hard to interrupt him; but + Granville would not be interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he went on sternly, shaking his head and frowning. + “I’ll have my say for once, and then for ever keep silence. + This is the first and last time as long as we both live I will speak with + you on the subject. So we may as well understand one another, once and for + ever. For my mother’s sake, as I said, there need be just at present + no open disclosure. You have years to live yet; and as long as you live, + these Waring people have no claim upon the estate in any way. You’ve + given them as much as they’ve any right to expect. Let them wait for + the rest till, in the course of nature, they come into possession. As for + me, I will go to carve out for myself a place in the world elsewhere by my + own exertions. Perhaps, before my mother need know her son was left a + beggar by the father who brought him up like the heir to a large estate, I + may have been able to carve out that place for myself so well that she + need never really feel the difference. I’m a Kelmscott, and can + fight the world on my own account. But, in any case, I must go. Tilgate’s + no longer a fit home for me. I leave it to those who have a better right + to it.” + </p> + <p> + He rose as if to depart, with the air of a man who sets forth upon the + world to seek his fortune. Colonel Kelmscott rose too, and faced him, all + broken. + </p> + <p> + “Granville,” he said, in a voice scarcely audible through the + stifled sobs he was too proud to give vent to, “you’re not + going like this. You’re not going without at least shaking hands + with your father! You’re not going without saying good-bye to your + mother!” + </p> + <p> + Granville turned, with hot tears standing dim in his eyes—like his + father, he was too proud to let them trickle down his cheek—and + taking the Colonel’s weather-beaten hand in his, wrung it silently + for some minutes with profound emotion. + </p> + <p> + Then he looked at the white moustache, the grizzled hair, the bright brown + eyes suffused with answering dimness, and said, almost remorsefully, + “Father, good-bye. You meant me well, no doubt. You thought you were + befriending me. But I wish to Heaven in my soul you had meant me worse. It + would have been easier for me to bear in the end. If you’d brought + me up as a nobody—as a younger son’s accustomed—” + He paused and drew back, for he could see his words were too cruel for + that proud man’s heart. Then he broke off suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “But I CAN’T say good-bye to my mother,” he went on, + with a piteous look. “If I tried to say good-bye to her, I must tell + her all. I’d break down in the attempt. I’ll write to her from + the Cape. It’ll be easier so. She won’t feel it so much then.” + </p> + <p> + “From the Cape!” Colonel Kelmscott exclaimed, drawing back in + horror. “Oh, Granville, don’t tell me you’re going away + from us to Africa!” + </p> + <p> + “Where else?” his son asked, looking him back in the face + steadily. “Africa it is! That’s the only opening left nowadays + for a man of spirit. There, I may be able to hew out a place for myself at + last, worthy of Lady Emily Kelmscott’s son. I won’t come back + till I come back able to hold my own in the world with the best of them. + These Warings shan’t crow over the younger son. Good-bye, once more, + father.” He wrung his hand hard. “Think kindly of me when I’m + gone; and don’t forget altogether I once loved Tilgate.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and went up to his own room again. His mind was + resolved. He wouldn’t even say good-bye to Gwendoline Gildersleeve. + He’d pack a few belongings in a portmanteau in haste, and go forth + upon the world to seek his fortune in the South African diamond fields. + </p> + <p> + But Colonel Kelmscott sat still in the library, bowed down in his chair, + with his head between his hands, in abject misery. A strange feeling + seemed to throb through his weary brain; he had a sensation as though his + skull were opening and shutting. Great veins on his forehead beat black + and swollen. The pressure was almost more than the vessels would stand. He + held his temples between his two palms as if to keep them from bursting. + All ahead looked dark as night; the ground was cut from under him. The + punishment of his sin was too heavy for him to bear. How could he ever + tell Emily now that Granville was gone? A horrible numbness oppressed his + brain. Oh, mercy! mercy! his head was flooded. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. — CROSS PURPOSES. + </h2> + <p> + At the Gildersleeves’, too, the house that day was alive with + excitement. + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline had thrown herself into a fever of alarm as soon as she had + posted her letter to Granville Kelmscott. She went up to her own room, + flung herself wildly on the bed, and sobbed herself into a + half-hysterical, half-delirious state, long before dinner-time. She hardly + knew herself at first how really ill she was. Her hands were hot and her + forehead burning. But she disregarded such mere physical and medical + details as those, by the side of a heart too full for utterance. She + thought only of Granville, and of that horrid man who had threatened with + such evident spite and rancour to ruin him. + </p> + <p> + She lay there some hours alone, in a high fever, before her mother came up + to her room to fetch her. Mrs. Gildersleeve was a subdued and soft-voiced + woman, utterly crushed, so people said, by the stronger individuality of + that blustering, domineering, headstrong man, her husband. And to say the + truth, the eminent Q.C. had taken all the will out of her in twenty-three + years of obedient slavery. She was pretty still, to be sure, in a certain + faded, jaded, unassuming way; but her patient face wore a constant + expression of suppressed terror, as if she expected every moment to be the + victim of some terrible and unexplained exposure. And that feature at + least in her idiosyncrasy could hardly be put down to Gilbert Gildersleeve’s + account; for hectoring and strong-minded as the successful Q.C. was known + to be, nobody could for a moment accuse him in any definite way of + deliberate unkindness to his wife or daughter. On the contrary, he was + tender and indulgent to them to the last degree, as he understood those + virtues. It was only by constant assertion of his own individuality, and + constant repression or disregard of theirs, that he had broken his wife’s + spirit and was breaking his daughter’s. He treated them as + considerately as one treats a pet dog, doing everything for them that care + and money could effect, except to admit for a moment their claim to + independent opinions and actions of their own, or to allow the possibility + of their thinking and feeling on any subject on earth one nail’s + breadth otherwise than as he himself did. + </p> + <p> + At sight of Gwendoline, Mrs. Gildersleeve came over to the bed with a + scared and startled air, felt her daughter’s face tenderly with her + hands for a moment, and then cried in alarm, “Why, Gwennie, what’s + this? Your cheeks are burning! Who on earth has been here? Has that horrid + man come down again from London to worry you?” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline looked up and tried to prevaricate. But conscience was too + strong for her; the truth would out for all that. “Yes, mother,” + she cried, after a pause, “and he said, oh, he said—I could + never tell you what dreadful things he said. But he’s so wicked, so + cruel! You never knew such a man! He thinks I want to marry Granville + Kelmscott, and so he told me—” She broke off, of a sudden, + unable to proceed, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing long and + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did he tell you, dear?” Mrs. Gildersleeve asked, + with that frightened air, as of a startled wild thing, growing deeper than + ever upon her countenance as she uttered the question. + </p> + <p> + “He told me—oh, he told me—I can’t tell you what + he told me; but he threatened to ruin us—he threatened it so + dreadfully. It was a hateful threat. He seemed to have found out something + that he knew would be our ruin. He frightened me to death. I never heard + any one say such things as he did.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gildersleeve drew back in profound agitation. “Found out + something that would be our ruin!” she cried, with white face all + aghast. “Oh, Gwennie, what do you mean? Didn’t he tell you + what it was? Didn’t he try to explain to you? He’s a wicked, + wicked man—so cruel, so unscrupulous! He gets one’s secrets + into his hands, by underhand means, and then uses them to make one do + whatever he chooses. I see how it is. He wants to force us into letting + him marry you—into making you marry him! Oh, Gwennie, this is hard. + Didn’t he tell you at all what it was he knew? Didn’t he give + you a hint what sort of secret he was driving at?” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline looked up once more, and murmured low through her sobs, “No, + he didn’t say what it was. He’s too cunning for that. But I + think—I think it was something about Granville. Mother, I never told + you, but you know I love him! I think it was something about HIM, though I + can’t quite make sure. Some secret about somebody not being properly + married, or something of that sort. I didn’t quite understand. You + see, he was so discreetly vague and reticent.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gildersleeve drew back her face all aghast with horror. “Some + secret—about somebody—not being properly married!” she + repeated slowly, with wild terror in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” Gwendoline gasped out, with an effort once + more. “It was about somebody not being really the proper heir; he + made me promise I wouldn’t tell; but I don’t know how to keep + it. He was immensely full of it; it was an awful secret; and he said he + would ruin us—ruin us ruthlessly. He said we were in his power, and + he’d crush us under his heel. And, oh, when he said it, you should + have seen his face. It was horrible, horrible. I’ve seen nothing + else since. It dogs me—it haunts me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gildersleeve sat down by the bedside wringing her hands in silence. + “It’s too late to-night,” she said at last, after a long + deep pause, and in a voice like a woman condemned to death, “too + late to do anything; but to-morrow your father must go up to town and try + to see him. At all costs we must buy him off. He knows everything—that’s + clear. He’ll ruin us. He’ll ruin us!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use papa going up to town, though,” Gwendoline + answered half dreamily. “That dreadful man said he was going away + for his holiday to the country at once. He’ll be gone to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone? Gone where?” Mrs. Gildersleeve cried, in the same + awestruck voice. + </p> + <p> + “To Devonshire,” Gwendoline replied, shutting her eyes hard + and still seeing him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gildersleeve echoed the phrase in a startled cry. “To + Devonshire, Gwendoline! To Devonshire! Did he say to Devonshire?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Gwendoline went on slowly, trying to recall his very + words. “To the skirts of Dartmoor, I think he said; to a place in + the wilds by the name of Mambury.” + </p> + <p> + “Mambury!” + </p> + <p> + The terror and horror that frail and faded woman threw into the one word + fairly startled Gwendoline. She opened her eyes and stared aghast at her + mother. And well she might, for the effect was electrical. Mrs. + Gildersleeve was sitting there, transfixed with awe and some unspeakable + alarm; her figure was rigid; her face was dead white; her mouth was drawn + down with a convulsive twitch; she clasped her bloodless hands on her + knees in mute agony. For a moment she sat there like a statue of flesh. + Then, as sense and feeling came back to her by slow degrees, she could but + rock her body up and down in her chair with a short swaying motion, and + mutter over and over again to herself in that same appalled and terrified + voice, “Mambury—Mambury—Mambury—Mambury.” + </p> + <p> + “That was the name, I’m sure,” Gwendoline went on, + almost equally alarmed. “On a hunt after records, he said; on a hunt + after records. Whatever it was he wanted to prove, I suppose he knew that + was the place to prove it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gildersleeve rose, or to speak with more truth, staggered slowly to + her feet, and, steadying herself with an effort, made blindly for the + door, groping her way as she went, like some faint and wounded creature. + She said not a word to Gwendoline. She had no tongue left for speech or + comment. She merely stepped on, pale and white, pale and white, like one + who walks in her sleep, and clutched the door-handle hard to keep her from + falling. Gwendoline, now thoroughly alarmed, followed her close on her way + to the top of the stairs. There Mrs. Gildersleeve paused, turned round to + her daughter with a mute look of anguish and held up one hand, palm + outward, appealingly, as if on purpose to forbid her from following + farther. At the gesture, Gwendoline fell back, and looked after her mother + with straining eyes. Mrs. Gildersleeve staggered on, erect, yet to all + appearance almost incapable of motion, and stumbled down the stairs, and + across the hall, and into the drawing-room opposite. The rest Gwendoline + neither saw, nor heard, nor guessed at. She crept back into her own room, + and, flinging herself on her bed alone as she stood, cried still more + piteously and miserably than ever. + </p> + <p> + Down in the drawing-room, however, Mrs. Gildersleeve found the famous Q.C. + absorbed in the perusal of that day’s paper. She came across towards + him, pale as a ghost, and with ashen lips. “Gilbert,” she said + slowly, blurting it all out in her horror, without one word of warning, + “that dreadful man Nevitt has seen Gwennie again, and he’s + told her he knows all, and he means to ruin us, and he’s heard of + the marriage, and he’s gone down to Mambury to hunt up the records!” + </p> + <p> + The eminent Q.C. let the paper drop from his huge red hands in the + intensity of his surprise, while his jaw fell in unison at so startling + and almost incredible a piece of intelligence. “Nevitt knows all!” + he exclaimed, half incredulous. “He means to ruin us! And he told + this to Gwendoline! Gone down to Mambury! Oh no, Minnie, impossible! You + must have made some mistake. What did she say exactly? Did she mention + Mambury?” + </p> + <p> + “She said it exactly as I’ve said it now to you,” Mrs. + Gildersleeve persisted with a stony stare. “He’s gone down to + Devonshire, she said; to the borders of Dartmoor, on a hunt after the + records; to a place in the wilds by the name of Mambury. Those were her + very words. I could stake my life on each syllable. I give them to you + precisely as she gave them to me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gildersleeve gazed across at her with the countenance which had made + so many a nervous witness quake at the Old Bailey. “Are you QUITE + sure of that, Minnie?” he asked, in his best cross-examining tone. + “Quite sure she said Mambury, all of her own accord? Quite sure you + didn’t suggest it to her, or supply the name, or give her a hint of + its whereabouts, or put her a leading question?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it likely I’d suggest it to her?” the meekest of + women answered, aroused to retort for once, and with her face like a + sheet. “Is it likely I’d tell her? Is it likely I’d give + my own girl the clue? She said it all of herself, I tell you, without one + word of prompting. She said it just as I repeated it—to a place in + the wilds by the name of Mambury.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve whistled inaudibly to himself. ‘Twas his way + when he felt himself utterly nonplussed. This was very strange news. He + didn’t really understand it. But he rose and confronted his wife + anxiously. That overbearing big man was evidently stirred by this untoward + event to the very depths of his nature. + </p> + <p> + “Then Gwennie knows all!” he cried, the blood rushing purple + into his ruddy flushed cheeks. “The wretch! The brute! He must have + told her everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Gilbert,” his wife answered, sinking into a chair in her + horror, “even HE couldn’t do that—not to my own very + daughter! And he didn’t do it, I’m sure. He didn’t dare—coward + as he is, he couldn’t be quite so cowardly. She doesn’t guess + what it means. She thinks it’s something, I believe, about Granville + Kelmscott. She’s in love with young Kelmscott, as I told you long + ago, and everything to her mind takes some colour from that fancy. I don’t + think it ever occurred to her, from what she says, this has anything at + all to do with you or me, Gilbert.” + </p> + <p> + The Q.C. reflected. He saw at once he was in a tight corner. That + boisterous man, with the burly big hands, looked quite subdued and + crestfallen now. He could hardly have snubbed the most unassuming junior. + This was a terrible thing, indeed, for a man so unscrupulous and clever as + Montague Nevitt to have wormed out of the registers. How he could ever + have wormed it out Gilbert Gildersleeve hadn’t the faintest idea, + Why, who on earth could have shown him the entry of that fatal marriage—Minnie’s + first marriage—the marriage with that wretch who died in Portland + prison—the marriage that was celebrated at St. Mary’s, at + Mambury? He couldn’t for a moment conceive, for nobody but + themselves, he fondly imagined, had ever identified Mrs. Gilbert + Gildersleeve, the wife of the eminent Q.C., with that unhappy Mrs. Read, + the convict’s widow. The convict’s widow. Ah, there was the + rub. For she was really a widow in name alone when Gilbert Gildersleeve + married her. + </p> + <p> + And Montague Nevitt, that human ferret, with his keen sharp eyes, and his + sleek polite ways, had found it all out in spite of them—had hunted + up the date of Read’s death and their marriage, and had bragged how + he was going down to Mambury to prove it! + </p> + <p> + All the Warings and Reads always got married at Widdicombe or Mambury. + There were lots of them on the books there, that was one comfort, anyhow. + He’d have a good search to find his needle in such a pottle of hay. + But to think the fellow should have, had the double-dyed cruelty to break + the shameful secret first of all to Gwendoline! That was his vile way of + trying to force a poor girl into an unwilling consent. Gilbert + Gildersleeve lifted his burly big hands in front of his capacious + waistcoat, and pressed them together angrily. If only he had that rascal’s + throat well between them at that moment! He’d crush the fellow’s + windpipe till he choked him on the spot, though he answered for it before + the judges of assize to-morrow! + </p> + <p> + “There’s only one thing possible for it, Minnie,” he + said at last, drawing a long deep breath. “I must go down to Mambury + to-morrow to be beforehand with him. And I must either buy him off; or + else, if that won’t do—” + </p> + <p> + “Or else what, Gilbert?” + </p> + <p> + She trembled like an aspen leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Or else get at the books in the vestry myself,” the Q.C. + muttered low between his clenched teeth, “before the fellow has time + to see them and prove it.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. — GUY IN LUCK. + </h2> + <p> + Guy Waring reached Waterloo ten minutes too late. Nevitt had gone on by + the West of England express. The porter at the labelling place “minded + the gentleman well.” He was a sharp-looking gentleman, with a queer + look about the eyes, and a dark moustache curled round at the corners. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” Guy cried eagerly, “that’s him right + enough. The eyes mark the man. And where was he going to?” + </p> + <p> + “He had his things labelled,” the porter said, “for + Plymouth.” + </p> + <p> + “And when does the next train start?” Guy inquired, all on + fire. + </p> + <p> + The porter, consulting the time-table in the muddle-headed way peculiar to + railway porters, and stroking his chin with his hand to assist + cerebration, announced, after a severe internal struggle, that the 3.45 + down, slow, was the earliest train available. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing for it then, Guy perceived, but to run home to his + rooms, possessing his soul in patience, pack up a few things in his + Gladstone bag, and return at his leisure to catch the down train thus + unfavourably introduced to his critical notice. + </p> + <p> + If Guy had dared, to be sure, he might have gone straight to a + police-station, and got an inspector to telegraph along the line to stop + the thief with his booty at Basingstoke or Salisbury. But Guy didn’t + dare. For to interfere with Nevitt now by legal means would be to risk the + discovery of his own share in the forgery. And from that risk the startled + and awakened young man shrank for a thousand reasons; though the chief + among them all was certainly one that never would have occurred to any one + but himself as even probable. + </p> + <p> + He didn’t wish Elma Clifford to know that the man she loved, and the + man who loved her, had become that day a forger’s brother. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, he had only seen Elma once—that afternoon at the Holkers’ + garden-party. But, as Cyril himself knew, he had fallen in love with her + at first sight—far more immediately, indeed, than even Cyril himself + had done. Blood, as usual, was thicker than water. The points that + appealed to one brother appealed also to the other, but with this + characteristic difference, that Guy, who was the more emotional and less + strong-willed of the two, yielded himself up at the very first glance to + the beautiful stranger, while Cyril required some further acquaintance + before quite giving way and losing his heart outright to her. And from + that first meeting forward, Guy had carried Elma Clifford’s image + engraved upon his memory—as he would carry it, he believed, to his + dying day. Not, to be sure, that he ever thought for a moment of + endeavouring to win her away from his brother. She was Cyril’s + discovery, and to Cyril, therefore, he yielded her up, as of prior right, + though with a pang of reluctance. But now that he stood face to face at + last with his own accomplished crime, the first thought that rose in his + mind spontaneous was for Elma’s happiness. He must never let Elma + Clifford know that the man she loved, and would doubtless marry, was now + by HIS act—a forger’s brother. + </p> + <p> + Three forty-five arrived at last, and Guy set off, all trembling, on his + fatal quest. As he sped along, indignant at heart with Nevitt’s + black treachery, on the line to Plymouth, he had plenty of time to revolve + these things abundantly in his own soul. And when, after a long and dusty + drive, he reached Plymouth, late at night, he could learn nothing for the + moment about Montague Nevitt’s movements. So he was forced to go + quietly for the evening to the Duke of Devonshire Hotel, and there wait as + best he might to see how events would next develop themselves. + </p> + <p> + A day passed away—two days—but nothing turned up. Guy wasted + much time in Plymouth making various inquiries before he learnt at last + that a man with a queer look about the eyes, and a moustache with waxed + ends, had gone down a night or so earlier by the other line to a station + at the foot of Dartmoor, by the name of Mambury. + </p> + <p> + No sooner, however, had he learnt this promising news, than he set off at + once, hot at heart as ever, to pursue the robber. That wretch shouldn’t + get away scot free with his booty; Guy would follow him and denounce him + to the other end of the universe! When he reached Mambury, he went direct + to the village inn and asked, with trembling lips, if Mr. Montague Nevitt + was at present staying there. The landlord shook his head with a stubborn, + rustic negative. “No, we arn’t a-got no gentleman o’ + thik there name in the house,” he said; “fact is, zur, to tell + ‘ee the truth, we arn’t a-had nobody stoppin’ in the + Arms at all lately, ‘cep’ it might be a gentleman come down + from London, an’ it was day afore yesterday as he did come, an’ + he do call ‘unself McGregor.” + </p> + <p> + Quick as lightning, Guy suspected Nevitt might be passing under a false + name. What more likely, indeed, seeing he had made off with Guy’s + three thousand pounds? + </p> + <p> + “And what sort of a man is this McGregor?” he asked hastily, + putting his suspicion into shape. “What age? What height? What kind + of a person to look at?” + </p> + <p> + “Wull, he’s a vine upstandin’ zart of a gentleman,” + the landlord answered glibly in his own dialect; “as proper a + gentleman as you’d wish to zee in a day’s march; med be about + your height, zur, or a trifle more, has his moustaches curled round zame + as if it med be a bellick’s harns; an’ a strange zart o’ + a look about his eyes, too, as if ur could zee right drew an’ drew + ‘ee.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s him!” Guy exclaimed, with a start, in profound + excitement. “That’s the fellow, sure enough. I know him. I + know him. And where is he now, landlord? Is he in the house? Can I see + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, ‘ee can’t zee him, zur,” the landlord + answered, eyeing the stranger askance; “he be out, jest at present. + He do go vur a walk, mostly, down yonner in the bottom alongside the + brook. Mebbe if you was to vollow by river-bank you med come up wi’ + him by-an’-by ... and mebbe, agin, you medn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll follow him,” Guy exclaimed, growing more excited + than ever, now this quarry was almost well within sight; “I’ll + follow him till I find him, the confounded rascal. I’ll follow him + to his grave. He shan’t get away from me.” + </p> + <p> + The landlord looked at him with a dubious frown. That one could smile and + smile and be a villain didn’t enter into his simple rustic + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a pleasant-spoken gentleman is Maister McGregor,” + the honest Devonian said, with a tinge of disapprobation in his thick + voice. “What vur do ‘ee want to vind ‘un? That’s + what <i>I</i> wants to know. He don’t look like one as did ever hurt + a vlea. Such a soft zart of a voice. An’ he do play on the viddle + that beautiful—that beautiful, why, ‘tis the zame if he war a + angel from heaven. Viddler Moore, he wur up here wi’ his music last + night; an’ Maister McGregor, he took the instrument vrom un, an’ + ‘Let ME have a try, my vrend,’ says he, all modest and + unassoomin’; and vi’ that, he wounded it up, an’ he + begun to play. Lard, how he did play. Never heard nothing like it in all + my barn days. It is the zame, vor all the world, as you do hear they + viddler chaps that plays by themselves in the Albert Hall up to London. + Depend upon it, zur, there ain’t no harm in HIM. A vullow as can + play on the viddle like thik there, why, he couldn’t do no hurt, not + to child nor chicken.” + </p> + <p> + Guy turned away from the door, fretting and fuming inwardly. He knew + better than that. Nevitt’s consummate mastery of his chosen + instrument was but of a piece, after all, with the way he could play on + all the world, as on a familiar gamut. It was the very skill of the man + that made him so dangerous and so devilish. Guy felt that under the spell + of Nevitt’s eye he himself was but as clay in the hands of the + potter. + </p> + <p> + But Nevitt should never so trick him and twist him again. To that his mind + was now fully made up. He would never let that cold eye hold him fixed as + of yore by its steely glance. Once for all, Nevitt had proved his power + too well. Guy would take good care he never subjected himself in future to + that uncanny influence. One forgery was enough. Henceforth he was adamant. + </p> + <p> + And yet? And yet he was going to seek out Nevitt; going to stand face to + face with that smiling villain again; going to tax him with his crime; + going to ask him what he meant by this double-dyed treachery. + </p> + <p> + The landlord had told him where Nevitt was most likely to be found. He + followed that direction. At a gate that turned by the river-bank, twenty + minutes from the inn, a small boy was seated. He was a Devonshire boy of + the poorest moorland type, short, squat, and thick set. As Guy reached the + gate, the boy rose and opened it, pulling his forelock twice or thrice, + expectant of a ha’penny. “Has anybody gone down here?” + Guy asked, in an excited voice. + </p> + <p> + And the boy answered promptly, “Yes, thik there gentleman, what’s + stoppin’ at the Talbot Arms. And another gentleman, too; o’ny + t’other one come after and went t’other way round. A big zart + o’ a gentleman wi’ ‘ands vit vor two. He axed me the + zame question, had anybody gone by. This is dree of ‘ee as has come + zince I’ve been a zitting here.” + </p> + <p> + Guy paid no attention to the second-named gentleman, with the hands fit + for two, or to his inquiries after who might have gone before him. He + fastened at once on the really important and serious information that the + person who was stopping at the Talbot Arms had shortly before turned down + the side footpath. + </p> + <p> + “All right, my boy,” he said, tossing the lad sixpence, the + first coin he came across in his waistcoat pocket. The boy opened his eyes + wide, and pocketed it with a grin. So unexpected a largess sufficed to + impress the handsome stranger firmly on his memory. He didn’t forget + him when a few days later he was called on to give evidence—at a + coroner’s inquest. + </p> + <p> + But Guy, unsuspicious of the harm he had done himself, walked on, all on + fire, down the woodland path. It was a shady path, and it led through a + deep dell arched with hazels on every side, while a little brawling brook + ran along hard by, more heard than seen, in the bottom of the dingle. + Thick bramble obscured the petty rapids from view and half trailed their + lush shoots here and there across the pathway. It was just such a mossy + spot as Cyril would have loved to paint; and Guy, himself half an artist + by nature, would in any other mood have paused to gaze delighted on its + tangled greenery. + </p> + <p> + As it was, however, he was in no mood to loiter long over ferns and + mosses. He walked down that narrow way, where luxuriant branches of fresh + green blackberry bushes encroached upon the track, still seething in soul, + and full of the bitter wrong inflicted upon him by the man he had till + lately considered his dearest friend. At each bend of the footpath, as it + threaded its way through the tortuous dell, following close the elbows of + the bickering little stream, he expected to come full in sight of Nevitt. + But, gaze as he would, no Nevitt appeared. He must have gone on, Guy + thought, and come out at the other end, into the upland road, of which the + porters at Mambury Station had told him. + </p> + <p> + At last he arrived at a delicious green nook, where the shade of the trees + overhead was exceptionally dense, and where the ferns by the side were + somewhat torn and trodden. Casting his eye on the ground to the left, a + metal clasp, gleaming silvery among the bracken, happened to attract his + cursory attention. Something about that clasp looked strangely familiar. + He paused and stared hard at it. Surely, surely he had seen those metal + knobs before. A flash of recognition ran electric through his brain. Why, + yes; it was the fastener of Montague Nevitt’s pocket-book—the + pocket-book in which he carried his most private documents; the + pocket-book that must have held Cyril’s stolen six thousand. Guy + stooped down to pick it up with a whirling sense of surprise. Great + heavens! what was this? Not only the clasp, but the pocket-book itself—the + pocket-book filled full and crammed to bursting with papers. Ah, mercy, + what papers? Yes, incredible—the money! Hundred-pound notes! Not a + doubt upon earth of it. The whole of the stolen and re-stolen three + thousand. + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two Guy stood there, unable to believe his own swimming + eyes. What on earth could have happened? Was it chance or design? Had + Nevitt deliberately thrown away his ill-gotten gains? Were detectives on + the track? Was he anxious to conceal his part in the theft? Had remorse + got the better of him? Or was he frightened at last, thinking Guy was on + his way to recover and restore Cyril’s stolen property? + </p> + <p> + But no, the pocket-book was neither hidden in the ferns nor yet studiously + thrown away. From the place where it lay, Guy felt confident at once it + had fallen unperceived from Nevitt’s pocket, and been trodden by his + heel unawares into the yielding leaf-mould. + </p> + <p> + Had he pulled it out accidentally with his handkerchief? Very likely, Guy + thought. But then, how strange and improbable that a man so methodical and + calculating as Nevitt should carry such valuable belongings as those in + the self-same pocket. It was certainly most singular. However, Guy + congratulated himself, after a moment’s pause, that so much at least + of the stolen property was duly recovered. He could pay back one-half of + the purloined sum now to Cyril’s credit. So he went on his way + through the rest of the wood in a somewhat calmer and easier frame of + mind. To be sure, he had still to hunt down that villain Nevitt, and to + tax him to his face with his double-dyed treachery. But it was something, + nevertheless, to have recovered a part, at any rate, of the stolen money. + And Nevitt himself need never know by what fortunate accident he had + happened to recover it. + </p> + <p> + He emerged on the upland road, and struck back towards Mambury. All the + way round, he never saw his man. Weary with walking, he returned in the + end to the Talbot Arms. Had Mr. McGregor come back? No, not yet; but he + was sure to be home for dinner. Then Guy would wait, and dine at the inn + as well. He might have to stop all night, but he must see McGregor. + </p> + <p> + As the day wore on, however, it became gradually clear to him that + Montague Nevitt didn’t mean to return at all. Hour after hour passed + by, but nothing was heard of him. The landlord, good man, began to express + his doubts and fears most freely. He hoped no harm hadn’t come to + the gentleman in the parlour; he had a powerful zight o’ money on un + for a man to carry about; the landlord had zeen it when he took out his + book from his pocket to pay the porter. Volks didn’t ought to go + about with two or dree hundred pound or more in the lonely lanes on the + edge of the moorland. + </p> + <p> + But Guy, for his part, put a different interpretation on the affair at + once. In some way or other Montague Nevitt, he thought, must have found + out he was being tracked, and, fearing for his safety, must have dropped + the pocket-book and made off, without note or notice given, on his own + sound legs, for some other part of the country. + </p> + <p> + So Guy made up his mind to return next morning by the very first train + direct to Plymouth, and there inquire once more whether anything further + had been seen of the noticeable stranger. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. — A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING. + </h2> + <p> + On the very same day that Guy Waring visited Mambury, where his mother was + married, Montague Nevitt had hunted up the entry of Colonel Kelmscott’s + wedding in the church register. + </p> + <p> + Nevitt’s behaviour, to say the truth, wasn’t quite so black as + Guy Waring painted it. He had gone off with the extra three thousand in + his pocket, to be sure; but he didn’t intend to appropriate it + outright to his own uses. He merely meant to give Guy a thoroughly good + fright, as it wasn’t really necessary the call should be met for + another fortnight; and then, as soon as he’d found out the truth + about Colonel Kelmscott and his unacknowledged sons, he proposed to use + his knowledge of the forgery as a lever with Guy, so as to force him to + come to advantageous terms with his supposed father. Nevitt’s idea + was that Guy and Cyril should drive a hard bargain on their own account + with the Colonel, and that he himself should then receive a handsome + commission on the transaction from both the brothers, under penalty of + disclosing the true facts about the cheque by whose aid Guy had met their + joint liability to the Rio Negro Diamond Mines. + </p> + <p> + It was with no small joy, therefore, that Nevitt saw at last in the parish + register of St. Mary’s at Mambury, the interesting announcement, + “June 27th, Henry Lucius Kelmscott, of the parish of Plymouth, + bachelor, private in the Regiment of Scots Greys, to Lucy Waring, + spinster, of this parish.” + </p> + <p> + He saw at a glance, of course, why Kelmscott of Tilgate had chosen to + describe himself in this case as a private soldier. But he also saw that + the entry was an official document, and that here he had one firm hold the + more on Colonel Kelmscott, who must falsely have sworn to that incorrect + description. The great point of all, however, was the signature to the + book; and though nearly thirty years had elapsed since those words were + written, it was clear to Nevitt, when he compared the autograph in the + register with one of Colonel Kelmscott’s recent business letters, + brought with him for the purpose, that both had been penned by one and the + same person. + </p> + <p> + He chuckled to himself with delight to think how great a benefactor he had + proved himself unawares to Guy and Cyril. At that very moment, no doubt, + his misguided young friend whom he had compelled to assist him with the + sinews of war for this important campaign was reviling and objurating him + in revengeful terms as the blackest and most infamous of double-dyed + traitors. Ah, well! ah, well! the good are inured to gross ingratitude. + Guy little knew, as he, Montague Nevitt, stood there triumphant in the + vestry, blandly rewarding the expectant clerk for his pains with a whole + Bank of England five-pound note—the largest sum that functionary had + ever in his life received all at once in a single payment—Guy little + knew that Nevitt was really the chief friend and founder of the family + fortunes, and was prepared to compel the “unknown benefactor” + (for a moderate commission) to recognise his unacknowledged firstborn sons + before all the world as the heirs to Tilgate. But yesterday, they were + nameless waifs and strays, of uncertain origin, ashamed of their birth, + and ignorant even whether they had been duly begotten in lawful wedlock; + to-day, they were the legal inheritors of an honoured name and a great + estate, the first and foremost among the landed gentry of a wealthy and + beautiful English county. + </p> + <p> + He smiled to think what a good turn he had done unawares to those + ungrateful youths—and how little credit, as yet, they were prepared + to give him for it. In such a mood he returned to the inn to lunch. His + spirits were high. This was a good day’s work, and he could afford, + indeed, to make merry with his host over it. He ordered in a bottle of + wine—such wine as the little country cellar could produce, and + invited that honest man, the landlord, to step in and share it with him. + He had tasted worse sherry on London dinner-tables, and he told his host + so. An affable man with inferiors, Mr. Montague Nevitt! Then he strolled + out by himself down the path by the brook. It was a pleasant walk, with + the water making music in little trickles by its side, and Montague + Nevitt, as a man of taste, found it suited exactly with his temper for the + moment. He noted an undercurrent of rejoicing and triumphant cheeriness in + the tone of the stream as it plashed among the pebbles on its precipitous + bed that suggested to his mind some bars of a symphony which he determined + to compose as soon as he got home again to his beloved fiddle. + </p> + <p> + So he walked along by himself, elate, and with a springy step, on thoughts + of ambition intent, till he came at last to a cool and shadowy place, + where as yet the ferns were NOT broken down and trampled underfoot, though + Guy Waring found them so some twenty minutes later. + </p> + <p> + At that spot he looked up, and saw advancing along the path in the + opposite direction the burly figure of a man, in a light tourist suit, + whom he hadn’t yet observed since he came to Mambury. The very first + point he noticed about the man, long before he recognised him, was a pair + of overgrown, obtrusive hands held somewhat awkwardly in front of him—just + like Gilbert Gildersleeve’s. The likeness, indeed, was so + ridiculously close that Montague Nevitt smiled quietly to himself to + observe it. If he’d been in the Tilgate district now, he’d + have declared, without the slightest hesitation, that the man on the path + WAS Gilbert Gildersleeve. + </p> + <p> + One second later, he pulled himself up with a jerk in alarmed surprise. + “Great heavens” he cried to himself, a weird sense of awe + creeping over him piece-meal, “either this is a dream or else it IS, + it must be Gilbert Gildersleeve.” + </p> + <p> + And so, indeed, it was. Gilbert Gildersleeve himself, in his proper + person. But the eminent Q.C., better versed in the wiles of time and place + than Guy Waring in his innocence, had not come obtrusively to Mambury + village or asked point-blank at the Talbot Arms by his own right name for + the man he was in search of. Such simplicity of procedure would never even + have occurred to that practised hand at the Old Bailey. Mr. Gilbert + Gildersleeve appeared on that woodland path in the general guise of the + common pedestrian tourist with his head-quarters at Ivybridge, walking + about on the congenial outskirts of the Moor in search of the picturesque, + and coming and going by mere accident through Mambury. He had hovered + around the neighbourhood for two days, off and on, in search of his man; + and now, by careful watching, like an amateur detective, he had run his + prey to earth by a dexterous flank-movement and secured an interview with + him where he couldn’t shirk or avoid it. + </p> + <p> + To Montague Nevitt, however, the meeting seemed at first sight but the + purest accident. He had no reason to suppose, indeed, that Gilbert + Gildersleeve had any special interest in his visit to Mambury, further + than might be implied in its possible connection with Granville Kelmscott’s + affairs; and he didn’t believe Gwendoline, in her fear of her + father, that blustering man, would ever have communicated to him the + personal facts of their interview at Tilgate. So he advanced to meet his + old acquaintance, the barrister, with frankly outstretched hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Gildersleeve!” he exclaimed in some surprise. “No, + it can’t be you. Well, this IS indeed an unexpected pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve gazed down upon him from the towering elevation of + his six feet four. Montague Nevitt was tall enough, as men go in England, + but with his slim, tailor-made form, and his waxed moustaches, he looked + by the side of that big-built giant, like a Bond Street exquisite before + some prize-fighting Goliath. The barrister didn’t hold out his huge + hand in return. On the contrary, he concealed it, as far as was possible, + behind his burly back, and, looking down from the full height of his + contempt upon the sinister smirking creature who advanced to greet him + with that false smile on his face, he asked severely, + </p> + <p> + “What are YOU doing here? That’s what <i>I</i> have to ask. + What foxy ferreting have you come down to Mambury for?” + </p> + <p> + “Foxy ferreting,” Montague Nevitt repeated, drawing back as if + stung, and profoundly astonished. “Why, what do you mean by that, + Mr. Gildersleeve? I don’t understand you.” The home-thrust was + too true—after the great cross-examiner’s well-known bullying + manner—not to pierce him to the quick. “Who dares to say I go + anywhere ferreting?