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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-06 17:07:23 -0800 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-01-06 17:07:23 -0800 |
| commit | 286c210a833e69659411bdc87a664c91ed4b1829 (patch) | |
| tree | 01966834434a7d914d683a1d0c258c996654671e /77631-h/77631-h.htm | |
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diff --git a/77631-h/77631-h.htm b/77631-h/77631-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a481c5e --- /dev/null +++ b/77631-h/77631-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19413 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + Rupert Godwin | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1em; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p8 {margin-top: 8em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + color: #A9A9A9; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.bbox {border: 3px solid; + /*place-items: center;*/ + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.left {text-align: left;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.x-ebookmaker-2 { + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + margin-right: 0em; +} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figleft on ebookmaker output */ +.x-ebookmaker {float: none; text-align: center; margin-right: 0;} +/* .x-ebookmaker .figleft {float: left;} */ + +/* comment out next line and uncomment the following one for floating figright on ebookmaker output */ +.x-ebookmaker {float: none; text-align: center; margin-left: 0;} +/* .x-ebookmaker .figright {float: right;} */ + + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; font-size: 85%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:2em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent14 {text-indent: 4.0em;} + +.noindent{text-indent:0em;} + +.letter-sp2 {letter-spacing: .2em;} +.letter-sp1 {letter-spacing: .1em;} + +.p2b {padding-bottom: 2em;} +.p10l {padding-left: 10em;} +.p15l {padding-left: 15em;} +.p2r {padding-right: 2em;} +.p2l {padding-left: 2em;} +.pno-blank-top {margin-top: 0em;} +.pno-blank-bottom {margin-bottom: 0em;} + +.fs300 {font-size: 300%;} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%;} +.fs125 {font-size: 125%;} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%;} +.fs175 {font-size: 175%;} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%;} +.fs75 {font-size: 75%;} + +hr.r40a {width: 40%; margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 30%; +margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.1em;} +hr.r40b {width: 40%; margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 30%; +margin-top: 0.1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} + +.gothic { +font-family: Blackletter, Fraktur, Textur, "Olde English Mt", "Olde English", +Diploma, England, Gothic, Impact, serif; +} + +.fnormal {font-weight: normal;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp75 {width: 75%;} + +.corr { + text-decoration: none; + border-bottom: thin dashed blue + } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77631 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp75" style="max-width: 105.375em;"> +<img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Original cover"> +</figure> + +<h1 class="center fs300 fnormal p2"> +RUPERT GODWIN +</h1> + +<p class="center gothic fs150 p4">A Novel</p> + +<p class="center fs90 p8">BY THE AUTHOR OF</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="fs125">“LADY AUDLEY’S SECRET,” “AURORA FLOYD”<br> +“VIXEN,” “ISHMAEL,” “WYLLARD’S WEIRD”</span><br> +<span class="fs90">ETC. ETC.<br></span></p> + +<p class="center gothic fs125 p8">Stereotyped Edition<br></p> +<br> +<p class="center p8"> +<span class="fs125 p8">LONDON:<br></span> +<span class="fs125">SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO.,</span><br> +<span class="fs90 p10l">LIMITED,</span><br> +<span class="fs125 p8">STATIONERS’ HALL COURT<br> +1890.</span><br> +<span class="fs90">[<i>All rights reserved.</i>]</span> +</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="bbox"> +<p class="center fs175 letter-sp1 p2"> +<b>MISS BRADDON’S NOVELS.</b></p> +<hr> +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap center">Now Ready at all Booksellers’ and Bookstalls,</span><br> +<span class="smcap">Price</span> 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> <span class="smcap">each</span>, <span class="smcap">Cloth gilt</span>.<br></p> +<br> +<p class="fs125 center">THE AUTHOR’S AUTOGRAPH EDITION<br> +OF MISS BRADDON’S NOVELS.</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="p2l p2r"> + “No one can be dull who has a novel by Miss Braddon in hand. + The most tiresome journey is beguiled, and the most wearisome + illness is brightened, by any one of her books.” +</p> + +<p class="p2l p2r"> + “Miss Braddon is the Queen of the circulating libraries.” +</p> + +<p class="right p2r"> + <cite>The World.</cite> +</p> + +<hr> + +<p class="center p2b"> +LONDON:<br> +<span class="letter-sp2">SIMPKIN & CO</span>., <span class="smcap letter-sp2">Limited,</span><br> +<span class="smcap">Stationers’ Hall Court</span>.<br> +<br> +<i>And at all Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers’, and Libraries.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +PUBLISHERS’ ANNOUNCEMENT. +</p> +</div> +<hr> + + +<p class="noindent"><cite>Rupert Godwin</cite> was written for, and first appeared in, a cheap +Weekly Journal. From this source the Tale was translated +into the French language, and ran as the leading story in the +<cite lang="fr">Journal pour Tous</cite>. It was there discovered by an American, +who re-translated the matter back into English, and who +obtained an outlet for the new translation in the columns of +the <cite>New-York Mercury</cite>. These and other versions have been +made without the slightest advantage to the Author; or, +indeed, without the faintest approach to any direct communication +to her on the subject. Influenced by the facts as here +stated, the Author has revised the original, and now offers the +result for what it is, namely, a Tale of Incident written to +amuse the short intervals of leisure which the readers of +popular periodicals can snatch from their daily avocations.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak letter-sp2 fnormal" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS. + </h2> +</div> +<hr> + +<table class="autotable"> + <tr> + <th class="tdr">CHAP.</th> + <th class="tdr"></th> + <th class="tdr">PAGE</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Sad Farewell</span></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Rupert Godwin the Banker</span></td> + <td class="tdr">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Importunate Creditor</span></td> + <td class="tdr">16</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A new Way to pay old Debts</span></td> + <td class="tdr">23</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Love’s Young Dream</span></td> + <td class="tdr">33</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Story of the Past</span></td> + <td class="tdr">38</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Stolen Letter</span></td> + <td class="tdr">47</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Day of Desolation</span></td> + <td class="tdr">54</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Pitiless Claimant</span></td> + <td class="tdr">58</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hidden in the Yew-tree</span></td> + <td class="tdr">62</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Homeless and Friendless</span></td> + <td class="tdr">71</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Maternal Manœuvres</span></td> + <td class="tdr">76</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Daughter’s Trial</span></td> + <td class="tdr">86</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Love at Sight</span></td> + <td class="tdr">89</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Violet Resolves upon Entering a New Sphere</span></td> + <td class="tdr">93</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Behind the Scenes</span></td> + <td class="tdr">101</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Cruel Kindness</span></td> + <td class="tdr">105</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Wilmingdon Hall</span></td> + <td class="tdr">112</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Recognition and a Disappointment</span></td> + <td class="tdr">119</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Marquis of Roxleydale</span></td> + <td class="tdr">123</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bent but not Broken</span></td> + <td class="tdr">131</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Julia’s <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note: original text omitted accents on E’s" id="tn-toc">Protégé</ins></span></td> + <td class="tdr">134</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Threshold</span></td> + <td class="tdr">139</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Miss Vanberg is Malicious</span></td> + <td class="tdr">143</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Falcon and Dove</span></td> + <td class="tdr">150</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Labyrinth</span></td> + <td class="tdr">160</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Dark Journey</span></td> + <td class="tdr">164</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Housekeeper’s Story</span></td> + <td class="tdr">170</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">She Wept, delivered from her Danger</span>”</td> + <td class="tdr">177</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Underground</span></td> + <td class="tdr">185</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">On the Track</span></td> + <td class="tdr">191</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Esther Vanberg has her way</span></td> + <td class="tdr">202</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Evidence of the Miniature</span></td> + <td class="tdr">208</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fever-stricken</span></td> + <td class="tdr">214</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An alarming Discovery</span></td> + <td class="tdr">222</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Discomfited</span></td> + <td class="tdr">225</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">XXXVII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Put to the Test</span></td> + <td class="tdr">237</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">XXXVIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Riding to her Doom</span></td> + <td class="tdr">238</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">XXXIX.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Shadow of Death</span></td> + <td class="tdr">247</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">XL.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Fatal Lesson</span></td> + <td class="tdr">251</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">XLI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Silenced</span></td> + <td class="tdr">259</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">XLII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Girt with Fire</span></td> + <td class="tdr">267</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">XLIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Clerk’s Story</span></td> + <td class="tdr">272</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">XLIV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Duke of Harlingford makes a Discovery</span></td> + <td class="tdr">278</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">XLV.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Face of the Lost</span></td> + <td class="tdr">286</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">XLVI.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Suspense</span></td> + <td class="tdr">291</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">XLVII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Resurgam</span></td> + <td class="tdr">298</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">XLVIII.</a></td> + <td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Vengeance is Mine</span>”</td> + <td class="tdr">306</td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="nobreak center fs200 letter-sp2 fnormal"> + RUPERT GODWIN. + </p> +</div> + +<hr class="r40a"> +<hr class="r40b"> + +<h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A SAD FAREWELL.</h3> + +<p class="noindent">In a charming residence, half cottage, half manor-house, embosomed +in the woodland scenery of Hampshire, lived a family +who might have formed the model for a poet’s ideal of domestic +happiness. The home-circle was not a large one. It consisted +of only four persons—Captain Harley Westford, of the merchant +service, his wife, son, and daughter. The Captain and his wife +were both in the fairest prime of middle age. Life for them +seemed at its brightest and best. Clara Westford’s girlish +beauty might, indeed, have vanished with the snows of departed +winters, the blossoms of bygone spring-times; but another kind +of beauty had succeeded—the calm loveliness of the matron +whose life has been cloudless as one long summer’s day, pure as +the untrodden snows of some far Alpine region.</p> + +<p>Yes; she was very lovely still. Beauty has its Indian summer, +and the glory of that later splendour is scarcely less than +the early freshness of spring-time. Mrs. Westford possessed +even a rarer charm than mere perfection of face or figure. +Every look, every movement, was instinct with that indefinable +grace for which we can find no better name than good breeding. +She had that winning manner the French call graciousness. +Those who were intimate with the Captain and his wife whispered +that Clara Westford came of a nobler race than that of +her husband. It was said that she had left the house of a +wealthy father, to begin the battle of life with the frank, genial, +handsome merchant sailor, and that she had thus made herself +for ever an outcast from the family to which she belonged.</p> + +<p>No one knew the real story of that runaway marriage. The +Captain and his wife kept the secrets of the past locked in their +own breasts. Mrs. Westford could very seldom be induced to +speak of her marriage; but when she did speak, it was always +in words that expressed the pride she felt in her husband.</p> + +<p>“I know that his family has no place amongst Burke’s landed +gentry, and that his grandfather was a trader on the high seas, +like himself,” she would say; “but I also know that his name +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>is honoured by the few to whom it is familiar, and that in his +native town, Westford and honesty are synonymous terms.”</p> + +<p>Only one shadow ever darkened that rustic dwelling among +the verdant woods and fair spreading pastures of Hampshire; +and that shadow was a very terrible one.</p> + +<p>It came when the husband and father was obliged to leave +the dear ones who made his home a kind of paradise for him. +Partings were very frequent in that simple household. The +Captain’s professional duties called him often away to scenes +of peril and tempest, far from that happy nook in peaceful +England.</p> + +<p>To-day the June sunshine is bright on the lawn and flower-beds +in the Captain’s garden; but the shadow comes with the +sunshine, and the bright midsummer noontide is an hour of +sadness for the seaman’s household.</p> + +<p>The Captain and his wife are walking slowly, arm in arm, +under the shelter of a long alley of hazel and filbert trees. It +is a lovely day at the close of June; the roses are in their +fullest splendour; the deep blue sky is unshadowed by a cloud; +the hum of bees and carolling music of birds make all the air +melodious with nature’s simple harmonies; a thousand butterflies +are fluttering above the flower-beds on the smooth lawn +before the windows of the old Grange. Every quaint diamond-paned +casement and broad mullioned window winks and blinks +in the warm sunlight, till the old house seems full of eyes. The +yellow stone-crop on the gabled roof, the deep crimson of the +brickwork, are sharply defined against an ultramarine sky, and +make a picture that would gladden the eyes of a pre-Raphaelite. +The sunshine steeps every leaf and every flower in its warm +radiance—it floods the trees with silvery light, it transforms +and glorifies the commonest objects, until the earth seems unfamiliar +and beautiful as fairyland.</p> + +<p>On such a day as this, it seems almost impossible to believe +that sorrow or heartache can have any existence upon this +glorified earth; we almost forgot that hearts can break amid +beauty and sunshine.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford’s noble face is pale and wan this sunny morning. +Dark circles surround her eyes—earnest eyes, from whose +clear depths the very soul of truth looks out. All through the +past night this true-hearted wife has watched and wept on her +knees before Him who can alone protect the wanderer.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Harley,” she exclaimed, in a low, tremulous voice, while +her slender fingers tightened their grasp upon the Captain’s +arm, “it is so bitter—so bitter; almost too bitter to bear. We +have parted often before to-day; and yet to-day, for the first +time, the anguish of parting seems more than I can endure.”</p> + +<p>There was a look of agony in the wife’s pale face, as she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>turned it towards her husband, that expressed even more than +her passionate words. There were no tears in the large violet-hued +eyes; but there was a quivering motion about the compressed +lips that betrayed a world of suffering.</p> + +<p>At sea, or in any hour of peril and contest, Harley Westford +possessed the courage of a lion; but the aspect of his wife’s +grief transformed him into the veriest coward. He strove manfully, +however, to conceal his emotion, and it was in a tone of +affected gaiety that he replied to Mrs. Westford.</p> + +<p>“My darling,” he exclaimed, “this is really foolish, and quite +unworthy of a seaman’s wife, who should have a soul above +fear. This parting ought not to be a hard one; for is not this +to be my last voyage? After this one trip to China, by which +I hope to make a sackful of golden guineas for you and the +dear ones, I mean to settle down for the rest of my life in this +dear old Grange, a regular landsman, a gentleman farmer, if +you like; going in for pigs, and prize cattle, and monster turnips, +and all that kind of thing, like a country squire to the +manner born. Why, Clara, you ought not to shed a tear, this +time!”</p> + +<p>“There are no tears in my eyes, Harley,” his wife answered, +in the same low, faltering voice, so terribly expressive of mental +anguish; “there is something in my sorrow too deep for tears. +I have shed tears always on the day of our parting, and I know +that my cowardly weakness has often unmanned you, Harley; +but I can shed no tears to-day. There is an awful terror in my +heart. My dreams for the last week have been full of trouble +and foreboding. My prayers last night brought no consolation. +It seemed to me as if Heaven was deaf to my cries. I feel like +some unhappy wretch who wanders blindfold upon the brink of +a precipice—every step may plunge me into an abyss of darkness +and horror. O, Harley, Harley, have pity upon me! I +know there is danger in this voyage—deadly, unseen peril. Do +not go! Have mercy upon my anguish, Harley, and do not +go!”</p> + +<p>Again the slender hands tightened convulsively upon the +sailor’s arm. It seemed as if the agonized wife would have held +her husband despite himself in that passionate grasp.</p> + +<p>Captain Westford smiled sadly.</p> + +<p>“My darling,” he said, “foolish as I know your fears to be, I +might perhaps indulge them if my word were not pledged to +this voyage; but my word is pledged. And when did Harley +Westford ever break his promise? There is not a sailor amongst +my crew who does not look forward to this trip as a means of taking +home comfort to his wife and little ones. They all confide in me +as if I were their brother as well as their captain; and I know +their plans, poor fellows, and the disappointment they would feel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>if anything prevented the voyage. No, darling, you must be +bold and brave, like a true-hearted sailor’s wife as you are. The +<i>Lily Queen</i>—your ship, Clara; christened after you, the queen +of all earthly lilies—the <i>Lily Queen</i> sails from London Docks at +daybreak to-morrow, and, if he lives, Harley Westford sails with +her!”</p> + +<p>The wife knew that all further remonstrance was useless. +She knew that her husband valued his word and honour more +than his life—more even than her happiness. She only breathed +one long sigh, which sounded like the last murmur of a despairing +heart.</p> + +<p>“And now listen to me, my dearest one,” said Harley Westford, +in tones which he strove to render cheerful. “Listen to +me, my own brave, true-hearted wife; for I must talk to you of +serious business before the Winchester coach turns the sharp +corner yonder by the village pond.”</p> + +<p>He looked at his watch as he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Only one more half-hour, Clara, and then good-bye!” he +exclaimed. “Now, darling, listen. You know that, thanks to +Providence, I have been enabled to save a very decent little +fortune for you and yours. Close against my breast I carry a +pocket-book containing bank-notes to the amount of twenty +thousand pounds, the entire bulk of my fortune, withdrawn from +different foreign investments, by the advice of friends, who have +given me warning of an approaching crisis in the money-market. +There seems to be always something or other wrong in the +money-market, by the way. Directly I return from China I +shall invest this money, with the earnings of my present enterprise, +in the best and safest manner I can. In the mean time, +I shall place the money in the hands of the present head of the +banking firm in which my father had the highest confidence +and in whose house he kept an account for thirty years of his +life. In such hands the money will be safe until my return +And, to guard against any chance of accident, I shall send you +the banker’s receipt for the twenty thousand pounds, and for +the title-deeds of this house and land, which I shall also lodge +in his hands. You will receive these from me before I set sail; +and then, as my will is in the hands of my lawyer, you and the +children will be safe, come what may.”</p> + +<p>“O, Harley,” murmured Clara Westford, “every word you +say makes me more and more wretched. You talk as if you +were going to certain death.”</p> + +<p>“No, darling, I only talk like a prudent man, who knows the +uncertainty of life. But I will say no more, Clara. With +twenty thousand pounds, and the freehold of this old Grange, +with fifty acres of the best land in Hampshire spreading round +it, you and the dear ones cannot be ill provided for. And now, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>dearest, nearly half my time has gone, and I must go and say +good-bye to my children.”</p> + +<p>The Captain stepped from the shady alley to the broad sunshine +of the lawn. Opposite him were the windows of a pretty +morning-room, sheltered by a long verandah, half hidden under +honeysuckle and roses. The cages of the pet birds hung under +this verandah, and a Skye terrier was lying on the silky white +mat stretched before one of the long French windows, blinking +his lazy eyelids in the meridian sun.</p> + +<p>A girl of about seventeen appeared in this window. As the +Captain stepped out upon the lawn she came running towards +him.</p> + +<p>Never, perhaps, had the June sunlight shone upon a lovelier +creature than this white-robed girl who came to meet the +Captain. Her beauty had a sunny freshness which seemed in +harmony with the summer morning. Her features were small and +delicately-formed; the nose, forehead, and chin of the purest +Grecian type. Her eyes, like her mother’s, were of the deepest +violet hue, large, lustrous, and earnest, fringed by long auburn +lashes. Her hair was of that golden tint, so rare in nature, and +which art has been wont to simulate, from the age of Roman +Lydias and Julius down to our own enlightened era.</p> + +<p>This was Violet Westford. They had called her Violet because +of those deep-blue eyes, which were only to be matched by the +hue of the modest hedgerow flower that hides its beauty under +sheltering leaves. They had called her Violet; and well did the +sweet romantic name harmonize with the nature of Clara Westford’s +daughter, for the girl was almost as unconscious of her +exquisite loveliness as the timid blossom after which she had +been christened.</p> + +<p>“Dearest father,” she exclaimed, passing her little hand +through the Captain’s arm, while Mrs. Westford sank faint and +exhausted upon a garden-seat on the lawn, “mamma has been +very cruel to detain you so long, while your poor Violet has +been longing for a chance of saying good-bye. I have been +counting the minutes, papa, and the coach will be at the gate +almost immediately. O, papa, papa, it seems so hard to lose +you!”</p> + +<p>The beautiful blue eyes filled with tears as the girl clung to +her father; but in Violet Westford’s face there was no trace of +that awful shadow which blanched the cheeks and lips of her +mother to a death-like whiteness. Violet only felt a natural +grief at this parting with a father whom she idolized. There +was no presentiment of impending peril weighing down her +heart.</p> + +<p>“Lionel has gone to get Warrior saddled,” she said; “he is +going to ride by the cross-road to Winchester. He will be there +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>to meet you when the coach arrives, and will only part from you +when the train leaves the station. How I envy him that half-hour +at the station! Men are always better off than women,” +murmured the petted beauty of seventeen, with the most +bewitching <i lang="fr">moue</i>.</p> + +<p>“My darling, hark! There is the coach.”</p> + +<p>The guard’s horn playing a joyous polka made itself heard +among the trees as the Captain spoke. At the same moment +Lionel Westford rode out of an old-fashioned ivy-covered archway, +which formed the entrance to the stables. The coach +stopped at the low wide gate opening into the Grange gardens, +and the guard’s horn had an impatient sound in the ears of +Violet Westford.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford rose from the rustic bench, calm and tearless, +but deadly pale. She advanced to her husband, and put her icy +hands in his.</p> + +<p>“My beloved,” she murmured, “my all in all, I can only pray +for you. I must ask you one question, Harley. You spoke just +now of a banker; tell me his name, dearest. I have a particular +reason for making this inquiry.”</p> + +<p>“My father’s bankers were Godwin and Selby,” answered the +Captain; “the present head of the firm is Rupert Godwin. My +own darling, good-bye.”</p> + +<p>The horn playing that cheerful dance-music sounded louder +and more clamorous than ever, as Harley Westford pressed one +kiss upon his wife’s white lips and tore himself away. So +hurried, so agitated, had the Captain been in that sad parting, +that he had been utterly unconscious of the one low agonized +cry which broke from his wife’s lips at the sound of Rupert +Godwin’s name.</p> + +<p>But as the coach drove away, bearing with it the husband and +father, Clara Westford tottered forward a few paces, and then +fell back swooning on the grass.</p> + +<p>Violet returned from the garden-gate to see her mother lying +upon the ground, white and motionless as a corpse. The girl’s +terror-stricken shriek brought a couple of women servants running +from the house. Mrs. Westford was no puling sentimentalist; +and deeply as she had always felt the pain of parting +from the husband she so fondly loved, she had never before +been known to lose consciousness. She had, indeed, been distinguished +for the heroic calmness with which she had always +endured her sorrow setting a noble example to her son and +daughter.</p> + +<p>The servants, assisted by Violet, carried the unconscious wife +into the house, and laid her on a sofa in the cool drawing-room, +carefully darkened by the Venetian shutters.</p> + +<p>One of the women then ran to fetch the village doctor, while +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>Violet knelt by her mother’s side, bathing the pale forehead with +toilet vinegar.</p> + +<p>Presently the dark-blue eyes were slowly opened and turned +towards Violet with a fixed and almost awful stare.</p> + +<p>“Rupert Godwin! Rupert Godwin!” cried Clara Westford +in tones of anguish. “O, not to him, Harley! O, no, no, no! +Not to him! Rupert Godwin! I knew that there was peril, +deadly peril, in store for you; but I never dreamt of that danger.”</p> + +<p>Again the eyes closed; the head fell back upon the sofa-pillows.</p> + +<p>The doctor came; but neither he nor any other doctor upon +this earth could have ministered to her, whose disease was of the +mind rather than of the body.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford fell from one fainting-fit into another. She +was conveyed to her own room, where she was tenderly watched +by her daughter, and by her son Lionel, who returned from Winchester +after having seen his father start by the London train.</p> + +<p>The young man adored his mother, and was both grieved and +alarmed by her sudden illness. He insisted upon taking up his +post in a pretty little boudoir adjoining Mrs. Westford’s bedroom, +and he sat there hour after hour, listening to every sound in the +sick chamber.</p> + +<p>The old Grange, so gay with happy voices only a few days +before, was now silent as the house of death. The doctor ordered +his patient to be kept in unbroken quiet, and his orders were implicitly +obeyed.</p> + +<p>But though Mr. Sanderson, the village surgeon, was a man of +considerable experience, he found his patient’s illness of a nature +to baffle his best care, his highest skill.</p> + +<p>“The mind is ailing, Miss Westford,” he said, in answer to +Violet’s anxious questions; “the parting of to-day has affected +your mother very keenly, and hers is an illness that time alone +can heal. In the meanwhile I can only recommend perfect repose. +The mind has been over-excited by painful emotions, and +we must allow time for recovery. A night’s rest may restore the +brain to its normal state. To-morrow all may be well.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">RUPERT GODWIN THE BANKER.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">The express-train from Winchester bore Harley Westford quickly +across the fair expanse of country between the old cathedral +city and the smoky roof-tops of the metropolis. Past swelling +hillside and sunlit meadow, past winding river and secluded +village, rushed the mighty monster. London, black, grimy, but +with a certain rugged grandeur of its own, like some dusty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>Cyclops, mighty in his gigantic stature,—London, the commercial +centre of the world,—loomed in sight of the merchant Captain, +whose heart was divided between the dear ones he had left in the +rustic Grange at Eastburgh, and the scenes of adventure, and +perhaps peril, that lay before him on the high seas.</p> + +<p>Harley Westford was in heart and soul a sailor. He had the +spirit of a Columbus, and would gladly have gone forth in search +of new worlds wherewith to enrich his Queen and country, if fate +had permitted him so noble an adventure. His heart warmed at +the thought of his Chinese expedition—an expedition which promised +to make a noble addition to his fortune. For himself, no +man could have been more indifferent about money. He had the +true sailor’s recklessness of spirit, and would have flung his gold +right and left, had he been alone in the world, as carelessly as +the untutored salt, who, from sheer bravado, puts a bank-note +between his bread-and-butter and eats it, in order to demonstrate +his contempt for the sordid pelf. But for his children he was +eager to earn the means of comfort and independence, so that +no hard battle of life might await those pampered children, that +idolized wife, who as yet had known only the sunshine of +existence.</p> + +<p>He reached London at about half-past one o’clock, and drove +straight to Lombard-street, in which noble commercial thoroughfare +the banking-house of Messrs. Godwin and Selby was situated.</p> + +<p>The name of Selby had long ceased to be anything more than +a name. The last Selby had expired placidly in a comfortable +mansion at Tulse Hill, some little time after the battle of Waterloo. +The firm was now solely represented by Rupert Godwin, +the only son of the late head of the firm, Anthony Godwin, and +of a noble Spanish lady, who had given supreme offence to her +family by marrying a wealthy British trader, rather than one of +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'the penniless hidalgoes'" id="tn-8">the penniless hidalgos</ins> who were eager to unite their unimpeachable +pedigrees and quarter their knightly arms with hers.</p> + +<p>The lady was proud, passionate, and self-willed. She preferred +the British trader to the descendants of the Cid, and left the +shadowy glories of her native land for the comfort and splendour +of her husband’s noble old mansion, where she ruled him with +despotic power till the day of her death.</p> + +<p>Two sons and three daughters were born to the proud Castilian +beauty; but those children of the South languished under the +cold English sky. The youngest son, Rupert, was the only one +of the family who lived to attain manhood. He inherited his +mother’s Spanish beauty, together with her wilful and passionate +nature.</p> + +<p>This Rupert Godwin was a man of five-and-forty years of +age, who had inherited a noble fortune from his father, and who +had obtained another fortune with the hand of his wife, the only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>daughter of a city millionnaire, an amiable but not over-wise +damsel, who had worshipped her husband as a kind of demigod, +and who had faded quietly out of existence soon after the birth +of her second child, not by any means passionately lamented by +Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>He was a man who had begun the world very early, and had +exhausted the common round of life’s pleasures and dissipations +at an age when other men are still enjoying the freshness of +youth’s morning. He had been his own master from the age of +sixteen, for the simple reason that neither his father nor his +tutors had ever been able to conquer his indomitable spirit, or +restrain his determined will.</p> + +<p>His father had been much shaken by the early deaths of his +children and the loss of his wife, who died when Rupert was +fifteen. He allowed this last surviving son to do as he pleased, +and dawdled through his lonely existence at his country-house, +in the company of his medical attendant and a valet who had +grown grey in his service.</p> + +<p>While the father’s placid days glided by at the country seat in +Hertfordshire, the son travelled from one place to another, sometimes +abroad, sometimes at home, spending money lavishly, and +seeing a great deal of life, more or less to his own satisfaction, +but not very much to his moral improvement.</p> + +<p>At three-and-twenty he married; but those who knew him +best augured little happiness from this marriage. He accepted +his wife’s devotion as a matter of course, allowed her to live her +own life at the noble old house in Hertfordshire, while he followed +the bent of his inclinations elsewhere, honouring his household +by his presence during all seasons of gaiety and festivity, but +studiously avoiding the delights of domestic retirement. The +business of the bank always afforded Mr. Godwin an excellent +excuse for absence. There were branch-houses in Spain and in +Spanish America, and these branch-houses were under the +personal supervision of the banker.</p> + +<p>For many years the name of Rupert Godwin had been in the +minds of City men a tower of strength. But within the last +few weeks there had come a crisis in the fortunes of great commercial +firms, and all at once there were strange whispers +passing from lip to lip amongst the wise men of the Stock +Exchange. It was well known that for some years Rupert Godwin +had been a great speculator. It was now whispered abroad +that he had not been always a fortunate speculator. He had +been bitten with the mania of speculation, men said, and had +plunged wildly into all manner of schemes, many of which had +ended in ruin.</p> + +<p>Such whispers as these are fatal in their influence upon the +credit of a commercial man. But as yet these dark rumours +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>had not gone beyond the narrow circle of wiseacres; as yet no +hint of Rupert Godwin’s losses had reached those whose money +was lodged in his keeping; as yet, therefore, there had been no +run upon the bank.</p> + +<p>The banker sat in his private room, with his books spread open +before him, while with a white face and a heavily-beating heart +he examined the state of his affairs. Daily, almost hourly, he +expected a desperate crisis, and he tried in vain to devise some +means of meeting it.</p> + +<p>There was only one human being who was admitted to Rupert +Godwin’s confidence, and that was his head clerk, Jacob +Danielson.</p> + +<p>Ever since Rupert’s earliest manhood this Danielson had been +in his employment, and little by little there had grown up a +strange bond of union between the two men.</p> + +<p>It could not be called friendship, for the banker was of too +reserved a nature to form a close friendship with any one—least +of all with an inferior; and whatever the confidences between +him and his clerk, he was always haughty and commanding in +his tone and manner towards his dependent.</p> + +<p>But Jacob Danielson was the depository of many of his +employer’s secrets, and seemed to possess an almost superhuman +power of reading every thought that entered the brain of Rupert +Godwin.</p> + +<p>It may be that the banker knew this, and that there were +times when he felt a kind of terror of his shabby, queer-looking +dependent.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be wider than the contrast between the outward +appearance of the two men.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had one of those darkly splendid faces which +we rarely see out of an old Italian picture—such a face as +Leonardo or Guido might have chosen for a Herod or a Saul.</p> + +<p>He was tall and broad-chested, his head nobly poised upon his +shoulders. His dark flashing eyes had something of the falcon +in their proud and eager glance; but beneath the calm steady +gaze of more honest eyes those falcon glances grew shifting and +restless.</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson was strangely deficient in those physical perfections +which had so furthered his master’s fortunes.</p> + +<p>The clerk was a wizen little man, with high shoulders, and a +queer, limping walk. His small but piercing gray eyes looked +out from under the shelter of a protruding forehead, fringed by +two shaggy eyebrows. His thin lips were apt to be disturbed +by a twitching motion, which at times was almost painful to +witness.</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson was one of those walking mysteries whose +thoughts, deeds, and words are alike beyond the comprehension +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>of other men. No one understood him; no one was able to +fathom the secrets hidden in his breast.</p> + +<p>He lived in a dingy little lodging on the Surrey side of the +Thames, a lodging which he had occupied for years, and where +he had never been known to receive the visit of any human +being.</p> + +<p>It was known that he drank deeply, but he had never been +seen in a state of intoxication. There were those amongst his +fellow-clerks who had tried to make him drunk, and who declared +that there was no spirit potent enough to master the senses of +Jacob Danielson.</p> + +<p>To his employer he was a most indefatigable servant. He +<em>seemed</em> also a faithful servant; yet there were times in which +the banker trembled when he remembered the dangerous secrets +lodged in the keeping of this unsympathetic, inscrutable being.</p> + +<p>While Rupert Godwin sat in his private apartment meditating +over the books of the house, and dreading the bursting of that +storm-cloud which had so long brooded above his head, Harley +Westford was hurrying towards him, eager to deposit in his +hand the savings of twenty years of peril and hardship.</p> + +<p>A hansom cab carried the Captain to the door of the banking-house. +He alighted, and made his way into the outer office of +the firm, where he addressed himself to the first person whom he +found disengaged. That person happened to be no other than +Jacob Danielson, the chief clerk.</p> + +<p>“I want to see Mr. Godwin,” said the Captain.</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” Jacob answered coolly. “Mr. Godwin is particularly +engaged. If you will be good enough to state your +business, I shall be very happy to—”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. No; I won’t trouble you. My time is very +precious just now; but as my business is important, I’ll wait till +Mr. Godwin is disengaged. When a man comes to place the +savings of a lifetime with a banking firm in which he has confidence, +he feels a sort of satisfaction in depositing his money in +the hands of the principal.”</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson’s thin lips twitched nervously. The savings +of a lifetime! A stranger eager to place his money in Rupert +Godwin’s hands at a time when the banker expected only the +frantic demands of panic-stricken depositors, eager to snatch +their treasures from a falling house!</p> + +<p>Jacob looked with keen scrutinizing eyes at the honest sailor, +half suspecting that there might be some trap hidden beneath +his apparent simplicity; but no one looking at Harley Westford +could possibly suspect him of cunning or treachery.</p> + +<p>“The poor fool has walked straight into the lion’s den,” +thought the clerk; “and he’ll be tolerably close-shaved before +he walks out of it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> + +<p>He sat at his desk for some minutes, scratching his head in a +reflective manner, and looking furtively at handsome hazel-eyed +Harley Westford, who was swinging his cane, and rocking himself +backwards and forwards on his chair in a manner expressive +of considerable impatience.</p> + +<p>Presently the clerk dismounted from his high stool. “Come, +I see you’re in a hurry, sir,” he said, “so I’ll go into the parlour +and ascertain what Mr. Godwin’s engagements are. Shall I +take your card?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you may as well do so. My father was a customer of +the firm, and Mr. Godwin may have heard my name before +to-day.”</p> + +<p>He <em>may</em> have heard your name, Harley Westford! That +name is written in letters of fire on the heart of Rupert Godwin, +never to be erased on this side of the grave.</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson carried the card into the banker’s sitting-room, +and threw it on the table before his master, without once +deigning to look at the name inscribed upon it.</p> + +<p>“Some unfortunate fool has come to deposit a lump of money +in your hands, sir,” he said coolly; “he’s very particular about +placing it in <em>your</em> hands, so that he may be sure it’s safe. I +suppose you’ll see him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the banker haughtily; “you can show him +in.”</p> + +<p>The cool insolence of his clerk’s manner galled him cruelly. +He had borne the same insolence without wincing in the hour of +his prosperity; but now that he felt himself upon the verge of +ruin, Jacob Danielson’s familiarity stung him to the quick. A +deposed sovereign is quick to feel insolence from his lackeys.</p> + +<p>It was only when the clerk had left the room that Rupert +Godwin looked at the card lying on the table before him.</p> + +<p>His glance was careless at first; but in the very moment +when he recognized the name inscribed upon the slip of pasteboard, +his face changed as few faces have power to change.</p> + +<p>The sallow skin darkened to a dull leaden tint; a kind of +electric flame seemed to kindle in the dark eyes.</p> + +<p>“Harley Westford!” he muttered. “And it is to me, his +bitterest enemy, that he brings his wealth; and at such a time +as this! There is a Nemesis who plans these things.”</p> + +<p>The banker crushed the card in his sinewy hand, and after +that one passionate gesture controlled his emotion by a strength +of will which was like iron in its unyielding nature. His face, +so suddenly distorted, became as suddenly calm and placid, and +he looked up with a friendly smile as Harley entered the room.</p> + +<p>No warning presentiment restrained the sailor at this last +moment. He handed the pocket-book to the banker, and said +quietly, “That, Mr. Godwin, contains the hard-won earnings of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>twenty years. Be so good as to count the notes. You’ll find a +thousand for every year—not so bad, take it all in all. I had +the money invested in foreign loans, and it brought me very +handsome interest, I can assure you. But some wise friends of +mine have taken fright. There’s to be war here, and war there—two +or three thrones expected to topple over during the next +six months, and three or four glorious republics on the point of +intestine war. ‘Sell out,’ say my friends. ‘What! and give up +ten per cent.?’ say I. And then they remind me of the cautious +old Duke’s axiom: ‘The better your interest, the worse your +security.’ So I ‘cave in’ at once, as the Yankees say; and here +I am, safe out of the lion’s claws, and ready to accept the +current rate of interest for my capital.”</p> + +<p>“I congratulate you on your escape,” answered the banker. +“There’s more than one storm brewing on the Continent, and +foreign stock is dropping every day.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m glad I’ve done right. You see, I’m going to risk +my life upon one more journey before I settle down in the +pleasant harbour of home. I don’t know anything about this +house, myself, but I know my father trusted your father to his +dying day. I shall feel quite comfortable when my money is +safely lodged in your hands. You find the amount correct, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin was counting the little packet of notes which +he held in his hand as the Captain spoke. Harley Westford did +not see that the banker’s hand trembled slightly as it grasped +the fluttering pieces of tissue paper.</p> + +<p>Twenty thousand pounds! Such a sum trusted in his keeping +at such a moment might be the salvation of his credit.</p> + +<p>“I have one charge more to confide in your hands,” said the +Captain, “and then I can leave England in peace. This sealed +packet contains the title-deeds of a small estate in Hampshire, +on which my wife and children reside; with your permission, I +will lodge the packet in your hands.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, Harley Westford laid a sealed packet on the table.</p> + +<p>“I shall be happy to accept any charge you may confide in +me,” the banker answered with a courteous smile.</p> + +<p>“And you’ll allow me decent interest on my money?”</p> + +<p>“On deposits placed with us for a year certain we allow five +per cent.”</p> + +<p>“I think that settles everything,” said the sailor; “and now +I can face danger, or death, without fear. Come what may, my +wife and children are provided for. Let my fate be what it will, +they are beyond the power of evil fortune.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin, bending over the papers before him, smiled to +himself as Harley Westford uttered these words—a strange, +almost satanic smile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + +<p>“Stay!” exclaimed the Captain, “you ought to give me some +kind of receipt for that money, and those deeds, ought you not? +I don’t pretend to be a man of business; but you see in these +affairs a family man is bound to be precise—even if he happens +to be a sailor.”</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly; I was waiting the opportunity of giving +you your receipt,” replied the banker coolly.</p> + +<p>He touched a little hand-bell on the table before him, and the +next minute Jacob Danielson appeared in answer to the summons.</p> + +<p>“Bring me some blank forms of receipt, Danielson.”</p> + +<p>The clerk obeyed; and Rupert Godwin filled-in the receipt for +twenty thousand pounds.</p> + +<p>To this he affixed his own signature, and then handed the +paper to Jacob Danielson, who signed his name below that of his +master, as witness. The banker also filled-in and duly signed +an acknowledgment of the sealed packet containing the title-deeds +of the Grange.</p> + +<p>With these two documents in the breast-pocket of his light +outer-coat, Harley Westford departed, delighted with the idea +that he had rendered the fortunes of his wife and children +thoroughly secure.</p> + +<p>The same hansom cab that had driven him from the railway +station to the bank in Lombard-street drove him to the Docks, +where he alighted, and made his way on board his own vessel, +the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>Her freight had been taken on board some days before, and +all was ready for departure. A bright-faced, good-looking man +of about five and twenty was pacing up and down the deck as +the Captain came alongside the vessel.</p> + +<p>This young man was Gilbert Thornleigh; first mate of the +<i>Lily Queen</i>, and a great favourite of Harley Westford’s. He +had been down to the Grange with his Captain, and had fallen +desperately in love with Violet in the course of a three days’ +visit to that rustic paradise: but it is needless to say that the +sailor kept the secret of his inflammable heart. The Captain’s +beautiful daughter seemed as high above him as some duchess +crowned with a diadem and robed in ermine might appear to +some young captain of household troops.</p> + +<p>Captain Westford greeted Gilbert with a hearty grasp of the +hand.</p> + +<p>“True to my time, you see, my lad,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Captain; always true.”</p> + +<p>“And this time I can leave England with a light heart,” said +Harley; “for I have made all secure for my wife and children. +No more foreign loans and Otaheite railway debentures and Fiji +Island first-preference bonds, my lad, which bewilder a plain +man’s brains when he tries to understand them. I have placed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>the whole lump of money in the hands of an old-established +English banker, and in my pocket here I have Rupert Godwin’s +receipt for the cash.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Thornleigh stared aghast at his Captain.</p> + +<p>“Rupert Godwin!” he exclaimed. “You can’t mean that, +Captain? You can’t mean that you have placed your money +with the firm of Godwin and Selby?”</p> + +<p>“Why not, lad? Why shouldn’t I place it with them?”</p> + +<p>“Because it is whispered that they are on the verge of ruin. +I had a few hundreds in their hands myself until yesterday; +but my uncle, an old City man, gave me a word of warning, and +I drew every farthing of my money before the bank closed last +night. But don’t be uneasy, Captain, the rumour may be a +false one. Besides, it’s not too late; you can withdraw your +money.”</p> + +<p>Harley Westford’s face grew suddenly white. He reeled like +a drunken man, and clung to the bulwark for support.</p> + +<p>“The villain!” he exclaimed; “the infernal scoundrel! He +knew that the money belonged to my wife and children, and he +smiled in my face while he took it from me!”</p> + +<p>“But there is time enough yet, Captain,” said Gilbert Thornleigh, +looking at his watch; “the bank will not close before four +o’clock, and it’s now only three. You can go ashore and get +your money back.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried Harley Westford, with a terrible oath, “I will +have my money—or the life of that villain! My children! My +wife! The scoundrel could look me in the face and know that +he was robbing two helpless women! No, no, my darlings, you +shall not be cheated!”</p> + +<p>“Captain, there is not a moment to lose.”</p> + +<p>“I know, lad; I know,” answered Harley, passing his hand +across his brow as if to collect his scattered senses. “This news +upset me a bit at first, but I shall be all right presently. See +here, my lad; you know how I have always trusted you, and +now I must place a still greater trust in your hands. Come +what may, the <i>Lily Queen</i> sails at daybreak to-morrow. If I +am on board her by that time, well and good. If not, she must +sail without me, and you, Gilbert Thornleigh, go as her Captain. +Remember that. I will have no delays; the men are all on +board her, her cargo is expected and waited for out yonder. +There has been too much delay as it is, and it’s a point of +honour with me not to lose another hour. I trust you, Gilbert, +as if you were my son. Heaven only knows when I may see +blue water again. If this man Rupert Godwin is indeed on the +verge of ruin, he will scarcely relinquish twenty thousand +pounds without a struggle. But, come what may, I will have +the money from him, by fair means or foul. In the mean time +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>Gilbert, I trust the command of the vessel to you in case of the +worst. Remember, she sails to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“Without fail, Captain, and you with her, please Providence!”</p> + +<p>“That,” answered Harley Westford solemnly, “is in the +hands of Heaven.”</p> + +<p>He placed all the necessary papers in the young man’s +custody, and after a few instructions, hurriedly but not carelessly +given, he wrung Gilbert’s extended hand, and then sprang +into the boat which was to take him ashore.</p> + +<p>He called the first cab that was to be found outside the Docks, +and told the man to drive at a gallop to Lombard-street.</p> + +<p>The bank was closing as the Captain alighted from the +vehicle. Mr. Godwin had just left for his country-house, the +clerk told Harley, and no further business could be transacted +that day.</p> + +<p>“Then I must follow him to his country-house,” answered the +Captain. “Where is it?”</p> + +<p>“Wilmingdon Hall, on the North road, beyond Hertford.”</p> + +<p>“How can I get there?”</p> + +<p>“You can go by rail to Hertford, and then get a fly across to +the Hall. It’s only a mile and a half from the station.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” answered Harley Westford. Then, after directing +the cabman to drive his fastest to the Great Northern Terminus, +he stepped once more into the vehicle.</p> + +<p>“Neither Rupert Godwin nor I shall know peace or rest until +that money has been restored to its rightful owner!” cried the +Captain, raising his clenched hand, as if he would have invoked +the powers of Heaven to witness his oath.</p> + +<p>He little knew how terribly that oath was to be fulfilled.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">AN IMPORTUNATE CREDITOR.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">While Harley Westford was making his way to Hertford by +express-train, Mr. Godwin sat over his wine in one of the splendid +apartments of Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>Wilmingdon Hall was no modern villa erected by a wealthy +speculator, one of the merchant princes of the commercial age. +It was a noble relic of the past; one of those stately habitations +which we find here and there embosomed in woods whose growth +is of a thousand years. For centuries the Hall had been the +residence of a grand old race; but reckless extravagance had +driven the lords of the mansion away from its ponderous gates, +to give place to the rich commoner whose wealth made him +master of the old domain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> + +<p>The Hall was built in the form of a quadrangle, and was +large enough to have accommodated a regiment of soldiers. +One side of the quadrangle had been built in the early Tudor +period, and had been disused for many years. The stone mullions +of the windows darkened the rooms, and the tapestry +hung rotting on the walls of the gloomy bedchambers and the +low-roofed saloons of a bygone age.</p> + +<p>There were few of the banker’s household who would have +been bold enough to enter this northern wing of the mansion, +which was, of course, reported to be haunted; but Mr. Godwin +himself had been often known to visit the silent chambers, +where the dust lay thick upon the mouldering oaken floors. +The banker had indeed caused an iron safe to be placed in one +of the lower rooms; and it was said that he kept a great deal of +old-fashioned plate and jewellery, intrusted to him by his customers, +in the cellarage below this northern wing.</p> + +<p>Very few persons living in this present day had ever descended +to these cellars; but it was reported that they extended the +whole length and breadth of the northern side of the quadrangle, +and even penetrated into the adjoining wings. It was +also said that in the time of the civil wars these cellars had +been used as prisons for the enemy, and as hiding-places for the +faithful adherents of the good cause.</p> + +<p>The servants of Mr. Godwin’s numerous household often +talked of those gloomy underground chambers, but not one +among them would have been courageous enough to descend +into the dark and unknown vaults. Nor were the cellars ever +left open to any hazardous intruder, as the ponderous old keys +belonging to them, and to all the rooms in the deserted northern +wing, were lodged in the safe keeping of Mr. Godwin himself, +and no doubt stowed away in one of the numerous iron safes +which lined the walls of his study. There was some legend of +a subterranean passage leading from some part of the grounds +to the cellarage; but no one now in the household had ever +ventured to test the truth of this legend. Was there not also +the legend of a White Lady, whose shadowy form might be met +at any hour in those darksome chambers,—a harmless lady +enough while in the flesh, a poor gentle creature, who had broken +her heart and gone distraught for love of an inconstant gentleman +in the military line; but a very troublesome lady in the +spirit, since she appeared to devote her leisure to sighing and +wailing in passages and cupboards, and to the performance of +every variety of scratching, and knocking, and scraping, and +tapping known to the most ingenious of ghosts.</p> + +<p>In the neighbourhood of Wilmingdon Hall Mr. Godwin was +looked upon as the possessor of almost fabulous wealth. He +was regarded as a kind of modern magician, who could have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>coined gold out of the dead leaves which strewed Wilmingdon +woods in the autumn, if he had chosen to do so.</p> + +<p>The June evening was as beautiful as the June morning had +been. The western sky was one grand blaze of crimson and +orange, as Rupert Godwin sat over his wine in his spacious oak-panelled +dining-room. He was not alone. On the opposite +side of the table appeared the wizen face of the clerk, Jacob +Danielson.</p> + +<p>Crystal decanters, diamond cut, and sparkling as if studded +with jewels, glittered in the crimson sunset, and fragrant hot-house +fruits were piled amongst their dewy leaves in dishes of +rare old Sèvres china. Luxury and elegance surrounded the +banker on every side; but he had by no means the air of a man +who enjoys the delights of the Sybarite’s <i lang="it">dolce far niente</i>. A +dark frown of discontent obscured his handsome face, and the +violet-perfumed Burgundy, which his clerk was sniffing with +the true epicurean gusto, had no charm for the master.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had felt himself compelled to conciliate his +clerk. Did not Jacob know of the twenty thousand pounds—that +twenty thousand pounds respecting which dark plots were +now being woven in the banker’s mind?</p> + +<p>That sum might have restored Mr. Godwin’s shaken credit +for a time; but what would he be able to do when the Captain +returned from his Chinese voyage, and demanded the restoration +of his money?</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin hated Harley Westford with a deeply-rooted +hatred, though he had never looked upon the sailor’s face until +that day. The hatred which had long smouldered in the banker’s +breast arose out of a dark mystery of the past—a mystery in +which Clara, the Captain’s wife, had been concerned.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances, Rupert Godwin, ever selfish, false, +and unscrupulous, resolved on appropriating the sailor’s fortune. +Ruin stared him in the face. He had speculated wildly, and +had lost heavily. He resolved on leaving Europe for ever, and +carrying with him the twenty thousand pounds intrusted to +him by Harley Westford.</p> + +<p>He had spent some of the pleasantest years of his youth in +South America, where a member of his family occupied a position +of some importance as a merchant.</p> + +<p>“Under a feigned name, and in that distant land, no one will +be able to discover the whereabouts of Rupert Godwin, the +runaway banker,” he thought; “and with twenty thousand +pounds for my starting-point, I may make a second fortune, +larger than my first. Julia shall accompany me. My son may +remain in England and shift for himself; there has never been +much love between us, and I do not want to be hindered at +every turn by some Quixotic scruple of his. Chivalry and commerce +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>won’t go in harness together. Bayard would have made +a bad thing of it on the Stock Exchange.”</p> + +<p>Thus ran the banker’s thoughts as he sat brooding over his +wine; but every now and then his restless eyes glanced furtively +towards the face of his clerk.</p> + +<p>He feared Jacob Danielson. The fear as yet was shadowy +and unreasoning; but he felt that the clerk knew too many of +his secrets, and might become a hindrance to his schemes. He +felt this, and in the meantime he was anxious to conciliate, and +if possible hoodwink, Jacob Danielson.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jacob,” he said presently, taking up the thread of a +former conversation, “this twenty thousand may enable us to +weather the storm. If the first calls made upon us are promptly +paid, confidence must be restored, and the rumour against us +will die away.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” answered the clerk, in that cool dry tone of +voice which was peculiarly unpleasant to Rupert Godwin; “but +when the sea captain comes home and wants his money—what +then?”</p> + +<p>“By that time we may be again in a strong position.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, we <em>may</em>! But how?”</p> + +<p>“Some of the speculations in which my money has been +risked may improve. My eggs are not all in one basket. Some +of the baskets may prove to be sounder than they appear just +now,” answered the banker, who tried in vain to appear at his +ease under the piercing scrutiny of Jacob’s sharp grey eyes.</p> + +<p>“Do you believe that, Mr. Godwin?” asked the clerk, in a +tone that was strangely significant.</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” responded Jacob, rubbing the iron-grey stubble +upon his chin with his horny palm, until the harsh rasping noise +produced by that action set his employer’s teeth on edge. “I +am glad you have so much confidence in the future.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin winced as he felt the sting contained in these +simple words. He felt that to throw dust in the eyes of Mr. +Danielson was by no means an easy operation. But he was no +coward. He was a bold bad man, whose heart was not likely to +fail him in any desperate venture.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” he thought, as his strongly-marked brows contracted +over his dark eyes, “what have I to fear from this man? True, +that he knows of the twenty thousand pounds; but what harm +can his knowledge do me when I am far away from England +and my creditors? In that money lies the means of new wealth.”</p> + +<p>His head drooped forward upon his breast, as he abandoned +himself to a reverie that was not altogether unpleasant, when +suddenly a voice, solemnly impressive in its tone, sounded in the +quiet of the June twilight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> + +<p>“Mr. Godwin,” said the voice, “I come to demand from you +the twenty thousand pounds which I lodged in your keeping to-day.”</p> + +<p>A thunderbolt descending from heaven to shatter the roof +above him could scarcely have affected the banker more terribly +than did the sound of that unceremonious demand.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and saw Harley Westford standing in one of +the long French windows which opened upon the lawn. The +Captain stood on the threshold of the central window, exactly +opposite Rupert Godwin; and in the dim declining light the +banker could see that Harley Westford’s face was deadly pale. +It was the fixed and resolute countenance of a desperate man.</p> + +<p>For the first few moments after those words had been spoken +Rupert Godwin was completely unnerved; but, with an effort, +he shook off that feeling of mental paralysis which had taken +possession of him, and assumed his usual ease of manner.</p> + +<p>“My dear Captain Westford,” he said, “your sudden appearance +actually alarmed me; and yet I am not generally subject +to any nervous fancies. But this place is supposed to be +haunted; and I give you my word you looked exactly like a +ghost just now in the June gloaming. Pray be seated, and try +some of that Chambertin, which I can recommend. Danielson, +will you be good enough to ring for lamps? The darkness has +crept upon us unawares.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the clerk, “we have been so deeply interested +in our own thoughts.”</p> + +<p>There was something like a sneer in Jacob Danielson’s tone +as he said this; and the banker felt as if his inmost thoughts +had been read by his clerk.</p> + +<p>“Well, Captain Westford,” said Mr. Godwin in his most careless +tone, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You +wish to make some new arrangement about the investment of +your money; perhaps you are not satisfied with the rate of +interest allowed by our house. You want to dabble in some +speculative investment.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Godwin,” exclaimed the sailor, “I am a plain-spoken +man, and I don’t know how to beat about the bush. In a very +few words, then, I want my money back.”</p> + +<p>“You are afraid to trust it in my hands?”</p> + +<p>“I am.”</p> + +<p>“You have heard some false rumour, no doubt; some story +got up by notorious City scoundrels. Some anonymous circular +has reached you, perhaps, intended to undermine the credit of +one of the best considered banking-firms in the City of London. +I have heard of such stabs in the dark; and if I had my will +the anonymous slanderer who destroys his neighbour’s credit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>should be hung as high as the assassin who takes his neighbour’s +life.”</p> + +<p>“The rumour which I have heard may be true or false,” +replied the Captain quietly. “I trust for your sake, Mr. Godwin, +that it is false. I think it very likely that it may be so. +But I am dealing with that which is dearer to me than my own +heart’s blood. I am dealing with the money which represents +the future comfort and safety of my wife and children. There +must be no risk, not the shadow of risk, about that money. +Ask me to trust you with my life, and I will trust you freely; +but I will not leave that money in your hands. At the risk of +giving you mortal offence I come to demand its restoration.”</p> + +<p>“And you shall have it in due course, my dear Captain Westford,” +answered the banker, throwing himself back in his chair +and laughing aloud. “Pray, excuse me, but I cannot help +being amused by your simplicity. You sailors are as bold as +lions on the high seas, but the veriest cowards when you come +into the neighbourhood of the Stock Exchange. I really can’t +help laughing at your fears.”</p> + +<p>“Laugh as much as you please, Mr. Godwin; only, give me +back my money.”</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly, my dear Captain Westford; but as I don’t +happen to carry your fortune about with me in my waistcoat-pocket, +you must wait till business hours to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The sailor’s countenance darkened.</p> + +<p>“I relied on catching you in Lombard-street before the bank +closed,” he said, “and I have given orders for the sailing of my +vessel to-morrow at daybreak. If I am not aboard her, she +sails without me.”</p> + +<p>The banker was silent for some moments. The lamps had not +yet been brought into the room, and in the darkness a sinister +smile passed over Rupert Godwin’s face.</p> + +<p>“Your vessel sails without you,” he said presently; “but of +course your officers will await fresh orders from you?”</p> + +<p>“No, they have no occasion to wait,” answered the Captain; +“they have received all necessary instructions. If I am not on +board my vessel before daybreak to-morrow, my first mate will +assume the post of Captain, and the <i>Lily Queen</i> will leave the +Pool without me.”</p> + +<p>Two men-servants entered the room with lamps at this +moment. In the brilliant yet subdued light of the moderator-lamps, +Rupert Godwin looked like a man who was on good +terms with himself and all the world. And yet Heaven alone +knew the intensity of the struggle going forward in this man’s +mind.</p> + +<p>“My dear Danielson,” he exclaimed, after glancing at the +clock upon the chimney-piece—“my dear Danielson, have you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>any notion of the time? It is now past nine, and unless you +start at once, you’ll scarcely catch the 10.30 train from Hertford.”</p> + +<p>“It is like you, to be so kind and thoughtful, Mr. Godwin!” +the clerk said, looking searchingly at his employer. “Yes, my +time is up, and I must be thinking of getting off.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll order one of my grooms to drive you to the station,” +said Mr. Godwin; and before Jacob could remonstrate, he rang +the bell and gave his directions to the servant who answered it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Harley Westford stood a little way from the table, +pale and silent, and with a resolute look upon his frank handsome +face.</p> + +<p>During all this time he had not once seated himself; during +all this time he had not once removed his gaze from the countenance +of the banker. He wanted to discover whether or not +Rupert Godwin was an honest man.</p> + +<p>“I am waiting to hear your decision about that money, Mr. +Godwin,” he said quietly; “remember, that to me it is a matter +of life and death.”</p> + +<p>“If you will step into my study. I shall be at your service immediately, +Captain Westford,” answered the banker; “I have +only a few words to say to my clerk, and then I will join you.”</p> + +<p>A servant entered at this moment to announce that the dog-cart +was ready to take Mr. Danielson to the station.</p> + +<p>“Show this gentleman into my study,” said Rupert Godwin, +“and take lights there immediately.”</p> + +<p>Harley Westford followed the servant. When he entered the +dining-room he had carried his light overcoat upon his arm: this +coat he now left hanging loosely upon a chair.</p> + +<p>“Now, my dear Jacob,” said the banker, with every appearance +of unconcern, “let me see you off, and then I will go and +settle with this importunate sea-captain.”</p> + +<p>“But how will you settle with him?” asked Danielson in a +low suppressed voice.</p> + +<p>“Very easily. I will persuade him that the rumour he has +heard against our credit is entirely false, and shall by that +means prevail upon him to leave his money in my hands until +his return from China.”</p> + +<p>“But he seems determined upon having the money back immediately. +I fancy you’ll find him rather a tough customer.”</p> + +<p>“Trust my diplomacy against his determination. Come, Jacob, +you will certainly lose your train.”</p> + +<p>The banker almost pushed his clerk towards the dog-cart which +was waiting before the Gothic porch of Wilmingdon Hall. Jacob +mounted the vehicle, and the groom drove off at a smart pace.</p> + +<p>Then, for the first time, Rupert Godwin sighed heavily, as he +stood alone in the porch, and a dark cloud fell over his face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<p>“It is difficult work,” he muttered to himself; “awful work, +let me plan it which way I will. But let me remember Clara +Ponsonby—my love and her disdain. Let me remember the past, +and <em>that</em> memory may give me nerve and resolution to-night.”</p> + +<p>He stood for some minutes in the porch, looking out into the +summer darkness. No star had yet risen in the June heavens, +and the lawn and gardens of Wilmingdon Hall were as dark as +the deepest recesses of the forest. After those few minutes of +silent thought, the banker breathed one more sigh, profound as +the first, and turned to re-enter the house.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin went at once to the library, where Harley +Westford was waiting for him.</p> + +<p>“Come, my dear Captain,” he said, as he entered the spacious +room, the walls of which were lined with books, whose costly and +artistic bindings announced alike the wealth of a millionnaire +and the perfect taste of an accomplished bibliopole,—“come, +Captain, let us understand each other fully. You want this +money to-night?”</p> + +<p>“I do. My demand may perhaps be unreasonable, as this +house is not your place of business, nor this an hour in which +you are accustomed to transact business; but the peculiar circumstances +of the case must plead my excuse. I tell you again, +Mr. Godwin, to me this is a matter of life or death.”</p> + +<p>“And if I refuse to give you the money to-night you will +apply for it to-morrow, as soon as the bank opens?”</p> + +<p>“Unquestionably.”</p> + +<p>“And if then there was any delay in the production of your +money, what would you do?”</p> + +<p>“I would dog your footsteps day and night; I would haunt +you like your own shadow; I would stand upon the steps of +your banking-house in Lombard-street and proclaim you as a +thief and a scoundrel, until that twenty thousand pounds was +produced. <em>My</em> money!” cried the Captain in passionate accents; +“it is not my money; it is my wife’s money, my children’s +money; and you had better try to take my life than to rob me +of that.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, my dear sir,” said the banker, with his blandest +smile, “pray do not excite yourself. I was only putting a case. +I daresay if I were a dishonest man you would be what is vulgarly +called an ugly customer; but as I have no intention of +withholding your money for an hour longer than is necessary, +we need not discuss the matter with any violence. I told you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>just now that I was not in the habit of carrying twenty thousand +pounds about me. Under ordinary circumstances, therefore, I +should not be able to give you your money to-night. You say +your vessel sails at daybreak to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“She does.”</p> + +<p>“And you will be a loser if you cannot sail with her?”</p> + +<p>“A very considerable loser.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then, Captain Westford,” answered the banker; +“you have not behaved very generously to me. You have intruded +yourself upon my domestic privacy, and have insulted +me by most unjust suspicions. In spite of this, however, I am +prepared to act generously towards you. As the circumstances +of the case are exceptional, I will strain a point in your favour. +It happens, strange to say, that I have in this house a sum of +money amounting to more than the twenty thousand pounds +which you lodged in my hands.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. It is a strange coincidence, is it not?”</p> + +<p>The banker laughed as he made this remark. Had Harley +Westford been a suspicious man, skilled in reading the darker +secrets of the human heart, something strained and unnatural in +that laugh might have struck upon his ear, awakening a vague +terror. But he suspected nothing. He was quite ready to believe +that he had wronged Rupert Godwin by his impetuous +demand for the return of his money.</p> + +<p>“I happen to have an eccentric old lady amongst my customers, +whose fortune of some seven-and-twenty thousand pounds was, +until a few days since, lodged in the hands of different railway +companies,” said the banker, in his most business-like tone. +“But a week or so ago she wrote to me in a panic, caused by +some silly report she had heard, desiring me to sell out of these +companies, and to keep her money in my hands until she gave me +further directions respecting the disposal of it. But the best +part of the business is, that she begged me to keep the money at +my country-house, for fear, as she said, of a robbery in Lombard-street. +Did you ever hear of anything so absurd?”</p> + +<p>Again Mr. Godwin laughed, the same forced unnatural laugh +as before.</p> + +<p>“However, Captain Westford,” he continued, “the old proverb +very truly tells us, ‘It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.’ +You shall profit by the old lady’s eccentricity. If you will come +with me to the other side of my house, where I keep all valuables +intrusted to me, I will give you Bank of England notes to the +amount of twenty thousand pounds.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you very much,” answered the Captain.</p> + +<p>“No thanks, I am glad to do as much for the sake of——your +wife.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> + +<p>The banker made a long pause before uttering those two last +words.</p> + +<p>He opened an iron safe, artfully disguised by doors of carved +oak, and took from it a heavy bunch of keys, all labelled with +slips of parchment. These keys belonged to the northern wing +of the Hall.</p> + +<p>As the two men were about to leave the room, the door was +opened, and a woman appeared upon the threshold.</p> + +<p>Never had Harley Westford looked upon beauty more splendid +than that which now greeted his sight.</p> + +<p>A girl of some nineteen years of age, whose darkly-flashing +eyes and Spanish style of beauty proclaimed her the daughter +of Rupert Godwin, stood before him. But all that was stern +and cold in the banker’s face was softened into beauty in that of +his daughter.</p> + +<p>The eyes were oriental in their dark lustre, and there was a +dewy softness mingled even with the eager brightness of their +gaze. A crimson glow relieved the pale olive of the clear skin; +and half-parted lips, whose vermilion recalled the hue of the +pomegranate, displayed two rows of small white teeth that glittered +in the lamp-light.</p> + +<p>The girl’s figure was tall and commanding, but she was +graceful as an Andalusian countess.</p> + +<p>Such was Julia Godwin, the only daughter of the banker and +of the poor neglected lady who had been his wife.</p> + +<p>“I have been looking for you everywhere, papa!” exclaimed +Julia; “where have you been hiding yourself all the evening?”</p> + +<p>The banker turned upon his daughter with a frown.</p> + +<p>“Have I to tell you again, Julia, that this is a room which I +devote to business, and that I will not be intruded upon here?” +he exclaimed sternly. “This gentleman is with me on an affair +of vital importance, and I must beg that you will retire to your +own apartments, and leave us undisturbed.”</p> + +<p>“O, very well, papa,” said Julia, pouting her rosy under-lip +in evident vexation, and lingering on the threshold with the +privileged pertinacity of a spoiled child; “but it is dreadfully +weary work sitting alone a whole evening in this melancholy old +house, where one expects to see a ghost walk out of the panelling +at any moment after dark. Mrs. Melville has gone to town to +dine with some old friends, and will not come back till to-morrow +morning; so I am all alone. And I looked forward to such a +pleasant evening with you. However, I’m going, papa; only I +do think you’re very unkind, and I——”</p> + +<p>The dark frown upon Mr. Godwin’s face silenced his daughter’s +complaining voice, and she retired, murmuring to herself about +her father’s unkindness.</p> + +<p>Even the sternest men are liable to some weaknesses; and it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>must be confessed that Julia Godwin was a spoiled child, the +favourite companion of a doting father.</p> + +<p>Between Rupert Godwin and his son there was neither affection +nor companionship. A strange and unnatural dislike +divided the father and his only son; and it was in his daughter +that the proud man had centred all his hopes.</p> + +<p>“Come, Captain Westford,” said the banker, when Julia had +vanished, “it is growing late. The last train from Hertford +leaves at a little before midnight. Will you be able to walk as +far as the station?”</p> + +<p>“Three times that distance, if necessary,” answered the seaman +heartily.</p> + +<p>“Come, then.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin took the lamp in one hand and the bunch of +keys in the other. He went into the hall, followed by Captain +Westford.</p> + +<p>“There will be no vehicle required for this gentleman,” the +banker said, to a servant whom they met in the hall; “he will +take a short cut across the park, and walk back to Hertford.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin led the way along corridors carpeted with +velvet pile, and adorned with pictures and statues, and great +china vases of exotic flowers, whose rich perfumes filled the air. +All was luxury and elegance in this part of the house, and +through the open doors Harley Westford caught glimpses of +exquisitely-furnished apartments, in which the carved oaken +wainscots and richly-adorned ceilings of the Elizabethan age +contrasted with the most graceful achievements of modern +upholstery.</p> + +<p>But suddenly the scene changed. At the end of a long +corridor the banker unlocked a ponderous oaken door, and led +the way into a dark passage, where the atmosphere seemed thick +with dust, and where there was a faint musty smell that seemed +the very odour of decay.</p> + +<p>They were now in the northern wing of Wilmingdon Hall, +amongst those disused chambers to whose dull solitude it pleased +the banker sometimes to betake himself.</p> + +<p>Harley Westford looked round him with a shudder.</p> + +<p>“We seamen are rather superstitious fellows,” he said; “the +air of this place chills me to the bone, and I should expect to +meet a ghost in these dark passages. The place feels like a grave.”</p> + +<p>“Does it?” exclaimed the banker; “that’s strange!”</p> + +<p>Again, if Harley Westford had been a suspicious man, he +might have detected something sinister in the tone in which +those words were spoken.</p> + +<p>The banker unlocked a door leading into a small low-roofed +chamber which bore the aspect of being sometimes occupied by +a business man.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<p>There were iron safes along one side of the room, and a desk +and a couple of chairs stood in the centre of the bare oak floor. +There was a long narrow window, guarded by iron bars and by +heavy shutters on the outside. At one end of the room there +was a door, also heavily barred with iron.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more dreary than the aspect of this apartment, +dimly illuminated by the lamp which Rupert Godwin +placed upon the desk.</p> + +<p>“It is in this room that I keep any objects of special value +intrusted to me for any length of time,” he said, as Harley +Westford’s eyes wandered slowly round the apartment. “Those +safes contain money and securities. That door leads to a cellar +in which I keep plate.”</p> + +<p>He opened one of the safes and took out an iron box.</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Wentworth’s fortune,” he said, “twenty thousand +pounds of which I am about to deliver to you.”</p> + +<p>He set the box upon the desk; and while the Captain was +looking at it with an almost respectful gaze, as the casket +which contained so much wealth, Rupert Godwin turned once +more to the safe.</p> + +<p>This time Harley Westford did not see the object which he took +from that iron repository.</p> + +<p>It was something that flashed with a blue glitter in the light +of the lamp—something which the banker concealed in the +sleeve of his coat as he turned towards the sailor.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said, with his most careless manner, “you must +see my mysterious cellar before you leave this old haunted wing +of the Hall. You are not afraid of the ghosts, I suppose, in my +company?”</p> + +<p>“Neither in yours nor alone,” answered Harley; “a sailor is +never afraid. He may believe in the appearance of strange +visitants upon this earth, but he does not fear them.”</p> + +<p>The banker unlocked the iron-barred door, and pulled it open.</p> + +<p>It revolved very slowly on its ponderous hinges, revealing a +flight of steep steps that led downwards into impenetrable darkness.</p> + +<p>“So that is where you keep your treasures!” cried the sailor; +“a regular Aladdin’s cave!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Rupert Godwin; “if you are an amateur of +old silver, you would find plenty to interest you in that vault—candelabras +that have lighted the banquets of the Tudors, +tankards that Cromwell’s thick lips have touched, tea-pots and +salvers made by Queen Anne’s favourite silversmith, the tarnished +treasures of some of the best families in England. Take +the lamp and look down.”</p> + +<p>Harley took the lamp from the table, and approached the +threshold of the door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> + +<p>He stood for some few moments looking thoughtfully down +into the gloomy vault below.</p> + +<p>“A queer place!” he said; “darker than the hold of a slave-ship +off the African coast.”</p> + +<p>As he uttered the last few words, the arm of the banker was +suddenly raised, and that mysterious something which flashed +with a blue glitter in the lamp-light descended upon the sailor’s +back.</p> + +<p>Harley Westford uttered one groan, staggered forward, and +fell headlong down the steep flight of steps leading to the +cellar.</p> + +<p>There was a crash of broken glass as the lamp fell from his +hand; then a dull heavy thud, which was re-echoed with a +hollow sound in the vault below—a sound that prolonged itself +like the suppressed roar of distant thunder.</p> + +<p>The banker thrust his hand into his breast, then pushed the +heavy door upon its hinges, and turned the key in the lock.</p> + +<p>“I do not think he will come to Lombard-street to demand +his money, or stand upon the steps of my house to denounce me +for a thief and a scoundrel,” muttered Rupert Godwin, as he +dropped the bunch of keys into his coat-pocket.</p> + +<p>Then he groped his way from the room, and crept cautiously +along the narrow passage leading to the occupied portion of the +house.</p> + +<p>He had left the door of communication ajar, and he saw the +light shining through the aperture.</p> + +<p>He seemed to breathe more freely as he emerged into the carpeted +corridor, and locked the door behind him.</p> + +<p>As he was turning the key in the lock, Julia Godwin came +out of one of the rooms near at hand.</p> + +<p>“Where is your friend, papa?” she asked, with a look of +surprise.</p> + +<p>“He has gone back to London.”</p> + +<p>“But how did he go? I saw you both go into the northern +wing just now, and I have been sitting in my own room with +the door open listening for your footsteps ever since. I am sure +he has not passed along this passage.”</p> + +<p>For a moment the banker was silent.</p> + +<p>“How inquisitive you are, Julia!” he said at last. “I let +that gentleman out of the side-door in the northern wing, as he +wanted to get across the park by the shortest way.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, to be sure. But what could take you into that horrible +northern wing?”</p> + +<p>“Business. I have important papers there. Go back to your +room, Julia; I cannot stay to be questioned.”</p> + +<p>The girl looked at her father with an expression of mingled +wonder and anxiety.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<p>“Papa!” she exclaimed, “you are as pale as death. I never +saw you look like this before. And it is not like you to be so +cross to me. I am sure that something has happened to vex +you, something very serious.”</p> + +<p>“I had rather unpleasant business with that man; but it is +all over now, and he has gone. Let me pass, Julia; I have +important letters to write before I go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night then, papa,” said Julia, holding up her face to +be kissed. But before the kiss could be given, she recoiled from +her father, with a sudden movement, and a low cry of terror.</p> + +<p>“See there!” she exclaimed, pointing to his breast.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter, child?”</p> + +<p>“Blood, papa! A spot of blood upon your shirt.”</p> + +<p>The banker looked down, and saw a little splash of blood +upon the spotless whiteness of his cambric shirt-front. “How +silly you are, Julia!” he said. “My nose bled a little just now, +as I was stooping over some papers. My brain is overloaded +with blood, I think. There, there—good-night, child.”</p> + +<p>He pressed his lips upon the girl’s uplifted brow. Those cold +bloodless lips sent a chill through her veins.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter with papa, to-night?” she thought, as +she returned to her own apartment; “I’m afraid something +must have gone wrong in the City.”</p> + +<p>The banker walked slowly to the dining-room, where Harley +Westford had first broken in upon his reverie.</p> + +<p>The lamps were still burning on the long table of polished +oak; the wines still glowed with ruby lustre in the diamond-cut +decanters.</p> + +<p>But the room was not empty. Seated by the table, with the +<cite>Times</cite> newspaper in his hand, Rupert Godwin beheld Jacob +Danielson, the man who of all others he would have least wished +to encounter at that moment.</p> + +<p>The banker had buttoned his coat across his breast after that +meeting with his daughter, and the blood-stain was no longer +visible. But he could not repress a sudden start at sight of his +clerk.</p> + +<p>“You here, Danielson!” he exclaimed; “I thought you were +on your way to London.”</p> + +<p>“No; I was too late for the train, and so walked back to ask +a night’s hospitality. I might have gone by the midnight train, +of course; but then, you see, my landlady is a very particular +sort of person, and it wouldn’t do for me to go back to my lodgings +in the dead of the night; so I venture to return here. I +hope I shall not be considered an intruder.”</p> + +<p>“O, not at all,” answered Rupert, dropping suddenly into an +arm-chair. “Will you be good enough to touch the bell?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. You are looking very pale.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I was seized with a spasm of the heart just now. I +am subject to that sort of thing,” replied the banker, coolly. +Then he added to the servant who entered the room, “Bring +me some brandy.”</p> + +<p>The man brought a decanter of brandy. Rupert Godwin +half filled a tumbler with the spirit, and drained it to the last +drop.</p> + +<p>“And so you lost the train, and walked over here?” he asked +of Danielson, presently.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I dismissed your man with the dog-cart before I discovered +that the train had started, so I had no alternative but +to walk back.”</p> + +<p>“You must have walked uncommonly fast,” said the banker, +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m rather a fast walker. But where’s our friend the +Captain?”</p> + +<p>“Gone, half an hour ago.”</p> + +<p>“You contrived to pacify him, then?”</p> + +<p>“O, yes. He agreed to let me have the use of his money till +his return from China. I shall pay him rather a high rate of +interest.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, to be sure,” answered the clerk, rubbing his chin in that +slow and meditative manner which was peculiar to him, and +staring thoughtfully at his employer, who drank another half-tumbler +of brandy. “And so the Captain walked to the railway +station. You directed him to go by a cross cut through +the park, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“By the grotto and fernery, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I sent him that way,” answered the banker, rather +abstractedly.</p> + +<p>“Strange!” said the clerk. “I ought to have met him, for I +came that way.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely he took the wrong path; these sailors never are +very good hands at steering their course on shore.”</p> + +<p>“No; to be sure. And the careless fellow has left his coat +behind him, I see,” said Danielson, pointing to Harley Westford’s +light overcoat, which hung on the back of a distant +chair.</p> + +<p>“Very careless,” answered the banker. “And now, as I am +rather tired, I will wish you good-night, Danielson. The +servants will show you to your room. Try some of that cognac. +It is quite a liqueur.”</p> + +<p>“It ought to be rather mild,” answered the clerk; “for I +never saw you take so much brandy as you’ve drunk within the +last five minutes.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin left the dining-room, and went up the broad +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>oak staircase to his own apartment—a lofty and spacious +chamber, furnished with dark carved oak, relieved by hangings +of green velvet.</p> + +<p>Here the mask fell from the assassin’s face; here the guilty +man dared to be himself.</p> + +<p>He dropped heavily into a chair, and covering his face with +his hands, groaned aloud.</p> + +<p>“It was horrible,” he muttered, “very horrible; and yet they +say revenge is sweet. Years ago I hungered for vengeance as +some famished animal may hunger for his prey. And now it is +mine. I am avenged, Clara Ponsonby. You will never look +upon my rival again.”</p> + +<p>The banker plunged his hand into his waistcoat, and drew +from thence a long Spanish dagger of bright blue steel.</p> + +<p>From the point half-way towards the hilt, the blade was +stained with blood.</p> + +<p>“His blood!” muttered Rupert Godwin; “the blood of the +man I have hated for twenty years, and only met for the first +time to-day! The ways of destiny are strange.”</p> + +<p>The banker rose from his chair, and went to an old-fashioned +ebony cabinet, in a secret drawer of which he placed the dagger.</p> + +<p>“No living creature but myself knows the secret of that +spring,” he said to himself. “They must be clever who find the +weapon that killed Harley Westford.”</p> + +<p>Then after a pause, he murmured:</p> + +<p>“The weapon that killed him! Can I be certain that he is +dead?”</p> + +<p>And again, after a pause, he muttered:</p> + +<p>“Bah! How should he survive to-night’s work? The stroke +of the dagger was sure enough; and then the fall down the +steep flight of steps. Can there be any doubt of his death? +And again, if he survived the dagger-stroke and the fall, he +must perish from loss of blood, cold, or even famine.”</p> + +<p>There was something demoniac in the face of Rupert Godwin +as he contemplated this horrible alternative.</p> + +<p>“And the twenty thousand pounds are mine!” he exclaimed +triumphantly, after a long pause: “mine—for ever; to deal +with as I please. That sum may help me to sustain the +shattered credit of my house. Fresh speculations may float me +back to fortune. I may surmount all my difficulties, as I have +surmounted the difficulty of to-night. What is it, after all?—this +crime, which is so hideous to contemplate, so awful to +remember? One bold, sudden stroke, and the thing is done. +This man’s life comes to an end, as it might have come to an +end a few days hence in some squall at sea. What is the world +the worse for his loss, or how am I the worse for what I have +done?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>This was the argument which this man held with himself in +that first pause after the commission of the dread act which +must separate him for evermore in thought and feeling from +men with clean hands and sinless hearts.</p> + +<p>He was not sorry for what he had done. He was disturbed +by no feeling of compassion or regret for his victim. But he +felt that he had done a deed the weight and influence of which +upon his future existence he had yet to discover.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him as if some physical transformation had been +worked upon him since the doing of that awful deed. He no +longer breathed, or moved, or spoke, with a sense of ease and +freedom. His respiration was troubled, his limbs seemed to have +lost their elasticity; when he spoke, his voice sounded strange +to him.</p> + +<p>“It is a kind of nightmare,” he said to himself, “and will +pass away as quickly as it came. I have lived in lands where +men hold each other’s lives very lightly. Am I the man to play +the coward because this insolent sailor’s days have been cut +shorter by so many months or years? Why did he come here +to brave and defy me in my own house? He did not know +what a desperate man he came to defy. He did not know what +good cause I had to hate him.”</p> + +<p>Excited by such thoughts as these, the banker paced up and +down his spacious room, with his arms folded, and his head bent +upon his breast.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped, and a look of terror passed across his +face.</p> + +<p>“The receipt!” he exclaimed. “Powers of hell! the receipt +for the twenty thousand pounds! What if that should have fallen +into other hands?”</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, he muttered:</p> + +<p>“No, it is scarcely possible. The man would have kept it in +his own possession. It is buried in the dark vault where he lies, +never to rise again upon this earth.”</p> + +<p>But in the next moment the banker remembered the coat +which Harley Westford had left in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>“If by any chance the receipt should be in one of the pockets +of that coat!” he thought, as he stood motionless in the centre +of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, he snatched a candle +from the dressing-table, left his room, and went down to the +hall below.</p> + +<p>He went into the dining-room. There all was deserted. The +lamps were out; Jacob Danielson was gone; but the Captain’s +coat still hung on the chair where he had left it.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin ransacked the pockets; but there was no shred +of paper to be found in any one of them.</p> + +<p>“What if Danielson should have examined them before me, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>and should have secured the receipt!” exclaimed the banker. +“That would indeed be destruction. But no; surely, careless as +these seafaring men may be, Harley Westford would never have +carried the only document representing his fortune in the pocket +of a loose overcoat.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM. +</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Slowly, very slowly, did Mrs. Westford recover from that attack +of brain-fever which had been brought on by the grief and excitement +of her parting with her husband. It was no ordinary +grief which had reduced her to this alarming condition—she had +succumbed beneath the influence of a strange and unconquerable +presentiment which had oppressed her during the long night of +watching that preceded Captain Westford’s departure.</p> + +<p>Long and patiently through those bright midsummer days +did Violet watch in the sick-chamber, while Lionel, scarcely less +devoted, was faithful to his post in the pretty boudoir adjoining +his mother’s room. Never had a mother been blessed by more +affectionate children; never had more loving eyes kept watch +by a sick-bed.</p> + +<p>But sometimes in the pleasantest hour of the June evening, +when the western sky was rosy with the last glory of the setting +sun, Lionel Westford would insist upon Violet going out for a +constitutional walk, while he took her place beside his mother’s +bed.</p> + +<p>“It is no use talking, Violet,” he said; “if you don’t get a +little fresh air after a long day’s watching and fatigue, you will +make yourself as ill as poor mamma, and it will be small comfort +for her to find you an invalid when she recovers. Go, dear, +and take a nice long ramble in the forest, and come back fresh +and blooming to get a good night’s rest. Remember, Miss Vio, +in the absence of papa I am your responsible guardian. So no +disobedience, miss. Put on your hat and depart.”</p> + +<p>If the light-hearted young man had been a close observer, he +would have wondered, perhaps, at the blushes which dyed Violet’s +cheeks whenever these evening rambles were discussed.</p> + +<p>Hesitating and confused in her manner, she would seem one +minute as if she most earnestly wished to go, and in the next +would plead almost piteously to be allowed to stay in the peaceful +sanctuary of her mother’s room.</p> + +<p>But Lionel was obstinate where he thought Violet’s welfare +was concerned, and insisted on these evening rambles.</p> + +<p>“I should go with you and see that you took a regular constitutional, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>miss,” he would say; “but I am determined that our +mother shall never be left entirely to hired service, however +faithful and devoted that service might be. If you don’t like +going alone, you can take one of the servants with you; but you +need scarcely go out of earshot of the house.”</p> + +<p>All this time Clara Westford lay feeble and helpless, her mind +disordered by feverish visions, in which she always saw her husband +surrounded by peril and tempest.</p> + +<p>The doctor reported favourably, but he owned that her recovery +might be slow and tedious.</p> + +<p>The mind had been very much shaken, he said, by the shock +of that parting with Harley Westford.</p> + +<p>So when the sun was low in the west, Violet was wont to leave +her mother’s room and to go out alone into the forest glades that +stretched beyond the gardens of the Grange.</p> + +<p>No English scenery could be more lovely than that Hampshire +woodland, with its rich undergrowth of fern and hazel, its +glimpses of sunshine and depth of shadow.</p> + +<p>And surely no lovelier nymph ever adorned a classic forest +than she who now wandered forth in the quiet evening, with wildflowers +twisted in the ribbon of her broad straw hat.</p> + +<p>So she went forth one evening about a week after that interview +between the banker and his victim at Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>She crossed the broad lawn, went along the narrow path that +led through the shrubbery, and left the Grange gardens by a +little wooden gate that opened at once into the forest. Her face +was pale now, though it had been rosy with bright blushes when +she left her brother. She did not keep within earshot of the +house, as Lionel had supposed she would do, but struck at once +into a narrow footpath that wound in and out amongst the grand +old trees, and wandered on, sometimes slowly, sometimes at an +almost rapid pace, till she came to a grassy patch of land shut +in by a tall screen of elm and beech, with here and there the +spreading branches of an oak. It was a most lovely spot, an +enchanted circle wherein Vivien might have hushed the magician +to his charmed sleep. The fern grew tall amongst the broad +brown trunks of the old trees, and in the distance a glassy sheet +of water reflected the evening sky.</p> + +<p>It was a lovely spot; and it was not untenanted. A young +man sat on a low camp-seat, with an artist’s portable easel before +him.</p> + +<p>He was not working at the water-colour sketch on the easel. +He was sitting in rather a melancholy attitude, and his eyes were +fixed upon that opening in the forest in which Violet appeared.</p> + +<p>He was very handsome; dark, with deep grey eyes fringed by +long black lashes—eyes which more often looked black than +grey. He was very handsome, and his appearance was that of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>a man upon whom the stamp of gentle blood had been indelibly +fixed. The air of high breeding was a part of himself, and not +borrowed from the clothes he wore; for no costume could be +more indefinite in its character than his velveteen shooting-jacket +and grey waistcoat and trousers, which might have been +alike suitable to a gamekeeper, a pedlar, or a gentleman on a +pedestrian tour.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the first glimpse of Violet Westford’s white +dress appeared in the forest pathway than the young artist +sprang from his seat and ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>“My own darling!” he exclaimed; “how late you are, and +how long the time has seemed—how cruelly long!”</p> + +<p>Now, when a gentleman addresses a lady as “his own darling,” +it must be presumed that the lady and gentleman have +met very often, and are on very good terms with each other.</p> + +<p>“I could not come earlier, George,” the girl said gently; “and +even now I feel as if I were very wicked to come at all. O, if +mamma were well, and I could tell her of our engagement! If +I could take you to her! O, George, you do not know her, if you +think that your poverty would stand in your way. She would +never ask me to marry a man I did not sincerely love. And +if she liked you, I’m sure she’d be the last person to consider +whether you were rich or poor.”</p> + +<p>The young man sighed heavily, and did not immediately +answer this maidenly speech.</p> + +<p>But after a pause he said:</p> + +<p>“Your mother may be a very generous woman, Violet, but +there are others who are not so generous. There are some who +worship only one god, the Golden Calf; some there are who +bow themselves down before that modern Moloch, and would +offer up the hearts’ blood of their own children as mercilessly +as the Carthaginians cast their offspring into the furnaces that +burned beneath the feet of Belsamen. You do not know the +world, my Violet, as I know it, or you would never talk of +poverty being no barrier between us.”</p> + +<p>“But neither my father nor my mother are money-worshippers,” +pleaded the loving girl. “Papa is the most simple-hearted +of men, and I have only to confess to him that I have +been foolish enough to fall in love with a poor unknown artist, +whose sole fortune consists of a sheaf of brushes, a palette, a +portable easel, and a camp-stool, and he will give his consent +immediately—that is to say, as soon as he knows you, George; +for, at the risk of making you very conceited, I must confess +that he can’t know you without liking you.”</p> + +<p>“My dear foolish girl!”</p> + +<p>“Wasn’t mamma charmed with you last Christmas, when we +met you at the ball at Winchester? only she mistook you for a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>man of fortune, and little knew that you were a poor wandering +artist, lodging at a cottage in the forest. You have really such +an aristocratic air, that one would imagine you had twenty +thousand a year.”</p> + +<p>A dark shade passed over the young man’s face.</p> + +<p>“If I had five hundred a year, my darling, I should have +contrived to get an introduction to your father before he left +England, and should have boldly asked for this dear little hand. +But I am a pauper, Violet. I am a dependant, and the lowest +of dependants, for I am a dependant on a man I cannot +esteem.”</p> + +<p>Violet Westford looked at her lover’s gloomy face with an air +of mingled distress and bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“But it will not be always so, George,” she said. “You will +be a great painter some day, and then all the world will be at +your feet.”</p> + +<p>The young man’s moody expression vanished as he looked +down at the bright face lifted to his.</p> + +<p>“My beautiful young dreamer!” he exclaimed. “No; I have +no such ambitious visions of triumph and greatness; but I hope +some day to win a name that will at least give me independence. +To that end I work; and you know that I work hard, my +darling.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, I am sometimes afraid your health will suffer.”</p> + +<p>“There is no fear of that, Violet. See here. You must see +the result of my day’s labour, and approve, or I shall not rest +happily to-night. You are all the world to me now, Violet.”</p> + +<p>The young painter led the girl to the easel, and she stood by +his side for some minutes gazing in silent rapture upon the +water-colour drawing before her.</p> + +<p>She had no artistic knowledge—no experience; and yet she +felt somehow that the work before her bore upon it the divine +impress of genius.</p> + +<p>It was only the picture of that forest glade, with the deep +fern, the broad sheet of unrippled water, the rosy glow of the +sunset, and the figure of a deer drinking.</p> + +<p>But the soul of a poet had inspired the hand of the painter, +and there was a quiet beauty about the picture that went home +to the heart.</p> + +<p>“O, you will be great, George!” exclaimed the girl, after that +long silent gaze upon the picture. “I feel that you will be +great.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with her earnest eyes of darkest deepest +blue, and clasped two little loving hands about his arm.</p> + +<p>He needed no higher praise than this. Glory might come to +him by-and-by, and gold with it; but this one passionate thrill +of delight was the thing neither glory nor gold could buy for him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> + +<p>For some little time the lovers wandered together in the forest +glade, supremely happy, forgetful for a while of all the earth, +except that one verdant spot hidden in the heart of the woodland.</p> + +<p>Then, as long streaks of crimson dyed the grass, Violet +hurried homewards, with her lover still by her side. It was +only when they were near the gate opening into the gardens of +the Grange that the young painter reluctantly withdrew.</p> + +<p>Heaven knows, their meetings were pure and innocent as if +they had been denizens of the fairy realms of Oberon and +Titania; but Violet felt a pang of something like guilt as she +returned to the sick-room, and seated herself once more by her +mother’s bed.</p> + +<p>“How hard to keep a secret from such a darling mother!” +thought the girl, with a sigh. “I will tell her all directly she +recovers. George cannot refuse me that privilege. I will tell +her all, and she will smile at our folly and sympathize with our +hopes, and believe, as I do, in that bright future when George +Stanmore will be the name of a great painter.”</p> + +<p>Comforted by such thoughts as these, a sweet smile crept +over Violet Westford’s face as she watched her mother’s slumbers, +which to-night were more peaceful than they had been +since the Captain’s departure.</p> + +<p>The story of Violet’s acquaintance with the wandering artist +is a very simple one.</p> + +<p>The lovers first met at a ball at Winchester—a grand county +ball, where only people of unblemished respectability were admitted. +Here Mrs. Westford and Violet met Mr. Stanmore, +who came with one of the officers stationed there, an old school-fellow, +as he said. The young stranger made a very favourable +impression upon both ladies, and danced several times with the +younger.</p> + +<p>After this, Lionel and his sister frequently encountered the +stranger in their winter walks and drives in the forest. He +made no secret of his profession, but told them at once that he +was a landscape-painter, and that he was living in very humble +lodgings in the forest, in order that he might study nature face +to face.</p> + +<p>Sometimes they found him seated in a little canvas tent, +buttoned to the chin in a thick greatcoat, and working hard at +a study of some grand old oak, gaunt and brown, against the +wintry sky.</p> + +<p>Little by little, therefore, the young people grew very intimate +with Mr. George Stanmore, the artist. Lionel was much pleased +with his new acquaintance. But during the warm spring months +Lionel Westford had been away at the University, and Violet +had been obliged to walk alone in the forest, for Mrs. Westford’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>active charities engaged the greater part of her time, as she +devoted herself much to visiting the poor in the villages within +a few miles of the Grange.</p> + +<p>Sometimes Violet accompanied her upon these missions of +charity; but there were many days upon which the young girl +went alone into the forest, sometimes on foot, sometimes riding +a pet pony, that had been honoured with the name of Oberon.</p> + +<p>But, whether she rode Oberon or went on foot, and whichever +pathway she took, Violet Westford was sure to meet George +Stanmore.</p> + +<p>The rest is easily told. They had seen and loved each other. +From the very first, unknown to either, that Divine lamp of +love had shone in the breast of each—innocent unselfish love, +which the trials of life, the cruel tempests of the world, might +distress and torture, but could never wholly quench. It was +true love, which knows no base alloy of selfish fear or mercenary +caution. Violet Westford would have united her fortunes to +George Stanmore though he had been a beggar and would have +blindly trusted Providence with her future; and the only prudential +motive that withheld the young man from pressing his +suit was the fear that she whom he so tenderly loved might +suffer by his impetuosity.</p> + +<p>“Not till I have won independence will I ask her to be my +wife,” he thought. “No, not till I can look the world in the +face, reliant upon my own right hand for support.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE STORY OF THE PAST.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Clara Westford recovered slowly, but she did recover; a faint +flush came back to the wan cheeks, a new brightness lit up in +the eyes that had been so haggard.</p> + +<p>That process of recovery was very painful. When the invalid’s +weary hours of delirium and stupor wore over—when unreal +afflictions, visions of horror and dread, had ceased to torture the +agonized and bewildered mind, real sorrow, stern and cruel, +awaited Clara Westford.</p> + +<p>The first syllables that fell from her lips, when reason returned, +formed a question about her husband.</p> + +<p>“Was there any letter?” she asked. “Had any letter come +from Harley?”</p> + +<p>Alas, for that anxious wife, the answer was in the negative; +no letter had arrived from the Captain.</p> + +<p>Neither Violet nor Lionel had been rendered uneasy by their +father’s silence. They fancied that if he had not written, it was +because he had had no opportunity of sending a letter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span></p> + +<p>But the wife was distracted by a thousand fears. Her husband +had left her declaring his intention of depositing the entire +amount of his savings in a banker’s hands, and immediately +sending her the receipt for the money.</p> + +<p>The fortune itself was a secondary consideration in Clara +Westford’s mind; yet she knew her husband’s anxiety upon that +point, and she could not but wonder that he had omitted to +write to her on the subject before leaving England; or failing to +write before setting sail from London, she wondered that he had +not contrived to send a letter ashore before losing sight of the +English coast.</p> + +<p>She was distracted by fears, so shadowy in their nature that +she could scarcely give utterance to them. Her children perceived +her uneasiness, and endeavoured to set her fears at rest.</p> + +<p>“My dearest mother,” exclaimed Lionel, “do you think, if +there were really cause for fear, that <em>I</em> should not also be uneasy? +Do you forget the old proverb, which tells us that ill news flies +fast? If anything had been amiss with my father before the +<i>Lily Queen</i> lost sight of England, Gilbert Thornleigh would have +been sure to write to us. You know how devoted he is to my +father; and, indeed, to all of us,” added the young man, looking +with peculiar significance at Violet, who blushed, and moved +to an open window near her to avoid that searching gaze.</p> + +<p>Everybody at the Grange had perceived the impression made +by Violet on the simple-hearted first mate of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford tried to smile upon the loving son and daughter, +who watched her every look with anxious eyes. She smiled, +but it was the smile of resignation, not of peace. Her heart was +racked by hidden torture, yet she suffered no cry of despair to +escape her lips. For the sake of Lionel and Violet she tried to +suppress all outward evidence of her anguish, and waited, hoping +day after day that ere the sun set a letter might reach her, sent +by some homeward-bound vessel, to assure her of Harley Westford’s +safety.</p> + +<p>“He knows how much I suffer when he is away,” she thought. +“He will not fail to write whenever the opportunity occurs.”</p> + +<p>It was a fearful time—a long, dreary interval of suspense and +anxiety. Lionel was happy; for, with the careless, light-hearted +confidence of youth that has never been clouded by sorrow, he +trusted blindly in the future. All his father’s previous voyages +had been prosperous, why should not this voyage be like the rest?</p> + +<p>And Violet, she too was happy, with the wondrous happiness +of a first love—true, pure, and boundless. Now that her mother +was restored to health, it seemed to her as if there were no cloud +upon the brightness of her life. What if George Stanmore were +poor? Her father would return, and poverty would be no disgrace +in the eyes of that most generous of fathers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>So the summer time passed happily for the lovers, who met +often in the beautiful woodland, sometimes alone, sometimes in +the presence of Lionel, who saw that the painter admired his +sister, but had no suspicion of any deeper feeling existing +between the two. This is a subject upon which brothers are +very slow of understanding. They think their sisters very nice +girls, but are rather surprised than otherwise when some masculine +friend declares that the nice girl is something akin to an +angel.</p> + +<p>If Lionel had suspected the truth, he would scarcely have interfered +to cross the path of that true love. He had no mercenary +ambition, either for his sister or himself; and the hard +schooling of adversity had not yet taught him prudence.</p> + +<p>The summer waned; bright hues of crimson and amber mingled +with the verdant green of the forest, the fern grew brown, +the country children came whooping through the echoing glades, +bent on the plunder of aloe and hazel, beech and chestnut; the +days grew shorter, and the little family at the Grange spent +long quiet evenings in the lamp-lit drawing-room.</p> + +<p>But still there was no letter from Harley Westford—no tidings +of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford and her son and daughter had many friends +amongst the neighbouring county families; but they saw little +company during this period, for Clara had always held herself +very much aloof from society during her husband’s absence.</p> + +<p>All who were intimate with her admired and loved her: but +there were some who knew little of Clara Westford, and who +pronounced her proud and exclusive.</p> + +<p>She was proud, because her husband’s position as a merchant +captain was beneath that of the county gentry, who had never +dabbled in trade or speculation, and who could not quite realize +the fact that the owner of a trading-vessel might be a gentleman.</p> + +<p>Clara was proud for his sake; not for her own.</p> + +<p>“I will go to no house where my husband is not esteemed an +honoured guest,” she said.</p> + +<p>She was exclusive, because her affection was concentrated into +one focus. She loved her husband and children with a deep and +devoted love, and she had little affection left for the world outside +that happy household.</p> + +<p>Three months had passed since the sailing of the <i>Lily Queen</i>; +and yet there were no tidings of the Captain.</p> + +<p>To Clara, and to Clara alone, this was a cause of alarm. +Lionel and Violet still trusted blindly, almost too happy to +believe in the existence of misfortune.</p> + +<p>One bright autumn day Clara Westford sent her son and +daughter on a shopping expedition to Winchester. She was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>pleased to see them employed and happy; for she had no wish +that any part of her burden should be borne by them. It was +a relief to her to be alone, so that she might give way to her +own sorrow, free from the loving scrutiny of those watchful +eyes.</p> + +<p>She sat in the Grange drawing-room, a large low-ceilinged +apartment, with long windows opening on to the lawn.</p> + +<p>The day was warm and bright; and the open windows +admitted the pure air from the gardens and woodland. Clara +Westford sat in a half-reclining position in a low arm-chair near +one of the windows. A little table loaded with books was by +her side; but the volumes lay there unopened and unheeded. She +could not read; her thoughts were far away—on those terrible +and unknown seas where the <i>Lily Queen</i> was sailing.</p> + +<p>Never, perhaps, in the earliest bloom of her girlhood, had +Clara Westford looked lovelier than she did to-day.</p> + +<p>It was the subdued beauty of womanhood, calm and quiet as +the mellow light of the moon compared with the full glory of +the noontide sun.</p> + +<p>She was exquisitely dressed, for she was too completely high-bred +to neglect her toilette on any occasion. She was not a +woman who made sorrow or anxiety an excuse for slovenly attire. +Her chestnut hair was coiled in thick plaits at the back of her +small classical head, and fastened with a simple tortoiseshell +comb. Her silk dress was of a golden brown, which harmonized +exquisitely with the fair clear complexion and chestnut hair—the +brown which Millais has immortalized in the dress of his +red-coated squire’s fair-haired daughter. A large turquoise, set +in a rim of lustreless gold, clasped the small white collar, and a +stud of exactly the same fashion fastened each simple cuff of +spotless cambric. A few costly rings, all of turquoise and gold, +adorned the tapering white hands, and these were the only +ornaments worn by the Captain’s wife.</p> + +<p>She sat alone, thinking—O, how fondly, how mournfully!—of +her absent husband, when suddenly the curtains of the +window farthest from her were pushed aside with a jangling +noise, and a man entered the room.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford looked up, startled by that sound, and a half-stifled +shriek burst from her lips.</p> + +<p>“You here!” she cried. “<em>You</em> here!”</p> + +<p>The intruder was no other than Rupert Godwin, the Lombard-street +banker.</p> + +<p>He advanced slowly towards the spot where Clara Westford +sat. His dark face was just a little paler than usual, and there +was a stern resolute look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered quietly, “it is I, Clara Westford. After +twenty years we meet face to face for the first time to-day, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>I look once again upon the woman who has been the curse and +torment of my life.”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford shrank back into the cushioned chair almost +as if she had been recoiling from a blow.</p> + +<p>“O, merciful Heaven!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands +passionately; “after twenty years of happiness am I to hear +that hated voice again?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Clara,” answered the banker; “for twenty years there +has been a truce. To-day the war begins again, and this time +it shall not end until I am conqueror.”</p> + +<p>The Captain’s wife clasped her hands before her face; but she +uttered no further appeal. She sat shivering, as if chilled to +the very heart by some sudden blast of freezing wind.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Clara, you are as beautiful as ever, but you have lost +some of your old haughty spirit,” said the banker. “The +merchant captain’s wife is not so proud as the baronet’s +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“A hundred times more proud!” cried Clara, dropping her +hands from her face, and looking suddenly at Rupert Godwin. +“A hundred times more proud! For she has her husband’s +honour to protect as well as her own.”</p> + +<p>“Bravely spoken, Clara—nobly spoken! You are the same +imperious beauty still, I see, and the conquest will be a noble +one. This time I will not fail!”</p> + +<p>“Why are you here?” cried Mrs. Westford. “How did you +discover this place?”</p> + +<p>“From your husband. But you shall know more of that by-and-by.”</p> + +<p>“From my husband? Ah! he came to you, then?—you saw +him before he sailed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I saw him.”</p> + +<p>“He deposited money to a large amount in your hands?”</p> + +<p>The bunker looked at Clara Westford with an insolent smile.</p> + +<p>“My dear Clara, you must surely be dreaming!” he exclaimed. +“Your husband deposited no money in my hands, nor +was he in a position to do so.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Simply, that when Harley Westford came to me he was a +beggar. He came to borrow money to pay for some part of the +cargo of his ship, and he deposited with me the title-deeds of +this estate, as a security for the amount advanced to him.”</p> + +<p>“He borrowed money from you!” cried Clara, clasping her +hands upon her forehead with a convulsive gesture. “Why, he +told me that he meant to lodge twenty thousand pounds in your +hands!”</p> + +<p>“He told you a falsehood, then; for the whole of his earnings +were lost in some foreign speculations in which he had involved +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>himself, and it was only with the help of borrowed money that +he could start upon this new venture. Do not look at me with +that incredulous stare, my dear Clara; I do not ask you to +accept this fact on the simple evidence of my word. I have +documents bearing your husband’s signature to prove the truth +of what I state. When you hold those papers in your hands +you may be able to believe me.”</p> + +<p>“O, it’s too terrible!” exclaimed the wretched wife; “it is +too bitter. Harley, my husband, under an obligation to you—to +you, of all other men upon this earth!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the banker, with a smile. “It was strange +that he should come to me, was it not? Very strange! It was +one of those startling accidents which go to make the drama of +social life.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Clara Westford was silent. She was +thinking of her last interview with her husband, and recalling +the words he had then spoken.</p> + +<p>Could it be that he had deceived her as to the state of his +affairs? Could it be, that, with the weakness and cowardice of +intense affection, he had sought to hide from her the approach +of ruin?</p> + +<p>It might be so; such things had been. Love shrinks, with a +cowardly weakness, from inflicting pain upon the thing it loves.</p> + +<p>“He might have trusted me,” she thought sadly. “Did he +think I should fear poverty that was to be shared with him? +After twenty years of union can he know me so little as to +think that?”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford hated and despised Rupert Godwin, and she +would have been inclined to disbelieve any assertion made by +him to the detriment of the man she loved; but she ceased to +doubt him when he boldly offered to produce her husband’s +signature in confirmation of his words.</p> + +<p>“Let me see Harley’s own handwriting in support of this +statement,” she said presently; “then, and not till then, can I +believe you.”</p> + +<p>“All in good time, my dear Clara. You shall see your husband’s +signature, believe me; perhaps only too soon for your +own comfort. But we need not forestall that time. In the +meanwhile, let us look back upon the past. After twenty years +of truce the war is to begin again; and this time it shall be a +duel to the death. Let us look back upon the past, Clara Westford—let +us recall that old story.”</p> + +<p>“What, Mr. Godwin!” cried the Captain’s wife indignantly. +“Are you not ashamed to recall the hateful part you played +in that story?”</p> + +<p>“I only want to prove to you how well I have remembered. +Let me recall that story, Clara.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span></p> + +<p>There was no answer. Mrs. Westford turned from him and +covered her face with her hands once more, as if she would fain +have shut out sight and sound; but, in a cold merciless voice, +Rupert Godwin began thus:</p> + +<p>“Twenty-two years ago, Clara Westford, I spent the autumn +at a fashionable watering-place on the south coast. The place +was crowded that season with all that was most elegant, most +distinguished, most aristocratic. But even amongst that highborn +crowd I did not find myself an intruder. The reputation +of my father’s wealth went with me, and there was a kind of +golden glory about my untitled name. I had been educated in +the greatest cities of the world, and was completely a man of +the world, with no vulgar prejudices as to religion or morals. +My youth had been somewhat stormy, and those who pretended +to know most about me whispered dark histories in which my +name was mingled—not pleasantly. In a few words, Clara, +I was not a man to be trifled with, or fooled, by a girl of +seventeen.”</p> + +<p>There was a brief pause, and then the banker continued:</p> + +<p>“There were many beautiful women at that pleasant seaside +town; but the loveliest of them all, the acknowledged belle, the +observed of all observers, was the only daughter of Sir John +Ponsonby, a rich Yorkshire baronet of very old family. Need +I tell you how lovely she was, Clara? She is lovely still; with +a more subdued beauty, but with as great a charm as she bore +in her brilliant youth. She was a dazzling creature. I met her +at a charity-ball—on the sands—in the reading-rooms—on +horseback with her father, a thoroughgoing Tory of the old +school, and as proud as Lucifer or a Spanish hidalgo. I met +her constantly, for I haunted all the places where there was any +chance of seeing her. The very sight of that girl dazzled me +like the sudden glory of the sun. I loved her, with a mad, +wild, unreasonable passion; and I determined that she should +be my wife.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Clara Westford uncovered her face, and looked +at the banker with a quiet scornful smile.</p> + +<p>“Ah, I understand the meaning of that smile, Clara,” said +Rupert Godwin. “I was presumptuous, was I not, when I +determined to win this woman for my wife? But remember, +she had fooled me on; she had smiled upon me, and encouraged +me by her sweetest words, her brightest glances. She was surrounded +by a crowd of admirers; but I was one of the most +distinguished amongst them; and it seemed to me that she +singled me out from the rest, and took more pleasure in talking +to me than to the others. There were strangers who thought +so too; and the likelihood of our speedy marriage was soon the +public talk of the place.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + +<p>“She was a weak, frivolous girl,” murmured Clara; “but she +meant no wrong.”</p> + +<p>“She meant no wrong!” echoed the banker. “There are +men who commit murder, and then declare they meant no +wrong. This woman did me a deep and bitter wrong. She fed +my mad passion, she encouraged my wild devotion; and then, +when I went to her, confident, hopeful, blindly believing that I +was beloved again—when I went to her and told her how dearly +she was loved, she turned upon me, and slew me with a look of +cold surprise, telling me that she was the promised wife of +another man.”</p> + +<p>The banker paused for a few moments; then, in a suppressed +voice, a voice which was low and hoarse with stifled passion, he +proceeded:</p> + +<p>“I was not the man to take this quietly, Clara Westford. I +was not one of those puling creatures who avow their power to +forget and forgive. In my heart there was no such thing as +forgiveness; in my nature there was no such thing as forgetfulness. +I left Clara Ponsonby with a tempest of passion raging +in my breast. That night, after roaming alone for hours on the +broad open sands, far away from the glimmering lights of the +town, where no living creature but myself heard the long roar +of the ocean—that night, with my clenched hand lifted to the +stars of heaven, I swore a terrible oath. I swore that, sooner +or later, Clara Ponsonby should be mine—not as my honoured +wife, but mine by a less honourable tie. The cup of degradation +she had offered to me—to <em>me</em>, the proud descendant of a proud +race—<em>her</em> lips should drain to the lowest dregs. I was not a +man to work in the dark. I saw my lovely Clara next day, and +told her of the oath that I had sworn. She too came of a proud +race, and she defied me.”</p> + +<p>“She did,” answered the Captain’s wife, “as she defies you +now.”</p> + +<p>“For six months the contest lasted,” continued the banker. +“For six months that silent warfare was waged. Wherever +Clara Ponsonby was seen, I was seen near her. I followed her +from place to place. Her father liked and trusted me, so she +could not banish me from her presence without betraying her +secret engagement to another—a man who was her inferior in +station, and whom her father would have refused to admit as a +claimant for his daughter’s hand. Clara was dumb, therefore; +and, however odious my presence might be, she was compelled +to submit to its infliction. I stood behind her chair in her opera-box. +I rode beside her carriage when she drove in the Park. I +did <em>not</em> succeed in ousting the low-born rival for whose sake I +had been rejected; but I <em>did</em> succeed in humiliating Miss Ponsonby +in the eyes of the world. Before that season was over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>the fashionable circle in which Clara lived was busy with slanderous +rumours against her fair fame. I had managed very +cleverly. I had friends—sycophant followers—always ready to +do my bidding. An idle jest, a significant shrug of the shoulders, +a little damaging gossip at a club-dinner, and the business +was accomplished. Before that season came to its close Clara +Ponsonby’s reputation was blighted. The poisonous whispers +reached her father’s ear—I took care they should; and the proud +old man, believing in his daughter’s disgrace, cast her from his +household, declaring that he would never look on her face again.”</p> + +<p>A convulsive sobbing shook Clara Westford’s frame; but she +uttered no word—no cry.