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> do,” Gilbert Gildersleeve answered, with assured + confidence. “I say it, and I know it. You pitiful sneak, don’t + deny it to ME. You were in the vestry this morning looking up the + registers. Even YOU, with your false eyes, sir, daren’t look me in + the face and tell me you weren’t. I saw you there myself. And I know + you found in the books what you wanted; for you paid the clerk an + extravagant fee. ... What’s that? you rat, don’t try to + interrupt me. Don’t try to bully me. It never succeeds. Montague + Nevitt, I tell you, I WON’T be bullied.” And the great Q.C. + put his foot down on the path with an elephantine solidity that made the + prospect of bullying him seem tolerably unlikely. “I know the facts, + and I’ll stand no prevarication. Now, tell me, what vile use did you + mean to make of your discovery this morning?” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt drew back, fairly nonplussed for the moment by such a + vigorous and unexpected attack on his flank. Resourceful as he was, even + his cunning mind came wholly unprepared to this sudden cross-questioning. + He felt his own physical inferiority to the big Q.C. more keenly just then + than he could ever have conceived it possible for a man of his type to + feel it. After all, mind doesn’t always triumph over matter. + Montague Nevitt was aware that that mountain of a man, with his six feet + four of muscular humanity, fairly cowed and overawed him at such very + close quarters. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what business it is of yours, Mr. Gildersleeve,” + he murmured, in a somewhat apologetic voice. “I may surely be + allowed to hunt up questions of pedigree, of service in the end to myself + and my friends, without YOUR interference.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve glared at him, and flared up all at once with + righteous indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Of service in the end to yourself and your friends!” he + cried, with unfeigned scorn, putting his own interpretation, as was + natural, on the words. “Why, you cur! you reptile! you unblushing + sneak! Do you mean to say openly you avow your intention of threatening + and blackmailing me? here—alone—to my face! You extortionate + wretch! I wouldn’t have believed even YOU in your heart would + descend to such meanness.” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt, flurried and taken aback as he was, yet reflected vaguely + with some wonder, as he listened and looked, what this sudden passion of + disinterested zeal could betoken. Why such burning solicitude for Colonel + Kelmscott’s estate on the part of a man who was his avowed enemy? + Even if Gwendoline meant to marry the young fellow Granville, with her + father’s consent, how could Nevitt himself levy blackmail upon + Gilbert Gildersleeve by his knowledge of the two Warings’ claim to + the property? A complication surely. Was there not some unexpected + intricacy here which the cunning schemer himself didn’t yet + understand, but which might redound, if unravelled, to his greater + advantage? + </p> + <p> + “Blackmail YOU, Mr. Gildersleeve,” he cried, with a + righteously indignant air. “That’s an ugly word. I blackmail + nobody; and least of all the father of a lady whom I still regard, in + spite of all she can say or do to make my life a blank, with affection and + respect as profound as ever. How can my inquiries into the two Warings’ + affairs—” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve crushed him with a sudden outburst of indignant + wrath. + </p> + <p> + “You cad!” he cried, growing red in the face with horror and + disgust. “You dare to speak so to me, and to urge such motives! But + you’ve mistaken your man. I won’t be bullied. If what you want + is to use this vile knowledge you’ve so vilely ferreted out, as a + lever to compel me to marry my daughter to you against her will—I + can only tell you, you sneak, you’re on the wrong tack. I will never + consent to it. You may do your worst, but you will never bend me. I’m + not a man to be bent or bullied—I won’t be put down. I’ll + withstand you and defy you. You may ruin me, if you like, but you’ll + never break me. I stand here firm. Expose me, and I’ll fight you to + the bitter end: I’ll fight you, and I’ll conquer you.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a fiery earnestness that Nevitt was only just beginning to + understand. There was something in this. Here was a clue indeed to follow + up and investigate. Surely, a menace to Granville Kelmscott’s + prospects could never have moved that heavy, phlegmatic, pachydermatous + man to such an outburst of anger and suppressed fear. + </p> + <p> + “Expose YOU?” Nevitt repeated, in a dazed and startled voice. + “Expose YOU, my dear sir! I assure you, in truth, I don’t + understand you.” + </p> + <p> + The barrister gazed down upon him with immeasurable scorn. “You + liar!” he broke forth, almost choking at the words. “How dare + you so pretend and prevaricate to my face? I KNOW it’s not true. My + own daughter told me. She told me what you said to her—every word of + your vile threats. You had the incredible meanness to terrify a poor + helpless and innocent girl by threatening to expose her mother’s + disgrace publicly. Only YOU could have done it; but you did it, you abject + thing, you did it. She told me with her own lips you threatened to come + down to Mambury, to hunt up the records. And she told me the truth; for I’ve + seen you doing it.” + </p> + <p> + A light broke slowly upon Montague Nevitt’s mind. He drew a deep + breath. This was good luck incredible. What Gilbert Gildersleeve meant he + hadn’t as yet, to be sure, the faintest conception. But it was clear + they two were at cross-questions with one another. The secret Gilbert + Gildersleeve thought he had come down to Mambury to discover was not the + secret he had actually found out in the register that morning. It was + nothing about the Kelmscotts or Guy and Cyril Waring; it was something + about the great Q..C. and his wife themselves—presumably some + unknown and disgraceful fact in Mrs. Gilbert Gildersleeve’s early + history. + </p> + <p> + And here was the cleverest lawyer at the English criminal bar just giving + himself away—giving himself away unawares and telling him the + secret, bit by bit, unconsciously. + </p> + <p> + This chance was too valuable for Mr. Montague Nevitt to lose. At all risks + he must worm it out. He paused and temporized. His cue was now not to let + Gilbert Gildersleeve see he didn’t know his secret. He must draw on + the Q.C. by obscure half hints till he was inextricably entangled in a + complete confession. + </p> + <p> + “I had no intention of terrifying Miss Gildersleeve, I’m sure,” + he said, in his blandest voice, with his best company smile, now + recovering his equanimity exactly in proportion as the barrister grew + angrier. “I merely desired to satisfy myself as to the salient + facts, and to learn their true bearing upon the family history. If I spoke + to her at all as to any knowledge I might possess with regard to any other + lady’s early antecedents—” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve’s brow was black as night. His great hands + trembled and twitched convulsively. Was ever blackguard so cynically + candid in his avowal of the basest crimes as this fine-spoken specimen of + the culture of Pall Mall in his open confession of that disgusting insult + to a young girl’s innocence? Gilbert Gildersleeve, who was at heart + an honest man, loathed and despised and scorned and detested him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dare to hint to me, then,” he cried, every muscle of + his body quivering with just horror, “that you told my own daughter + you thought you had reason to suspect her own mother’s early + antecedents?” + </p> + <p> + Montague Nevitt looked up at him with a quietly sarcastic smile. “All’s + fair in love and war, you know,” he said, not caring to commit + himself. + </p> + <p> + That smile sealed his fate. With an irrepressible impulse, Gilbert + Gildersleeve sprang upon him. He didn’t mean to hurt the man: he + sprang upon him merely as the sole outlet for his own incensed and + outraged feelings. Those great hands seized him for a second by the dainty + white throat, and flung him back in anger. Montague Nevitt fell heavily on + a thick mass of bracken. There was a gurgle, a gasp; then his head lolled + senseless. He was very much hurt. That at least was certain. The barrister + stood over him for a minute, still purple in the face. Montague Nevitt was + white—very white and death-like. All at once it occurred to the big + strong man that his hands—those great hands—were very fierce + and powerful. He had clutched Nevitt by the throat, half unconsciously, + with all his might, just to give him a purchase as he flung the man from + him. He looked at him again. Great heavens—what was this? It burst + over him at once. He awoke to it with a wild start. The fellow was dead! + And this was clearly manslaughter! + </p> + <p> + Justifiable homicide, if the jury knew all. But no jury now could ever + know all. And he had killed him unawares! A great horror came over him. + The man was dead—the man was dead; and he, Gilbert Gildersleeve, had + unconsciously choked him. + </p> + <p> + He had no time to think. He had no time to calculate. His wrath was still + hot, though rapidly cooling down before this awful discovery. Hide it! + Hide it! Hide it! That was all he could think. He lifted the body in his + arms, as easily as most men would lift a baby. Then he laid it down among + the brambles close beside the stream. Something heavy fell out of the + pocket as he carried it. The barrister took no heed. Little matter for + that. He laid it down in fear and trembling. As soon as it was hidden, he + fled for his life. By trackless ways, he walked over the Moor, and + returned to Ivybridge unseen very late in the evening. Ten minutes after + he left the spot, Guy Waring passed by and picked up the pocket-book. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. — LEAD TRUMPS. + </h2> + <p> + Naturally, under these circumstances, it was all in vain that Guy Waring + pursued his investigations into Montague Nevitt’s whereabouts. + Neither at Plymouth nor anywhere else along the skirts of Dartmoor could + he learn that anything more had been seen or heard of the man who called + himself “Mr. McGregor.” And yet Guy felt sure Nevitt wouldn’t + go far from Mambury, as things stood just then; for as soon as he missed + the pocket-book containing the three thousand pounds, he would surely take + some steps to recover it. + </p> + <p> + Two days later, however, Gilbert Gildersleeve sat in the hotel at + Plymouth, where he had moved from Ivybridge after—well, as he + phrased it to himself, after that unfortunate accident. The blustering + Q.C. was like another man now. For the first time in his life he knew what + it meant to be nervous and timid. Every sound made him suppress an + involuntary start; for as yet he had heard no whisper of the body being + discovered. He couldn’t leave the neighbourhood, however, till the + murder was out. Dangerous as he felt it to remain on the spot, some + strange spell seemed to bind him against his will to Dartmoor. He must + stop and hear what local gossip had to say when the body came to light. + And above all, for the present, he hadn’t the courage to go home; he + dared not face his own wife and daughter. + </p> + <p> + So he stayed on and lounged, and pretended to interest himself with walks + over the hills and up the Tamar valley. + </p> + <p> + As he sat there in the billiard-room, that day, a young fellow entered + whom he remembered to have seen once or twice in London, at evening + parties, with Montague Nevitt. He turned pale at the sight—Gilbert + Gildersleeve turned pale, that great red man. At first he didn’t + even remember the young fellow’s name; but it came back to him in + time that he was one Guy Waring. It was a hard ordeal to meet him, but + Gilbert Gildersleeve felt he must brazen it out. To slink away from the + young man would be to rouse suspicion. So they sat and talked for a minute + or two together, on indifferent subjects, neither, to say truth, being + very well pleased to see the other under such peculiar circumstances. Then + Guy, who had the least reason for concealment of the two, sauntered out + for a stroll, with his heart still full of that villain Nevitt, whose + name, of course, he had never mentioned to Gilbert Gildersleeve. And + Gilbert Gildersleeve, for his part, had had equal cause for a + corresponding reticence as to their common acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + Just as Guy left the room, the landlord dropped in and began to talk with + his guest about the latest new sensation. + </p> + <p> + “Heard the news, sir, this morning?” he asked, with an + important air. “Inspector’s just told me. A case very much in + your line of business. Dead body’s been discovered at Mambury, + choked, and then thrown among the brake by the river. Name of McGregor—a + visitor from London. And they do say the police have a clue to the + murderer. Person who did it—” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve’s heart gave a great bound within him, and then + stood stock-still; but by an iron effort of will he suppressed all outer + sign of his profound emotion. He seemed to the observant eye merely + interested and curious, as the landlord finished his sentence carelessly—“Person + who did it’s supposed to be a young man who was at Mambury this + week, of the name of Waring.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve’s heart gave another bound, still more violent + than before. But again he repressed with difficulty all external symptoms + of his profound agitation. This was very strange news. Then somebody else + was suspected instead of himself. In one way that was bad; for Gilbert + Gildersleeve had a conscience and a sense of justice. But, in another way, + why, it would save time for the moment, and divert attention from his own + personality. Better anything now than immediate suspicion. In a week or + two more every trace would be lost of his presence at Mambury. + </p> + <p> + “Waring,” he said thoughtfully, turning over the name to + himself, as if he attached it to no particular individual. “Waring—Waring—Waring.” + </p> + <p> + He paused and looked hard. Ha! so far good! It was clear the landlord didn’t + know Waring was the name of the young man who had just left the + billiard-room. This was lucky, indeed, for if he HAD known it now, and had + taxed Guy then and there, before his own very face, with being the + murderer of this unknown person at Mambury, Gilbert Gildersleeve felt no + course would have been open for him save to tell the whole truth on the + spot unreservedly. Try as he would, he COULDN’T see another man + arrested before his very eyes for the crime he himself had really, though + almost unwittingly, committed. + </p> + <p> + “Waring,” he repeated slowly, like one who endeavoured to + collect his scattered thoughts; “what sort of person was he, do you + know? And how did the police come to get a clue to him?” + </p> + <p> + The landlord, nothing loth, went off into a long and circumstantial story + of the discovery of the body, with minute details of how the innkeeper at + Mambury had traced the supposed murderer—who gave no name—by + an envelope which he’d left in his bedroom that evening. The county + was up in arms about the affair to-day. All Dartmoor was being searched, + and it was supposed the fellow was in hiding somewhere in the + neighbourhood of Tavistock or Oakhampton. They’d catch him by + to-night. The landlord wouldn’t be surprised, indeed, now he came to + think on it, if his truest himself—here a very long pause—were + retained by-and-by for the prosecution. + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve drew a deep breath, unperceived. That was all, was + it? The pause had unnerved him. He talked some minutes, as unconcernedly + as he could, though trembling inwardly all the while, about the murder and + the murderer. The landlord listened with profound respect to the words of + legal wisdom as they dropped from his lips; for he knew Mr. Gildersleeve + by common repute as one of the ablest and acutest of criminal lawyers in + all England. Then, after a short interval, the big burly man, moving his + guilty fingers nervously over the seal on his watch-chain, and assuming as + much as possible his ordinary air of blustering self-assertion, asked, in + an off-hand fashion, “By the way, let me see, I’ve, some + business to arrange; what’s the number of my friend Mr. Billington’s + bedroom?” + </p> + <p> + The landlord looked up with a little start of surprise. “Mr. + Billington?” he said, hesitating. “We’ve got no Mr. + Billington.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve smiled a sickly smile. It was neck or nothing now. He + must go right through with it. “Oh yes,” he answered, with + prompt conviction, playing a dangerous card well—for how could he + know what name this young man Waring might possibly be passing under? + “The gentleman who was talking to me when you came in just now. His + name’s Billington—though, perhaps,” he added, after a + pause, with a reflective air, “he may have given you another one. + Young men will be young men. They’ve often some reason, when + travelling, for concealing their names. Though Billington’s not the + sort of fellow, to be sure, who’s likely to be knocking about + anywhere incognito.” + </p> + <p> + The landlord laughed. “Oh, we’ve plenty of that sort,” + he replied good-humouredly. “Both ladies and gentlemen. It all makes + trade. But your friend ain’t one of ‘em. To tell you the + truth, he didn’t give any name at all when he came to the hotel; and + we didn’t ask any. Billington, is it? Ah, Billington, Billington. I + knew a Billington myself once, a trainer at Newmarket. Well, he’s a + very pleasant young man, nice-spoken, and that; but I don’t fancy he’s + quite right in his head, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + With instinctive cleverness, Gilbert Gildersleeve snatched at the opening + at once. “Ah no, poor fellow,” he said, shaking his head + sympathetically. “You’ve found that out already, have you? + Well, he’s subject to delusions a bit; mere harmless delusions; but + he’s not at all dangerous. Excitable, very, when anything odd turns + up; he’ll be calling himself Waring and giving himself in charge for + this murder, I dare say, when he comes to hear of it. But as good-hearted + a fellow as ever lived, though; only, a trifle obstinate. If you’ve + any difficulty with him at any time, just send for me. I’ve known + him from a boy. He’ll do anything I tell him.” + </p> + <p> + It was a critical game, but Gilbert Gildersleeve saw something definite + must be done, and he trusted to bluster, and a well-known name, to carry + him through with it. And, indeed, he had said enough. From that moment + forth, the landlord’s suspicions were never even so much as aroused + by the innocent young man with the preoccupied manner, who knew Mr. + Gildersleeve. The great Q.C.‘s word was guarantee enough—for + any one but himself. And the great Q.C. himself knew it. Why, a chance + word from his lips was enough to protect Guy Waring from suspicion. Who + would ever believe, then, anything so preposterously improbable as that + the great Q.C. himself was the murderer? + </p> + <p> + Not the police, you may be sure; nor the Plymouth landlord. + </p> + <p> + He went out into the town, with his mind now filled full of a curious + scheme. A plan of campaign loomed up visibly before him. Waring was + suspected. Therefore Waring must somehow have given cause for suspicion. + Well, Waring was a friend of Montague Nevitt’s, and had evidently + been at Mambury, either with him or without him, immediately before the—h’m—the + unfortunate accident. But as soon as Waring came to learn of the discovery + of the body, which he would be sure to do from the paper that evening at + latest, he would see at once the full strength of whatever suspicions + might tell against him. Now, Gilbert Gildersleeve’s experience of + criminal cases had abundantly shown him that a suspected person, even when + innocent, always has one fixed desire in his head—to gain time, + anyhow. So Waring would naturally wish to gain time, at whatever cost. + There were evidently circumstances connecting Waring with the crime; there + were none at all, known to the outer world, connecting the eminent lawyer. + Therefore, the eminent lawyer argued to himself, as coolly almost as if it + had been somebody else’s case, not his own, he was conducting—therefore, + if an immediate means of escape is provided for Waring, Waring will almost + undoubtedly fall blindfold into it. + </p> + <p> + Not that he meant to let Guy pay the penalty in the end for his own rash + crime. He was no hardened villain. He had still a conscience. If the worst + came to the worst, he said to himself, he would tell all, openly, rather + than let an innocent man suffer. But, like every one else, in accordance + with his own inference from his observation of others, he, too, wanted to + gain time, anyhow; and if he could but gain time by kindly helping Guy to + escape for the present, why, he would gladly do so. An innocent man may be + suspected for the moment, Gilbert Gildersleeve thought to himself, with a + lawyer’s blind confidence; but under our English law he need never + at least fear that the suspicion will be permanent. For lawyers repeat + their own incredible commonplaces about the absolute perfection of English + law so often that at last, by a sort of retributive nemesis, they really + almost come to believe them. + </p> + <p> + Filled with these ideas, then, which rose naturally up in his mind without + his taking the trouble, as it were, definitely to prove them, Gilbert + Gildersleeve hurried on through the crowded streets of Plymouth town, till + he reached the office of the London and South African Steamship Company. + There he entered with an air of decided business, and asked to take a + passage to Cape Town at once by the steamer “Cetewayo”, due to + call at Plymouth, outward bound, that evening. He had looked up + particulars of sailing in the papers at the hotel, and asked now, as if + for himself, for a large and roomy berth, with all his usual + self-possession and boldness of manner. The clerk gazed at him carelessly; + that big and burly man with the great awkward hands raised no picture in + his brain of the supposed murderer of McGregor in the wood at Mambury as + that murderer had been described to him by the police that morning, from a + verbal portrait after the landlord of the Talbot Arms. This colossal, + red-faced, loud-spoken person, who required a large and roomy berth, was + certainly “not” the rather slim young man, a little above the + medium height, with a dark moustache and a gentle musical voice, whom the + inn-keeper had seen in an excited mood on the hunt for McGregor along the + slopes of Dartmoor. + </p> + <p> + “What name?” the clerk asked briskly, after Gilbert + Gildersleeve had selected his state-room from the plan, with some show of + interest as to its being well amidships and not too near the noise of the + engines. + </p> + <p> + “Billington,” the barrister answered, without a glimmer of + hesitation. “Arthur Standish Billington, if you want the full name. + Thirty-two will suit me very well, I think, and I’ll pay for it now. + Go aboard when she’s sighted, I suppose; nine o’clock or + thereabouts.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk made out the ticket in the name he was told. “Yes, nine o’clock,” + he said curtly. “All luggage to be on board the tender by eight, + sharp. You’ve left taking your passage very late, Mr. Billington. + Lucky we’ve a room that’ll suit you, I’m sure, It isn’t + often we have berths left amidships like this on the day of sailing.” + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve pretended to look unconcerned once more. “No, I + suppose not,” he answered, in a careless voice. “People + generally know their own minds rather longer beforehand. But I’d a + telegram from the Cape this morning that calls me over immediately.” + </p> + <p> + He folded up his ticket, and put it in his pocket. Then he pulled out a + roll of notes and paid the amount in full. The clerk gave him change + promptly. Nobody could ever have suspected so solid a man as the great + Q.C. of any more serious crime or misdemeanour than shirking the second + service on Sunday evening. There was a ponderous respectability about his + portly build that defied detection. The agents of all the steamboat + companies had been warned that morning that the slim young man of the name + of Waring might try to escape at the last moment. But who could ever + suspect this colossal pile, in the British churchwarden style of human + architecture, of aiding and abetting the escape of the young man Waring + from the pervasive myrmidons of English justice? The very idea was absurd. + Gilbert Gildersleeve’s waistcoat was above suspicion. + </p> + <p> + And when Guy Waring returned to his room at the Duke of Devonshire Hotel + half an hour later, in complete ignorance as yet of the bare fact of the + murder, he found on his table an envelope addressed, in an unknown hand, + “Guy Waring, Esq.,” while below in the corner, twice + underlined, were the importunate words, “IMMEDIATE! IMPORTANT!” + </p> + <p> + Guy tore it open in wonder. What on earth could this mean? He trembled as + he read. Could Cyril have learnt all? Or had Nevitt, that double-dyed + traitor, now trebled his treachery by informing against the man whom he + had driven into a crime? Guy couldn’t imagine what it all could be + driving at, for there, before his eyes, in a round schoolboy hand, very + carefully formed, without the faintest trace of anything like character, + were the words of this strange and startling message, whose origin and + intent were alike a mystery to him. + </p> + <p> + “Guy Waring, a warrant is out for your apprehension. Fly at once, or + things may be worse for you. It is something always to gain time for the + moment. You will avoid suspicion, public scandal, trial. Enclosed find a + ticket for Cape Town by the Cetewayo to-night. She sails at nine. Luggage + to be on board the tender by eight sharp. If you go, all can yet be + satisfactorily cleared up. If you stay, the danger is great, and may be + very serious. Ticket is taken (and paid for) in the name of Arthur + Standish Billington. Settle your account at the hotel in that name and go. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, in frantic haste, + </p> + <h3> + “A SINCERE WELL-WISHER.” + </h3> + <p> + Guy gazed at the strange missive long and dubiously. “A warrant is + out.” He scarcely knew what to do. Oh, for time, time, time! Had + Cyril sent this? Or was it some final device of that fiend, Nevitt? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. — A CHANCE MEETING. + </h2> + <p> + There wasn’t much time left, however, for Guy to make up his mind + in. He must decide at once. Should he accept this mysterious warning or + not? Pure fate decided it. As he hesitated he heard a boy crying in the + street. It was the special-edition-fiend calling his evening paper. The + words the boy said Guy didn’t altogether catch; but the last + sentence of all fell on his ear distinctly. He started in horror. It was + an awful sound: “Warrant issued to-day for the apprehension of + Waring.” + </p> + <p> + Then the letter, whoever wrote it, was not all a lie. The forgery was out. + Cyril or the bankers had learnt the whole truth. He was to be arrested + to-day as a common felon. All the world knew his shame. He hid his face in + his hands. Come what might, he must accept the mysterious warning now. He + would take the ticket, and go off to South Africa. + </p> + <p> + In a moment a whole policy had arisen like a cloud and framed itself in + his mind. He was a forger, he knew, and by this time Cyril too most + probably knew it. But he had the three thousand pounds safe and sound in + his pocket, and those at least he could send back to Cyril. With them he + could send a cheque on his own banker for three thousand more; not that + there were funds there at present to meet the demand; but if the unknown + benefactor should pay in the six thousand he promised within the next few + weeks, then Cyril could repay himself from that hypothetical fortune. On + the other hand, Guy didn’t disguise from himself the strong + probability that the unknown benefactor might now refuse to pay in the six + thousand. In that case, Guy said to himself with a groan, he would take to + the diamond fields, and never rest day or night in his self-imposed task + till he had made enough to repay Cyril in full the missing three thousand, + and to make up the other three thousand he still owed the creditors of the + Rio Negro Company. After which, he would return and give himself up like a + man, to stand his trial voluntarily for the crime he had committed. + </p> + <p> + It was a young man’s scheme, very fond and youthful; but with the + full confidence of his age he proceeded at once to put it in practice. + Indeed, now he came to think upon it, he fancied to himself he saw + something like a solution of the mystery in the presence of the great Q.C. + at Plymouth that morning. Cyril had found out all, and had determined to + save him. The bankers had found out all, and had determined to prosecute. + They had consulted Gildersleeve. Gildersleeve had come down on a holiday + trip, and run up against him at Plymouth by pure accident. Indeed, Guy + remembered now that the great Q.C. looked not a little surprised and + excited at meeting him. Clearly Gildersleeve had communicated with the + police at once; hence the issue of the warrant. At the same time the + writer of the letter, whoever he might be—and Guy now believed he + was sent down by Cyril, or in Cyril’s interest—the writer had + found out the facts betimes, and had taken a passage for him in the name + of Billington. Uncertain as he felt about the minor details, Guy was sure + this interpretation must be right in the main. For Elma’s sake—for + the honour of the family—Cyril wished him for the present to + disappear. Cyril’s wish was sacred. He would go to South Africa. + </p> + <p> + The great point was now to avoid meeting Gildersleeve before the ship + sailed. So he would pay his bill quietly, put his things in his + portmanteau, stop in his room till dusk, and then drive off in a close cab + to the landing-stage. + </p> + <p> + But, first of all, he must send the three thousand direct to Cyril. + </p> + <p> + He sat down in a fit of profound penitence, and penned a heart-broken + letter of confession to his brother. + </p> + <p> + It was vague, of course; such letters are always vague; no man, even in + confessing, likes to allude in plain terms to the exact nature of the + crime he has committed; and besides, Guy took it for granted that Cyril + knew all about the main features of the case already. He didn’t ask + his brother to forgive him, he said; he didn’t try to explain, for + explanation would be impossible. How he came to do it, he had no idea + himself. A sudden suggestion—a strange unaccountable impulse—a + minute or two of indecision—and almost before he knew it, under the + spell of that strange eye, the thing was done, irretrievably done for + ever. The best he could offer now was to express his profound and undying + regret at the wrong he had committed, and by which he had never profited + himself a single farthing. Nevitt had deceived him with incredible + meanness; he could never have believed any man would act as Nevitt had + acted. Nevitt had stolen three thousand pounds of the sum, and applied + them to paying off his own debt to the Rio Negro creditors: The remaining + three thousand, sent herewith, Guy had recovered, almost by a miracle, + from that false creature’s grasp, and he returned them now, in proof + of the fact, in Montague Nevitt’s own pocket-book, which Cyril would + no doubt immediately recognise. For himself, he meant to leave England at + once, at least for the present. Where he was going he wouldn’t as + yet let Cyril know. He hoped in a new country to recover his honour and + rehabilitate his name. Meanwhile, it was mainly for Cyril’s sake + that he fled—and for one other person’s too—to avoid a + scandal. He hoped Cyril would be happy with the woman of his choice; for + it was to insure their joint happiness that he was accepting the offer of + escape so unexpectedly tendered him. + </p> + <p> + He sealed up the letter—that incriminating letter, that might mean + so much more than he ever put into it—and took it out to the post, + with the three thousand pounds and Montague Nevitt’s pocket-book in + a separate packet. Proud Kelmscott as he was by birth and nature, he slunk + through the streets like a guilty man, fancying all eyes were fixed + suspiciously upon him. Then he returned to the hotel in a burning heat, + went into the smoking room on purpose like an honest man, and rang the + bell for the servant boldly. + </p> + <p> + “Bring my bill, please,” he said to the waiter who answered + it. “I go at seven o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” the waiter replied, with official promptitude. + “Directly, sir. What number?” + </p> + <p> + “I forget the number,” Guy answered, with a beating heart; + “but the name’s Billington.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” the waiter responded once more, in the self-same + unvaried tone, and went off to the office. + </p> + <p> + Guy waited in profound suspense, half expecting the waiter to come back + for the number again; but to his immense surprise and mystification, the + fellow didn’t. Instead of that, he returned some minutes later, all + respectful attention, bringing the bill on a salver, duly headed and + lettered, “Mr. Billington, number 40.” In unspeakable + trepidation, Guy paid it and walked away. Never before in all his life had + he been surrounded so close on every side by a thick hedge of impenetrable + and inexplicable mystery. + </p> + <p> + Then a new terror seized him. Was he running his head into a noose, + blindfold? Who was the Billington he was thus made to personate, and who + must really be staying at the very same time in the Duke of Devonshire? + Was this just another of Nevitt’s wily tricks? Had he induced his + victim to accept without question the name and character of some still + more open criminal? + </p> + <p> + There was no time now, however, to drawback or to hesitate. The die was + cast; he must stand by its arbitrament. He had decided to go, and on that + hasty decision had acted in a way that was practically irrevocable. He put + his things together with trembling hands, called a cab by the porter, and + drove off alone in a turmoil of doubt, to the landing-stage in the + harbour. + </p> + <p> + Policemen not a few were standing about on the pier and in the streets as + he drove past openly. But in spite of the fact that a warrant had been + issued for his apprehension, none of them took the slightest apparent + notice of him. He wondered much at this. But there was really no just + cause for wonder. For at least an hour earlier the police had ceased to + look out any longer for Nevitt’s murderer. And the reason they had + done so was simply this: a telegram had come down from Scotland Yard in + the most positive terms, “Waring arrested this afternoon at Dover. + The murdered man McGregor is now certainly known to be Montague Nevitt, a + bank clerk in London. Endeavour to trace Waring’s line of retreat + from Mambury to Dover by inquiry of the railway officials. We are sure of + our man. Photographs will be forwarded you by post immediately.” + </p> + <p> + And, as a matter of fact, at the very moment when Guy was driving down to + the tender, in order to escape from an imaginary charge of forgery, his + brother Cyril, to his own immense astonishment, was being conveyed from + Dover Pier to Tavistock, under close police escort, on a warrant charging + him with the wilful murder of Montague Nevitt, two days before, at + Mambury, in Devon. + </p> + <p> + If Guy had only known that, he would never have fled. But he didn’t + know it. How could he, indeed, in his turmoil and hurry? He didn’t + even know Montague Nevitt was dead. He had been too busy that day to look + at the papers. And the few facts he knew from the boys crying in the + street he naturally misinterpreted, by the light of his own fears and + personal dangers. He thought he was “wanted” for the yet + undiscovered forgery, not for the murder, of which he was wholly ignorant. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, we can never in this world entirely escape our own + personality. As Guy went on board, believing himself to have left his + identity on shore, he heard somebody, in a voice that he fancied he knew, + ask a newsboy on the tender for an evening paper. Guy was the only + passenger who embarked at Plymouth; and this person unseen was the newsboy’s + one customer. + </p> + <p> + Guy couldn’t discover who he was at the moment, for the call for a + paper came from the upper deck; he only heard the voice, and wasn’t + certain at first that he recognised even that any more than in a vague and + indeterminate reminiscence. No doubt the sense of guilt made him + preternaturally suspicious. But he began to fear that somebody might + possibly recognise him. And he had bought the paper with news about the + warrant. That was bad; but ‘twas too late to draw back again now. + The tender lay alongside a while, discharging her mails, and then cast + loose to go. The Cetewayo’s screw began to move through the water. + With a dim sense of horror, Guy knew they were off. He was well under way + for far distant South Africa. + </p> + <p> + But he did NOT know or reflect that while he ploughed his path on over + that trackless sea, day after day, without news from England, there would + be ample time for Cyril to be tried, and found guilty, and perhaps hanged + as well, for the crime that neither of them had really committed. + </p> + <p> + The great ship steamed out, cutting the waves with her prow, and left the + harbour lights far, far behind her. Guy stood on deck and watched them + disappearing with very mingled feelings. Everything had been so hurried, + he hardly knew himself as yet how his flight affected all the active and + passive characters in this painful drama. He only knew he was irrevocably + committed to the voyage now. There would be no chance of turning till they + reached Cape Town, or at, the very least Madeira. + </p> + <p> + He stood on deck and looked back. Somebody else in an ulster stood not far + off, near a light by the saloon, conversing with an officer. Guy + recognised at once the voice of the man who had asked in the harbour for + an evening paper. At that moment a steward came up as he stood there, on + the look-out for the new passenger they’d just taken in. “You’re + in thirty-two, sir, I think,” he said, “and your name—” + </p> + <p> + “Is Billington,” Guy answered, with a faint tremor of shame at + the continued falsehood. + </p> + <p> + The man who had bought the paper turned round sharply and stared at him. + Their eyes met in one quick flash of unexpected recognition. Guy started + in horror. This was an awful meeting. He had seen the man but once before + in his life, yet he knew him at a glance. It was Granville Kelmscott. + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two they stood and stared at one another blankly, those + unacknowledged half-brothers, of whom one now knew, while the other still + ignored, the real relationship that existed between them. Then Granville + Kelmscott turned away without one word of greeting. Guy trembled in his + shame. He knew he was discovered. But before his very eyes, Granville took + the paper he had been reading by that uncertain light, and, raising it + high in his hand, flung it over into the sea with spasmodic energy. It was + the special edition containing the account of the man McGregor’s + death and Guy Waring’s supposed connection with the murder. + Granville Kelmscott, indeed, couldn’t bring himself to denounce his + own half-brother. He stared at him coldly for a second with a horrified + face. + </p> + <p> + Then he said, in a very low and distant voice, “I know your + identity, Mr. Billington,” with a profoundly sarcastic accent on the + assumed name, “and I will not betray it. I know your secret, too; + and I will keep that inviolate. Only, during the rest of this voyage, do + me the honour, I beg of you, not to recognise me or speak to me in any way + at any time.” + </p> + <p> + Guy slunk away in silence to his own cabin. Never before in his life had + he known such shame. He felt that his punishment was indeed too heavy for + him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. — SOMETHING TO THEIR ADVANTAGE. + </h2> + <p> + At Tilgate and Chetwood next morning, two distinguished households were + thrown into confusion by the news in the papers. To Colonel Kelmscott and + to Elma Clifford alike that news came with crushing force and horror. A + murder, said the Times, had been committed in Devonshire, in a romantic + dell, on the skirts of Dartmoor. No element of dramatic interest was + wanting to the case; persons, place, and time were all equally remarkable. + The victim of the outrage was Mr. Montague Nevitt, confidential clerk to + Messrs. Drummond, Coutts, and Barclay, the well-known bankers, and himself + a familiar figure in musical society in London. The murderer was + presumably a young journalist, Mr. Guy Waring, not unknown himself in + musical circles, and brother of that rising landscape painter, Mr. Cyril + Waring, whose pictures of wild life in forest scenery had lately attracted + considerable attention at the Academy and the Grosvenor. Mr. Guy Waring + had been arrested the day before on the pier at Dover, where he had just + arrived by the Ostend packet. It was supposed by the police that he had + hastily crossed the Channel from Plymouth to Cherbourg, soon after the + murder, to escape detection, and, after journeying by cross-country routes + through France and Belgium, had returned via Ostend to the shores of + England. It was a triumphant vindication of our much maligned detective + system that within a few hours after the discovery of the body on + Dartmoor, the supposed criminal should have been recognised, arrested, and + detained among a thousand others, in a busy port, at the very opposite + extremity of southern England. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Kelmscott that day was strangely touched, even before he took up + his morning paper. A letter from Granville, posted at Plymouth, had just + reached him by the early mail, to tell him that the only son he had ever + really loved or cared for on earth had sailed the day before, a + disinherited outcast, to seek his fortune in the wild wastes of Africa. + How he could break the news to Lady Emily he couldn’t imagine. The + Colonel, twisting his white moustache, with a quivering hand on his + tremulous lip, hardly dared to realize what their future would seem like. + And then—he turned to the paper, and saw to his horror this awful + tale of a cold-blooded and cowardly murder, committed on a friend by one + who, however little he might choose to acknowledge it, was after all his + own eldest son, a Kelmscott of Tilgate, as much as Granville himself, in + lawful wedlock duly begotten. + </p> + <p> + The proud but broken man gazed at the deadly announcement in blank amaze + and agony. His Nemesis had come. Guy Waring was his own son—and Guy + Waring was a murderer. + </p> + <p> + He tried to argue with himself at first that this tragic result in some + strange way justified him, after the event, for his own long neglect of + his parental responsibilities. The young man was no true Kelmscott at + heart, he was sure, or such an act as that would have revolted and + appalled him. He was no true son in reality; his order disowned him. Base + blood flowed in his veins, and made crimes like these conceivable. + </p> + <p> + “I was right after all,” the Colonel thought, “not to + acknowledge these half low-born lads as the heirs of Tilgate. Bad blood + will out in the end—and THIS is the result of it.” + </p> + <p> + And then, with sudden revulsion he thought once more—God help him! + How could he say such things in his heart even now of HER, his pure, + trustful Lucy? She was better than him in her soul, he knew—ten + thousand times better. If bad blood came in anywhere, it came in from + himself, not from that simple-hearted, innocent little country-bred angel. + </p> + <p> + And perhaps if he’d treated these lads as he ought, and brought them + up to their own, and made them Kelmscotts indeed, instead of nameless + adventurers, they might never have fallen into such abysses of turpitude. + But he had let them grow up in ignorance of their own origin, with the + vague stain of a possible illegitimacy hanging over their heads; and what + wonder if they forgot in the end how noblesse oblige, and sank at last + into foul depths of vice and criminality? + </p> + <p> + As he read on, his head swam with the cumulative evidence of that + deliberately planned and cruelly executed yet brutal murder. The details + of the crime gave him a sickening sense of loathing and incredulity. + Impossible that his own son could have schemed and carried out so vile an + attack upon a helpless person, who had once been his nearest and dearest + companion. And yet, the account in the paper gave him no alternative but + to believe it. Nevitt and Guy Waring had been inseparable friends. They + had dined together, supped together, played duets in their own rooms, gone + out to the same parties, belonged to the same club, in all things been + closer than even the two twin brothers. Some quarrel seemed to have arisen + about a matter of speculations in which both had suffered. They separated + at once—separated in anger. Nevitt went down to Devonshire by + himself for his holiday. Then Waring followed him, without any pretence at + concealment; inquired for him at the village inn with expressions of + deadly hate; tracked him to a lonely place in the adjacent wood; choked + him, apparently with some form of garotte or twisted rope—for the + injuries seemed greater than even the most powerful man could possibly + inflict with the hands alone; and hid the body of his murdered friend at + last in a mossy dell by the bank of the streamlet. Nor was that all; for + with callous effrontery he had returned to the inn, still inquiring after + his victim; and had gone off next morning early with a lie on his lips, + pretending even then to nurse his undying wrath and to be bent on + following up with coarse threats of revenge his stark and silent enemy. + </p> + <p> + So far the Times. But to Colonel Kelmscott, reading in between the lines + as he went, there was more in it than even that. He saw, though dimly, + some hint of a motive. For it was at Mambury that all these things had + taken place; and it was at Mambury that the secret of Guy Waring’s + descent lay buried, as he thought, in the parish registers. What it all + meant, Colonel Kelmscott couldn’t indeed wholly understand; but many + things he knew which the writer of the account in the Times knew not. He + knew that Nevitt was a clerk in the bank where he himself kept his + account, and to which he had given orders to pay in the six thousand to + Cyril’s credit, at Cyril’s bankers. He knew, therefore, that + Nevitt might thus have been led to suspect the real truth of the case as + to the two so-called Warings. He knew that Cyril had just received the six + thousand. Trying to put these facts together and understand their meaning + he utterly failed; but this much at least was clear to him, he thought—the + reason for the murder was something connected with a search for the entry + of his own clandestine marriage. + </p> + <p> + He looked down at the paper again. Great heavens, what was this? “It + is rumoured that a further inducement to the crime may perhaps be sought + in the fact that the deceased gentleman had a large sum of money in his + possession in Bank of England notes at the time of his death. These notes + he carried in a pocket-book about his person, where they were seen by the + landlord of the Talbot Arms at Mambury, the night before the supposed + murder. When the body was discovered by the side of the brook, two days + later, the notes were gone. The pockets were carefully searched by order + of the police, but no trace of the missing money could be discovered. It + is now conjectured that Mr. Guy Waring, who is known to have lost heavily + in the Rio Negro Diamond Mines, may have committed the crime from purely + pecuniary motives, in order to release himself from his considerable and + very pressing financial embarrassments.” + </p> + <p> + The paper dropped from Colonel Kelmscott’s hands. His eyes ceased to + see. His arm fell rigid. This last horrible suggestion proved too much for + him to bear. He shrank from it like poison. That a son of his own, + unacknowledged or not, should be a criminal—a murderer—was + terrible enough; but that he should even be suspected of having committed + murder for such base and vulgar motives as mere thirst of gain was more + than the blood of the Kelmscotts could put up with. The unhappy father had + said to himself in his agony at first that if Guy really killed that + prying bank clerk at all, it was no doubt in defence of his mother’s + honour. THAT was a reason a Kelmscott could understand. That, if not an + excuse, was at least a palliation. But to be told he had killed him for a + roll of bank-notes—oh, horrible, incredible; his reason drew back at + it. That was a depth to which the Kelmscott idiosyncrasy could never + descend. The Colonel in his horror refused to believe it. + </p> + <p> + He put his hands up feebly to his throbbing brow. This was a ghastly idea—a + ghastly accusation. The man called Waring had dragged the honour of the + Kelmscotts through the mud of the street. There was but one comfort left. + He never bore that unsullied name. Nobody would know he was a Kelmscott of + Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel rose from his seat, and staggered across the floor. Half-way + to the door, he reeled and stopped short. The veins of his forehead were + black and swollen. He had the same strange feeling in his head as he + experienced on the day when Granville left—only a hundred times + worse. The two halves of his brain were opening and shutting. His temples + seemed too full; he fancied there was something wrong with his forehead + somewhere. He reeled once more, like a drunken man. Then he clutched at a + chair and sat down. His brain was flooded. + </p> + <p> + He collapsed all at once, mumbling to himself some inarticulate gibberish. + Half an hour later, the servants came in and found him. He was seated in + his chair, still doddering feebly. The house was roused. A doctor was + summoned, and the Colonel put to bed. Lady Emily watched him with devoted + care. But it was all in vain. The doctor shook his head the moment he + examined him. “A paralytic stroke,” he said gravely; “and + a very serious one. He seems to have had a slighter attack some time + since, and to have wholly neglected it. A great blood-vessel in the brain + must have given way with a rush. I can hold out no hope. He won’t + live till morning.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed, as it turned out, about ten that night the Colonel’s + loud and stentorious breathing began to fail slowly. The intervals grew + longer and longer between each recurrent gasp, and life died away at last + in imperceptible struggles. + </p> + <p> + By two in the morning, Kelmscott of Tilgate lay dead on his bed; and his + two unacknowledged and unrecognised sons were the masters of his property. + </p> + <p> + But one of them was at that moment being tossed about wildly on the waves + of Biscay; and the other was locked up on a charge of murder in the county + jail at Tavistock, in Devonshire. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, at the other house at Chetwood, where these tidings were being + read with almost equal interest, Elma Clifford laid down the paper on the + table with a very pale face, and looked at her mother. Mrs. Clifford, all + solicitous watchfulness for the effect on Elma, looked in return with + searching eyes at her daughter. Then Elma opened her lips like one who + talks in her sleep, and spoke out twice in two short disconnected + sentences. The first time she said simply, “He didn’t do it, I + know,” and the second time, with all the intensity of her emotional + nature, “Mother, mother, whatever turns up, I MUST go there.” + </p> + <p> + “HE will be there,” Mrs. Clifford interposed, after a painful + pause. + </p> + <p> + And Elma answered dreamily, with her great eyes far away, “Yes, of + course, I know he will. And I must be there too, to see how far, if at + all, I can help them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, darling,” her mother replied, stroking her daughter’s + hair with a caressing hand. She knew that when Elma spoke in a tone like + that, no power on earth could possibly restrain her. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. — MISTAKEN IDENTITY. + </h2> + <p> + To Cyril Waring himself, the arrest at Dover came as an immense surprise; + rather a surprise, indeed, than a shock just at first, for he could only + treat it as a mistaken identity. The man the police wanted was Guy, not + himself; and that Guy should have done it was clearly incredible. + </p> + <p> + As he landed from the Ostend packet, recalled to England unexpectedly by + the announcement that the Rio Negro Diamond Mines had gone with a crash—and + no doubt involved Guy in the common ruin—Cyril was astonished to + find himself greeted on the Admiralty Pier by a policeman, who tapped him + on the shoulder with the casual remark, “I think your name’s + Waring.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril answered at once, “Yes, my name’s Waring.” + </p> + <p> + It didn’t occur to him at the moment that the man meant to arrest + him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you’re wanted,” the minion of authority answered, + seizing his arm rather gruffly. “We’ve got a warrant out + to-day against you, my friend. You’d better come along with me + quietly to the station.” + </p> + <p> + “A warrant!” Cyril repeated, amazed, shaking off the man’s + hand. “There must be some mistake somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman smiled. “Oh yes,” he answered briskly, with some + humour in his tone. “There’s always a mistake, of course, in + all these arrests. You never get a hold of the right man just at first. It’s + sure to be a case of his twin brother. But there ain’t no mistake + this time, don’t you fear. I knowed you at once, when I see you, by + your photograph. Though we were looking out for you, to be sure, going the + other way. But it’s you all right. There ain’t a doubt about + that. Warrant in the name of Guy Waring, gentleman; wanted for the wilful + murder of a man unknown, said to be one McGregor, alias Montague Nevitt, + on the 27th instant, at Mambury, in Devonshire.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril gave a sudden start at the conjunction of names, which naturally + increased his captor’s suspicions. “But there IS a mistake, + though,” he said angrily, “even on your own showing. You’ve + got the wrong man. It’s not I that am wanted. My name’s Cyril + Waring, and Guy is my brother’s. Though Guy can’t have + murdered Mr. Nevitt, either, if it comes to that; they were most intimate + friends. However, that’s neither here nor there. I’m Cyril, + not Guy; I’m not your prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you are, though,” the officer answered, holding his + arm very tight, and calling mutely for assistance by a glance at the other + policemen. “I’ve got your photograph in my pocket right + enough. Here’s the man we’ve orders to arrest at once. I + suppose you won’t deny, now, that’s your living image.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril glanced at the photograph with another start of surprise. Sure + enough, it WAS Guy; his last new cabinet portrait. The police must be + acting under some gross misapprehension. + </p> + <p> + “That man’s my brother,” he said confidently, brushing + the photograph aside. “I can’t understand it at all. This is + extremely odd. It’s impossible my brother can even be suspected of + committing murder.” + </p> + <p> + The policeman smiled cynically. “Well, it ain’t impossible + your brother’s brother can be suspected, anyhow,” he said, + with a quiet air of superior knowledge. “The good old double trick’s + been tried on once too often. If I was you, I wouldn’t say too much. + Whatever you say may be used as evidence at the trial against you. You + just come along quietly to the station with me—take his other arm, + Jim, that’s right: no violence please, prisoner—and we’ll + pretty soon find out whether you’re the man we’ve got orders + to arrest, or his twin brother.” And he winked at his ally. He was + proud of having effected the catch of the season. + </p> + <p> + “But I AM his twin brother,” Cyril said, half struggling still + to release himself. “You can’t take me up on that warrant, I + tell you. It’s not my name. I’m not the man you’ve + orders to look for.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right,” the constable answered as + before, with an incredulous smile. “Don’t you go trying to + obstruct the police in the exercise of their duty. If I can’t take + you up on the warrant as it stands, well, anyhow, I can arrest you on + suspicion all the same, for looking so precious like the photograph of the + man as is wanted. Twin brothers ain’t got any call, don’t you + know, to sit, turn about, for one another’s photographs. It hinders + the administration of justice; that’s where it is. And remember, + whatever you choose to say may be used as evidence at the trial against + you.” + </p> + <p> + Thus adjured, Cyril yielded at last to force majeure and walked arm in arm + between the two policemen, followed by a large and admiring crowd, to the + nearest station. + </p> + <p> + But the matter was far less easily arranged than at first imagined. An + innocent man who knows his own innocence, taken up in mistake for a + brother whom he believes to be equally incapable of the crime with which + he is charged, naturally expects to find no difficulty at all in proving + his identity and escaping from custody on a false charge of murder. But + the result of a hasty examination at the station soon effectually removed + this little delusion. His own admission that the photograph was a portrait + of Guy, and his resemblance to it in every leading particular, made the + authorities decide on the first blush of the thing this was really the man + Scotland Yard was in search of. He was trying to escape them on the + ridiculous pretext that he was in point of fact his own twin brother. The + inspector declined to let him go for the night. He wasn’t going to + repeat the mistake that was made in the Lefroy case, he said very + decidedly. He would send the suspected person under escort to Tavistock. + </p> + <p> + So to Tavistock Cyril went, uncertain as yet what all this could mean, and + ignorant of the crime with which he was charged, if indeed any crime had + been really committed. All the way down, an endless string of questions + suggested themselves one by one to his excited mind. Was Nevitt really + dead? And if so, who had killed him? Was it suicide to escape from the + monetary embarrassments brought about by the failure of the Rio Negro + Diamond Mines, or was it accident or mischance? Or was it in fact a + murder? And in any case—strangest of all—where was Guy? Why + didn’t Guy come forward and court inquiry? For as yet, of course, + Cyril hadn’t received his brother’s letter, with the + incriminating pocket-book and the three thousand pounds; nor indeed, for + several days after, as things turned out, was there even a possibility of + his ever receiving it. + </p> + <p> + Next morning, however, when Cyril was examined before the Tavistock + magistrates, he began to realize the whole strength of the case against + him. The proceedings were purely formal, as the lawyers said; yet they + were quite enough to make Cyril’s cheek turn pale with horror. One + witness after another came forward and swore to him. The station-master at + Mambury gave evidence that he had made inquiries on the platform after + Nevitt by name; the inn-keeper deposed as to his excited behaviour when he + called at the Talbot Arms, and his recognition of McGregor as the person + he was in search of; the boy of whom Guy had inquired at the gate + unhesitatingly set down the conversation to Cyril. None of them had the + faintest doubt in his own mind—each swore—that the prisoner + before the magistrates was the self-same person who went over to Mambury + on that fatal day, and who followed Montague Nevitt down the path by the + river. + </p> + <p> + As Cyril listened, one terrible fact dawned clearer and clearer upon his + brain. Every fragment of evidence they piled up against himself made the + case against Guy look blacker and blacker. + </p> + <p> + The magistrates accepted the proofs thus tendered, and Cyril, as yet + unassisted by professional advice, was remanded accordingly till next + morning. + </p> + <p> + Just as he was about to leave the Sessions House in a tumult of horror, + fear, and suspense, somebody close by tapped him on the shoulder gravely, + after a few whispered words with the chairman and the magistrates. Cyril + turned round, and saw a burly man with very large hands, whom he + remembered to have had pointed out to him in London, and, strange to say, + by Montague Nevitt himself—as the eminent Q.C., Mr. Gilbert + Gildersleeve. + </p> + <p> + The great advocate was pale, but very sincere and earnest. Cyril noticed + his manner was completely changed. It was clear some overmastering idea + possessed his soul. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Waring,” he said, looking him full in the face, “I + see you’re unrepresented. This is a case in which I take a very deep + interest. My conduct’s unprofessional, I know—point-blank + against all our recognised etiquette—but perhaps you’ll excuse + it. Will you allow me to undertake your defence in this matter?” + </p> + <p> + Cyril turned round to him with truly heartfelt thanks. It was a great + relief to him, alone and in doubt, and much wondering about Guy, to hear a + friendly word from whatever quarter. + </p> + <p> + And Cyril knew he was safe in Gilbert Gildersleeve’s hands: the + greatest criminal lawyer of the day in England might surely be trusted to + set right such a mere little error of mistaken identity. Though for Guy—whenever + Guy gave himself up to the police—Cyril felt the position was far + more dangerous. He couldn’t believe, indeed, that Guy was guilty; + yet the circumstances, he could no longer conceal from himself, looked + terribly black against him. + </p> + <p> + “You’re too good,” he cried, taking the lawyer’s + hand in his with very fervent gratitude. “How can I thank you + enough? I’m deeply obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” Gilbert Gildersleeve answered, with very + blanched lips. He was ashamed of his duplicity. “You’ve + nothing to thank me for. This case is a simple one, and I’d like to + see you out of it. I’ve met your brother; and the moment I saw you I + knew you weren’t he, though you’re very like him. I should + know you two apart wherever I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s curious,” Cyril cried, “for very few + people know us from one another, except the most intimate friends.” + </p> + <p> + The Q.C. looked at him with a very penetrating glance. “I had + occasion to see your brother not long since,” he answered slowly, + “and his features and expression fastened themselves indelibly on my + mind’s eye. I should know you from him at a glance. This case, as + you say, is one of mistaken identity. That’s just why I’m so + anxious to help you well through it.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed, Gilbert Gildersleeve, profoundly agitated as he was, saw in + the accident a marvellous chance for himself to secure a diversion of + police attention from the real murderer. The fact was, he had passed + twenty-four hours of supreme misery. As soon as he learned from common + report that “the murderer was caught, and was being brought to + Tavistock,” he took it for granted at first that Guy hadn’t + gone to Africa at all, but had left by rail for the East, and been + arrested elsewhere. That belief filled him full of excruciating terrors. + For Gilbert Gildersleeve, accidental manslaughterer as he was, was not by + any means a depraved or wholly heartless person. Big, blustering, and + gruff, he was yet in essence an honest, kind-hearted, unemotional + Englishman. His one desire now was to save his wife and daughter from + further misery; and if he could only save them, he was ready to sacrifice + for the moment, to a certain extent, Guy Waring’s reputation. But if + Guy Waring himself had stood before him in the dock, he must have stepped + forward to confess. The strain would have been too great for him. He + couldn’t have allowed an innocent man to be hanged in his place. + Come what might, in that case he must let his wife and daughter go, and + save the innocent by acknowledging himself guilty. So, when he looked at + the prisoner, it gave him a shock of joy to see that fortune had once more + befriended him. Thank Heaven, thank Heaven, it wasn’t the man they + wanted at all. This was the other brother of the two—Cyril, the + painter, not Guy, the journalist. + </p> + <p> + In a moment the acute and experienced criminal hand recognised that this + chance told unconsciously in his own favour. Like every other suspected + person, he wanted time, and time would be taken up in proving an alibi for + Cyril, as well as showing by concurrent proof that he was not his brother. + Meanwhile, suspicion would fix itself still more firmly upon Guy, whose + flight would give colour to the charges brought against him by the + authorities. + </p> + <p> + So the great Q.C. determined to take up Cyril Waring’s case as a + labour of love, and didn’t doubt he would succeed in finally proving + it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. — WOMAN’S INTUITION + </h2> + <p> + Next morning, Cyril Waring appeared once more in the Sessions House for + the preliminary investigation on the charge of murder. As he entered, a + momentary hush pervaded the room; then, suddenly, from a seat beneath, a + woman’s voice burst forth, quite low, yet loud enough to be heard by + all the magistrates on the bench. + </p> + <p> + “Why, mother,” it said, in a very tremulous tone, “it + isn’t Guy himself at all; don’t you see it’s Cyril?” + </p> + <p> + The words were so involuntarily spoken, and in such hushed awe and amaze, + that even the magistrates themselves, hard Devonshire squires, didn’t + turn their heads to rebuke the speaker. As for Cyril, he had no need to + look towards a blushing face in the body of the court to know that the + voice was Elma Clifford’s. + </p> + <p> + She sat there looking lovelier than he had ever before seen her. Cyril’s + glance caught hers. They didn’t need to speak. He saw at once in her + eye that Elma at least knew instinctively he was innocent. + </p> + <p> + Next moment Gilbert Gildersleeve stood up to state his defence, and gazed + at her steadily. As he rose in his place, Elma’s eye met his. + Gilbert Gildersleeve’s fell. He didn’t know why, but in that + second of time the great blustering man felt certain in his heart that + Elma Clifford suspected him. + </p> + <p> + Elma Clifford, for her part, knew still more than that. With the swift + intuition she inherited from her long line of Oriental ancestry, she said + to herself at once, in categorical terms, “It was that man that did + it. I know it was he. And he sees I know it. And he knows I’m right. + And he’s afraid of me accordingly.” But an intuition, however + valuable to its possessor, is not yet admitted as evidence in English + courts. Elma also knew it was no use in the world for her to get up in her + place and say so openly. + </p> + <p> + The great Q.C. put his case in a nutshell. “Our client,” he + contended, “was NOT the man against whom the warrant in this case + had been duly issued; he was NOT the man named Guy Waring; he was NOT the + man whom the witnesses deposed to having seen at Mambury; he was NOT the + man who had loitered with evil intent around the skirts of Dartmoor; in + short,” the great Q.C. observed, with demonstrative eye-glass, + “it was a very clear case of mistaken identity. It would take them + time, no doubt, to prove the conclusive alibi they intended to establish; + for the gentleman now charged before them, he would hope to show + hereafter, was Mr. Cyril Waring, the distinguished painter, twin brother + to Mr. Guy Waring, the journalist, against whom warrant was issued; and he + was away in Belgium during the whole precise time when Mr. Guy Waring—as + to whose guilt or innocence he would make no definite assertion—was + prowling round Dartmoor on the trail of McGregor, alias Montague Nevitt. + Therefore, they would consent to an indefinite remand till evidence to + that effect was duly forthcoming. Meanwhile—” and here Gilbert + Gildersleeve’s eyes fell upon Elma once more with a quiet forensic + smile—he would call one witness, on the spur of the moment, whom he + hadn’t thought till that very morning of calling, but whom the + magistrates would allow to be a very important one—a lady from + Chetwood—Miss Elma Clifford. + </p> + <p> + Elma, taken aback, stood up in the box and gave her evidence timidly. It + amounted to no more than the simple fact that the person before the + magistrates was Cyril, not Guy; that the two brothers were extremely like; + but that she had reason to know them easily apart, having been associated + in a most painful accident in a tunnel with the brother, the present Mr. + Cyril Waring. What she said gave only a presumption of mistaken identity, + but didn’t at all invalidate the positive identification of all the + people who had seen the supposed murderer. However, from Gilbert + Gildersleeve’s point of view, this delay was doubly valuable. In the + first place, it gave him time to prove his alibi for Cyril and bring + witnesses from Belgium; and, in the second place, it succeeded in still + further fastening public suspicion on Guy, and narrowing the question for + the police to the simple issue whether or not they had really caught the + brother who was seen at Mambury on the day of the murder. + </p> + <p> + The law’s delays were as marvellous as is their wont. It was a full + fortnight before the barrister was able to prove his point by bringing + over witnesses at considerable expense from Belgium and elsewhere, and by + the aid of a few intimate friends in London, who could speak with + certainty as to the difference between the two brothers. At the end of a + fortnight, however, he did sufficiently prove it by tracing Cyril in + detail from England to the Ardennes and back again to Dover, as well as by + showing exactly how Guy had been employed in London and elsewhere on every + day or night of the intervening period. The magistrates at last released + Cyril, convinced by his arguments; and on the very same day, the coroner’s + inquest on Montague Nevitt’s body, after adjourning time upon time + to await the clearing up of this initial difficulty, returned a verdict of + wilful murder against Guy Waring. + </p> + <p> + That evening, in town, the most completely mystified person of all was a + certain cashier of the London and West County Bank, in Lombard Street, who + read in his St. James’s this complete proof that Cyril had been in + Belgium through all those days when he himself distinctly remembered + cashing over the counter for him a cheque for no less a sum than six + thousand pounds to “self or bearer.” Had the brothers, then, + been deliberately and nefariously engaged in a deep-laid scheme—the + cashier asked himself, much puzzled—to confuse one another’s + identity with great care beforehand, with a distinct view to the projected + murder? For as yet, of course, nobody on earth except Guy Waring himself + on the waters of Biscay knew or suspected anything at all about the + forgery. + </p> + <p> + Elma Clifford and her mother, meanwhile, had stopped on at Tavistock till + Cyril was released from his close confinement. Elma never meant to marry + him, of course—to that prime determination she still remained firm + as a rock under all conditions—but in such straits as those, why, + naturally she couldn’t bear to be far away from him. So she remained + at Tavistock quietly till the inquiry was over. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of his release Elma met him at the hotel. Her mother had + gone out on purpose to leave them alone. Elma took Cyril’s hand in + hers with a profound trembling. She felt the moment for reserve had long + gone past. + </p> + <p> + “Cyril,” she said, boldly calling him by his Christian name, + because she could call him only as she always thought of him, “I + knew from the first you didn’t do it. And just because I know you + didn’t, I know Guy didn’t either, though everything looks now + so very black against him. I can trust YOU, and I can trust HIM. All + through, I’ve never had a doubt one moment of either of you.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril held her hand in his, and raised it tenderly to his lips. Elma + looked at him, half surprised. Only her hand, how strange of him. Cyril + read the unspoken thought, as she would have read it herself, and answered + quickly, “Never, Elma, now, till Guy has cleared himself of this + deadly accusation. I couldn’t bear to ask you to accept a man who + every one else would call a murderer’s brother.” + </p> + <p> + Elma gazed at him steadfastly. Tears stood in her eyes. Her voice + trembled; but she was very firm. + </p> + <p> + “We must clear you and him of this dreadful charge,” she said + slowly. “I know we must do that, Cyril. Guy didn’t kill him. + Guy’s wholly incapable of it. But where is Guy now? That’s + what I don’t understand. We must clear that all up. Though, even + when it’s cleared up, I can only LOVE you. As I told you that day at + Chetwood—and I mean it still—whatever comes to us two, I can + never, never marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even if I clear this all up?” Cyril asked, with a wistful + look. + </p> + <p> + “Not even if you clear this all up,” Elma answered seriously. + “The difficulty’s on MY side, don’t you see, not on + yours at all. So far as you’re concerned, Cyril, clear this up or + leave it just where it is, I’d marry you to-morrow. I’d marry + you at once, and proud to do it, if only to show the world openly I trust + you both. I half faltered just once as you stood there in court, whether I + wouldn’t say yes to you, for nothing else but that—to let + everybody see how implicitly I trusted you.” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>I</i> couldn’t allow it,” Cyril answered, all + aglow. “As things stand now, Elma, our positions are reversed. While + this cloud still hangs so black over Guy, I couldn’t find it in my + conscience to ask you to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at her steadily. They were both too profoundly stirred for tears + or emotions. A quiet despair gleamed in the eyes of each. Cyril could + never marry her till he had cleared up this mystery. Elma could never + marry him, even if it were all cleared up, with that terrible taint of + madness, as she thought it, hanging threateningly for ever over her and + her family. + </p> + <p> + She paused for a minute or two, with her hand locked in his. Then she said + once more, very low, “No, Guy didn’t do it. But why did he run + away? That baffles me quite. That’s the one point of it all that + makes it so strange and so terribly mysterious.” + </p> + <p> + “Elma,” Cyril answered, with a cold thrill, “I believe + in Guy; I think I know myself, and I think I know him, well enough to say + that such a thing as murder is impossible for either of us. He’s + weak at times, I admit, and his will was powerless before the magnetic + force of Montague Nevitt’s. But when I try to face that inscrutable + mystery of why, if he’s innocent, he has run away from this charge, + I confess my faith begins to falter and tremble. He must have seen it in + the papers. He must have seen I was accused. What can he mean by leaving + me to bear it in his stead without ever coming forward to help me fairly + out of it?” + </p> + <p> + Elma looked up at him with another of her sudden flashes of superb + intuition. “He CAN’T have seen it in the papers,” she + said. “That gives us some clue. If he’d seen it, he MUST have + come forward to help you. But, Cyril, MY faith never falters at all. And I + tell you why. Not only do I know Guy didn’t do it, but I know who + did it. The man who murdered Montague Nevitt is—why shouldn’t + I tell you?—Mr. Gilbert Gildersleeve!” + </p> + <p> + Cyril started back astonished. “Oh, Elma, why do you think so?” + he cried in amazement. “What possible reason can you have for saying + so?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” Elma answered, with a calmly resigned air. “I + only know it; I know it from his eyes. I looked in them once and read it + like a book. But of course that’s nothing. What we must do now is to + try and find out the facts. I looked in his eyes and I saw it at a glance. + And I saw he saw it. He knows I’ve discovered him.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril half drew away from her with a faint sense of alarm. “Elma,” + he said slowly, “I believe in Guy; but really and truly I can’t + quite believe THAT. You make your intuition tell you far too much. In your + natural anxiety to screen my brother, you’ve fixed the guilt, + without proof, upon another innocent man. I’m sure Mr. Gildersleeve’s + as incapable as Guy of any such action.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m sure of it, too,” Elma answered, with the + instinctive certainty of feminine conviction. “But still I know, for + all that, he did it. Perhaps it was all done in a moment of haste. But at + least he did it. And nothing on earth that anybody could say will ever + make me believe he didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. Clifford came back to the hotel an hour later, she scanned her + daughter’s face with a keen glance of inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he says he won’t ask you again,” she murmured, + laying Elma’s head on her shoulder, “till this case is cleared + up, and Guy is proved innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Elma answered, nestling close and looking red as a + rose. “He knows very well Guy didn’t do it, but he wants all + the rest of the world to acknowledge it also.” + </p> + <p> + “And YOU know who did it?” Mrs. Clifford said, with a + tentative air. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do, darling. But it’ll never be proved against + HIM, you may be sure. I saw it at a glance. It’s Mr. Gilbert + Gildersleeve.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. — FRESH DISCOVERIES. + </h2> + <p> + As Cyril drove home from Waterloo next day to his lonely rooms in Staple + Inn, Holborn, he turned aside with his cab for a few minutes to make a + passing call at the bank in Lombard Street. He was short of ready money, + and wanted to cash a cheque for fifty pounds for expenses incurred in his + defence at Tavistock. + </p> + <p> + The cashier stared at him hard; then, without consulting anybody, he said, + in a somewhat embarrassed tone, “I don’t know whether you’re + aware of it, Mr. Waring, but this overdraws your current account. We haven’t + fifty pounds on our books to your credit.” + </p> + <p> + He was well posted on the subject, in fact, for only that morning he had + hunted up Cyril’s balance in the ledger at his side for the + gratification of his own pure personal curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Cyril stared at him in astonishment. In this age of surprises, one more + surprise was thus suddenly sprung upon him. His first impulse was to + exclaim in a very amazed voice, “Why, I’ve six thousand odd + pounds to my credit, surely;” but he checked himself in time with a + violent effort. How could he tell what strange things might have happened + in his absence? If the money was gone, and Nevitt was murdered, and Guy in + hiding, who could say what fresh complications might not still be in store + for him? So he merely answered, with a strenuous endeavour to suppress his + agitation, “Will you kindly let me have my balance-sheet, if you + please? I—ur—I thought I’d more money than that still + left with you.” + </p> + <p> + The cashier brought out a big book and a bundle of cheques, which he + handed to Cyril with a face of profound interest. To him, too, this little + drama was pregnant with mystery and personal implications. Cyril turned + the vouchers over one by one, with close attention, recognising the + signature and occasion of each, till he arrived at last at a big cheque + which staggered him sadly for a moment. He took it up in his hands and + examined it in the light. “Pay Self or Bearer, Six Thousand Pounds + (L6,000), Cyril Waring.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, horrible, horrible! This, then, was the secret of Guy’s sudden + disappearance. + </p> + <p> + He didn’t cry aloud. He didn’t say a word. He looked at the + thing hard, and knew in a moment exactly what had happened. Guy had forged + that cheque; it was Guy’s natural hand, written forward like Cyril’s + own, instead of backward, as usual. And no one but himself could possibly + have told it from his own true signature. But Cyril knew it at once for + Guy’s by one infallible sign—a tiny sign that might escape the + veriest expert—some faint hesitation about the tail of the capital + C, which was shorter in Guy’s hand than Cyril ever made it, and + which Guy had therefore deliberately lengthened, by an effort or an + afterthought, to complete the imitation. + </p> + <p> + “You cashed that cheque yourself, sir, over the counter, you + remember,” the cashier said quietly, “on the date it was drawn + on.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril never altered a muscle of his rigid face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, quite so,” he answered, in a very dry voice, not daring + to contradict the man. He knew just what had happened. Guy must have come + to get the money himself, and the cashier must have mistaken him for the + proper owner of the purloined six thousand. They were so very much alike. + Nobody ever distinguished them. + </p> + <p> + “And that was one of the days, I think, when you proved the alibi in + Belgium before the Devonshire magistrates at Tavistock yesterday,” + the clerk went on, with a searching glance. Cyril started this time. He + saw in a second the new danger thus sprung upon him. If the cashier chose + to press the matter home to the hilt, he must necessarily arrive at one or + other of two results. Either the alibi would break down altogether, or it + would be perfectly clear that Guy had committed a forgery. + </p> + <p> + “So it seems,” he answered, looking his keen interlocutor + straight in the eyes. “So it seems, I should say, by the date on the + face of it.” + </p> + <p> + But the cashier did NOT care to press the matter home any further; and for + a very good reason. It was none of his business to suggest the idea of a + forgery, after a cheque had been presented and duly cashed, if the + customer to whose account it was debited in course chose voluntarily to + accept the responsibility of honouring it. The objection should come first + from the customer’s side. If HE didn’t care to press it, then + neither did the cashier. Why should he, indeed? Why saddle his firm with + six thousand pounds loss? He would only get himself into trouble for + having failed to observe the discrepancy in the signatures, and the + difference between the brothers. That, after all, is what a cashier is + for. If he doesn’t fulfil those first duties of his post, why what + on earth can be the good of him to anybody in any way? + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at one another across the counter with a strong + inscrutable stare of mutual suspicion. Then Cyril slowly tore up the + cheque he had tendered for fifty pounds, filled in another for his real + balance of twenty-two, handed it across to the clerk without another word, + received the cash in white trembling hands, and went out to his cab again + in a turmoil of excitement. + </p> + <p> + All the way back to his rooms in Staple Inn one seething idea alone + possessed his soul. His faith in Guy was beginning to break down. And with + it, his faith in himself almost went. The man was his own brother—his + very counterpart, he knew; could he really believe him capable of + committing a murder? Cyril looked within, and said a thousand times NO; he + looked at that forged cheque, and his heart misgave him. + </p> + <p> + At Staple Inn, the housekeeper who took care of their joint rooms came out + to greet him with no small store of tears and lamentations. “Oh, Mr. + Cyril,” she cried, seizing both his hands in hers with a tremulous + welcome, “I’m glad to see you back, and to know you’re + innocent. I always said you never could have done it; no, no, not you, nor + yet Mr. Guy neither. The police has been here time and again to search the + rooms, but, the Lord be praised, they never found anything. And I’ve + got a letter for you, too, from Mr. Guy himself; but there—I locked + it up till you come in my own cupboard at home, for fear of the + detectives; and now you’re back and safe in London again, I’ll + run home this minute round the corner and get it.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril sat down in the familiar easy-chair, holding his face in his hands, + and gazed about him blankly. Such a home-coming as this was inexpressibly + terrible to him. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes more the housekeeper came back, bringing in her hand Guy’s + letter from Plymouth. + </p> + <p> + Cyril sat for a minute and looked at the envelope in deadly silence. Then + he motioned the housekeeper out of the room with one quivering hand. + Before that good woman’s face, he couldn’t open it and read + it. + </p> + <p> + As soon as she was gone, he tore it apart, trembling. As he read and read + the suspicion within him deepened quickly into a doubt, the doubt into a + conviction, the conviction into a certainty. He clapped his hands to his + head. Oh, God, what was this? Guy acknowledged his own guilt! He confessed + he had done it! + </p> + <p> + Cyril’s last hope was gone. Guy himself admitted it! + </p> + <p> + “How I came to do it,” the letter said, “I’ve no + idea myself. A sudden suggestion—a strange, unaccountable impulse—a + prompting, as it were, pressed upon me from without, and almost before I + knew, the crime was committed.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril bent his head low upon his knees with shame. He never could hold up + that head henceforth. No further doubt or hesitation remained. He knew the + whole truth. Guy was indeed a murderer. + </p> + <p> + He steeled himself for the worst, and read the letter through with a + superhuman effort. It almost choked him to read. The very consecutiveness + and coherency of the sentences seemed all but incredible under such awful + circumstances. A murderer, red-handed, to speak of his crime so calmly as + that! And then, too, this undying anger expressed and felt, even after + death, against his victim Nevitt! Cyril couldn’t understand how any + man—least of all his own brother—could write such words about + the murdered man whose body was then lying all silent and cold, under the + open sky, among the bracken at Mambury. + </p> + <p> + And once more, this awful clue of the dead man’s pocket-book! Those + accursed notes! That hateful sum of money! How could Guy venture to speak + of it all in such terms as those—the one palpable fact that + indubitably linked him with that cold-blooded murder. “The three + thousand sent herewith I recovered, almost by a miracle, from that false + creature’s grasp, under extraordinary circumstances, and I return + them now, in proof of the fact, in Montague Nevitt’s own + pocket-book, which I’m sure you’ll recognise as soon as you + look at it.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril saw it all now beyond the shadow of a doubt. He reconstructed the + whole sad tale. He was sure he understood it. But to understand it was + hardly even yet to believe it. Guy had lost heavily in the Rio Negro + Mines, as the prosecution declared; in an evil hour he’d been + cajoled into forging Cyril’s name for six thousand. Montague Nevitt + had in some way misappropriated the stolen sum. Guy had pursued him in a + sudden white-heat of fury, had come up with him unawares, had killed him + in his rage, and now calmly returned as much as he could recover of that + fateful and twice-stolen money to Cyril. It was all too horrible, but all + too true. In a wild ferment of remorse for his brother’s sin, the + unhappy painter sat down at once and penned a letter of abject + self-humiliation to Elma Clifford. + </p> + <p> + “ELMA,-I said to you last night that I could never marry you till I + had clearly proved my brother Guy’s innocence. Well, I said what I + can never conceivably do. Since returning to town I received a letter from + Guy himself. What it contained I must never tell you, for Guy’s own + sake. But what I MUST tell you is this—I can never again see you. + Guy and I are so nearly one, in every nerve and fibre of our being, that + whatever he may have done is to me almost as if I myself had done it. You + will know how terrible a thing it is for me to write these words, but for + YOUR sake I can’t refrain from writing them. Think no more of me. I + am not worthy of you. I will think of you as long as I live. + </p> + <p> + “Your ever devoted and heart-broken + </p> + <h3> + “CYRIL.” + </h3> + <p> + He folded the letter, and sent it off to the temporary address at the + West-End where Elma had told him that she and her mother would spend the + night in London. Very late that evening a ring came at the bell. Cyril ran + to the door. It was a boy with a telegram. He opened it, and read it with + breathless excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever Guy may have said, you are quite mistaken. There’s a + mystery somewhere. Keep his letter and show it to me. I may, perhaps, be + able to unravel the tangle. I’m more than ever convinced that what I + said to you last night was perfectly true. We will save him yet. + Unalterably, + </p> + <h3> + “ELMA.” + </h3> + <p> + But the telegram brought little peace to Cyril. Of what value were Elma’s + vague intuitions now, by the side of Guy’s own positive confession? + With his very own hand Guy admitted that he had done it. Cyril went to bed + that night, the unhappiest, loneliest man in London. What Guy was, he was. + He felt himself almost like the actual murderer. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. — “GOLDEN JOYS.” + </h2> + <p> + The voyage to the Cape was long and tedious. On the whole way out, Guy + made but few friends, and talked very little to his fellow passengers. + That unhappy recognition by Granville Kelmscott the evening he went on + board the Cetewayo poisoned the fugitive’s mind for the entire + passage. He felt himself, in fact, a moral outcast; he slunk away from his + kind; he hardly dared to meet Kelmscott’s eyes for shame, whenever + he passed him. But for one thing at least he was truly grateful. Though + Kelmscott had evidently discovered from the papers the nature of Guy’s + crime, and knew his real name well, it was clear he had said nothing of + any sort on the subject to the other passengers. Only one man on board was + aware of his guilt, Guy believed, and that one man he shunned accordingly + as far as was possible within the narrow limits of the saloon and the + quarter-deck. + </p> + <p> + Granville Kelmscott, of course, took a very different view of Guy Waring’s + position. He had read in the paper he bought at Plymouth that Guy was the + murderer of Montague Nevitt. Regarding him, therefore, as a criminal of + the deepest dye now flying from justice, he wasn’t at all surprised + at Guy’s shrinking and shunning him; what astonished him rather was + the man’s occasional and incredible fits of effrontery. How that + fellow could ever laugh and talk at all among the ladies on deck—with + the hangman at his back—simply appalled and horrified the proud soul + of a Kelmscott. Granville had hard work to keep from expressing his horror + openly at times. But still, with an effort, he kept his peace. With the + picture of his father and Lady Emily now strong before his mind, he couldn’t + find it in his heart to bring his own half-brother, however guilty and + criminal the man might be, to the foot of the gallows. + </p> + <p> + So they voyaged on together without once interchanging a single word, all + the way from Plymouth to the Cape Colony. And the day they landed at Port + Elizabeth, it was an infinite relief indeed to Guy to think he could now + get well away for ever from that fellow Kelmscott. Not being by any means + over-burdened with ready cash, however, Guy determined to waste no time in + the coastwise towns, but to make his way at once boldly up country towards + Kimberley. The railway ran then only as far as Grahamstown; the rest of + his journey to the South African Golconda was accomplished by road, in a + two-wheeled cart, drawn by four small horses, which rattled along with a + will, up hill and down dale, over the precarious highways of that + semi-civilized upland. + </p> + <p> + To Guy, just fresh from England and the monotonous sea, there was a + certain exhilaration in this first hasty glimpse of the infinite + luxuriance of sub-tropical nature. At times he almost forgot Montague + Nevitt and the forgery in the boundless sense of freedom and novelty given + him by those vast wastes of rolling tableland, thickly covered with grass + or low thorny acacias, and stretching illimitably away in low range after + range to the blue mountains in the distance. It was strange indeed to him + on the wide plains through which they scurried in wild haste to see the + springbok rush away from the doubtful track at the first whirr of their + wheels, or the bolder bustard stand and gaze among the long grass, with + his wary eye turned sideways to look at them. Guy felt for the moment he + had left Europe and its reminiscences now fairly behind him; in this free + new world, he was free once more himself; his shame was cast aside; he + could revel like the antelopes in the immensity of a land where nobody + knew him and he knew nobody. + </p> + <p> + What added most of all, however, to this quaint new sense of vastness and + freedom was the occasional appearance of naked blacks, roaming at large + through the burnt-up fields of which till lately they had been undisputed + possessors. Day after day Guy drove on along the uncertain roads, past + queer outlying towns of white wooden houses—Cradock, and Middelburg, + and Colesberg, and others—till they crossed at last the boundary of + Orange River into the Free State, and halted for a while in the main + street of Philippolis. + </p> + <p> + It was a dreary place; Guy began now to see the other side of South + Africa. Though he had left England in autumn, it was spring-time at the + Cape, and the winter drought had parched up all the grass, leaving the + bare red dust in the roads or streets as dry and desolate as the sand of + the desert. The town itself consisted of some sixty melancholy and + distressful houses, bare, square, and flat-roofed, standing unenclosed + along a dismal high-road, and with that congenitally shabby look, in spite + of their newness, which seems to belong by nature to all southern + buildings. Some stagnant pools alone remained to attest the presence after + rain of a roaring brook, the pits in whose dried-up channel they now + occupied; over their tops hung the faded foliage of a few dust-laden + trees, struggling hard for life with the energy of despair against + depressing circumstances. It was a picture that gave Guy a sudden attack + of pessimism; if THIS was the El Dorado towards which he was going, he + earnestly wished himself back again once more, forgery or no forgery, + among the breezy green fields of dear old England. + </p> + <p> + On to Fauresmith he travelled with less comfort than before in a rickety + buggy of most primitive construction, designed to meet the needs of rough + mountain roads, and as innocent of springs as Guy himself of the murder of + Montague Nevitt. It was a wretched drive. The drought had now broken; the + wet season had begun; rain fell heavily. A piercing cold wind blew down + from the nearer mountains; and Guy began to feel still more acutely than + ever that South Africa was by no means an earthly paradise. As he drove on + and on this feeling deepened upon him. Huge blocks of stone obstructed the + rough road, intersected as it was by deep cart-wheel ruts, down which the + rain-water now flowed in impromptu torrents. The Dutch driver, too, + anxious to show the mettle of his coarse-limbed steeds, persisted in + dashing over the hummocky ground at a break-neck pace, while Guy balanced + himself with difficulty on the narrow seat, hanging on to his portmanteau + for dear life among the jerks and jolts, till his ringers were numbed with + cold and exposure. + </p> + <p> + They held out against it all, before the pelting rain, till man and beast + were well-nigh exhausted. At last, about three-quarters of the way to + Fauresmith, on the bleak bare hill-tops, sleety snow began to fall in big + flakes, and the barking of a dog to be heard in the distance. The Boer + driver pricked up his ears at the sound. + </p> + <p> + “That must a house be,” he remarked in his Dutch + pigeon-English to Guy; and Guy felt in his soul that the most miserable + and filthy of Kaffir huts would just then be a welcome sight to his weary + eyes. He would have given a sovereign, indeed, from the scanty store he + possessed, for a night’s lodging in a convenient dog-kennel. He was + agreeably surprised, therefore, to find it was a comfortable farmhouse, + where the lights in the casement beamed forth a cheery welcome on the wet + and draggled wayfarers from real glass windows. The farmer within received + them hospitably. Business was brisk to-day. Another traveller, he said, + had just gone on towards Fauresmith. + </p> + <p> + “A young man like yourself, fresh from England,” the farmer + observed, scanning Guy closely. “He’s off for the diamond + diggings. I think to Dutoitspan.” + </p> + <p> + Guy rested the right there, thinking nothing of the stranger, and went on + next day more quietly to Fauresmith. Thence to the diamond fields, the + country became at each step more sombre and more monotonous than ever. In + the afternoon they rested at Jacobsdal, another dusty, dreary, comfortless + place, consisting of about five and twenty bankrupt houses scattered in + bare clumps over a scorched-up desert. Then on again next day, over a + drearier and ever drearier expanse of landscape. It was ghastly. It was + horrible. At last, on the top of a dismal hill range, looking down on a + deep dale, the driver halted. In the vast flat below, a dull dense fog + seemed to envelop the world with inscrutable mists. The driver pointed to + it with his demonstrative whip. + </p> + <p> + “Down yonder,” he said encouragingly, as he put the skid on + his wheel, “down yonder’s the diamond fields—that’s + Dutoitspan before you.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes it so grey?” Guy asked, looking in front of him + with a sinking heart. This first view of his future home was by no means + encouraging. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the sand make it be like that,” the driver answered + unconcernedly. “Diamond fields all make up of fine red sand; and + diggers pile it about around their own claims. Then the wind comes and + blow, and make sandstorm always around Dutoitspan.” + </p> + <p> + Guy groaned inwardly. This was certainly NOT the El Dorado of his fancy. + They descended the hill, at the same break-neck pace as before, and + entered the miserable mushroom town of diamond-grubbers. Amidst the huts + in the diggings great heaps of red earth lay piled up everywhere. Dust and + sand rose high on the hot breeze into the stifling air. As they reached + the encampment—for Dutoitspan then was little more than a camp—the + blinding mists of solid red particles drove so thick in their eyes that + Guy could hardly see a few yards before him. Their clothes and faces were + literally encrusted in thick coats of dust. The fine red mist seemed to + pervade everything. It filled their eyes, their nostrils, their ears, + their mouths. They breathed solid dust. The air was laden deep with it. + </p> + <p> + And THIS was the diamond fields! This was the Golconda where Guy was to + find six thousand pounds ready made to recover his losses and to repay + Cyril. Oh, horrible, horrible. His heart sank low at it. + </p> + <p> + And still they went on, and on, and on, and on, through the mist of dust + to the place for out-spanning. Guy only shared the common fate of all + new-comers to “the fields” in feeling much distressed and + really ill. The very horses in the cart snorted and sneezed and showed + their high displeasure by trying every now and then to jib and turn back + again. Here and there, on either side, to right and left, where the gloom + permitted it, Guy made out dimly a few round or oblong tents, with + occasional rude huts of corrugated iron. A few uncertain figures lounged + vaguely in the background. On closer inspection they proved to be + much-grimed and half-naked natives, resting their weary limbs on piles of + dry dust after their toil in the diggings. + </p> + <p> + It was an unearthly scene. Guy’s heart sank lower and lower still at + every step the horses took into that howling wilderness. + </p> + <p> + At last the driver drew up with a jolt in front of a long low hut of + corrugated iron, somewhat larger than the rest, but no less dull and + dreary. “The hotel,” he said briefly; and Guy jumped out to + secure himself a night’s lodging or so at this place of + entertainment, till he could negotiate for a hut and a decent claim, and + commence his digging. + </p> + <p> + At the bar of the primitive saloon where he found himself landed, a man in + a grey tweed suit was already seated. He was drinking something fizzy from + a tall soda-water glass. With a sudden start of horror Guy recognised him + at once. Oh, great heavens, what was this? It was Granville Kelmscott! + </p> + <p> + Then Granville, too, was bound for the diamond fields like himself. What + an incredible coincidence! How strange! How inexplicable! That rich man’s + son, the pampered heir to Tilgate! what could HE be doing here, in this + out-of-the-way spot, this last resort of poor broken-down men, this + miserable haunt of wretched gambling money-grubbers? + </p> + <p> + Here curiosity, surely, must have drawn him to the spot. He couldn’t + have come to DIG! Guy gazed in amazement at that grey tweed suit. He must + be staying for a day or two in search of adventure. No more than just + that! He couldn’t mean to STOP here. + </p> + <p> + As he gazed and stood open-mouthed in the shadow of the door, Granville + Kelmscott, who hadn’t seen him enter, laid down his glass, wiped his + lips with gusto, and continued his conversation with the complacent + barman. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I want a hut here,” he said, “and to buy a good + claim. I’ve been looking over the kopje down by Watson’s spare + land, and I think I’ve seen a lot that’s likely to suit me.” + </p> + <p> + Guy could hardly restrain his astonishment and surprise. He had come, + then, to dig! Oh, incredible! impossible! + </p> + <p> + But at any rate this settled his own immediate movements. Guy’s mind + was made up at once. If Granville Kelmscott was going to dig at Dutoitspan—why, + clearly Dutoitspan was no place for HIM. He could never stand the + continual presence of the one man in South Africa who knew his deadly + secret. Come what might he must leave the neighbourhood without a moment’s + delay. He must strike out at once for the far interior. As he paused, + Granville Kelmscott turned round and saw him. Their eyes met with a start. + Each was equally astonished. Then Granville rose slowly from his seat, and + murmured in a low voice, as he regarded him fixedly— + </p> + <p> + “You here again, Mr. Billington! This is once too often. I hardly + expected THIS. There’s no room here for both of us.” + </p> + <p> + And he strode from the saloon, with a very black brow, leaving Guy for the + moment alone with the barman. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. — A NEW DEPARTURE. + </h2> + <p> + A fortnight later, one sultry afternoon, Granville Kelmscott found + himself, after various strange adventures and escapes by the way, in a + Koranna hut, far in the untravelled heart of the savage Barolong country. + </p> + <p> + The tenement where he sat, or more precisely squatted, was by no means + either a commodious or sweet-scented one. Yet it was the biggest of a + group on the river-bank, some five feet high from floor to roof, so that a + Kelmscott couldn’t possibly stand erect at full length in it; and it + was roughly round in shape, like an overgrown beehive, the framework + consisting of branches of trees, arranged in a rude circle, over whose + arching ribs native rush mats had been thrown or sewn with irregular + order. The door was a hole, through which the proud descendant of the + squires of Tilgate had to creep on all fours; a hollow pit dug out in the + centre served as the only fireplace; smoke and stagnant air formed the + staples of the atmosphere. A more squalid hovel Granville Kelmscott had + never even conceived as possible. It was as dirty and as loathsome as the + most vivid imagination could picture the hut of the lowest savages. + </p> + <p> + Yet here that delicately nurtured English gentleman was to be cooped up + for an indefinite time, as it seemed, by order of the black despot who + ruled over the Barolong with a rod of iron. + </p> + <p> + What had led Granville Kelmscott into this extraordinary scrape it would + not be hard to say. The Kelmscott nature, in all its embodiments, worked + on very simple but very fixed lines. The moment Granville saw his + half-brother Guy at Dutoitspan, his mind was made up at once as to his + immediate procedure. He wouldn’t stop one day—one hour longer + than necessary where he could see that fellow who committed the murder. + Come what might, he would make his escape at once into the far interior. + </p> + <p> + As before in England, so now in Africa, both brothers were moved by the + self-same impulses. And each carried them out with characteristic + promptitude. + </p> + <p> + Where could Granville go, however? Well, it was rumoured at Dutoitspan + that “pebbles” had been found far away to the north in the + Barolong country. “Pebbles,” of course, is good South African + for diamonds; and at this welcome news all Kimberley and Griqualand + pricked up their ears with congenial delight; for business was growing + flat on the old-established diamond fields. The palmy era of great finds + and lucky hits was now long past; the day of systematic and prosaic + industry had set in instead for the over-stocked diggings. It was no + longer possible for the luckiest fresh hand to pick up pebbles lying loose + on the surface; the mode of working had become highly skilled and + scientific. + </p> + <p> + Machines and scaffolds, and washing-cradles and lifting apparatus were now + required to make the business a success; the simple old gambling element + was rapidly going out, and the capitalist was rapidly coming up in its + stead as master of the situation. So Granville Kelmscott, being an + enterprising young man, though destitute of cash, and utterly ignorant of + South African life, determined to push on with all his might and main into + the Barolong country, and to rush for the front among the first in the + field in these rumoured new diggings on the extreme north frontier of + civilization. + </p> + <p> + He started alone, as a Kelmscott might do, and made his way adventurously, + without any knowledge of the Koranna language or manners, through many + wild villages of King Khatsua’s dominions. Night after night he + camped out in the open; and day after day he tramped on by himself, buying + food as he went from the natives for English silver, in search of precious + stones, over that dreary tableland. At last, on the fourteenth day, in a + deep alluvial hollow near a squalid group of small Barolong huts, he saw a + tiny round stone, much rubbed and water-worn, which he picked up and + examined with no little curiosity. The two days he had spent at Dutoitspan + had not been wasted. He had learnt to recognise the look of the native + gem. Once glance told him at once what his pebble was. He recognised it at + sight as one of those small but much-valued diamonds of the finest water, + which diggers know by the technical name of “glass-stones.” + </p> + <p> + The hollow where he stood was in fact an ancient alluvial pit or volcanic + mud-crater. Scoriac rubble filled it in to a very great depth; and in the + interstices of this rubble were embedded here and there rude blocks of + greenstone, containing almond-shaped chalcedonies and agate and + milk-quartz, with now and then a tiny water-worn spec which an experienced + eye would have detected at once as the finest “riverstones.” + </p> + <p> + Here indeed was a prize! The solitary Englishman recognised in a second + that he was the first pioneer of a new and richer Kimberley. + </p> + <p> + But as Granville Kelmscott stood still, looking hard at his find through + the little pocket-lens he had brought with him from England, with a + justifiable tremor of delight at the pleasant thought that here, perhaps, + he had lighted on the key to something which might restore him once more + to his proper place at Tilgate, he was suddenly roused from his delightful + reverie by a harsh negro voice, shrill and clear, close behind him, + saying, in very tolerable African-English— + </p> + <p> + “Hillo, you white man! what dat you got there? You come here to + Barolong land, so go look for diamond?” + </p> + <p> + Granville turned sharply round, and saw standing by his side a naked and + stalwart black man, smiling blandly at his discovery with broad negro + amusement. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pebble,” the Englishman said, pocketing it as + carelessly as he could, and trying to look unconcerned, for his new + acquaintance held a long native spear in his stout left hand, and looked + by no means the sort of person to be lightly trifled with. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dat a pebble, mistah white man!” the Barolong said + sarcastically, holding out his black right hand with a very imperious air. + “Den you please hand him over dat pebble you find. Me got me orders. + King Khatsua no want any diamond digging in Barolong land.” + </p> + <p> + Granville tried to parley with the categorical native; but his attempts at + palaver were eminently unsuccessful. The naked black man was master of the + situation. + </p> + <p> + “You hand over dat stone, me friend,” he said, assuming a + menacing attitude, and holding out his hand once more with no very gentle + air, “or me run you trew de body wit me assegai—just so! King + Khatsua, him no want any diamond diggings in Barolong land.” + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, Granville Kelmscott couldn’t help admitting to himself, + when he came to think of it, that King Khatsua was acting wisely in his + generation. For the introduction of diggers into his dominions would + surely have meant, as everywhere else, the speedy proclamation of a + British protectorate, and the final annihilation of King Khatsua himself + and his dusky fellow-countrymen. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing, to say the truth, the South African native dreads so + much as being “eaten up,” as he calls it, by those aggressive + English. King Khatsua knew his one chance in life consisted in keeping the + diggers firmly out of his dominions; and he was prepared to deny the very + existence of diamonds throughout the whole of Barolong land, until the + English, by sheer force, should come in flocks and unearth them. + </p> + <p> + In obedience to his chief’s command, therefore, the naked henchman + still held out his hand menacingly. + </p> + <p> + “Dis land King Khatsua’s,” he repeated once more, in an + angry voice. “All diamonds found on it belong to King Khatsua. Just + you hand dat over. No steal; no tief-ee.” + </p> + <p> + The instincts of the land-owning class were too strong in Granville + Kelmscott not to make him admit at once to himself the justice of this + claim. The owner of the soil had a right to the diamonds. He handed over + the stone with a pang of regret. The savage grinned to himself, and + scanned it attentively. Then extending his spear, as one might do to a cow + or a sheep, he drove Granville before him. + </p> + <p> + “You come along a’ me,” he said shortly, in a most + determined voice. “You come along a’ me. King Khatsua’s + orders.” + </p> + <p> + Granville went before him without one word of remonstrance, much wondering + what was likely to happen next, till he found himself suddenly driven into + that noisome hut, where he was forced to enter ignominiously on all fours, + like an eight months’ old baby. + </p> + <p> + By the light of the fire that burned dimly in the midst of his captor’s + house he could see, as his eyes grew gradually accustomed to the murky + gloom, a strange and savage scene, such as he had never before in his life + dreamt of. In the pit of the hut some embers glowed feebly, from whose + midst a fleecy object was sputtering and hissing. A second glance assured + him that the savoury morsel was the head of an antelope in process of + roasting. Two greasy black women, naked to the waist, were superintending + this primitive cookery; all round, a group of unclad little imps, as black + as their mothers, lounged idly about, with their eyes firmly fixed on the + chance of dinner. As Granville entered, the husband and father, poking in + his head, shouted a few words after him. Another native outside kept watch + and ward with a spear at the door meanwhile, to prevent his escape against + King Khatsua’s orders. + </p> + <p> + For two long hours the Englishman waited there, fretting and fuming, in + that stifling atmosphere. Meanwhile, the antelope’s head was fully + cooked, and the women and children falling on it like wild beasts, tore + off the scorched fleece and snatched the charred flesh from the bones with + their fingers greedily. It was a hideous sight; it sickened him to see it. + </p> + <p> + By—and—by Granville heard a loud voice outside. He listened in + surprise. It sounded as though Barolong had another prisoner. There was a + pause and a scuffle. Then, all of a sudden, somebody else came bundling + unceremoniously through the hole that served for a door, in the same + undignified fashion as he himself had done. Granville’s eyes, now + accustomed to the gloom, recognised the stranger at once with a thrill of + astonishment. He could hardly trust his senses at the sight. It was—no, + it couldn’t be—yes, it was—Guy Waring. + </p> + <p> + Guy Waring, sure enough; as before, they were companions. The Kelmscott + character had worked itself out exactly alike in each of them. They had + come independently by the self-same road to the rumoured diamond fields of + the Barolong country. + </p> + <p> + It was some minutes, however, before Guy, for his part, recognised his + fellow-prisoner in the dark and gloomy hut. Then each stared at the other + in mute surprise. They found no words to speak their mutual astonishment. + This was more wonderful, to be sure, than even either of their former + encounters. + </p> + <p> + For another long hour the two unfriendly English-men huddled away from one + another in opposite corners of that native hut, without speaking a word of + any sort in their present straits. At the end of that time, a voice spoke + at the door some guttural sentences in the Barolong language. The natives + inside responded alike in their own savage clicks. Next the voice spoke in + English; it was Granville’s captor, he now knew well. + </p> + <p> + “White men, you come out; King Khatsua himself, him go to ‘peak + to you.” + </p> + <p> + They crawled out, one at a time, in sorry guise, through the narrow hole. + It was a pitiful exhibition. Were it not for the danger and uncertainty of + the event, they could almost themselves have fairly laughed at it. King + Khatsua stood before them, a tall, full-blooded black, in European + costume, with a round felt hat and a crimson tie, surrounded by his naked + wives and attendants. In his outstretched hand he held before their faces + two incriminating diamonds. He spoke to them with much dignity at + considerable length in the Barolong tongue, to a running accompaniment of + laudatory exclamations—“Oh, my King! Oh, wise words!”