</p> + +<p>“In that hour I fancied myself triumphant,” continued +Rupert Godwin. “Abandoned, desolate, ruined in reputation, +I thought that Clara Ponsonby would have sought the luxurious +home which she knew I had prepared against this day. My +letters had told her of my hopes, my plans; the new home that +awaited her; the passionate devotion that might still be hers. +My emissaries watched her as she left her father’s house; but—O, +bitter anguish and disappointment!—it was not to me that +she came. She went to Southampton, and embarked on board +a steamer bound for Malta; and a month afterwards I read in +the <cite>Times</cite> an announcement of the marriage of Harley Westford, +captain of the merchant vessel <i>Adventurer</i>, to Clara Ponsonby. +At Malta she had joined the man to whom she was +engaged. His life had been spent far away from the circles in +which she moved, and no breath of scandal against her had +ever reached his ear. That, Clara, is the end of the first act of +the drama. The second act began three months ago, when +Harley Westford, your husband, the man for whose sake you +insulted and scorned me, came into my office in Lombard-street.”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford suddenly rose from her seat and turned towards +the banker, proud and defiant of look and gesture.</p> + +<p>“Leave this house!” she exclaimed, pointing to the door. +“It is disgraced and degraded by your presence. Twenty years +ago, when you intruded yourself upon me, you found me in my +father’s house, from which I had no power to dismiss you. This +house in my own, Rupert Godwin. I command you to leave it, +and never again darken its threshold by your hated shadow!”</p> + +<p>“Those are strong words, Clara, and I cannot do otherwise +than obey them. I go; but only for a time. The time will +come when I may have a better right of entrance to this house. +In the meanwhile, I depart; but before I do so, let me show +you a paragraph in this newspaper, which may perhaps have +some interest for you.”</p> + +<p>As he said this, Rupert Godwin handed Mrs. Westford a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>copy of the <cite>Times</cite>, in which one paragraph was marked by a +heavy black line drawn against it with a pen.</p> + +<p>The paragraph ran as follows:—</p> + +<p>“The underwriters of Lloyd’s are beginning to have serious +fears about the trading vessel <i>Lily Queen</i>, which sailed from +London Docks on the 27th of last June, bound for China, and +has not since been heard of.”</p> + +<p>The paper dropped from Clara Westford’s hands; she could +read no farther, but with a long shriek of agony fell senseless on +the floor.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Clara!” exclaimed the banker, looking down at that +prostrate form with a cruel smile upon his face, “I said truly +that the second act of our life-drama has begun.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE STOLEN LETTER.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">The banker took no measures for reviving Clara Westford from +the fainting-fit into which she had fallen after the perusal of +that paragraph in the <cite>Times</cite>.</p> + +<p>She had fallen backwards, and her pale still face was turned +towards the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin knelt beside her, and examined that white +statuesque face with a long and earnest scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“Quite unconscious!” he exclaimed, as he lifted Mrs. Westford’s +unresisting hand, and watched it fall inert and lifeless. +“Death itself could scarcely be less conscious of surrounding +events. Nothing could be better.”</p> + +<p>The banker rose from his knees, and with a soft and cautious +footstep walked slowly round the room.</p> + +<p>It was charmingly furnished, and it bore the traces of constant +occupation. There was an open work-table, an open +piano, a box of water-colours, and upon a table by one of the +windows there was an elegant little walnut-wood easel. In a +comfortable corner near the fireplace stood a desk in different +coloured woods, with an easy-chair before it. The lid of the desk +was closed, but a bunch of keys hung from the lock.</p> + +<p>“It looks like her desk,” muttered the banker, “and if so I +can scarcely fail to find what I want.”</p> + +<p>He glanced once more at the figure lying on the sunlit floor.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford had not stirred.</p> + +<p>Then, with careful fingers, Rupert Godwin lifted the lid of the +desk and looked within.</p> + +<p>In a row of pigeon-holes before him he saw numerous packets +of letters, some tied with common red tape, others with blue +ribbon.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> + +<p>“Those are <em>his</em> letters,” muttered the banker, with a sneer. +“I would wager a small fortune that those are <em>his</em> letters which +she has tied with that dainty blue ribbon. Sir John Ponsonby’s +haughty daughter can be as sentimental as a school-girl, I daresay, +where her dashing Captain is concerned.”</p> + +<p>He took out one of the packets.</p> + +<p>Yes, upon the uppermost envelope was written—“From my +husband.”</p> + +<p>“Let me see how the fellow signs his name,” said Rupert +Godwin. “Perhaps he uses only initials, and I shall be balked +that way. I must have his full signature.”</p> + +<p>The banker drew one of the letters from the packet, and took +it from its envelope.</p> + +<p>It was a very long letter, and it was signed in full—“Harley +Westford.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the Fates favour my schemes,” muttered Rupert +Godwin, as he put the single letter in his waistcoat-pocket, and +replaced the packet in the pigeon-hole from which he had +taken it.</p> + +<p>Then, after one last look at Clara Westford, he left the room.</p> + +<p>He went to the hall, where he rang a bell violently. A +female servant hurried to answer his summons, and started back +in alarm at the sight of a stranger.</p> + +<p>“I am an old friend of Mrs. Westford’s,” said Rupert Godwin; +“but unhappily I am the bearer of very ill news. Your +mistress has fainted; you had better run to her at once. Stay; +what is the name of your doctor?”</p> + +<p>“Doctor Sanderson, sir, in the village. He lives at the house +with the green blinds, please sir. The first on the left as you +pass the Seven Stars, please, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll send him, then, immediately.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir; thank you.”</p> + +<p>The girl ran away, eager to be with her mistress; and the +banker left the ill-fated house, whose peace had fled before his +ill-omened coming.</p> + +<p>He went to the village, and found the house where the surgeon +lived. He left a message for that gentleman, and then walked +to a little inn where he had left his dog-cart and groom.</p> + +<p>He stepped into the vehicle and drove towards Winchester, +whence he had come that day. On the road, a little pony-carriage +passed him, driven by a girl with bright golden hair, set +off by a coquettish little turban hat. A young man was lolling +by her side.</p> + +<p>That bright happy-looking girl was Violet Westford.</p> + +<p>The banker started as if he had seen a ghost, and looked back +after the vehicle with an eager gaze.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that girl must be her daughter,” he thought. “How +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>the sight of her recalls the past!—the very day when I met Clara +Ponsonby riding by her father’s side—the day when sudden love +sprang up in my heart, an ‘Adam at his birth.’ And from that +hour to this I have loved her. Yes, I have loved her, though +hatred and vengeful thoughts have mingled strangely with my +love. I love her; but I would bring her to my feet. I worship +her; and yet I would humiliate her to the very dust.”</p> + +<p>With such thoughts as these in his mind, Rupert Godwin +drove back to Winchester, and alighted at the chief hotel in the +old city.</p> + +<p>He had come to Winchester; but not alone. Crime has +terrors and penalties which even the cleverest criminal cannot +escape. Rupert Godwin knew that he was to some extent in the +power of his old clerk Jacob Danielson, and he determined to +make that clerk his accomplice.</p> + +<p>“If the old man is with me in my schemes, and accepts a +reward for his service, he can never betray me,” he argued with +himself.</p> + +<p>The banker knew that Jacob Danielson was the slave of two +passions—two fatal passions, which render a man the easy prey +of any tempter.</p> + +<p>These two passions were avarice and the love of strong drink. +Jacob Danielson was, in his pettifogging way, a miser; and he +was an habitual brandy-drinker.</p> + +<p>To get brandy, or to get money, he would have been tempted +to sell his soul to the legendary fiend of mediæval times, who +seems to have been always on the look-out for that kind of +bargain.</p> + +<p>The banker had watched his clerk almost as closely as the +clerk had watched him, and he knew the weak points of Danielson’s +character.</p> + +<p>“He would like to be my master,” thought Rupert Godwin, +“and he possesses knowledge that might give him a powerful +hold over me; but, in spite of that, I will make him my +slave.”</p> + +<p>In the mean time the banker had determined upon conciliating +his clerk in every way. The hand of steel in the velvet +glove was exemplified by Mr. Godwin’s policy. He had brought +Danielson to Winchester with him; and that gentleman was +enjoying free quarters at the hotel, and drinking as much brandy +as he pleased to call for.</p> + +<p>The banker’s policy was very simple. He wanted to destroy +the only creature he feared, and he thought that he should be +able to effect that work of destruction through the agency of +Danielson’s own vices.</p> + +<p>He found the clerk sitting in a parlour at the hotel—a very +pleasant apartment, looking into a garden. A decanter half +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>full of brandy stood on the table; but the clerk was sitting in a +moody attitude, with his arms folded, and he was not drinking.</p> + +<p>The banker looked at his subordinate with a suspicious glance. +Rupert Godwin did not care to see his clerk thus deeply absorbed +in thought.</p> + +<p>Sharp and rapid in all his habits and manners as Danielson +ordinarily was, he seemed this afternoon almost like a creature +absorbed in a dream. He turned his eyes slowly towards the +banker, and looked at him with a strange unseeing gaze, almost +as a blind man might have looked at the sun with his dull +sightless orbs.</p> + +<p>“Why, Jacob,” cried Rupert Godwin, “what’s the matter +with you? You look like a man who has newly awakened from +a trance.”</p> + +<p>“I have been in a trance,” answered the clerk in a dreamy tone. +“I was out in the street just now, and I saw a ghost pass by.”</p> + +<p>“A ghost?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; a ghost, such as men often see in the broad sunlight—the +ghost of my dead youth. I saw a woman—the living +image of the only one creature I ever loved; and she seemed to +me like a phantom.”</p> + +<p>The clerk sighed as he stretched out his tremulous hand to +the decanter and refilled his glass.</p> + +<p>“But there’s comfort here,” he muttered; “there’s always comfort +in this. There’s not many sorrows that this won’t drown, +if a man can only get enough of it.”</p> + +<p>Never had the banker seen his clerk so deeply moved. “Why, +Jacob,” he exclaimed, “this does indeed surprise me! I thought +you were a man of iron—hard as iron, pitiless as iron, strong as +iron; I never knew you had a heart.”</p> + +<p>“No more I have,” answered the clerk; “not now—not now. +I had a heart once, and it was broken. I was a fool once, and +I was made to pay for my folly. But that’s long gone by. +Come, Mr. Godwin, I’m myself again. You don’t pay me to +dream; you pay me to work, and I’m ready for your work, +whatever it is. You didn’t bring me down to Winchester for +my pleasure, or for yours. You brought me because you had +something for me to do. What is it? that’s the question.”</p> + +<p>“A question not to be answered just yet, Jacob,” replied the +banker. “We’ll dine first, and go to business afterwards. The +evenings are chilly, so I’ll order a fire.”</p> + +<p>The order was given, and the fire lighted; a well-chosen little +dinner was served presently, and the two men seated themselves +at the table, which glittered with cut glass and massive plate.</p> + +<p>“Strange,” thought Rupert Godwin, as he looked furtively at +the wizen face of the clerk, “this man talks of the ghost of his +dead youth! Have not I too, seen the phantom of the past—that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>girl with the violet eyes and the golden hair? She seemed +to me like the ghost of the Clara Ponsonby I fell in love with +two-and-twenty years ago.”</p> + +<p>The clerk was by this time quite himself again, and he had +resumed that half-servile, half-ironical manner which he generally +had with his master.</p> + +<p>“This is indeed luxury,” he said, rubbing his dry withered +palms, as he looked from the handsomely furnished room to the +glittering dinner-table. “It is not every day that I dine like +this. You are a good master, Mr. Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“I mean to be a liberal one,” answered the banker; “and I +will pay you well, if you serve me faithfully. I make no +pretence of generosity, but I will pay handsomely for handsome +service.”</p> + +<p>“Good, Mr. Godwin; the wisest men are those who pretend +the least.”</p> + +<p>The banker knew that it was useless to play the hypocrite +with Jacob Danielson. Clever as Rupert Godwin was, he always +felt that the clerk’s sharp rat-like eyes could fathom the remotest +recesses of his mind.</p> + +<p>There was only <em>one</em> secret that he believed to be hidden from +Jacob Danielson. That was the secret of Harley Westford’s +disappearance.</p> + +<p>Little more was said during dinner, for the waiters of the +hotel were in attendance throughout the repast. Mr. Godwin +kept his clerk’s glass filled with a succession of expensive wines; +and the waiters opened their eyes to their widest extent as they +saw the little wizened man pour the sparkling liquids down his +throat as fast as they could supply them.</p> + +<p>The banker himself did not drink; and this fact did not +escape Jacob Danielson, who smiled a cunning smile as he perceived +his employer’s abstinence.</p> + +<p>At last the cloth was removed, and dessert was placed upon +the table—the conventional dessert peculiar to provincial hotels, +flanked by a decanter of tawny port, and a jug of claret which +the head-waiter declared to be genuine Lafitte, and which figured +in the wine-carte at eighteen shillings a bottle. The head-waiter +hovered about the table for a few minutes after that +noted claret had been set before Mr. Godwin, poked the fire +with a profoundly studious air, as of a man who had given a +lifetime of study to the science of poking fires, looked meditatively +at the two gentlemen as if deliberating upon the possibility +of their wanting something else, and anon silently departed.</p> + +<p>Then, with the curtains closely drawn, and the waxen lights +gleaming from their tall silver branches, the two men drew their +chairs closer to the hearth, and settled themselves for the +evening.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> + +<p>“Now then for business,” exclaimed the clerk, as the sound +of the head-waiter’s boots died away in the distance.</p> + +<p>The banker was not quick to reply to this address. He was +sitting looking at the fire, brooding darkly. His task was not +an easy one, for he was about to ask Danielson to become his +accomplice in a crime.</p> + +<p>At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Danielson,” he said, gravely, “you and I have been involved +in many transactions, some of which the world would scarcely +call honest.”</p> + +<p>“Some of which the world would call decidedly dishonest,” +answered the clerk, with a sinister grin.</p> + +<p>“But, then, is it an honest world?” asked the banker.</p> + +<p>“O yes; a very honest world, until it is found out.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, there’s the difference. The detected villain is a scoundrel +only fit for the gallows; the undetected villain may pass for a +saint.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and then the banker said, in a tone which +he endeavoured to render indifferent:</p> + +<p>“You remember that merchant captain—the man called +Harley Westford—who came to Wilmingdon Hall to demand +the return of that money which he had deposited with me?”</p> + +<p>“O yes; I remember him perfectly.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to tell you that the poor fellow is dead.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson looked very steadfastly at the face of his +employer, but there was no surprise in the tone in which he +uttered that one word “indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; the <i>Lily Queen</i> has been lost, and all hands with her.”</p> + +<p>“But how do you know that Harley Westford was on board +the <i>Lily Queen</i>?”</p> + +<p>“How do I know it? Why, because he was captain and +owner of the vessel, and because he declared his intention of +sailing with her, without fail. Why should he not sail in the +<i>Lily Queen</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t imagine any reason,” answered the clerk, with his +steadfast gaze still fixed on the banker’s face, which had grown +suddenly pallid. “I really can’t imagine any reason; but then, +you know, such singular things happen in this life. There may +have been something—some accident, to prevent Captain Westford’s +departure.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” exclaimed Rupert Godwin. “Utterly impossible! +I tell you, man, Harley Westford sailed in the <i>Lily Queen</i>, and +has gone down to the bottom of the sea with her and her cargo.”</p> + +<p>“And in that case Harley Westford’s heirs may come upon +you at any moment for the twenty thousand pounds deposited +in your hands.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> + +<p>“They might come upon me for it, if they had any evidence +that it was ever placed in my hands,” replied the banker. “But +what if they have no such evidence?”</p> + +<p>“There is the receipt which you gave Harley Westford.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and which has no doubt gone down with him to the +depth of the ocean.”</p> + +<p>“What if he lodged that receipt in other hands before sailing +on his Chinese expedition?”</p> + +<p>“<em>That</em> is scarcely likely. No man ever foresees his own doom. +At any rate, I speculate upon the chance that Harley Westford +carried the receipt with him, and that it perished with its +owner. In that case, there is only one person who knows of the +twenty thousand pounds—and that person is yourself. Can I +trust you?”</p> + +<p>“You have trusted me before.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and with important secrets, but never with such a +secret as this. Will the gift of a thousand pounds, to be paid +in ten instalments at intervals of six months—will such a gift +as that buy your fidelity?”</p> + +<p>“It will,” answered Jacob Danielson.</p> + +<p>“Then I will execute any deed you choose to draw up, +engaging myself to pay you that money. And now, I want +something more than your silence. I want your service.”</p> + +<p>“You shall have both.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” replied the banker. “Now, then, listen to what I +have to say. When Harley Westford deposited his fortune in +my hands, he also deposited the title-deeds of a small estate in +this county. Those deeds and that estate must be mine.”</p> + +<p>“But how so?”</p> + +<p>“By virtue of a deed executed by Harley Westford before +his departure—a deed, giving me sole possession of the estate +if a certain sum, lent by me to him, was not repaid within six +months of the date of his signature.”</p> + +<p>“O, indeed! The estate will be yours by virtue of such a +deed as that!”</p> + +<p>“Yes; a document formally drawn up by a lawyer, and +signed by you as witness.”</p> + +<p>“But I never witnessed any such deed,” answered the clerk.</p> + +<p>“Your memory fails you to-night, my dear Danielson; you +will have a better memory to-morrow, especially if I give you +fifty pounds on account of our bargain.”</p> + +<p>The banker said this with a sinister smile. The clerk fully +understood him.</p> + +<p>“Make it a hundred,” he exclaimed, “and you will find that +I have an excellent memory.”</p> + +<p>“So be it. And now I want you to try and remember if you +have any friend—a lawyer’s clerk, we’ll say—who knows how +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>to draw up a legal document in which there shall be no flaw, +and who is also clever at imitating the handwriting of other +people.”</p> + +<p>“Let me think a little before I answer that question,” replied +Danielson.</p> + +<p>He sat for some minutes thinking deeply, with his sharp eyes +fixed upon the fire.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said at last, “I do know such a man.”</p> + +<p>“And you will have the deed prepared and executed at once?”</p> + +<p>“I will. The man will want money for his work.”</p> + +<p>“He shall be paid handsomely,” answered the banker.</p> + +<p>“And how about the signature which he is to imitate?”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin took the stolen letter from his pocket, and +tore off the Captain’s autograph. This he handed to Jacob +Danielson.</p> + +<p>“You understand what you have to do?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.”</p> + +<p>No more was said. The clerk’s brains seemed no more +affected by the wine that he had taken than if he had been +drinking so much water. He sat looking, sometimes at the +fire, sometimes at the thoughtful face of his employer; and +every now and then he refilled his glass from one of the decanters +standing near him.</p> + +<p>But, drink as deeply as he might, his mind seemed entirely +unaffected by what he drank. Rupert Godwin, watching him +furtively even in the midst of his own reverie, perceived this.</p> + +<p>“The man is made of iron,” he thought, as he went to his +own room, after bidding Jacob Danielson good-night. “With +many of my secrets in the possession of such a man as this, how +can I ever know rest?”</p> + +<p>And then, after a pause, he muttered:</p> + +<p>“Rest!—rest! When have I ever rested since—”</p> + +<p>Only a groan finished that broken sentence.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_VIII"> + CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE DAY OF DESOLATION.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Bitter, most bitter, was the anguish which awaited Violet and +Lionel Westford when they returned from their pleasant little +excursion to Winchester.</p> + +<p>They had gone forth that morning in all the light-hearted +carelessness of youth, pleased with the beauty of the fair world +in which they lived, scarcely able to believe that sorrow, deep +and lasting sorrow, could exist in so lovely a universe.</p> + +<p>But now the blow, the first most cruel blow which crushes out +the warm life of youth, had fallen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> + +<p>Never again could these two bright young creatures feel as +they had felt; never again could they almost doubt the existence +of sorrow.</p> + +<p>The cup of anguish was offered to their young lips—the bitter +draught was to be drained to its uttermost dregs.</p> + +<p>Violet found her mother lying once more on the bed to which +she had been so long a prisoner. The doctor had attended her; +but he could do nothing. The miserable woman lay in a stony +stupor, with her face turned towards the wall. No passionate +sob relieved the anguish of her aching heart. She suffered in +silence. It seemed as if her heart was changed to stone.</p> + +<p>The surgeon, who had known Violet and Lionel from their +childhood, was waiting in the drawing-room, and begged to see +them before he left the house. They went to him without delay, +and found him seated near a table, with a newspaper in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Mamma has had some bad news,” exclaimed Violet, whose +face was wet with the tears she had shed at the aspect of her +mother’s grief. “O, Mr. Sanderson, I am sure that it is so. +This is no common illness. Some one has brought news, bad +news, of papa. For pity’s sake, do not torture us by this agony +of suspense; let us know the worst.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Lionel, with forced calmness, “let us know the +worst.”</p> + +<p>The surgeon looked at them with sad, compassionate eyes.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it is better so,” he said thoughtfully. “The news +that has so affected your poor mother is not of a very certain +nature,” he continued, “and may not be so bad as it seems. +We can still hope for the best, Miss Westford. Providence is +very merciful, and joy sometimes is near at hand when we are in +the depths of despair.”</p> + +<p>“Tell us the worst,” cried Lionel passionately; “you are +trifling with us, Mr. Sanderson.”</p> + +<p>The surgeon placed the newspaper in the young man’s hand.</p> + +<p>“Read that,” he said, pointing to the marked paragraph +respecting the <i>Lily Queen</i>; “and may God grant that it is only +a false alarm!”</p> + +<p>Lionel read the paragraph—not once only, but three separate +times; and a deadly chill crept to his heart as he read. Presently +he felt a little hand trembling on his shoulder. He turned and +saw Violet’s white face staring blankly at the fatal newspaper.</p> + +<p>“O, no; no, no!” she cried piteously; “not lost—not lost! +My father—my dear, dear father!”</p> + +<p>“Let us hope not, dear Miss Westford,” answered the surgeon, +in the most cheering tones he could assume. “These business +men are always very quick to take alarm. Let us trust, my +dear friends—let us trust in Heaven that all may be well.”</p> + +<p>“No,” cried Lionel vehemently, “I will trust no longer. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>Something tells me that my father is lost. Can I forget my +mother’s illness? That illness was caused solely by a presentiment +that harm would come to my father upon this voyage. For +twenty years she had been a sailor’s wife, yet never before had +she felt such a presentiment of evil. I was a presumptuous fool, +and I laughed at my mother’s fears. I know now that they were +well founded. My father’s ship has been wrecked; she and all +her crew have perished.”</p> + +<p>The young man was interrupted by a hysterical shriek from +Violet, who fell sobbing into his arms.</p> + +<p>“You will kill your sister, if you talk like that, Mr. Lionel +Westford,” exclaimed the doctor angrily.</p> + +<p>Lionel was silent. He carried Violet to her own room; and that +night Mr. Sanderson had to attend two patients at the Grange.</p> + +<p>As for the young man himself, a terrible despair seemed to +have fallen upon him. All through that long miserable night he +paced up and down the empty rooms absorbed in melancholy +thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Why was I not a sailor like him?” he thought. “Why was +I not with him in the hour of trial and danger? It might have +been my fate to save him, or at the worst to perish with him! +I feel myself a base coward when I think of my idle luxurious +existence, and remember how my father has hazarded his life to +earn the money I have been squandering at University wine-parties +and boating excursions. And now that noble life has +been lost in the last effort to increase the fortune of his children.”</p> + +<p>Miserable and dreary were the days and weeks that succeeded +that fatal visit of Rupert Godwin to the Grange.</p> + +<p>For a long time Clara Westford and her daughter lay in their +darkened rooms, victims to a kind of low fever.</p> + +<p>During this weary time Lionel was something more than an +ordinary son and brother to the mother and sister he adored.</p> + +<p>Night after night when the hired nurses had grown weary of +their task—when the servants of the household, sincerely as they +were attached to their mistress and her daughter, had from mere +exhaustion been compelled to abandon their watch, the devotion +of the young man still sustained him. There was something +wonderful in this patient self-abnegation in one who, until the +day of calamity, had seemed so light-hearted and frivolous.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford’s task was not confined to watching in the sick-room. +He made many journeys to London during that weary +time. Again and again he visited every place where there was +any hope of obtaining tidings of the missing vessel; but no good +news rewarded his patience, and before the time of his mother’s +recovery he had learned the worst.</p> + +<p>A fragment of the lost vessel had been found floating near a +rocky coast—a fragment which bore the name of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>With a broken heart Lionel Westford returned to the Grange. +Bitter as this loss was to him, the thought of his mother’s +anguish was almost a deeper grief.</p> + +<p>He returned to her, and watched once more by her sick-bed. +This time he could watch and tend her day after day, night after +night. He had no longer need to leave her, for he knew the +worst.</p> + +<p>At last, after the long intervals of stupor and delirium were +past, Clara Westford was pronounced well enough to be removed +from her bed to a chair near the fire.</p> + +<p>The windows were closed. Without all was dark and dreary. +The trees were leafless; and the December wind sighed mournfully +amongst the bare branches. The sky was of a dull iron +grey—no glimmer of sunshine relieved its coldness.</p> + +<p>But Clara Westford’s room was no comfortless apartment, +even in the depth of winter. Voluminous curtains half shrouded +the windows, and the invalid was propped up by pillows in a +luxurious easy-chair, that had been wheeled close to the low fireplace +of polished steel, in which the red flames were reflected +with a cheerful dancing motion that was very pleasant to see. +The broad marble mantelpiece was crowded with valuable Oriental +china, rare old Japanese monsters, and curious specimens of +crackle, brought home by the Captain for the gratification of the +wife to please whom had been the chief delight of his existence. +A portrait of Harley Westford smiled with the sailor’s own +bright genial smile above the chimney-piece; and a tapestry +screen, of Violet’s workmanship, protected the invalid from the +heat of the fire.</p> + +<p>Clara had not been seated long in that comfortable chimney-corner +when the door was opened, and Lionel came into the +apartment, half-leading, half-carrying, his sister. Violet had +also risen to-day from her sick-bed, but not for the first time. +Her illness had not been quite so long nor so severe as that of +her mother, and she had been the first to rise.</p> + +<p>But she was still very feeble, and in her loose white robes she +looked wan and phantom-like. She was no longer the brilliant +sunny-haired girl who had fascinated the young painter at the +Winchester ball.</p> + +<p>“Violet,” exclaimed Mrs. Westford, “how pale and changed +you are! O, my darling girl, you too have been ill?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear mother.”</p> + +<p>“And I was never told of your illness!” murmured Clara, +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“Why should you have been made more wretched by any such +knowledge, dear mother?” said Lionel. “Violet has been taken +care of.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, dear Lionel,” exclaimed the girl, lifting her eyes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>with a grateful glance to her brother’s face; for she knew that +during that bitter time Lionel had been the good genius of the +household.</p> + +<p>“My poor Violet,” murmured the mother, clasping her +daughter’s hand with quiet tenderness,—“my poor Violet, the +sunshine of life has been clouded very early for you. I have +had twenty years of unsullied brightness, but for you the storm-cloud +has come very soon. My poor children—my beloved +children!”</p> + +<p>The mother laid her weary head on her son’s shoulder. Lionel +drew his arm round her with a caressing gesture. Violet had +sunk upon a low ottoman at her mother’s feet; and, grouped +thus, the three were silent for some moments.</p> + +<p>Lionel was pale as death. The dreaded question would be asked +presently, and the answer must be given.</p> + +<p>He wondered that his mother had not questioned him long +before this.</p> + +<p>Alas for her broken heart, the reason of her silence was her +instinctive consciousness that all hope was past. If there had +been joyful tidings, her son would have only too gladly imparted +them. And then Clara Westford had watched the young man’s +face, and she had seen the traces of despair imprinted there only +too plainly. She clasped the strong hand that was supporting +her feeble frame.</p> + +<p>“Lionel,” she murmured, “why do you try to hide the truth +from me? Do you think I cannot understand my children’s looks, +and read my sorrows in their sad faces? There is no news of +your father!”</p> + +<p>“No, mother; there is no news of—my father.”</p> + +<p>“But there is news,” gasped Clara, “of his ship!”</p> + +<p>“Only the saddest tidings,” exclaimed the young man, sinking +on his knees beside his mother’s chair. “O, mother—mother! +for our sakes try to endure this calamity. Look up, dear mother, +and be comforted. Remember, <em>we have only you</em>.”</p> + +<p>Those last words told all. Clara Westford knew that she was +a widow.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_IX"> + CHAPTER IX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A PITILESS CLAIMANT.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">After that sad scene in Mrs. Westford’s bedchamber, peace +seemed to reign in the household of the Grange.</p> + +<p>Bitter and profound was the grief felt by each member of +that little household; but the heroic hearts battled bravely with +their sorrow. Very little was said of the lost husband and +father. Those who had so dearly loved him, who now so deeply +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>lamented him, dared not speak that familiar name; but he +reigned supreme in the thoughts of all.</p> + +<p>In Clara Westford’s bedchamber a black curtain hung before +the sailor’s portrait. Another portrait in the drawing-room was +also shrouded in the same manner.</p> + +<p>Violet looked very pale and fragile in her deep mourning robes. +Her golden hair gleamed with all its old brightness under the +black crape bonnet; but there was a settled sadness in the dark +blue eyes which had once beamed with such bewitching smiles.</p> + +<p>Everyone in the neighbourhood of the Grange now knew that +Harley Westford’s ship had been lost, and many friends gathered +round the widow to condole with her in the hour of her affliction.</p> + +<p>But, alas, their presence only tortured her. She wanted to be +alone—alone with her despair, alone with the image of her lost +husband. If she had been of the old Catholic faith, she would +have gladly fled to the quiet shelter of some convent; where the +remainder of her joyless days might have been devoted to charitable +works and pious meditations, and where no sound of the +clamorous outer world might have reached her weary ears.</p> + +<p>She endured her grief in silence, but the anguish was not the +less keen. The thought of her loss was ever present to her—not +to be put aside even for a moment. She spent days in +wandering listlessly from room to room, recalling the happy +hours which had been spent with <em>him</em> in each familiar chamber. +Everything reminded her of him, every association was torture. +Even the society of her children afforded no consolation to her. +Their burden was not like hers, she said to herself. The future +might bring them new hope; for her all hope, all joy, was +buried with the past.</p> + +<p>Amongst the friends who came to the Grange was a Mr. +Maldon, a retired attorney, who had made a large fortune in +Chancery practice, and who was a person of some importance in +the neighbourhood.</p> + +<p>This gentleman questioned Clara about her husband’s property. +What proceedings was she about to take? What was +the extent of her children’s fortune?</p> + +<p>Then Clara related to him Rupert Godwin’s extraordinary +statement about the money advanced by him to Harley Westford, +and the title-deeds lodged in his hands as a security for +that loan.</p> + +<p>“Strange!” exclaimed Mr. Maldon. “I always thought your +husband had saved a comfortable little fortune.”</p> + +<p>“I thought the same,” answered Clara, “and I think so still. +Upon the day of his departure my dear husband told me he was +about to deposit a sum of twenty thousand pounds in the hands +of Rupert Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Godwin denies having received that money?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>“He does; and he further declares my husband to be his +debtor. But I will never believe it, unless I see the proof in +Harley’s own handwriting.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Mrs. Westford, this is all very mysterious,” +exclaimed the lawyer. “I don’t see how we can possibly doubt +such a man as Mr. Godwin. His position is that of one of the +commercial princes of this country. He would not be likely to +advance any false assertion with regard to his claims upon your +husband.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know that. I have a very bad opinion of Rupert +Godwin,” Mrs. Westford answered coldly.</p> + +<p>“You know him, then?”</p> + +<p>“I knew him once, very long ago; and I knew him then to be +one of the meanest and worst of men.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer looked at Clara with a bewildered stare. “That +is very strong language, my dear Mrs. Westford.”</p> + +<p>“This matter is one upon which I feel very strongly. I +believe that my husband lodged twenty thousand pounds in +Rupert Godwin’s hands; and I believe also that Rupert Godwin +is quite capable of cheating myself and my children out of that +money.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, my dear Mrs. Westford,” exclaimed the bewildered +attorney, “I think you allow your prejudices to mislead +you in this matter. But in any case, I will make it my business +to go up to town and see Mr. Godwin immediately. You shall +be protected from any attempted wrong. I liked and respected +your husband. I love and admire yourself and your children. +And you shall not be cheated. No, no, you shall not be cheated; +old Stephen Maldon must indeed be changed, if he can be done +by the sharpest banker in London.”</p> + +<p>The lawyer lost no time in paying a visit to the City, where +he had a long interview with Rupert Godwin. The result of +that interview was that the banker showed Stephen Maldon a +deed signed by Harley Westford, and duly witnessed by Jacob +Danielson, and by John Spence, a lawyer’s clerk. The document +bore the date of June 26th, in the previous year.</p> + +<p>This deed gave Rupert Godwin full power to take possession +of the Grange estate, pictures, plate, furniture, and all appertaining +to house and homestead, on or after the 25th March in +the present year, unless the sum of six thousand five hundred +pounds was paid to him in the interim.</p> + +<p>It was now late in January. For only two months more +would the widow and orphans be secure in their once happy home.</p> + +<p>Mr. Maldon was a very clever lawyer; but he could see +nothing in the deed shown him by Rupert Godwin that would +justify any dispute of the banker’s claim.</p> + +<p>The catastrophe seemed very terrible, but none the less inevitable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>because it was a hard thing for the widow and orphans. +The law does not take widows and orphans into any special +consideration. The estate must be abandoned to Mr. Godwin, +unless the six thousand five hundred pounds could be paid on or +before the ensuing quarter-day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Maldon searched amongst the Captain’s papers at the +Grange, but he could not find any document calculated to +throw the smallest light on the sailor’s affairs. He called upon +the Winchester attorney who had made Captain Westford’s +will, and carefully studied the wording of that document.</p> + +<p>The will left all property, real and personal, to Clara, who +was appointed sole executrix. But the will was dated a year +earlier than the deed in the possession of Mr. Godwin, and there +was no evidence that the sailor was possessed of any property +except his Hampshire estate, when he sailed on his fatal voyage.</p> + +<p>The lawyer knew that men have often deceived their wives as +to their pecuniary position. Might not Harley Westford have +invented that story of the twenty thousand pounds, in order to +lull those he loved with a false sense of peace and security?</p> + +<p>“A generous, impulsive sailor would be the worst possible +man of business,” thought Stephen Maldon. “What more +likely than that Harley Westford was a ruined man, while all +the world fancied him a rich one?”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the weeks sped by. Soon, very soon, the 25th of +March would be at hand.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford knew full well that she must expect no mercy +from Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>The heroism of her nature asserted itself, and she prepared +herself with calm resignation to leave the home where she had +been so unspeakably happy.</p> + +<p>She had no money of her own—positively none; for she had +fled from her father’s roof to become the wife of Harley Westford, +and had been disinherited by him in favour of a grandchild, +the daughter of an only son, who died at two-and-twenty years +of age, leaving a baby girl, on whom stern Sir John Ponsonby +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'doated with senile fondness'" id="tn-61">doted with senile fondness</ins>.</p> + +<p>Never had the sailor heard a hint or a whisper of that cruel +slander which had blighted Clara Ponsonby’s youth—never had +he heard the association of her name with that of the notorious +young <i lang="fr">roué</i>, Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>From the moment of her marriage, Sir John Ponsonby’s +daughter disappeared entirely from the circles in which she had +been once a star of some magnitude.</p> + +<p>She had gone to her husband quite penniless, and he had +loved her more fondly than if she had been dowered with a +million.</p> + +<p>Now, when she examined into the state of her affairs, now +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>that she was widowed and alone, and had no longer Harley’s +strong arm to lean upon, she found that her circumstances were +indeed desperate.</p> + +<p>The yearly bills of the tradespeople who supplied the Grange +were all unpaid, and amounted to some hundreds. The servants’ +wages must also be paid; and to meet these claims Clara Westford +had no money whatever.</p> + +<p>The little stock of ready-money which her husband had left +with her was entirely spent. He had promised to send his wife +remittances from time to time, as it had been his habit to do; +but he, and any money he possessed, had gone down to the +fathomless depths of the ocean with the good ship <i>Lily Queen</i> +and all on board her.</p> + +<p>Only one resource remained to the widow. Her jewels, the +costly gifts of a generous husband, these alone remained, and +these must be sold in order that the tradespeople and servants +might be paid.</p> + +<p>There was a bitter pain in parting with these trinkets, every +one of which had a tender association of its own.</p> + +<p>But Clara Westford bore this sharp pain with quiet resignation. +She arranged her jewel-box, and delivered it to her old +friend Mr. Maldon, with instructions for the sale of the jewels +at some London auction-room. They were sold, amongst others, +at Debenham and Storr’s, as the property of “a lady going +abroad.”</p> + +<p>She was, indeed, going abroad—abroad into a world that to +her inexperienced steps must needs be a trackless wilderness, full +of pitiless thorns and brambles.</p> + +<p>The valuables thus disposed of realized about four hundred +pounds. With this sum Mrs. Westford discharged every claim +upon her; leaving a balance of some thirty pounds.</p> + +<p>Thirty pounds! And with this pitiful sum the widow and +orphans, who had never known what it was to have a wish unfulfilled +that money could gratify, were to begin the battle of +life!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_X"> + CHAPTER X.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">HIDDEN IN THE YEW-TREE.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">It was the eve of the 25th of March—that day whose approach +had been so dreaded by Clara Westford and her children,—the +day on which they were to be banished for ever from their +happy home.</p> + +<p>As yet the banker had given no notice of his intentions with +regard to his victims. But Clara knew how little mercy she had +to expect from him, and she had determined on saving herself +and her children the agony of humiliation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + +<p>She would not wait for Rupert Godwin to act. She would +not be turned out of her happy home by the man whose blighting +influence had darkened her youth. She determined therefore, +to leave the Grange early on the morning of the 25th.</p> + +<p>But when she announced this determination to Violet, the +girl expressed considerable surprise.</p> + +<p>“Why should we be in such a hurry to leave the dear old +place?” Violet exclaimed. “This Mr. Godwin may not press +his claim upon the Grange. They say he is enormously rich, +and surely he would be happy to let us stay here till he has a +tenant for the place. We may be allowed to live here for some +time to come, dear mother, till you are better and stronger, and +more fit to face the world.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford shook her head.</p> + +<p>“No, Violet,” she answered firmly; “I will not remain one +hour under this roof when it becomes the property of Rupert +Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“Mamma, you speak as if you knew this Mr. Godwin?”</p> + +<p>“I know that he is one of the vilest of men,” answered Mrs. +Westford. “Do not question me further, Violet; my resolution +is not to be shaken upon this point. Believe me when I assure +you that I am acting for the best. And now, write to your +brother, dear, and ask him to meet us at the Waterloo Terminus +to-morrow at one o’clock.”</p> + +<p>Lionel had been in London for the last few weeks, endeavouring +to obtain a situation in some office.</p> + +<p>But the young man, highly educated though he was, found it +extremely difficult to procure any kind of employment, however +humble.</p> + +<p>His University education availed him little. London seemed +to swarm with clever young men, all engaged in the struggle for +daily bread. Lionel Westford’s heart sank within him as he +made application after application, only to fail alike in all.</p> + +<p>For every situation that offered there seemed a hundred competitors. +And ninety-nine out of this hundred must endure the +misery of failure.</p> + +<p>Lionel had secured a very cheap and humble lodging on the +Surrey side of the Thames, and had made arrangements for the +reception of his mother and sister as soon as they left the Grange.</p> + +<p>O, what a dreary change was that darksome London lodging, +after the luxurious country-house, the lovely gardens, the horses +and grooms, the dogs and guns, and all those things which are +so especially dear to a young man!</p> + +<p>On his own account, however, Lionel Westford never once +complained. His only thought was of his mother and sister; +his most earnest desire that he might be enabled to shield <em>them</em> +from all the bitterest ills of poverty.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + +<p>He thought very seriously of his future career. His classical +learning seemed unlikely to be of the smallest use to him; unless, +like Goldsmith and Johnson, he accepted the slavery of a schoolmaster’s +drudge. How bitterly he regretted his careless youth, +his want of a profession, which would give him at least something! +He asked himself whether there was yet time for him +to adopt a profession. There was the Church. Yes; but he +must waste two or three years before he could hope for a curacy +worth from fifty to a hundred per annum. There was the law; +but, alas, he was too familiar with the proverbial miseries of +briefless youth idling in the garrets of the Temple.</p> + +<p>It was a living he wanted, an immediate living, and in search +of this he tramped the streets of London with untiring feet; but +day by day went by, and he seemed no nearer to the object of +his desire.</p> + +<p>The afternoon of the 24th of March was dull and cheerless. +The wind howled among the branches of the old trees about the +Grange; the grey sky was cold and sunless.</p> + +<p>Yet upon this afternoon, cheerless and cold though it was, +Violet Westford opened the little garden-gate leading out into +the forest, for the first time for many months.</p> + +<p>Never since her illness had she seen or heard of the artist, +George Stanmore.</p> + +<p>She had fully expected that he would have come to the +Grange to inquire about her during that long illness; and she +had contrived to ask Lionel, in an apparently careless manner, +if he had heard anything of his friend Mr. Stanmore.</p> + +<p>But the answer had been in the negative. George had therefore +taken no steps to discover the cause of Violet’s absence +from her favourite forest haunts. This seeming neglect and +indifference had cruelly stung the girl’s heart.</p> + +<p>“His pretended attachment to me was only a passing fancy, +perhaps,” she thought; “and I daresay he was amused by my +sentimental folly in believing all his protestations of regard. I +can understand now why he shrank from seeing my mother, and +making an open avowal of his love.”</p> + +<p>The idea that she had been the dupe of a sentimental delusion +was very bitter to the girl’s sensitive mind. Her pride was outraged, +and from the time of her recovery she had shunned the +forest pathways, with an obstinate determination to avoid all +meetings with her false lover.</p> + +<p>But now that she was going to leave the Grange for ever, an +irresistible impulse took possession of her, and she felt that she +could not quit the neighbourhood of the forest without making +some endeavour to ascertain the cause of George Stanmore’s +neglect.</p> + +<p>Might not he, too, have been ill? Or might he not have been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>compelled to leave the forest? It was almost easier to believe +anything than that he could be false.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Miss Westford’s love overcame her pride; +and once more she opened the little gate leading to her beloved +woodland—the sweet scene which had been familiar and dear to +her from infancy.</p> + +<p>The forest pathways looked dreary this cold March afternoon, +but the change in the aspect of the woodland was not so striking +as the change in her who now passed through that rustic gateway.</p> + +<p>The brilliant girl, whose smiling face was once like the sunlight, +looked now wan and pale as some misty shape that glides +about the mountain-tops in the evening dimness.</p> + +<p>She walked with feeble steps along the grassy path, for the +beating of her heart seemed to paralyze her strength. She went +straight to the cottage where the landscape-painter had lodged; +but the walk was a long one, and the twilight was gathering +fast when she reached the modest little habitation, nestling +amongst grand old trees.</p> + +<p>The firelight from the cottage window streamed out upon the +chill gray twilight, and there was a look of homeliness and +comfort in the aspect of the simple place.</p> + +<p>A sudden pang pierced through Violet’s heart as she looked +at that cosy little cottage, with the neat, well stocked garden, +and the red firelight in the window.</p> + +<p>“If my mother and I had such a home as that, we might +think ourselves very happy,” she thought; “and yet I daresay +the people who live here have often envied our wealth and +luxury.”</p> + +<p>A woman was standing at the open door of the cottage as +Violet approached the gate, and she came out into the pathway +to welcome her visitor.</p> + +<p>“Lor, Miss Westford!” she exclaimed, “you a’most frightened +me, standing there so dark and ghostly like. Do step in, miss, +and rest yourself a bit by the fire. It’s quite chilly these March +afternoons. How sad it do seem to see your black dress, and to +think of the poor dear kind free-spoken gentleman that’s gone! +Ah, deary me, deary me, he were a good friend to all us poor +folks, and there’s many will miss him in these parts. Take a +chair close to the fire, miss. I am so glad to see you getting +about once more, though you’re looking but sadly yet. I was +at the Grange many times to ask after you during your illness.”</p> + +<p>Violet’s heart beat convulsively. She began to think that +George Stanmore had employed this woman as his messenger.</p> + +<p>“It was very good of you to inquire after me,” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Lor, miss! wasn’t it likely I should be wishful to know how +you was? Haven’t I known you ever since you was a little bit +of a child? and hasn’t your dear ma been a good friend to me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>times and often? and didn’t your pa send me a bottle of his own +old East-Indy Madeery, last Christmas was a twelvemonth, +when he heard I was ailing?”</p> + +<p>In all this there was no mention of Mr. Stanmore. Violet’s +heart sank. She could not bring herself to question the simple +dame, and she was not sufficiently skilled in diplomacy to extort +the information she was so eager to obtain without direct +questioning. She looked hopelessly round the comfortable little +cottage chamber, wondering what she could say next. She was +very pale; but the red light of the fire gave a false glow to her +face, and the good-natured cottager did not perceive her visitor’s +agitation.</p> + +<p>“How neatly you keep your cottage, Mrs. Morris!” Violet +said at last, feeling that she must say something. “It’s quite +pleasant to see your place, it looks such a picture of comfort.”</p> + +<p>“You’re very good to say so, miss, I’m sure,” answered Mrs. +Morris. “But talking of pictures, and talking of comfort, we +ain’t half as comfortable now, since we’ve lost our lodger.”</p> + +<p>Violet’s heart gave a great bound. He was gone, then! But +how—and where?</p> + +<p>“You’ve lost your lodger?” she said. “You mean Mr. +Stanmore?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss. Mr. Stanmore, that painter gentleman. He +left us all of a sudden, the very first week as you was taken ill; +and, what’s more, it was against his own wishes as he went.”</p> + +<p>“Against his own wishes! How so?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, miss, this is how it was. I was ironing in +that window one afternoon, when I saw a dark, foreign-looking +gentleman standing at our gate, and with such a frown upon +his face that he set me all of a tremble like, which I scorched one +of my good man’s shirt-fronts as brown as a coffee-berry for the +first time this ten years, having had an aunt, Rebecca Javes by +name, which was brought up to the clear-starching and laundry-maid +at Sir Robert Flinder’s, three miles on this side of Netley +Abbey, and has shown me to iron a shirt-front with her own +hands more times than I could count——”</p> + +<p>“But the foreign-looking gentleman——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss. That’s just what I was a-saying. There he +stands as large as life. In he walks, right into our place, as +cool as you please. ‘Is my son at home?’ he asks. ‘Your son, +sir!’ I answered. ‘Lor, bless me, no; I don’t know any such +person.’ ‘O yes you do,’ he says. ‘The person who painted +that picture yonder is my son, and he lodges in your house.’ +With that he points to one of Mr. Stanmore’s landscapes, that’s +been set to dry on my little table yonder. ‘Mr. Stanmore your +son!’ I cried out. And I assure you, miss, you might have +knocked me down with a feather. ‘He is capable of calling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>himself Stanmore, or any other false name,’ answered the dark +gentleman; ‘but whatever he calls himself, the man who +painted that picture is my wicked and undutiful son.’</p> + +<p>“Before he could get out another word, Mr. Stanmore walked +in, with his hat on, and his drawings and things under his arm. +He’d just come in from the forest.</p> + +<p>“‘I am here, father,’ he said, ‘to answer for my sins, whatever +they may be;’ and he said it as proud-like as if he’d been +a prince of the royal family.</p> + +<p>“So then the two gentlemen walked upstairs to Mr. Stanmore’s +sitting-room, and our walls being thin, you know, miss, I could +hear a good deal of what was said; not the words exactly, but +the tones of voice like, though I’m sure as to bemean myself by +listening, I wouldn’t do it, there, not if you was to lay me down +twenty pound; and I could hear as the two gentlemen seemed +at variance, as you may say; and at last down comes Mr. +Stanmore’s father, as stiff as a poker, and as black as any +thunderstorm as I ever see, and walks out of the house without +so much as a word to me; but I could see by his face that he +was regularly upset. And then, about an hour or so afterwards, +down came Mr. Stanmore, looking very pale, but very quiet-like. +He’d packed all his things, he said, and he wanted my husband +to carry them over to Winchester Station in his cart, in time for +the mail-train, which he did. I was regular cut up at the young +gentleman leaving me so sudden like, for never was there a better +lodger, and he paid me very handsome, and was altogether the +gentleman. He seemed quite broken-hearted like at going +away, miss; and, lor bless me, if that don’t remind me of something!”</p> + +<p>The dame stopped suddenly, looking at Violet.</p> + +<p>“Something about you, too, miss!”</p> + +<p>The blood rushed into Violet’s pale face.</p> + +<p>“Did Mr. Stanmore mention me?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss; indeed he did. Just as he was going out of the +house he stopped all of a sudden, and said, ‘If you should see +Miss Westford, tell her that I have painted the old yew-tree she +was so fond of; and I want her to look once more at the tree, +in order that she may remember it when she sees my picture.’ +Wasn’t that a funny message, miss?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Violet answered, with pretended carelessness. “I suppose +Mr. Stanmore means an old yew near the lake, which my +brother and I very much admired. I sha’n’t have many opportunities +of looking at the tree, Mrs. Morris, for we are going to +leave this neighbourhood to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The woman expressed her regret at the departure of Violet and +her mother; but, in the country, news travels fast, and she had +heard some days before that the Grange was to be deserted. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>The change of fortune that had befallen the Westfords had been +talked of and lamented by rich and poor.</p> + +<p>Violet left the cottage with a heavy heart. George Stanmore +had gone, leaving no trace behind him—not even a letter for the +woman he had sworn to love and cherish for ever.</p> + +<p>It was all a mystery, which Violet strove in vain to understand.</p> + +<p>The moon had risen when she left the cottage, and every +branch and leaf stood sharply out against the silvery light. +Violet looked at the peaceful scene with inexpressible sadness.</p> + +<p>“It may be the last time that I shall ever see it,” she thought; +“the last time! And I have been so happy here!”</p> + +<p>Then she thought of George Stanmore’s message about the old +yew-tree.</p> + +<p>It seemed a very absurd and meaningless message—a message +which to any one not in love would have appeared the very +extreme of maudlin sentimentality. But Violet was by no means +inclined to regard it in that light. She looked upon it rather as +a solemn and mysterious mandate which it was her duty to obey +to the very letter.</p> + +<p>Madame Laffarge, of unpleasant notoriety, wrote to her husband +entreating him to eat certain cakes made by her own fair +hand, and to contemplate the moon at a certain hour, when she +too would be absorbed in sentimental meditation upon that luminary. +The idea was poetical, but, unfortunately for M. Laffarge, +the cakes were poisoned, and he died, the victim of obedience.</p> + +<p>Violet was in that state of mind in which she found it +pleasanter to loiter in the forest than to go home, and there was +a kind of consolation in the idea of doing anything that her +lover had asked her to do. It seemed to bring him nearer to her for +the moment. He might be thinking of that favourite spot at +the very moment she stood there thinking so sadly of him. He +might even see her in her loneliness and despondency by some +subtle power of second-sight given to lovers. Was anything +impossible to true love?</p> + +<p>So Miss Westford turned aside from her homeward path, and +vent fearlessly through the solitary avenue that led towards +the lake.</p> + +<p>That forest lake looked very lovely under the still evening sky. +The broad branches of the yew made patches of black shadow +on the grass; the fallen leaves made a faint rustling noise as +the wind stirred them—a kind of ghostly murmur.</p> + +<p>Around the trunk of the tree there was a rustic bench of +roughly-hewn wood; and on this Violet seated herself, exhausted +by her long walk, and glad to linger on a spot so associated with +her lost happiness.</p> + +<p>As she sat there, the beauty of the scene impressed her with an +almost painful sense of its splendour. For the first time throughout +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>that sorrowful day the tears, passionate tears of regret, +rushed down her pale cheeks.</p> + +<p>She turned her head aside, and rested her forehead against +the rugged bark of the yew.</p> + +<p>As she did so, she perceived a hollow in the tree—a great hollow, +in which George Stanmore had often hidden his colour-box +and brushes. The remembrance of this suddenly flashed upon +her. It had been her lover’s habit to hide things in that old +tree. What if he had hidden a letter there, and had directed +her attention to the fact by means of that message left with Mrs. +Morris! In the next moment Violet Westford was on her knees +before the hollow, groping in it with her hands.</p> + +<p>She found it half-filled with moss and withered leaves; but, +after dragging these out, she saw something white gleaming in +the moonlight.</p> + +<p>Ah, how eagerly she picked up that scrap of white from among +the scattered leaves and moss!</p> + +<p>It was a letter. Miss Westford could just make out the words +“For Violet,” written on the envelope. Impatient as she was +to see the contents of that precious envelope, she was fain to +wait until she reached home; for brightly as the moon shone +above forest and lake, that poetic radiance was not sufficient to +throw light upon the mysteries of a modern gentleman’s penmanship.</p> + +<p>Never in her happiest day had Violet Westford’s feet tripped +more lightly along those forest pathways. She reached the +Grange panting and exhausted, took a candle from the hall, and +hurried to her own apartment—the bright airy room, so prettily +decked to suit her girlish tastes, so soon to pass into the hands +of strangers.</p> + +<p>She seated herself close to the light, and tore open George +Stanmore’s envelope. The letter it contained was brief, and had +evidently been written in extreme haste.</p> + +<p>It consisted of only these words:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest Girl</span>,—Circumstances which I cannot explain +in this letter compel me to leave England immediately. I do not +know when I may be able to return; but when I do return, it +will be to claim you as my wife. In the mean time, I implore +you to write to me at the Post-office, Bruges, Belgium. Write to +me, dearest, and tell me that you do not doubt my fidelity: tell +me also that your faith will be as constant and unshaken as that +of your devoted</p> + +<p class="right"> + “<span class="smcap p2r">George.”</span> +</p> + +<p>No words can express the comfort which Violet Westford +derived from this brief letter. To a woman of the world, +George Stanmore’s assurance of unalterable affection might +have seemed of very little value; but to this girl, who did +not know what it was to deceive, that assurance was all in all.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> + +<p>“He loves me! He is true to me!” she exclaimed, clasping +her hands in a rapture of delight. “And when he comes back, +it will be to seek me as his wife. But what will he do when he +finds the Grange deserted, and our circumstances so cruelly +changed? Will he change too?” This was the question which +Violet asked herself very sadly, as she sat in the familiar room +that was so soon to be hers no longer.</p> + +<p>There was little sleep or rest for the dwellers in that pleasant +country-house during the last sad night. The servants sat late +in the cosy housekeeper’s-room, bewailing the misfortunes of +their mistress over a very comfortably-furnished supper-table—for +even a funeral table must be provided with “baked meats;” +and faithful retainers, weighed down by the sadness of approaching +farewell, require to be sustained by extra beer. They were +unanimous in their praises of the family they had served so long, +and in their dread of the unknown ills to be encountered in +strange households, and from masters and mistresses whose +“ways” would be new to them. But the old-fashioned type of +servant, who appears so frequently in Morton’s comedies and +in old novels, seems to be almost as extinct as the dodo. The +Grange retainers were honestly sorry for Mrs. Westford’s +misfortunes, but they had no idea of volunteering to follow the +family in exile and poverty without wages, and, if need were, +without food. Nor did cook or housemaid rush into the parlour +to lay her savings at the feet of mistress, in the pathetic manner +so familiar in the fairy world of romance. They sighed over the +sorrows of the house as they ate their cold meat, and shook +their heads dolefully over the old housekeeper’s famous pickles; +but their boxes were all packed, and their plans all made for an +early departure from the ruined house.</p> + +<p>All through that long dreary night Mrs. Westford sat at her +desk, sorting and destroying old letters and documents, the +records of her happy womanhood. Of all the friendly notes, the +pleasant gossiping letters, she kept none, except those written +by her husband and her children.</p> + +<p>Ah, how happy she had been in that simple country-house! +What a calm life it had been!—and how brief the years seemed +as she looked back to the early days in which her husband had +brought her into Hampshire house-hunting, in a happy summer +holiday, when their honeymoon was scarcely waned, and there +was still in the minds of both the sweet strange sense that it +was a new thing to be thus together!</p> + +<p>She remembered her first year in that quiet haven. The +glorious summer time, in which every sunny day had brought +the discovery of some new treasure in shrubbery or garden. +She remembered the warm midsummer night, in which she had +lain, faint and weak, but unspeakably happy, looking up at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>the stars, with the perfumed air of the June night blowing +in upon her from the wide window, and her baby Lionel on her +breast.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XI"> + CHAPTER XI. </h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">HOMELESS AND FRIENDLESS.</h3> + + + + +<p class="noindent">Very early in the chill spring morning Violet and her mother +drove away from the Grange in a hired fly that was to convey +them to Winchester.</p> + +<p>They took nothing with them but their own personal property +and the two portraits of Harley Westford. These Mrs. Westford +knew she had no legal right to possess, but she stooped to +infringe the letter of the law rather than leave her dead +husband’s likeness in the hands of his hateful rival.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that the widow and her daughter left their +happy home, with all its luxurious belongings undisturbed, to +fall into the hands of strangers.</p> + +<p>It was still early when they reached Winchester; and it was +just one o’clock when the train entered the Waterloo terminus, +where Lionel Westford was waiting on the platform, very pale +and very grave, and altogether different from the light-hearted, +careless young Oxonian who had brought life and gaiety to his +home whenever he had come to it, and whose greatest trouble +was the fear of being disappointed in his hope of University +honours.</p> + +<p>The young man bore his reverses nobly. He greeted his +mother and sister with one of his old smiles, and then ran off +to attend to their luggage, which he saw conveyed to a cab.</p> + +<p>In this cab they speedily drove away from the station, and +went through two or three small streets in the neighbourhood +of the Waterloo-road.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped at a shabby but clean-looking house in one +of the smallest of these streets.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford watched his mother’s face with an anxious +expression. He was thinking how horrible this dingy street, that +shabby, poverty-stricken house must appear, when contrasted +with the dear old Grange, and its lovely lawns and flower-beds, +its avenue of stately elms, and spreading meadows sheltered +with old oaks and beeches.</p> + +<p>“It is very poor, very common, dear mother,” said the young +man; “but the landlady seems a decent sort of person, and this +place was the best I could get at present. However, this time +of poverty and trial shall not last long, if any effort of mine can +shorten it.”</p> + +<p>He pressed his mother’s hand as he spoke, and she answered +him by a look of the deepest gratitude and affection.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<p>“My treasures!” she exclaimed, looking fondly at her two +children, “should I not be a wretch to repine while you are still +left to me?”</p> + +<p>Lionel had done all in his power to impart an appearance of +cheerfulness to the shabby sitting-room which had been prepared +for the new-comers. A fire burned in the little grate; a bunch +of early spring-flowers adorned the table.</p> + +<p>Only true and pure affection supported the banker’s victims +during these first days of poverty and trial.</p> + +<p>The trial was very bitter; for poverty was new to them, and +everything around seemed to send a fresh chill to their hearts.</p> + +<p>But they were none of them people to waste time in idle complaints. +Every morning, as soon as he had eaten his frugal +breakfast, Lionel Westford set out upon his weary travels in the +great desert of London.</p> + +<p>What desert can be more lonely than that wealthy and crowded +city to the wanderer who has neither friends nor money?</p> + +<p>Every morning Violet and her mother also left their dingy +lodgings, and went out into the world by separate ways to seek +for bread. Yes, for bread! For now only a very slender hoard +remained between them and absolute starvation.</p> + +<p>Violet was no more fortunate than her brother. She was +accomplished; but there were many portionless girls in London, +all more or less accomplished, and all eager to earn the merest +pittance. Who could hope that there would ever be enough +employment for all of them?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford also sought to turn her talents to some use; +but she too sought for a long time most vainly. She offered +herself as a morning governess, and spent what to her was a +large sum in the postage of letters replying to advertisements in +the morning papers. But no answers came to these letters. +Education seemed to have become the most valueless drug in +the London market. The Captain’s widow was troubled by +none of those ultra-refined compunctions which restrain the +actions of some among the ranks of the shabby-genteel. When +she found her educational powers would not obtain her the +merest pittance, she fell back upon her mechanical skill in all +kinds of elegant fancy-work. She visited half the Berlin-wool +shops and fancy repositories in London and the suburbs, and at +last succeeded in finding a speculative trader, who agreed to give +her a starvation price for her work.</p> + +<p>At last, however, when a kind of heart-sickness had seized +upon both mother and daughter, a faint glimmer of sunshine +broke through the dense black clouds that darkened the horizon. +It was only a chilly April radiance at best, but still it was the +sun.</p> + +<p>Violet was amongst the crowd of clever and accomplished +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>women who answered an advertisement inserted in the <cite>Times</cite> +by a lady who required a morning governess for her young +daughters—two pretty-looking, half-educated girls of seventeen +and nineteen.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Montague Trevor was a frivolous woman, whose heart +and intellect were alike absorbed in the delights of the fashionable +world. She had been a beauty, and had flourished for her +brief hour as belle of a second-rate watering-place, where she +had been fortunate enough to win the affections of a popular +Queen’s Counsel, who fell in love with her pretty face, and was +too busy ever to have leisure in which to find out how empty +the head was behind it. Mr. Montague Trevor had therefore +been very well content with his choice, and in due course had +worked himself to death, leaving the watering-place beauty a +widow with a handsome fortune. On the strength of this +fortune, and her late husband’s professional celebrity, Mrs. +Trevor had obtained an extended circle of acquaintance, and +amongst these she still played off some of the airs and graces +which she had cultivated as a belle of nineteen.</p> + +<p>She was intensely vain; and she fancied that every man who +laid her a compliment was desperately in love with her. She +had no disinclination to part with her freedom to a new lord and +master; but she wanted a rich husband, for her habits were +terribly extravagant, and, in spite of her excellent income, she +was always more or less in debt.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, though her admirers were numerous, they +were not many of them rich, and the vain and frivolous Annabella +sighed in vain for a wealthy husband, whose boundless +purse should supply money for all her whims and fancies.</p> + +<p>It was this lady whose advertisement Violet Westford saw in +the <cite>Times</cite> newspaper, and it was in Mrs. Trevor’s fashionably-furnished +drawing-room in the Regent’s Park that the young +girl sat amongst a crowd of other applicants, waiting the nervous +moment when she should be summoned before the lady who was +to decide her fate.</p> + +<p>She knew that poverty, dire and terrible, was fast approaching +that miserable lodging near the Waterloo-road, and she felt +a painful anxiety to be of some use to her mother, and to her +brave young brother, on whose brow she already saw the impress +of despair.</p> + +<p>At last the moment arrived, and a smartly dressed maid conducted +Violet to Mrs. Trevor’s morning-room, or boudoir, as it +was always called by elegant Annabella.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor was reclining on a sofa, dressed in an elaborately +beflounced muslin morning-dress, dotted about with infantine +bows of sky-blue ribbon, her hair arranged <i lang="fr">à la vierge</i>, an expensive +fan in her hand, and a tiny Maltese dog in her lap. On +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>a table near her there was a scent-bottle with a gold stopper +and an elegant little Dresden chocolate-service. The two Miss +Trevors were lounging near the windows, and staring idly out +into the Park.</p> + +<p>As Violet entered the room, nervously anxious, Mrs. Trevor +uttered an exclamation of surprise.</p> + +<p>“What a sweet face!” she cried. “My dear Theodosia, my +darling Anastasia, did you ever see a sweeter face?”</p> + +<p>Violet had no idea that this speech could possibly apply to +her. She stood opposite the one lady on the sofa, almost +trembling with anxiety, for repeated failure had depressed her +spirits, and she had a morbid apprehension of disappointment.</p> + +<p>“You were so good as to send for me madam,” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love; I sent for you, and I am absolutely charmed +with you. I like to see everything lovely about me—my +rooms, my flowers, my china; and you are lovely! Beauty is +almost as necessary to me as the air I breathe, and you are +beautiful! I am sure we shall suit each other delightfully. +Such <em>objects</em>, such <em>creatures</em>, such absolute Gorgons as I have +seen this morning, my dear!—really enough to give a sensitive +person the horrors; and I am so excruciatingly sensitive. Anastasia, +my love, don’t you think there is something of a likeness +between Miss—Miss——”</p> + +<p>“Westford, madam,” interposed Violet.</p> + +<p>“Between Miss Westford and me? About <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'the nose, Anatasia'" id="tn-74">the nose, Anastasia</ins>? +Miss Westford has exactly that delicate style of nose +which your poor papa used to call a perfect Grecian.”</p> + +<p>Miss Anastasia Trevor did not take the trouble to answer her +mother’s question. Nor was there any occasion that she should +do so, as the volatile Annabella rarely gave any one time to +reply to her remarks.</p> + +<p>“I am sure you will suit me, my love!” she exclaimed. “You +play and sing, of course?”</p> + +<p>“O yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor waved her jewelled hand towards an open piano.</p> + +<p>“Let me hear you, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Violet seated herself, and after a brilliant prelude which displayed +her execution and expression as a pianiste, she sang a +simple little Italian barcarole, in which her mezzo-soprano voice +rang out soft and clear.</p> + +<p>“Charming!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevor. “You draw and paint +in water-colours, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>Violet blushed as she answered this question, for she remembered +how her artist-lover had admired her sketches, and how +much her taste had been cultivated in his society.</p> + +<p>She opened a little portfolio which she had brought with her, +and showed Mrs. Trevor some water-colour sketches of the forest.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + +<p>“Delicious!” exclaimed the fashionable widow. “There is a +taste, a lightness, a warmth, an atmosphere, a <i lang="it">chiaro-oscuro</i> +which is really charming. You speak French, German, and +Italian, of course, as those were mentioned as requisite in the +advertisement?”</p> + +<p>Violet replied that she was familiar with all three languages.</p> + +<p>“And your references are irreproachable, I conclude?”</p> + +<p>“I can refer you to Mr. Morton, the clergyman of the parish +in which we lived in my dear father’s lifetime.”</p> + +<p>Violet’s eyes filled with tears as she referred to that happy +past, which contrasted so cruelly with the present.</p> + +<p>“Nothing can be more satisfactory,” said Mrs. Trevor, as +Violet handed her the address of the Hampshire rector. “I +shall write to this gentleman by to-day’s post. I take it for +granted that the answer will be favourable, therefore we may as +well conclude arrangements at once. This is Wednesday. On +Friday I can receive the rector’s answer, and on Monday morning +you can commence your duties. Good morning.—Anastasia, +my love, the bell.”</p> + +<p>Violet rose; but she lingered hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“There is one question,” she murmured; “the salary, +madam?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, to be sure!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevor. “What a forgetful +creature I am! You will want a salary, I suppose—though +really, as it is your first engagement as a governess, there are +many people who would object to giving you a salary. However, +I am not one of those illiberal persons.—You know, +Anastasia, your poor dear papa used to call me ridiculously +generous.—The salary, Miss Westford, will be half-a-guinea a +week.”</p> + +<p>Violet had expected a great deal more; but poverty stared her +in the face, and even this pittance would be something.</p> + +<p>“And the hours?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“The hours will be from nine till two, which will enable you to +dine comfortably at home with your own family,” Mrs. Trevor +answered, with a benevolent smile.</p> + +<p>From nine till two—six days a week—for half-a-guinea! Four-pence +an hour was the value set upon accomplishments the +acquirement of which had cost a small fortune!</p> + +<p>Violet sighed as she thought of her expensive masters, her +handsomely paid governess, and the time and trouble which had +been bestowed upon her education.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the situation will not suit you?” said the sweet Mrs. +Trevor rather sharply.</p> + +<p>“O, yes, madam; it will suit me very well.”</p> + +<p>“And you accept the terms?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + +<p>“Then in that case I shall expect you on Monday. You can +then begin your duties; that is, of course, in the event of the +reference proving satisfactory.”</p> + +<p>“I do not fear that, madam. Good morning.”</p> + +<p>And Violet left the richly furnished boudoir comparatively +happy; for half-a-guinea a week was at least some small provision +against absolute starvation.</p> + +<p>Half-a-guinea a week for the salary of an accomplished governess! +And this from Mrs. Montague Trevor, who thought +nothing of paying a five-pound note for a cup and saucer of +Sèvres china.</p> + +<p>As the door closed upon Violet, the diplomatic widow turned +with a look of triumph to her eldest daughter.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think I managed that business admirably!” she +exclaimed. “Half-a-guinea a week! Why, my dear Anastasia, +the girl is worth a hundred guineas a year at the very least. +Look at the salary that elderly Gorgon with the blue spectacles +had the presumption to ask me. This girl is worth as much +again as the Gorgon, whose voice was like a screech owl’s.”</p> + +<p>The younger Miss Trevor, who bore no resemblance to her +mother either in person or disposition, lifted her eyes reproachfully +to the flighty widow’s face.</p> + +<p>“But if this young lady is worth so much, is it not very +cruel, and almost dishonest, to offer her so little, mamma?” she +asked gravely.</p> + +<p>“Cruel! dishonest!” ejaculated Mrs. Trevor. “Why, child, +you’re a perfect idiot! You’ll never make a bargain as long as +you live.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XII"> + CHAPTER XIL. </h2> + </div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">MATERNAL MANŒUVRES.</h3> + + + + +<p class="noindent">Five minutes before the clocks in the neighbourhood struck +nine, on the appointed Monday morning Violet Westford knocked +at the door of the villa in the Regent’s Park. She was admitted +by a maid-servant, who at once conducted her to an apartment +near the top of the house—a cold, cheerless looking room, very +shabbily furnished, and commanding an agreeable view of the +backs of the houses in Albany-street,—altogether a very different +apartment from Mrs. Montague Trevor’s silken-curtained +boudoir, with its somewhat stagey decoration in modern buhl and +marqueterie.</p> + +<p>Here Violet’s duties began; and very tedious they promised +to be; for one of her pupils was idle, frivolous, and flippant, and +the other was naturally slow of apprehension.</p> + +<p>Anastasia Trevor was a clever girl; but her natural idleness +was excessive, and she could only be induced to study those +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>accomplishments which could be paraded before the admiring of +curious eyes of her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Theodosia was not a clever or brilliant girl; but she was something +better, for she was truthful and conscientious. She exerted +herself to the utmost under the direction of her new governess.</p> + +<p>“I fear you’ll find me very stupid, Miss Westford,” she said; +“but I hope you’ll believe that I shall do my best.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you will,” Violet answered gently.</p> + +<p>From that moment it seemed as if a friendship arose between +the governess and her pupil. Theodosia had been accustomed +to find herself neglected by the masters and governesses whom +her mother engaged, and who speedily discovered that the lively +Anastasia was Mrs. Trevor’s favourite, and that attention +bestowed upon her would be better rewarded than if given to +the quiet Theodosia.</p> + +<p>Theodosia and her mother were never very likely to agree, for +the girl’s high sense of truth and honour was continually being +wounded by the widow’s conduct; and as Theodosia was too +candid to conceal her sentiments, perpetual disputes arose +between them.</p> + +<p>Anastasia, on the contrary, was the exact counterpart of her +mother, and the two agreed admirably, except when their interests +clashed, which was not a rare event.</p> + +<p>Day after day Violet toiled in the dull schoolroom at Mrs. +Trevor’s villa. Her duties were excessively fatiguing, but no +murmur of complaint ever crossed her lips. When Saturday +came she was able to carry home her hard-earned half-guinea, +and that in itself was a recompense for all her trouble.</p> + +<p>In the mean time affairs had brightened a little for Lionel, who +had at last succeeded in getting some work as a copyist of legal +documents.</p> + +<p>It was very hard work, very poorly paid; but for the sake of +his mother and sister the young man would even have swept a +crossing.</p> + +<p>For some little time matters went on tolerably smoothly in +the humble lodging. Mrs. Westford bent over an embroidery +frame with untiring patience; Lionel laboured for long hours at +his wearisome penmanship; and Violet attended daily at Mrs. +Trevor’s villa. So that, comforted by affection, which brightens +even the dullest home, the widow and her orphans were comparatively +happy.</p> + +<p>But that period of peace was destined to be very brief. The +storm was near at hand; and Violet, the gentle Violet, who +until the last few months had never known sorrow, was the first +to be stricken by the thunderbolt.</p> + +<p>She had been teaching Mrs. Trevor’s daughters for nearly six +weeks, when one day the widow sent her a very condescending +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>message inviting her to a small evening-party, which was to +take place during the week.</p> + +<p>Of course Violet accepted the invitation. Painful as it would +be to her to appear once more amongst careless and happy +people, she feared to offend her employer by a refusal. She +knew full well that she was invited to this party in order that +she might be useful in showing off her pupils; and that any +refusal on her part would inevitably be resented.</p> + +<p>Anastasia sang Rossini’s and Verdi’s music very brilliantly, +and Violet would be required to accompany her on the piano. +Theodosia had a fine contralto voice, and sang simple ballads +with a great deal of expression; but it was a question if she +would be allowed to sing before company. Mrs. Trevor did not +care to see her younger daughter admired. She was jealous of +all praise that was not bestowed upon herself or her favourite +Anastasia. But Violet was determined that, if possible, Theodosia +should sing one of her simple ballads in the course of the +evening. She had taken a great deal of trouble with her younger +pupil’s voice, and was anxious that Mrs. Trevor should be made +aware of Theodosia’s rapid improvement. But it was no pride +in her own teaching that made Violet anxious for this,—it was +because she had really grown attached to her pupil.</p> + +<p>With Anastasia it was quite different. That young lady was +resolved to display her accomplishments to the uttermost, and +had perfect confidence in her own powers.</p> + +<p>The eventful evening arrived. Violet was dressed very simply; +in deep mourning. But her fair face and golden hair were set +off by her sombre dress, and she looked very lovely. Anastasia +Trevor was by no means pleased to see the notice which the +governess attracted as she made her way quietly and shyly +through the crowd in the endeavour to reach her hostess. Miss +Trevor was of the order of fast young ladies, and she had +regarded Violet with a kind of benignant pity, as a creature +utterly without “dash” or “style.”</p> + +<p>To be dashing was the chief desire of Miss Trevor’s heart. +She studied the <cite>Court Circular</cite> and the Parisian fashion-books; +she formed herself and dressed herself after the model of the +latest celebrity in the <i lang="fr">haut monde</i>, and did not even blush to +borrow a grace or a piquant eccentricity from some brilliant leader +of the <i lang="fr">demi monde</i>.</p> + +<p>To-night she had taken more than usual pains with her costume, +complaining loudly as she did so, of the extravagance and +selfishness of her mother, who had ordered her own dress from a +Parisian milliner in Wigmore-street, while expecting her daughters +to be satisfied with the achievements of a clever young person +in Somers-town.</p> + +<p>“I hate white tarlatane!” exclaimed Miss Trevor, as she stood +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>before her mother’s cheval glass, putting the finishing touches +to her dress. “It is all very well for mamma to lay down the +law about girlish elegance and simplicity when she gives twenty +guineas for a moire, and wears lace worth hundreds, in order to +set herself off to the best advantage.”</p> + +<p>The young lady looked very discontentedly at the airy puffings +of her dress, which was dotted all over with dew-spangled rosebuds, +and which was very becoming to the dark-haired beauty, +but by no means the costume she would have chosen had she +been permitted to consult Madame Forchère, of Wigmore-street. +Nor was her temper at all improved when she saw the glances +of admiring surprise which greeted Violet Westford as she made +her way through the crowded room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Montague Trevor’s drawing-room blazed with the light +of a hundred wax candles. The elegant widow would not admit +anything so vulgar and commonplace as gas into her apartments, +so they were lighted entirely by wax candles, in branches of +crystal and ormolu.</p> + +<p>The rooms were crowded to suffocation when Violet arrived. +When Mrs. Trevor talked of giving a small evening-party, her +friends always knew very well that her rooms and staircase +would be made insufferable by the crowd assembled at the villa, +and that the elegant supper would be a kind of lottery in which +many speculators would draw blanks.</p> + +<p>Such a moment as this was the pride and delight of Mrs. +Trevor’s life. Radiant in a train of pink moire, the rustling +folds of which were almost covered with flounces of point-lace, +the handsome widow smiled upon her guests.</p> + +<p>Among them she knew that there were several eligible men in +a matrimonial point of view, and two of those eligible beings +she had marked as her intended victims.</p> + +<p>One of these was Rupert Godwin the banker, whom Mrs. +Trevor hoped to win as a husband for herself.</p> + +<p>She had been to a garden-party at Wilmingdon Hall, and had +been agreeably impressed by the splendour of that old mansion +and its surroundings, as well as by the extravagance of the +arrangements.</p> + +<p>The other was Sir Harold Ivry, the wealthy descendant of a +family of ironfounders; a young man who was the possessor of +a million of money, and whom the widow fancied she might +secure for her favourite daughter.</p> + +<p>Anastasia was handsome and accomplished; Sir Harold was +young and independent. Why should not a match be brought +about between them?</p> + +<p>This was what Mrs. Trevor thought; and she looked with +peculiar favour on the wealthy scion of the Birmingham ironmaster.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> + +<p>The manœuvring mother and the husband-hunting widow +had a difficult part to play this evening, but the lady proved +herself quite equal to the occasion. While engaged in a sentimental +flirtation with the eligible banker, Mrs. Trevor contrived +to keep a watchful eye upon Anastasia and the young Baronet.</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed her mortification when she saw that +Sir Harold paid very little attention to Anastasia, and that he +seemed peculiarly attracted by the beautiful but pensive-looking +governess, whose mourning dress and lovely pale face were +very conspicuous amid that gaily attired crowd.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor bit her lower lip with suppressed rage and mortification, +even while she appeared to be smiling her sweetest +smiles at Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>“It is too provoking,” she thought, as she kept a furtive +watch upon the admiring glances which Sir Harold Ivry +bestowed upon the governess. “I quite forgot that the creature +is really remarkably pretty; and that mourning dress happens +to suit her insipid complexion, and is, of course, worn on purpose +to attract attention. What a fool I was to allow the artful +minx to make her appearance amongst us to-night! But then +I only thought of the use she would be to Anastasia, who +always sings out of time when she accompanies herself.”</p> + +<p>While Mrs. Montague Trevor was enduring all these secret +tortures, poor Violet Westford was quite unconscious of the +Baronet’s admiring glances. She had seated herself in the +quietest corner of the back drawing-room, in a sheltered little +nook between the grand-piano and a stand of hot-house flowers, +and she was waiting patiently until her services should be required.</p> + +<p>Sir Harold had approached her, and had made an attempt to +enter into conversation with her, of course trying to break +ground with some of the usual feeble truisms about the +weather; but her brief and timid answers gave him little encouragement.</p> + +<p>Violet Westford could not be at her ease in this crowded +assemblage, where she felt instinctively that she was looked +down upon as a poor dependant—a well-bred and accomplished +drudge, whose very presence was forgotten, except at the +moment when her services were required. She could not help +thinking a little sadly of the last party at which she had been a +guest,—a carpet-dance at the house of some old friends in +Hampshire, people considerably above Mrs. Trevor in position. +She remembered the attention, the kindness, the praises that +had been lavished upon her; and now she sat alone amongst a +crowd, in which there was not one familiar face, except those of +her employer and her two pupils.</p> + +<p>At last, the eventful moment of the evening arrived for the +manœuvring mother and her favourite daughter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<p>Violet took her place at the piano, and Anastasia prepared to +commence an Italian bravura.</p> + +<p>Miss Trevor cast a glance of triumph round the room. She +was the heroine of the moment, and she knew that she was +looking very handsome. Sir Harold was standing near the +piano, and he was watching her with a thoughtful look in his +candid eyes.</p> + +<p>Anastasia fancied that thoughtful gaze could not be other +than an admiring one; but she did not know very much of Sir +Harold Ivry, who was a very peculiar young man, naturally reserved, +and not given to displaying his real feelings.</p> + +<p>A murmur of admiration ran through the crowded drawing-rooms +as Violet finished the symphony, so crisp and brilliant +was her touch, and so correct her expression; and then Anastasia +began her scena. Her voice was a soprano, very brilliant +in quality, and highly cultivated; but though she sang well, the +charm of feeling was wanting, and her singing seemed cold and +colourless.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor had been seated in the front drawing-room, talking +to the banker; but she rose as Anastasia’s voice rang out in +the opening notes of the scena.</p> + +<p>“You must hear my daughter sing, Mr. Godwin,” she said. +“I think you will acknowledge that her voice is fine, and her +style perfection.”</p> + +<p>She led Rupert Godwin towards the archway between the two +drawing-rooms. There were no folding-doors, and only curtains +of the airiest lace divided the two apartments.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor and the banker stood in the archway between +the festoons of drooping lace.</p> + +<p>The piano was at the other end of the room, and the faces +of the singer and the accompanist were turned towards the +archway.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin’s cheek grew paler than usual as he looked at +the pensive face of the young governess. He had started at the +first sight of that beautiful but melancholy countenance; but +the gesture of surprise had been so slight as to escape the attention +of Mrs. Trevor, who was gazing admiringly at her handsome +daughter.</p> + +<p>“Who is that young lady?” whispered the banker; “the +young lady at the piano—the young lady in deep mourning?”</p> + +<p>He asked the question with an eagerness that startled Mrs. +Trevor, who was not a little offended at his inattention to her +daughter’s singing.</p> + +<p>“That young lady who absorbs your attention so entirely is +my daughters’ morning governess,” answered the widow, with +considerable asperity of tone.</p> + +<p>“And her name?” demanded the banker.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + +<p>“Her name is Westford—Violet Westford. She is in mourning +for her father, a merchant captain, who was lost at sea.”</p> + +<p>A slight shudder stirred Rupert Godwin’s frame, but it passed +as quickly as the transient breath that ruffles the forest-leaves +on a calm summer day.</p> + +<p>Then a dark frown obscured his face.</p> + +<p>“No child of Clara Westford’s shall succeed where I have +power to hinder her success. When I bear a grudge, it is the +great vendetta—war to the death against body and soul.”</p> + +<p>This was the gist of Mr. Godwin’s thoughts as he looked +with a strange, menacing gaze at the fair face of the girl at the +piano.</p> + +<p>“Westford!” he exclaimed. “And so your daughters’ governess +is the daughter of Captain Westford. I am sorry for it.”</p> + +<p>“Why so?” asked Mrs. Trevor, with a look of alarm.</p> + +<p>“Because I am sincerely interested in the welfare and happiness +of you and your daughters, my dear Mrs. Trevor; and I +am sorry that the education of those charming girls should be +intrusted to such a person as the daughter of Mrs. Westford.”</p> + +<p>All this was said in the blandest tone. Mr. Godwin could +appear the best and most benevolent of men when it suited his +purpose to do so.</p> + +<p>“You really terrify me out of my senses!” exclaimed Mrs. +Trevor. “What can you mean? I had excellent references +with Miss Westford. Pray explain yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Not now; there are people about who may overhear what +we say. To-morrow, my dear Mrs. Trevor, or to-night even, if +I find an opportunity, I will explain myself more fully.”</p> + +<p>Anastasia’s Italian scena wound up with a brilliant cadence, +whereupon her mother’s guests fell into the usual ecstasies. +And yet there were very few present who cared for showy Italian +music except at an opera-house.</p> + +<p>Some one asked Theodosia to sing. The girl would have +refused; but before she could do so Violet whispered to her, “I +know you will consent, dear, to please me;” and in the next +moment the brilliant fingers flew over the keys in the sparkling +symphony of an old English ballad.</p> + +<p>Theodosia was truly attached to her new friend, and she drew +near the piano, determined to do her best, however painful the +task might be.</p> + +<p>“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Trevor; “can I believe my +eyes? Theodosia going to sing! She has a decent voice, poor +child; but no style—no style whatever.”</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more contemptuous than the tone in which +the mother said this. She did not like that Theodosia should +attract attention which might have been bestowed upon Anastasia.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p> + +<p>The first notes of the rich contralto voice were low and tremulous, +but they swelled out presently in a burst of melody. The +song was a very simple one—an old familiar ballad, “Auld +Robin Gray;” but before Theodosia had finished the last verse, +tears had bedewed the eyes of many listeners.</p> + +<p>Anastasia’s brief triumph was entirely eclipsed. The praises +which had been bestowed upon her had sounded cold and unreal +compared to those now lavished on her sister. The vain girl could +scarcely conceal her mortification, and her mother seemed almost +equally annoyed.</p> + +<p>“I should have been glad if you had asked my permission +before you allowed Theodosia to sing, Miss Westford,” she said +to Violet, in her sharpest tones. “I consider her too young to +display her accomplishments in a crowded room; and that +old-fashioned ballad is better suited for a nursery ditty than +for a drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>Sir Harold Ivry overheard this speech, and replied to it eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Pray do not say that, my dear Mrs. Trevor!” he exclaimed. +“Your youngest daughter’s singing has drawn tears from our +eyes, and has made us forget what hardened worldly creatures +we are!”</p> + +<p>He glanced admiringly at Theodosia as he spoke; but the next +moment his eyes wandered to the beautiful face of Violet Westford, +and with a still more admiring gaze.</p> + +<p>“I am sure that Miss Theodosia Trevor owes a great deal to +her governess,” he said. And then in a lower voice he added to +Violet, “Pray let us hear you sing.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor’s brow darkened: but she could not oppose the +wishes of the Baronet, who was a privileged person in that house.</p> + +<p>“Will you persuade her, Mrs. Trevor?” he said. “I feel that +my entreaties will be useless. Pray ask Miss Westford to sing.”</p> + +<p>The widow complied, and resumed all her accustomed sweetness +of manner, as she requested Violet to grant the Baronet’s +request.</p> + +<p>Poor Violet was much too single-hearted to understand the +sudden anger raging in Mrs. Trevor’s breast. She was entirely +without affectation, and she consented to sing directly she was +asked.</p> + +<p>She sang one of Thomas Moore’s sweetest and most pensive +ballads, “Oft in the stilly night;” and again the eyes of almost +every listener were wet with tears.</p> + +<p>Her own eyes filled, as she remembered how often she had +sung that ballad in her happy home, in the pleasant summer +twilight, after dinner, or in the winter dusk, when her lost father +was near to listen and admire. Sir Harold Ivry saw those dark +blue eyes fill with tears, and he saw that it was only with a struggle +that Violet could control her emotion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> + +<p>He bent over her chair to thank her at the conclusion of the +song.</p> + +<p>“But I fear the ballad has melancholy associations,” he added +in a lower voice.</p> + +<p>“It has indeed; for it recalls the dear father I have lost, and +the memory of a home that is deserted.”</p> + +<p>“It is for your father, then, you wear that mourning dress? +O, forgive me, if I appear inquisitive. I am so deeply interested +in all that concerns you.”</p> + +<p>Violet looked up at the Baronet with a glance of innocent +surprise. She was entirely without vanity, and she could not +imagine why Sir Harold should be interested about her.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered sadly; “I am in mourning for my father—the +best father who ever made his children’s life happy.”</p> + +<p>No more was said; for Anastasia was about to sing again, +and Violet was required at the piano.</p> + +<p>Half an hour afterwards the crowd began to grow thin, and +Violet obtained permission to retire. It was already past two +o’clock; for Mrs. Trevor’s little party had not begun until eleven, +and the poor girl was anxious to return to the cheerless lodging +where her mother was doubtless waiting up to receive her.</p> + +<p>Violet noticed a peculiar stateliness in Mrs. Trevor’s manner +as that lady wished her good-night; but she was too tired even +to wonder about that altered manner. She left the room very +quietly, and went down to the hall, where she had left her cloak +and bonnet in the care of one of the servants. She had refused +to incur even the expense of a cab to bring her to Mrs. Trevor’s +house, for the luxury of that plebeian vehicle would have cost +half a week’s salary. She had preferred to hide her simple evening +toilette under a heavy black cloak, and to make her way to +the villa on foot.</p> + +<p>She had just put on her bonnet and cloak when a light footstep +sounded on the stairs, and in the next moment Sir Harold +Ivry stood before her.</p> + +<p>“I hope you will allow me to see you safely home, Miss Westford,” +he said, with profound respect in his tone and manner. +“I know you are alone here, and it will give me unbounded pleasure +to conduct you safely to your home.”</p> + +<p>Violet blushed; for in the happy days that were gone she had +been accustomed to be handed to her carriage after a party or a +ball.</p> + +<p>She could not help feeling some touch of shame—false shame, +if you will; but after that one instant of confusion, she answered +boldly, “You are very kind, Sir Harold; but I am going to +walk home, and I believe my brother will be waiting outside to +take care of me.”</p> + +<p>“Your brother!” exclaimed the Baronet, who was unable to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>conceal his disappointment. “Then in that case I must surrender +you to one who has the best possible right to protect you. +But at least you will allow me to conduct you to your brother.”</p> + +<p>He offered Violet his arm as he spoke, and she felt that she +could not refuse to take it.</p> + +<p>Sir Harold did not escort her very far, for Lionel was waiting +at the end of the terrace, and to his care the Baronet was compelled +to resign his precious charge.</p> + +<p>We often hear and read of love at first sight, and certainly Sir +Harold Ivry seemed to have fallen a victim to that sudden +fever.</p> + +<p>Violet could not do less than introduce him to her brother: +and for some little way they all three walked on together, Sir +Harold doing his best to make himself agreeable to Lionel.</p> + +<p>It was a bright summer night, and a full moon was shining +high in the cloudless heaven. Even London, so dingy in its +usual aspect, looked romantic when seen by that soft silvery light.</p> + +<p>But as Violet looked at her brother, a pang shot through her +heart as she compared his worn and shabby attire with the +costume of the rich young Baronet.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford still retained his gentlemanly bearing, but the +awful stamp of poverty was upon him; and Violet’s heart was +wrung as she remembered the gay, dashing young Oxonian, to +whom life had been one long summer holiday, disturbed by no +harder toil than the study of an obscure passage in Euripides, +or a week’s training for the University boat race.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if that moonlight walk through the streets of +London was a most delightful thing to Sir Harold, for he went +on, and on, until they were drawing near to Waterloo Bridge, when +he stopped to say good-night, feeling that his companions might +not wish him to know the humble quarter of the town in which +they lived.</p> + +<p>He had seen enough to understand that Violet and her brother +had sunk from prosperity to poverty—poverty of the sharpest +and bitterest kind, the poverty that must conceal itself under +the mask of gentility.</p> + +<p>He lingered, as he wished Violet good-night. It seemed as if +he could scarcely tear himself away from her.</p> + +<p>“I shall never forget your song,” he said; “it is ringing in my +ears still—I shall never forget it; but I hope to hear you soon +again.”</p> + +<p>And then he was compelled to say good-night, for Lionel Westford’s +manner repelled any approach to intimacy. Poverty had +made the young man proud. He, to whom pride had once been +an unknown sentiment, was now almost haughty in his manner to +strangers.</p> + +<p>“How lovely she is!” thought Sir Harold, as he walked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>through the moonlit streets towards his chambers in the +Albany. “How lovely she is! And what an air of high breeding +there is in her every tone and gesture! And to think that +such a woman should be poor, compelled to walk through the +streets at three o’clock in the morning—compelled to put on her +cloak at the bottom of a staircase, with half-a-dozen grinning +flunkeys staring at her while she does it. It’s too bad—it’s +shameful.”</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, the Baronet murmured, “While I am so +rich; while I have thousands lying idle at my banker’s, and half-a-million +in the public funds! But I will call on Mrs. Trevor +to-morrow, and find out Miss Westford’s address. I will send +her a thousand pounds anonymously. I will do something, no +matter how desperate, even at the risk of being kicked as an intrusive +snob by that priggish young brother of hers, who was +very stand-offish just now as he bade me good-night.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XIII"> + CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + </div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A DAUGHTER’S TRIAL.</h3> + + + + +<p class="noindent">Late though it was when she returned home after Mrs. Trevor’s +party. Violet knew that she must be punctual in her attendance +on her pupils on the following morning. At eight o’clock she +was walking westwards, after having taken her scanty breakfast +at home. No refreshment had ever been offered to her at Mrs. +Trevor’s house, for the widow knew how to make the best of a +good bargain; and liberal though she was in the matter of fine +words and elegant compliments, she would have grudged her +hard-working slave a cup of tea or a class of indifferent sherry.</p> + +<p>Nine was striking as Violet was admitted into the hall. She +was about to proceed to the back-staircase, which led to the +schoolroom, when the man-of-all-work stopped her.</p> + +<p>“My missus wants to see you in her <i>boodore</i>,” he said, with +the cool insolence with which a well-paid footman addresses an +ill-paid governess; “which it’s very important, and you wos to +go upstairs immediate, and to look sharp about it.”</p> + +<p>Violet was surprised at this summons, as Mrs. Trevor rarely +rose until nearly mid-day, when it was her habit to sit sipping +her chocolate and reading a novel until it was time to go out upon +a round of fashionable visits; but, although the governess was +surprised at this unexpected summons, she was in no way apprehensive +of any unpleasantness in an interview with her employer.</p> + +<p>Never had she looked brighter or prettier than when she presented +herself before Mrs. Trevor, who had not long risen from +her bed, and who sat untidily dressed in a loose morning-gown, +at a well furnished breakfast-table. The barrister’s widow had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>acquired the tastes of an accomplished <i lang="fr">gourmet</i> from her late +husband, and was selecting the daintiest morsels out of a raised +pie for her own consumption as Miss Westford entered the room.</p> + +<p>Her favourite daughter Anastasia was sitting on the other side +of the table, and a dark frown obscured that young lady’s handsome +face.</p> + +<p>She had perceived the impression made by Violet Westford on +Sir Harold Ivry, and she felt something nearly akin to hatred +for the innocent girl whose charms had outrivalled her own.</p> + +<p>Violet saw at a glance that something had happened to alter +her position in the estimation of Mrs. and Miss Trevor; but, as +her conscience was entirely free from blame, she met the changed +looks of the two ladies with a frank and fearless countenance.</p> + +<p>“Miss Westford,” exclaimed Mrs. Trevor in the affected and +high-flown manner which was peculiar to her, “when you first +entered this room, you entered the presence of a woman who is +as confiding as a child. I saw you, and I liked you. You are +beautiful; and I am a sensitive creature, to whom the presence +of beautiful things is almost a necessity. You sought to enter +my employment; I accepted your offer with confidence; I admitted +you into my household; I trusted you with the care of +my innocent girls; and now—now, when I had lulled myself to +rest, believing in your truth and purity, I find that I have +nourished a viper.”</p> + +<p>Violet started and turned deadly pale. Never before had Captain +Westford’s daughter known what it was to receive an insult.</p> + +<p>“Madam!” she exclaimed, with a sudden pride, which contrasted +strangely with her usual gentleness, “you are mistaken +in the person you address in this extraordinary manner.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I were,” answered Mrs. Trevor, shaking her head +solemnly. “I wish I were indeed mistaken, and that I could +awake from my delusion to find you worthy of my confidence.”</p> + +<p>“In what way have I proved myself unworthy of that confidence, +madam?” asked Violet, with the same proud and fearless +manner.</p> + +<p>“O, Miss Westford,” ejaculated the widow, raising her lace-bordered +handkerchief to her eyes, with a sniff that was meant +for a sob, “it is a sad case—a most painful case. It is not yourself +against whom I have anything to say—except, indeed, that +you have withheld the truth from me.”</p> + +<p>“I have withheld the truth, madam?” exclaimed Violet. +“What truth have I withheld from you?”</p> + +<p>“You entered my house under false pretences; you concealed +from me the character of—your—unhappy mother.”</p> + +<p>At this point Mrs. Trevor made a pretence of being almost +overcome by her emotion.</p> + +<p>“The character of my mother!” cried Violet. “What should +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>I tell you of her, madam, except that she is the best and dearest +of mothers, and that I love her better than my life?”</p> + +<p>“Unhappy girl! Do you pretend to be ignorant of your +mother’s character prior to her marriage with your father?”</p> + +<p>“Ignorant, madam! What should I know of my dear +mother? Who is it that dares sully her name by so much as a +whisper?”</p> + +<p>“One who knows her only too well,” answered Mrs. Trevor. +“Alas, poor child! I begin to think you may indeed be ignorant +of the truth. And yet surely you must know the maiden name +of your own mother?”</p> + +<p>A vivid blush suddenly dyed Violet’s pale cheeks. For a +moment a deadly fear—shadowy, shapeless, but terrible—took +possession of her.</p> + +<p>She had never been told the maiden name of her mother. +More than this, she remembered that she had never heard that +mother allude to any one circumstance of her early life. A dark +veil of mystery had seemed to shroud that portion of Mrs. +Westford’s existence.</p> + +<p>But the daughter’s love was stronger than the base feeling of +suspicion, that poisonous and fatal weed which at times twines +itself about the purest and truest heart.</p> + +<p>“I beg to resign my situation here this instant, Mrs. Trevor,” +Violet exclaimed, indignantly. “If any one has dared to slander +my mother in your hearing, I declare that person to be the +falsest and basest of mankind. But, be it as it may, I will not +stop an hour in a house where my mother’s name has been sullied +by the breath of suspicion.”</p> + +<p>“The person who told me your mother’s sad story—sad and +shameful also, alas!” sighed Mrs. Trevor, “is a person far too +high in position to become the promoter of any idle slander. He +spoke of facts—facts which I thought you might have been able +to disprove; but you cannot do so. You cannot even tell me +your mother’s maiden name. But I can tell you that name, +Miss Westford. Your mother’s name was Ponsonby, and she +was turned out of doors by her father, Sir John Ponsonby, when +his heart had been almost broken by the disgrace which had +fallen upon his daughter.”</p> + +<p>“What disgrace, madam?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor was silent. Rupert Godwin had not chosen to +tell her that he was the lover whose conduct had caused a cruel +slander to blacken the name of Clara Ponsonby.</p> + +<p>“What was that disgrace, madam?” repeated Violet. “I +have a right to know the extent of the falsehoods that some +wretch has dared to utter against the best and purest of +women.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, child,” answered Mrs. Trevor, with affected sympathy; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>“enough has been said—more than enough! I pity your misfortune, +for no misfortune can be greater than that of being the +daughter of a worthless woman. I pity you, Miss Westford. +But I am a mother myself; I have my own daughters to +consider, and I cannot possibly allow you to enter this house +again.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot allow me, madam!” cried Violet, with passionate +indignation. “Do you think my own feelings will allow me +ever again to cross the threshold of a house in which my +mothers name has been so cruelly and pitilessly slandered? +No, Mrs. Trevor! I wish you good morning; and I can only +trust that we may never again meet. You may have been +deceived by your informant, but I cannot forgive you for being +so ready to think ill of my dear mother.”</p> + +<p>Having said this, Violet left the room, calm and dignified in +outward seeming, though her heart was almost bursting with +the agony that tortured it.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevor sat for some moments staring at the door by which +the young girl had left her apartments, as if she could scarcely +collect her scattered senses.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see such assurance, Anastasia?” she exclaimed +at last. “If this penniless girl had been the Queen of England +she could scarcely have answered me more proudly. However, +we’ve got rid of her, that’s one comfort. It’s very lucky Rupert +Godwin told me what he did, for I’m sure that designing creature +would have set her cap at Sir Harold Ivry, and tried to supplant +you, my pet. I had my eye upon her last night, though she +little knew it, and I saw her artful manœuvres.”</p> + +<p>Anastasia Trevor bit her lips with vexation as she remembered +the events of the previous evening—the evening which was to +have been one long triumph to herself, and which had only resulted +in bitter disappointment and humiliation. Hypocritical +though we may be in our conduct to the world, we cannot +deceive ourselves; and Anastasia knew only too well that Sir +Harold’s admiration had been freely and spontaneously given, +and that Violet had been even unconscious of the impression she +had made.</p> + +<p>“There’s one blessing,” exclaimed the fashionable Mrs. Trevor, +after some minutes of meditation, “we save half a week’s salary +by this quarrel—though where we shall get such another governess +for the same money, goodness only knows!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XIV"> + CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">LOVE AT SIGHT.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">While Violet walked slowly homewards to the cheerless lodging +in that dingy street near the Waterloo-road, a mail-phaeton +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>dashed up to Mrs. Trevor’s pretty villa, and Sir Harold Ivry +alighted.</p> + +<p>It was the fashionable hour for paving and receiving visits; +so the widow and her favourite daughter were seated in the +drawing-room, dressed exquisitely, prepared to fascinate any +eligible marrying man who might fall in their way, for which +favoured being the delights of social afternoon tea were specially +reserved.</p> + +<p>Anastasia was seated close to the window, pretending to be +occupied by some fashionable Berlin-wool work; but she watched +the phaeton as it drew up to the door.</p> + +<p>“Mamma!” she exclaimed, “it is Sir Harold!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” cried Mrs. Trevor, in triumphant tones. “Then +you see last night’s party was not an unsuccessful affair after +all. The Baronet must be smitten, or he would never be in such +a hurry to call. I shall see you mistress of that splendid place +in the North, my love, depend upon it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just like you, mamma!” exclaimed the petted Anastasia, +impatiently; “you always fancy that everything is going +to happen just as you want it. I’m sure Sir Harold took no +more notice of me last night than if I were the plainest gawky +that ever emerged from a third-rate boarding-school. And I +daresay he has only come to-day in the hope of seeing <em>that</em> Miss +Westford.”</p> + +<p>“What!” shrieked Mrs. Trevor, almost hysterically. “You +don’t mean to tell me that Sir Harold would presume to come +to my house for the purpose of paying his addresses to your +governess! Nonsense, Anastasia, you are really too absurd.”</p> + +<p>No more could be said, for the Baronet was announced, and +the two ladies turned to receive him with their brightest smiles.</p> + +<p>“My dear Sir Harold, how very kind of you to call to-day!” +exclaimed the widow.</p> + +<p>“Your party was so charming, Mrs. Trevor, that I really +could not delay coming to tell you how thoroughly I enjoyed +myself, and to express a hope that neither you nor your daughters +were fatigued by your exertions in our behalf,” answered +the young man. “How magnificently Miss Trevor sang!” he +added, bowing to Anastasia; “and Miss Theodosia; and that +other young lady, Miss Westford—what a lovely voice she has!”</p> + +<p>Anastasia crimsoned with anger. The Baronet did not even +attempt to conceal his admiration of Violet. Mrs. Trevor’s +indignation knew no bounds, and yet she contrived to smile +sweetly at the Baronet.</p> + +<p><i lang="la">Nil desperandum</i> is the motto of every manœuvring mother; +and Mrs. Trevor was by no means disposed to abandon her +hopes at the first disappointment. Even though Sir Harold +admired the penniless governess, a little clever management and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>an unlimited amount of flattery might change the current of +his fancies, and bring him to the feet of Anastasia.</p> + +<p>This is what Mrs. Trevor thought; and this hope inspired her +with heroic courage.</p> + +<p>The Baronet talked of general subjects for some little time. +He discussed the operas, the picture galleries, the botanical fêtes, +the delights of a Sunday afternoon at the “Zoo,” the Toxophilite +Society’s field-days in the neighbouring park, and the +movements of the Royal Family, in the most conventional strain +of polite commonplace; but Mrs. Trevor could see that he talked +at random, and that he was thinking of other subjects than +those in which he pretended to be interested. At last he broke +out suddenly, without any reference to his previous conversation:</p> + +<p>“What a charming girl that Miss Westford is! I never saw +any one I so much admired. She is so lovely, so modest, so +completely unconscious of her own beauty! She is really the +most bewitching creature I ever beheld; and O, my dear Mrs. +Trevor, if you wish to render me your grateful and devoted +slave, pray introduce me to that charming girl’s family! I +want so much to know them, that I may have the opportunity +of seeing more of her.”</p> + +<p>“Sir Harold, I really am at a loss to——”</p> + +<p>“O, pray do not misunderstand me, my dear Mrs. Trevor. +You surely cannot think that I should feel any less respect for +that sweet girl, because I find her in a dependent position—going +away from a party on foot, and all that kind of thing. +No, Mrs. Trevor, I am not the man to be influenced by any +consideration of that sort. I am no aristocrat, as you and all +the world know very well indeed. My father won his position +by sheer hard work, and there’s a blundering old wheelbarrow +kept in a lumber room at Ivry Place, which my grandfather +used to wheel when he was a navvy, and helped to make the +Slopsall Canal down in our county. So, you see, it wouldn’t do +for me to give myself airs. I am rich, independent, and can +afford to marry the woman I love, if I am only so happy as to +win her regard. Under these circumstances, Mrs. Trevor, I am +sure you will believe me when I declare the honourable nature of +my intentions with regard to Miss Westford; and I know you +are just the kind of warm-hearted woman to be fond of that +feminine amusement called match-making. You’ll not refuse to +introduce me to her family, will you now?”</p> + +<p>No words can describe Mrs. Trevor’s rage and mortification as +she listened to this speech. Here was the wealthy Baronet, whom +she had intended to win as a husband for her own daughter, utterly +indifferent to Anastasia’s charms, and ready to throw himself at +the feet of a friendless orphan girl, whom he had only seen once +in his life. The fashionable widow was past-mistress of all the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>hypocrisies of polished society. She contrived, therefore, to +conceal her aggravation, and looked at Sir Harold with a +countenance expressive only of the most profound sympathy.</p> + +<p>“My dear Sir Harold,” she exclaimed, with a long-drawn +sigh, “I pity you—I do indeed pity you. Nothing could be +more charming than the sentiments which you so eloquently +express. I only regret that they should be wasted upon an +unworthy object.”</p> + +<p>“An unworthy object, Mrs. Trevor!” cried the Baronet; +“what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I have only this morning dismissed Miss Westford from my +employment as an unfit associate for my dear children.”</p> + +<p>Annabella Trevor gave a little shiver of horror as she spoke. +The Baronet turned pale, and the widow saw that her poisoned +arrow had gone home to its mark.</p> + +<p>“You dismissed her!” exclaimed Sir Harold. “An unfit +associate! But how?”</p> + +<p>“<em>That</em> I decline to tell you,” answered Mrs. Trevor, with +supreme dignity. “There are secrets which no honourable +woman can ever bring herself to reveal. I will not sully my +lips by repeating what has passed between Miss Westford and +myself. It is enough for you to know that she was dismissed +from this house—and in disgrace.”</p> + +<p>“But the nature of that disgrace, Mrs. Trevor?” asked the +Baronet, in an almost imploring tone.</p> + +<p>“<em>That</em>, I must repeat, I decline to tell you; and I must beg +you, as a gentleman, not to press the question,” answered the +lady with dignity. “Surely, Sir Harold, you cannot doubt my +word?”</p> + +<p>“Doubt you, Mrs. Trevor! O, no, no. What motive could +you possibly have for blighting the fair fame of this poor girl? +I <em>cannot</em> doubt you. But the blow is very bitter to me. A few +days ago, I should have ridiculed the mere idea of love at first +sight; and yet I believe, upon my word, that I am as deeply +attached to Miss Westford as if I had known her for half a +lifetime. And to discover that she is unworthy of an honest +man’s regard! O, Mrs. Trevor, you cannot imagine how cruelly +I feel this disappointment!”</p> + +<p>In his almost boyish candour, the Baronet made no attempt +to conceal the state of his feelings. Anastasia looked at him +with mingled contempt and anger. She had always envied and +disliked Violet Westford for her superior beauty; but now she +hated her with as fierce a hatred as ever raged in a woman’s +breast.</p> + +<p>Sir Harold Ivry rose to take leave.</p> + +<p>“I fear I have made a fool of myself, and that you must +really despise me, ladies,” he said, blushing crimson, as he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>remembered the emotion he had betrayed; “but I am a spoiled +child of fortune, and I am not used to disappointment—and I +am the worst possible hand at keeping a secret. Forgive me for +having bored you with my affairs. Good morning.”</p> + +<p>He shook hands with both the ladies, and was about to leave; +but Mrs. Trevor was not inclined to let him escape so easily.</p> + +<p>“You will dine with us to-morrow evening, I hope, Sir +Harold, and escort us to Covent Garden, where my dear friend +Lady Mordaunt has given me her box. Pray don’t say you are +engaged elsewhere. Anastasia knows you are an excellent +musical critic, and wants to hear your opinion of the new opera.”</p> + +<p>The young man hesitated for some moments, but at last +accepted the invitation.</p> + +<p>He did not do so from any regard for Mrs. Trevor or her +daughter, but because he still cherished the hope that from +them he should discover the truth about Violet Westford. He +left the house very much depressed and disheartened by what +he had heard, and ashamed of his impetuous devotion, now that +he had been told that its object was base and unworthy. He +had been accustomed to find life the pleasantest, easiest kind of +affair, like a royal progress by special train, with a saloon-carriage +fitted by Jackson and Graham to repose in, and all the +stations draped with red cloth and festooned with garlands in +honour of the favoured traveller. To-day, for the first time, he +discovered that there is happiness which wealth cannot purchase, +and his disappointment was even keener than that of the +young spendthrift, who wanted a box for the opera on one of +Jenny Lind’s field-nights, and offered a hundred pounds for the +object of his desire, only to be told that it was impossible of +attainment even at that price; whereupon he left Mr. Mitchell’s +shop, murmuring dolefully, “By Jove, there’s something that +money won’t buy!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XV"> + CHAPTER XV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">VIOLET RESOLVES UPON ENTERING A NEW SPHERE.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">A cloud fell upon the little household in the purlieus of the +Waterloo-road. Violet sought for fresh employment, but in +vain. She was incapable of uttering a falsehood, and she did +not attempt to conceal the fact of her having lately quitted +Mrs. Montague Trevor’s employment.</p> + +<p>In every case she was asked for a reference to her late employer, +and when she refused to refer to Mrs. Trevor, people +shook their heads. The case looked suspicious, and no one +would have anything to say to the helpless girl, whose youth +and beauty were additional obstacles to her success.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> + +<p>Thus Violet found herself with a blighted character, helpless +and friendless, in the vast city of London.</p> + +<p>Now for the first time the poor girl’s heart failed; her courage +gave way. Her enforced idleness gave her time for thought, +and she sat brooding upon her fate for hours together, until a +profound melancholy took possession of her.</p> + +<p>She had lost so much—<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'a doating father'" id="tn-94">a doting father</ins>; a betrothed lover, +in whom she had so fondly trusted—it was scarcely strange that +she should feel her life very hopeless and desolate, even though +her mother and Lionel were still left to her.</p> + +<p>Once, and once only, she had written to George Stanmore, at +the Poste Restante, Bruges. She had written to him, telling +him of her father’s death, and the sad changes of fortune which +had followed that calamity. In a spirit of mingled pride and +generosity she had released her lover from the engagement that +bound him to her.</p> + +<p>No answer had come to that letter. Violet could only imagine +that Mr. Stanmore had left Bruges, or that he accepted her +release in silence. The pain of this thought was very bitter; +but Violet Westford was becoming used to sorrow. Neither her +mother nor Lionel suspected the existence of that hidden grief, +which made a dull aching anguish in the girl’s breast.</p> + +<p>And in the meantime they were poor, very poor. Toil as she +might with her skilful needle, Clara Westford could earn very +little towards the support of that small household; and Lionel’s +earnings as a copyist of law-papers were very uncertain. It was +only by the most unfailing economy that this once prosperous +family were able to pay the rent of the pitiful lodging, and obtain +the commonest necessaries of life.</p> + +<p>To Violet enforced idleness was almost insupportable. She +saw those she loved toiling through the long weary days—hot +summer days, whose sunshine brought back the remembrance +of the shadowy gardens about the Grange, the cool depths of +the forest, those deep and sheltered glades in which she had +spent such careless hours of happiness with George Stanmore. +When she saw her mother and Lionel toiling in their close, +dingy London lodging, and felt that she could do nothing to +help them, despair took possession of her heart.</p> + +<p>Every day she answered fresh advertisements in the <cite>Times</cite> +newspaper, the hire of which from a neighbouring stationer +cost her a penny a day. Every day she walked weary miles, in +order to form one of the crowd of helpless girls, highly educated +and tenderly reared, whom the iron hand of poverty has thrust +out upon the hard world of London.</p> + +<p>But her perseverance was of no avail. Without a reference +to her former employer, no one would venture to trust in her. +Even her beauty—that gift so precious for the pampered child +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>of a luxurious home—became an impediment to her success, and +gave rise to cruel suspicions about her in the minds of the +worldly-wise.</p> + +<p>She had doubtless been dismissed from her last situation +because of some imprudence—or perhaps something worse than +imprudence—which rendered her unfit to be the companion and +guardian of innocence.</p> + +<p>After efforts that would have almost exhausted the patience +of a martyr, Violet’s hope and courage at last failed her altogether, +and she gave up all thought of obtaining another situation. +She was crushed and bowed to the very earth under the +burden of despair.</p> + +<p>It was on a glorious day in August that this sense of utter +hopelessness took possession of her mind. She had walked to +Hampstead that morning, after breakfasting on a little dry +bread and a teacupful of milk. She had walked from the +Waterloo-road to the breezy Heath at Hampstead, and had +presented herself before noon at a pretentious villa, only to be +told by its prosperous mistress that she was a great deal too +young for the situation.