—from + the mouths of his courtiers. Neither Granville nor Guy understood, of + course, a single syllable of the stately address; but that didn’t in + the least disturb the composure of the dusky monarch. He went right + through to the end with his solemn warning, scolding them both roundly, as + they guessed, in his native tongue, like a master reproving a pair of + naughty schoolboys. + </p> + <p> + As he finished, their captor stood forth with great importance to act as + interpreter. He had been to the Kimberly diamond mines himself as a + labourer, and was therefore accounted by his own people a perfect model of + English scholarship. + </p> + <p> + “King Khatsua say this,” he observed curtly. “You very + bad men; you come to Barolong land. King Khatsua say, Barolong land for + Barolong. No allow white man dig here for diamonds. If white man come, him + eat up Barolong. Keep white man out; keep land for King Khatsua.” + </p> + <p> + “Does King Khatsua want us to leave his country, then?” + Granville Kelmscott asked, with a distinct tremor in his voice, for the + great chief and his followers looked decidedly hostile. + </p> + <p> + The interpreter threw back his head and laughed a loud long laugh. + </p> + <p> + “King Khatsua not a fool!” he answered at last, after a + rhetorical pause. “King Khatsua no want to give up his land to white + man. If you two white man go back to Kimberley, you tell plenty other + people, ‘Diamonds in Barolong land.’ You say, ‘Come + along o’ me to Barolong land with gun; we show you where to dig + ‘um!’ No, no, King Khatsua not a fool. King Khatsua say this. + You two white man no go back to Kimberley. You spies. You stop here plenty + time along o’ King Khatsua. Never go back, till King Khatsua give + leave. So no let any other white man come along into Barolong land.” + </p> + <p> + Granville looked at Guy, and Guy looked at Granville. In this last + extremity, before those domineering blacks, they almost forgot everything, + save that they were both English. What were they to do now? The situation + was becoming truly terrible. + </p> + <p> + The interpreter went on once more, however, with genuine savage enjoyment + of the consternation he was causing them. + </p> + <p> + “King Khatsua say this,” he continued, in a very amused tone. + “You stop here plenty days, very good, in Barolong land. King + Khatsua give you hut; King Khatsua give you claim; Barolong man bring + spear and guard you. No do you any harm for fear of Governor. Governor + keep plenty guns in Cape Town. You two white man live in hut together, dig + diamonds together; get plenty pebbles. Keep one diamond you find for + yourself; give one diamond after that to King Khatsua. Barolong man bring + you plenty food, plenty drink, but no let you go back. You try to go, then + Barolong man spear you.” + </p> + <p> + The playful dig with which the savage thrust forward his assegai at that + final remark showed Granville Kelmscott in a moment this was no idle + threat. It was clear for the present they must accept the inevitable. They + must remain in Barolong land; and he must share hut and work with that + doubly hateful creature—the man who had deprived him of his + patrimony at Tilgate, and whom he firmly believed to be the murderer of + Montague Nevitt. This was what had come then of his journey to Africa! + Truly, adversity makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. — TIME FLIES. + </h2> + <p> + Eighteen months passed away in England, and nothing more was heard of the + two fugitives to Africa. Lady Emily’s cup was very full indeed. On + the self-same day she learned of her husband’s death and her son’s + mysterious and unaccountable disappearance. From that moment forth, he was + to her as if dead. After Granville left, no letter or news of him, direct + or indirect, ever reached Tilgate. It was all most inexplicable. He had + disappeared into space, and no man knew of him. + </p> + <p> + Cyril, too, had now almost given up hoping for news of Guy. Slowly the + conviction forced itself deeper and still deeper upon his mind, in spite + of Elma, that Guy was really Montague Nevitt’s murderer. Else how + account for Guy’s sudden disappearance, and for the fact that he + never even wrote home his whereabouts? Nay, Guy’s letter itself left + no doubt upon his mind. Cyril went through life now oppressed continually + with the terrible burden of being a murderer’s brother. + </p> + <p> + And indeed everybody else—except Elma Clifford—implicitly + shared that opinion with him. Cyril was sure the unknown benefactor shared + it too, for Guy’s six thousand pounds were never paid in to his + credit—as indeed how could they, since Colonel Kelmscott, who had + promised to pay them, died before receiving the balance of the purchase + money for the Dowlands estate? Cyril slank through the world, then, + weighed down by his shame, for Guy and he were each other’s doubles, + and he always had a deep underlying conviction that, as Guy was in any + particular, so also in the very fibre of his nature he himself was. + </p> + <p> + Everybody else, except Elma Clifford; but in spite of all, Elma still held + out firm, in her intuitive way, in favour of Guy’s innocence. She + knew it, she said; and there the matter dropped. And she knew quite + equally, in her own firm mind, that Gilbert Gildersleeve was the real + murderer. + </p> + <p> + Gilbert Gildersleeve, meanwhile, had gone up a step or two higher in the + social scale. He had been promoted to the bench on the first vacancy, as + all the world had long expected; but, strange to say, he took it far more + modestly than all the world had ever anticipated. Indeed, before he was + made a judge, everybody said he’d be intolerable in the ermine. He + was blustering and bullying enough, in all conscience, as a mere Queen’s + Counsel; but when he came to preside in a court of his own, his insolence + would surpass even the wonted insolence of our autocratic British + justices. In this, however, everybody was mistaken. + </p> + <p> + A curious change had of late come over Gilbert Gildersleeve. The big, + bullying lawyer was growing nervous and diffident, where of old he had + been coarse and self-assertive and blustering. He was beginning at times + almost to doubt his own absolute omniscience and absolute wisdom. He was + prepared half to admit that under certain circumstances a prisoner might + possibly be in the right, and that all crimes alike did not necessarily + deserve the hardest sentence the law of the land allowed him to allot + them. Habitual criminals even began, after a while, to express a fervent + hope, as assizes approached, they might be tried by old Gildersleeve: + “Gilly,” they said, “gave a cove a chance”: he + wasn’t “one of these ‘ere reg’lar ‘anging judges, + like Sir ‘Enery Atkins.” + </p> + <p> + During those eighteen months, too, Cyril tried, as far as he could, from a + stern sense of duty, to see as little as possible of Elma Clifford. He + loved Elma still—that goes without saying—more devotedly than + ever; and Elma’s profound belief that Cyril’s brother couldn’t + possibly have committed so grave a crime touched his heart to the core by + its womanly confidence. There’s nothing a man likes so much as being + trusted. But he had declared in the first flush of his horror and despair + that he would never again ask Elma to marry him till the cloud that hung + over Guy’s character had been lifted and dissipated; and now that, + month after month, no news came from Guy and all hope seemed to fade, lie + felt it would be wrong of him even to see her or speak with her. + </p> + <p> + On that question however, Elma herself had a voice as well. Man proposes; + woman decides. And though Elma for her part had quite equally made up her + mind never to marry Cyril, with that nameless terror of expected madness + hanging ever over her head, she felt, on the other hand, her very loyalty + to Cyril and to Cyril’s brother imperatively demanded that she + should still see him often, and display marked friendship towards him as + openly as possible. She wanted the world to see plainly for itself that so + far as this matter of Guy’s reputation was concerned, if Cyril, for + his part, wanted to marry her, she, on her side, would be quite ready to + marry Cyril. + </p> + <p> + So she insisted on meeting him whenever she could, and on writing to him + openly from time to time very affectionate notes—those familiar + notes we all know so well and prize so dearly—full of hopeless love + and unabated confidence. Yes, good Mr. Stockbroker who do me the honour to + read my simple tale, smile cynically if you will! You pretend to care + nothing for these little sentimentalities; but you know very well in your + own heart, you’ve a bundle of them at home, very brown and yellow, + locked up in your escritoire; and you’d let New Zealand Fours sink + to the bottom of the Indian Ocean, and Egyptian Unified go down to zero, + before ever you’d part with a single faded page of them. + </p> + <p> + What can a man do, then, even under such painful circumstances, when a + girl whom he loves with all his heart lets him clearly see she loves him + in return quite as truly? Cyril would have been more than human if he hadn’t + answered those notes in an equally ardent and equally desponding strain. + The burden of both their tales was always this—even if YOU would, <i>I</i> + couldn’t, because I love you too much to impose my own disgrace upon + you. + </p> + <p> + But what Elma’s mysterious trouble could be, Cyril was still unable + even to hazard a guess. He only knew she had some reason of her own which + seemed to her a sufficient bar to matrimony, and made her firmly determine + never, in any case, to marry any one. + </p> + <p> + About twelve months after Guy’s sudden disappearance, however, a new + element entered into Elma’s life. At first sight, it seemed to have + but little to do with the secret of her soul. It was merely that the new + purchaser of the Dowlands estate had built herself a pretty little Queen + Anne house on the ground, and come to live in it. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, from the very first day they met, Elma took most kindly to + this new Miss Ewes, the strange and eccentric musical composer. The + mistress of Dowlands was a distant cousin of Mrs. Clifford’s own; so + the family naturally had to call upon her at once; and Elma somehow seemed + always to get on from the outset in a remarkable way with her mother’s + relations. At first, to be sure, Elma could see Mrs. Clifford was rather + afraid to leave her alone with the odd new-comer, whose habits and manners + were as curious and weird as the sudden twists and turns of her own + wayward music. But, after a time, a change came over Mrs. Clifford in this + respect; and instead of trying to keep Elma and Miss Ewes apart, it was + evident to Elma—who never missed any of the small by-play of life—that + her mother rather desired to throw them closely together. Thus it came to + pass that one morning, about a month after Miss Ewes’s arrival in + her new home, Elma had run in with a message from her mother, and found + the distinguished composer, as was often the case at that time of day, + sitting dreamily at her piano, trying over on the gamut strange, fanciful + chords of her own peculiar witch-like character. The music waxed and waned + in a familiar lilt. + </p> + <p> + “That’s beautiful,” Elma cried enthusiastically, as the + composer looked up at her with an inquiring glance. “I never heard + anything in my life before that went so straight through one, with its + penetrating melody. Such a lovely gliding sound, you know! So soft and + serpentine!” And even as she said it, a deep flush rose red in the + centre of her cheek. She was sorry for the words before they were out of + her mouth. They recalled all at once, in some mysterious way, that horrid, + persistent nightmare of the hateful snake-dance. In a second, Miss Ewes + caught the bright gleam in her eye, and the deep flush on her cheek that + so hastily followed it. A meaning smile came over the elder woman’s + face all at once, not unpleasantly. She was a handsome woman for her age, + but very dark and gipsy-like, after the fashion of the Eweses, with keen + Italian eyes and a large smooth expanse of powerful forehead. Lightly she + ran her hand over the keys with a masterly touch, and fixed her glance as + she did so on Elma. There was a moment’s pause. Miss Ewes eyed her + closely. She was playing a tune that seemed oddly familiar to Elma’s + brain somehow—to her brain, not to her ears, for Elma felt certain, + even while she recognised it most, she had never before heard it. It was a + tune that waxed and waned and curled up and down sinuously, and twisted in + and out and—ah yes, now she knew it—raised its sleek head, and + darted out its forked tongue, and vibrated with swift tremors, and + tightened and slackened, and coiled resistlessly at last in great folds + all around her. Elma listened, with eager eyes half starting from her + head, with clenched nails dug deep into the tremulous palms, as her heart + throbbed fast and her nerves quivered fiercely. Oh, it was wrong of Miss + Ewes to tempt her like this! It was wrong, so wrong of her! For Elma knew + what it was at once—the song she had heard running vaguely through + her head the night of the dance—the night she fell in love with + Cyril Waring. + </p> + <p> + With a throbbing heart, Elma sat down on the sofa, and tried with all her + might and main not to listen, She clasped her hands still tighter. She + refused to be wrought up. She wouldn’t give way to it. If she had + followed her own impulse, to be sure, she would have risen on the spot and + danced that mad dance once more with all the wild abandonment of an almeh + or a Zingari. But she resisted with all her might. And she resisted + successfully. + </p> + <p> + Miss Ewes, never faltering, kept her keen eye fixed hard on her with a + searching glance, as she ran over the keys in ever fresh combinations. + </p> + <p> + Faster, wilder, and stranger the music rose; but Elma sat still, her + breast heaving hard, and her breath panting, yet otherwise as still and + motionless as a statue. She knew Miss Ewes could tell exactly how she + felt. She knew she was trying her; she knew she was tempting her to get up + and dance; and yet, she was not one bit afraid of this strange weird + woman, as she’d been afraid that sad morning at home of her own + mother. + </p> + <p> + The composer went on fiercely for some minutes more, leaning close over + the keyboard, and throwing her very soul, as Elma could plainly see, into + the tips of her fingers. Then, suddenly she rose, and came over, well + pleased, to the sofa where Elma sat. With a motherly gesture, she took + Elma’s hand; she smoothed her dark hair; she bent down with a tender + look, in those strange grey eyes, and printed a kiss unexpectedly on the + poor girl’s forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Elma,” she said, leaning over her, “do you know what + that was? That was the Naga Snake Dance. It gave you an almost + irresistible longing to rise, and hold the snake in your own hands, and + coil his great folds around you. I could see how you felt. But you were + strong enough to resist. That was very well done. You resisted even the + force of my music, didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Elma, trembling all over, but bursting with joy that she could speak of it + at last without restraint to somebody, answered, in a very low and + tremulous voice, “Yes, Miss Ewes, I resisted it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Ewes leant back in her place, and gazed at her long, with a very + affectionate and motherly air. “Then I’m sure I don’t + know,” she said at last, breaking out in a voice full of confidence, + “why on earth you shouldn’t marry this young man you’re + in love with!” + </p> + <p> + Elma’s heart beat still harder and higher than ever. + </p> + <p> + “What young man?” she murmured low—just to test the + enchantress. + </p> + <p> + And Miss Ewes made answer, without one moment’s hesitation, “Why, + of course, Cyril Waring!” + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two then, there was a dead silence. After that, Miss Ewes + looked up and spoke again. “Have you felt it often?” she + asked, without one word of explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Twice before,” Elma answered, not pretending to + misunderstand. “Once I gave way. That was the very first time, you + see, and I didn’t know yet exactly what it meant. The second time I + knew, and then I resisted it.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow, before Miss Ewes, she hardly ever felt shy. She was so conscious + Miss Ewes knew all about it without her telling her. + </p> + <p> + The elder woman looked at her with unfeigned admiration. + </p> + <p> + “That was brave of you,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t + have done it myself! I should have HAD to give way to it. Then in YOU it’s + dying out. That’s as clear as daylight. It won’t go any + farther. I knew it wouldn’t, of course, when I saw you resisted even + the Naga dance. And for you, that’s excellent.... For myself I + encourage it. It’s that that makes my music what it is. It’s + that that inspires me. <i>I</i> composed that Naga dance I just played + over to you, Elma. But not all out of my own head. I couldn’t have + invented it. It comes down in our blood, my dear, to you and me alike. We + both inherit it from a common ancestress.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about it,” Elma cried, nestling close to her new + friend with a wild burst of relief. “I don’t know why, but I’m + not at all ashamed of it all before you, Miss Ewes—at least, not in + the way I am before mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t be ashamed of it,” Miss Ewes answered + kindly. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. It’ll never + trouble YOU in your life again. It always dies out at last; they say in + the sixth or seventh generation, and when it’s dying out, it goes as + it went with you, on the night you first fell in love with Cyril. If, + after that, you resist, it never comes back again. Year after year, the + impulse grows feebler and feebler. And if you can withstand the Naga + dance, you can withstand anything. Come here and take my hand, dear. I’ll + tell you all about it.” + </p> + <p> + Late at night Elma sat, tearful but happy, in her own room at home, + writing a few short lines to Cyril Waring. This was all she said— + </p> + <p> + “There’s no reason on my side now, dearest Cyril. It’s + all a mistake. I’ll marry you whenever and wherever you will. There + need be no reason on your side either. I love you, and can trust you. + Yours ever, + </p> + <h3> + “ELMA.” + </h3> + <p> + When Cyril Waring received that note next morning he kissed it reverently, + and put it away in his desk among a bundle of others. But he said to + himself sternly in his own soul for all that, “Never, while Guy + still rests under that cloud! And how it’s ever to be lifted from + him is to me inconceivable.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. — A STROKE FOR FREEDOM. + </h2> + <p> + In Africa, meanwhile, during those eighteen months, King Khatsua had kept + his royal word. He had held his two European prisoners under close watch + and ward in the Koranna hut he had assigned them for their residence. + </p> + <p> + Like most other negro princes, indeed, Khatsua was a shrewd man of + business in his own way; and while he meant to prevent the English + strangers from escaping seaward with news of the new El Dorado they had + discovered in Barolong land, he hadn’t the least idea of turning + away on that account the incidental advantages to be gained for himself by + permitting them to hunt freely in his dominions for diamonds. So long as + they acquiesced in the rough-and-ready royalty of 50 per cent, he had + proposed to them when he first decided to detain them in his own territory—one + stone for the king, and one for the explorers—they were free to + pursue their quest after gems to their hearts’ content in the + valleys of Barolong land. And as the two Englishmen, for their part, had + nothing else to do in Africa, and as they still went on hoping against + hope for some chance of escape or rescue, they dug for diamonds with a + will, and secured a number of first-class stones that would have made + their fortunes indeed—if only they could have got them to the sea or + to England. + </p> + <p> + Of course they lived perforce in the Koranna hut assigned them by the + king, in pretty much the same way as the Korannas themselves did. King + Khatsua’s men supplied them abundantly with grain, and fruits, and + game; and even at times procured them ready-made clothes, by exchange with + Kimberley. In other respects, they were not ill-treated; they were merely + detained “during his majesty’s pleasure.” But as his + majesty had no intention of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs, + or of letting them go, if he could help it, to spread the news of their + find among their greedy fellow-countrymen, it seemed to them both as if + they might go on being detained like this in Barolong land for an + indefinite period. + </p> + <p> + Still, things went indifferently with them. As they lived and worked + together in their native hut by Khatsua’s village, a change began + slowly but irresistibly to come over Granville Kelmscott’s feelings + towards his unacknowledged half-brother. At first, it was with the deepest + sense of distaste and loathing that the dispossessed heir found himself + compelled to associate with Guy Waring in such close companionship. But, + bit by bit, as they two saw more and more of one another, this feeling of + distaste began to wear off piecemeal. Granville Kelmscott was more than + half ashamed to admit it even to himself, but in process of time he really + almost caught himself beginning to like—well, to like the man he + believed to be a murderer. It was shocking and horrible, no doubt; but + what else was he to do? Guy formed now his only European society. By the + side of those savage Barolongs, whose chief thought nothing of + perpetrating the most nameless horrors before their very eyes, for the + gratification of mere freaks of passion or jealousy, a European murderer + of the gentlemanly class seemed almost by comparison a mild and gentle + personage. Granville hardly liked to allow it in his own mind, but it was + nevertheless the case; he was getting positively fond of this man, Guy + Waring. + </p> + <p> + Besides, blood is generally thicker than water. Living in such close daily + communion with Guy, and talking with him unrestrainedly at last upon all + possible points—save that one unapproachable one, which both seemed + to instinctively avoid alluding to in any way—Granville began to + feel that, murderer or no murderer, Guy was in all essentials very near + indeed to him. Nay, more, he found himself at times actually arguing the + point with his own conscience that, after all, Guy was a very good sort of + fellow; and if ever he had murdered Montague Nevitt at all—which + looked very probable—he must have murdered him under considerably + extenuating circumstances. + </p> + <p> + There was only one thing about Guy that Granville didn’t like when + he got to know him. This homicidal half-brother of his was gentle as a + woman; tender, kindhearted, truthful, affectionate; a gentleman to the + core, and a jolly good fellow into the bargain; but—there’s + always a but—he was a terrible money-grubber! Even there in the lost + heart of Africa, at such a distance from home, with so little chance of + ever making any use of his hoarded wealth, the fellow used to hunt up + those wretched small stones, and wear them night and day in a belt round + his waist, as if he really loved them for their own mere sakes—dirty + high-priced little baubles! Granville, for his part, couldn’t bear + to see such ingrained love of pelf. It was miserable; it was mercenary. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, he himself hunted diamonds every day of his life, just as hard + as Guy did; there was nothing else to do in this detestable place, and a + man MUST find something to turn his idle hands to. Also he carried them, + like Guy, bound up in a girdle round his own waist; it was a pity they + should be lost, if ever he should chance to get away safe in the end to + England. But then, don’t you see, the cases were so different. Guy + hoarded up his diamonds for mere wretched gain; whereas Granville valued + his (he said to himself often) not for the mere worth in money of those + shimmering little trinkets, but for his mother’s sake, and + Gwendoline’s, and the credit of the family. He wanted Lady Emily to + see her son filling the place in the world she had always looked forward + with hope to his filling; and, by Heaven’s help, he thought, he + could still fill it. He couldn’t marry Gwendoline on a beggar’s + pittance; and, by Heaven’s help, he hoped still to be able to marry + her. + </p> + <p> + Guy, on the other hand, found himself almost equally surprised in turn at + the rapid way he grew really to be fond of Granville Kelmscott. Though + Kelmscott knew, as he thought, the terrible secret of his half-unconscious + crime—for he could feel now how completely he had acted under + Montague Nevitt’s compelling influence—Guy was aware before + long of such a profound and deep-seated sympathy existing between them, + that he became exceedingly attached in time to his friendly + fellow-prisoner. In spite of the one barrier they could never break down, + he spoke freely by degrees to Granville of everything else in his whole + life; and Granville in return spoke to him just as freely. A good fellow, + Granville, when you got to know him. There was only a single trait in his + character Guy couldn’t endure; and that was his ingrained love of + money-grubbing. For the way the man pounced down upon those dirty little + stones, when he saw them in the mud, and hoarded them up in his belt, and + seemed prepared to defend them with his very life-blood, Guy couldn’t + conceal from himself-the fact that he fairly despised him. Such vulgar, + common-place, unredeemed love of pelf! Such mere bourgeois avarice! Of + what use could those wretched pebbles be to him here in the dusty plains + of far inland Africa? + </p> + <p> + Guy himself kept close count of his finds, to be sure; but then, the + cases, don’t you see, were so different! HE wanted his diamonds to + discharge the great debt of his life to Cyril, and to appear an honest + man, rehabilitated once more, before the brother he had so deeply wronged + and humiliated. Whereas Granville Kelmscott, a rich man’s son, and + the heir to a great estate beyond the dreams of avarice—that HE + should have come risking his life in these savage wilds for mere increase + of superfluous wealth, why, it was simply despicable. + </p> + <p> + So eighteen months wore away, in mutual friendship, tempered to a certain + degree by mutual contempt, and little chance of escape came to the + captives in Barolong land. + </p> + <p> + At last, as the second winter came round once more, for two or three weeks + the Englishmen in their huts began to perceive that much bustle and + confusion was going on all around in King Khatsua’s dominions. + Preparations for a war on a considerable scale were clearly taking place. + Men mustered daily on the dusty plain with firearms and assegais. Much + pombè was drunk; many palavers took place; a constant drumming of gongs + and tom-toms disturbed their ears by day and by night. The Englishmen + concluded some big marauding expedition was in contemplation. And they + were quite right. King Khatsua was about to concentrate his forces for an + attack on a neighbouring black monarch, as powerful and perhaps as cruel + as himself, Montisive of the Bush Veldt. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the preparations went on all around. Then the great day came at + last, and King Khatsua set forth on his mighty campaign, to the sound of + big drums and the blare of native trumpets. + </p> + <p> + When the warriors had marched out of the villages on their way northward + to the war, Guy saw the two prisoners’ chance of escape had arrived + in earnest. They were guarded as usual, of course; but not so strictly as + before; and during the night, in particular, Guy noticed with pleasure, + little watch was now kept upon them. The savage, indeed, can’t hold + two ideas in his head at once. If he’s making war on his neighbour + on one side, he has no room left to think of guarding his prisoners on the + other. + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” Guy said, one evening, as they sat together in + their hut, over their native supper of mealie cakes and springbok venison, + “we must make a bold stroke. We must creep out of the kraal as well + as we can, and go for the sea westward, through Namaqua land to Angra + Pequena.” + </p> + <p> + “Westward?” Granville answered, very dubiously. “But why + westward, Waring? Surely our shortest way to the coast is down to + Kimberley and so on to the Cape. It’ll take us weeks and weeks to + reach the sea, won’t it, by way of Namaqua land?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter for that,” Guy replied, with confidence. He knew + the map pretty well, and had thought it all over. “As soon as the + Barolong miss us in the morning, they’ll naturally think we’ve + gone south, as you say, towards our own people. So they’ll pursue us + in that direction and try to take us; and if they were to catch us after + we’d once run away, you may be sure they’d kill us as soon as + look at us. But it would never occur to them, don’t you see, we were + going away west. They won’t follow us that way. So west we’ll + go, and strike out for the sea, as I say, at Angra Pequena.” + </p> + <p> + They sat up through the night discussing plans low to themselves in the + dark, till nearly two in the morning. Then, when all was silent around, + and the Barolong slept, they stole quietly out, and began their long march + across the country to westward. Each man had his diamonds tied tightly + round his waist, and his revolver at his belt. They were prepared to face + every unknown danger. + </p> + <p> + Crawling past the native huts with very cautious steps, they made for the + open, and emerged from the village on to the heights that bounded the + valley of the Lugura. They had proceeded in this direction for more than + an hour, walking as hard as their legs would carry them, when the sound of + a man running fast, but barefoot, fell on their ears from behind in a + regular pit-a-pat. Guy looked back in dismay, and saw a naked Barolong + just silhouetted against the pale sky on the top of a long low ridge they + had lately crossed over. At the very same instant Granville raised his + revolver and pointed it at the man, who evidently had not yet perceived + them. With a sudden gesture of horror, Guy knocked down his hand and + prevented his taking aim. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shoot,” he cried, in a voice of surprised dismay + and disapproval. “We mustn’t take his life. How do we know he’s + an enemy at all? He mayn’t be pursuing us.” + </p> + <p> + “Best shoot on spec, anyway,” Granville answered, somewhat + discomposed. “All’s fair in war. The fellow’s after us + no doubt. And, at any rate, if he sees us he may go and report our + whereabouts to the village.” + </p> + <p> + “What? shoot an unarmed man who shows no signs of hostility! Why, it + would be sheer murder,” Guy cried, with some horror. “We mustn’t + make our retreat on THOSE principles, Kelmscott; it’d be quite + indefensible. I decline to fire except when we’re attacked. I won’t + be any party, myself, to needless bloodshed.” + </p> + <p> + Granville Kelmscott gazed at him, there in the grey dawn, in unspeakable + surprise. Not shoot at a negro! In such straits, too, as theirs! And this + rebuke had come to him—from the mouth of the murderer! + </p> + <p> + Turn it over as he might, Granville couldn’t understand it. + </p> + <p> + The Barolong ran along on the crest of the ridge, still at the top of his + speed, without seeming to notice them in the gloom of the valley. + Presently, he disappeared over the edge to southward. Guy was right, after + all. He wasn’t in pursuit of them. More likely he was only a runaway + slave, taking advantage, like themselves, of King Khatsua’s absence. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. — PERILS BY THE WAY. + </h2> + <p> + Three weeks later, two torn and tattered, half-starved Europeans sat under + a burning South African sun by the dry bed of a shrunken summer torrent. + It was in the depths of Namaqua land, among the stony Karoo; and the + fugitives were straggling, helplessly and hopelessly, seaward, thirsty and + weary, through a half-hostile country, making their marches as best they + could at dead of night and resting by day where the natives would permit + them. + </p> + <p> + Their commissariat had indeed been a lean and hungry one. Though they + carried many thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds about their persons, + they had nothing negotiable with which to buy food or shelter from the + uncivilized Namaquas. Ivory, cloth, and beads were the currency of the + country. No native thereabouts would look for a moment at their little + round nobs of water-worn pebbles. The fame of the diamond fields hadn’t + penetrated as yet so far west in the land as to have reached to the huts + of the savage Namaquas. + </p> + <p> + And now their staying power was almost worn out Granville Kelmscott lay + down on the sandy soil with a wild gesture of despair. All around were + bare rocks and the dry sweltering veldts, covered only with round stones + and red sand and low bushy vegetation. + </p> + <p> + “Waring,” he said feebly, in a very faint voice, “I wish + you’d leave me and go on by yourself. I’m no good any more. I’m + only a drag upon you. This fever’s too bad for me to stand much + longer. I can never pull through to the coast alive. I’ve no energy + left, were it even to try. I’d like to lie down here and die where I + sit. Do go and leave me.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” Guy answered resolutely. “I’ll never + desert you, Kelmscott, while I’ve a drop of blood left. If I carry + you on my back to the coast, I’ll get you there at last, or else we’ll + both die on the veldt together.” + </p> + <p> + Granville held his friend’s hand in his own fevered fingers as he + might have held a woman’s. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Waring,” he cried once more, in a voice half choked with + profound emotion, “I don’t know how to thank you enough for + all you’ve done for me. You’ve behaved to me like a brother—like + a brother indeed. It makes me ashamed to think, when I see how unselfish, + and good, and kind you’ve been—ashamed to think I once + distrusted you. You’ve been an angel to me all through. Without you, + I don’t know how I could ever have lived on through this journey at + all. And I can’t bear to feel now I may spoil your retreat—can’t + bear to know I’m a drag and burden to you.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” Guy said, holding the thin and fevered hand + very tenderly in his, “don’t talk to me like that. I feel to + you every bit as you feel to me in this matter. I was afraid of you at + first, because I knew you misunderstood me. But the more I’ve seen + of you, the better we’ve each of us learned to sympathize with the + other. We’ve long been friends. I love you now, as you say, like a + brother.” + </p> + <p> + Granville hesitated for a moment. Should he out with it or not? Then at + last the whole long-suppressed truth came out with a burst. He seized his + companion’s two hands at once in a convulsive grasp. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not surprising either,” he said, “after + all—for Guy, do you know, we ARE really brothers!” + </p> + <p> + Guy gazed at him in astonishment. For a moment he thought his friend’s + reason was giving way. Then slowly and gradually he took it all in. + </p> + <p> + “ARE really brothers!” he repeated, in a dazed sort of way. + “Do you mean it, Kelmscott? Then my father and Cyril’s—” + </p> + <p> + “Was mine too, Waring. Yes; I couldn’t bear to die without + telling you that. And I tell it now to you. You two are the heirs of the + Tilgate estates. And the unknown person who paid six thousand pounds to + Cyril, just before you left England, was your father and mine—Colonel + Henry Kelmscott.” + </p> + <p> + Guy bent over him for a few seconds in speechless surprise. Words failed + him at first. “How do you know all this, Kelmscott?” he said + at last faintly. + </p> + <p> + Granville told him in as few words as possible—for indeed he was + desperately weak and ill—by what accident he had discovered his + father’s secret. But he told him only what he knew himself. For, of + course, he was ignorant as yet of the Colonel’s seizure and sudden + death on the very day after they had sailed from England. + </p> + <p> + Guy listened to it all in profound silence. It was a strange, and for him + a momentous tale. Then he said at last, as Granville finished, “And + you never told me this all these long months, Kelmscott.” + </p> + <p> + “I always meant to tell you, Guy,” his half-brother answered, + in a sudden fit of penitence. “I always meant in the end you and + your brother Cyril should come into your own at Tilgate as you ought. I + was only waiting—” + </p> + <p> + “Till you’d realized enough to make good some part of your + personal loss,” Guy suggested, not unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” Granville answered, flushing up at the suggestion. + “I wasn’t waiting for that. Don’t think me so mercenary. + I was waiting for YOU, in your turn to extend to ME your own personal + confidence. You know, Guy,” he went on, dropping into a still more + hushed and solemn undertone, “I saw an evening paper the night we + left Plymouth—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know, I know,” Guy cried, interrupting him, with a very + pale face. “Don’t speak to me of that. I can’t bear to + think of it. Kelmscott, I was mad when I did that deed. I wasn’t + myself. I acted under somebody else’s compulsion and influence. The + man had a sort of hypnotic power over my will, I believe. I couldn’t + help doing whatever he ordered me. It was he who suggested it. It was he + that did it. And it’s he who was really and truly guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was that man?” Granville Kelmscott asked with some + little curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no reason I shouldn’t tell you,” Guy + answered, “now we’ve once broken the ice; and I’m glad + in my heart, I must say, that we’ve broken it. For a year and a + half, day and night, that barrier has been raised between us always, and I’ve + longed to get rid of it. But I was afraid to speak of it to you, and you + to me! Well, the man, if you must know, was Montague Nevitt!” + </p> + <p> + Granville Kelmscott looked up at him in credulous surprise. But he was too + ill and weak to ask the meaning of this riddle. Montague Nevitt! What on + earth could Waring mean by that? How on earth could Montague Nevitt have + influenced and directed him in assaulting and murdering Montague Nevitt? + </p> + <p> + For a long time there was silence. Each brother was thinking his own + thoughts to himself about this double disclosure. At last, Granville + lifted his head and spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “And you’ll go home to England now,” he said, “under + an assumed name, I suppose; and arrange with your brother Cyril for him to + claim the Kelmscott estates, and allow you something out of them in + retirement somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” Guy answered manfully. “I’m going home to + England now, if I go at all, under my own proper name that I’ve + always borne, to repay Cyril in full every penny I owe him, to make what + reparation I can for the wrong I’ve done, and to give myself up to + the police for trial.” + </p> + <p> + Granville gazed at him, more surprised and more admiring than ever. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a brave man, Waring,” he said slowly. “I + don’t understand it at all. But I know you’re right. And I + almost believe you. I almost believe it was not your fault. I should like + to get through to England after all, if it was only to see you safe out of + your troubles.” + </p> + <p> + Guy looked at him fixedly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he said, in a compassionate tone, “you + mustn’t talk any more. You’ve talked a great deal too much + already. I see a hut, I fancy, over yonder, beside that dark patch of + brush. Now, you must do exactly as I bid you. Don’t struggle or + kick. Lie as still as you can. I’ll carry you there on my back, and + then we’ll see if we can get you anyhow a drop of pure water.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. — DESERTED. + </h2> + <p> + That was almost the last thing Granville Kelmscott knew. Some strange + shadowy dreams, to be sure, disturbed the lethargy into which he fell soon + after; but they were intermittent and indefinite. He was vaguely aware of + being lifted with gentle care into somebody’s arms, and of the + somebody staggering along with him, not without considerable difficulty, + over the rough stony ground of that South African plateau. He remembered + also, as in a trance, some sound of angry voices—a loud + expostulation—a hasty palaver—a long slow pause—a + gradual sense of reconciliation and friendliness—during all which, + as far as he could recover the circumstances afterwards, he must have been + extended on the earth, with his back propped against a great ledge of + jutting rock, and his head hanging listless on his sinking breast. + Thenceforward all was blank, or just dimly perceived at long intervals + between delirium and unconsciousness. He was ill for many days, where or + how he knew not. + </p> + <p> + In some half dreamy way, he was aware too, now and again, of strange + voices by his side, strange faces tending him. But they were black faces, + all, and the voices spoke in deep guttural tones, unlike even the clicks + and harsh Bantu jerks with which he had grown so familiar in eighteen + months among the Barolong. This that he heard now, or seemed to hear in + his delirium, like distant sounds of water, was a wholly different and + very much harsher tongue—the tongue of the Namaquas, in fact, though + Granville was far too ill and too drowsy just then to think of reasoning + about it or classifying it in any way. All he knew for the moment was that + sometimes, when he turned round feebly on his bed of straw, and asked for + drink or help in a faltering voice, no white man appeared to answer his + summons. Black, faces all—black, black, and unfamiliar. Very + intermittently he was conscious of a faint sense of loneliness. He knew + not why. But he thought he could guess. Guy Waring had deserted him! + </p> + <p> + At last, one morning, after more days had passed than Granville could + possibly count, all of a sudden, in a wild whirl, he came to himself again + at once, with that instant revulsion of complete awakening which often + occurs at the end of long fits of delirium in malarious fever. A light + burst in upon him with a flash. In a moment, his brain seemed to clear all + at once, and everything to grow plain as day before him. He raised himself + on one wasted elbow and gazed around him with profound awe. He saw it all + now; he remembered everything, everything. + </p> + <p> + He was alone, among savages in the far heart of Africa. + </p> + <p> + He lay on his back, on a heap of fresh straw, in a close and filthy + mud-built hut. Under his aching neck a wooden pillow or prop of native + make supported his head. Two women and a man bent over him and smiled. + Their faces, though black, were far from unkindly. They were pleased to + see him stare about with such meaning in his eyes. They were friendly, no + doubt. They seemed really to take an interest in their patient’s + recovery. + </p> + <p> + But where was Guy Waring? Dead? Dead? Or run away? Had his half-brother, + in this utmost need, then, so basely deserted him? + </p> + <p> + For some minutes, Granville gazed around him, half dazed, and in a turmoil + of surprise, yet with a vivid passion of acute inquiry. Now he was once + well awake, he must know all immediately. But how? Who to ask? This was + terrible, terrible. He had no means of intercommunication with the people + in the hut. He knew none of their language, nor they of his. He was + utterly alone, among unmitigated savages. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the man and the women talked loud among themselves in their own + harsh speech, evidently well pleased and satisfied at their guest’s + improvement. With a violent effort, Granville began to communicate with + them in the language of signs which every savage knows as he knows his + native tongue, and in which the two Englishmen had already made some + progress during their stay in Barolong land. + </p> + <p> + Pointing first to himself, with one hand on his breast, he held up two + fingers before the observant Namaqua, to indicate that at first there had + been a couple of them on the road, both white men. The latter point he + still further elaborated by showing the white skin on his own bare wrist, + and once more holding up the two fingers demonstratively. The Namaqua + nodded. He had seized the point well. He held up two fingers in return + himself; then looked at his own black wrist and shook his head in dissent—they + were not black men; after which he touched Granville’s fair forearm + with his hand; yes, yes, just so; he took it in; two white men. + </p> + <p> + What had become of the other one? Granville asked in the same fashion, by + looking around him on all sides in dumb show, inquiringly. One finger only + was held up now, pointing about the hut; one hand was laid upon his own + breast to show that a single white man alone remained. He glanced about + him uneasily. What had happened to his companion? + </p> + <p> + The Namaqua pointed with his finger to the door of the hut, as much as to + say the other man was gone. He seized every sign at once with true savage + quickness. + </p> + <p> + Then Granville tried once more. Was his companion dead? Had he been killed + in a fight? Was that the reason of his absence? He lunged forward with his + hand holding an imaginary assegai. He pressed on upon the foe; he drove it + through a body. Then he fell, as if dead, on the floor, with a groan and a + shriek. After which, picking himself up as well as he was able, and + crawling back to his straw, he proceeded in mute pantomime to bury himself + decently. + </p> + <p> + The Namaqua shook his head again with a laugh of dissent. Oh no; not like + that. It had happened quite otherwise. The missing white man was well and + vigorous, a slap on his own chest sufficiently indicated that news. He + placed his two first fingers in the ground, astride like legs, and made + them walk along fast, one in front of the other. The white man had gone + away. He had gone on foot. Granville nodded acquiescence. The savage took + water in a calabash and laid it on the floor. Then he walked once more + with his fingers, as if on a long and weary march, to the water’s + brink. Granville nodded comprehension again. He understood the signs. The + white man had gone away, alone, on foot—and seaward. + </p> + <p> + At that instant, with a sudden cry of terror, the invalid’s hands + went down to his waist, where he wore the girdle that contained those + precious diamonds—the diamonds that were to be the ransom of some + fraction of Tilgate. An awful sense of desertion broke over him all at + once. He called aloud in his horror. It was too much to believe. The + girdle was gone, and the diamonds with it! + </p> + <p> + Hypocrite! Hypocrite! Thief! Murderer! Robber! He had trusted that vile + creature, that plausible wretch, in spite of all the horrible charges he + knew against him. And THIS was the sequel of their talk that day! THIS was + how Guy Waring had requited his confidence. + </p> + <p> + He had stolen the fruits of eighteen months’ labour. + </p> + <p> + Granville turned to the Namaqua, wild with his terrible loss, and pointed + angrily to his loins, where the diamonds were not. The savage nodded; + looked wise and shook his head; pretended to gird himself round the waist + with a cloth; then went over to Granville, who lay still in the straw, + undid an imaginary belt, with deliberate care, tied it round his own body + above the other one, with every appearance of prudence and forethought, + counted the small stones in it one by one, in his hand, to the exact + number, with grotesque fidelity, and finally set his fingers to walk a + second time at a rapid pace, in the direction of the calabash which + represented the ocean. + </p> + <p> + Granville fell back on his wooden pillow with a horrible groan of awakened + distrust. The man had gone off, that was clear, and had stolen his + diamonds That is what comes of intrusting your life and property to a + discovered murderer. How could he ever have been such a fool? He would + never forgive himself. + </p> + <p> + The desertion itself was bad enough in all conscience; but it was as + nothing at all in Granville’s mind to the wickedness of the robbery. + </p> + <p> + He might have known it, of course. How that fellow toiled and moiled and + gloated over his wretched diamonds! How little he seemed to think of the + stain of blood on his hands, and how much of the mere chance of making + filthy lucre! Pah! Pah! it was pitiable. The man’s whole mind was + distorted by a hideous fungoid growth—the love of gain, which is the + root of all evil. For a few miserable stones, he would plunder his own + brother, lying helpless and ill in that African hut, and make off with the + booty himself, saving his own skin, seaward. + </p> + <p> + If it hadn’t been for the unrequited kindness of these mere savage + Namaquas, Granville cried to himself in his bitterness, he might have died + of want in the open desert. And now he would go down to the coast, after + all, a ruined man, penniless and friendless. It was a hard thought indeed + for a Kelmscott to think he should have been abandoned and robbed by his + own half-brother, and should owe his life now to a heathen African. The + tender mercies of a naked barbarian in a mud-built hut were better than + the false friendship of his father’s son, the true heir of Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + It was miserable! pitiable! The shock of that discovery threw Granville + back once more into a profound fever. For several hours he relapsed into + delirium. And the worst of it was, the negroes wouldn’t let him die + quietly in his own plain way. In the midst of it all, he was dimly aware + of a dose thrust down his throat. It was the Namaqua administering him a + pill—some nauseous native decoction, no doubt—which tasted as + if it were made of stiff white paper. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. — AUX ARMES! + </h2> + <p> + For a day or two more, Granville remained seriously ill in the dirty hut. + At the end of that time, weak and wasted as he was, he insisted upon + getting up and setting out alone on his long march seaward. + </p> + <p> + It was a wild resolve. He was utterly unfit for it. The hospitable + Namaqua, whose wives had nursed him well through that almost hopeless + illness, did his best to persuade the rash Englishman from so mad a + course, by gestures and entreaties, in his own mute language. But + Granville was obstinate. He would NOT sit down quietly and be robbed like + this of the fruit of his labours. He would not be despoiled. He would not + be trampled upon. He would make for the coast, if he staggered in like a + skeleton, and would confront the robber with his own vile crime, be it at + Angra Pequena, or Cape Town, or London, or Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + In short, he would do much as Guy himself had done when he discovered + Montague Nevitt’s theft of the six thousand. He would follow the + villain till he ran him to earth, and would tax him at last to his face + with the open proofs of his consummate treachery. What’s bred in the + bone will out in the blood. The Kelmscott strain worked alike its own way + in each of them. + </p> + <p> + The Namaqua, to be sure, tried in vain to explain to Granville by + elaborate signs that the other white man had given orders to the contrary. + The other white man had strictly enjoined upon him not to let the invalid + escape from his hut on any pretext whatever. The other white man had + promised him a reward, a very large reward—money, guns, ammunition—if + he kept him safely and didn’t allow him to escape. Granville + Kelmscott smiled to himself a bitter, cynical, smile. Poor confiding + savage! He didn’t know Guy as well as he, his brother, did. + </p> + <p> + And yet, in the midst of it all, in spite of the revulsion, Granville was + conscious now and then of some little ingratitude somewhere to his + half-brother’s memory. After all, Guy had shown him time and again + no small kindness. Some excuse should be made for a man who saves his own + life first in very dire extremities. But none, no, none for one who has + the incredible and inhuman meanness to rob his own brother of his + hard-earned gams, in a strange wild land, when he thinks him dying. + </p> + <p> + For it was the robbery, not the desertion, Granville could never forgive. + The man who was capable of doing that basest of acts was capable also of + murder or any crime in the decalogue. + </p> + <p> + So the fevered white man rose at last one morning on his shrunken limbs, + and staggered, as best he might, from his protector’s hut in a wild + impulse of resolution, on his mad journey seaward. When the Namaqua saw + nothing on earth would induce him to remain, he shouldered his arms and + went out beside him, fully equipped for fight with matchlock and assegai. + Not that the savage made any undue pretence to a purely personal devotion + to the belated white man. On the contrary, he signified to Granville with + many ingenious signs that he was afraid of losing the great reward he had + been promised, if once he let the invalid get out of his sight unattended. + </p> + <p> + Granville smiled once more that bitter smile of new-born cynicism. Well, + let the fellow follow him if he liked! He would reward him himself if ever + they reached the coast in safety. And in any case, it was better to go + attended by a native. An interpreter who can communicate in their own + tongue with the people through whose territory you are going to pass is + always, useful in a savage country. + </p> + <p> + How Granville got over that terrible journey seaward he could never tell. + He crawled on and on, supported by the faithful Namaqua with unfailing + good-humour, over that endless veldt, for three long days of wretched + footsore marching. And for three long nights he slept, or lay awake, under + the clear desert stars, on the open ground of barren Namaqua land. It was + a terrible time. Worn and weary with the fever, Granville was wholly unfit + for any kind of travelling. Nothing but the iron constitution of the + Kelmscotts could ever have stood so severe an ordeal. But the son of six + generations of soldiers, who had commanded in the fever-stricken flats of + Walcheren, or followed Wellesley through the jungles of tropical India, or + forced their way with Napier into the depths of Abyssinia, was not to be + daunted even by the nameless horrors of that South African desert. + Granville still endured, for three days and nights, and was ready to + march, or crawl on, once more, upon the fourth morning. + </p> + <p> + Here, however, his Namaqua, guide, with every appearance of terror, made + strong warnings of danger. The country beyond, he signified by strange + gestures, lay in the hands of a hostile tribe, hereditarily at war with + his fellow-clansmen. He didn’t even know whether the other white + man, with the diamonds round his waist, had got safely through, or whether + the hostile tribe beyond the frontier had assegaied him and “eaten + him up,” as the picturesque native phrase goes. It was difficult + enough for even a strong warrior to force his way through that district + with a good company of followers; impossible for a single weak invalid + like Granville, attended only by one poor, ill-armed Namaqua. + </p> + <p> + So the savage seemed to say in his ingenious pantomime. If they went on, + they’d be killed and eaten up resistlessly. If they stopped they + might pull through. They must wait and camp there. For what they were to + wait, Granville hadn’t the faintest conception. But the Namaqua + insisted upon it, and Granville was helpless as a child in his hands. The + man was alarmed, apparently, for his promised reward. If Granville + insisted, he showed in very frank dumb show, why—a thrust with the + assegai explained the rest most persuasively. Granville still had his + revolver, to be sure, and a few rounds of ball cartridge. But he was too + weak to show fight; the savage overmastered him. + </p> + <p> + They were seated on a stony ridge or sharp hog’s back, overlooking + the valley of a dry summer stream. The watershed on which they sat + separated, with its chine of rugged rocks, the territory of the two rival + tribes. But the Namaqua was evidently very little afraid that the enemy + might transgress the boundaries of his fellow-tribesmen. He dared not + himself go beyond the jagged crest of the ridge; but he seemed to think it + pretty certain the people of the other tribe wouldn’t, for their + part, in turn come across to molest him. He sat down there doggedly, as if + expecting something or other to turn up in the course of time; and more + than once he made signs to Granville which the Englishman interpreted to + mean that after so many days and nights from some previous event + unspecified, somebody would arrive on the track from the coast at the + point of junction between the hostile races. + </p> + <p> + Granville was gazing at the Namaqua in the vain attempt to interpret these + signs more fully to himself, when, all of a sudden, an unexpected noise in + the valley below attracted his attention. He pricked up his ears, + Impossible! Incredible! It couldn’t be—yes, it was—the + sharp hiss of firearms! + </p> + <p> + At the very same moment the Namaqua leapt to his feet in sudden alarm, + and, shading his eyes with his dusky hand, gazed intently in front of him. + For a minute or so he stood still, with brows knit and neck craning. Then + he called out something in an excited tone two or three times over in his + own tongue to Granville. The Englishman stared in the same direction, but + could make out nothing definite just at first, in the full glare of the + sunlight. But the Namaqua, with a cry of joy, held up his two fingers as + before, to symbolize the two white men, and pointed with one of them to + his guest, while with the other he indicated some object in the valley, + nodding many times over. Granville seized his meaning at once. Could it be + true, what he said in this strange mute language? Could relief be at hand? + Could the firing beneath show that Guy was returning? + </p> + <p> + As he looked and strained his eyes, peering down upon the red plain, under + the shadow of his open palm, the objects by the water-course grew + gradually clearer. Granville could make out now that a party of natives, + armed with spears and matchlocks, was attacking some little encampment on + the bank of the dry torrent. The small force in the encampment was + returning the fire with great vigour and spirit, though apparently + over-powered by the superior numbers of their swarming assailants. Even as + Granville looked, their case grew more desperate. A whole horde of black + men seemed to be making an onset on some small white object, most + jealously guarded, round which the defenders of the camp rallied with + infinite energy. At the head of the little band of strangers, a European + in a pith helmet was directing the fire, and fighting hard himself for the + precious white object. The rest were blacks, he thought, in half-civilized + costume. Granville’s heart gave a bound as the leader sprang forth + upon one approaching savage. His action, as he leapt, stamped the man at + once. There was Kelmscott in the leap. Granville knew in a second it was + indeed Guy Waring. + </p> + <p> + The Namaqua recognised him too, and pointed enthusiastically forward. + Granville saw what he meant. To the front! To the front! If there was + fighting to be done, let them help their friends. Let them go forward and + claim the great reward offered. + </p> + <p> + Next moment, with a painful thrill of shame and remorse, the Englishman + saw what was the nature of the object they were so jealously guarding. His + heart stood still within him. It was a sort of sedan chair, or invalid + litter, borne on poles by four native porters. Talk about coals of fire! + Granville Kelmscott hardly knew how to forgive himself for his unworthy + distrust. Then Guy must have reached the coast in safety, after leaving + him in charge of the Namaqua and fighting his way through, and now he was + on his way back to the interior again, with a sufficient escort and a + palanquin to fetch him. + </p> + <p> + Even as he looked, the assailants closed in more fiercely than ever on the + faltering little band. One of them thrust out with an assegai at Guy. In + an agony of horror, Granville cried aloud where he stood. Surely, surely, + they must be crushed to earth. No arms of precision could ever avail them + against such a swarm of assailants, poured forth over their camp as if + from some human ant-hill. + </p> + <p> + “Let us run!” the sick man cried to the Namaqua, pointing to + the fight below; and the Namaqua, comprehending the gesture, if not the + words, set forward to run with him down the slope into the valley. + </p> + <p> + At about a hundred yards off from the crowd, Granville, crouched behind a + clump of thorny acacia, and, signalling to the Namaqua to hide at the same + time, drew his revolver and fired point-blank at the hindmost natives. + </p> + <p> + The effect was electrical. In a moment the savages turned and gazed around + them astonished. One of their number was hit and wounded in the leg. + Granville had aimed so purposely, to maim and terrify them. The natives + faltered and fell back. As they did so, Granville emerged from the shelter + of the acacia bush, and fired a second shot from another point at them. At + the same instant the Namaqua raised a loud native battle-cry, and + brandished his assegai. The effect was electrical. The hostile tribe broke + up in wild panic at once. They cried in their own tongue that the Namaquas + were down upon them, under English guidance: and, quick as lightning, they + dispersed as if by magic, to hide themselves about in the thick bush + jungle. + </p> + <p> + Two seconds later, Guy was wringing Granville’s hand in a fervour of + gratitude. Each man had saved the other’s life. In the rapid + interchange of question and answer that followed, one point alone puzzled + them both for a minute or two. + </p> + <p> + “But why on earth didn’t you leave a line to explain what you’d + done?” Granville cried, now thoroughly ashamed of his unbelief, + “If only I’d known, you were coming back to the village it + would have saved me so much distress, so much sleepless misery.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, so I did,” Guy answered, still thoroughly out of breath, + and stained with blood and powder. “I tore a leaf from my note-book + and gave it to the Namaqua, explaining to him by signs that he was to let + you have it at once, the moment you were conscious. Here, you, sir,” + he went on, turning round to their faithful black ally, and holding up the + note-book before his eyes to refresh his memory, “why didn’t + you give it to the gentleman as I told you?” + </p> + <p> + The Namaqua, catching hastily at the meaning from the mere tone of the + question, as well as from Guy’s instinctive and graphic imitation of + the act of writing, pulled out from his waistband the last relics of a + very brown and tattered fragment of paper, on which were still legible in + pencil the half-obliterated words: “My dear Granville,—I find + there is no chance of conveying you to the coast through the territory of + the next tribe in your present condition, unless—-” + </p> + <p> + The rest was torn off. Guy looked at it dubiously. But the Namaqua, + anxious to show he had followed out all instructions to the very letter, + tore off the next scrap before their eyes, rolled it up between his palms + into a nice greasy pill, and proceeded to offer it for Granville’s + acceptance. The misapprehension was too absurd. Guy went off into a hearty + peal of laughter at once. The Namaqua had taken the mysterious signs for + “a very great medicine,” and had administered the magical + paper accordingly, as he understood himself to be instructed, at fixed + intervals to his unfortunate patient. That was the medicine Granville + remembered having forced down his throat at the moment when he first + learned, as he thought, his half-brother’s treachery. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. — NEWS FROM THE CAPE. + </h2> + <p> + At the Holkers’ at Chetwood, one evening some days later, Cyril + Waring met Elma Clifford once more, the first time for months, and had + twenty minutes’ talk in the tea-room alone with her. Contrary to his + rule, he had gone to the Holkers’ party that night, for a man can’t + remain a recluse all his life, no matter how hard he tries, merely because + his brother’s suspected of having committed a murder. In course of + time, the attitude palls upon him. For the first year after Guy’s + sudden and mysterious disappearance, indeed, Cyril refused all invitations + point-blank, except from the most intimate friends; the shame and disgrace + of that terrible episode weighed him down so heavily that he couldn’t + bear to go out in the world among unsympathetic strangers. + </p> + <p> + But the deepest sorrow wears away by degrees, and at the end of twelve + months Cyril found he could mix a little more unreservedly at last among + his fellow-men. The hang-dog air sat ill upon his frank, free nature. This + invitation to the Holkers’, too, had one special attraction: he knew + it was a house where he was almost certain of meeting Elma. And since Elma + insisted now on writing to him constantly—she was a self-willed + young woman was Elma, and would have her way—he really saw no reason + on earth himself why he shouldn’t meet her. To meet is one thing, + don’t you know—to marry, another. At least so fifty + generations of young people have deluded themselves under similar + circumstances into believing. + </p> + <p> + Elma was in the room before him, prettier than ever, people said, in the + pale red ball-dress which exactly suited her gipsy-like eyes and creamy + complexion. As she entered she saw Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve with his wife + and Gwendoline standing in the corner by the big piano. Gwendoline looked + pale and preoccupied, as she had always looked since Granville Kelmscott + disappeared, leaving behind him no more definite address for love-letters + than simply Africa; and Lady Gildersleeve was, as usual, quite subdued and + broken. But the judge himself, consoled by his new honours, seemed, as + time wore on, to have recovered a trifle of his old blustering manner. A + knighthood had reassured him. He was talking to Mr. Holker in a loud voice + as Elma approached him from behind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a very curious coincidence,” he was just saying, in his + noisy fashion, with one big burly hand held demonstratively before him. + “A very curious and unexplained coincidence. They both vanished into + space about the self-same time. And nothing more has ever since been heard + of them. Quite an Arabian Nights’ affair in its way—the + Enchanted Carpet sort of business, don’t you know—wafted + through the air unawares, like Sinbad the Sailor, or the One-eyed + Calender, from London to Bagdad, or Timbuctoo or St. Petersburg. The OTHER + young man one understands about, of course; HE had sufficient reasons of + his own, no doubt, for leaving a country which had grown too warm for him. + But that Granville Kelmscott, a gentleman of means, the heir to such a + fine estate as Tilgate, should disappear into infinity leaving no trace + behind, like a lost comet—and at the very moment, too, when he was + just about to come into the family property—why, I call it... I call + it... I call it—” + </p> + <p> + His jaw dropped suddenly. He grew deadly pale. Words failed his stammering + tongue. Do what he would, he couldn’t finish his sentence. And yet, + nothing very serious had occurred to him in any way. It was merely that, + as he uttered these words, he caught Elma Clifford’s eye, and saw + lurking in it a certain gleam of deadly contempt before which the big + blustering man himself had quailed more than once in many a Surrey + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + For Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve knew, as well as if she had told him the + truth in so many words, that Elma Clifford suspected him of being Montague + Nevitt’s murderer. + </p> + <p> + Elma came forward, just to break the awkward pause, and shook hands with + the party by the piano coldly. Sir Gilbert tried to avoid her; but, with + the inherited instinct of her race, Elma cut off his retreat. She boxed + him in the corner between the piano and the wall. + </p> + <p> + “I heard what you were saying just now, Sir Gilbert,” she + murmured low, but with marked emphasis, after a few polite commonplaces of + conversation had first passed between them; “and I want to ask you + one question only about the matter. ARE you so sure as you seem of what + you said this minute? Are you so sure that Mr. Guy Waring HAD sufficient + reasons of his own for wishing to leave the country?” + </p> + <p> + Before that unflinching eye, the great lawyer trembled, as many a witness + had trembled of old under his own cross-examination. But he tried to pass + it off just at first with a little society banter. He bowed, and smiled, + and pretended to look arch—look arch, indeed, with that ashen, white + face of his!—as he answered, with forced humour— + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady, Mr. Guy Waring, as I understand, is Mr. Cyril + Waring’s brother, and as by the law of England the king can do no + wrong, so I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + Elma cut him short in the middle of his sentence with an imperious + gesture. He had never cut short an obnoxious and intruding barrister + himself with more crushing dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cyril Waring has nothing at all to do with the point, one way + or the other,” the girl said severely. “Attend to my question. + What I ask is this: Why do you, a judge who may one day be called upon to + try the case, venture to say, on such partial evidence, that Mr. Guy + Waring had sufficient reasons of his own for leaving the country?” + </p> + <p> + Called upon to try Guy Waring’s case! The judge paused abashed. He + was very much afraid of her. This girl had such a strange look about the + eyes, she made him tremble. People said the Ewes women were the + descendants of a witch. And there was something truly witch-like in the + way Elma Clifford looked straight down into his eyes. She seemed to see + into his very soul. He knew she suspected him. + </p> + <p> + He shuffled and temporized. “Well, everybody says so, you know,” + he answered, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. “And what everybody + says MUST be true. ... Besides, if HE, didn’t do it, who did, I + wonder?” + </p> + <p> + Elma pounced upon her opportunity with a woman’s quickness. “Somebody + else who was at Mambury that day, no doubt,” she replied, with a + meaning look. “It MUST have been somebody out of the few who were at + Mambury.” + </p> + <p> + That home-thrust told. The judge’s colour was livid to look upon. + What could this girl mean? How on earth could she know? How had she even + found out he was at Mambury at all? A terrible doubt oppressed his soul. + Had Gwendoline confided his movements to Elma? He had warned his daughter + time and again not to mention the fact, “for fear of + misapprehension,” he said, with shuffling eyes askance. It was + better nobody should know he had been anywhere near Dartmoor on the day of + the accident. + </p> + <p> + However, there was one consolation; the law! the law! She could have no + legal proof, and intuition goes for nothing in a court of justice. All the + suspicion went against Guy Waring, and Guy Waring—well, Guy Waring + had fled the kingdom in the very nick of time, and was skulking now, + Heaven alone knew where or why, in the remotest depths of some far African + diggings. + </p> + <p> + And even as he thought it, the servant opened the door, and, in the + regulation footman’s voice, announced “Mr. Waring.” + </p> + <p> + The judge started afresh. For one moment his senses deceived him sadly. + His mind was naturally full of Guy, just now; and as the servant spoke, he + saw a handsome young man in evening dress coming up the long drawing-room + with the very air and walk of the man he had met that eventful afternoon + at the “Duke of Devonshire” at Plymouth. Of course, it was + only Cyril; and a minute later the judge saw his mistake, and remembered, + with a bitter smile, how conscience makes cowards of us all, as he had + often remarked about shaky witnesses in his admirable perorations. But + Elma hadn’t failed to notice either the start or its reason. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only Mr. Cyril,” she said pointedly; “not + Mr. Guy, Sir Gilbert. The name came very pat, though. I don’t wonder + it startled you.” + </p> + <p> + She was crimson herself. The judge moved away with a stealthy + uncomfortable air. He didn’t half care for this uncanny young woman. + A girl who can read people’s thoughts like that, a girl who can play + with you like a cat with a mouse, oughtn’t to be allowed at large in + society. She should be shut up in a cage at home like a dangerous animal, + and prevented from spying out the inmost history of families. + </p> + <p> + A little later, Elma had twenty minutes’ talk with Cyril alone. It + was in the tea-room behind, where the light refreshments were laid out + before supper. She spoke low and seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Cyril,” she said, in a tone of absolute confidence—they + were not engaged, of course, but still, it had got to plain “Cyril” + and “Elma” by this time—“I’m surer of it + than ever, no matter what you say. Guy’s perfectly innocent. I know + it as certainly as I know my own name. I can’t be mistaken. And the + man who really did it is, as I told you, Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” Cyril answered—you call the girl you + are in love with “my dear child,” when you mean to differ from + her, with an air of masculine superiority—“how on earth can + that be, when, as I told you, I have Guy’s confession in writing, + under his own very hand, that he really did it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care a pin for that,” Elma cried, with a true + woman’s contempt for anything so unimportant as mere positive + evidence. “Perhaps Sir Gilbert made him do it somehow—compelled + him, or coerced him, or willed him, or something—I don’t + understand these new notions—or perhaps he got him into a scrape and + then hadn’t the courage or the manliness to get him out of it. But + at any rate, I can answer for one thing, I were to go to the stake for it—Sir + Gilbert Gildersleeve is the man who’s really guilty.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, a great shadow darkened the door of the room for a moment + ominously. Sir Gilbert looked in with a lady on his arm—the + inevitable dowager who refreshes herself continuously at frequent + intervals through six hours of entertainment. When he saw those two + tête-à-tête, he drew back, somewhat disconcerted. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let’s go in there, Lady Knowles,” he + whispered to the dowager by his side. “A pair of young people + discussing their hearts. We were once young ourselves. It’s a pity + to disturb them.” + </p> + <p> + And he passed on across the hall towards the great refreshment-room + opposite. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” Cyril said bitterly, as the judge + disappeared through the opposite door. “I wish I could agree with + you. But I can’t, I can’t. The burden of it’s heavier + than my shoulders can bear. Guy’s weak, I know, and might be led + half unawares into certain sorts of crime; yet I only knew one man ever + likely to lead him—and that was poor Nevitt himself, not Sir Gilbert + Gildersleeve, whom he hardly even knew to speak to.” + </p> + <p> + As he paused and reflected, a servant with a salver came up and looked + into Cyril’s face inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Beg your pardon, sir,” he said, hesitating, “but I + think you’re Mr. Waring.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s my name,” Cyril answered, with a faint blush on + his cheek. “Do you want to speak to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; there’s half-a-crown to pay for porterage, if you + please. A telegram for you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril pulled out the half-a-crown, and tore open the telegram. Its + contents were indeed enough to startle him. It was dated “Cape Town,” + and was as brief as is the wont of cable messages at nine shillings a word— + </p> + <p> + “Coming home immediately to repay everything and stand my trial. + Kelmscott accompanies me. All well.