</p> + +<p>“There was no age stated in the advertisement, madam,” +poor Violet pleaded almost piteously; “and I can assure you +that I possess all the accomplishments required, or I should not +have applied for the situation.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” answered the lady of the villa, who was the +wife of an ironmonger at the West-end; “very likely you have +a school-girl’s smattering of the accomplishments I require; but +I could not possibly intrust my children’s education to a person +of your age, and I really consider it almost an impertinence in +a girl of nineteen to apply for such a position as governess in a +house of this kind.”</p> + +<p>The lady tossed her head contemptuously as she uttered this +speech. Had there been one spark of womanly feeling in her +breast, she might have seen that poor Violet was well-nigh +exhausted from sheer fatigue, and ready to drop fainting to the +floor. She might have seen the mute anguish pourtrayed in +the girl’s face; and she might at least have offered a glass of +wine from her well-stocked cellar, and a few words of sympathy +and comfort from one Christian woman to another.</p> + +<p>“Alas for the rarity of Christian charity” in this hard world! +The lady of the villa only rang the bell, and desired her servant +to show the “young person” out. Poor Violet found a seat +upon the Heath, where she was able to rest for some time, in +order to regain strength for the long homeward walk. There +was no occasion for haste; why should she hurry home, when +she had no good tidings for those whom she loved? She had +only the old cruel story to tell—the story of failure and disappointment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> + +<p>She sat for a long time, gazing dreamily at the dark roofs +and steeples of the city, which were half hidden under a cloud +of smoke in the valley beneath her. Then at last she rose, +and walked slowly and despondently homewards.</p> + +<p>The walk was a very long one; and the way she went took +her across Long-acre and into Bow-street, which she entered +at about three o’clock in the afternoon, dusty with her long +walk in the high-road, pale and exhausted with fatigue.</p> + +<p>Bow-street was very busy at this hour of the afternoon. A +series of cheap performances were being given at the close of +the Covent-Garden opera-season, and people were buying tickets +and engaging boxes for the night’s entertainment.</p> + +<p>Bow-street is the centre of the theatrical world of London. +In this street the dramatic agents have their offices, and to +those offices flock all classes of the theatrical profession, from +the provincial Macready, who is only waiting to get an innings +in order to set the town in a blaze, and who enters the official +chamber with a pompous tragedy stalk, to the timid amateur +aspirant for dramatic fame, who has never yet set foot upon a +public stage, and who announces his approach by a faint nervous +cough, expressive of profound self-abasement.</p> + +<p>The street is redolent of the footlights. Here the theatrical +wigmaker exhibits the flowing <i lang="fr">chevelure</i> of roistering Charles +Stuart—that supreme favourite of <i lang="fr">vaudeville</i> and <i lang="it">commedietta</i>—side +by side with the oily locks of <i lang="fr">Tartuffe</i>, or the close-cropped +poll of Jack Sheppard. There the theatrical hosier displays the +sacred mysteries of his art, and treacherously reveals the means +by which art and cotton-wool can supply the deficiencies of +nature. Close at hand the theatrical gold-lace maker sets forth +his glittering wares, and allows the vulgar eye to gloat upon the +diadem of a Richard, and the jewelled sword-hilt of a Romeo. +Next door hang Beauty’s robes, limp and dowdy of aspect when +untenanted by their fair mistress. Everywhere the specialty of +the street reveals itself.</p> + +<p>Walking slowly down this street, Violet Westford glanced, in +sheer absence of mind, at the big brass plate upon the door of a +dramatic agent’s offices.</p> + +<p>A dramatic agent! It was only after a few moments’ reflection +that she understood what the term meant.</p> + +<p>A dramatic agent, of course, must be a person whose business +it is to procure situations for actors and actresses.</p> + +<p>A sudden and desperate fancy entered Violet’s brain. She +knew that people earned money, sometimes a great deal of +money, by acting. She had read novels in which lovely young +creatures, with a taste for histrionics, had walked straight from +their domestic retirement on to the stage of Drury Lane, to +take the town by storm on their first appearance, and to be the +delight and glory of the universe, until prevailed upon to exchange +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>the triumphs of the drama for the social successes of +fashionable life by an adoring duke, who languishes to lay his +strawberry leaves and rent-roll at their feet.</p> + +<p>Why should she not be an actress? She was rejected on +every side as a governess. In her despair, she would have been +almost willing to have swept a crossing, if by so doing she +might have helped her mother and Lionel.</p> + +<p>Why should she not be an actress? The thought was not +quite so wild as it seemed. Violet Westford had often acted in +amateur theatricals in pleasant country-houses near the Grange, +and at merry Christmas gatherings in her own home. She had +shown considerable talent upon these occasions, and had been +much admired and applauded for that talent; and she had no +idea of the width of that gulf which divides the clever young +actress of the domestic charade from the hard-working artist +who woos public favour.</p> + +<p>She remembered her social successes—not with any feeling of +vanity, but as one last wild hope, to which, in the depth of her +despair, she was ready to cling, as the drowning sailor clings to +the frailest plank that ever floated on a blustrous ocean.</p> + +<p>Acting on the impulse of the moment, she seemed inspired +by a boldness that was strange to her. She entered +the open doorway by which she had seen the brass plate, and +went up an uncarpeted staircase leading to the first-floor. Here +she saw the word “office” painted upon a door opposite to her. +She knocked timidly, and a voice, that sounded harsh and +abrupt in her unaccustomed ears, told her to enter.</p> + +<p>She went into the room, and found herself in the presence of +a man of about five-and-thirty years of age, who was sitting at +a table writing, with a heap of papers, open letters, and many-coloured +playbills lying about him.</p> + +<p>The walls of the room were adorned with big rainbow-hued +playbills and theatrical portraits. In one of the curtainless +windows a foppishly dressed man was lounging, with his back +to the interior of the room.</p> + +<p>The agent looked up from his writing, and bowed to Violet; +but he did not speak. He evidently waited for her to state her +business.</p> + +<p>The poor girl’s courage failed her all at once. Physically +exhausted by her long and weary walk, she was not capable of +any very heroic mental effort. She dropped into the chair to +which the agent pointed. Her lips moved tremulously; but she +could not speak.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the agent was by no means an ill-natured man. +He saw Violet’s embarrassment, and came to her relief.</p> + +<p>“You want an engagement, I suppose?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” faltered Violet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> + +<p>“Very good. You’ve brought some bills with you, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Bills, sir? I——”</p> + +<p>“Yes; bills from the theatre where you were last engaged. +What’s your line of business? The juvenile lead, I suppose, +or first walking-ladies, hay? Where have you been acting +lately?”</p> + +<p>Violet shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I have never acted in any theatre,” she said. “I have only +acted in private theatricals at the houses of my friends.”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried the agent. “Do you mean to say you’ve +never acted on a public stage?”</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry de Lancy, the agent, who had been born a Higgins, +gave a long whistle, expressive of extreme surprise.</p> + +<p>“Then you’re a regular amateur, my dear girl,” he said, +“and as ignorant as a baby. I don’t suppose the manager of +any theatre in England would care to engage you—unless you +were willing to go for a month or so on trial, without any salary.”</p> + +<p>Without any salary! Violet’s heart sank in her breast. It +was the salary, and the salary alone, she wanted. She did not +wish to exhibit herself before a gaping crowd. She only wanted +to earn money for those she loved.</p> + +<p>“You don’t seem to like the idea,” said Mr. de Lancy. “Most +young ladies like you are very glad to get the chance of acting, +and would often be willing even to pay for it. Indeed, there are +many of them who do pay—and pretty stiffly too.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” Violet answered sadly; “but I am very poor, +and I want to earn money. I thought that I could get a salary +as an actress.”</p> + +<p>“And so you can, my dear, when you’ve learnt how to act; +but acting is an art, like every other art, and must be learnt by +experience. If you like to go to some little country theatre, and +play small parts for a couple of months without any payment, +in order to get a little accustomed to your business, I’ll look +over my books and see if I can manage the matter for you.”</p> + +<p>“A country theatre, sir!” exclaimed Violet, “and no salary! +O, that is quite useless for me. I want to be in London, with +my mother, and I <em>must</em> earn money.”</p> + +<p>The agent flung himself back in his chair with a half-contemptuous +shrug of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“You want impossibilities, my dear young lady,” he said. “I +can’t be of any use to you. Good afternoon.”</p> + +<p>He dipped his pen in the ink, and went on with his writing. +Violet rose to leave the room. She began to think that the +career of an actress must be attended with as many difficulties as +that of a governess.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<p>But as she stood on the threshold of the door, the man who +had been lounging in the window, and who had turned round to +stare at her during this brief scene, suddenly addressed her.</p> + +<p>“Stop a bit, my dear,” he said. “Just sit down five minutes, +will you?—De Lancy, my boy, what a fool you are!” he added, +addressing the agent.</p> + +<p>Mr. de Lancy looked up from his writing.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Why, what a confounded fool you must be not to see that +this young lady is the very person we want at the Cir!”</p> + +<p>“The Cir” was an abbreviation of the Circenses; and this +gentleman was no less an individual than Mr. Maltravers, the +stage-manager of the Circenses Theatre.</p> + +<p>“What for?” asked the agent.</p> + +<p>“Why, for the Queen of Beauty, to be sure, in the new +burlesque. Haven’t I been hunting all over London for a pretty +girl, and haven’t you sent me all sorts of guys and dowdies to +apply for the situation? and isn’t this young lady Venus herself +in a straw bonnet?”</p> + +<p>Violet blushed crimson. The stage-manager smiled as he perceived +her confusion.</p> + +<p>“You’ll get used to this sort of thing by-and-by, my dear,” +he said. “Now, let us understand each other. You want to be +engaged at a London theatre?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ve never been on any stage in your life?”</p> + +<p>“Never.”</p> + +<p>“Then all I can tell you is this: the first moment you tried to +open those pretty lips of yours before a London audience you +would find it almost as difficult to speak three words as if you +had been born deaf and dumb. You think because you’ve read +Shakespeare, and acted in a charade now and then among your +friends, that you only want a chance in order to burst upon the +world as a modern Siddons. But that kind of thing is not quite +so easy as you imagine. No, my dear young lady, acting isn’t +an accomplishment that comes natural to people, any more +than playing the piano, or painting pictures, or speaking foreign +languages. Acting must be learnt, my dear, and it isn’t learnt +in a day.”</p> + +<p>Violet looked despairingly at the speaker, who said all this in +the airiest and pleasantest manner.</p> + +<p>“What am I to do, then, sir?” she asked piteously. “I have +no time to learn an art. I want to earn money, and at once.”</p> + +<p>“And you shall earn some money, my dear, and very easily +too,” replied the stage-manager.</p> + +<p>“O, sir, tell me what you mean!” exclaimed Violet, who was +bewildered by the stage-manager’s vivacity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<p>“What would you say if I were to pay you eighteen shillings +a week for sitting in a golden temple for ten minutes every night, +in one of the most splendid dresses that was ever made in a +theatre? What would you say to appearing as the Queen of +Beauty in the last scene of our burlesque? You’ll have nothing +to say; you’ll have nothing to do, but sit still and allow the +audience to admire you; and you will be paid the liberal sum of +eighteen shillings a week. What do you say, young lady? Do +you accept my offer?”</p> + +<p>“O yes, yes; most willingly,” answered Violet.</p> + +<p>Eighteen shillings a week—nearly double the amount of Mrs. +Trevor’s miserable salary! Violet was only too eager to secure so +much prosperity.</p> + +<p>“I accept your offer, and with gratitude!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, the flush of excitement faded from her face, +and she grew very pale. Would her mother and Lionel—proud, +high-spirited Lionel—would those two, who loved her so dearly, +ever consent that she should earn money in this manner? Could +the young Oxonian—so quick to feel the humiliation of those he +loved—permit his sister to be stared at by an audience who paid +for the privilege of criticising or admiring her?</p> + +<p>“Surely, when we are so poor, they would scarcely object to +any honest means by which I could earn money,” Violet thought.</p> + +<p>But she dared not decide the question without her mother’s +permission.</p> + +<p>“Will you give me time to consult my friends?” she said. +“I was too hasty in what I said just now. I cannot accept your +offer without my mother’s consent.”</p> + +<p>“Very right and proper,” answered the stage-manager approvingly. +“But you must get your mother’s permission between +this and eleven o’clock to-morrow morning, or I shall be obliged +to find another young lady for the Queen of Beauty. I suppose +you can come to me at the theatre by half-past ten o’clock to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then; there’s my card. You must go to the +stage-door, and if you give that to the door-keeper, he’ll send +you to me directly. Mind you are punctual, for there are plenty +of people anxious for the situation. All the ugliest ballet-girls +in London fancy themselves the very thing for the Queen of +Beauty.”</p> + +<p>Violet promised to be punctual. There was a fee due to Mr. +de Lancy; but when that gentleman found the poor girl was +penniless, he very good-naturedly volunteered to wait until she +had received her first week’s salary.</p> + +<p>Violet hurried homewards after this interview, rejoiced beyond +measure at having the chance of help held out to her. She told +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>her mother and Lionel of what had happened, and implored +them to lay aside all prejudice at a time when poverty in its +worst bitterness had entered their household.</p> + +<p>At first, both Mrs. Westford and Lionel were strongly averse +to her proposition; but little by little the girl won their consent.</p> + +<p>Lionel’s concurrence was given unwillingly, even at the last; +it stung him to the very quick to think that his sister should be +obliged to earn money by exhibiting her lovely face to a careless, +perhaps insolent crowd. But when he looked at his mother’s +careworn countenance, the beautiful lines of which were already +sharpened by the cruel hand of want, his courage gave way, +and he burst into a passion of tears—those tears which seem so +terrible when they flow from the eyes of a brave man.</p> + +<p>“Do as you will, Violet!” he exclaimed, dashing those bitter +drops away with a hasty passionate gesture. “How can we +refuse the help of your feeble hands? I am a man; I have +received an education which cost my father a small fortune; and +yet, work as I may, I cannot earn enough to keep my mother +and sister from penury.”</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Violet presented herself at the stage-door of +the Circenses at the appointed hour on the following morning.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XVI"> + CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">BEHIND THE SCENES.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">To Violet Westford scarcely anything could have been more +trying than the ordeal which she now had to undergo. What +scene could be more strange to this delicate-minded, home-bred, +carefully nurtured girl, than the busy world behind the curtain +in a great London theatre?</p> + +<p>The door-keeper of the Circenses received the card which she +presented to him, and, after uttering some half-sulky, half-insolent +remark, gave her into the charge of a dirty boy, who was to +take her upstairs to the stage, where she would find Mr. Maltravers, +the stage-manager.</p> + +<p>Poor Violet was almost bewildered by the many dark passages +along which her conductor led her. There seemed scarcely a +gleam of the summer sunlight in all the great building, and the +underground passages smelt like vaults or charnel-houses—charnel-houses +in which there was a perpetual escape of gas, mingled +with that odour of corduroy and shoe-leather which the working +classes are apt to leave behind them, and which a very witty lady +once spoke of as their <i lang="fr">esprit de corps</i>.</p> + +<p>At last the dirty boy led the way up a little break-neck staircase, +opened a slamming wooden door, and ushered Violet into a +corner, where crowds of shabbily dressed men and women were +lounging amongst heaps of piled-up scenery.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>These men and women were the inferiors and subordinates of +the company—the banner bearers and supernumeraries who +appear in grand processions, and the ill-paid girls who fill up the +stage in crowded scenes.</p> + +<p>Many of these girls were dressed neatly and plainly; others +were distinguished by a tawdry shabbiness—a cheap finery of +costume; but there were some girls whom Violet saw lounging +together in little groups, whose attire would have scarcely seemed +out of place upon women of rank and wealth—handsome girls +some of them; and they looked at the stranger’s shabby mourning +dress with a supercilious stare.</p> + +<p>Violet had to stand for some time amongst these different +groups, waiting until it should please the stage-manager to come +to her.</p> + +<p>That gentleman was working as hard as it is possible for a +man to work; running from one side of the great stage to the +other; giving directions here, there, and everywhere; abusing +those whose stupidity or neglect annoyed him; giving a hasty word +of praise now and then; answering questions, writing letters, correcting +the rough proofs of playbills, looking at scenery; stooping +over the orchestra to say a few words to the <i lang="fr">répétiteur</i>; and +appearing to do a dozen things at once, so quickly did he pass +from one task to another.</p> + +<p>Little by little Violet became accustomed to the half-darkness +of the place, which was only illumined by the glare of a row of +lamps at the edge of the stage, technically known as the “float.”</p> + +<p>As she grew better able to distinguish objects around her, she +felt still more keenly the strangeness of her position. The handsomely +attired girls stared at her, always with the same supercilious +gaze; and at last one of them, after looking at her fixedly +for some time, addressed her. She was a beautiful, dark-eyed, +Jewish-looking girl, and her costume was more extravagant than +that of any of her companions.</p> + +<p>A train of mauve moire antique, bordered with a deep flounce +of the richest block lace, trailed upon the dirty boards of the +theatre. Over this dress the Jewess wore a lace shawl of the +costliest description; and a small white-chip bonnet, adorned +with mauve feathers and silver butterflies, crowned her queen-like +head.</p> + +<p>She was a magnificent looking woman—a woman who might +have graced a throne; but there was something almost terrible +in her beauty—something that sent a thrill of indefinable pain +and terror through the heart of the thoughtful observer.</p> + +<p>Her dark eyes had an ominous lustre; there was a hectic +bloom upon her oval cheek, and that cheek, perfect though its +outline still was, had a sunken look that presaged ill.</p> + +<p>A physician would have said that the stamp of decay was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>upon this splendid creature, the foreshadowing of an early +death.</p> + +<p>“Pray, are you engaged here?” she asked of Violet; “because, +unless you are engaged, you will not be allowed to stand in this +wing. It is against the rules for strangers to hang about the +theatre.”</p> + +<p>There was an insolence in the girl’s tone which aroused Violet +Westford’s innate dignity.</p> + +<p>She replied very quietly, but with perfect self-possession.</p> + +<p>“I am here because I have been told to come here,” she said.</p> + +<p>“By whom?”</p> + +<p>“By Mr. Maltravers.”</p> + +<p>“O, indeed!” exclaimed the Jewess; “then in that case I +suppose you are engaged?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so.”</p> + +<p>“For what?”</p> + +<p>“To appear in the new burlesque.”</p> + +<p>The Jewess flushed crimson, and an angry light gleamed in +her splendid eyes.</p> + +<p>“What!” she exclaimed, “then I suppose you are to be the +Queen of Beauty in the grand tableau?”</p> + +<p>“So Mr. Maltravers told me.”</p> + +<p>The Jewess laughed—a hollow laugh, that was very painful to +hear. To sit in the golden temple, as the representative of all +that is lovely, the observed of all observers, had been Esther +Vanberg’s ambition. She was the handsomest girl in the theatre, +and she fully expected to be chosen for this distinction. So when +she found a stranger was about to be engaged, she flew to Mr. +Maltravers, and complained to him bitterly of an arrangement +which she declared to be a deliberate insult to herself.</p> + +<p>The stage-manager was a thorough man of the world, accustomed +to deal with all the different airs and graces of the company +under his rule.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders, paid the handsome Jewess some +very high-flown compliments, but told her he wanted her to fill +another part of the tableau, and that he must have a new lady +for the Queen of Beauty.</p> + +<p>The truth of the matter was, that in the opinion of Mr. Maltravers +the beauty of Esther Vanberg was on the wane. She +was very well known to the regular audience at the Circenses, +and, handsome though she was, people might be, perhaps, just a +little tired of her beauty.</p> + +<p>Beyond this, there was something in Esther’s beauty that was +almost demoniac in character—something which reflected the +reckless wildness of her life and the violence of her temper. Mr. +Maltravers had the eye of an artist. His taste in the composition +of a stage picture was scarcely inferior to that of Vestris +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>herself, beneath whose despotic sway he had served his apprenticeship +in the art of stage management. For the central figure +of his tableau he wanted a woman whose beauty should possess +the charm of youth and innocence. Thus it was that he had +been peculiarly struck by the appearance of Violet Westford. +He was a hard, worldly-minded man of business, but he was +devoted to the dramatic art, and he held the interests of the +theatre before every other consideration.</p> + +<p>He came off the stage presently, and made his way to the +spot where Esther and Violet were standing.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, my dear,” he said to Violet, addressing her +with a fatherly familiarity that was entirely free from impertinence. +“I’m very glad to see you. You’ve made up your mind +to accept the engagement?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then; go upstairs to the wardrobe—any one will +show you the way—and ask Mrs. Clements to measure you for +your new dress. You can take this,” he added, scrawling a few +words in pencil on the back of a card. “Mrs. C. knows all +about the dress. There, run along, that’s a good girl.”</p> + +<p>Before Violet could reply, Mr. Maltravers had returned to the +centre of the stage, and was busy among the scene-shifters. A +good-natured looking, gentle-voiced girl, very simply but yet +very neatly dressed, who had been sitting in a dark corner of the +side-scenes working crochet, came forward and offered to conduct +Violet to the wardrobe-room, and the two set out together.</p> + +<p>It was a long journey—up staircases that seemed interminable +to Violet; but at last they arrived at a great, bare whitewashed +apartment, immediately under the roof of the theatre—an +apartment which was littered from one end to the other with +scraps of gorgeous-hued satin and glittering tissue, spangles, +ribbons, and gold-lace. About twenty women were at work here, +and to one of these Violet was conducted.</p> + +<p>Mr. Maltravers’s card produced an immediate effect. The +wardrobe-mistress left her work, and proceeded to take Violet’s +measure for the dress. She was in raptures with the young +girl’s appearance, and told her she would look lovely in a robe of +silver tissue, spangled with stars, and with draperies of rose-coloured +crape.</p> + +<p>“The dress will be perfection, miss, <em>per</em>fection, and will just +suit your beautiful fair skin. Now don’t you let any of the +ballet-ladies persuade you to plaster your face with <i lang="fr">blanc de +perle</i>, or <i lang="fr">blanc Rosati</i>, or <i lang="fr">blanc de</i> something, as most of them +do, until their faces have about us much expression as you’ll see +in a whitewashed wall. I shall take great pains with the +costume, for I know Mr. Maltravers has set his heart upon the +Temple of Beauty being a great success. My youngest little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>girl is to be one of the Cupids, and she does nothing but talk of +it at home. She went on in last year’s pantomime as the Singing +Oyster, and did <em>so</em> well, bless her dear little heart!”</p> + +<p>To Violet all this talk was utterly strange. Already she +began to look forward with fear to her first appearance on a +public stage; but for the sake of those she loved she would have +dared more than the ordeal before her.</p> + +<p>She went downstairs, and at the back of the stage met Mr. +Maltravers, who told her to come at ten o’clock the next morning +for the rehearsal of the new burlesque.</p> + +<p>“O, by the bye,” he said, “what name shall I put down in the +cast? You never told me your name.”</p> + +<p>“My name is Wes——,” Violet began; but she stopped +abruptly, remembering that the subordinate position she was +about to occupy in that theatre would be a kind of disgrace to +her lost father’s name.</p> + +<p>The stage-manager seemed to guess the nature of her scruples.</p> + +<p>“You are not obliged to give me your real name, my dear,” +he said kindly; “if you like to take a false name, you can do so. +Most actresses and ladies of the ballet assume false names: they +have generally some relations or friends who object to their +appearance on the stage—straitlaced people, you know, who +fancy that the stage-door is the entrance to a kind of Tophet.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good, sir. I should not wish my position here +to be known,” Violet faltered. “I honour and admire the +dramatic art, and those who profess it; but as my position in +the theatre will be a very humble one, I shall be glad to keep +my name a secret. You can call me Watson, if you please, Mr. +Maltravers.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, my dear; so be it. You will be known here as +Miss Watson. And don’t you be put out if Esther Vanberg +gives herself airs because you’ve been chosen for the best place +in the tableau. You just attend to your business, and if Vanberg +annoys you, come to me, and I’ll take my lady down a peg +or two.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XVII"> + CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">CRUEL KINDNESS.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">While Violet began her lowly career at the Circenses, Lionel +made a new effort to earn a few pounds. His powers as an +artist were of no mean order, and he made a desperate attempt +to turn his talents to some account. He gathered together a +little bundle of sketches, some in water-colours, some in pen-and-ink, +but all of them exhibiting considerable dash and +talent: sporting sketches, military sketches, graceful groups <i lang="fr">à la</i> +Watteau, cavaliers in the ever-picturesque costume of the +Restoration, all the work of happy hours at the Grange. With +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>this bundle under his arm, Lionel Westford sallied forth one wet +afternoon in quest of some enterprising dealer in art.</p> + +<p>Never had the streets of London looked duller or dingier than +they did to-day. There were few carriages even in the best +thoroughfares, and the muddy foot-passengers who trod wearily +upon the sloppy pavement seemed all of them more or less at +odds with fortune.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford crossed Waterloo Bridge and made his way +by different short cuts to Regent-street.</p> + +<p>Here, as well as in the meaner quarters of the town, the foot-passengers +might suffer all the inconvenience and discomfort of +muddy pavements and perpetual rain; but pampered beauty, +rolling here and there in her luxurious carriage, could descend +therefrom to be sheltered by the huge umbrella held by a deferential +footman, and to be escorted into a shop as elegantly and +as comfortably furnished as a West-end drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Lionel entered the shop of a fashionable printseller. It was +comparatively empty, and he was able to make his way at once +to the counter, where the principal was busily occupied sorting +some engravings in a portfolio.</p> + +<p>Three or four fashionable-looking men were lounging near the +door, and glanced with supreme indifference at the shabbily-dressed +stranger, whose threadbare coat and shining hat, +dripping with rain, too palpably betrayed his poverty.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford approached the counter, and after a few preliminary +words, opened his portfolio.</p> + +<p>The printseller looked at the sketches readily enough. They +were very clever, he said; they gave indications of great talent, +but unluckily they were not wanted; there were plenty of such +things to be had, done by the regular people.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford’s cheek grew paler as he saw his last hope +deserting him.</p> + +<p>“Can you not give me some kind of employment?” he asked, +with a feverish energy. “You think, perhaps, I shall want high +prices for what I do. You are mistaken. I will work for starvation +wages, and work untiringly—I only ask you to give me a +chance.”</p> + +<p>The printseller shook his head decisively.</p> + +<p>“Quite impossible,” he said. “I have more of these kind of +things in my stock than I shall be able to sell in a twelvemonth. +Photography has quite superseded this kind of work. The +fashion for scrap-books has gone out.”</p> + +<p>“But if I were to paint a more important picture——”</p> + +<p>“There would be no market for it, my good young man. +You must have some kind of reputation as an artist before you +can expect your pictures to sell,” answered the shopkeeper impatiently.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>Lionel shut his portfolio, and turned away from the counter +with a feeling of heart-sickness in his breast. None, save those +who have endured such disappointments, can tell their anguish.</p> + +<p>His face was deadly pale; his lips contracted rigidly; and +there was an angry look in his eyes. He was in the humour +which would have sent a Frenchman on the first stage of that +fatal journey which halts at the <i lang="fr">filets de St. Cloud</i>, to make its +dismal end in the darksome cells of the Morgue.</p> + +<p>As he turned from the counter he found himself face to face +with a woman—a woman whose beauty startled him by its +splendour.</p> + +<p>Never before had he seen a face that seemed to him so +wondrous in its magical charm. It was not an English type of +beauty. The large, almond-shaped eyes, darkly lustrous yet +soft and dewy even in their lustre, were like the eyes of a +Madonna by Correggio. The rich complexion was foreign in its +clear olive tint. The hair, simply dressed under a pink crape +bonnet, was of that bluish-black which a painter would choose +for the massy tresses of an Assyrian queen.</p> + +<p>This Spanish-looking divinity was dressed in the height of +fashion and the perfection of taste, as it seemed to Lionel Westford, +whose artistic eye took in every detail of her appearance, +even in that dreary crisis of his fate. His own troubles and +perplexities vanished out of his mind as he looked at this unknown +beauty, and he was wholly absorbed by the painter’s +delight in loveliness of form and colour.</p> + +<p>The young lady wore a dress of some silken material, in which +violet and silvery grey were artfully intermingled. A priceless +cashmere shawl draped her perfect figure, lending itself to those +diagonal lines which are agreeable to the painter’s eye. Close +behind this brilliant demoiselle appeared a stout but very stately +matron of the chaperone class—the kind of person created for +domestic surveillance—the modern form under which the dragon +of the famous garden guards the unapproachable fruit.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford was scarcely conscious of this latter lady’s +presence. It was the young beauty whose sudden appearance +bewildered him, as he turned away, despairing, from the printseller’s +counter.</p> + +<p>He gazed for some moments upon the unknown beauty, +dazzled by her splendour, and then passed hastily on. He +wanted to leave the shop—he felt eager to withdraw himself +from the influence of that beauteous face. It seemed to him as +if there was something almost stifling in the atmosphere. What +had he to do with such a creature as this pampered and doubtless +high-bred beauty?—he, a beggar, an outcast, a kind of +Pariah, by reason of his poverty?</p> + +<p>He would have passed out of the shop; but, to his utter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>bewilderment, the fashionable beauty followed him towards the +door, after a brief whispered disputation with the elder lady, and +laid her little gloved hand upon the damp sleeve of his shabby +coat. The gesture was only momentary. The slim fingers +touched him as lightly as a butterfly’s wing; and yet a kind of +thrill seemed to vibrate through his veins.</p> + +<p>“Do not go just yet,” pleaded a low earnest voice; “I should +be glad to speak with you for a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“I am quite at your service, madam.”</p> + +<p>At her service! How cold and formal the words sounded as +he uttered them! What was she to him but a stranger, whose +face had shone upon him for the first time only five minutes ago? +And yet he felt as if he could have surrendered his life to give +her pleasure. He stood with his hat in his hand, waiting until +she should address him.</p> + +<p>If he was embarrassed, she was still more so. The rich crimson +blood rushed to her cheeks—the dark fringes drooped over +her eyes. And yet the impulse that stirred her heart was only +one of womanly compassion; it was pity alone that had impelled +her to address Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>She had overheard his appeal to the shopkeeper. She had +perceived from his tone and manner that he was a gentleman, +unaccustomed to bitter struggles for daily bread. She had seen +his white face, almost ghastly in its look of despair; and, with +impulsive generosity, she had determined, if possible, to help him.</p> + +<p>“You are very much in need of employment?” she said +hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“My dearest Julia,” exclaimed the outraged matron, “this +is really such a very unprecedented kind of proceeding, I must +protest against such inconsiderate conduct.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Mrs. Melville, for once in a way don’t protest against +anything: I am only going to speak to this gentleman about a +matter of business,” returned the young lady, just a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Julia, your papa——”</p> + +<p>“Papa always allows me to have my own way.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear love, this per—this—ahem!—gentleman is an +utter stranger to you.”</p> + +<p>All this was spoken in an undertone, but Lionel could perceive +that the language of remonstrance was being addressed to +the young lady by an outraged duenna, and he moved again +towards the door, anxious to terminate an embarrassing situation.</p> + +<p>The young lady’s generous impulses were not to be subjugated +by matronly caution.</p> + +<p>She stopped Lionel once more as he was about to leave the shop.</p> + +<p>“Pray do not hesitate to answer me,” she said. “I heard +you say just now that you needed employment.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> + +<p>“I only said the truth, madam. I need it very much.”</p> + +<p>“And would you be particular as to the nature of the employment, +so long as it were tolerably remunerative?”</p> + +<p>“Particular, madam!” exclaimed Lionel. “I would sweep a +crossing in the muddy street yonder, or hold horses at the doors +of the clubs. I would do anything that an honest man may do, +in order to get bread for those I love.”</p> + +<p>“For those you love!” repeated the lady. “You have a +young wife, perhaps—or even children—whom you find it difficult +to support?”</p> + +<p>“O no, madam! I have no wife to reproach me for my +poverty. The dear ones of whom I spoke are my mother and +sister.”</p> + +<p>“I think I could offer you remunerative employment,” said +the Spanish beauty, still in the same hesitating manner, “if the +nature of it would not be unpleasant to you.”</p> + +<p>“Unpleasant to me, madam!” exclaimed Lionel. “Believe +me, there is no fear of that. Pray speak—command me, in any +way you please.”</p> + +<p>“I have an only brother,” answered the lady, “who possesses +the same talent as yourself. He is abroad now; and indeed we +have been separated for some time; but we are truly attached +to each other, and everything relating to him is sacred in my +eyes. When he went away from home he left behind him a great +quantity of sketches—things to which he attached no value, +but which are very precious to me. I am anxious to get these +drawings mounted by some one with artistic taste. I should be +very glad if you would undertake the task. Our house in the +country is a very large one; and I have no doubt papa would +give you rooms in it while you were engaged in carrying out my +wishes. I will ask him to write to you on the subject, if you +like. In the mean time, here is my card.”</p> + +<p>She opened an exquisitely carved ivory case, and handed +Lionel a card, while the outraged matron looked on in silence, +with an air of wounded dignity that approached the tragic.</p> + +<p>Her tone and manner throughout, even when she was most +hesitating, seemed those of one accustomed to command. There +was an imperious grandeur in her beauty, which contrasted +strongly with her maidenly shyness in addressing a stranger.</p> + +<p>The name which Lionel Westford read upon the card was</p> + +<p class="center"> + <span class="smcap">Miss Godwin</span>,<br> + <span class="p15l"><i>Wilmingdon Hall, Herts.</i></span> +</p> + +<p>Miss Godwin of Wilmingdon Hall! Lionel Westford started, +and recoiled a little from his lovely companion.</p> + +<p>“I dare say you know my father’s name,” she said; “almost +everybody knows Mr. Godwin the banker.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what people would say if they knew Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>Godwin’s daughter went about the world picking up strange +young men in shops,” thought the matron.</p> + +<p>Lionel faltered some few <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'words in replp'" id="tn-110">words in reply</ins> to Miss Godwin, but +those words were not intelligible.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin’s daughter! This girl, who was anxious to +be his patroness, his benefactress, was no other than the daughter +of Rupert Godwin, his mother’s worst enemy!</p> + +<p>Could he accept any favour from that man’s race? And, on +the other hand, how could he now refuse this girl’s help, so +generously offered, so eagerly accepted, a few moments before?</p> + +<p>He was silent. He stood with the card in his hand, staring +absently at the name inscribed upon it, while a sharp mental +struggle went on within his breast.</p> + +<p>What was he to do? Was he, who so needed help, to reject +this most unexpected succour, this friendly rope flung out to +him at the moment when he was buffeting with waves that +threatened his annihilation? Was he to refuse the help offered +in this crisis of his life, in deference to a feeling which was, perhaps, +after all, only a foolish prejudice?</p> + +<p>He thought of his mother’s broken home. He believed that +Rupert Godwin had only acted as any other hard-headed, +callous-hearted man of business might have done. But the +memory of that desolate home was very vivid in his mind, and +he had long ago learned to look upon the banker as a bitter +enemy.</p> + +<p>Yet he <em>could not</em> reject Julia Godwin’s offer of assistance. +The images of his mother and sister seemed to fade from his +mind. He stood before Julia Godwin bewildered by conflicting +emotions, helpless as some creature under the influence of a +spell.</p> + +<p>“Shall I ask Papa to write to you about terms and other +arrangements? Will you consent to mount my brother’s +sketches?” asked the soft voice, while the chaperone still looked +on with the stony stare of amazement.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am at your service. I will do what you please,” +answered Lionel.</p> + +<p>“You are very good. And to what address shall papa write?”</p> + +<p>The young man paused for a moment, and then named a +post-office in a street near his lodging.</p> + +<p>Julia Godwin wrote the address on the back of one of her +cards with the jewelled pencil dangling amongst the costly toys +at her watch-chain.</p> + +<p>“And the name?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Lewis Wilton,” Lionel answered, after another brief pause.</p> + +<p>He could only enter Rupert Godwin’s house under a false +name. Henceforward his independence would be gone, for there +would be falsehood and dishonour in his life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> + +<p>He felt this; and a sense of shame mingled with his delight +in the thought that he and Julia Godwin would meet again.</p> + +<p>“And now I am quite at your service, dear Mrs. Melville,” +she said to her duenna, placidly ignoring the tempest of indignation +with which the matron’s breast had been swelling. +“Yet stay, I had almost forgotten to make my purchases.”</p> + +<p>She went to the counter, and bought some trifling articles, +while Lionel waited to escort the two ladies to their carriage.</p> + +<p>It was a very magnificent equipage; and the young man +thought, as Julia Godwin bowed to him from the window, that +she looked like some foreign princess, dazzling alike by her +beauty and by the splendour of her surroundings.</p> + +<p>He little knew that the infamous theft of his father’s hardly-earned +fortune had alone preserved that splendid equipage from +the hands of infuriated creditors. He little knew that all his +own sufferings were occasioned by the diabolical fraud which +had enabled Rupert Godwin to stem the tide in his affairs, and +float into new enterprises that had brought him the command +of money.</p> + +<p>Yes; the twenty thousand pounds had saved the banker’s +commercial position, and had enabled him to enter upon new +speculations, which had been singularly, almost miraculously, +fortunate.</p> + +<p>Lucifer sometimes favours his children. Harley Westford’s +money had been very <em>lucky</em> to Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>And yet, hard and resolute as the banker’s nature was, there +were times when he would have gladly sacrificed all his position +in the commercial world if he could have recalled the day upon +which he first saw the captain of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>Lionel stood on the muddy pavement, lingering until Godwin’s +carriage was quite out of sight.</p> + +<p>Then he turned slowly away, and walked homeward; heedless +of the fast-falling rain—almost unconscious of the way by +which he went; entirely absorbed in thoughts of the lovely face +that had so lately beamed upon him—the low musical voice +which seemed still to sound in his ear.</p> + +<p>But, think as he would of the beautiful Julia, he could not +quite banish from his mind the memory of his mother’s trials. +What would she think of her only son, could she but know +that he was about to accept service with the man who had rendered +her home desolate, the man of whom she never spoke +without a shudder of aversion?</p> + +<p>“There is something horribly base in this business,” thought +the young man. “False to Rupert Godwin, since I enter his +house as a concealed enemy; false to my mother, whose natural +hatred of this man I must outrage by any dealings with him +or his race. False every way! What can I do but despise +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>myself for my meanness and folly? No!—come what may, I +will not be so utterly weak and degraded. I will not enter the +house of Rupert Godwin!”</p> + +<p>But there is a Nemesis who guides the footsteps of the +avenger. It was destined that Lionel Westford should enter +Rupert Godwin’s house under a false name.</p> + +<p>The hand of fatality pointed to Wilmingdon Hall. Harley +Westford’s son was to go thither.</p> + +<p>Chance seemed to have brought about that which was to be +the first step in a long train of circumstances leading, slowly +but surely, towards discovery and retribution.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Two days after his interview with Julia Godwin, Lionel called +at the post-office, and received a letter from the banker.</p> + +<p>It was brief, but not uncourteous:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—In accordance with my daughter’s request and recommendation, +I am prepared to employ you for some weeks in the +cleaning and mounting of my son’s sketches. The salary I can +offer you is five guineas a week; and you can be accommodated +with rooms at my house.</p> + +<p>“I shall naturally expect a reference to some person of position +who can testify to the respectability of your character and +antecedents.</p> + +<p class="right pno-blank-bottom"> + <span style="margin-right: 8em;">“Yours obediently,</span><br> + “<span class="smcap p2r">Rupert Godwin.</span></p> +<p class="pno-blank-top">“<i>Wilmingdon Hall, Herts</i>.” +</p> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"> + CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">WILMINGDON HALL.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Lionel Westford yielded to the influence of the bright face +which had looked at him so compassionately in the moment of +his despair. He gave way to the temptation against which he +had struggled resolutely and manfully, only to break down in +the end; and he wrote to Rupert Godwin, accepting the engagement +offered him.</p> + +<p>Before writing this letter the young man called upon an old +college companion, a shallow-minded but kind-hearted young +idler, from whom he had kept aloof since his reverse of fortune. +It was very much against the grain that he went to ask a favour +at the hands of this gentleman, but he had no alternative. Mr. +Godwin required some testimony as to the respectability of the +stranger whom he was to admit into his household, and Frederick +Dudley, his once familiar chum, was the only person to whom +Lionel could apply.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dudley willingly consented to testify to his old friend’s +merits. He knew very little of the changes that had befallen +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>the Westfords, and he jumped at once to the conclusion that +Lionel’s assumption of a false name was only a part of some +romantic scheme.</p> + +<p>“I see it all, Westford,” exclaimed the young man, “though +you are so confoundedly close with a fellow. It’s a love affair, +that’s what it is; you’ve fallen head over heels in love with this +old fogy’s handsome daughter—I’ve met Julia Godwin in society, +and a remarkably fine girl she is, though not <em>my</em> style—and you +want to get into the house disguised as a poor artist. Quite a +romantic dodge, upon my word, and I envy you the spirits for +the adventure! I’m so deucedly used-up myself that I should +never have thought of such a thing. Come now, confess that +I’ve hit it;—eh, old boy?”</p> + +<p>“I can confess nothing,” answered Lionel; “but I must not +allow you to entertain any false ideas with regard to Miss +Godwin. I have only seen that young lady once in my life, and +then only for a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, my dear boy; and for all that you may be +awfully in love with her. There’s such a thing as love at first +sight, you know, if we’re to believe those prosy old poets. I +don’t understand the thing myself; but then I’m so deucedly +used-up. I have not experienced the tender passion since I was +spoony on a pretty little pastrycook at Eton,” added the young +simpleton, whose moustache had only lately begun to sprout.</p> + +<p>“At any rate, I may rely upon your kind offices, Dudley?” +asked Lionel, as he prepared to leave his friend’s chambers.</p> + +<p>“You shall have them with all my heart, dear boy. But +you’ll stop to luncheon, won’t you? I can give you a grilled +chicken, and a dry sherry that you’ll not match every day in the +week. I shall so enjoy a smoke and a chat with you. It will +recall the old times, you know, when we were young and fresh. +What have you been doing with yourself lately, old fellow? I +haven’t seen you for the last six months.”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear Dudley,” answered Lionel; “and very few of +my friends have seen me during that time.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Because your world is no longer my world. Since my poor +father was lost at sea, a great change has taken place in my +fortunes. Such lucky young scapegraces as you can no longer +be my companions, for I have entered the ranks of the breadwinners.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Lionel,” exclaimed the young man, “surely +your friends could be of some service to you! I haven’t a very +large balance at my banker’s, for the relieving officer has all the +parochial hardness of heart, but so far as it goes it is entirely at +your disposal.”</p> + +<p>Lionel wrung his friend’s hand with a grateful pressure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>“My dear Fred, I know what a good fellow you are, and I +thank you most heartily; but I am now certain of employment +which will be tolerably remunerative. Good-bye, old friend!”</p> + +<p>“And you don’t like me well enough to borrow a few tenners +just to carry on the war with?”</p> + +<p>“No, thanks, Dudley; I can do without the tenners, if I get +the five pounds a week Mr. Godwin is willing to give me for +some very easy work.”</p> + +<p>“Do you want an introduction to my tailor? I keep the +fellow an unconscionable time waiting for his money, but I make +a point of recommending him to my friends. What a pity a +fellow’s friends have such a knack of going through the Bankruptcy +Court, by the way! It takes so much off the value of +one’s introductions. Shall I give you a line to my snip?”</p> + +<p>“No, dear boy, I’ll not victimise him, this time. I have the +remnant of my University extravagances in that way, and can +make a decent appearance at Wilmingdon Hall.”</p> + +<p>“You will come and see me again, dear boy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, when my position has improved; until then, good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Three days after this interview, Lionel Westford left King’s +Cross on his way to Hertfordshire. For the first time in his life +the young man had told his mother a falsehood. He had told +her that artistic work had been offered him in the town of Hertford, +and that he was about to occupy himself for a few weeks in +that place.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford was grieved at the thought of even a brief +separation from her son; but she had seen his spirit drooping, +and a dark cloud upon his brow, so she was glad to think that +he would have employment and change of scene. Lionel’s +conscience upbraided him cruelly as he left that devoted mother; +and yet he tried to reason with himself against his scruples. +Was not Rupert Godwin’s money as good as that of any other +man? and would it not purchase comfort for that dear patient +sufferer? and was he, Lionel Westford the pauper, to fling away +the chance of fortune because it was offered by the banker’s +hand?</p> + +<p>Thus it was that he went to Wilmingdon Hall. Rupert +Godwin had only yielded to a caprice of his daughter’s when he +consented to engage the young artist. Julia’s influence over her +father was almost unbounded. The cold heart for her grew +warm and human; the remorseless nature became softened. +Rupert Godwin hated his son; for he knew that the young man +had read the secrete of his inner nature, and despised him. He +hated his son; but he loved his beautiful daughter with a +morbid and exaggerated affection, and there were few requests +of hers which he cared to refuse.</p> + +<p>At any other time Mr. Godwin might certainly have been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>inclined to question the prudence of his daughter’s views with +regard to the stranger whose desperate condition had excited +her compassion. He was by no means given to the Quixotic +impulses which were common to Julia’s nature; and whatever +benefits he had bestowed upon his fellow creatures had been +given in obedience to the prejudices of society rather than to the +impulses of his own heart. At another time he would have +sided with the outraged guardian of his daughter’s youth, and +would have protested against Julia’s philanthropic schemes as +absurd and impracticable. Julia had been prepared to encounter +such opposition, and had been just a little inclined to repent +her somewhat precipitate offer of employment in the interval +which elapsed between her meeting with Lionel Westford and +her father’s next flying visit to Hertfordshire.</p> + +<p>To her surprise, however, the young lady met with only the +faintest possible opposition. Of late Rupert Godwin’s mind +had been entirely occupied by one all-absorbing care, and he had +grown strangely indifferent to the details of his daily life.</p> + +<p>He made one or two peevish objections to Julia’s proposition, +and then gave way to her wish, but not with the good grace +with which he had once been accustomed to grant a favour asked +by that fondly loved daughter.</p> + +<p>“You want me to write to this young man,” he said half +absently, as if it were almost too much trouble for him to concentrate +his thoughts for even a few moments on the subject in +question. “Very well, Julia—very well; I will write. Don’t +worry me any further about the business. I think the whole +affair very absurd, but you must have your wish. What does it +matter?”</p> + +<p>“What does it matter?” That was a phrase which Rupert +Godwin had used very frequently of late when called upon to +discuss the trifles that make up the sum of existence. These +things had become of such complete indifference to him, and it +seemed to him that people made such fuss and noise about the +petty details that appeared so contemptible in his eyes;—in his +eyes, before which for ever loomed one dark awful shape, the +shadow whereof shut out all other things from his sight.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Lionel Westford arrived at the Hall in the afternoon of a +brilliant August day. Not a leaf stirred in the verdant depths +of the park, not a blade of grass was ruffled by a passing breeze. +The lake, lying in a green hollow overshadowed by spreading +chestnuts and beeches, was smooth as the face of a mirror, and +reflected the rich blue of the cloudless summer sky.</p> + +<p>Lionel had been for many months a prisoner in the dreary +desert of London;—London, which is a delightful city for the +denizens of Mayfair or Belgravia, who, if called upon to make a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>map of the British capital, would place its centre at Apsley +House, and its eastern boundary on the further side of Regent-street; +but a dismal abode for those needy wayfarers who contemplate +it from the purlieus of the New-cut. For months he +had looked only on shabby houses, close streets whose blackened +walls shut out the light of day; and the pleasantest sound +which had announced to him the advent of summer had been +the shrill cry of the costermonger vending his “Cauliflow-vers!” +to the small householders of the neighbourhood. So it was that, +entering the banker’s grand old domain, a kind of intoxication +stole over his senses. He looked about him, and drew a deep +inspiration—a long breath of rapture. His chest heaved, his +head was lifted to the summer sky, his step grew elastic as he +trod the crisp springy turf.</p> + +<p>“It is a paradise!” he exclaimed—“a paradise, and she is its +queen!”</p> + +<p>The distance from the lodge-gates to the house was a long +one. Lionel had left his portmanteau at the lodge, and had +there obtained instructions as to the nearest road to the Hall. +The lodge-keeper had directed him to go by a narrow pathway +winding through a thick shrubbery, and leading past the grotto +and fernery.</p> + +<p>In the depths of this leafy arcade a solemn gloom prevailed, +even on this brilliant summer day; and as Lionel Westford +advanced further into that forest darkness, the sombre twilight +of the place, together with its perfect stillness, produced a +strange effect upon his mind.</p> + +<p>He was no longer elated, he was no longer carried away by a +sense of rapture. On the contrary, he felt all at once strangely +depressed; a mysterious burden seemed to weigh down his heart. +It was almost as if there had been something stifling in the very +atmosphere of that luxuriant shrubbery. And under this +strange influence even the image of Julia Godwin faded out of +the young man’s mind. All other feelings seemed absorbed by +that mysterious sensation, the nature of which he could not define.</p> + +<p>He quickened his pace. The solitude of the scene was distasteful +to him. He hurried on, eager to reach the Hall, eager +to behold human faces, to hear cheerful voices.</p> + +<p>After walking a considerable distance, he came at last to a +spot which he recognized as the grotto and fernery.</p> + +<p>The spot was darker, wilder, and more solitary than any other +part of Wilmingdon Park.</p> + +<p>Great craggy masses of limestone and granite were mingled +with the ruins of some classic temple; and amongst the broken +pillars and the rugged rockwork the ferns grew high in rank +luxuriance.</p> + +<p>A small cascade trickled noiselessly amongst the moss-grown +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>stones, and dropped into a smooth pool of water—a pool that +looked as if beneath its quiet surface there lurked a treacherous +depth.</p> + +<p>“It looks like a spot that has been blighted by the influence +of some evil deed,” thought Lionel, as he paused for a few +moments to contemplate the scene. “It looks like a place +upon which the red hand of murder had set its stamp. I could +fancy some Eugene Aram lying in wait for his victim behind +one of those Doric columns, prepared to shoot him through the +head, and then drop him quietly to the bottom of that pool. +It’s the sort of place a Highlander would call ‘uncanny.’”</p> + +<p>While this thought was still in his mind he was startled by +long melancholy moan, which sounded near him.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford inherited his father’s courage, and yet his heart +sank within him as he heard that strange unearthly utterance.</p> + +<p>The hardiest nature succumbs, for a moment at least, beneath +the influence of the supernatural.</p> + +<p>But that sudden thrill of fear passed with the moment.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” exclaimed the young man; “the sound was human +enough, I daresay, though it was awfully like the wail of a +departed soul. I have only to discover its cause. It seemed to +come from behind this rockery.”</p> + +<p>As he said this, Lionel Westford walked round the irregular +pile of stonework, and speedily discovered whence that mysterious +moaning had proceeded.</p> + +<p>An old man, dressed in a suit of well-worn corduroy, was +sitting on a block of moss-grown stone, with his elbows resting +on his bony knees, and his face hidden in his tanned and +withered hands.</p> + +<p>He seemed very old, for long thin locks of snowy whiteness +fell over his spare shoulders. He was evidently employed about +the grounds, for gardening implements lay on the grass near +him.</p> + +<p>As Lionel stood looking at this strange figure, the dismal +moan was repeated.</p> + +<p>Then the old man spoke.</p> + +<p>“O Lord, O Lord!” he cried, “it’s dreadful to bear; it’s +dreadful, dreadful, dreadful!”</p> + +<p>This time Lionel Westford’s only feeling was one of compassion.</p> + +<p>He laid his hand lightly upon the gardener’s shoulder. The +old man started to his feet as if under the influence of a galvanic +shock. The face he turned towards Lionel was blanched +with fear, and his whole frame was shaken by a convulsive +trembling.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” he gasped. “Who are you, and where did +come from?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> + +<p>“I am a perfect stranger here,” answered Lionel. “I heard +you moaning just now, and naturally felt anxious to discover +the cause of your distress.”</p> + +<p>“A stranger!” repeated the old man in a hoarse whisper, +wiping the sweat-drops from his forehead as he spoke. “A +stranger! Are you sure of that?—eh?”</p> + +<p>He peered earnestly into Lionel’s frank face, as if he would +fain have read the truth there.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” he muttered; “I see you don’t deceive me. You +<em>are</em> a stranger to this dreadful place. But just now I was +talking, wasn’t I? I talk sometimes without knowing it. I’m +an old man, and my brain’s getting muddled. Did I say much—did +I say anything—anything queer—anything that made +your blood run cold and your hair stand on end?—eh?”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford looked compassionately at the old gardener.</p> + +<p>What could this be but madness, or at least the cloudy twilight +of a fading mind, through which there flitted the dark and +hideous shadows of delirium?</p> + +<p>“My good man, there is no occasion for this distress,” Lionel +said gently. “You said nothing, except that something or other +was dreadful. Pray calm yourself. It was only the sound of +your moaning that attracted me here.”</p> + +<p>“And I said nothing? Ah! but I say queer things sometimes—very +queer things! But there’s no meaning in ’em—no +meaning; no more meaning than there is in the screeching of +them old ravens as you’ll hear sometimes in this here shrubbery. +They’re as old as I am and older, them ravens, and they screeches +awful sometimes after dark. <em>That</em> sounds dreadful; but there’s +nothing in it. I’m a very old man. I’ve served the Godwins, +man and boy, for seventy years. I remember this Mr. Godwin—Rupert +Godwin—a baby; and I remember his father a boy—a +bright-faced, free-hearted boy; not dark and silent, like this +one, but bright and open; the right sort he was—yes, the right +sort. I’ve served ’em long, and faithful; and they’ve been good +masters to me. It isn’t likely that I should turn against ’em +and betray ’em, now I’m an old man. Is it?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” answered Lionel. “What should you have +to betray?”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” muttered the old gardener, speaking to himself +rather than to Lionel, “it isn’t likely. I’ve eaten their bread +for seventy years, and it isn’t likely I should speak agen ’em, +though I feel now sometimes as if that bread would choke me. +But I musn’t be talking, sir; I musn’t stand talking here to +you, for I say queer things sometimes, only there’s no meaning +in ’em; mind that—there’s never any meaning in ’em.”</p> + +<p>The old man shouldered his spade and walked off, leaving +Lionel very much bewildered by his manner.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<p>“Mad!” thought the young man. “Mad! Poor old fellow; I +wonder the banker doesn’t pension off such an old servant. I +should scarcely like to have such a melancholy object about my +place, if I were Mr. Godwin. <i lang="fr">Frère, il faut mourir!</i> The man +must be a perpetual reminder of the horrors of old age.”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford walked on a few paces further, and presently +emerged from the shrubberies on to a smooth lawn, across +which he saw the grand old mansion that had sheltered so many +noble inhabitants.</p> + +<p>In a moment the recollection of the mad old gardener was +blotted out of his mind. He thought only of that radiant +vision which had so bewitched and enchanted him a week before +in the printseller’s shop. He could only think of the wondrous +dark eyes of Julia Godwin.</p> + +<p>He arrived at the house, and was received by a stately butler, +who ushered him immediately up the broad staircase and along +a corridor, out of which a great many doors opened. One of these +doors was thrown open by the aristocratic butler, and Lionel +found himself in a comfortably furnished sitting-room, out of +which there opened a bedroom and dressing-room.</p> + +<p>These were the apartments which the housekeeper had caused +to be prepared for the artist. Lionel could but compare their +simple though luxurious furniture with the dingy curtains and +meagre-looking weak-legged chairs and tables of the shabby +lodging in which he had left his mother and sister.</p> + +<p>He seated himself before a table near the window, on which a +large portfolio had been placed ready for him, and began to consider +his work without further delay. But his mind was oppressed +by the thought that he was acting a treacherous part +towards both his mother and Rupert Godwin; and the image of +the half-imbecile old gardener mingled itself strangely with the +radiant vision of Julia in all her proud young beauty.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XIX"> + CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A RECOGNITION AND A DISAPPOINTMENT.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Violet attended the rehearsals at the Circenses with unfailing +regularity, and won the warm praises of Mr. Maltravers, the +stage-manager, both for her punctual habits and her quiet manners, +which were in strong contrast with the noisy chatter and +clamorous laughter of some of the giddy careless girls employed +in the theatre. The interior of the theatre was like a strange +world to this girl, who had been reared in the refined atmosphere +of home. Esther Vanberg and her companions treated the newcomer +as an intruder. They would have been very kind to her, +perhaps, had she been an ordinary-looking girl, the homely +muddy-complexioned sort of young person whom other girls +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>speak of as “a dear;” but she was something very different. +Her undeniable beauty inspired all manner of malice, envy, and +uncharitableness; and these young ladies did their uttermost to +render the theatre uncomfortable to her.</p> + +<p>They did their uttermost, but they failed most completely; +for Violet’s thoughts were so far removed from theirs that she +scarcely felt any annoyance from their sneers or their insolence. +Strange as this unknown world behind the curtain seemed to her, +she was supported by the knowledge that she was earning +money that would at least secure her mother from actual privation; +and she was comparatively happy.</p> + +<p>At last the eventful night arrived on which the new burlesque +was to be performed. Violet was by this time perfectly familiar +with the easy task she had to perform. Her dress was ready for +her, and no expense had been spared to render the costume magnificent.</p> + +<p>Even Violet Westford, unconscious though she ordinarily was +of her own attractions, could scarcely fail to recognize the perfection +of the face and figure she saw reflected in the glass when +the finishing touch had been put to her dress, and a starry circlet +placed upon her sunny hair, which was allowed to fall in wavy +masses that reached below her waist.</p> + +<p>She went downstairs to the stage, and was warmly complimented +by Mr. Maltravers on her appearance.</p> + +<p>He saw her seated in a fairy temple which formed the central +feature of the gorgeous scene that was to conclude the extravaganza, +and then left her. In a few minutes the front scene would +be drawn aside, and Violet Westford would find herself face to +face with a London audience.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat quickly; for though she had nothing more to +do than to sit in statuesque repose upon a gilded throne and +look beautiful, she could not help being a little alarmed at the +prospect of finding herself the focus of all the eyes in the +crowded house. On one side of the temple Esther Vanberg +was placed amongst a group of girls ranged on gilded pedestals, +for the scene was one of those displays of pretty young women +and gorgeous stage decoration which Mr. Ruskin condemns on +aesthetic principles. The Jewess was talking loudly while waiting +for the scene to be unclosed.</p> + +<p>“Pretty!” she exclaimed scornfully; “if Mr. Maltravers calls +that piece of fair-haired insipidity a beauty, I don’t think much +of his taste. She’s about as fit to be the Queen of Beauty as the +snuffy old woman who cleans out the theatre.”</p> + +<p>Violet knew that this elegant speech referred to her; but she +knew also the envious feeling which dictated it, and she was not +disturbed by her rival’s malignity.</p> + +<p>But as Esther Vanberg spoke Violet turned almost involuntarily +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>to look at her. The Jewess was splendidly dressed, and +looked very handsome; but the hollowness of her cheeks and the +feverish brightness of her eyes were visible, in spite of the rouge +and other cosmetiques which she used to enhance her beauty.</p> + +<p>As Violet looked at those dark eyes, some memory, which she +was powerless to put into any distinct shape, arose in her mind. +Where and when had she seen such eyes as those?</p> + +<p>She could not answer the question; but she knew that she +had at some time or other encountered a gaze which was now recalled +to her by that of Esther Vanberg.</p> + +<p>Miss Westford had no time to ponder upon this question, for +the scene was unclosed, and she saw before her the crowded +theatre, with its myriad faces and dazzling lights.</p> + +<p>A tremendous burst of applause followed the unclosing of the +scene, for the final tableau of the new burlesque was a miracle of +the scene-painter’s art.</p> + +<p>For some moments Violet could only see a confused mass of +faces and glittering lamps; then little by little the scene grew +clearer to her eyes, and she could distinguish single faces from +among the crowd.</p> + +<p>She saw beautiful women—aristocratic-looking men. She saw +hundreds of opera-glasses, which all seemed to be levelled at herself. +She saw humbler sight-seers gazing with enraptured countenances +upon the scene from the Olympus of the eighteen-penny +gallery, and little children applauding vehemently, with +their chubby hands.</p> + +<p>Then, as the scene was a long one, and as she had nothing to +do during its progress, her gaze wandered idly about the house, +now resting here, now lingering there, attracted by the novelty +of the scene.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she started, and trembled from head to foot.</p> + +<p>In the dress-circle—in a corner nearest the stage—she had +recognized a man sitting alone, with his arms folded on the velvet +cushion, his eyes fixed dreamily on the scene before him, as +if in utter absence of mind.</p> + +<p>This man was George Stanmore the painter!</p> + +<p>The recognition had set Violet’s heart beating violently. But +she remembered where she was, and the myriad eyes that were +upon her. By a powerful effort of self-control she restrained all +outward token of emotion.</p> + +<p>George Stanmore’s dark eyes were still fixed upon vacancy, +rather than on the dazzling scene at which all the rest of the +audience were looking; and as Violet watched those dark eyes, +a sudden fancy startled her, almost as much as she had been +startled by her first recognition of the artist.</p> + +<p>She perceived a singular resemblance between the eyes of +George Stanmore and those of the Jewess, Esther Vanberg. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>This was the likeness which had so puzzled her only a few +moments before the unclosing of the scene. It was strange; +and Violet was grieved at finding a likeness between the man +she loved and the <i lang="fr">figurante</i>, whose short youth had been one +career of folly and extravagance.</p> + +<p>It was strange; but these accidental resemblances are of frequent +occurrence, so Violet did not long puzzle herself about the +subject. She was too much absorbed by the knowledge that +the plighted lover from whom she had been so long separated +was now before her. Surely he must speedily recognize her, as +she had recognized him.</p> + +<p>She did not consider that she saw George Stanmore in his +everyday habiliments; while he beheld her in the complete disguise +of a brilliant stage costume, and moreover in a position +which he could not have supposed she would occupy. Presently, +however, she saw him rouse himself from his reverie and look at +the stage. He had no opera-glass; but he started, and looked +at Violet with a prolonged and eager scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she thought, “he recognizes me; I knew that he +would do so. And now, how will he act? Will my appearance +in this place disgust and annoy him? Will the change in our +circumstances produce an alteration in his feelings? Will he +despise the woman who has sunk from affluence to poverty, or +will he respect my endeavour to earn a livelihood by any means +in my power?”</p> + +<p>Violet asked herself these questions, but in her heart she never +doubted the fidelity of the man she loved. He had recognized +her, and he would doubtless leave the box immediately, and +hasten to the stage-door, whence he could send her a message or +a letter.</p> + +<p>But to her surprise he did not hasten to quit his seat. He sat +quite still, gazing fixedly at her until the curtain fell and shut +him from her sight.</p> + +<p>Then Violet fancied that he had only waited for the fall of the +curtain, preferring to wait rather than to disturb the people +about him by rising in the middle of a scene.</p> + +<p>She left the stage, where the confusion caused by the shifting +of the scenery was something beyond description. She left the +tumultuous chaos of noisy carpenters and ponderous machinery, +and hurried to the room in which she dressed, in company with +Esther Vanberg and about half-a-dozen other girls. Her heart +throbbed with a new sense of happiness, her cheeks were flushed +with expectation, her hands trembled as she removed her fantastic +dress, and plaited her long hair. She had no ears for the +loud talk of her excited companions, who were noisily discussing +the success of the scene they had been engaged in, and the relative +merits of their several costumes, or speculating and disputing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>as to who was or who was not in “front,”—the front in question +being that portion of the theatre which has been more elegantly +described as the <i lang="la">auditorium</i>.</p> + +<p>Every moment Violet expected to hear her name pronounced +outside the door of the dressing-room; every moment she expected +to be summoned, in order that a letter or message might be +given to her.</p> + +<p>But no letter, no message came. Half an hour, and then the +greater part of an hour, passed. Violet had dressed herself very +slowly, lingering over the operation in expectation of a summons; +but she had now put on her bonnet and shawl; she was ready to +go home; and her mother, the careful anxious mother, to whom +this ordeal of her daughter’s was unspeakably painful, would be +waiting in the hall by the stage-entrance, ready to escort the +<i lang="fr">débutante</i> home.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford had insisted upon coming to fetch Violet from +the theatre. Lionel was away, and the girl had now no male +protector. How could the devoted mother rest within doors, +with the knowledge that her daughter was exposed to all the +perils of insult and annoyance in the half-deserted London streets?</p> + +<p>Poor Violet could not linger any longer in the dressing-room +with the knowledge that her mother was waiting for her below. +No words can tell the bitterness of her disappointment. Only +those who have known a life as joyless and hopeless as hers had +been of late, can imagine the anguish which she felt as she saw +her brightest and most cherished dream fade away from her.</p> + +<p>Throughout her sorrows her heart had been sustained by +a belief in George Stanmore’s constancy, a deep and heartfelt +confidence in his affection, which circumstances might shake but +could not destroy.</p> + +<p>Now that fondly treasured hope was crushed all at once.</p> + +<p>He had seen her after a long separation, which should have +made her a hundredfold more dear to him; he had seen her, he +had recognized her, and yet had made no effort to approach her.</p> + +<p>“He despises me in my altered fortune,” she thought bitterly; +“he has been to the neighbourhood of the Grange perhaps, and +has heard of our losses; and now that he sees me struggling to +earn a living as best I may, he despises me. It was all very +well for him to talk so nobly about the worshippers of Mammon +while he thought me the daughter of a rich man, but he is not +disinterested enough to forgive the sin of poverty in the woman +he pretended to love.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XX"> + CHAPTER XX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE MARQUIS OF ROXLEYDALE.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">From the night of that first performance of the burlesque at the +Circenses, Violet Westford’s life was one long conquest over self—one +long act of womanly heroism.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> + +<p>The noble-hearted girl was determined that her mother should +be kept in perfect ignorance of her grief. Had not that dear +mother already suffered enough? Did she not still suffer unceasingly +for the loss of the best and truest of husbands?</p> + +<p>Violet had not told her mother the secret of her love when its +object had appeared thoroughly worthy of her affection. She +could not now reveal it, when to do so would have been to stamp +her lover as a traitor. She had been ashamed of her clandestine +engagement from the first; she was doubly ashamed of it now, +when the falsehood of her lover seemed to be a punishment for +the secrecy that had attended her attachment to him.</p> + +<p>“If I know that he is heartless and mercenary, I can at least +hide the knowledge from others,” she thought. “If I cannot +myself respect him, I can at any rate shield him from the contempt +of strangers.”</p> + +<p>Alas for poor Violet! All this suffering, which was so much +harder to bear than the worst stings of poverty, might have been +saved her. All this pain arose from a very natural misconception. +She had herself recognized George Stanmore, and she +had imagined it impossible that he could fail to recognize her.</p> + +<p>She had seen his gesture of surprise, his scrutinizing gaze, so +fixed in its earnestness, which had lasted until the falling of the +curtain; and she fancied that gesture and gaze could only arise +from Mr. Stanmore’s recognition of her.</p> + +<p>But it was not so. The artist had not recognized in the fair +face of the Queen of Beauty the innocent countenance of the +girl he had wooed and won in the New Forest.</p> + +<p>George Stanmore had been only attracted by the <em>likeness</em> +which he fancied the ballet-girl at the Circenses bore to the +daughter of Captain Westford. He never for a moment imagined +that Violet and the Queen of Beauty were one and the +same person.</p> + +<p>The young man had been wandering in Flanders, from village +to city, and from city to village, studying the old Flemish +masters, and exploring every nook and corner in which an old +picture was to be found. He had only crossed from Ostend to +London within a few days of his visit to the Circenses. He had +no idea of the changes that had taken place at the Grange. +How, then, should he believe that Violet Westford, the only +daughter of a prosperous gentleman, the highly educated but +country-bred girl, could appear before him on the stage of a +London theatre?</p> + +<p>Almost involuntarily he had consulted his playbill. No such +name as Westford appeared there. The Queen of Beauty was +distinguished by the very commonplace cognomen of Watson.</p> + +<p>But even if he had seen Violet’s real name in the list of +characters, George Stanmore would have been more inclined to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>doubt the evidence of his own eyes than to believe that it was +indeed his simple woodland nymph whom he beheld amidst the +glare and glitter of that brilliantly lighted stage.</p> + +<p>No. He gazed to the last moment at the beautiful girl in the +roseate draperies and crown of stars; but it was only because +he loved to look upon a face that closely resembled the one so +dear to him.</p> + +<p>He had no opera-glass, and could not bring the face nearer. +If Violet had been more experienced in theatrical matters, she +would have known how few amongst an audience in a large +theatre can afford to dispense with an opera-glass; and she +would have also known how much difference is made in every +actor or actress’s appearance by an entirely strange costume.</p> + +<p>Unhappily, she knew nothing of this. She fancied that her +lover must have inevitably recognized her as easily as she +recognized him.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Nearly a week passed. Every evening Violet Westford’s +lovely face beamed radiantly on the spectators of the burlesque. +Already she had learned one lesson belonging to the life of the +stage: she had learned that she must smile always, whatever +secret canker might be eating silently into her own heart. The +public, who pay to be amused, will of course tolerate no doleful +faces, no sad or thoughtful looks, in the paid favourites of the +hour. The queen of tragedy alone can indulge in sorrow; and +her sorrow must be as unreal as the gladness of the ballet-girl, +who may smile upon the aristocratic loungers in the stalls while +her heart is breaking with sorrow for a father, a mother, or a +favourite sister, lying on a deathbed at home. Let those who +would be lured away from peaceful and comfortable homes by +the false glitter of the stage, look well at the dark side of the +picture, ere they take the first step in a career which is successful +only for the few.</p> + +<p>Violet Westford needed all her fortitude in that London +theatre. The stage-manager was very kind to her, in his rough-and-ready +semi-paternal manner. The actresses of superior +rank saw that she was no vulgar or disreputable person, and +often noticed her by a friendly word or smile; but, in spite of +this, Violet was cruelly persecuted in the quiet performance of +her duty.</p> + +<p>This persecution was inspired by the foul fiend called Envy. +Violet’s beauty had been much noticed, and had been commented +upon in the papers which criticised the new burlesque. Although +she had not so much as one line to speak, her position in the +grand scene of the <i lang="fr">spectacle</i> was a very prominent one, and drew +upon her the notice of every spectator.</p> + +<p>Her beauty did the rest. That beauty was so striking; in its +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>youthful freshness, and formed such a contrast with the faded +splendour of those around her, that the waning belles of the +theatre resented her appearance amongst them as a personal +injury.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg was the leader of a little band who made it +their business to sneer at Violet, and nothing but the girl’s +quiet spirit of endurance enabled her to bear the insolence of +their innuendoes.</p> + +<p>But she did bear it, and without shrinking. It seemed so +small a trouble to endure when compared with the thought +that George Stanmore was false and cold-hearted. “The heart +once broken by the loved is strong to meet the foeman.”</p> + +<p>She had been little more than a week in the theatre when one +of the largest private boxes was occupied by three gentlemen +well known to the world of London.</p> + +<p>One was a handsome Spanish-looking man of middle age; +the second was an insignificant individual, with a round fat face, +small gray eyes, sandy hair, and long, carefully trained whiskers, +which were evidently the pride of his heart; the third was a very +young man, with a pale auburn moustache, faultless evening-dress, +and languid manner, as of a sufferer bowed down by the +burden of existence.</p> + +<p>The first of these three men was Rupert Godwin the banker; +the second was Mr. Sempronius Sykemore, a renowned tuft-hunter +and toady, who was always to be found following close +upon the heels of some wealthy and weak-witted young nobleman, +and whose presence was an unfailing sign of approaching +ruin for the nobleman in question; the third was the Marquis +of Roxleydale, a young gentleman who had inherited one of the +oldest titles in England, an estate worth sixty thousand a year, +and whom nature had not gifted with a very large amount of +brains or a very noble heart.</p> + +<p>It had lately pleased Rupert Godwin to be extremely civil to +the shallow-headed young Marquis. But he did not put himself +to this trouble without an eye to his own interests. He hoped +to secure Lord Roxleydale as a husband for his idolized Julia.</p> + +<p>With this end in view, he invited the Marquis to Wilmingdon +Hall, whenever that young nobleman could be prevailed upon to +withdraw himself from the delights of London life—a life of the +vilest and most degraded order; a life passed in the haunts of +vice, in which horrible dens the Marquis was always attended +by Mr. Sempronius Sykemore, who conducted him through the +seven circles of this earthly Inferno as faithfully as Virgil conducted +Dante, and who was eminently calculated to play the +part of Mentor, as he was old enough to be the young man’s +father.</p> + +<p>Lord Roxleydale very much admired Julia Godwin’s beauty; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>but he had no wish to fetter himself with the chains of matrimony; +and he found Wilmingdon Hall a very dull place after +the brilliant assemblies in which his evenings were generally spent.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin perceived this, and for a while he allowed the +active working of his schemes to be suspended. But he only +waited his time. He watched the young Marquis as a cat +watches a mouse. He affected to admire his high spirit—he +even joined in his vicious amusements; but there was a deep and +rooted purpose under all he did—a purpose that was fraught +with danger to the shallow-brained scion of the Roxleydales.</p> + +<p>To-night the banker had entertained Lord Roxleydale and his +toady Mr. Sykemore at a sumptuous dinner given at a West-end +club. He was too much of a diplomatist not to know that in +order to succeed with the Marquis he must first secure that gentleman’s +guide, philosopher, and friend, Mr. Sykemore, and he had +purchased Mr. Sykemore’s good graces at rather a high figure.</p> + +<p>After dinner, when a great deal of wine had been drunk by +the Marquis and by the worthy Sempronius, it had been proposed +that the party should adjourn to the Circenses, where the +new extravaganza had acquired considerable popularity.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had been the only one of the party who had +refrained from drinking. He had excused himself from tasting +the choice moselles and sparkling hocks which he ordered for his +guests, and had limited his potations to a few glasses of the +driest and palest sherry obtainable for money.</p> + +<p>Sempronius Sykemore had perceived this; and he suspected +some design on his friend and patron the Marquis.</p> + +<p>He determined to keep a close watch over the banker; but his +intellect was of a very low order as compared with that of +Rupert Godwin. All he wanted was to sponge upon the fortune +of the weak young nobleman, so long as that fortune held out +against the ruinous habits which Lord Roxleydale had acquired +by the evil teaching of false friends.</p> + +<p>It was past ten o’clock when the three gentlemen entered the +theatre. They had not long taken their seats when the scene +opened, revealing the final tableau in which the Queen of Beauty +appeared seated in her golden temple.</p> + +<p>The Marquis lifted his opera-glass and surveyed the stage. +He was at once attracted by Violet Westford’s lovely face, +which amongst all the faces on that crowded stage was the only +one that was new to him.</p> + +<p>“By all that’s beautiful,” he exclaimed, “she’s a houri—an +angel!”</p> + +<p>“Who is an angel, my dear Marquis?” asked the banker, +laughing.</p> + +<p>“She is—that girl in the temple yonder! She’s a new girl. +I never saw her face before. I wonder where the deuce Maltravers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>picked her up. Look at her, Godwin,” added the young +man, handing his opera-glass to the banker as he spoke.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin shrugged his shoulders with a careless gesture, +and then looked at the stage.</p> + +<p>But presently he started violently, and the glass almost fell +from his hand.</p> + +<p>Again the ghost! Again the vision of the past! Again the +face that recalled to him Clara Ponsonby in all her youthful +beauty, as he had first seen her riding by her father’s side!</p> + +<p>“Come,” exclaimed the Marquis, “I see you’re as much struck +with her as I was.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Rupert Godwin slowly, “she is very lovely.” +As he spoke his brows contracted over his dark, unfathomable +eyes, his lips grew rigid,—a diabolical scheme was forming itself +in that satanic mind.</p> + +<p>He had sworn to revenge himself upon the woman who had +done him the supreme wrong of preferring a happier rival, and +who had inflicted a wound which had rankled and festered in his +envenomed soul. How better could he assail this woman than +through her daughter’s temptation and peril?</p> + +<p>This weak young Marquis could be made the instrument of +his plot.</p> + +<p>Yes; the vile deed shaped itself before him, distinct and palpable +as the scene now acting on the stage.</p> + +<p>“I will pay Clara Westford a visit to-morrow,” thought +Rupert Godwin. “I have already brought her to the very dust. +She defied me when we last met; but at that time she was still +the mistress of a luxurious home, secure, as she believed, from +the trials and degradations of poverty. I will see her again now, +when she has tasted the bitterest waters of life’s chalice. Surely +she will have grown too wise to defy me now. If not—if the +indomitable spirit of Clara Ponsonby still reigns in the breast of +Clara Westford,—I will find a way to bring her to my feet, and +that way shall be through the peril of yonder golden-haired girl.”</p> + +<p>These were the thoughts which filled the plotting brain of +Rupert Godwin as he sat, with the glass in his hand, looking +fixedly at the stage.</p> + +<p>Presently his gaze wandered from the face of Violet Westford, +and he took a sweeping survey of the groups of showily dressed +girls arranged in graceful attitudes, which were the result of +careful study on the part of ballet-master and stage-manager.</p> + +<p>Once more the banker’s hand faltered, and he started violently; +but this time his eyes were fixed upon the Jewish beauty, Esther +Vanberg.</p> + +<p>“Who is that girl?” he gasped, in a tone that revealed unwanted +excitement—a degree of emotion extraordinary in this +man of iron. “Who is she?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>“My dear Godwin,” exclaimed Mr. Sempronius Sykemore, +laughing at the banker’s vehemence, “I thought just now you +were going to fall in love with the fair girl! and now you seem +suddenly smitten with the dark beauty. That young lady is Miss +Vanberg, celebrated for her handsome face and her demoniac +temper. She boasts that she has the blood of Spanish Jews +in her veins—the old Jews of Andalusia—the aristocrats of the +fallen race. She is an extraordinary woman—as proud as Lucifer, +as changeable as the wind. They say that the Duke of Harlingford +worships the ground she walks upon, and would have made +her his Duchess long before this, in spite of his exasperated relations, +if her violent temper had not always caused some desperate +quarrel between them just as the marriage was about to +take place. Most women of Esther’s class would be too prudent to +quarrel with a Duke and a millionnaire—but Miss Vanberg’s temper +and pride are utterly ungovernable. In the meantime she +occupies a house in Mayfair, drives a pair of chestnuts worth five +hundred guineas, dresses as extravagantly as the Princess Metternich, +and gives herself the airs of a Russian Empress.”</p> + +<p>“Strange!” muttered the banker; “the blood of Spanish +Jews in her veins! And then so like—”</p> + +<p>These words were uttered in an undertone, which did not +reach the ears of the Marquis or his toady. As for Lord Roxleydale, +that young nobleman was entirely absorbed in admiration +of Violet. He sat with his eyes fixed upon her, in a gaze as +profound as if his senses had been enthralled by some supernal +vision. So might Faust have looked on the phantasm of fair +young Gretchen; so might have gazed the son of Priam and +Hecuba when he first looked on her whose fatal beauty was +predoomed to be the destruction of Troy.</p> + +<p>He gazed thus fixedly until the curtain fell, and then sank +back into his chair with a profound sigh.</p> + +<p>“I’m done for, Semper!” he said—he always called his toady +Semper; “that girl, that adorable angel, has imprinted her image +on my inmost heart. Egad! I never knew that I had a +heart before. I must see her to-night—immediately. I’ll make +Maltravers give me an introduction; I’ll—”</p> + +<p>“Stay, Roxleydale!” exclaimed the banker, laying his hand +upon the arm of the Marquis, as the young man rose from his +seat: “not to-night. I know the girl—and know all about +her. To-morrow night I will introduce you to her.”</p> + +<p>“You, Godwin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I tell you, I know the girl. If you try to get an introduction +to her through Maltravers, she will give herself +prudish airs, and refuse to see you. Trust all to me. I can +exercise indirect influence that you can never guess at. Wait +till to-morrow night. I don’t ask you to wait long.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> + +<p>The Marquis sighed.</p> + +<p>“You may not think it long,” he answered; “but to me it +will be an age—an eternity. I never saw such a lovely creature +as that girl. Egad, I should like to lay my coronet at her feet, +and make her Marchioness of Roxleydale.”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” exclaimed the banker, contemptuously. “It is only +a fool or a madman who lays his coronet at the feet of a ballet-girl. +Marchionesses are not picked up out of the gutter. I +thought you were a man of the world, my dear Roxleydale.”</p> + +<p>“A man of the world!” Yes. It had been ever thus. From +his earliest boyhood the Marquis had been surrounded by flatterers, +sycophants, and scoundrels, who prided themselves upon +being “men of the world.” Every generous impulse, every +noble emotion that had arisen in the young man’s breast, had +been stifled by the influence of such companions as these; while, +on the other hand, every vicious inclination had been fostered, +every bad quality had been encouraged; for it was out of the +rich nobleman’s vices that his flatterers hoped to make their +market.</p> + +<p>The Marquis had a mother who adored him, and whom he in +his boyhood had dearly loved. But his vicious companions had +contrived to lure him away from the society and influence of +that devoted mother, and the Dowager Marchioness lived lonely +and neglected at one of the country seats belonging to her son.</p> + +<p>The house she had chosen was situated upon a small estate +in Yorkshire. There, secluded from the world, the Marchioness +spent her quiet life, the greater part of which was devoted to +works of charity and benevolence.</p> + +<p>She wrote very often to her son; long letters—earnest supplications +that he would lead a life worthy of a Christian gentleman, +an Englishman of high position.</p> + +<p>But these letters were never answered. To the young man, +living in so impure an atmosphere, those tender letters seemed +to convey only reproaches; his guilty conscience imparted a +sting even to his mother’s affectionate advice.</p> + +<p>And then the tempters were always by his side; always ready +to whisper evil suggestions into his too willing ear; always +ready to pooh-pooh the earnest remonstrances of that one good +adviser, with some insolent modern slang about “the maternal,” +or “the dozy old party in the North.”</p> + +<p>The three men supped together after leaving the theatre, and +this time Rupert Godwin drank deeply.</p> + +<p>He drank deeply, and there was a wild joviality about his +manner that had something fiend-like in its reckless mirth. +He drank deeply; and once, when the talk was wildest, he +lifted his glass above his head, and cried:</p> + +<p>“I drink this to Clara, and to the fulfilment of an old vow!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>He drained the glass, and then flung it against the wall opposite +to him. The crystal shivered into a hundred fragments.</p> + +<p>“So will I break your proud spirit, my haughty Clara!” he +exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The Marquis and Sempronius were both too tipsy to take +much notice of the banker’s wild talk; or, if they heard it, they +little dreamed how deep a meaning lurked beneath those threatening +words.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXI"> + CHAPTER XXI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">BENT BUT NOT BROKEN.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">The day that succeeded the night on which the Marquis of +Roxleydale and his two friends had visited the Circenses happened +to be Saturday, and Violet Westford had to attend at +the theatre in order to receive her salary for the week. This +business was a long one, for the salaries were not paid until +after the rehearsal of a new piece that was about to be produced, +and Violet had to wait until all the principal actors and actresses +had received their money. Thus it happened that Clara Westford +was alone all that Saturday morning; alone and very sad; +for when her children were away from her she made no effort to +control her sadness. She gave free course to melancholy and +regretful thoughts; mournful and bitter memories crowded upon +her mind, and the unheeded tears rolled slowly down her wan +cheeks, as she bent over the needlework, which took such time +and labour to accomplish, and was so poorly paid for when done.</p> + +<p>She was seated at the little table near the window, when a +man’s footstep sounded on the stair without, and in the next +instant the door was suddenly opened.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford started to her feet, her heart beating quickly. +To whom could that unexpected footstep belong except Lionel, +her bright, brave son, in whose presence there was always +comfort?</p> + +<p>Her disappointment was very keen when, on turning towards +the door, she found herself face to face with her bitterest foe, the +man whom of all others she hated and feared.</p> + +<p>But the proud spirit of Sir John Ponsonby’s daughter was +not yet quenched. The widow drew herself to her full height, +and turned to meet her persecutor, very pale, but self-possessed +as her visitor himself.</p> + +<p>“You here, Mr. Godwin!” she said. “I thought that in this +place at least I should be secure from such an intrusion.”</p> + +<p>“Love, Clara, respects no place in its pursuit of the beloved +object.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford shuddered, and turned from the banker with a +look of scorn and disgust.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p>“Love!” she exclaimed. “Pray do not profane that sentiment +by the poison of your lips! Why are you here, Mr. +Godwin? By what right do you enter this room? This poor +lodging is at least my own, and I request you to leave it immediately. +When you came to me in my happy country home you +came as the harbinger of sorrow and desolation. By your +machinations I and my children have been banished from that +home. Here we have taken shelter. This place is our own, +supported by our own labour, and here our poverty should preserve +us from your hateful presence.”</p> + +<p>“Fine words, Clara Westford—grand words!” exclaimed the +banker, with a sneer. “You would banish me from your presence; +you would order me out of your lodgings; and yet I come +to you as a friend.”</p> + +<p>“A friend!” cried the widow, with a bitter laugh.</p> + +<p>“Ay, a friend, Clara, as well as a lover. Let me first be the +lover; let me first tell you that my heart is still unchanged. +After all these years of separation, after all your unconcealed +hatred, your bitter scorn and defiance, I love you still. Yes, +Clara, even now in your poverty, even now in your fallen pride.”</p> + +<p>“My pride has not fallen,” answered Clara Westford. “It is +the pride of a woman whose love has been given to a noble and +generous-minded husband, and who holds that husband’s memory +after death even more sacred than his honour in life.”</p> + +<p>“Clara!” cried Rupert Godwin passionately, “Clara, have pity +upon me! Remember, how deeply, how devotedly I loved you.”</p> + +<p>His hands were clasped entreatingly; his head sank upon his +breast; a vivid light burned in his dark eyes. It seemed as if in +that moment the feelings of youth returned to him; and for a +while at least it was love, and not vengeance, that animated his +breast.</p> + +<p>“Clara,” he murmured tenderly, “at the sight of your face +the past all comes back to me, and I forget your cruelty, I +forget your preference of another, I forget all except my love. +I cannot bear to see you thus—poor, degraded; for poverty is in +itself degradation. Leave this place, Clara. Your old home +shall again be yours; beautified and enriched by the lavish outlay +of wealth which I prize very little except for your sake. +Return to the Grange, Clara, as its mistress—and the mistress +of my fate.”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford looked at the banker aghast with horror.</p> + +<p>“Return thither!” she cried. “Return to that house as your +dependant; your—no, I will not utter the odious word. Return +to that house which is sacred to me by the memory of my husband’s +affection! You must know me very little, Rupert Godwin, +when you can come to me with such a request as this.”</p> + +<p>The banker’s face grew black as thunder.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> + +<p>“Enough, Clara!” he exclaimed. “I was a fool to show you +the weakness of my heart. I came to you as a friend; but you +refuse to accept my friendship. So be it. Henceforth I am +your foe. You have chosen to set your pride against mine. +You have elected to defy me. Good, madam! I accept the +challenge. It is a duel to the death. I am what is called a +good hater, Mrs. Westford, as you may live to discover.”</p> + +<p>For some moments Clara Westford made no reply. She stood +before the banker, calm, impassable; very beautiful in her quiet +dignity, in her threadbare mourning robes, her simple widow’s +cap. The delicate colour had faded from her cheeks, the perfect +oval of her face was hollowed by care and deprivation, but the +classic outline of feature and the subtle loveliness of expression +remained, and Clara Westford was still beautiful.</p> + +<p>After a few moments of silence, during which the banker’s +breath came thick and fast between his set teeth, Clara Westford +seated herself in the chair by the table, and resumed her work.</p> + +<p>“I must remind you that this room belongs to me, Mr. Godwin,” +she said, very quietly, “and that your presence is unpleasant to +me. Allow me to wish you good morning.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet, Mrs. Westford; I did not come here entirely on a +fool’s errand. You have despised my friendship; you have defied +my enmity. Perhaps, however, you will not refuse to accept my +advice. Have a care of your daughter!”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford started; and her face, always pale, grew +ghastly white. She tried to speak, but her trembling lips +refused to shape the words she would have spoken.</p> + +<p>“Have a care of your daughter!” repeated Rupert Godwin. +“She is very young. She is inexperienced. It is only a few +months since she first came to London, and already strange +things have happened. She has left one situation—under suspicious +circumstances. She is now in a sphere where there is +constant danger for one so young and beautiful as she is. Once +again, I say, beware, Clara Westford! and if ever disgrace or +ruin come upon your only daughter, remember that I have +warned you. In that hour you will perhaps come to me. In +that hour you will perhaps condescend to accept my friendship.”</p> + +<p>What words could have been better adapted to strike terror to +the heart of a mother? The sickness of despair blanched the +cheek of Clara Westford. Everywhere, on every side, there +seemed danger and misery. And she was so utterly alone in +the world, so completely helpless, hedged round by calamities, +face to face with a man who openly avowed himself her deadly +enemy! Yet, even in this supreme hour of trial, her fortitude +did not entirely abandon her.</p> + +<p>“My daughter is able to protect her good name in any position, +Mr. Godwin,” she said proudly, “however degraded that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>position may appear in your eyes. If I am destined to eat the +bread of dependence, I would rather be indebted to the precarious +labours of my daughter than owe sixpence to your—<em>friendship</em>.”</p> + +<p>“You carry matters with a high hand, Mrs. Westford,” replied +the banker, irritated beyond measure by the undisturbed +calmness of his victim’s manner; “but I can afford to wait. +What is it Tennyson says about that? ‘My faith is strong in +Time!’ You defy me to-day, but before long I may find you in +a more reasonable temper. <i lang="fr">En attendant</i>, I can only advise +you to keep a sharp eye upon Miss Violet. The Circenses ballet +is not quite the highest school of morality; and Hogarth has +taught us what happens to rustic simplicity when she comes to +seek her fortune in London. Good morning.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXII"> + CHAPTER XXII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">JULIA’S PROTÉGÉ.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">The life at Wilmingdon Hall was a new and pleasant one for +Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>Here every luxury and comfort were provided for him. He +was earning money which he knew would ensure considerable +comfort for his mother and sister in their humble lodging, or +even a change to better quarters, if they would consent to make +that change. He was living in a house in which objects of art +and beauty met his eye on every side; and this, to the man +endowed with artistic tastes, is no small privilege. Without, a +fair sylvan landscape spread itself before his eyes—those weary +eyes that had grown so tired of the smoky streets and high +black chimneys of London. His work was light—absurdly +light, as it seemed to him, after his dreary unprofitable toil as a +copyist of law papers. He was his own master, free at any +time to ramble where he pleased in the pleasant country, or in +the verdant solitude of the park; and if he chose to ride, one of +the banker’s horses was at his disposal.</p> + +<p>Beyond all this—infinitely more precious a privilege—he was +near Julia Godwin, the woman whose compassionate glances had +seemed to him like the looks of an angel; the woman with whom +he, the penniless adventurer, had fallen over head and ears in love.</p> + +<p>He was near her. He heard her low contralto voice as she +sang in the rooms below, accompanying herself sometimes on +her piano, sometimes with the bewitchingly romantic sound of a +few careless chords on her guitar. He saw her—accidentally, of +course—not once only, but several times in the day. He met +her in the park or gardens, and loitered talking with her for an +hour at a time; or he was summoned to discuss the mounting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>of some picture, and spent an agreeable half-hour or so in the +morning-room, where Miss Godwin sat with the stately widow +whom the banker had appointed as companion, chaperone, and +protectress of the <i lang="fr">convenances</i>, at a very handsome salary.</p> + +<p>Somehow or other, the young people were always happening +to meet.</p> + +<p>And Lionel Westford would have been supremely happy in +this dependent position, but for the stings of conscience. Unhappily, +the stings of conscience were very sharp. Argue with +himself as he might, he could not shut his eyes to the fact that +there was guilt and dishonour in his intercourse with the Godwin +family.</p> + +<p>There was secrecy, nay, deception,—and deception must always +involve meanness. Lionel Westford felt that he had no right to +live at ease in the house of the man whom his mother counted +as her foe.</p> + +<p>He tried to argue with himself that women are always unreasoning +in their dislikes. He tried to persuade himself that +Rupert Godwin was not the enemy of his household; that the +banker had only acted as any other business man might have +acted in the same circumstances.</p> + +<p>The young man’s sense of his false position was not to be +lulled to rest. He knew that he was acting dishonourably. He +knew that there was a kind of treachery in the fact of his presence +at Wilmingdon Hall, and he could not be entirely at peace, +even in the enchanting society of the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>A heavy burden seemed to weigh upon his spirits. It was +only while he was in Julia’s society that he could put aside that +weight of care.</p> + +<p>He had been more than a week at Wilmingdon Hall, and he +had not again encountered the half-witted old gardener.</p> + +<p>But the recollection of the old man’s strange words had often +flashed upon him. Sometimes, against his own will, those words +haunted his memory, and puzzled and tormented his brain, +when he would fain have thought of other things.</p> + +<p>One day, when the August weather was brightest and balmiest, +Lionel left his apartment after a long morning’s work at the +drawings intrusted to him. He strolled out into the grounds, +where a few minutes before he had seen Julia Godwin’s muslin +dress glancing amongst the laurel groves.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more beautiful than the smooth lawns, the +flowery parterres, the sloping banks, and glistening laurel hedges +that surrounded Wilmingdon Hall. Nothing could be more beautiful +than those exquisitely cultivated gardens, as Lionel Westford +saw them to-day, under the golden light of an August sun.</p> + +<p>In the distance there sounded the low murmur of a waterfall, +which seemed the complaining voice of some spirit of the woodland, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>rather than any earthly sound. There had been a time +when the gardens of Wilmingdon Hall were the pride of Rupert +Godwin’s heart. Many a fashionable assembly had met on that +broad lawn; many an agreeable flirtation had commenced in +those winding shrubbery walks, in which the spreading foliage +of the evergreens made a solemn darkness all day long. Many +a fair young country damsel had winged her ruthless arrows +home to the hearts of her admirers under the patriarchal beeches +of the avenue. Fancy-fairs, garden-parties, toxophilite meetings, +and flower-shows had been wont to enliven those spacious gardens. +It was only within the last year that a shadow seemed to have +fallen on the life of Rupert Godwin, the reputed millionnaire; +and the county people marvelled at the change in the man who +had once aspired to hold a high place amongst them.</p> + +<p>It was known that the banker had quarrelled with his son, +though the cause of that quarrel had never transpired.</p> + +<p>Rumour had made herself busy with the interior of Mr. Godwin’s +mansion, and strange things had been said of the disagreement +between father and son. People said that it was his son’s +misconduct which had led to Mr. Godwin’s desertion of his +country seat; and the county gentlemen spoke of the young +man’s behaviour in terms of unmitigated disapprobation.</p> + +<p>He had turned his back upon the paternal mansion for ever, +it was said, and had gone abroad to wander on the face of the +earth, a reprobate and an outcast.</p> + +<p>The feminine portion of the community were honestly sorry +for this erring wanderer. Edward Godwin was young and handsome, +and there are young ladies who would pity Cain, and be +ready to forgive that unlucky blow with the club, if they were +informed on good authority that the first murderer was darkly +splendid of aspect.</p> + +<p>Julia was devoted to her brother, and she pleaded his cause +everywhere; but she was very little wiser than the county gentry +with regard to the unhappy misunderstanding which had separated +father and son.</p> + +<p>She could only tell people that “poor Edward and papa +couldn’t get on together,” or that “they didn’t understand each +other.” She could only speak in tender deprecation of her +brother’s “wild notions on some subjects,” and conclude with +the hope that the prodigal would return and be forgiven.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Lionel had watched Julia from his window, and he knew in +what direction she had walked. Nothing, therefore, was more +natural than that he should meet her—accidentally.</p> + +<p>He entered one of the long shadowy alleys, which seemed to +narrow to a vanishing point, and his heart beat faster than its +wont, as he saw the graceful figure of Julia Godwin seated in an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>old-fashioned bower, midway between him and the end of the +walk.</p> + +<p>She was reading, but she looked up smiling and blushing as +Lionel drew near.</p> + +<p>He began to talk to her about her book, the last popular +volume of travels in the centre of Africa, and from that subject +they wandered on to other topics. Julia was very bright and +animated. She had spent a weary morning in the society of her +companion, Mrs. Melville, whose conversation was the very +essence of dulness; and she had fled to the gardens for a refuge +from that monotonous drip, drip, drip of meaningless babble. It +is scarcely strange, therefore, if she was more or less interested +in Lionel’s conversation, when it is considered that he talked his +best, as if inspired by that enthusiastic listener.</p> + +<p>It was easy for a clever woman to discover that the young +man had received the highest class of education which modern +civilization can afford.</p> + +<p>Julia perceived this; she saw that Lionel was a gentleman +both by birth and breeding; and she could not but wonder at the +strange position in which she had found him.</p> + +<p>All that was most generous in her nature was aroused in sympathy +with the stranger’s misfortunes. She would fain have +known his history. She had hoped to win his confidence; but +she found this was no easy task. The young man spoke freely +of every subject—except of himself and his antecedents. On +these points he preserved a guarded silence.</p> + +<p>They sat talking together for nearly an hour—an hour whose +sands ran out as the sands only run when “Love takes up the +glass of Time, and turns it in his glowing hands.”</p> + +<p>At last Julia took a tiny watch from her belt, and glanced at +the dial. She blushed as she perceived the hour, for conscience +told her there must be some special reason for her forgetfulness +of the flight of time. What would her father have said to her, +had he known that she could waste an hour in conversation with +a penniless young artist, whose history was utterly unknown to +her—whose only claim upon her had been his destitution?</p> + +<p>“But whatever papa could say of him, he is a gentleman,” +thought Julia, “as highly educated as the best and brightest of +papa’s aristocratic friends.”</p> + +<p>She closed her book, and rose to leave the quaint old arbour of +clipped laurels.</p> + +<p>“Two o’clock!” she exclaimed. “How quickly the time slips +away! I had no idea that I had been out so long. I must wish +you good morning, Mr. Wilton.”</p> + +<p>A faint flush tinged Lionel’s face as he heard his false name +pronounced by those lovely lips. He could not stifle the feeling of +shame which the consciousness of his deception awoke in his mind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + +<p>“You will allow me to accompany you to the house?” he said.</p> + +<p>“O, certainly,” Julia answered, “if you have nothing better +to do.”</p> + +<p>Some complimentary speech rose to the young man’s lips, but +he repressed it.</p> + +<p>How could he dare to betray his admiration, his love, for +Julia Godwin? Even if she had not been the daughter of his +mother’s enemy, his own poverty would have been an insurmountable +barrier, separating him from her entirely.</p> + +<p>No; his love was hopeless. This girl, luxuriously nurtured, +heiress to an ample fortune, would, no doubt, have laughed to +scorn the devotion of a man whom she had rescued from a state +of beggary, that had been near akin to starvation. The story of +King Cophetua and the beggar maiden is the prettiest of poetic +legends; but reverse the positions of the lovers, and the poetry is +gone. The king may lead the beggar maiden up the steps of his +throne, amid the acclamations of an approving people; but the +queen must not stoop from her high estate to smile on low-born +merit. This, at any rate, was Lionel Westford’s reading of the +old legend, and he felt that there was something almost contemptible +in his position in relation to Miss Godwin.</p> + +<p>“Let my pride protect me,” he said to himself. “Let me +remember how we met, and let me hold my tongue, whatever +effort it may cost me to set a watch upon my lips. I can endure +anything rather than her contempt.”</p> + +<p>The two young people walked for some little time in silence. +Then Lionel spoke; but there was something of constraint in +his tone.</p> + +<p>“You will, perhaps, like to hear an account of my morning’s +work, Miss Godwin,” he said. “I have been mounting the Snow +piece and the Alpine Sunset. They are both very good. Your +brother has real genius, wonderful freedom and vigour in his +pencil, and a splendid eye for colour. I only know one amateur +artist at all equal to him.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!—and who is he?”</p> + +<p>“A young man whom I met in Hampshire. Perhaps I ought +not to call him an amateur, for I believe he intended to make +painting his profession. Your brother’s style very much +reminds me of his, though he may have been, perhaps, a little +further advanced in his art.”</p> + +<p>“And his name?”</p> + +<p>“His name was Stanmore—George Stanmore.”</p> + +<p>“And you met him in Hampshire?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Long ago?”</p> + +<p>“Not very long. It is about a twelvemonth since I last saw him.”</p> + +<p>Julia was silent. A cloud seemed to spread itself over her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>bright face. She was near the house now; and before the great +stone porch Lionel bowed, and left her.</p> + +<p>He had worked hard that day, and had risen early in the +summer morning in order to make rapid progress with the work +which was for him a labour of love, since it was to please <em>her</em> he +took so much trouble in the mounting and touching-up of the +drawings. What was he but a salaried servant in that house, +and how could he maintain the smallest sense of independence +except by hard work?</p> + +<p>He was in no humour to return to his solitary apartments. +Julia Godwin’s image filled his mind. He strolled back to the +laurel grove in which he had spent such pleasant hours. For a +long time he paced up and down the long alley between the +clipped laurel edges, thinking of the beautiful girl with whom he +had been so besotted as to fall in love. Then, scarcely knowing +where he went, he wandered away from the laurel alley, through +an old-fashioned garden, in which there were big, straggling +yew-trees, which had once been the pride of a gardener’s heart, +in the shape of peacocks and lions, and stiff little flower-beds of +geometrical form, where the kitchen gardeners grew savoury +herbs, to give flavour and piquancy to the flesh-pots of Wilmingdon +Hall.</p> + +<p>After exploring this garden, Lionel went through an opening +in a close-cut hedge of yew, and found himself suddenly under +the dark walls of the northern wing. Those ancient walls +seemed to cast a cold and dismal shadow across the garden—a +shadow that darkened the glory of the summer day.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"> + CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">ON THE THRESHOLD.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Lionel Westford looked up at the building before him with an +involuntary shudder; and yet there was nothing either strange +or terrible in its aspect. It was only old, worn, and grey. Long +rows of narrow Gothic windows extended from one end to the +other of the massive pile. Every one of these windows was +closely shuttered within; moss grew on the old grey walls, save +where the ivy crept, darksome and thick, to the very roof.</p> + +<p>“A dreary-looking building!” muttered Lionel, after one brief +glance at those dark shuttered windows, that damp-stained, moss-grown +wall—“a dismal, uncomfortable sort of place! I wonder +the banker doesn’t pull it down, and build something better +upon its site. I suppose he is something of an antiquarian, and +respects this relic of the days of the Plantagenets. Yet, in that +case, one would think he’d spend a little money on restoring the +old building.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>He was about to turn away and leave the neighbourhood of +the northern wing for some more cheerful part of the grounds, +when he was startled by the sound of a voice—the weak quavering +voice of an old man.</p> + +<p>“Through the crack in the shutter,” said the voice, “I saw, I +saw!—through the crack in the shutter!”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford turned in the direction whence the voice proceeded, +and saw the half-witted gardener, whose strange talk he +had overheard upon his first arrival at Wilmingdon Hall. The +old man was crouching close against one of the lower windows, +and seemed as if peering earnestly through a crack in the heavy +oak shutter.</p> + +<p>There was something so strange in the action that it could +scarcely fail to inspire a sentiment of curiosity, even in the least +suspicious mind.</p> + +<p>Lionel lingered to listen to what more the old man might have +to say.</p> + +<p>The weak-witted, white-haired pensioner, was strangely excited. +He clung to the stone ledge of the window; he pressed his face +close against the dingy glass, behind which the thick oak shutter +looked dark and impenetrable as the wall of a dungeon.</p> + +<p>For some moments he remained in the same attitude, still as +death. Then a change came over him, and he began to tremble +violently, with the manner of a man who watches some appalling +scene.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, master! don’t!” he cried, in a half-stifled shriek. +“Don’t do it, master! For the love of heaven, don’t do it! O, +the knife, the dreadful knife! It’s murder—cruel, deadly, treacherous +bloody murder! Don’t, master! Don’t, don’t!”</p> + +<p>The old man recoiled from the window, exhausted by his own +emotion, and turned as if to rush from the place. As he turned +he met the gaze of Lionel Westford, who stood pale and breathless +before him.</p> + +<p>With one savage bound the gardener flew at the young man’s +throat.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” he shrieked; “it’s you, is it? You’ve been listening! +you’ve been spying again! I know you! You’re on the watch. +You want to find out the secret—the wicked secret, the bloody +secret; but you sha’n’t, you sha’n’t! I’m an old man, and I’m +weak and foolish sometimes; but I sha’n’t live long, and, come +what may, I’ll keep that secret till I die, for the sake of the +master I’ve served so long. Did I say much? Tell me, young +man! Did I say much? Speak, or I’ll throttle you.”</p> + +<p>The old gardener’s withered fingers grasped Lionel’s cravat. +The young man gently freed himself from that feeble grasp.</p> + +<p>“What did I say?” repeated the gardener; “whatever it was, +it meant nothing. My poor old wits wander sometimes, you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>see, and I fancy I see things—such things!—knives, daggers—and +murder—cruel, treacherous murder; a man standing on the +top of a flight of dark steps, and another man stabbing him in the +back, and throwing him down into some black dreadful place +underground. It’s only a dream, you know, a horrid dream; +but I dream it so often—O, so often!”</p> + +<p>No words can describe the look of horror upon the old man’s +face as he said this. He clung convulsively to Lionel’s arm, +trembling from head to foot, and with his eyes almost starting +from their sockets.</p> + +<p>A death-like chill crept through the young man’s veins; a +death-like <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'horror took possesion'" id="tn-141a">horror took possession</ins> of his breast.</p> + +<p>Something told him that in this old gardener’s wild talk there +was more than the raving of a disordered intellect. Something +told him that lurking in these hideous words there was the clue +to some dark and horrible secret—a secret in which Rupert Godwin +was concerned.</p> + +<p>He struggled against the hideous conviction, the horrible dread +that filled his breast. Rupert Godwin had been the enemy of +his own family; but, then, was he not also Julia’s father? It +would have gone hard with young Romeo Montague, if he had +found himself obliged to think ill of the paternal Capulet. To +think ill of the master of Wilmingdon Hall was torture to Lionel +Westford. And yet the young man could not help feeling that +he was on the threshold of some dreadful mystery.</p> + +<p>Providence had, perhaps, sent him to that spot as the appointed +discoverer and avenger of some dark crime; some deed buried +from the light of day; some foul secret, the clue to which was +hidden in the bewildered brain of an imbecile old man. Come +what might, Lionel felt that it was his solemn duty to endeavour +to fathom the mystery. It was possible that the secret might +not concern the present owner of the Hall. This old man’s +clouded brain might be haunted by the memory of some deed +done by a former master, in days when men held each other’s and +their own lives more cheaply than they hold them now; in the +days when duels were as common as dinner parties are to-day, +and when many a gentlemanly affray ended in horror and bloodshed. +Or it might even be that the tragic scene which tormented +the old gardener’s brain had no more substantial origin than +some ghastly legend of the old mansion told by the Christmas +fire in the servants’ hall, and fatally impressed upon the imbecile +mind of age.</p> + +<p>Let its origin be what it might, however, Lionel felt that he +ought to make himself master of its real nature; and, in order +to do this, prudence and some dissimulation <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'would be necesary'" id="tn-141b">would be necessary</ins>. +He could only hope to succeed by lulling the old man’s fears to +rest, and thus winning his confidence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> + +<p>“Come,” he said gently, slipping his arm through that of the +gardener with a protecting gesture,—“come, my friend, calm +yourself, I beg. You are an old man, and these dreams and +fancies wear you out. Let us talk of something else. Let us +leave this dismal-looking place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” answered the gardener eagerly; “let us go away. +I’ve no business here; I don’t want to come here—but there’s +something draws me to the spot; there’s some devil, I think, +that drags me here. I don’t see him, but I feel his touch—I feel +his burning fingers dragging me, and then I come here in spite +of myself, and I look through the crack of the shutter, and I see +it all again, as I saw it that night.”</p> + +<p>The old man turned and pointed to the window as he spoke. +Following his skinny finger, Lionel fixed his eyes on that one +particular window, and then noted its position in the range of +shattered casements.</p> + +<p>It was the seventh window from the western angle of the wall.</p> + +<p>The young man took special note of this circumstance, and +then led his companion very slowly away.</p> + +<p>The gardener was very old—very feeble. At any time he +might die, and, if there were indeed a secret hidden beneath his +wild talk, that dark secret would perhaps die with him.</p> + +<p>“You are an old servant in this household?” Lionel said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, a very old servant, a faithful servant. I’ve served +here, man and boy, for the best part of a century. Is it likely I +would turn again them that has fed and clothed me? Is it +likely I would turn again one of my master’s race—my old +master’s race? This one is dark and cold and proud, and there’s +something in his eyes that makes me shudder when he looks at +me. But the Godwin blood runs in his veins, and old Caleb +Wildred will never turned against him. It ain’t likely, you see, +after serving ’em, man and boy, for nigh upon a hundred years—it +ain’t likely.”</p> + +<p>For some time Lionel walked side by side with the old gardener. +Caleb Wildred talked a great deal; but his talk was all +of the same rambling order, and he always came round again to +the same point.</p> + +<p>There was a secret—a secret which he would die sooner than +betray.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford lay down to rest that night with a terrible +burden upon his mind. All through the night he was alternately +tossing wakefully upon his pillow, or tormented by +hideous dreams in which Julia Godwin came to him, pale and +tearful, imploring him to keep the secret of her father’s crime.</p> + +<p>That hidden shapeless crime—which was as yet only a hideous +shadow, a frightful suspicion in the young man’s mind.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"> + CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">MISS VANBERG IS MALICIOUS.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin left Clara Westford with rage and vengeance +burning in his breast. “Hell hath no fury like a woman +scorned,” says the poet; but the mind of a bad man who finds +himself despised by the woman he loves is the habitation of +that devil whose name is legion. There was no vengeance too +base, too cruel, for the banker. He determined to heap the +bitterest of all earthly sufferings upon the woman who had +defied him.</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud as he thought of the widow’s weakness. +Poverty-stricken, friendless—what could she do in the strife +with him, who had wealth and power on his side?</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had been an infidel from his very boyhood. +His philosophy was of the Garden, and not of the Porch. In +his creed a man had but one duty, and that was allegiance to +himself. For himself and for his own pleasure he had lived, +and now that the passions of youth had been sated by the +pleasures of youth, a darker and more stormy passion held the +mastery of his mind. That passion was revenge. His offended +pride, his baffled love, his outraged self-esteem, alike demanded +the humiliation of Clara Westford.</p> + +<p>From the Waterloo-road he went straight to a West-end club, +where he had promised to meet the young Marquis.</p> + +<p>He had pledged himself to introduce Lord Roxleydale to +Violet Westford. But he had only done this in order that he +might gain time to mature his schemes. If Clara had yielded +to the temptation of his wealth, or the fear of his power, he +would then have protected Violet from the Marquis.</p> + +<p>But Clara had defied him, and he was now determined on a +course which must result in unspeakable misery for her.</p> + +<p>He found Lord Roxleydale waiting for him in the smoking-room +of the club. The apartment was almost deserted at this +hour, and the young Marquis had no better amusement than to +lounge in one of the windows, puffing laboriously at a gigantic +regalia, with the air of a man who has sworn to smoke himself +into a galloping consumption within a given period.</p> + +<p>For once in a way he had contrived to escape from the society +of his hanger-on and flatterer, Mr. Sempronius Sykemore; but +he had only done this at the cost of a fifty-pound note, which +he had lent to the needy Sempronius, who was always tormented +by a kind of demon avenger in the shape of a “little bill,” +which required to be taken up with money borrowed from Mr. +Sykemore’s wealthy friends. “I should paste a bit of calico +behind that ‘little’ bill of yours, if I were you, Sykemore,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>remarked one of his victims. “It has been taken up so many +times that I am sure it can’t hold together much longer.