—GUY WARING.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril looked at it with a gasp, and handed it on to Elma. Elma took it in + her dainty gloved fingers, and read it through with keen eyes of absorbing + interest. Cyril sighed a profound sigh. Elma glanced back at him all + triumph. “I told you so,” she said, in a very jubilant voice. + “He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t KNOW he was innocent.” + </p> + <p> + At the very same second, a blustering voice was heard above the murmur in + the hall without. + </p> + <p> + “What, half-a-crown for porterage!” it exclaimed in indignant + tones. “Why, that’s a clear imposition. The people at my house + ought never to have sent it on. It’s addressed to Woodlands. + Unimportant, unimportant! Here, Gwendoline, take your message—some + milliner’s or dressmaker’s appointment for to-morrow, I + suppose. Half-a-crown for porterage! They’d no right to bring it.” + </p> + <p> + Gwendoline took the telegram with trembling hands, tore it open all + quivers, and broke into a cry of astonishment. Then she fell all at once + into her father’s arms. Elma understood it all. It was a similar + message from Granville Kelmscott to tell the lady of his heart he was + coming home to marry her. + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert, somewhat flustered, called for water in haste, and revived + the fainting girl by bathing her temples. At last he took up the cause of + the mischief himself. As he read it his own face turned white as death. + Elma noticed that, too. And no wonder it did—for these were the + words of that unexpected message— + </p> + <p> + “Coming home to claim you by the next mail. Guy Waring accompanies + me.—GRANVILLE KELMSCOTT.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. — A GLEAM OF LIGHT. + </h2> + <p> + Next day but one, the Companion of St. Michael and St. George came in to + Craighton with evil tidings. He had heard in the village that Sir Gilbert + Gildersleeve was ill—very seriously ill. The judge had come home + from the Holkers’ the other evening much upset by the arrival of + Gwendoline’s telegram. + </p> + <p> + “Though why on earth should that upset him,” Mr. Clifford + continued, screwing up his small face with a very wise air, “is more + than I can conceive; for I’m sure the Gildersleeves angled hard + enough in their time to catch young Kelmscott, by hook or by crook, for + their gawky daughter; and now that young Kelmscott telegraphs over to say + he’s coming home post haste to marry her, Miss Gwendoline faints + away, if you please, as she reads the news, and the judge himself goes + upstairs as soon as he gets home, and takes to his bed incontinently. But + there, the ways of the world are really inscrutable! What reconciles me to + life, every day I grow older, is that it’s so amusing—so + intensely amusing! You never know what’s going to turn up next; and + what you least expect is what most often happens.” + </p> + <p> + Elma, however, received his news with a very grave face. + </p> + <p> + “Is he really ill, do you think, papa?” she asked, somewhat + anxiously; “or is he only—well—only frightened?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Clifford stared at her with a blank leathery face of self-satisfied + incomprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Frightened!” he repeated solemnly; “Sir Gilbert + Gildersleeve frightened! And of Granville Kelmscott, too! That’s + true wit, Elma; the juxtaposition of the incongruous. Why, what on earth + has the man got to be frightened of, I should like to know? ... No, no; he’s + really ill; very seriously ill. Humphreys says the case is a most peculiar + one, and he’s telegraphed up to town for a specialist to come down + this afternoon and consult with him.” + </p> + <p> + And indeed, Sir Gilbert was really very ill. This unexpected shock had + wholly unmanned him. To say the truth, the judge had begun to look upon + Guy Waring as practically lost, and upon the matter of Montague Nevitt’s + death as closed for ever. Waring, no doubt, had gone to Africa—under + a false name—and proceeded to the diamond fields direct, where he + had probably been killed in a lucky quarrel with some brother digger, or + stuck through with an assegai by some enterprising Zulu; and nobody had + even taken the trouble to mention it. + </p> + <p> + It’s so easy for a man to get lost in the crowd in the Dark + Continent! Why, there was Granville Kelmscott, even—a young fellow + of means, and the heir of Tilgate, about whom Gwendoline was always + moaning and groaning, poor girl, and wouldn’t be comforted—there + was Granville Kelmscott gone out to Africa, and, hi, presto, disappeared + into space without a vapour or a trace, like a conjurer’s shilling. + It was all very queer; but, then, queer things are the way in Africa. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, Sir Gilbert had his qualms of conscience, too, over having + thus sent off Guy Waring, as he believed, to his grave in Cape Colony. He + was not at heart a bad man, though he was pushing, and selfish, and + self-seeking, and to a certain extent even—of late—unscrupulous. + He had his bad half-hours every now and again with his own moral + consciousness. But he had learnt to stifle his doubts and to keep down his + terrors. After all, he had told Guy no more than the truth; and if Guy in + his panic-terror chose to run away and get killed in South Africa, that + was no fault of HIS—he’d only tried to warn the fellow of an + impending danger. All’s well that ends well; and, to-day, Guy Waring + was lost or dead, while he himself was a judge, and a knight to boot, with + all trace of his crime destroyed for ever. + </p> + <p> + So he said to himself, rejoicing, the very day Granville Kelmscott’s + telegram arrived. But now that he stood face to face again with that + pressing terror, his thoughts on the matter were very different. Strange + to say, his first idea was this: what a disgraceful shame of that fellow + Waring to come to life again thus suddenly on purpose to annoy him! He was + really angry, nay, more, indignant. Such shuffling was inexcusable. If + Waring meant to give himself up and stand his trial like a man, why the + dickens didn’t he do it immediately after the—well, the + accident? What did he mean by going off for eighteen months undiscovered, + and leaving one to build up fresh plans in life, like this—and then + coming home on a sudden just on purpose to upset them? It was simply + disgraceful. Sir Gilbert felt injured; this man Waring was wronging him. + Eighteen months before he was keenly aware that he was unjustly casting a + vile and hideous suspicion on an innocent person. But in the intervening + period his moral sense had got largely blunted. Familiarity with the + hateful plot had warped his ideas about it. Their places were reversed. + Sir Gilbert was really aggrieved now that Guy Waring should turn up again, + and should venture to vindicate his deeply-wronged character. + </p> + <p> + The man was as good as dead. Well, and he ought to have stopped so; or + else he ought never to have died at all. He ought to have kept himself + continually in evidence. But to go away for eighteen months, unknown and + unheard of, till one’s sense of security had had time to + re-establish itself, and then to turn up again like this without one + minute’s warning—oh, it was infamous, scandalous. The fellow + must be devoid of all consideration for others. Sir Gilbert wiped his + clammy brow with those ample hands. What on earth was he to do for his + wife, and for Gwendoline? + </p> + <p> + And Gwendoline was so happy, too, over Granville Kelmscott’s return! + How could he endure that Granville Kelmscott’s return should be the + signal for discovering her father’s sin and shame to her! If only he + could have married her off before it all came out! Or if only he could die + before the man was tried!—Tried! Sir Gilbert’s eyes started + from his head with horror. What was that Elma Clifford suggested the other + night? Why—if the man was arrested, he would be arrested at + Plymouth, the moment he landed, and would be tried for murder at the + Western Assizes. And it was he himself, Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve, who was + that term to take the Western Circuit. + </p> + <p> + He would be called upon to sit on the bench himself, and try Guy Waring + for the murder he had himself committed! + </p> + <p> + No wonder that thought sent him ill to bed at once. He lay and tossed all + night long in speechless agony and terror. It was an appalling night. Next + morning he was found delirious with fever. + </p> + <p> + When the news reached Elma, she saw its full and fatal significance. Cyril + had stopped on for three days at the Holkers’, and he came over in + the course of the morning to take a walk across the fields with her. Elma + was profoundly excited, Cyril could hardly see why. + </p> + <p> + “This is a terrible thing,” she said, “about Sir Gilbert’s + illness. What I’m afraid of now is that he may die before your + brother returns. The shock must have been awful for him; mamma noticed it + every bit as much as I did; and so did Miss Ewes. They both said at once, + ‘This blow will kill him!’ And they both knew why, Cyril, as + well as I did. It’s the Ewes’ intuition. We’ve all of us + got it, and we all of us say, at once and unanimously—it was Sir + Gilbert Gildersleeve.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose he DID die,” Cyril asked, still sceptical, as he + always was when Elma got upon her instinctive consciousness; “what + difference would that make? If Guy’s innocent, as I suppose in some + way he must be, from the tone of his telegram, he’ll be acquitted + whether Sir Gilbert’s alive or not. And if he’s guilty—” + </p> + <p> + He broke off suddenly with an awful pause; the other alternative was too + terrible to contemplate. + </p> + <p> + “But he’s NOT guilty,” Elma answered with confidence. + “I know it more surely now than ever. And the difficulty’s + this. Nobody knows the real truth, I feel certain, except Sir Gilbert + Gildersleeve. And if Sir Gilbert dies unconfessed, the truth dies with + him. And then—” She paused a moment. “I’m half + afraid,” she went on with a doubtful sigh, “your brother’s + been too precipitate in coming home to face it.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Elma,” Cyril cried, “I can’t bear to say it—yet + one must face the facts—how on earth can he be innocent, when I tell + you again and again he wrote to me himself saying he really did it?” + </p> + <p> + “You never showed me that letter,” Elma answered, with a faint + undercurrent of reproach in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “How could I?” Cyril replied. “Even to YOU, Elma, there + are some things a man can hardly bear to speak about.” + </p> + <p> + “I have more faith than you, Cyril,” Elma answered. “I’ve + never given up believing in Guy all the time. I believe in him still—because + I know he’s your brother.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short pause, during which neither spoke. They walked along + together, looking at each other’s faces with half downcast eyes, but + with the not unpleasant sense of mute companionship and sympathy in a + great sorrow. At last Elma spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “There was one thing in Guy’s telegram,” she said, + “I didn’t quite understand. ‘Coming home immediately to + repay everything.’ What did he mean by that? What has that got to do + with Mr. Nevitt’s disappearance?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that was quite another matter,” Cyril answered, blushing + deep with shame, for he couldn’t bear to let Elma know Guy was a + forger as well as a murderer. “That was something purely personal + between us two. He—he owed me money.” + </p> + <p> + Elma’s keen eyes read him through at a glance. + </p> + <p> + “But he said it all in one sentence,” she objected, “as + if the two went naturally together. Coming home immediately to repay + everything and stand my trial. Cyril, Cyril, you’ve held something + back. I believe there’s some fearful mistake here somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” Cyril answered, feeling more and more + uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure of it,” Elma replied, with a thrill, reading + his thoughts still deeper. “Oh, Cyril”—she seized his + arm with a convulsive grip—“for Heaven’s sake, go and + get it; let me see that letter!” + </p> + <p> + “I have it here,” Cyril answered, pulling it out with some + shame from Montague Nevitt’s pocket-book, which he wouldn’t + destroy, and dared not leave about for prying eyes to light upon. “I’ve + carried it day and night, ever since, about with me.” + </p> + <p> + Elma seized it from his hands, and sat down upon a stile, and read it + through with profound attention. + </p> + <p> + At the end she handed it back and tears stood in her eyes. “Cyril,” + she said, half laughing hysterically and half crying as she spoke, “you’ve + been doing that poor fellow a deep injustice. Oh, don’t you see—don’t + you see it? That isn’t the letter of a man who has committed a + murder. It’s the letter of a man who has unwittingly and unwillingly + done you some personal wrong, and is eager to repair it. My darling, my + darling, you’ve misread it altogether. It isn’t about Montague + Nevitt’s death at all; it’s about nothing an earth but some + private money matter. More than that, when it was written, Guy didn’t + yet know Mr. Nevitt was dead. He didn’t know he was suspected. He + didn’t know anything. I wonder you don’t see! I wish to Heaven + you’d shown me that letter months ago! Sir Gilbert fastened + suspicion on the wrong man; and this letter has made you accept it too + easily. Guy went to Africa—that’s as plain as words can put it—to + make money of his own to repay what he owed you. And it’s this, the + purely personal and unimportant charge, he’s coming home to give + himself up upon.” + </p> + <p> + A light seemed to burst on Cyril’s mind as she spoke. For the very + first time, he felt a gleam of hope. Elma was right, after all, he + believed. Guy was wholly innocent of the greater crime; and his + heart-broken letter had only meant to deal with the question of the + forgery. + </p> + <p> + But Cyril had heard of the murder first, and had had that most in his mind + when the letter reached him; so he interpreted it at once as referring to + the capital charge, and never dreamt for a moment of its real narrower + meaning. + </p> + <p> + That evening, when the messenger came back from “kind inquiries” + at Woodlands, Elma asked, with hushed awe, how Sir Gilbert was going on. + </p> + <p> + “Very poorly, miss,” the servant answered. “The doctor + says he’s sunk dreadful low; and the butler thinks he has something + on his mind he can’t get out in his wanderings. He’s in a + terrible bad way. They wouldn’t be astonished if he don’t live + to morning.” + </p> + <p> + So Elma went to bed that night trembling most for the result of Sir + Gilbert’s illness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. — THE BOLT FALLS. + </h2> + <p> + All the way home on that long journey from Cape Town, as the two + half-brothers lounged on deck together in their canvas chairs, Granville + Kelmscott was wholly at a loss to understand what seemed to him Guy Waring’s + unaccountable and almost incredible levity. The man’s conduct didn’t + in the least resemble that of a person who is returning to give himself up + on a charge of wilful murder. On the contrary, Guy showed no signs of + remorse or mental agony in any way; he seemed rather elated, instead, at + the pleasing thought that he was going home, with his diamonds all turned + at the Cape into solid coin, to make his peace once more with his brother + Cyril. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, at times he did casually allude to some expected + unpleasantness when he arrived in England; yet he treated it, Granville + noticed, as though hanging were at worst but a temporary inconvenience. + Granville wondered whether, after all, he could have some complete and + crushing answer to that appalling charge; on any other supposition, his + spirits and his talk were really little short of what one might expect + from a madman. + </p> + <p> + And indeed, now and again, Granville did really begin to suspect that + something had gone wrong somewhere with Guy Waring’s intellect. The + more he thought over it, the more likely did this seem, for Guy talked on + with the greatest composure about his plans for the future “when + this difficulty was cleared up,” as though a trial for murder were a + most ordinary occurrence—an accident that might happen to any + gentleman any day. And, if so, was it possible that Guy had gone wrong in + his head BEFORE the affray with Montague Nevitt? That seemed likely + enough; for when Granville remembered Guy’s invariable gentleness + and kindness to himself, his devotion in sickness and in the trials of the + desert, his obvious aversion to do harm to any one, and, above all, his + heartfelt objection to shedding human blood, Granville was constrained to + believe his newly found half-brother, if ever he committed the murder at + all, must have committed it while in a state of unsound mind, deserving + rather of pity than of moral reprehension. He comforted himself, indeed, + with this consoling idea—he could never believe a Kelmscott of + Tilgate, when clothed and in his right mind, could be guilty of such a + detestable and motiveless crime as the wilful murder of Montague Nevitt. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough, moreover, the subject that seemed most to occupy Guy + Waring’s mind, on the voyage home, was not his forthcoming trial on + a capital charge, but the future distribution of the Tilgate property. Was + he essentially a money-grubber, Granville wondered to himself, as he had + thought him at first in the diamond fields in Barolong land? Was he + incapable of thinking about anything but filthy lucre? No; that was + clearly not the true solution of the problem, for, whenever Guy spoke to + him about the subject, it was generally to say one and the self-same thing— + </p> + <p> + “In this matter, I feel I can speak for Cyril as I speak for myself. + Neither of us would wish to deprive you now of what you’ve always + been brought up to consider as your own. Neither of us would wish to + dispossess Lady Emily. The most we would desire is this—to have our + position openly acknowledged and settled before the world. We should like + it to be known we were the lawful sons of a brave man and an honest woman. + And if you wish voluntarily to share with us some part of our father’s + estate, we’ll be willing to enter into a reasonable arrangement by + which yon yourself can retain Tilgate Park and the mass of the property + that immediately appertains to it. I’m sure Cyril would no more wish + to be grasping in this matter than I am; and after all that you and I have + gone through together, Granville, I don’t think yon need doubt the + sincerity of my feelings towards you.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke so sensibly, he spoke so manfully, he spoke so kindly always, + with a bright gleam in those tender eyes, that Granville hardly knew what + to make of his evident confidence. Surely a man couldn’t be mad who + could speak like that; and yet, whenever he alluded in any way to his + return to England, it was always as though he ignored the gravity and + heinousness of the charge brought against him. It was as though murder was + an accident, for which one was hardly responsible. Granville couldn’t + make him out at all; the fellow was an enigma to him. There was so much + that was good in him; and yet, there must be so much that was bad as well. + He was such a delicate, considerate, self-effacing gentleman—and + yet, if one could believe what he himself more than once as good as + admitted, he was a criminal, a felon, an open murderer. + </p> + <p> + Still, even so, Granville couldn’t turn his back upon the brother + who had seen him so bravely across the terrors of Namaqua land. He thought + of how he had misjudged him once before, and how much he had repented it. + Whether Guy was a murderer or not, Granville felt, the man he had saved, + at least, could never forsake him. + </p> + <p> + The night before their arrival at Plymouth, Guy was in unusually high + spirits. His mirth was contagious. Everybody on board was delighted at the + prospect of reaching land, but Guy was more delighted and more sanguine + than anybody. He was sure in his own mind this difficulty must have blown + over long before now; Cyril must have explained; Nevitt must have + confessed; everything must have been set right, and his own good name + satisfactorily rehabilitated. For more than eighteen months he had heard + nothing from England. To-morrow he would see Cyril, and account for + everything. He had money to set all right—his hard-earned money, got + at the risk of his own life in the dreary deserts of Barolong land. All + would yet be well, and Cyril would marry, and Elma Clifford would be the + mistress of nearly half the Tilgate property. + </p> + <p> + “It was all so different, Granville,” he said to his friend + confidentially, as they paced the deck after supper, cigar in mouth, + “when you first went out, and we didn’t know one another. + Then, I distrusted you, and you distrusted me. We didn’t understand + one another’s characters. But now we can settle it all as a family + affair. Men who have camped out together under the open sky on the African + veldt, who have run the gauntlet of Korannas and Barolong and Namaqua, who + have stood by one another in sickness and in fight, needn’t be + afraid of disagreeing about their money matters in England. Cyril will + meet us to-morrow and talk it all over, and I’m not the least + troubled about the result, either for you or for him. The same blood runs + in all our veins alike. Whatever you propose, he’ll be ready to + agree to. He’s the very best fellow that ever lived, and when he + hears what I have to say about you, he’ll welcome you as a brother, + and be as fond of you as I am.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning early they reached Plymouth Harbour. As they entered the + mouth of the breakwater, the tender came alongside to convey them ashore. + Guy looked over the bulwarks and saw Cyril waiting for him. In a fervour + of delight at the sight of the green fields and the soft hills of old + England—the beautiful Hoe, and the solid stone houses, and the + familiar face turned up to welcome him—Guy waved his handkerchief + round and round his head in triumph; to which demonstration Cyril, as he + fancied, responded but coldly. A chill fell upon his heart. This was bad, + but still, after all, he could hardly expect Cyril to know intuitively + under what sinister influence he had signed that fatal cheque. And yet he + was disappointed. His heart had jumped so hard at sight of Cyril, he could + hardly believe Cyril wasn’t glad to see him. + </p> + <p> + As he stepped into the tender from the gangway, just ready to rush up and + shake Cyril’s hand fervently, a resolute-looking man by the side of + the steps laid a very firm grip on his shoulder with an air of authority. + </p> + <p> + “Guy Waring?” he said interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + And Guy, turning pale, answered without flinching— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my name’s Guy Waring.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’re my prisoner,” the man said, in a very firm + voice. “I’m an inspector of constabulary.” + </p> + <p> + “On what charge?” Guy exclaimed, half taken aback at this + promptitude. + </p> + <p> + “I have a warrant against you, sir,” the inspector answered, + “as you are no doubt aware, for the wilful murder of Montague + Nevitt, on the 17th of August, year before last, at Mambury, in + Devonshire.” + </p> + <p> + The word’s fell upon Guy’s ears with all the suddenness and + crushing force of an unexpected thunderbolt. + </p> + <p> + “Wilful murder,” he cried, taken aback by the charge. “Wilful + murder of Montague Nevitt at Mambury! Oh no, you can’t mean that! + Montague Nevitt dead! Montague Nevitt murdered! And at Mambury, too! There + MUST be some mistake somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there’s no mistake at all, this time,” the + inspector said quietly, slipping a pair of handcuffs unobtrusively into + his pocket as he spoke. “If you come along with me without any + unnecessary noise, we won’t trouble to iron you. But you’d + better say as little as possible about the charge just now, for whatever + you say may be used in evidence at the trial against you.” + </p> + <p> + Guy turned to Cyril with an appealing look. “Cyril,” he, + cried, “what does all this mean? Is Nevitt dead? It’s the very + first word I’ve ever heard about it.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril’s heart gave a bound of wild relief at those words. The moment + Guy said it his brother knew he spoke the simple truth. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Guy,” he answered, with a fierce burst of joy, “then + you’re not a murderer after all? You’re innocent! You’re + innocent! And for eighteen months all England has thought you guilty; and + I’ve lived under the burden of being universally considered a + murderer’s brother!” + </p> + <p> + Guy looked him back in the face with those truthful grey eyes of his. + </p> + <p> + “Cyril,” he said solemnly, “I’m as innocent of + this charge as you or Granville Kelmscott here. I never even heard one + whisper of it before. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know + who they want. Till this moment I thought Montague Nevitt was still alive + in England.” + </p> + <p> + And as he said it, Granville Kelmscott, too, saw he was speaking the + truth. Impossible as he found it in his own mind to reconcile those + strange words with all that Guy had said to him in the wilds of Namaqua + land, he couldn’t look him in the face without seeing at a glance + how profound and unexpected was this sudden surprise to him. He was right + in saying, “I’m as innocent of this charge as you or Granville + Kelmscott.” + </p> + <p> + But the inspector only smiled a cynical smile, and answered calmly— + </p> + <p> + “That’s for the jury to decide. We shall hear more of this + then. You’ll be tried at the assizes. Meanwhile, the less said, the + sooner mended.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. — WHAT JUDGE? + </h2> + <p> + For many days, meanwhile, Sir Gilbert had hovered between life and death, + and Elma had watched his illness daily with profound and absorbing + interest. For in her deep, intuitive way she felt certain to herself that + their one chance now lay in Sir Gilbert’s own sense of remorse and + repentance. She didn’t yet know, to be sure—what Sir Gilbert + himself knew—that if he recovered he would, in all probability, have + to sit in trial on another man for the crime he had himself committed. But + she did feel this,—that Sir Gilbert would surely never stand by and + let an innocent man die for his own transgression. + </p> + <p> + IF he recovered, that was to say. But perhaps he would not recover. + Perhaps his life would flicker out by degrees in the midst of his + delirium, and he would go to his grave unconfessed and unforgiven! Perhaps + even, for his wife’s and daughter’s sake, he would shrink from + revealing what Elma felt to be the truth, and would rest content to die, + leaving Guy Waring to clear himself at the trial, as best he might, from + this hateful accusation. + </p> + <p> + It would be unjust. It would be criminal. Yet Sir Gilbert might do it. + </p> + <p> + Elma had a bad time, therefore, during all those long days, even before + Guy returned to England. She knew his life hung by a slender thread, which + Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve might cut short at any moment. But her anxiety + was as nothing compared to Sir Gilbert’s own. That unhappy man, a + moral coward at heart, in spite of all his blustering, lay writhing in his + own room now, very ill, and longing to be worse, longing to die, as the + easiest way out of this impossible difficulty. For his wife’s sake, + for Gwendoline’s sake, it was better he should die; and if only he + could, he would have left Guy Waring to his fate contentedly. His anger + against Guy burnt so bright now at last that he would have sacrificed him + willingly, provided he was not there himself to see and know it. What did + the man mean by living on to vex him? Over and over again the unhappy + judge wished himself dead, and prayed to be taken. But that powerful + frame, though severely broken by the shock, seemed hardly able to yield up + its life merely because its owner was anxious to part with it. + </p> + <p> + After a fortnight’s severe illness, hovering all the time between + hope and fear, the doctor came one day, and looked at him hard. + </p> + <p> + “How is he?” Lady Gildersleeve asked, seeing him hold his + breath and consider. + </p> + <p> + To her great surprise the doctor answered, “Better; against all + hope, better.” And indeed Sir Gilbert was once more convalescent. A + week or two abroad, it was said, would restore him completely. + </p> + <p> + Then Elma had another terrible source of doubt. Would the doctors order + Sir Gilbert abroad so long that he would be out of England when the trial + took place? If so, he might miss many pricks of remorse. She must take + some active steps to arouse his conscience. + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert, himself, now recovering fast, fought hard, as well he might, + for such leave of absence. He was quite unfit, he said, to return to his + judicial work so soon. Though he had said nothing about it in public + before (this was the tenor of his talk) he was a man of profound but + restrained feelings, and he had felt, he would admit, the absence of + Gwendoline’s lover—especially when combined with the tragic + death of Colonel Kelmscott, the father, and the memory of the + unpleasantness that had once subsisted, through the Colonel’s blind + obstinacy, between the two houses. This sudden news of the young man’s + return had given him a nervous shock of which few would have believed him + capable. “You wouldn’t think to look at me,” Sir Gilbert + said plaintively, smoothing down his bedclothes with those elephantine + hands of his, “I was the sort of man to be knocked down in this way;” + and the great specialist from London, gazing at him with a smile, admitted + to himself that he certainly would not have thought it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nonsense, my dear sir,” the specialist answered, however, + to all his appeals. “This is the merest passing turn, I assure you. + I couldn’t conscientiously say you’d be unfit for duty by the + time the assizes come round again. It’s clear to me, on the + contrary, with a physique like yours, you’ll pull yourself together + in something less than no time with a week or so at Spa. Before you’re + due in England to take up harness again you’ll be walking miles at a + stretch over those heathery hills there. Convalescence, with a man like + you, is a rapid process. In a fortnight from to-day, I’ll venture to + guarantee, you’ll be in a fit condition to swim the Channel on your + back, or to take one of your famous fifty-mile tramps across the bogs of + Dartmoor. I’ll give you a tonic that’ll set your nerves all + right at once. You’ll come back from Spa as fresh as a daisy.” + </p> + <p> + To Spa, accordingly, Sir Gilbert went; and from Spa came trembling letters + now and again between Gwendoline and Elma. Gwendoline was very anxious + papa should get well soon, she said, for she wanted to be home before the + Cape steamer arrived. “You know why, Elma.” But Sir Gilbert + didn’t return before Guy’s arrival in England, for all that. + The papers continued to give bulletins of his health, and to speculate on + the probability of his returning in time to do the Western Circuit. Elma + remained in a fever of doubt and anxiety. To her, much depended now on the + question of Sir Gilbert’s presence or absence. For if he was indeed + to try the case, she felt certain to herself, it must work upon his + remorse and compel confession. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, preparations went on in England for Guy’s approaching + trial. The magistrates committed; the grand jury, of course, found a true + bill; all England rang with the strange news that the man Guy Waring, the + murderer of Mr. Montague Nevitt some eighteen months before, had returned + at last of his own free will, and had given himself up to take his trial. + Gildersleeve was to be the judge, they said; or if he were too ill, + Atkins. Atkins was as sure as a gun to hang him, people thought—that + was Atkins’s way—and, besides, the evidence against the man, + though in a sense circumstantial, was so absolutely overwhelming that + acquittal seemed impossible. + </p> + <p> + Five to two was freely offered on Change that they’d hang him. + </p> + <p> + The case was down for first hearing at the assizes. The night before the + trial Elma Clifford, who had hurried to Devonshire with her mother to see + and hear all—she couldn’t help it, she said; she felt she MUST + be present—Elma Clifford looked at the evening paper with a + sickening sense of suspense and anxiety. A paragraph caught her eye: + “We understand that, after all, Mr. Justice Gildersleeve still finds + himself too unwell to return to England for the Western Assizes, and his + place will, therefore, most probably be taken by Mr. Justice Atkins. The + calendar is a heavy one, and includes the interesting case of Mr. Guy + Waring, charged with the wilful murder of Montague Nevitt, at Mambury, in + Devonshire.” + </p> + <p> + Elma laid down the paper with a swimming head. Too ill to return. She wasn’t + at all surprised at it. It was almost more than human nature could stand, + for a man to sit as judge over another to investigate the details of the + crime he had himself committed. But the suggestion of his absence ruined + her peace of mind. She couldn’t sleep that night. She felt sure now + there was no hope left. Guy would almost certainly be convicted of murder. + </p> + <p> + Next morning she took her seat in court, with her mother and Cyril, as + soon as the assize hall was opened to the public. But her cheek was very + pale, and her eyes were weary. Places had been assigned them by the + courtesy of the authorities, as persons interested in the case; and Elma + looked eagerly towards the door in the corner, by which, as the usher told + her, the judge was to enter. There was a long interval, and the usual + unseemly turmoil of laughing and talking went on among the spectators in + the well below. Some of them had opera-glasses and stared about them + freely. Others quizzed the counsel, the officers, and the witnesses. Then + a hush came over them, and the door opened. Cyril was merely aware of the + usual formalities and of a judicial wig making its way, with slow dignity, + to the vacant bench. But Elma leaned forward in a tumult of feeling. Her + face all at once turned scarlet with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, darling?” her mother asked, in a + sympathetic tone, noticing that something had profoundly stirred her. + </p> + <p> + And Elma answered with bated breath, in almost inarticulate tones, “Don’t + you see? Don’t you see, mother? Just look at the judge! It’s + himself! It’s Sir Gilbert!” + </p> + <p> + And so indeed it was. Against all hope, he had come over. At the very last + moment a telegram had been handed to the convalescent at Spa: + </p> + <p> + “Fallen from my horse. A nasty tumble. Sustained severe internal + injuries. Impossible to go the Western Circuit, Relieve me if you can. + Wire reply,—ATKINS.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert, as he received it, had just come in from a long ride across + the wild moors that stretch away from Spa towards Han, and looked the + picture of health, robust and fresh and ruddy. He glowed with bodily + vigour; no suspense could kill him. Refusal under such circumstances was + clearly impossible. He saw he must go, or resign his post at once. So, + with an agitated heart, he wired acquiescence, took the next train to—Brussels + and Calais, and caught the Dover boat just in time for acceptance. And now + he was there to try Guy Waring for the murder of the man he himself had + killed in The Tangle at Mambury. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. — UNEXPECTED EVIDENCE. + </h2> + <p> + When Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve left Spa, he left with a ruddy glow of + recovered health on his bronzed red cheek; for in spite of anxiety and + repentance and doubt, the man’s iron frame would somehow still + assert itself. When he took his seat on the bench in court that morning, + he looked so haggard and ill with fatigue and remorse that even Elma + Clifford herself pitied him. A hushed whisper ran round among the + spectators below that the judge wasn’t fit to try the case before + him. And indeed he wasn’t. For it was his own trial, not Guy Waring’s, + he was really presiding over. + </p> + <p> + He sat down in his place, a ghastly picture of pallid despair. The red + colour had faded altogether from his wan, white cheeks. His eyes were + dreamy and bloodshot with long vigil. His big hands trembled like a woman’s + as he opened his note-book. His mouth twitched nervously. So utter a + collapse, in such a man as he was, seemed nothing short of pitiable to + every spectator. + </p> + <p> + Counsel for the Crown stared him steadily in the face. Counsel for the + Crown—Forbes-Ewing, Q.C.—was an old forensic enemy, who had + fought many a hard battle against Gildersleeve, with scant interchange of + courtesy, when both were members of the junior Bar together; but now Sir + Gilbert’s look moved even HIM to pity. “I think, my lord,” + the Q.C. suggested with a sympathetic simper, “your lordship’s + too ill to open the court to-day. Perhaps the proceedings had better be + adjourned for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” the judge answered, almost testily, shaking his + sleeve with impatience. “I’ll have no putting off for trifles + in the court where I sit. There’s a capital case to come on this + morning. When a man’s neck’s at stake—when a matter of + life and death’s at issue—I don’t like to keep any one + longer in suspense than I absolutely need. Delay would be cruel.