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Godwin!” exclaimed Lord Roxleydale, turning eagerly +to meet the banker; “have you managed that business? Have +you seen her, and have you arranged matters for my introduction +to her?”</p> + +<p>“Unluckily, no, my dear boy,” Mr. Godwin answered coolly. +“I have not forgotten you, but I find that I have made a slight +mistake. I have been making inquiries at the theatre this +morning, and I have discovered that Miss Watson, the girl who +plays the Queen of Beauty, is not the person I fancied.”</p> + +<p>“Then you can’t introduce me to her?”</p> + +<p>“Unhappily, my dear boy, I have not that privilege. But I +am a man of the world, and I think I can give you a few useful +hints as to the best way of getting an introduction.”</p> + +<p>Lord Roxleydale shrugged his shoulders with an impatient +gesture.</p> + +<p>“Sempronius could do as much as that,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Sempronius is a cad,” answered the banker, “who ought +not to be trusted with any business requiring the smallest +amount of tact. He’s a very good sort of person to send on a +message to your tailor, or to get you long odds from the bookmen +when you want to back anything. He may be useful to +us by-and-by; but for the present we are better off without +him. Do you know that girl—that handsome Jewish-looking +girl? Miss Vanberg, I think you called her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know her.”</p> + +<p>“She is the person to be of use to us. She will be able to +tell us all about this Miss Watson. Suppose you were to call +upon her, taking me with you?”</p> + +<p>“It seems rather a roundabout way of doing business,” the +Marquis said contemptuously; “but I’m agreeable. My phaeton +is waiting. I can drive you to Miss Vanberg’s at once, if +you like.”</p> + +<p>“I am ready,” answered the banker. “I want to see this +Miss Vanberg.”</p> + +<p>He spoke carelessly, but in his face there was a lurking expression +in which a physiognomist might have perceived an almost +feverish anxiety.</p> + +<p>But the Marquis was by no means skilled in reading either +the faces or the minds of men. He had gone through the usual +curriculum at Eton and Oxford, and had done the usual Continental +tour with a tutor whose life he endangered at every available +opportunity by upsetting him on the highways and byways +of Europe out of divers vehicles, and had evinced altogether an +exceptional capacity for remaining in a state of primitive ignorance. +His career at the University had awakened him to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span>comprehension of the fact that those Latin fellows who wrote +stupid histories about each other’s wars and that kind of thing +were a confounded bore, and the Greek fellows a still more confounded +bore; that getting up early in the morning was humbug; +and that wine-parties were slow, because fellows had got +so doosid sober and so doosid intellectual, that they were always +chopping damm’ logic and talking damm’ crack-jaw stuff about +Homer and Æschylus and that kind of thing, instead of enjoying +themselves like gentlemen.</p> + +<p>This was Hector Augustus Front d’Airain, Baron of Hursley +in Staffordshire, Marquis of Roxleydale in Scotland,—a fair-haired, +yellow-whiskered, baby-faced young gentleman, with the +morals of a Rochester and the intellect of a Master Slender. +He was the very last of men whom Rupert Godwin would have +chosen for a companion from any but mercenary motives.</p> + +<p>The two men drove straight to Miss Vanberg’s house, which +was a <i lang="fr">bijou</i> mansion in Bolton-row. It was between four and +five o’clock in the afternoon by this time, and the young lady +was at home.</p> + +<p>A man-servant ushered the two gentlemen up the richly-decorated +staircase, where nymphs and satyrs in Florentine +bronze smirked and capered in the recesses of the pale grey wall, +relieved by mouldings and medallions in unburnished gold. +Everything in the elegantly-appointed house betokened the presence +of wealth. The Duke of Harlingford’s purse had to pay +very largely for the caprices of the lovely Jewess, who honoured +him by spending his money.</p> + +<p>The afternoon’s sun was shining between the leaves of the +tropical flowers that shaded the open window of Miss Vanberg’s +drawing-room. Near this window the Jewess was half-seated, +half-reclining on a low luxurious sofa covered with amber satin.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg wore a clear white muslin dress, high to the +throat, and fastened round her waist by a broad crimson sash +tied in a loose knot. A crimson ribbon secured the rich masses +of her purple-black hair.</p> + +<p>Her slender figure was half-buried in the amber satin pillows +of the sofa, whose brilliant hue contrasted marvellously with her +dark hair and flashing black eyes.</p> + +<p>Seated thus, Esther Vanberg might have been a worthy study +for any living painter.</p> + +<p>But in the broad summer sunlight the havoc which her reckless +life and evil temper had wrought in her constitution was +only too plainly visible.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin saw the feverish light in her eyes, the hectic +flush upon her cheek; and he knew that the beautiful Jewess +was doomed to make a speedy finish to her reckless career.</p> + +<p>She half rose as the two gentlemen entered the room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> + +<p>“Pray don’t disturb yourself, Miss Vanberg,” said the Marquis; +“I’ve only dropped in for a few minutes’ chat, with my +friend here, Mr. Godwin, the great banker. You must have +heard of Godwin’s bank, eh? That’s quite in your style, you +know. You’ve got quite a genius for getting rid of money, you +know, and that kind of thing. You’re not looking very well this +afternoon. You’re tired, I daresay. Long rehearsal, and so on. +Fatiguing life, I should think, the drama, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Very fatiguing,” answered the Jewess, shrugging her +shoulders contemptuously, “especially when one’s ambition is +blighted by the senseless stupidity of one’s employers. I want +to be an actress, not a ballet-girl; but Mr. Maltravers will not +allow me to open my lips; and yet he has picked up some girl +in the streets whom he has chosen to place in the most conspicuous +position in the great scene of our new burlesque.”</p> + +<p>“You mean Miss Watson,” exclaimed the Marquis. “Well, +I don’t wonder Maltravers was knocked over when he saw her: +she’s the loveliest creature I ever beheld.”</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg looked at the young nobleman with a frown +which was almost too much for the young man’s nerves. Rupert +Godwin gave him a warning glance at the same moment; and, +dull as Lord Roxleydale was, he saw that he had been imprudent +in the undisguised utterance of his admiration.</p> + +<p>“If you call that insipid flaxen-haired doll a beauty, you must +be as stupid as Maltravers himself,” said the Jewess unceremoniously.</p> + +<p>Mr. Godwin took this opportunity of striking in.</p> + +<p>“Well, for my part, I think she’s a pretty girl, in a very insipid +style, as you say, Miss Vanberg, and by no means my style +of beauty. I like something flashing, queen-like, Oriental—the +Cleopatra type of loveliness.”</p> + +<p>He looked at the Jewess as he spoke, and it was evident that +her offended vanity was somewhat appeased by the compliment +implied in his words.</p> + +<p>“However,” continued the banker, “insipid as the young +lady is, a friend of ours, a certain Mr. Sempronius Sykemore, a +tuft-hunter and vulgarian, has chosen to fall desperately in love +with her. He is pining for an introduction, and is ready to +carry her off and make her Mrs. Sempronius Sykemore at the +shortest notice, if she will accept him for a husband.”</p> + +<p>“He is rich, I suppose?” inquired Esther.</p> + +<p>“Not he. The fellow is a low-born adventurer, without a sixpence +in the world, beyond what he contrives to borrow from +some obliging friend.”</p> + +<p>“He is young, handsome, perhaps?” suggested Esther.</p> + +<p>“Neither. He is five-and-forty at the least, wears the most +obvious of wigs, and is strongly suspected of being guilty of +false teeth.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg’s face lighted up with a gracious smile.</p> + +<p>“And he wants to marry Miss Watson, the stage-manager’s +favourite, the Queen of Beauty?”</p> + +<p>“He does.”</p> + +<p>“And if she refuses to marry him?”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Miss Vanberg,” answered the banker, “that’s +the very thing the Marquis and I have been thinking of; and +we want to concoct a little plot—a pleasant little practical joke, +you know, by which we may have some innocent fun ourselves, +and secure our dear Sempronius a pretty wife. Now, unfortunately, +Sykemore is so confoundedly vulgar and ugly, and +fat and conceited, that if he were to ask Miss Watson to marry +him she’d be sure to say No. So in this case we want to plan +an elopement. We shall try and arrange some little <i lang="fr">ruse</i>, by +which Miss Watson will be lured into a travelling carriage; +post-horses will be ready on the road, and our friend Sykemore +shall carry the young lady off to a lonely place in Essex, belonging +to our friend Lord Roxleydale. Once there, the Queen +of Beauty, who is a very prudish, stuck-up young person, as I +understand, will feel that her reputation is compromised. Sempronius +will be ready with a special licence and a parson, the +knot will be tied, and Miss Watson will disappear into domestic +life as Mrs. Sykemore, and will thus leave the stage of the +Circenses clear for one infinitely more calculated to charm the +public than her most insipid self.”</p> + +<p>The Marquis of Roxleydale sat open-mouthed, listening to +this speech. He felt that some subtle plot was being concocted, +but he was just clever enough to know that he was stupid, and +he trusted himself entirely in the hands of his friend and +adviser—the man of the world.</p> + +<p>To Esther Vanberg there was a terrible temptation in the +proposition made by the banker.</p> + +<p>She hated Violet Westford; hated her alike for her superior +beauty, the favour that had been shown her by Mr. Maltravers, +and the admiration that had been lavished on her by the press +and the public.</p> + +<p>It had been whispered in the theatre that Violet would be +permitted to play some small part in a new piece that was about +to be produced, in order that the audience might see more of her +fresh young beauty.</p> + +<p>This was a terrible mortification to the haughty girl, who so +earnestly aspired to be an actress, and who had never been +allowed to open her lips on the stage of the Circenses.</p> + +<p>For these reasons Esther Vanberg hated Violet. She hated +her also because of the girl’s quiet dignity, that calm and placid +demeanour which resisted insult more completely than any +violence of temper could have done.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that Esther Vanberg was tempted to join in a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>plot which might remove Violet from her path, and the success +of which would humiliate her unconscious rival by uniting her +to an unworthy husband.</p> + +<p>The temptation was a powerful one, and Esther had never +been accustomed to withstand temptation.</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to do in order to assist your +scheme?” she asked, after an interval of thought.</p> + +<p>“We only want you to introduce us to Miss Watson in such +a manner as to throw her off her guard. The Marquis can get +admittance to the green-room of the theatre for himself and any +of his friends.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Watson is an ill-bred insolent creature,” exclaimed +Esther impatiently, “and she and I are scarcely on speaking +terms. However, if you will wait till Monday night I’ll try and +arrange matters in the mean time. I must be on tolerably +friendly terms with this girl before I can introduce you to her.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure,” answered the banker. “Monday night will do +very well indeed.”</p> + +<p>The Marquis of Roxleydale looked crestfallen. His weak +mind was entirely filled with the image of Violet, and he could +not bear the thought of delay. He was eager to see her, to give +utterance to his admiration—his worship. Left to himself, his +love might have been a generous affection: as it was, that love +would speedily degenerate into the base passion of a profligate, +for he was under the influence of a man of the world.</p> + +<p>“I should have liked to see—I mean, I should have liked +Sempronius to see her to-night,” he said; “Monday seems such +a doosid long time to wait.”</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg shrugged her shoulders with the disdainful +gesture that was peculiar to her.</p> + +<p>“It can’t possibly be managed before Monday,” she said; +“and as it is, it will give me a great deal of trouble.”</p> + +<p>“For which you shall be recompensed, my dear Miss Vanberg,” +answered the Marquis eagerly; “if the handsomest diamond +bracelet to be bought at Harry Emanuel’s will content you.”</p> + +<p>Esther smiled. Revenge was sweet, but precious gems were +also very dear to the heart of the ballet-girl. Rupert Godwin +watched her keenly, and with a strange shadow of melancholy +overspreading his countenance.</p> + +<p>There was something very horrible in the idea of this girl, +with the doom of death stamped upon her face, but with her mind +entirely absorbed by schemes of vengeance and greed of gain.</p> + +<p>“Who is she, and whence does she come?” thought the +banker. “There is a strange coincidence in the likeness she +bears to the dead. And then that talk of the ancient Jews of +Andalusia. Strange!—strange!”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin roused himself by an effort from the reverie into +which he had fallen, and rose to take his leave of Miss Vanberg.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>After some further discussion, a meeting in the green-room of +the Circenses was arranged for the following Monday evening. +Lord Roxleydale was hand-and-glove with the manager of the +theatre, and his influence was sufficiently powerful to procure +the admission of his friend.</p> + +<p>The two gentlemen left Miss Vanberg’s elegant little domicile +and drove back to the club, where the banker was to dine <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> +with the Marquis. Of late Rupert Godwin had occupied a +<i lang="fr">pied-à-terre</i> in St. James’s, preferring to live anywhere rather +than at Wilmingdon Hall, though Julia complained bitterly of +his desertion.</p> + +<p>“Now, Godwin,” exclaimed the Marquis, when the two men +were seated opposite to each other at the glittering little dinner-table +in the club-room, “tell me why you introduced Sempronius +into this business.”</p> + +<p>“As a tool, my dear Marquis; and a very convenient one,” +answered the banker. “Couldn’t you see through that girl +Vanberg’s jealousy? She is envious of the other girl’s superior +beauty. If she knew that you admired Miss Watson, she would +do all in her power to baulk your schemes; for she would be +afraid of helping her rival to become a Marchioness. But, on +the other hand, she will cordially assist in a plot that will unite +the girl she hates to a vulgar penniless husband.”</p> + +<p>“I see. You’re a clever fellow, upon my word, Godwin. So +far, so good. And how about the rest of your plot?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing can be more simple. You have a place in Essex, +called the Moat?”</p> + +<p>“I have.”</p> + +<p>“What sort of a place is it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I think It’s about the loneliest and dreariest old +dungeon <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'in the civiliszd world'" id="tn-149">in the civilized world</ins>.”</p> + +<p>“Have you many servants there?”</p> + +<p>“No; only two poor old creatures, who wither away among +the cobwebs and mildew of the place. They are a superannuated +coachman and his wife, who served my father, and +were pensioned by him. They are both of them as deaf as posts, +and as blind as beetles.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing could be better—unless, indeed, they had been +dumb into the bargain,” answered Rupert Godwin, with a +grim smile. “The very people of all people; the very place of +all places. I have my little schemes all prepared, and before +midnight on Monday, Vio—Miss Watson, the Queen of Beauty, +will be in a travelling carriage behind four horses on her road to +the Moat.”</p> + +<p>“With Sempronius Sykemore?”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear Roxleydale; with you.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXV"> + CHAPTER XXV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">FALCON AND DOVE.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">The Saturday evening which succeeded the interview in Miss +Vanberg’s drawing-room was almost a happy one for Violet +Westford: for on this evening Mr. Maltravers announced to her +that he was so much pleased with her graceful deportment in +the burlesque that he had decided upon intrusting her with a +small speaking part in a new piece, which was to be read aloud +in the green-room on the following Monday morning.</p> + +<p>This alone would have very little affected Violet, for she was +too unhappy in the thought of George Stanmore’s supposed +desertion to be ambitious of success upon the stage; but Mr. +Maltravers also told her that he meant to increase her salary to +a guinea and a half a week, and this sum seemed almost unheard-of +wealth to the girl who had toiled so laboriously in order +to earn Mrs. Trevor’s pitiful stipend of half-a-guinea.</p> + +<p>She thought of the increased comforts she could procure for +her mother; she remembered that now Lionel was earning +money, and her own salary was to be increased, the dear mother +need no longer slave at that tiresome Berlin-wool work, which +was so poorly paid.</p> + +<p>She thought that now they could leave their close lodging in +the dark street near the Victoria Theatre; that they might find +some better home farther away, towards Camberwell or Kennington, +where there were trees and gardens and flowers.</p> + +<p>Such innocent thoughts as these filled Violet Westford’s mind +as Mr. Maltravers quitted her, after announcing her good +fortune.</p> + +<p>No vain triumph, no feeling of gratified pride, swelled her +breast. She thought only of her mother, and the simple home +comforts which might be provided by her increased salary.</p> + +<p>She little knew the feelings of rage and envy that the stage-manager’s +announcement had kindled in the breast of her bitter +enemy, Esther Vanberg.</p> + +<p>That ambitious young aspirant for dramatic honours had happened +to be standing close at hand when Mr. Maltravers spoke +to Violet. There had been nothing of a private nature in his +communication, and he spoke quite openly. Miss Vanberg, +therefore, had overheard every syllable—his praises, his promises +of advancement.</p> + +<p>If Esther Vanberg had wavered in her purpose, if she had +hesitated as to her share in Rupert Godwin’s foul plot against +the unconscious girl, this circumstance would have decided her.</p> + +<p>“What do I care what trouble or disgrace comes upon her, +so long as I can remove her from my pathway?” thought the +ballet-girl bitterly; for she felt as if Violet had done her an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>absolute injury, by usurping the place which she herself had +desired to fill.</p> + +<p>Under better circumstances, and in a purer atmosphere, the +nature of Esther Vanberg might not have been ignoble. She +was impulsive, passionate, and revengeful, and she had never +learnt to school her evil impulses, or to bridle her impetuous +nature. She was a creature of the moment, lavishly generous +to her friends, savagely vindictive in all dealings with her +enemies. She was like some denizen of the jungle—graceful, +beautiful, and dangerous. There was something of the Bohemian +in her nature, and she had all the gipsy quickness of perception, +and the gipsy cunning, as well as the gipsy love of +gauds and gems, bright colours and fantastic raiment. She +had shown no special capacity for acting on the boards of the +Circenses, but in the dealings of every-day life she was a consummate +actress.</p> + +<p>So it was on this occasion, though she felt almost stifled by +the envious rage that devoured her, she was yet able to suppress +all outward evidence of her emotion, and to appear utterly indifferent +to the conversation she had just overheard.</p> + +<p>She stood for a few moments at the side scene, watching the +piece that was being acted; and then, approaching Violet with +a soft and gliding footstep that was peculiar to her, laid her +hand lightly and with an almost caressing gesture upon the +girl’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>Violet turned, startled from her reverie by that light touch, +and found herself face to face with Esther Vanberg. But to her +surprise the ballet-girl was smiling upon her. Instead of the +insolent and defiant frown which had always darkened her face +when she had addressed her rival, Esther’s countenance now +wore its most bewitching smile.</p> + +<p>That brilliant countenance had the power to assume any expression +at will. There were some people who fancied they knew +Esther Vanberg; but there were very few who had ever fathomed +the depths of her nature.</p> + +<p>“Come, Miss Watson,” she said softly, almost pleadingly, +“let us be friends. I daresay I have been very foolish, very +childish, to feel as I have done about such a trifling disappointment. +I wanted to fill your position in the burlesque; and when +Mr. Maltravers refused my request, and chose you for the best +place in the tableau, I was absurdly angry with you as well as +with him. But to-night I am in a better humour, I suppose, +and I feel quite ashamed of myself when I remember how silly +I have been. Can you forgive me?”</p> + +<p>She stretched out her little hand—a little brown hand which +Murillo might have loved to paint. This pretty little brown +hand was glittering with diamonds.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + +<p>The young lady’s quarrels with her ducal admirer were of frequent +occurrence, but the return of the Duke’s presents was no +part of the programme. Miss Vanberg looked upon these costly +offerings as a kind of spoil taken from the enemy, rather than +as those rich gifts which “wax poor when givers prove unkind.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you are not a revengeful person, Miss Watson,” +she said smiling. “Say that you forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“Most willingly,” answered Violet, with a confiding smile; +“I do not think I have much to forgive. I know you have +spoken unkindly about me; but we were strangers, and I had +no right to expect your friendship.”</p> + +<p>“Henceforward it is yours,” returned the Jewess. “And +those who know me best know what Esther Vanberg’s friendship +or her hatred is worth. But it is nearly time for us to dress. +Are you going upstairs?”</p> + +<p>The two girls ascended the stairs together. The dressing-room +of a theatre is by no means an unpleasant place, when its +atmosphere is free from the poison of envy and malice. Half-a-dozen +merry light-hearted girls attiring themselves in their picturesque +costumes, and chatting gaily as they dress, form a +very pleasant party.</p> + +<p>Miss Vanberg was the queen of the dressing-room allotted to +her and half-a-dozen other girls of the same rank. Her beauty, +her diabolical temper, her lavish outlay of money, and the Duke +of Harlington’s notorious infatuation, which might at any time +raise this girl to the highest rank in the peerage, all combined +to render her paramount amongst the more ignorant and weak-minded +of the young women with whom she associated.</p> + +<p>Everyone took her tone from the Jewess; and now that Esther +was pleased to be civil to Violet Westford, her companions followed +her example, and had only the sweetest words to bestow +upon the Queen of Beauty.</p> + +<p>But this change had very little effect upon Violet. She was +so different a being from the girls amongst whom chance had +thrown her, that it was quite impossible she could have any +sympathy with them. Her gentle nature asserted itself alike +in her dignified indifference to insolence, and in her calm acceptance +of affected friendliness. Her heart was far away from that +noisy chamber, and the talk and laughter of her companions fell +on unheeding ears.</p> + +<p>The Sunday which followed this evening was a pleasant one +for Violet. She spent that day alone with her mother, accompanying +her to the nearest church in the morning, and sitting +all through the long afternoon and evening talking with that +beloved friend and confidante of the happy days that were past—the +pleasant hours that had been buried with the dead.</p> + +<p>She told her mother of the good fortune which Mr. Maltravers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>had announced to her on the previous evening. On that same +evening a letter had arrived from Lionel, containing a five-pound +note, so the mother and daughter felt themselves actually +rich.</p> + +<p>“And Lionel is happy in his new employment, mamma?” +asked Violet.</p> + +<p>“I imagine so, dear, from the tone of his letter, though he +makes no allusion to his employer, or his present mode of life. +But he speaks with rapture of the delights of country air and +country scenery, after this dingy quarter of London; and he +begs me to find some comfortable lodging in the suburbs, where +we too may enjoy fresh air and the sight of green trees and +blooming gardens.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Lionel, how thoughtful he is!” murmured Violet.</p> + +<p>“He is, dear. But now, I want you to answer me a question, +and candidly, my darling, for it is a vital question for me. You +have now been some little time in the theatre—quite long enough +to form a judgment of your new life. Tell me, dear, have you +found the green-room of a theatre such a scene of danger as it +has sometimes been asserted that it is? Your youth and attractions +might render you the victim of many annoyances—I will +not insult you by talking about temptations. Trust me then, +Violet, and trust me as fully as a mother should be trusted. +Tell me, what is your experience of the side-scenes of a theatre?”</p> + +<p>“Very simple, dear mother. I have been almost as much at +home at the Circenses as in these lodgings, and I can assure you +that the popular idea of a green-room is quite a delusion. The +people behind the scenes of the Circenses seem as much occupied +by the business they have to do as if the theatre were a factory. +Of course I was a little nervous at appearing before a London +audience, but no one behind the scenes has in any way annoyed +me; except, indeed—”</p> + +<p>“Except whom, dear girl?”</p> + +<p>“One of the girls employed in the burlesque—a Miss Vanberg—was +at first rather disagreeable in her manner towards +me, but last night she apologised for her rudeness, and we shall +no doubt be very comfortable in future. Mr. Maltravers is +extremely kind; and, for the rest, I go very quietly about my +business—do what I have to do, and no one interferes with me.”</p> + +<p>It was impossible to doubt Violet’s statement. Her manner +was frankness itself.</p> + +<p>The mother breathed a sigh of intense relief.</p> + +<p>“My darling, how completely you have relieved my mind!” +she exclaimed with delight. “I have heard so much about the +dangers of a theatre; but now I shall have no further fear. I +ought not to have feared. I ought to have remembered the story +of Una and the Lion.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + +<p>A thrill of triumph stirred Clara Westford’s heart as she +spoke. In spite of her defiance of him, the banker’s sinister +threats had not been without their effect upon her mind. She +had trembled at the thought of dangers that might assail her +child—alone, inexperienced, in an entirely new world, beautiful, +helpless, innocent as an infant, and utterly unprotected.</p> + +<p>But the mother’s fears were entirely set at rest by Violet’s +candid assurances. Clara Westford was now ready to smile at +what she believed to be the empty threats of her unscrupulous +persecutor.</p> + +<p>A quiet peace, that was almost akin to happiness, reigned in +the breasts of both mother and daughter on that Sabbath-day. +Not for a moment could Violet Westford forget that secret +grief which had arisen out of her belief in George Stanmore’s +falsehood. Not for a moment could the fond and trusting girl +forget that the dearest dream of her life was broken. But there +was no taint of selfishness in Violet’s character, and no sorrow +of her own could entirely absorb her mind, or render her indifferent +to the feelings of those she loved.</p> + +<p>To-day she had seen a smile, a bright and peaceful smile, +light up her mother’s face <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'for the first sime'" id="tn-154">for the first time</ins> since that never-to-be-forgotten +day when the tidings of the sailor’s death had +fallen like a thunderbolt on the quiet country home. To-day, +for the first time since that hour of despair, Clara Westford +seemed almost happy; and this in itself was happiness for her +devoted daughter.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning Violet went to the Circenses to attend +the reading of the new piece in which she was to make her +<i lang="fr">début</i> as an actress. Esther Vanberg was at the theatre—“dressed +to death,” as her “intimate enemies” remarked to +each other in confidence, after having congratulated the young +lady upon the perfection of her costume with effusion. Miss +Vanberg had no special business in the green-room this morning; +but she was very anxious to know whether the part allotted +to Violet in the new piece was only a few lines of young lady-like +inanity, or one of those lively little sketches of character +which might win applause for the young <i lang="fr">débutante</i>.</p> + +<p>Miss Vanberg appeared to be in an unusually gracious humour +upon this particular morning, and she greeted Violet with the +same warm friendliness of manner which she had displayed upon +the Saturday night.</p> + +<p>Violet, unsuspecting as a child, accepted that spurious friendship +for the pure gold it represented. She had no reason to +suspect hypocrisy. What motive could the Jewess have for +wishing to deceive her?</p> + +<p>In consequence, therefore, of Esther Vanberg’s artful +manœuvres the two girls were on excellent terms on Monday +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>night, and all was prepared for the vile plot concocted by the +banker.</p> + +<p>As for the Marquis, he was only a passive instrument in the +hands of his tempter. Rupert Godwin had planned everything; +and Lord Roxleydale was told that he had nothing to do except +to act in accordance with the directions of his friend. His +friend! Alas for ill-trained youth! these are the friends who +lure their helpless dupes into the uttermost depths of vice and +folly. And when the ruin is accomplished, when the poor +weak-minded fool has parted alike with the last sixpence of his +fortune, the last impulse of truth and honour that ever thrilled +through his breast, then the so-called friend laughs his deluded +victim to scorn, and goes away to seek a new dupe.</p> + +<p>Violet was dressed for her part in the burlesque. She was +looking her loveliest in her fantastic robe of silvery gauze, her +draperies of rose-coloured crape, her crown of stars and flowers. +Her long rippling golden hair fell upon her shoulders, long and +thick as the tresses of a modern Godiva.</p> + +<p>Under some artful pretence Esther Vanberg had lured her +new friend into the green-room, and the two girls were sitting +side by side upon a low ottoman, beneath the full light of a +chandelier.</p> + +<p>The green-room was deserted at this time of the evening, for +all the actors were busy on the stage, or in their dressing-rooms. +The two girls were sitting alone; and seen thus they might +have served as a model for some artist’s rendering of a fallen +angel and a spirit of light.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg’s blue-black hair was drawn away from her +low brow, and confined with a narrow circlet of diamonds, one of +the Duke of Harlingford’s latest gifts, given at a time when he +had intended to make her his Duchess, in spite of every opposing +influence.</p> + +<p>They had quarrelled since then; and Esther, with the pride +of some despotic Eastern queen, rather than a <i lang="fr">figurante</i> in a +theatre, had forbidden the young Duke to approach her, and had +ordered her servants to deny him admission to her house.</p> + +<p>Unluckily for the Duke’s prospects in life, such wild freaks as +these only rendered the shallow-brained young nobleman still +more infatuated, still more inclined to sacrifice the wishes of all +his best friends by uniting his fate to that of a woman whose +only charm was her almost demoniac beauty.</p> + +<p>The hour at which the Marquis and his two friends were to +present themselves in the green-room had been planned by +Esther; and now, while talking gaily to the unconscious Violet +she glanced across the girl’s shoulder and saw the three men upon +the threshold of the door.</p> + +<p>Lord Roxleydale was really in love, after his own fashion; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>he was almost as nervous as some school-girl who enters a ball-room +for the first time.</p> + +<p>Not so the banker. He was perfectly self-possessed, quite able +to play out the base game that he had planned.</p> + +<p>He took care to address himself at first entirely to Esther +Vanberg, and scarcely appeared to be aware of Violet’s presence, +though at the same time he was surprised by the dazzling beauty +of the girl whom he had only seen in her simple mourning dress +at Mrs. Trevor’s party.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, the introductions were made, and Miss +Vanberg presented Mr. Sempronius Sykemore to her dearest +friend, Miss Watson.</p> + +<p>Violet, fully accustomed to society, was in no manner disturbed +or confused by this introduction, nor by the introduction of the +Marquis which immediately followed.</p> + +<p>But Lord Roxleydale hung sheepishly in the background, +sheltering himself behind his friend the banker, quite incapable +of saying a word for himself, so deeply was he smitten by Violet’s +loveliness. And beyond this, the young nobleman had been told +to hold his tongue, and to leave the management of the plot entirely +to his wiser friends.</p> + +<p>He was silent therefore, and could only gaze in mute admiration +upon Violet, while Mr. Sempronius Sykemore paid all manner +of extravagant compliments to the two girls. Esther Vanberg +was completely hoodwinked by the story which Rupert Godwin +had told her, and which Mr. Sykemore’s manner seemed to +confirm. With her face averted from Violet, she smiled at the +banker, a smile full of malicious meaning.</p> + +<p>Violet had no recollection of having seen Rupert Godwin before; +for he had quite escaped her notice amongst the crowd of +guests at Mrs. Trevor’s party.</p> + +<p>And yet there was something in his face, something in the +vivid light of his dark eyes, which seemed strangely familiar to +her.</p> + +<p>Surely it must be the same look which had so puzzled her in +Esther Vanberg, the expression which bore a resemblance to that +of George Stanmore, her false and fickle lover.</p> + +<p>She could not help wondering about this, even while the two +strange gentlemen and Esther were chattering round her. She +was abstracted in the midst of their talk, and gave random +answers to any observations that were addressed to her.</p> + +<p>But presently the call-boy announced the last scene of the +burlesque, and the two girls rose to leave the green-room.</p> + +<p>Violet bowed to the gentlemen with an air of quiet dignity as +she quitted the apartment. From first to last she behaved to +them as she would have done had she met them in the drawing-room +of an acquaintance; and she had no idea that they could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>think badly of her, simply because they found her earning her +living in a theatre.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Roxleydale!” exclaimed the banker, as the +three friends were left alone in the green-room, “what do you +think of your golden-haired goddess now? Are you still bewitched?”</p> + +<p>“I’m completely annihilated,” answered the Marquis; “she’s +an angel, divinity, a—a nice girl, and that kind of thing.”</p> + +<p>“And are you prepared to go through fire and water to win her?”</p> + +<p>“Through an ocean—across a blazing prairie, and that kind of +thing,” exclaimed the young lord, who could venture to be poetical +now that the object of his adoration was safely out of hearing.</p> + +<p>“It is only fair to remind you that the enterprise of to-night +will be one of some danger,” said Rupert Godwin, looking +earnestly at the young man.</p> + +<p>“Danger!” cried Lord Roxleydale; “my people learned to +laugh at danger before the Normans conquered England.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s all very grand,” answered the banker coolly; “but +nowadays there are legal penalties sometimes attaching to these +matters. Whatever happens, Marquis, you will stand the consequences +of this act yourself—you will not betray my share in +the business?”</p> + +<p>“I am a gentleman, and a Roxleydale,” returned the young +man, with some touch of dignity; “and I only associate with +those who can trust me.”</p> + +<p>“Enough, Lord Roxleydale,” replied Rupert Godwin; “I will +trust you freely. As soon as Vio—as soon as the girl they call +Miss Watson returns to her dressing-room she will receive a +message <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'to the effect thal'" id="tn-157">to the effect that</ins> her mother has been seized with sudden +illness, and that a neighbouring doctor has sent his carriage +for her. She will be conducted in all haste and confusion to the +carriage, which will be standing in readiness in a quiet street between +the Strand and Covent-garden. I need scarcely tell you +that the carriage in question will be the vehicle provided to convey +the yellow-haired goddess to your place in Essex.”</p> + +<p>The Marquis did not look altogether delighted with this scheme.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it rather too bad,” he said, “that dodge about her +mother?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Roxleydale, need I remind you that all stratagems +are fair in love as well as in war?”</p> + +<p>The Marquis was too weak to resist his black-hearted tempter. +The three men returned to the private box, which Lord Roxleydale +had rented for the entire season.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin did not remain long in the box. He quitted +the theatre as the curtain fell upon the close of the burlesque, +taking the Marquis with him.</p> + +<p>All had been arranged with unfailing precision. The banker +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>and Lord Roxleydale walked together to the quiet street, where +the carriage was waiting, and paced slowly up and down the +pavement, smoking their cigars, and watching for the moment +when the foul plot would be set in action.</p> + +<p>Such men as Rupert Godwin select their servants to suit +their own purposes, and generally contrive to find willing tools +in those they employ. The banker’s confidential servant was a +man whose principles were about on a level with those of his +master, and Mr. Godwin had no fear of rebellion or discontent +when he wanted help in some villanous business.</p> + +<p>Violet had nearly finished dressing, when she was summoned +to the door of the apartment, where she found one of the men +belonging to the theatre waiting for her with a letter in his hand.</p> + +<p>The letter consisted of only a few words, written in pencil:</p> + +<p>“Miss Westford is requested to follow the bearer of this to Dr. +Maldon’s carriage. Dr. Maldon is now in attendance upon Mrs. +Westford, who has been taken seriously ill. Her daughter will +do well to lose no time in following the messenger.”</p> + +<p>Violet almost fainted under the terrible shock caused by these +few lines. Her mother ill—seriously ill; a physician in attendance, +a carriage sent for her, and an urgent request that no +time should be lost! The case must indeed be serious.</p> + +<p>The excited girl snatched her bonnet from the peg where it +hung, flung her shawl around her, and hurried back to the passage +where she had left the messenger.</p> + +<p>“Take me to him!” she cried impetuously, “the man who +brought this letter—where is he?”</p> + +<p>“In the hall, Miss. He begged me to say as you was to be +very quick.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” gasped Violet, “not a minute is to be lost—not +a moment!”</p> + +<p>She rushed past the astonished messenger, and ran down +the stairs, scarcely conscious of the ground upon which she trod. +She forgot everything, except that her mother was ill; and her +heart throbbed loud and fast with a terror that was almost too +painful to bear.</p> + +<p>No thought of falsehood or imposture ever flashed across her +mind. How should it do so? How could this innocent girl +imagine that there lived a wretch so base as to betray his victim +by practising on the sacred love of a daughter for her mother?</p> + +<p>James Spence, the banker’s valet, was the person who had +been intrusted with the pretended physician’s note. He was +just the sort of man to assist in such a scheme. Silent, soft of +foot and of voice, false in every word and look, he was fully +qualified to carry out the plans his master confided to him; and +he served the banker well, for he knew that with few other masters +could he have had so profitable a place. No class of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>employers pay so liberally as the wicked. For them fidelity is +priceless. There must have been good times for the servants in +the house of Lucrezia Borgia, Princess of Ferrara!</p> + +<p>The banker’s valet assumed an expression of profound +sympathy as Violet approached him. He was a very +respectable-looking man—grave, middle-aged, dressed with a +scrupulous neatness that was almost Quaker-like; and he looked +exactly the sort of man a physician’s servant might be supposed +to be.</p> + +<p>“O, pray let us lose no time!” Violet exclaimed. “You are +the person who brought this letter, are you not?”</p> + +<p>“I am, Miss.”</p> + +<p>“Then I am ready to come with you at once.”</p> + +<p>No more was said until they had left the theatre; then James +Spence addressed Violet in his most respectful tone.</p> + +<p>“If you would allow me to suggest that you should take my +arm, Miss, I think we should reach the carriage sooner,” he +said, “for we may have to pass through a crowd.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; you are very good; I will take your arm,” answered +the excited girl. “O, pray let us hurry to the carriage.”</p> + +<p>The valet lost no time in obeying this behest. He led Violet +through the busy streets at a rapid pace, and they reached the +quiet thoroughfare where the carriage was waiting, before the +agonized and trembling girl had been able to collect her thoughts, +or recover from the first effects of the shock she had so lately +received.</p> + +<p>Had she been a little calmer, she must have wondered at the +style of carriage waiting to receive her, which bore little resemblance +to the kind of vehicle usually employed by a medical man. +Had she been calmer, she might have remarked the presence of +a man enveloped in a loose overcoat, who sat in the rumble of +the carriage smoking a cigar.</p> + +<p>But as it was, Violet observed nothing. The carriage-door +was opened for her, she sprang into the vehicle, and sank half-fainting +on the seat.</p> + +<p>“Pray beg the coachman to drive quickly!” she cried in an +imploring voice as James Spence closed the door.</p> + +<p>“O yes, Miss, we’ll drive fast enough,” the valet answered, +with a sinister grin, as he stepped back upon the pavement, +while the horses hurried off in the direction of the Strand.</p> + +<p>The man wrapped in an overcoat, and seated in the rumble, +was the Marquis of Roxleydale. Another man, lounging at the +corner of the street, watched the departing vehicle.</p> + +<p>“So, Clara Westford,” he muttered between his set teeth, “I +think at last I am fairly revenged upon you for your insolence. +You have chosen to defy me. Be it my task to show you what +a helpless creature you are.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> + +<p>Helpless! Yes, Rupert Godwin; but the helpless are beneath +the special care of Providence—that Power which is strong +enough to triumph over even such schemers as you!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"> + CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">IN THE LABYRINTH.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">A strange conflict went on in Lionel Westford’s mind after that +scene outside the northern wing of Wilmingdon Hall. At one +moment the young man’s brain was occupied by thoughts of +Julia Godwin—her beauty, the noble nature which was evinced +in every word she uttered, the amiable and yet impulsive temper, +and all those charms and graces of manner which made the +banker’s daughter irresistible. But in the next instant the +remembrance of the old gardener’s dark hints would flash upon +Lionel Westford’s mind, and he would find it impossible to enjoy +a moment’s peace in a house that was haunted by a hideous yet +shapeless shadow.</p> + +<p>Yes, Wilmingdon Hall had become a haunted house in the +imagination of Lionel Westford. Do what he would, he could +not banish from his recollection the strange and terrible words +that had been uttered by the old gardener.</p> + +<p>Those words were for ever taking a more palpable form in +Lionel’s mind. They shaped themselves into the story of a +murder—a foul and deadly crime, which had been witnessed by +the half-witted old man through a chink in the shutter of the +seventh window in that long range of darkened casements +belonging to the deserted wing of Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>But who was the murderer? That was a fearful point. +Lionel Westford scarcely dared to whisper to himself the name +of the man to whom his suspicion pointed.</p> + +<p>That man was the same of whom his widowed mother had +spoken with unusual and apparently unreasonable bitterness; +the man through whose agency a family had been cast penniless +upon the world.</p> + +<p>But the same man was also the father of Julia Godwin, and +Lionel Westford’s heart sank within him as he contemplated +the possibility of the banker’s guilt.</p> + +<p>What was he to do? To remain in that haunted house +without taking some active step in the matter was impossible. +The very atmosphere of the place seemed to oppress him. The +cry of a dying creature seemed perpetually ringing in his ears.</p> + +<p>His dreams were made hideous by shapeless visions. His +brain grew dazed and bewildered, and a fitful fever took possession +of him. His tremulous hands refused to do their work; +and he found himself sometimes sitting for an hour together, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>staring vacantly at the drawing before him, while his mind dwelt +upon that scene in the deserted old garden before the northern +wing.</p> + +<p>He felt that only action—prompt and decided action—could +save him from a serious illness.</p> + +<p>“My brain is beginning to be affected,” he thought; “at any +moment I may be seized with brain-fever. In my ravings I +may reveal the suspicion that fills my mind—reveal it, perhaps, +to the ears of guilt; and then—”</p> + +<p>He scarcely dared to follow out the thought, which was a very +horrible one.</p> + +<p>If in the delirium attendant upon brain-fever he revealed the +secret preying so fearfully upon his mind, and revealed it to the +ears of a murderer, what more likely than that some means +would be taken to prevent his ever leaving that house alive? A +helpless and unconscious creature, stricken by fever, could be +very easily disposed of, and no one would be likely to suspect +any but a natural cause for his death.</p> + +<p>“I must act in this matter, and act promptly,” the young +man thought. “It is not because I have fallen desperately in +love with Julia Godwin that I can refrain from using my utmost +endeavours to fathom this mystery. Duty demands that I +should investigate the old man’s story. Heaven grant it may +be only the delusion of a demented brain!”</p> + +<p>Having once resolved upon the course he should take, Lionel’s +mind grew much clearer. He worked quietly and calmly all +that afternoon, keeping to his own apartments; for he was determined +henceforward to avoid the dangerous fascination of Julia +Godwin’s society.</p> + +<p>He saw Miss Godwin stroll out upon the lawn; and never had +she seemed lovelier to him than this afternoon, when stern duty +kept him away from her. He saw her walk slowly across the +grass, book in hand, and take the direction of that laurel avenue +where they had so often met—where they had passed so many +happy hours.</p> + +<p>His heart beat quicker as his eyes followed that tall white-robed +figure, in which girlish elegance was mingled with a +queen-like grace. Lionel Westford was no coxcomb, and yet +within the last week of his residence at Wilmingdon Hall, vague +but delicious hopes and fancies had mingled themselves with the +tortures that oppressed his mind.</p> + +<p>He had been a great deal in Julia’s society within the last +week, and something—some subtle shade of tone and manner—told +him that his love was not altogether hopeless. In spite of +the apparent difference between their social positions, Julia’s +manner innocently and unconsciously revealed a tender interest in +the man whom she had been so anxious to save from destitution.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> + +<p>And Lionel had to exclude this exquisite hope from his mind; +and, knowing that he was beloved, he yet felt himself called +upon to devote all the force of his intellect to the carrying out of +an investigation which might result in branding with a fearful +crime the father of the girl who loved him. The task was very +terrible; but Lionel Westford was inflexible in a matter in which +he felt that duty and honour alike called upon his firmness.</p> + +<p>“At the cost of my own happiness, at the sacrifice even of +Julia’s peace, I must fathom this horrible secret,” he thought, as +he turned away from the open window looking out upon the lawn.</p> + +<p>That evening he began his work.</p> + +<p>It was his habit to dine alone in his own apartment at seven +o’clock, the hour at which Miss Godwin and her stately companion, +Mrs. Melville, took their ceremonious meal.</p> + +<p>All the arrangements of the grand old mansion were perfect +in their style, and Lionel’s solitary dinner-table was served as +carefully as if he had been a distinguished guest.</p> + +<p>He had rarely spoken much to the man-servant who waited +upon him; but this evening he talked to the man with a purpose, +for he felt that he could do nothing in the task he had set himself +until he had obtained all the information which the members +of Mr. Godwin’s household could afford him.</p> + +<p>“I have been very much interested lately in an old man +whom I often see about the grounds,” Lionel began with assumed +carelessness,—“Caleb Wildred, I think you call him. Poor +fellow, his mind seems quite gone. How long has he been in his +present state?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” answered the servant, who was very glad of an +opportunity of talking, “Old Caleb has been queerish in his +head, off and on, for the last five or six years. But he had a bad +illness about a twelvemonth ago, and ever since he’s been a great +deal worse than he used to be—regular mad, as you must have +seen, sir, talking about blood being shed—and treachery—and +daggers—and murder—and all sorts of horrid things, till really +it makes a man’s flesh creep to hear him.”</p> + +<p>“Poor fellow! And this has come about since his illness! +What sort of an illness was it?”</p> + +<p>“Brain-fever, sir, and desperately bad he had it, poor chap! +His life was give over; but Mrs. Beckson, the housekeeper, she’s +a very old woman, she is, but not so old as Caleb, and as sharp +as a needle, and she and Caleb are cousins, you see, sir; so she +nursed him all the time, without troubling Mr. Godwin about +the poor old chap’s illness, and he was kept up in a garret at the +top of the house, where nobody could be disturbed by his raving +and going on when the fever was at its worst. But lor, sir, it was +awful to hear the things that poor weak-witted old fellow said.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of things did he say?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, it was always the same story, sir, over and over and +over again. Murder and treachery, and a chink in a shutter, +and goodness knows what, but always the same; till it seemed +to make your brain go queer to hear him. That illness of his +lasted for nigh upon two months; and ever since that he’s been +just as you see him now—able to do his little bit of work well +enough, and quiet and harmless, but always going over the same +ground, and yet somehow sensible and rational in some things, +for after raving out about the murder, and the treachery, and +so on, he’ll turn round the next minute and tell you it all means +nothing, it’s all nonsense, and you’re not to listen to it. So, you +see, the poor old fellow knows that he’s queer in his head, sir; +and that’s more than most of your lunatics do.”</p> + +<p>“Has Mr. Godwin ever heard of his wild talk?”</p> + +<p>“Never, sir, so far as I’m aware. Indeed, I may venture to +say for certain that he hasn’t, for that’s another strange part of +the business. Ever since that illness of his, old Caleb has seemed +afraid of his master; never will he go anywhere near Mr. Godwin; +the very sound of master’s voice will set him of a tremble +from head to foot, and he’ll turn as white as a ghost sometimes +at the mere mention of his name. But, lor bless me, sir, when +once a man’s brain’s turned, there’s no accounting for the fancies +that get into it. I had a cousin, sir, which he was barman at a +tavern in Hertford, and took to taking more liquor than was +good for him, and had delirious tremblings, I think the doctor +called it; and, lor bless your heart, sir, that poor fellow was +always fancying things, and making grabs at nothing, sir, +thinking as how he was catching flies, mostly blue-bottles; and +if once a man gets a tile off, as the saying is, it’s uncommon +difficult to get the tile on again.”</p> + +<p>Lionel assented to this truism. He was not particularly interested +in the delirious fancies of the footman’s drunken cousin, +but he was deeply interested in the account he gave of old Caleb. +Everything the man said helped to strengthen the hideous suspicions +that oppressed him. Why should the superannuated +gardener exhibit this unreasonable terror of his master?—why, +unless the shock which had dethroned his reason had been caused +by some act of that master’s?</p> + +<p>Lionel asked presently:</p> + +<p>“But how was poor old Wildred seized with this brain-fever? +What brought on the attack?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, that’s the queerest part of the story. You must +know that most of the servants in this house, the women servants +especially, will have it, foolish like, that the northern wing +of the Hall is haunted. It was built in the time of the Planpagennys, +you see, sir, and from all accounts it appears the +Planpagennys were a queer lot. There’s not one of the women +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>servants will go near the place after dark; and they all put +down poor old Caleb’s fever to his having seen some kind of a +ghost.”</p> + +<p>“But why so?”</p> + +<p>“Because, you see, sir, this is how he was took. One night in +July,—or, let me see,” said the footman, checking himself abruptly, +with an air of intense conscientiousness, “don’t let me +tell a story—was it the beginning of July, as Caleb was took, or +was it the end of June? Well, I think it was the end of June, +as it might be somewheres between the twentieth and the +thirtieth. Howsomdever, as we was all a-sitting down to supper, +the housekeeper she misses Caleb; and being a relation, and +attached to him for old times’ sake, she was regular uneasy about +him, and couldn’t go on with her supper till she’d had him +looked for. So she sends the under-gardener, and he was gone +above an hour, searching here and there about the grounds. And +it was nigh upon twelve o’clock at night when he found poor old +Caleb—where do you suppose, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I really can’t imagine.”</p> + +<p>“Lying in a swound, under one of the windows in the +northern wing; and our people will have it as he’d been peeping +through the shutter, and had seen a ghost.”</p> + +<p>“Strange!” exclaimed Lionel thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>He had lingered over his dinner, scarcely eating half-a-dozen +mouthfuls, so deeply interested was he in what the man had +to tell him. But he could not venture to prolong the meal any +further, or to ask any more questions, lest by so doing he should +excite suspicion in the mind of the servant.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"> + CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A DARK JOURNEY.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">The carriage in which Violet was seated drove at a rapid pace +along the Strand; but, to the girl’s surprise and terror, it did +not turn aside to cross Waterloo Bridge.</p> + +<p>She was in an agony of excitement, thinking that the coachman, +through mere ignorance or stupidity, had taken the wrong +road, and that time, the precious time, would be lost.</p> + +<p>She pulled the check-string violently; but the driver took no +notice—he seemed to drive faster every minute. Already the +carriage had passed under Temple Bar, and was making its way +along Fleet-street at a rapid rate, for at this hour there were few +vehicles in the City.</p> + +<p>Violet strove to open the window, and with some difficulty +succeeded in doing so. She called to the coachman, but he paid +no attention to her cry. It might be that her voice was drowned +by the noise of the wheels.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>Rendered desperate by the thought of her mother’s illness, +Violet would have tried to spring from the carriage, even at the +risk of her life; but when she endeavoured to open the door, she +found that it was locked.</p> + +<p>She then beat violently with her hands against the front windows +of the carriage. This time the coachman must have heard +her, but he did not even turn his head; he took no notice whatever +of her frantic summons.</p> + +<p>By this time the carriage was crossing Smithfield. A few +minutes more and it was in Bishopsgate-street. Violet strained +her eyes, endeavouring to discover where she was; but the +neighbourhood was entirely strange to her.</p> + +<p>Then a feeling of utter despair came over her. The carriage +dashed on; the houses and street-lamps swam before her eyes; +the tramp of the horses’ hoofs seemed like the throbbing of her +own brain.</p> + +<p>Presently the houses grew thinner; there were trees and a +country road—a road which seemed to go on for ever to the distracted +girl, who watched it from the open window of the carriage.</p> + +<p>She felt that she was the victim of some horrible conspiracy; +but she did not for a moment doubt the story of her mother’s illness. +Her brain was too much bewildered to enable her to +think reasonably of the night’s work. She fancied that her +mother was really ill, and that some wretches, out of fiendish +cruelty, were carrying her away from that beloved mother.</p> + +<p>So she sat, watching the long dark road, and praying for help +from Heaven in this hour of bewilderment and despair.</p> + +<p>After about two hours’ rapid travelling, the carriage stopped +before an old-fashioned-looking inn.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if the travellers were expected, for though it was +long past midnight, a man came out of the stables directly the +vehicle stopped. The doors and windows of the inn were all +dark, and the household had evidently retired to rest; but the +stable-yard was open, and a light was burning in one of the +numerous buildings within. There was no time lost in waiting, +and while the ostler removed the jaded and steaming animals +from the carriage, a second man came out of the stable-yard +leading a pair of fresh horses.</p> + +<p>This only added to poor Violet’s bewilderment. All the +occurrences of the night seemed rather the incidents of a +troubled dream than those of reality.</p> + +<p>She put her head out of the carriage-window, and saw a tall, +slenderly-built man standing a little way from the carriage.</p> + +<p>“O, for pity’s sake!” she cried, “whoever you are, tell me +the meaning of this mystery! Why have I been brought here? +Is there any one in the world who can be so cruel as to wish to +separate a daughter from her dying mother?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span></p> + +<p>The stranger approached the carriage-window. His face was +shaded by the brim of his hat, which he wore low on his forehead, +and by a cashmere shawl which enveloped his chin. The +night was dark, though fine, and Violet could not recognize the +Marquis of Roxleydale, whom she had only seen for the first +time that evening, and of whom she had taken very little notice.</p> + +<p>“Whoever you are, I implore you to have pity upon me!” +she cried. “If you have one touch of human feeling, have +mercy upon me, and take me back to London—take me to my +mother!”</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady,” answered the Marquis, “pray don’t +give way to grief. I can make your mind quite easy as regards +your mother. Her illness was only a fiction. All stratagems, +you know, are fair in love and war, and that kind of thing. So +far as I know, the maternal par——your mother, is as well as +ever she was.”</p> + +<p>“She is not ill! O, thank Heaven—thank Heaven for that! +And that letter—the doctor’s letter!”</p> + +<p>“The doctor’s letter was only part of an innocent little ruse, +which I am sure you will forgive when you know its motive. +It mightn’t be exactly the thing, you know, but it isn’t more +ungentlemanly than the conduct of that fellow who pretended +he wasn’t going away, you know, and got his ships ready on +the quiet, and made a bolt of it. Dido and Æneas, and that +kind of thing, you know.”</p> + +<p>The fresh horses were harnessed by this time, and the driver +was in his seat. Before Violet could ask another question, the +Marquis bowed and retired. He returned to his seat in the +rumble, the ostler gave the horses their heads, and in the next +moment they had started at a gallant pace along the dark road.</p> + +<p>At first there was only one feeling in Violet’s breast, and that +was a profound sense of gratitude to Heaven.</p> + +<p>Her mother was not ill; her beloved mother was not in +danger.</p> + +<p>The burden of anguish had been suddenly lifted from her +breast; and the relief was so intense that it was some time +before she could even attempt to contemplate her own position. +But when she did at length grow calm enough to consider the +events of the night, her brain seemed to give way beneath a +sense of utter bewilderment.</p> + +<p>Think of it as she would, she could not imagine any possible +motive for this mysterious business.</p> + +<p>Had she been persecuted by the addresses of any dishonourable +lover, she might perhaps have realized at once the motive +of this midnight abduction; but she imagined herself entirely +unknown and unnoticed.</p> + +<p>Who, then, could be interested in carrying her away from her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>home, from the mother she idolized, the mother who would suffer +unutterable fear and suspense during her absence?</p> + +<p>She tried in vain to find an answer to this question, but her +bewilderment only increased as she tormented her brain by useless +speculations. And at last she sank back in a corner of the +carriage, completely worn out by the mental struggle she had +undergone—weary, too, of watching the long dark, road along +which she was being carried to her mysterious destination.</p> + +<p>At last, at about three o’clock in the morning, the carriage +stopped before high gates, with massive stone pillars, surmounted +by escutcheons festooned with ivy.</p> + +<p>A bell was rung,—a loud clanging bell, that gave out a +strange shrill peal in the stillness of the night.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, during which Violet had ample time to +contemplate the tall stone pillars, the massive iron gates, which +had a weird and ghostly look in the dim light; and then the +bell was rung for the second time. This time the summons was +heard; for a man came out of the lodge, carrying a lantern and +a big bunch of keys.</p> + +<p>He unlocked the gates, which fell back upon their hinges +with a grating and scrooping noise, as if they were very rarely +opened. The carriage passed through into a long dark avenue—an +avenue in which the low gusty breath of the chill morning +wind sounded almost like the wailing of a ghost.</p> + +<p>At the end of the avenue, which seemed more than a mile +long, the carriage crossed a bridge, below which Violet saw a +black stream of water lying at the bottom of a wide stone moat. +The carriage passed under an archway after crossing this bridge, +and then drew up before a dreary-looking building with a castellated +roof and circular towers at each angle of the wall.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more dispiriting than the appearance of +this house, even when shrouded by the darkness. In the past, +it might have been a feudal castle; in the present, it looked +only like a madhouse, a union, or a gaol.</p> + +<p>The Marquis of Roxleydale came to the carriage-door, unlocked +it, and assisted Violet to alight.</p> + +<p>The poor girl was utterly worn out in mind and body by the +events of the night. She dismounted from the vehicle with a +tottering step, and would have fallen on the slippery moss-grown +stone if Lord Roxleydale had not supported her.</p> + +<p>“Where am I?” she gasped; “and why am I brought +here?”</p> + +<p>“Only be patient, dearest and loveliest of women,” answered +the Marquis in a tender whisper. “Rest quietly to-night, and +ask no questions. To-morrow morning you shall know all.”</p> + +<p>A stifled shriek escaped from Violet’s lips. There was something +in the speaker’s tone which chilled her to the heart. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>was the tone of a profligate who believed that his victim was in +his power.</p> + +<p>Innocent, inexperienced in life’s perils as Violet was, her +instinct seemed to reveal to her the danger and misery of her +position. But gentle though she was, she had the spirit of a +true woman—the spirit which asserts itself in the hour of +danger and difficulty.</p> + +<p>“Why am I brought here?” she demanded, drawing herself +away from Lord Roxleydale’s supporting arm; “and who are +you who have been base enough to carry out this vile plot +against a helpless girl? To any honourable man my friendlessness +would have rendered me sacred.