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he lifted his eyes—and caught Elma Clifford’s. The + judge let his own drop again in speechless agony. Elma’s never + flinched. Neither gave a sign; but Elma knew, as, well as Sir Gilbert knew + himself, it was his own life and death the judge was thinking of, and not + Guy Waring’s. + </p> + <p> + “As you will, my lord,” counsel for the Crown responded + demurely. “It was your lordship’s convenience we all had at + heart, rather than the prisoner’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! What’s that?” the judge said sharply, with a + suspicious frown. Then he recovered himself with a start. For a moment he + had half fancied that fellow, Forbes-Ewing, meant SOMETHING by what he + said—meant to poke innuendoes at him. But, after all, it was a mere + polite form. How frightened we all are, to be sure, when we know we’re + on our trial! + </p> + <p> + The opening formalities were soon got over, and then, amid a deep hush of + breathless lips, Guy Waring, of Staple Inn, Holborn, gentleman, was put + upon his trial for the wilful murder of Montague Nevitt, eighteen months + before, at Mambury in Devon. + </p> + <p> + Guy, standing in the dock, looked puzzled and distracted rather than + alarmed or terrified. His cheek was pale, to be sure, and his eyes were + weary; but as Elma glanced from him hastily to the judge on the bench she + had no hesitation in settling in her own mind which of the two looked most + at that moment like a detected murderer before the faces of his accusers. + Guy was calm and self-contained. Sir Gilbert’s mute agony was + terrible to behold. Yet, strange to say, no one else in court save Elma + seemed to note it as she did. People saw the judge was ill, but that was + all. Perhaps his wig and robes helped to hide the effect of conscious + guilt—nobody suspects a judge of murder; perhaps all eyes were more + intent on the prisoner. + </p> + <p> + Be that as it might, counsel for the Crown opened with a statement of what + they meant to prove, set forth in the familiar forensic fashion. They didn’t + pretend the evidence against the accused was absolutely conclusive or + overwhelming in character. It was inferential only, but not circumstantial—inferential + in such a cumulative and convincing way as could leave no moral doubt on + any intelligent mind as to the guilt of the prisoner. They would show that + a close intimacy had long existed between the prisoner Waring and the + deceased gentleman, Mr. Montague Nevitt. Witnesses would be called who + would prove to the court that just before the murder this intimacy, owing + to circumstances which could not fully be cleared up, had passed suddenly + into intense enmity and open hatred. The landlord of the inn at Mambury, + and other persons to be called, would speak to the fact that prisoner had + followed his victim in hot blood into Devonshire, and had tracked him to + the retreat where he was passing his holiday alone and incognito—had + tracked him with every expression of indignant anger, and had uttered + plain threats of personal violence towards him. + </p> + <p> + Nor was that all. It would be shown that on the afternoon of Waring’s + visit to Mambury, Mr. Nevitt, who possessed an intense love of nature in + her wildest and most romantic moods—it’s always counsel’s + cue, for the prosecution, to set the victim’s character in the most + amiable light, and so win the sympathy of the jury as against the accused—Mr. + Nevitt, that close student of natural beauty, had strolled by himself down + a certain woodland path, known as The Tangle, which led through the + loneliest and leafiest quarter of Mambury Chase, along the tumbling stream + described as the Mam-water. Ten minutes after he had passed the gate, a + material witness would show them, the prisoner Waring presented himself, + and pointedly asked whether his victim had already gone down the path + before him. He was told that that was so. Thereupon the prisoner opened + the gate, and followed excitedly. What happened next no living eye but the + prisoner’s ever saw. Montague Nevitt was not destined to issue from + that wood alive. Two days later his breathless body was found, all stiff + and stark, hidden among the brown bracken at the bottom of the dell, where + the murderer no doubt had thrust it away out of his sight on that fatal + afternoon in fear and trembling. + </p> + <p> + Half-way through the opening speech Sir Gilbert’s heart beat fast + and hard. He had never heard Forbes-Ewing open a case so well. The man + would be hanged! He felt sure of it! He could see it! For a while the + judge almost gloated over that prospect of release. What was Guy’s + life to him now, by the side of his wife’s and Gwendoline’s + happiness? But as counsel uttered the words, “What happened next no + living eye but the prisoner’s ever saw,” he looked hard at + Guy. Not a quiver of remorse or of guilty knowledge passed over the young + man’s face. But Elma Clifford, for her part, looked at the judge on + the bench. Their eyes met once more. Again Sir Gilbert’s fell. Oh, + heavens! how terrible! Even for Gwendoline’s sake he could never + stand this appalling suspense. But perhaps after all the prosecution might + fail. There was still a chance left that the jury might acquit him. + </p> + <p> + So, torn by conflicting emotions, he sat there still, stiff and motionless + in his seat as an Egyptian statue. + </p> + <p> + Then counsel went on to deal in greater detail with the question of + motive. There were two motives the prosecution proposed to allege: first, + the known enmity of recent date between the two parties, believed to have + reference to some business dispute; and, secondly—here counsel + dropped his voice to a very low key—he was sorry to suggest it; but + the evidence bore it out—mere vulgar love of gain—the + commonplace thirst after filthy lucre. They would bring witnesses to show + that when Mr. Montague Nevitt was last seen alive, he was in possession of + a pocket-book containing a very large large sum in Bank of England notes + of high value; from the moment of his death that pocket-book had + disappeared, and nobody knew what had since become of it. It was not upon + the body when the body was found. And all their efforts to trace the + missing notes, whose numbers were not known, had been unhappily + unsuccessful. + </p> + <p> + Guy listened to all this impeachment in a dazed, dreamy way. He hardly + knew what it meant. It appalled and chilled him. The web of circumstances + was too thick for him to break. He couldn’t understand it himself. + And what was far worse, he could give no active assistance to his own + lawyers on the question of the notes—which might be very important + evidence against him—without further prejudicing his case by + confessing the forgery. At all hazards, he was determined to keep that + quiet now. Cyril had never spoken to a soul of that episode, and to speak + of it, as things stood, would have been certain death to him. I would be + to supply the one missing link of motive which the prosecution needed to + complete their chain of cumulative evidence. + </p> + <p> + It was some comfort to him to think, however, that the secret was safe in + Cyril’s keeping. Cyril had all the remaining notes, still unchanged, + in his possession; and the prosecution, knowing nothing of the forgery, or + its sequel, had no clue at all as to where they came from. + </p> + <p> + But as for Sir Gilbert, he listened still with ever-deepening horror. His + mind swayed to and fro between hope and remorse. They were making the man + guilty, and Gwendoline would be saved! They were making the man guilty, + and a gross wrong would be perpetrated! Great drops of sweat stood colder + than ever on his burning brow. He couldn’t have believed + Forbes-Ewing could have done it so well. He was weaving a close web round + an innocent man with consummate forensic skill and cunning. + </p> + <p> + The case went on to its second stage. Witnesses were called, and Guy + listened to them dreamily. All of them bore out counsel’s opening + statement. Every man in court felt the evidence was going very hard + against the prisoner. They’d caught the right man, that was clear—so + the spectators opined. They’d proved it to the hilt. This fellow + would swing for it. + </p> + <p> + At last the landlord of the Talbot Arms at Mambury shuffled slowly into + the witness-box. He was a heavy, dull man, and he gave evidence as to + Nevitt’s stay under an assumed name—which counsel explained + suggestively by the deceased gentleman’s profound love of retirement—and + as to Guy’s angry remarks and evident indignation. But the most + sensational part of all his evidence was that which related to the + pocket-book Montague Nevitt was carrying at the time of his death, + containing notes, he should say, for several hundred-pounds, “or it + murt be thousands—and yet, again, it mustn’t,” which had + totally disappeared since the day of the murder. Diligent search had been + made for the pocket-book everywhere by the landlord and the police, but it + had vanished into space, “leaving not a wrack behind,” as + junior counsel for the prosecution poetically phrased it. + </p> + <p> + At the words Cyril mechanically dived his hand into his pocket, as he had + done a hundred times a day before, during these last eighteen months, to + assure himself that that most incriminating and unwelcome object was still + safely ensconced in its usual resting-place. Yes, there it was sure + enough, as snug as ever! He sighed, and pulled his hand out again + nervously, with a little jerk. Something came with it, that fell on the + floor with a jingle by his neighbour’s feet. Cyril turned crimson, + then deadly pale. He snatched at the object; but his neighbour picked it + up and examined it cursorily. Its flap had burst open with the force of + the fall, and on the inside the finder read with astonishment, in very + plain letters, the very name of the murdered man, “Montague Nevitt.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril held out his hand to recover it impatiently. But the finder was too + much taken back at his strange discovery to part with it so readily. It + was full of money-Bank of England notes; and through the transparent paper + of the outermost among them the finder could dimly read the words, “One + hundred.” + </p> + <p> + He rose in his place, and held the pocket-book aloft in his hand with a + triumphant gesture. Cyril tried in vain to clutch at it. The witness + turned round sharply, disturbed by this incident. “What’s + that?” the judge exclaimed, puckering his brows in disapprobation, + and looking angrily towards the disturber. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, my lord,” the innkeeper answered, letting his + jaw drop slowly in almost speechless amazement, “that’s the + thing I was a-talking of: that’s Mr. Nevitt’s pocket-book.” + </p> + <p> + “Hand it up,” the judge said shortly, gazing hard with all his + eyes at the mute evidence so tendered. + </p> + <p> + The finder handed it up without note or comment. + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert turned the book over in blank surprise. He was dumfoundered + himself. For a minute or two he examined it carefully, inside and out. + Yes; there was no mistake. It was really what they called it. “Montague + Nevitt” was written in plain letters on the leather flap; within lay + half-a-dozen engraved visiting-cards, a Foreign Office passport in Nevitt’s + name, and thirty Bank of England notes for one hundred pounds apiece. This + was, indeed, a mystery! + </p> + <p> + “Where did it come from?” the judge asked, drawing a painfully + deep breath, and handing it across to the jury. + </p> + <p> + And the finder answered, “If you please, my lord, the gentleman next + to me pulled it out of his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is he?” the judge inquired, with a sinking heart, for he + himself knew perfectly well who was the unhappy possessor. + </p> + <p> + And a thrill of horror ran round the crowded court as Forbes-Ewing + answered, in a very distinct voice, “Mr. Cyril Waring, my lord, the + brother of the prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. — SIR GILBERT’S TEMPTATION. + </h2> + <p> + Cyril felt all was up. Elma glanced at him trembling. This was horrible, + inconceivable, inexplicable, fatal. The very stars in their courses seem + to fight against Guy. Blind chance checkmated them. No hope was left now, + save in Gilbert Gildersleeve’s own sense of justice. + </p> + <p> + But Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve sat there, transfixed with horror. No + answering gleam now shot through his dull, glazed eye. For he alone knew + that whatever made the case against the prisoner look worse, made his own + position each moment more awful and more intolerable. + </p> + <p> + Through the rest of the case, Cyril sat in his place like a stone figure. + Counsel for the Crown generously abstained from putting him into the + witness-box to give testimony against his brother. Or rather, they thought + the facts themselves, as they had just come out in court, more telling for + the jury than any formal evidence. The only other witness of importance + was, therefore, the lad who had sat on the gate by the entrance to The + Tangle. As he scrambled into the box Sir Gilbert’s anxiety grew + visibly deeper and more acute than ever. For the boy was the one person + who had seen him at Mambury on the day of the murder; and on the boy + depended his sole chance of being recognised. At Tavistock, eighteen + months before, Sir Gilbert had left the cross-examination of this witness + in the hands of a junior, and the boy hadn’t noticed him, sitting + down among the Bar with gown and wig on. But to-day, it was impossible the + boy shouldn’t see him; and if the boy should recognise him—why, + then, Heaven help him. + </p> + <p> + The lad gave his evidence-in-chief with great care and deliberateness. He + swore positively to Guy, and wasn’t for a moment to be shaken in + cross-examination. He admitted he had been mistaken at Tavistock, and + confused the prisoner with Cyril—when he saw one of them apart—but + now that he saw ‘em both together before his eyes at once, why, he + could take his solemn oath as sure as fate upon him. Guy’s counsel + failed utterly to elicit anything of importance, except—and here Sir + Gilbert’s face grew whiter than ever—except that another + gentleman whom the lad didn’t know had asked at the gate about the + path, and gone round the other way as if to meet Mr. Nevitt. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a gentleman?” the cross-examiner inquired, + clutching at this last straw as a mere chance diversion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, a vurry big zart o’ a gentleman,” witness + answered, unabashed. “A vine vigger o’ a man. Jest such + another as thik ‘un with the wig ther.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he stared hard at the judge, a good scrutinizing stare. Sir + Gilbert quailed, and glanced instinctively, first at the boy, and then at + Elma. Not a spark of intelligence shone in the lad’s stolid eyes. + But Elma’s were fixed upon him with a serpentine glare of awful + fascination. “Thou art the man,” they seemed to say to him + mutely. Sir Gilbert, in his awe, was afraid to look at them. They made him + wild with terror, yet they somehow fixed him. Try as he would to keep his + own from meeting them, they attracted him irresistibly. + </p> + <p> + A ripple, of faint laughter ran lightly through the court at the + undisguised frankness of the boy’s reply. The judge repressed it + sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he was just such another one as his lordship, was he?” + counsel repeated, pressing the lad hard. “Now, are you quite sure + you remember all the people you saw that day? Are you quite sure the other + man who asked about passers-by wasn’t—for example—the + judge himself who’s sitting here?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert glanced up with a quick, suspicious air. It was only a shot at + random—the common advocate’s trick in trying to confuse a + witness over questions of identity; but to Sir Gilbert, under the + circumstances, it was inexpressibly distressing. “Well, it murt ‘a + been he,” the lad answered, putting his head on one side, and + surveying the judge closely with prolonged attention. “Thik un + ‘ad just such another pair o’ ‘ands as his lordship do + ‘ave. It murt ‘a been his lordship ‘urself as is zitting + there.” + </p> + <p> + “This goes quite beyond the bounds of decency,” Sir Gilbert + murmured faintly, with a vain endeavour to hold his hands on the desk in + an unconcerned attitude. “Have the kindness, Mr. Walters, to spare + the Bench. Attend to your examination. Observations of that sort are + wholly uncalled for.” + </p> + <p> + But the boy, once started, was not so easily repressed. “Why, it was + his lordship,” he went on, scanning the judge still harder. “I + do mind his vurry voice. It was ‘im, no doubt about it. I’ve + zeed a zight o’ people, since I zeed ‘im that day, but I do + mind his voice, and I do mind his ‘ands, and I do mind his ve-ace + the zame as if it wur yesterday. Now I come to look, blessed if it wasn’t + his lordship!” + </p> + <p> + Guy’s counsel smiled a triumphant smile. He had carried his point. + He had confused the witness. This showed how little reliance could be + placed upon the boy’s evidence as to personal identity! He’d + identify anybody who happened to be suggested to him! But Sir Gilbert’s + face grew yet more deadly pale. For he saw at a glance this was no + accident or mistake; the boy really remembered him! And Elma’s + steadfast eyes looked him through and through, with that irresistible + appeal, still more earnestly than ever. + </p> + <p> + Sir Gilbert breathed again. He had been recognised to no purpose. Even + this positive identification fell flat upon everybody. + </p> + <p> + At last the examination and cross-examination were finished, and Guy’s + counsel began his hopeless task of unravelling this tangled mass of + suggestion and coincidence. He had no witnesses to call; the very nature + of the case precluded that. All he could do was to cavil over details, to + point out possible alternatives, to lay stress upon the absence of direct + evidence, and to ask that the jury should give the prisoner the benefit of + the doubt, if any doubt at all existed in their minds as to his guilt or + innocence. Counsel had meant when he first undertook the case to lay great + stress also on the presumed absence of motive; but, after the fatal + accident which resulted in the disclosure of Montague Nevitt’s + pocket-book, any argument on that score would have been worse than + useless. Counsel elected rather to pass the episode by in discreet + silence, and to risk everything on the uncertainty of the actual + encounter. + </p> + <p> + At last he sat down, wiping his brow in despair, after what he felt + himself to be a most feeble performance. + </p> + <p> + Then Sir Gilbert began, and in a very tremulous and failing voice summed + briefly up the whole of the evidence. + </p> + <p> + Men who remember Gildersleeve’s old blustering manner stood aghast + at the timidity with which the famous lawyer delivered himself on this, + the first capital charge ever brought before him. He reminded the jury, in + very solemn and almost warning tones, that where a human life was at + stake, mere presumptive evidence should always carry very little weight + with it. And the evidence here was all purely presumptive. The prosecution + had shown nothing more than a physical possibility that the prisoner at + the bar might have committed the murder. There was evidence of animus, it + was true; but that evidence was weak; there was partial identification; + but that identification lay open to the serious objection that all the + persons who now swore to Guy Waring’s personality had sworn just as + surely and confidently before to his brother Cyril’s. On the whole, + the judge summed up strongly in Guy’s favour. He wiped his clammy + brow and looked appealingly at the bar. As the jury would hope for justice + themselves, let them remember to mete out nothing but strict justice to + the accused person who now stood trembling in the dock before them. + </p> + <p> + All the court stood astonished. Could this be Gildersleeve? Atkins would + never have summed up like that. Atkins would have gone in point-blank for + hanging him. And everybody thought Gildersleeve would hang with the best. + Nobody had suspected him till then of any womanly weakness about capital + punishment. There was a solemn hush as the judge ended. Then everybody saw + the unhappy man was seriously ill. Great streams of sweat trickled slowly + down his brow. His eyes stared in front of him. His mouth twitched + horribly. He looked like a person on the point of apoplexy. The prisoner + at the bar gazed hard at him and pitied him. + </p> + <p> + “He’s dying himself, and he wants to go out with a clear + conscience at last,” some one suggested in a low voice at the + barristers’ table. The explanation served. It was whispered round + the court in a hushed undertone that the judge to-day was on his very last + legs, and had summed up accordingly. Late in life, he had learned to show + mercy, as he hoped for it. + </p> + <p> + There was a deadly pause. The jury retired to consider their verdict. Two + men remained behind in court, waiting breathless for their return. Two + lives hung at issue in the balance while the jury deliberated. Elma + Clifford, glancing with a terrified eye from one to the other, could + hardly help pitying the guiltiest most. His look of mute suffering was so + inexpressibly pathetic. + </p> + <p> + The twelve good men and true were gone for a full half-hour. Why, nobody + knew. The case was as plain as a pikestaff, gossipers said in court. If he + had been caught red-handed, he’d have been hanged without remorse. + It was only the eighteen months and the South African episode that could + make the jury hesitate for one moment about hanging him. + </p> + <p> + At last, a sound, a thrill, a movement by the door. Every eye was strained + forward. The jury trooped back again. They took their places in silence. + Sir Gilbert scanned their faces with an agonized look. It was a moment of + ghastly and painful suspense. He was waiting for their verdict—on + himself, and Guy Waring. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. — AT BAY. + </h2> + <p> + Only two people in court doubted for one moment what the verdict would be. + And those two were the pair who stood there on their trial. Sir Gilbert + couldn’t believe the jury would convict an innocent man of the crime + he himself had half unwittingly committed. Guy Waring couldn’t + believe the jury would convict an innocent man of the crime he had never + been guilty of. So those two doubted. To all the rest the verdict was a + foregone conclusion. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, dead silence reigned everywhere in the court as the clerk of + arraigns put the solemn question, “Gentlemen, do you find the + prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?” + </p> + <p> + And the foreman, clearing his throat huskily, answered in a very tremulous + tone, “We find him guilty of wilful murder.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long, deep pause. Every one looked at the prisoner. Guy Waring + stood like one stunned by the immensity of the blow. It was an awful + moment. He knew he was innocent; but he knew now the English law would + hang him. + </p> + <p> + One pair of eyes in the court, however, was not fixed on Guy. Elma + Clifford, at that final and supreme moment, gazed hard with all her soul + at Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve. Her glance went through him. She sat like an + embodied conscience before him. The judge rose slowly, his eyes riveted on + hers. He was trembling with remorse, and deadlier pale than ever. An awful + lividness stole over his face. His lips were contorted. His eyebrows + quivered horribly. Still gazing straight at Elma, he essayed to speak. + Twice he opened his parched lips. Then his voice failed him. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot accept that finding,” he said at last, in a very + solemn tone, battling hard for speech against some internal enemy. “I + cannot accept it. Clerk, you will enter a verdict of not guilty.” + </p> + <p> + A deep hum of surprise ran round the expectant court. Every mouth opened + wide, and drew a long hushed breath. Senior counsel for the Crown jumped + to his feet astonished. “But why, my lord?” he asked tartly, + thus baulked of his success. “On what ground does your lordship + decide to override the plain verdict of the jury?” + </p> + <p> + The pause that followed was inexpressibly terrible. Guy Waring waited for + the answer in an agony of suspense. He knew what it meant now. With a rush + it all occurred to him. He knew who was the murderer. But he hoped for + nothing. Sir Gilbert faltered: Elma Clifford’s eyes were upon him + still, compelling him. “Because,” he said at last, with a + still more evident and physical effort, pumping the words out slowly, + “I am here to administer justice, and justice I will administer.... + This man is innocent. It was I myself who killed Montague Nevitt that day + at Mambury.” + </p> + <p> + At those awful words, uttered in a tone so solemn that no one could doubt + either their truth or their sincerity, a cold thrill ran responsive + through the packed crowd of auditors. The silence was profound. In its + midst, a boy’s voice burst forth all at once, directed, as it + seemed, to the counsel for the Crown, “I said it was him,” the + voice cried, in a triumphant tone. “I knowed ‘um! I knowed + ‘um! Thik there’s the man that axed me the way down the dell + the marnin’ o’ the murder.” + </p> + <p> + The judge turned towards the boy with a ghastly smile of enforced + recognition. “You say the truth, my lad,” he answered, without + any attempt at concealment. “It was I who asked you. It was I who + killed him. I went round by the far gate after hearing he was there, and, + cutting across the wood, I met Montague Nevitt in the path by The Tangle. + I went there to meet him; I went there to confront him; but not of malice + prepense to murder him. I wanted to question him about a family matter. + Why I needed to question him no one henceforth shall ever know. That + secret, thank Heaven, rests now in Montague Nevitt’s grave. But when + I did question him, he answered me back with so foul an aspersion upon a + lady who was very near and dear to me”—the judge paused a + moment; he was fighting hard for breath; something within was evidently + choking him. Then he went on more excitedly—“an aspersion upon + a lady whom I love more than life—an insult that no man could stand—an + unspeakable foulness; and I sprang at him, the cur, in the white heat of + my anger, not meaning or dreaming to hurt him seriously. I caught him by + the throat.” The judge held up his hands before the whole court + appealingly. “Look at those hands, gentlemen,” he cried, + turning them about. “How could I ever know how hard and how strong + they were? I only seemed to touch him. I just pushed him from my path. He + fell at once at my feet—dead, dead unexpectedly. Remember how it all + came about. The medical evidence showed his heart was weak, and he died in + the scuffle. How was I to know all that? I only knew this—he fell + dead before me.” + </p> + <p> + With a face of speechless awe, he paused and wiped his brow. Not a soul in + court moved or breathed above a whisper. It was evident the judge was in a + paroxysm of contrition. His face was drawn up. His whole frame quivered + visibly. Even Elma pitied him. + </p> + <p> + “And then I did a grievous wrong,” the judge continued once + more, his voice now very thick and growing rapidly thicker. “I did a + grievous wrong, for which here to-day, before all this court, I humbly ask + Guy Waring’s pardon. I had killed Montague Nevitt, unintentionally, + unwittingly, accidentally almost, in a moment of anger, never knowing I + was killing him. And if he had been a stronger or a healthier man, what + little I did to him would never have killed him. I didn’t mean to + murder him. For that my remorse is far less poignant. But what I did after + was far worse than the murder. I behaved like a sneak—I behaved like + a coward. I saw suspicion was aroused against the prisoner, Guy Waring. + And what did I do then? Instead of coming forward like a man, as I ought, + and saying ‘I did it,’ and standing my trial on the charge of + manslaughter, I did my best to throw further suspicion on an innocent + person. I made the case look blacker and worse for Guy Waring. I don’t + condone my own crime. I did it for my wife’s sake and my daughter’s, + I admit—but I regret it now bitterly—and am I not atoning for + it? With a great humiliation, am I not amply atoning for it? I wrote an + unsigned letter warning Waring at once to fly the country, as a warrant + was out against him. Waring foolishly took my advice, and fled forthwith. + From that day to this”—he gazed round him appealingly—“oh, + friends, I have never known one happy moment.” + </p> + <p> + Guy gazed at him from the dock, where he still stood guarded by two strong + policemen, and felt a fresh light break suddenly in upon him. Their + positions now were almost reversed. It was he who was the accuser, and Sir + Gilbert Gildersleeve, the judge in that court, who stood charged to-day on + his own confession with causing the death of Montague Nevitt. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was YOU” Guy said slowly, breaking the pause at last, + “who sent me that anonymous letter at Plymouth?” + </p> + <p> + “It was I,” the judge answered, in an almost inaudible, + gurgling tone. “It was I who so wronged you. Can you ever forgive me + for it?” + </p> + <p> + Guy gazed at him fixedly. He himself had suffered much. Cyril and Elma had + suffered still more. But the judge, he felt sure, had suffered most of all + of them. In this moment of relief, this moment of vindication, this moment + of triumph, he could afford to be generous. “Sir Gilbert + Gildersleeve, I forgive you,” he answered slowly. + </p> + <p> + The judge gazed around him with a vacant stare. “I feel cold,” + he said, shivering; “very cold, very faint, too. But I’ve made + all right HERE,” and he held out a document. “I wrote this + paper in my room last night—in case of accident—confessing + everything. I brought it down here, signed and witnessed, unread, + intending to read it out if the verdict went against me—I mean, + against Waring.... But I feel too weak now to read anything further.... I’m + so cold, so cold. Take the paper, Forbes-Ewing. It’s all in your + line. You’ll know what to do with it.” He could hardly utter a + word, breath failed him so fast. “This thing has killed me,” + he went on, mumbling. “I deserved it. I deserved it.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the prisoner?” the authority from the gaol asked, + as the judge collapsed rather than sat down on the bench again. + </p> + <p> + Those words roused Sir Gilbert to full consciousness once more. The judge + rose again, solemnly, in all the majesty of his ermine. “The + prisoner is discharged,” he said, in a loud, clear voice. “I + am here to do justice—justice against myself. I enter a verdict of + not guilty.” Then he turned to the polices “I am your + prisoner,” he went on, in a broken, rambling way. “I give + myself in charge for the manslaughter of Montague Nevitt. Manslaughter, + not murder. Though I don’t even admit myself, indeed, it was + anything more than justifiable homicide.” + </p> + <p> + He sank back again once more, and murmured three times in his seat, as if + to himself, “Justifiable homicide! Justifiable homicide! Just—ifiable + homicide!” + </p> + <p> + Somebody rose in court as he sank, and moved quickly towards him. The + judge recognised him at once. + </p> + <p> + “Granville Kelmscott,” he said; in a weary voice, “help + me out of this. I am very, very ill. You’re a friend. I’m + dying. Give me your arm! Assist me!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV. — ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. + </h2> + <p> + Granville helped him on his arm into the judge’s room amid profound + silence. All the court was deeply stirred. A few personal friends hurried + after him eagerly. Among them were the Warings, and Mrs. Clifford, and + Elma. + </p> + <p> + The judge staggered to a seat, and held Granville’s hand long and + silently in his. Then his eye caught Elma’s. He turned to her + gratefully. “Thank you, young lady,” he said, in a very thick + voice. “You were extremely good. I forget your name. But you helped + me greatly.” + </p> + <p> + There was such a pathetic ring in those significant words, “I forget + your name,” that every eye about stood dimmed with moisture. Remorse + had clearly blotted out all else now from Sir Gilbert Gildersleeve’s + powerful brain save the solitary memory of his great wrong-doing. + </p> + <p> + “Something’s upon his mind still,” Elma cried, looking + hard at him. “He’s dying! he’s dying! But he wants to + say something else before he dies, I’m certain. ... Mr. Kelmscott, + it’s to you. Oh, Cyril, stand back! Mother, leave them alone! I’m + sure from his eye he wants to say something to Mr. Kelmscott.” + </p> + <p> + They all fell back reverently. They stood in the presence of death and of + a mighty sorrow. Sir Gilbert still held Granville’s hand fast bound + in his own. “It’ll kill her,” he muttered. “It’ll + kill her! I’m sure it’ll kill her! She’ll never get over + the thought that her father was—was the cause of Montague Nevitt’s + death. And you’ll never care to marry a girl of whom people will + say, either justly or unjustly, ‘She’s a murderers daughter’.... + And that will kill her, too. For, Kelmscott, she loved you!” + </p> + <p> + Granville held the dying man’s hand still more gently than ever. + “Sir Gilbert,” he said, leaning over him with very tender + eyes, “no event on earth could ever possibly alter Gwendoline’s + love for me, or my love for Gwendoline. I know you can’t live. This + shock has been too much for you. But if it will make you die any the + happier now to know that Gwendoline and I will still be one, I give you my + sacred promise at this solemn moment, that as soon as she likes I will + marry Gwendoline.” He paused for a second. “I don’t + understand all this story just yet,” he went on. “But of one + thing I’m certain. The sympathy of every soul in court to-day went + with you as you spoke out the truth so manfully. The sympathy of all + England will go with you to-morrow when they come to learn of it.... Sir + Gilbert, till this morning I never admired you, much as I love Gwendoline. + As you made that confession just now in court, I declare, I admired you. + With all the greater confidence now will I marry your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + They carried him to the judge’s lodgings in the town, and laid him + there peaceably for the doctors to tend him. For a fortnight the shadow of + Gildersleeve still lingered on, growing feebler and feebler in intellect + every day. But the end was certain. It was softening of the brain, and it + proceeded rapidly. The horror of that unspeakable trial had wholly + unnerved him. The great, strong man cried and sobbed like a baby. Lady + Gildersleeve and Gwendoline were with him all through. He seldom spoke. + When he did, it was generally to murmur those fixed words of exculpation, + in a tremulous undertone, “It was my hands that did it—these + great, clumsy hands of mine—not I—not I. I never, never meant + it. It was an accident. An accident. Justifiable homicide.... What I + really regret is for that poor fellow Waring.” + </p> + <p> + And at the end of a fortnight he died, once smiling, with Gwendoline’s + hand locked tight in his own, and Granville Kelmscott kneeling in tears by + his bedside. + </p> + <p> + The Kelmscott property was settled by arrangement. It never came into + court. With the aid of the family lawyers the three half-brothers divided + it amicably. Guy wouldn’t hear of Granville’s giving up his + claim to the house and park at Tilgate. Granville was to the manner born, + he said, and brought up to expect it; while Cyril and he, mere waifs and + strays in the world, would be much better off, even so, with their third + of the property each, than they ever before in their lives could have + counted upon. As for Cyril, he was too happy in Guy’s exculpation + from the greater crime, and his frank explanation of the lesser—under + Nevitt’s influence—to care very much in his own heart what + became of Tilgate. + </p> + <p> + The only one man who objected to this arrangement was Mr. Reginald + Clifford, C.M.G., of Craighton. The Companion of the Militant Saints was + strongly of opinion that Cyril Waring oughtn’t to have given up his + prior claim to the family mansion, even for valuable consideration + elsewhere. Mr. Clifford drew himself up to the full height of his spare + figure, and caught in the tight skin of his mummy-like face rather tighter + than before, as he delivered himself of this profound opinion. “A + man should consult his own dignity,” he said stiffly, and with great + precision; “if he’s born to assume a position in the county, + he should assume that position as a sacred duty. He should remember that + his wife and children—” + </p> + <p> + “But he hasn’t got any wife, papa,” Elma ventured to + interpose, with a bright little smile; “so THAT can’t count + either way.” + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t a wife AT PRESENT, to be sure; that’s + perfectly true, my dear; no wife AT PRESENT; but he will probably now, in + his existing circumstances, soon obtain one. A Man of Property should + always marry. Mr. Waring will naturally desire to ally himself to some + family of Good Position in the county; and the lady’s relations + would, of course, insist—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it doesn’t matter to us, papa,” Elma answered + maliciously; “for, as far as we’re concerned, you know; you’ve + often said that nothing on earth would ever induce you to give your + consent.” + </p> + <p> + The Gentleman of Good Position in the county gazed at his daughter aghast + with horror. “My dear child,” he said, with positive alarm, + “your remarks are nothing short of Revolutionary. You must remember + that since then circumstances have altered. At that time, Mr. Waring was a + painter—” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a painter still, I believe,” Elma put in, + parenthetically. “The acquisition of property or county rank doesn’t + seem to have had the very slightest effect one way or the other upon his + drawing or his colouring.” + </p> + <p> + Her father disdained to take notice of such flippant remarks. “At + that time,” he repeated solemnly, “Mr. Waring was a painter, a + mere ordinary painter; we know him now to be the heir and representative + of a great County Family. If he were to ask you to-day—” + </p> + <p> + “But he did ask me a long time ago, you know, papa,” Elma put + in demurely. “And at that time, you remember, you objected to the + match; so of course, as in duty bound, I at once refused him.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did your father say to that, Elma?” Cyril asked, + with a smile, as she narrated the whole circumstances to him some hours + later. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he only said, ‘But he’ll ask you again now, you may + be sure, my child.’ And I replied very gravely, I didn’t think + you would. And do you know, Cyril, I really don’t think you will, + either.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, Elma?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, you foolish boy, it isn’t the least bit in the world + necessary. This has been, all through, a comedy of errors. Tragedy enough + intermixed; but still a comedy of errors. There never was really any + reason on earth why either of us shouldn’t have married the other. + And the only thing I now regret myself is that I didn’t do as I + first threatened, and marry you outright, just to show my confidence in + you and Guy, at the time when everybody else had turned most against you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose we make up for lost time now by saying Wednesday + fortnight,” Cyril suggested, after a short pause, during which both + of them simultaneously had been otherwise occupied. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cyril, that’s awfully quick! It could hardly be managed. + There’s the dresses, and all that! And the bridesmaids to arrange + about! And the invitations to issue!... But still, sooner than put you off + any longer now—well, yes, my dear boy—I dare say we could make + it Wednesday fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE END. + </h2> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of What's Bred In the Bone, by Grant Allen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE *** + +***** This file should be named 6010-h.htm or 6010-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/1/6010/ + +Etext produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +HTML file produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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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