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Miss Watson,” pleaded the Marquis, who really was +inclined to feel very much ashamed of himself, but who was +always trying to act according to the base sentiments instilled +into his weak mind by those false friends who called themselves +men of the world,—“dear Miss Watson, if you knew the +devoted admiration, the all-absorbing love, and that kind of +thing, which prompted this scheme, you would pardon all. +Believe this, and let me defer all explanations until to-morrow. +This lonely house shall be as safe a shelter for you as the roof +beneath which you slept last night.”</p> + +<p>This time there was an accent of truth in the young man’s +words. Violet was almost fainting, and was far too weak to +make any further struggle to extricate herself from the power +of her persecutor. She sank upon a carved oaken bench, in the +great stone entrance-hall, which was dimly lighted by one lamp, +and the atmosphere of which seemed cold and damp as that of +a charnel-house.</p> + +<p>No wealthy young nobleman, possessor of numerous country +seats in pleasant neighbourhoods, would have cared to spend +much of his life at this dreary habitation amongst the flat +swamps upon the Essex coast. The Marquis of Roxleydale +was the very last man in the world to tolerate a dull abode; and +the Moat had been almost deserted ever since the death of his +grandfather—an eccentric old misanthrope, who had chosen to +inhabit the dreariest house of all his possessions.</p> + +<p>An old woman had admitted the Marquis and his companion +into the hall. Lord Roxleydale committed Violet to her charge.</p> + +<p>“You received my letter?” he asked.</p> + +<p>He spoke in a very loud voice, but he had to repeat the +question.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my lord. Yes, yes; I received the letter,” muttered +the old woman at last; “and all’s ready for the lady—the young +lady. Yes, and it’s a pretty face too, and a fair face, and a good +face—eh, my lord?” she said, looking at Violet, “but it’s paler +than it should be for a bride; it’s much too pale for a bride, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>I’ve seen a bonny bride brought home to this house long ago—very +long ago; but the place seems to have gone to ruin since +then.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a little weak in her head, I think, Miss Watson,” the +Marquis said apologetically; “but you won’t mind her, will +you?”</p> + +<p>Violet shook her head, and stretched out her hand with a +friendly gesture towards the old woman. She was too ill to +speak; her dry lips refused to utter a sound.</p> + +<p>The old housekeeper led her charge towards the great oaken +staircase; the broad staircase up and down which gay-hearted +people had trodden lightly in the days that were gone.</p> + +<p>The Marquis had removed his hat on entering the hall; but +even yet Violet had not recognized him. She was too completely +prostrated to observe the face of her abductor. Only +one thought held a place amid the misty shadows that clouded +her brain. That one thought related to her desire to escape, to +return to her mother, whose heart would be wrung by all the +torments of suspense and anxiety.</p> + +<p>She followed the housekeeper. There was something honest +and friendly in the old woman’s countenance; and Violet felt +that with her she was at least safe.</p> + +<p>The woman led her up the staircase and along a corridor, until +they came to a spacious room, where a pair of tall wax candles +were burning in antique silver candlesticks. A wood fire blazed +upon the broad stone hearth, within the great chimney; and, +summer time though it was, there was unspeakable comfort in +the aspect of the red logs.</p> + +<p>The room was large and gloomy, and, like everything else in +the old house, seemed to belong to an age long gone by. The +wainscoting was of black oak; the ceiling was of the same +sombre hue and massive material, crossed by huge beams, with +quaintly-carved pendants, which threw weird shadows upon the +walls, and looked like grinning faces leering down at the inmates +of the room.</p> + +<p>An immense four-post bedstead, surmounted by funereal-looking +plumes, stood at one end of the apartment. Near the +fireplace there were two old-fashioned easy-chairs, covered with +faded tapestry, and a table upon which the silver candlesticks +were placed.</p> + +<p>Violet had scarcely strength to totter to the nearest chair. +She sank into it fainting and helpless.</p> + +<p>“Don’t leave me!” she gasped, clinging to the old woman’s +withered hands. “Pray don’t leave me!”</p> + +<p>The housekeeper seemed to understand the meaning of the +helpless girl’s look and gesture, though she could not possibly +have understood her words.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> + +<p>“Ay, ay,” she muttered. “I’ll take care of you, my pretty—you +needn’t, be afraid. Old Nancy will take care of you.”</p> + +<p>Violet felt reassured by these words. Her eyelids sank over +her wearied eyes; her head fell back upon the cushion of the +chair. Presently she felt the housekeeper’s feeble hands tenderly +removing her outer garments, and then the old woman half +carried, half led her to the bed, on which she sank, completely +overcome by fatigue and excitement.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"> + CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE HOUSEKEEPER’S STORY.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">After his conversation with Mr. Godwin’s servant, Lionel +Westford felt more than ever that duty and honour alike urged +him to an immediate and most vigorous investigation of the +mystery connected with the deserted wing of Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>Had there been no such person as Julia Godwin in existence, +had the banker and the banker’s kindred been alike indifferent +to him, the young man would not for a moment have thought +of acting on his own responsibility.</p> + +<p>He would have gone at once to Scotland-yard, and would +have placed the whole matter in the hands of the detective +police—laying before them a full statement of the case, and +relying on their skill in the unravelment of such dark enigmas +as that which cast its black shadow on Wilmingdon Hall. Mr. +Pollaky of Paddington-green, or some other gentleman of Mr. +Pollaky’s profession, would have been provided with one of +those mysterious cases which seem designed for the development +of detective genius, and all the complicated machinery of detection +would have been set in motion.</p> + +<p>But for Julia’s sake Lionel Westford refrained from doing +this; for her sake he determined not to make any communication +to the police until his dark suspicions became certainty, +and duty compelled him to denounce the father of the girl he +loved.</p> + +<p>In the mean time he felt that his task of investigation would +be very difficult, and would demand all the subtlety of his intellect, +all the strength of his will.</p> + +<p>On thinking over what the servant had told him, he came to +the conclusion that old Caleb had indeed witnessed some appalling +scene in one of the rooms in the northern wing.</p> + +<p>But, granting this, what was the nature of that scene?</p> + +<p>The old gardener described a murder—a foul and treacherous +murder. Yet how could a murder have been committed in that +deserted wing without suspicion having been sooner or later +aroused?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<p>The victim could scarcely have entered the building without +the fact of his presence there being known; and in that case, +how had Rupert Godwin been able to account for his disappearance?</p> + +<p>At present it was all a dark mystery, the clue to which Lionel +Westford could only hope to obtain by long and patient toiling +in the obscurity. It was a tangled skein, which could only be +unravelled inch by inch.</p> + +<p>He pondered much upon what the man-servant had told him, +and came to the conclusion that the person most likely to assist +his search—unconsciously, of course—was the old housekeeper, +of whom the man had spoken.</p> + +<p>This woman was a cousin of Caleb Wildred’s, and from her +girlhood had lived in the service of the Godwins, rising through +all the gradations of service, from under scullery-maid to housekeeper.</p> + +<p>Many secrets of the banker’s history were, in all probability, +known to this woman; and, if carefully sounded, she could +scarcely fail to give some clue to any mystery that might lurk +behind the commonplace story of his life.</p> + +<p>Lionel determined to seek the earliest opportunity of placing +himself in confidential relations with the housekeeper. Old servants +are generally garrulous and communicative, unless they +have some special motive for reserve. Lionel therefore hoped +much from an interview with Mrs. Beckson.</p> + +<p>A very little consideration suggested a means of approaching +her.</p> + +<p>There were a great number of old pictures at Wilmingdon +Hall—old portraits of dead-and-gone grandees who had flourished +there when the original lords of the soil still held their own, +before the days when rich mercantile men had come to occupy +the dwellings of the noble. The hall and staircase, the billiard-room +and music room, were decorated with portraits of the +departed Wilmingdons, painted by Sir Peter Lely and Sir +Godfrey Kneller, and let into the richly-carved panelling of the +rooms. These portraits formed, therefore, a part of the walls +they enriched, and had passed to the banker’s father with the +house itself. But these the elder Mr. Godwin had looked on as +so much furniture; and being a connoisseur of no mean powers, +he had amassed a large collection of old and modern pictures, to +which his son had added, bringing home many treasures from +his continental ramblings.</p> + +<p>Pictures of considerable value adorned almost every wall in the +house; and Lionel remembered having heard Julia say that +there were some very fine old Dutch paintings in the housekeeper’s +room.</p> + +<p>“Papa is a believer in the modern school,” she had said; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>“and the Jan Steens and Ostades have been banished from the +dining-room, to make way for Frith and Elmore, Leighton and +Millais, whose pictures please <em>me</em> a great deal better than those +perpetual brown Dutchmen, who are always lighting their tiresome +pipes in their dingy tavern-parlours, or those wooden-faced +Dutchwomen, who seem to pass their existence between the +brown little kitchen where they peel vegetables, and the brown +little parlour where they play upon a queer-shaped organ.”</p> + +<p>What could better serve Lionel as an excuse for approaching +the housekeeper than his very natural wish to see these valuable +old pictures?</p> + +<p>He sent Mrs. Beckson a message by the servant who waited +upon him, requesting that he might be allowed to see the Dutch +pictures in her apartment, and received a prompt and most +gracious reply, to the effect that Mrs. Beckson would be delighted +to see Mr. Wilton at any time; but she would feel herself +especially honoured if he would condescend so far as to drink tea +with her at five o’clock that afternoon.</p> + +<p>Nothing could suit Lionel’s purpose better than this. He was, +of course, only on a level with the housekeeper in that establishment, +where he gave his services for a weekly stipend, and was +content to sink his status as a gentleman in order to earn a +livelihood for those he loved.</p> + +<p>He sent the servant back to Mrs. Beckson to say that he +would be most happy to avail himself of her kind invitation.</p> + +<p>“But you don’t dine till seven o’clock, sir. Mrs. Beckson has +such old-fashioned notions,” the man remonstrated.</p> + +<p>“I will go without my dinner to-day for the sake of a leisurely +inspection of Mrs. Beckson’s Dutch pictures,” Lionel answered. +“Tell her I accept her invitation with thanks.”</p> + +<p>The servant departed, wondering at what he called “the rum +ways of that artist chap, who’d sacrifice a good dinner for the +sake of looking at a lot of dingy old pictures, that seem every one +of ’em as if they’d been hung up a smoky chimney.”</p> + +<p>At five o’clock precisely Lionel Westford presented himself in +the housekeeper’s room. Mrs. Beckson had made quite a little +festival of the occasion, and had adorned her table with preserves +and cakes, an old-fashioned silver tea-and-coffee equipage, +covered dishes of buttered toast, and a stand of new-laid eggs, as +if she had expected a party.</p> + +<p>Lionel could scarcely refrain from a smile as he looked at the +worthy housekeeper’s preparations, and thought how utterly her +dainties were wasted on a guest whose mind was completely +absorbed by one dark and terrible subject.</p> + +<p>The old dame had dressed herself in her stateliest attire, her +most formidable head-gear and brownest and crispest wig. She +received Lionel with a sweeping curtsey that might have done +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>honour to an old-fashioned court in the days when the minuet +was danced by powdered beaux and belles.</p> + +<p>One by one she pointed out the old pictures which adorned her +room, telling all she knew of their history, and the value that had +been set upon them by connoisseurs whom Mr. Godwin had +brought to look at them.</p> + +<p>Lionel had no occasion to pretend an interest in these pictures. +His artistic taste was aroused at once by their merits, and he +lingered long before them, delighted and enthusiastic; so long +indeed, that he sorely tried the patience of the old housekeeper, +who was anxious to see him seated at her well-furnished tea-table, +and was afflicted by the fear that the toast would become +leathery and the eggs hard, while her visitor was dwelling +on the details of a Jan Steen.</p> + +<p>At last, however, the inspection was finished, and he seated +himself opposite her, taking care to place himself with his back +to the window, so that the varying expressions of his own face +would not be seen, while, on the other hand, he would be able to +perceive any change in the countenance of his companion.</p> + +<p>The tea was poured out. Of course, there was a little preliminary +conversation as to its merits; and then Lionel set +to work, very cautiously and slowly. He began to speak of Mr. +Godwin, and found the housekeeper nothing loth to talk of +her master.</p> + +<p>It was scarcely strange that the banker should form one of <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'the chief subects'" id="tn-173">the +chief subjects</ins> of his servants’ discourse; for as they rarely passed +beyond the park-gates, they had little else to talk of besides the +habits and affairs of their master. People who cry out against +the gossiping propensities of servants should at least remember +that in many cases servants are kept close prisoners, very rarely +seeing or hearing anything of the outer world. Is it strange +that, under such circumstances, they should attach an undue +importance to what they do see and hear?</p> + +<p>“The present Mr. Godwin is a good master,” said Mrs. Beckson, +after some little discussion of general subjects; “he’s a liberal +paymaster, and his servants have nothing to complain of. But +he’s not like his father. He’s got a silent and gloomy way with +him that’s apt to set people against him—not strangers, for his +manners to strangers are generally considered very pleasing; +but in his own house he gives himself up to thought like, and +doesn’t seem to take either rest or pleasure. I never did see +such a gentleman to think. He’s always thinking, always brooding; +and this last year, judging by the little we’ve seen of him, +I do believe he’s been worse than ever—brooding, brooding, +brooding, as if he’d got all the troubles in this world upon his +own mind. And if <em>that’s</em> all the good riches bring a body, give +me poverty, say I.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>“And you have not seen much of him lately?”</p> + +<p>“Very little indeed. I don’t know why it is, I suppose it’s +business—or it may be pleasure, for they do say Mr. Godwin +leads a very wild life in London; but somehow or other, ever +since last summer, counting from about the time my poor +cousin Caleb was taken ill with brain-fever, our master has +kept away from this place, almost as if it was haunted.”</p> + +<p>Lionel could not repress a slight start as Mrs. Beckson said +this. Every word that he heard seemed to point to the same +conclusion, every little circumstance so casually revealed led up +to one terrible fact—the crime that had been committed by +Rupert Godwin in the summer of the preceding year.</p> + +<p>“Your cousin Caleb and I have become very good friends, +Mrs. Beckson,” Lionel said, after a brief pause in which he +reflected upon what the housekeeper had told him; “we meet +often in the garden, and he always talks to me a little wildly +at first, but he gets quite rational afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, to be sure; Caleb’s apt to be very wild, very wild +indeed, sir. It isn’t everybody that would have patience with +him. But I’m his own cousin, you see, sir, his own flesh and +blood, and we were boy and girl together. So I bear with all +his vagaries. I think there’s not many beside me could have +nursed him through that dreadful brain-fever.”</p> + +<p>“And that fever was the result of a sudden fright, I have +heard?” said Lionel.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; they do say poor Caleb was frightened; but, sir, +there’s no knowing; it might have been some delusion of his +poor weak brain. The women servants will have it that he saw +a ghost in the northern wing; but I don’t believe in any such nonsense, +though I have heard stories about those deserted old rooms +that would make your blood run cold, and it certainly isn’t every +gentleman that would have as much courage as our master.”</p> + +<p>“How so?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I mean that he’s not a bit afraid of being for hours +and hours, sometimes in the dead of the night, shut up alone +in those dreary rooms. He’s got an office in the northern wing, +bless you, sir, and they say he keeps all his most valuable documents +and securities and such-like locked in iron safes there, and +up to last June twelvemonth he used to work there once in a +way, looking over his papers, and such-like, I’ve heard Miss Godwin +say.”</p> + +<p>“Up to last June twelvemonth? But not since that time?” +asked Lionel.</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t I tell you, sir, that since last midsummer twelvemonth +Mr. Godwin has scarcely come home once in a month? +He’s seemed to shun the place somehow, and I can’t help thinking +that he has some kind of trouble on his mind, and that he tries +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>to drown it in the racketing and rioting of that rampageous +London. You see, sir, he and his only son didn’t agree well together, +and young Mr. Godwin left home two or three years +ago, and it may be that preys on our Mr. Godwin’s mind.”</p> + +<p>“But he used to work in an office in the northern wing?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and that’s one of the reasons why I feel sure our poor +Caleb saw no ghost on the night he was taken ill.”</p> + +<p>“How is that?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, sir, the very night Caleb was taken, Mr. +Godwin was in his office; and it isn’t likely the most audacious +ghosts would show themselves when there were lights burning, +and a city gentleman and his friend in the office.”</p> + +<p>“His friend! Mr. Godwin was not alone then?”</p> + +<p>“No; there was a gentleman with him—a strange gentleman. +I can remember it all as if it had happened yesterday. I suppose +it must have been Caleb’s illness that impressed it upon +my mind, you see, sir. It was a very hot evening, and the house +felt so oppressive like, that me and my niece Susan, who is head-housemaid +here, we took a turn in the garden. It was quite +dark when we went out, but it was very pleasant for all that. +Mr. Godwin’s confidential clerk, Jacob Danielson, happened to +be down here that evening, and was sitting in the dining-room, +when the strange gentleman came.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! the stranger came late then?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it must have been dark when he came. My niece and +me were sitting under one of the great cedars on the lawn, and +the dining-room windows being open and the lamps lighted, we +could see everything that was going on in the room. We saw +the stranger walk in through one of the windows, while master +and his clerk were sitting quietly over their wine; and the strange +gentleman seemed excited about something, as we could guess +from his manner. But Mr. Godwin, he was as quiet as a stone +statue, and presently, after Jacob Danielson had gone away in +a dog-cart to catch the train from Hertford, the stranger and +master left the dining-room together, and went to the library; +for me and my niece could see the lights through the great +painted window, though we couldn’t see anything of what was +going on inside. But presently, through the open doors of the +hall—for, being such a hot, oppressive night, all the doors were +left wide open—we saw Mr. Godwin and the stranger going +towards the corridor leading to the northern wing, Mr. Godwin +carrying a lamp.”</p> + +<p>The housekeeper paused to draw breath after this long speech. +Lionel Westford was terribly excited, and it was with difficulty +that he concealed the extent of his agitation.</p> + +<p>“And after this?” he said interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“After this me and my niece walked about a bit, first here, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>then there, keeping out in the cool till supper-time; and we’d +been walking about nigh upon an hour, and were strolling along +one of the pathways close to the north garden, when who should +come upon us sudden like but Jacob Danielson, which we had +thought to have started by the train from Hertford! We +couldn’t help being a little startled by his coming upon us so +sudden, and there was something in his manner that seemed as +if he’d been excited, or almost frightened like; and this was +something out of the way for him, for, generally speaking, he’s +more like a machine made out of cast iron than a human being. +‘Where’s the gentleman?’ says he to me and my niece,—‘where’s +the strange gentleman? Have you seen him go away?’ +‘No,’ I replied; ‘Mr. Danielson, I have not.’ ‘O,’ says he, ‘I +thought you might have seen him; it’s of no consequence; good +evening;’ and with that he walks off very fast; and though there +wasn’t much in what he said, there was something in his manner +that seemed to make me and my niece turn all cold and shivery +like, in spite of the sultry evening.”</p> + +<p>“And did you see the stranger after this?”</p> + +<p>“No; he left as quietly as he came. I daresay Mr. Godwin +showed him the short cut across the park, for none of us in the +servants’ hall saw him go away.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! And this was the night upon which your cousin +Caleb was taken with the fever?”</p> + +<p>“It was, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well; I can’t help feeling a sort of curiosity about this +haunted northern wing. I’m not exactly a believer in ghosts; +but I’ve often wondered whether there might not be some little +truth in the numerous stories so firmly believed by many sensible +people. I should like very much to explore those old rooms. Is +there any way of getting into that part of the building?”</p> + +<p>The housekeeper shook her head.</p> + +<p>“No, sir. Mr. Godwin keeps the keys locked up in his own +library, and wouldn’t let them out of his hands on any account.”</p> + +<p>“But he allows the servants to clean the rooms sometimes, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Not he, sir. He says he’d rather have the dust a foot deep +than he’d have his papers pried into or meddled with. But there +is a way of getting into those rooms for all that, Mr. Wilton, if +anyone had the courage to go that way.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. This place is very old, you know, sir, hundreds of years +old; and they do say that there was all sorts of queer hiding-places +made in the days of the Lollards. However that may be, +the cellars under the northern wing are almost big enough for a +regiment to hide in, and <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'there’s an undergound'" id="tn-176">there’s an underground</ins> passage leading +from the cellars to a grotto at one end of the laurel-walk.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>“I know the grotto,” answered Lionel eagerly. “I noticed it +some days ago.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a regular ruinous place; but if you grope your way +through the archway at the back, you’ll find a flight of stone +steps leading down underground, and at the bottom of those steps +there’s a passage leading, as I’ve heard say long ago when I was +a girl, to the cellars. But, mind you, Mr. Wilton, I never knew +anyone to go down that underground passage, and goodness knows +what state it may be in. I don’t suppose Mr. Godwin so much +as knows of its existence. So if you go, Mr. Wilton, you know +the risk you’ve got to run.”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford laughed aloud at the old dame’s warning. +Fortunately, the housekeeper’s ear was not acute enough to discover +the artificial sound of that laughter.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t be afraid of my running any risk, my dear Mrs. +Beckson,” he said. “I should very much like to see a ghost, +if I could meet the gentleman or lady without putting myself +to any very great trouble. But I certainly have no inclination +to tempt the perils of an underground journey, even though I +might be rewarded by an introduction to all the phantoms in +shadowland. No, no; I’m no coward; but I have no wish to be +entombed alive, and some of the old brickwork of your passage +might happen to give way, perhaps, and bury me under its +ruins.” This is what Lionel Westford said. What he intended +to do was something very different.</p> + +<p>“I must watch my opportunity,” he thought, “and pay a +secret visit to the northern wing when every member of this household +is sleeping.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"> + CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">“SHE WEPT, DELIVERED FROM HER DANGER.”</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Violet awoke, feverish and unrefreshed, from the heavy slumber +into which she had fallen from sheer exhaustion. She awoke to +see the broad summer sunlight streaming through the old-fashioned +windows of her room.</p> + +<p>At first she looked about her, dazed and bewildered by the +strangeness of the place in which she found herself, and scarcely +knowing whether she were dreaming or waking.</p> + +<p>Then, with a terrible suddenness, the events of the previous +night flashed back upon her memory. She sprang hastily from +her bed, and ran to one of the windows; she wanted at least to +know whither she had been brought.</p> + +<p>But the prospect to be seen from the window told her very +little. She looked out upon a flat swampy expanse, across which +stretched a long avenue of poplars,—the weird, ghastly-looking +trees which she had seen in the chill morning light as she was +driven up to the house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>In the far distance she saw the river, widening to the sea. +Violet had spent her life so entirely in one neighbourhood +that she had little knowledge of the other parts of England. +She had no idea that the broad river was the Thames, and that +the county in which she found herself was Essex. Nor had she +any idea of the distance which she had been brought upon the +previous night. In her bewilderment and agitation she had lost +all count of time. But her intense anxiety about her mother had +made the few hours during which she had been travelling seem +multiplied tenfold. She was utterly ignorant, therefore, of the +locality in which this dismal old house was situated—as ignorant +and helpless as a child.</p> + +<p><ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'For sometime she'" id="tn-178">For some time she</ins> stood motionless before the window, staring +at the flat barren swamp with the vacant gaze of despair. Then +she suddenly clasped her hands and lifted her eyes in mute appeal +to Providence.</p> + +<p>“Surely Heaven will not desert me,” she thought; “surely, if +only for my mother’s sake, I shall be spared!”</p> + +<p>This thought seemed to inspire the helpless girl with new +courage. She sank upon her knees before one of the old carved-oak +chairs, and remained for a long time in the same attitude, +praying fervently.</p> + +<p>Then she rose and dressed herself neatly, with hands that had +ceased to tremble. The cold water with which she bathed her +head and face revived her considerably; and when her toilette +was finished, she looked almost as calm and self-possessed as if +she had been in her own home.</p> + +<p>She had to cope with unknown and mysterious persecutors; +and she knew that any weakness or cowardice would render her +only the more completely powerless to protect herself.</p> + +<p>What was the danger that assailed her?—and why had she +been brought to this lonely country-house? Again and again +the unhappy girl asked herself these two questions; but she +could find no answer for them.</p> + +<p>Presently the deaf old housekeeper made her appearance, +carrying a tray, upon which a simple breakfast was neatly laid. +Violet ran to meet the old woman, and clasping her hands +entreatingly, begged her to speak—to explain the mystery.</p> + +<p>The poor girl repeated her questions again and again; but +this time it seemed as if the housekeeper either could not or +would not hear a word. Yet she nodded to Violet, with a friendly +look on her withered face; and to the helpless girl there was +something reassuring even in that slight action.</p> + +<p>The old woman set the tray upon the table, and then retired; +but just as she reached the door, she stopped, and looked back +with a very significant expression at Violet.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be down-hearted, poor child,” she said. “Keep up +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>your spirits, my pretty. There’s help nearer at hand than you +think, perhaps, my pet. Perhaps there is,—perhaps there is. +There’s an awful lot of wickedness in this world; but there’s +goodness too, praised be the Lord! so don’t be cast down.”</p> + +<p>With this she retired, leaving Violet very much at a loss to +determine whether there was any hopeful meaning in these +oracular utterances, or whether they were only the wandering +expressions of a half-demented brain.</p> + +<p>She went to the door and tried to open it; but it was locked. +She listened; but no sound broke the dismal silence, except the +long hoarse crow of some distant chanticleer, or the plaintive +lowing of the cattle in one of the flat meadows by the river. +Mariana’s moated grange could not have been more dreary than +this unknown habitation seemed to Violet Westford.</p> + +<p>After listening wearily for a long time, hoping for some sound +that would betray the neighbourhood of human life, Violet +stationed herself at the window. Here at least she fancied there +was some chance of help. Surely in the course of the day some +human creature must pass below that window.</p> + +<p>She opened the casement, and placed herself on the old-fashioned +window-seat, a living image of patience and resignation. +But she watched in vain. The hours crept by, insupportably +slow in their progress. The long summer day wore +itself out; the sun sloped westward; but still no living creature +appeared upon the broad flat below that open window.</p> + +<p>Violet’s heart sank with a dull feeling of despair. She had +taken one cup of tea out of the quaint little silver teapot and +old dragon-china cup and saucer on the tray brought her by the +housekeeper, but she had eaten nothing. Her dry lips were +burning with fever, and she was sick and faint from exhaustion.</p> + +<p>During almost every moment of that weary day her mother’s +image had been present with her. She had pictured Mrs. Westford’s +feelings—her suspense, her terror, her anguish; and sometimes +she could scarcely endure to remain in that silent room, +knowing as she did the sufferings that would be caused to that +devoted mother by her mysterious absence. There were times +when she felt inclined to leap from the window, even at the risk +of her life: there were moments when she felt that she must +escape or perish. But a sense of religion, the pure spirit of faith +and love that had been instilled long ago into her mind, supported +her now under this most bitter trial. When she suffered +most, she clasped her hands and prayed silently for help and +deliverance.</p> + +<p>The sunlight made a slanting track of crimson glory on the +broad river in the misty distance. Already the evening shadows +were gathering in the gloomy wainscoted apartment.</p> + +<p>Violet began to think with terror that another dreary night of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>suspense lay before her, when she heard a key turned in the lock. +The door was opened, and a gentleman entered the room.</p> + +<p>This time she recognized the Marquis of Roxleydale, to whom +she had been introduced in the Circenses green-room on the +previous evening. The young nobleman had been dining with +his tempter and accomplice, Rupert Godwin, and had been +drinking somewhat deeply.</p> + +<p>The banker had driven to the Moat from the nearest railway +station early in the afternoon. He knew the weakness of his +tool and dupe, and he feared that his diabolical scheme would +not be fully carried out unless he was himself near to pull the +strings of his puppet, and direct the dark windings of the plot.</p> + +<p>The old Essex mansion was large and rambling. Lord Roxleydale +and the banker had dined in a tolerably comfortable room +at a remote end of the building; where no sound of their voices, +no echo of the servants’ footsteps, could reach the wing in which +Violet watched and waited through that weary day.</p> + +<p>At sunset the young Marquis presented himself before his +victim, flushed with wine, and duly instructed in the dark plot +concocted by Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>That plot was one which could scarcely have failed to ensnare +a weak or ambitious woman; and Rupert Godwin, who thought +meanly of all womankind, fancied that Violet Westford would +be utterly unable to resist the temptation offered to her.</p> + +<p>The Marquis was to affect only honourable intentions. He +was to make her a formal offer of his hand; but he was also to +propose an elopement and a secret marriage, as the only means +by which he could dare to make Violet his wife; pleading his +minority as the reason for this course.</p> + +<p>Violet, ignorant of the world, eager, no doubt, to seize the +golden chance of becoming Marchioness of Roxleydale, would of +course speedily accept this proposal.</p> + +<p>This is how the man of the world argued. It needed but the +simplicity of an innocent girl to overthrow all his carefully-laid +plans.</p> + +<p>Lord Roxleydale’s yacht, the <i>Norse King</i>, was lying at anchor +in the estuary of the Thames. If Violet consented to the clandestine +marriage proposed by the Marquis, she was to be induced +to go on board the yacht, under the pretence of crossing the +Channel, in order that the marriage might be performed in +France, where secrecy would be more easily ensured.</p> + +<p>Once on board the <i>Norse King</i>, the Marquis could take her +whithersoever he pleased. He was the possessor of a charming +little villa on an island near Naples; and it was thither that +Rupert Godwin advised him to convey his helpless victim.</p> + +<p>Violet once away, the banker felt that his scheme of vengeance +upon a hapless wife and mother would be complete. Then, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>then only, would he see Clara Westford’s proud head bowed to +the dust; then, and then only, would he feel that he had avenged +the wrong inflicted on him by the woman he had loved.</p> + +<p>The Marquis approached Violet as she stood near the open +window, pale but self-possessed, with the last rays of the +declining sunlight gilding her hair.</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Watson,” he said, “I come to you this evening +as the humblest suppliant who ever sued for pardon. Can +you forgive me?”</p> + +<p>“My forgiveness will be easily won, Lord Roxleydale,” Violet +answered quietly; “and may Heaven forgive you also for the cruel +and purposeless wrong you have inflicted upon one who never injured +you; to whom, indeed, you are so complete a stranger that +I am still utterly at a loss to comprehend the motive of your +extraordinary conduct. I could very easily pardon you the pain +you have inflicted upon <em>me</em>; but it is much more difficult for me +to excuse your conduct when I think of the anguish it must have +caused my mother. She is a widow, my lord; and her life lately +has been full of trouble. She did not need this new trial.”</p> + +<p>The Marquis blushed crimson at this reproach. He was very +young—too young to be altogether base or shameless; and he felt +the reproof conveyed in Violet’s quiet words.</p> + +<p>But he had his tempter’s lesson by heart; and those better +feelings were only transient.</p> + +<p>“My dear Miss Watson—my dear Violet, for I have been told +that sweet name belongs to you; and what other name could so +well harmonize with your loveliness?—my own sweet Violet, +your mother’s anxiety can be speedily set at rest. A few lines in +your handwriting will assure her of your safety. It is not yet +too late for the London mail. Write, and your letter shall be +immediately sent to the post-town.”</p> + +<p>“And it will reach London—”</p> + +<p>“Early to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>Violet reflected that it was scarcely likely that she herself could +reach London sooner than the following morning, under the most +favourable circumstances. And was it not terribly probable that +she might be kept for days a prisoner in that hateful house? It +would be madness to reject any chance of giving at least some +relief to her mother’s fears and anxieties. The Marquis seemed +to be sincere, and she was so completely in his power that he could +have little motive for deceiving her.</p> + +<p>“I will write,” she said, moving towards a table upon which +there was an inkstand and portfolio. “O, Lord Roxleydale, if you +ever loved your own mother, have pity upon mine, and on me!”</p> + +<p>This appeal galled a hidden wound that lay deep in the young +man’s heart. The time had been when he had dearly loved the +most tender and indulgent of mothers; and that is an affection +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>which never wholly dies out, even in the breast of a hardened +sinner. Lord Roxleydale knew that he had been of late years a +bad and neglectful son, and Violet’s simple words stung him to +the quick.</p> + +<p>“Do not talk of my mother,” he said; “there are some subjects +that will not bear speaking of. Write your letter, Violet, and I +will see that it is posted.”</p> + +<p>He walked to the window, and stood looking out at the dusky +prospect. The darkness was gathering rapidly; and one long line +of crimson light defined the low horizon.</p> + +<p>Violet wrote only a few cautious lines. How could she have +written at any length, when she was utterly uncertain as to her +own fate—surrounded, perhaps, by dangers? She wrote the following +brief note intended to reassure her mother:—</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Dearest Mother</span>,—I am safe and well. At present I can +tell you no more than this. Believe this, and be at rest till you +hear from me again, or see me. You will not doubt that I shall +return to you as speedily as possible. You will not doubt that +I am only kept away from you by the sternest necessity.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span style="margin-right: 8em;">“Ever and ever your own</span><br> + “<span class="smcap p2r">Violet.”</span> +</p> + +<p>She folded her letter, placed it in an envelope, and directed it. +The Marquis took it from her.</p> + +<p>“Dearest Violet,” he exclaimed, “I only leave you to get this +conveyed to the post; when I return I will explain my conduct—I +will endeavour to win your forgiveness.”</p> + +<p>He left the room, and Violet heard the key turned in the lock. +That one simple action filled her with terror. This man, under +all outward appearance of respect and consideration, was her +enemy, her most dangerous enemy, since he took advantage of +her helplessness to approach her in the character of a lover. She +was a prisoner in that lonely house—a close prisoner, in that unknown +and solitary building, where the only creature in the least +friendly to her was a deaf and perhaps imbecile old woman.</p> + +<p>What position could be more terrible to this girl, who, amidst +all her sorrow, had never before known danger? “O, my Heavenly +Father!” she cried, leaning in a half-fainting state against the +oaken wainscot, “Thou, who art a Father to the fatherless, hear +my prayers, have pity upon my helplessness, and raise up some +friend in this bitter hour of need!”</p> + +<p>She had scarcely spoken the words when the oaken panelling +behind her was pushed suddenly on one side; and she felt herself +supported by a slender arm—an arm that felt like that of a +woman.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if Heaven had heard her prayers. It seemed almost +as if a miracle had been performed in her behalf. A cry of +joyful surprise half escaped her lips; but in the next moment it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>was stifled by a hand, a soft feminine hand, pressed against her +mouth.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” murmured a low voice; “not a cry—not a whisper!”</p> + +<p>Then the mysterious friend half drew, half lifted Violet through +the opening in the wall.</p> + +<p>The helpless girl, so suddenly, so miraculously rescued, fainted +in the arms of her preserver. But she was not long unconscious. +Presently she felt cool perfumed water sprinkled upon her forehead; +a pungent aromatic odour revived her senses; and the +evening breeze blew in upon her from an open window, by which +her unknown friend had placed her.</p> + +<p>She raised her heavy eyelids and looked up, clinging to her +preserver.</p> + +<p>She looked up, and saw a gentle, careworn face bending over +her—a beautiful face, with regularly chiselled features, and a +tenderly gracious smile. A face that was framed in bands of +silvered hair, and upon which the traces of suffering were only +too evident.</p> + +<p>The owner of this face was tall and slender. She looked, perhaps, +somewhat taller than she really was on account of her dress, +which was of black silk, very rich and costly, but made with an +extreme simplicity. A small cap of the most exquisite Honiton +lace shrouded her silvery hair.</p> + +<p>“O madam!” exclaimed Violet, “you will not leave me? You +will not send me away from you?”</p> + +<p>“No, child, not till I can place you in the care of your own +friends,” answered the lady. “Poor girl, you are still trembling.”</p> + +<p>“I have suffered so much,” murmured Violet, in a low tremulous +voice; “and it has all seemed like some dreadful dream. Ah, +madam, it seems to me as if Heaven raised you up to befriend +me in answer to my prayers. Where did you come from? How +did you know that I wanted your help?”</p> + +<p>“My presence in this house is indeed providential,” replied +the lady. “I only arrived at ten o’clock last night; but a few +hours before you yourself were brought here. Thank heaven I +arrived in time to save you, and to hinder my wretched son +from the commission of any deeper wrong than that of which he +has already been guilty!”</p> + +<p>“Your son, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my poor child. I am Lord Roxleydale’s most unhappy +mother. A letter from an old friend informed me of my son’s latest +follies, and urged upon me the necessity of making one more +attempt to withdraw him from the set in which he has involved +himself. I have made many efforts on his behalf, and have +begun almost to despair of his reformation. But my friend told +me that Albert was looking ill, and—well, I suppose—I suppose +I am still weak enough to love him better than he deserves. I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>left Yorkshire, and came here, intending to spend the autumn +in this house, which is within easy reach of town, and from +which I could visit my son as often as I pleased. I little thought +that my coming would happen so fortunately.”</p> + +<p>“But the Marquis—he will follow me here!”</p> + +<p>“No! He does not yet know of my presence in this house. +He is quite ignorant of the secret of that sliding panel, which I +happened to remember having heard of when I was first married, +and spent a summer in this house. Nancy Gibson, the old +housekeeper, told me of your arrival, and it is in consequence of +the information afforded me by her that I have been enabled to +watch over you. You are as safe here, and in the rooms adjoining, +as if you were a hundred miles away from your foolish and +wicked persecutor.”</p> + +<p>The Marchioness led the way to an adjacent apartment—a +handsome room, with ponderous old-fashioned furniture. The +shutters were closed, the heavy curtains drawn, and a pair of +tall wax candles lighted a comfortably-arranged tea-table.</p> + +<p>“Come, my poor child,” exclaimed Lady Roxleydale, “a cup +of tea will restore new strength to your nerves. Sit down by +me, and tell me how it was you were brought here last night. +Be candid, and confide in me.”</p> + +<p>“Willingly, dear madam. Believe me, the events of last +night are as great a mystery to me as they can be to you.”</p> + +<p>Violet felt a sense of unspeakable gratitude towards the gentle +lady who had rescued her. She told the whole story of her adventures, +with a simple candour which made a most favourable +impression on Lady Roxleydale, whose strict education and somewhat +old-fashioned prejudices had by no means inclined her to +look very indulgently upon a <i lang="fr">figurante</i> from the Circenses. The +girl would fain have left the Moat that night, in her anxiety to +return to her mother; but the Dowager told her the journey +to town would be impossible until the next morning, and that +she herself would undertake to convey her safely back to that +anxious mother early the next day.</p> + +<p>So that night Violet slept in peace, safe under the protection +of her new friend, comparatively happy in the thought that the +morning’s post would convey her letter to Clara Westford.</p> + +<p>The poor girl little dreamt how false that hope was. Lord +Roxleydale had met Rupert Godwin in the hall as he was about +to despatch Violet’s letter to the post; and the banker, seeing +the envelope in his hand, had easily gained from him the history +of its contents.</p> + +<p>It is scarcely necessary to say that Rupert Godwin interfered +to stop the posting of the letter. He had a packet for the post +himself, he said, taking the missive from Lord Roxleydale’s +hand, and he would see that Violet’s letter was posted with his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>own. A carriage was waiting to convey him back to the railway +station. He had schooled his protégé carefully in the part he +was to play, and, having done this was eager to get back to +town. He was well aware of the penalties attending the abduction +he had planned, and had no wish that his own hand should +appear in any part of the work.</p> + +<p>He took Violet’s letter, bade the Marquis a hasty good-night, +and got into the hired fly that had been ordered to fetch him.</p> + +<p>Lord Roxleydale was only too glad to return to the apartment +where he had left his beautiful prisoner, and where he naturally +expected to find her.</p> + +<p>His mortification was extreme when he found the bird flown +from the trap so artfully set, so heartlessly baited; and it was +with profound humiliation that he heard, by-and-by, of his +mother’s presence in the old house.</p> + +<p>Had Rupert Godwin been near to sustain him, or to shame +him into a display of hardihood, Lord Roxleydale might have +tried to carry matters with a high hand. As it was, he left the +Moat, and went quietly back to town, very much ashamed of the +transaction he had been engaged in, and fully resolved, that +whatever follies or escapades might vary the monotony of his +future life, he would never again try his hand at an abduction.</p> + +<p>“It may be all very well in a novel or a play,” he said to himself +as he sat smoking in the solitary <i lang="fr">coupé</i>, which a judiciously +invested half-crown had secured for him; “but it doesn’t answer +in real life; and it makes a man feel uncommonly small when +he’s trying it on.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXX"> + CHAPTER XXX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">UNDERGROUND.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Lionel Westford was resolved to lose no time in putting into +execution the plan which had been suggested to him by his +interview with the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>He determined to explore the secret passages and cellars, and +the deserted chambers of the northern wing, in the dead of the +night, while the household at Wilmingdon Hall was wrapped in +slumber.</p> + +<p>It was a bold determination; for it needs a stout heart to +brave the unknown and mysterious. The perils of a cavalry +charge seem little to many a young Englishman, when compared +to the mystic terrors of a haunted mansion.</p> + +<p>But, once convinced that duty called for prompt action, Lionel +Westford was the very last to flinch from any trial that lay +before him. He had much of his father’s spirit—the spirit of +the true-hearted sailor, who is the first to face death and danger, +the last to succumb to failure or defeat.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> + +<p>Lionel left Mrs. Beckson’s apartment at eight o’clock, after +gratifying the old housekeeper by his friendly interest in her +conversation.</p> + +<p>Eight o’clock; and he knew the habits of the household well +enough to be aware that at eleven every member of the family +would have retired to rest.</p> + +<p>He returned to his own apartment. A pair of wax candles, +newly lighted, were burning on the table. One of these he extinguished. +He would have need of light during his examination +of the northern wing, and he did not know what length of time +that examination might occupy.</p> + +<p>He seated himself by the table, drew the one lighted candle +towards him, and took up a book; but he found it quite impossible +to concentrate his attention upon the page before him. His +mind was haunted, his whole being was possessed by the thought +of the work he had to do.</p> + +<p>The task was, indeed, a terrible one. Alone, in the dead of +the night, he was to explore a long range of deserted chambers, +in search of some evidence of a foul and mysterious deed which +he believed to have been committed in the northern wing of +Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>The longer he deliberated upon all he had heard, the more conclusive +appeared the evidence which pointed to the banker’s guilt.</p> + +<p>A stranger had come to the Hall on that oppressive summer +evening, more than a twelvemonth ago, and had never been seen +to leave the house or grounds.</p> + +<p>This much was clearly to be inferred from the housekeeper’s +account of the matter. It was just possible that this stranger +might have left the house unseen; but in so large a household +the chances were very much against his departure being unobserved.</p> + +<p>Then there had been something in the manner of the clerk, +Jacob Danielson, peculiarly calculated to excite suspicion.</p> + +<p>Had he been the witness of a crime, or the accomplice of a +criminal? His conduct had been, at any rate, a part of the +mystery which was dimly revealed in Caleb Wildred’s wandering +talk.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford sat musing thus, with the book in his hand, +through the long tedious hours between eight o’clock and midnight.</p> + +<p>And ever and anon, when his reverie was darkest; when the +shadow of an assassin, with vengeful countenance and arm lifted +to strike, loomed before his mental sight, a second image—the +image of a beautiful woman—would arise, as if to mock the dark +horror of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>He was in love, honestly and truly in love, with Julia Godwin; +and a dull despair gnawed at his heart as he reflected that the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>work he was now engaged in might bring misery and shame +upon her.</p> + +<p>And yet honour forbade that he should abandon his task. +Come what might, he must go on to the last, even though the +performance of that work of duty should entail upon him a lifetime +of misery.</p> + +<p>At last the great stable-clock struck twelve. One by one the +solemn-sounding strokes tolled out upon the stillness of the summer +night. Lionel Westford opened the window and looked out.</p> + +<p>There was no vestige of light from any other window in the +long range of rooms. The household had evidently retired for +the night.</p> + +<p>“I will wait half an hour longer before I venture to leave this +room,” the young man thought.</p> + +<p>He feared to run the smallest risk of interruption. He had +carefully thought out his plans, and his only dread was the +hazard of his footsteps being overheard by any light sleeper as +he made his way through the inhabited portion of the house.</p> + +<p>Once in the grounds, he feared nothing. Not all the terrors +of the northern wing could stir his breast with one coward thrill, +now that his course of action was fixed. The dauntless spirit of +the sailor’s son was aroused; and Lionel Westford was worthy +of the true-hearted father whose noblest pride had centered itself +in his children.</p> + +<p>At half-past twelve the watcher flung aside his book—that +book which had served so little to distract him from his own cares—he +took the unlighted candle, put on his hat, and went out of +his room.</p> + +<p>With slow and cautious footsteps he made his way along the +corridor, descended the stairs, crossed the hall, and entered the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>He knew that the great hall-door was locked every night by +the old butler, who made quite a state ceremony of the business, +and who always carried the keys to his own apartment.</p> + +<p>Lionel’s only mode of exit from the house was by one of the +dining-room windows. These were secured by massive shutters +and heavy iron bars; but the bars might be removed by strong +and skilful hands.</p> + +<p>To remove them silently was a critical task; but Lionel succeeded +in accomplishing it, and stepped out upon the broad +gravel walk before the windows.</p> + +<p>The cool night air blowing upon his fevered brow gave him +fresh vigour. He crossed the lawn with rapid footsteps, and +entered one of those long laurel-avenues so familiar and so dear +to him; for it was in those dark and gloomy alleys he had been +wont to meet Julia Godwin.</p> + +<p>The moon was young as yet, and there was only a faint +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>glimmer of wan silvery light; very different from the mellow +radiance which sometimes glorifies the midnight landscape.</p> + +<p>In the laurel-walk there reigned impenetrable darkness. Lionel +groped his way to the end of the arcade, and entered the grotto. +He found the archway described by the housekeeper, and, +feeling with the point of his foot, discovered the topmost step of +the narrow stairs leading to the cellars. Before he commenced +his descent he took a fusee-box from his waistcoat-pocket, and +lighted the candle he had brought with him.</p> + +<p>He was not far from the house; but he was at the back of the +northern wing, and he knew that no restless watcher was likely +to see the glimmer of that light.</p> + +<p>Slowly and cautiously he descended the slippery stone steps, +stooping all the while, for the arched roof was too low to admit +of his remaining upright.</p> + +<p>On every side he saw the evidence that this hidden staircase +had been disused for years: spiders’ webs brushed against his +face, and scared reptiles started under his foot and crawled away +from before him as he advanced. With every step he took he +seemed to disturb some living creature that had lain in its nook +unmolested hitherto. A palæontologist might here have discovered +extinct races—forgotten tribes of newt and adder, spider +and toad, and divers curious specimens of the genus rat.</p> + +<p>Withered and rotten leaves of many bygone summers strewed +the broken and crumbling steps; the moss grew green upon the +roof and walls; and it was with difficulty that Lionel preserved +his footing on the slippery stones beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>The housekeeper had not misled him. He found the secret +passage, and groped his way along it until he came to an arched +doorway. The door was studded with great iron-headed nails, +and was deeply set in the solid masonry. This door Lionel knew +must be the entrance to the first of the cellars.</p> + +<p>But here he felt that his task would most likely come to an +abrupt termination. What was more probable than that the +cellar-door would be securely locked against him?</p> + +<p>He pulled a rusty iron handle, and to his surprise the door +yielded. He forced it open with an effort that required all +his strength, so stiffly did the hinges move from long disuse +and entered the first cellar under the northern wing.</p> + +<p>He knew that he now stood beneath the first room at the +western angle of the deserted wing. The seventh window from +this western angle was the one to which Caleb had pointed when +he talked of the foul deed that he had witnessed within.</p> + +<p>Lionel had ascertained that there were two windows in every +room on this lower floor, and only two. The seventh window +must therefore belong to the fourth room, counting always from +the western angle of the building.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> + +<p>Pausing, with the candle raised above his head, to look round +the first cellar, Lionel Westford saw nothing but a black and +empty vault, festooned with cobwebs, and littered with fragments +of wood that had once been stored there.</p> + +<p>The door between this cellar and the next stood open. The +second cellar was as empty as the first; but the walls were +lined with stone bins which had once held wine, and the floor +was thickly covered with damp, mouldy-smelling sawdust.</p> + +<p>The third door was shut, but not locked. Lionel pushed it +open, and entered the third cellar.</p> + +<p>He was now drawing very near to the room with the seventh +window.</p> + +<p>The third cellar was different from the two others. There +was a massive iron safe in one angle of the wall; and a narrow +stone staircase in an opposite angle wound upwards.</p> + +<p>The cellar was to all appearance empty.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford ascended the winding staircase, and found +himself upon a small square cupboard-like landing, with a +narrow door. He felt tolerably certain that this door must lead +into the fourth room—the room with the seventh window.</p> + +<p>But here, where he was most eager to examine further, his +investigation was brought to a sudden stop; for when he tried +the door he found it firmly locked against him. He paused; +baffled and bewildered by the small result of his labours.</p> + +<p>He had taken infinite trouble to procure his information; and +in the dead of the night had braved the ghostly terrors of the +northern wing.</p> + +<p>And what had he found? Only three empty cellars, and a +door locked against him.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven that I have found no more!” he thought. +“My best hope is that the old gardener’s horrible fancies may +have been no more real than a feverish dream.”</p> + +<p>He was standing on the topmost of the stone steps as he +mused thus, and was about to turn away from the locked door, +when his eye was caught by a fragment of stuff which hung +from a jagged nail in the edge of the panel.</p> + +<p>He extricated the fragment from the nail, and examined it +by the light of his solitary candle. It was a piece of bluish +cloth, torn from a man’s coat—a narrow strip some six inches +long. But the bluish colour was partly obscured by a dark +stain. Some dark liquid had dyed that torn fragment of cloth, +which felt stiff between Lionel’s fingers.</p> + +<p>A thrill of horror ran through his veins. Something whispered +to him that the black stain upon the cloth was the stain +of human blood. He put the torn fragment in his breast-pocket, +and then began carefully and minutely to examine the +stone steps on which he was standing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> + +<p>It was not the scrap of blue cloth alone that had been disfigured +by that hideous stain. Dark splotches appeared on every +one of the stone steps—black and terrible blots, which made +themselves plainly visible, even on the damp-stained stone.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the steps a great pool of blood had soaked +into the worm-eaten wood which formed the flooring of the +cellar.</p> + +<p>Caleb was no idle dreamer. There was little doubt that he +had watched through the chink of the shutter, and had indeed +witnessed the commission of some most horrible deed.</p> + +<p>A murder had been committed. The blood of the victim +remained—a dark and damning stain, a fatal and overwhelming +evidence against his murderer.</p> + +<p>Lionel’s heart sank within him with a dull sense of despair. +Julia Godwin’s father was an assassin, and Providence had +appointed him as the instrument of that assassin’s detection.</p> + +<p>“How she will hate me!” thought the young man; “how +she will curse the day on which the purest feelings of her nature +prompted her to interest herself in my fate! But it is my duty +to denounce this wretch—even though he is her father.”</p> + +<p>The examination of the cellar was not yet completed. Lionel +Westford paused to think, endeavouring to penetrate the mystery +of the place.</p> + +<p>The torn coat-sleeve steeped in blood, the traces of blood on +every step, the great black pool on the floor—all pointed to one +conclusion.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin’s unknown victim had been hurled down the +stairs after the commission of the murder. The body had lain +bleeding at the foot of the stairs, and must have remained for +some time in the same position, for there were no traces of blood +in any other part of the cellar.</p> + +<p>But when and where had the body been removed?</p> + +<p>Doubtless in the dead of the night, by that secret passage, +the murderer had returned to the scene of his guilt, and had +dragged away the corpse of his victim.</p> + +<p>To conceal it——where? In a grave dug stealthily in some +remote and desolate corner of the grounds.</p> + +<p>“But the murdered victim will not rest in his hidden grave,” +thought Lionel; “the Hand that has led me to the scene of the +crime will lead me to the grave of the dead. The Hand that +has pointed to this cellar will point further yet upon the dark +road I have been appointed to tread. Providence is stronger +than man, and I, who of all others would wish to think well of +Julia Godwin’s father, am destined to be the discoverer and +denouncer of his guilt. The Eumenides, who forced their direful +work of retribution upon Orestes, are only typical of the +Providence which appoints the task of the Christian avenger.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>The young man did not leave the cellar until he had found a +new evidence of the banker’s crime. The light of the candle +revealed some dark object lying in a corner of the cellar. Lionel +stooped and picked up a glove—a glove of tanned leather.</p> + +<p>He put this in his pocket with the fragment of cloth. By +this time he had been nearly an hour in the cellar, and his +search had been a most minute one. There was nothing more +for him to do but to return by the way he had come to the +inhabited part of the Hall, only too terribly convinced that the +father of the woman he loved was one of the vilest of mankind. +He went back through the cellars and along the subterranean +passage, looking right and left as he went, and awe-stricken by +the thought that he might at any moment come suddenly upon +some trace of the corpse that must be hidden somewhere within +the precincts of Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>But no such evidence of the banker’s crime met his eyes. +He returned to the grotto, and emerged once more into the +gardens. The pure breath of the night-air was strangely welcome +after the charnel-like atmosphere of the cellars below the +northern wing,—those cellars which, from the moment of his +finding the dark stain upon the scrap of cloth, had seemed to +Lionel to be tainted with the odour of blood.</p> + +<p>He crossed the lawn, where the night-dew lay thick and heavy, +entered the dining-room, and barred the shutters. Then with a +stealthy footstep he ascended the staircase, and returned unheard +to his own apartments. As he stole upward in the darkness, he +could not but picture to himself the assassin creeping thus +stealthily through the silent house to remove the body of his +victim, and to deposit that most fatal evidence of his crime in +some secure hiding-place.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"> + CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">ON THE TRACK.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">The feelings of Clara Westford on that night upon which Violet +was lured away from the theatre may be more easily imagined +than described.</p> + +<p>She arrived at the stage-door of the Circenses only ten minutes +after Violet had left the theatre with Rupert Godwin’s servant.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford had by this time become well known to the +people employed at the stage-entrance to the theatre, as she had +come every night to wait for her daughter and accompany her +home. She was not allowed to go behind the scenes, nor had she +any wish to penetrate those mysterious regions; but she was +always accommodated with a seat in a quiet corner of the hall. +To-night, however, instead of his usual civil “Good-evening, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>ma’am,” the tall-porter greeted Mrs. Westford with a stare expressive +of intense astonishment.</p> + +<p>The widow was quite at a loss to understand the meaning of +the man’s gaze. But she walked quietly to her accustomed seat +in the most retired corner of the hall.</p> + +<p>“Why, ma’am,” exclaimed the porter at last, “when you +walked in just now anyone might have knocked me down with a +feather. I thought you was ill—very ill.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, my good friend. What should have put such an +idea into your head?” asked Mrs. Westford, smiling at the man’s +earnestness.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m blest! But there must be some mistake, ma’am, +for your daughter was fetched away just now all in a hurry, by +a man who said he was a doctor’s servant, and had brought his +master’s carriage to fetch her; and I never did see a poor young +lady in such a state of agitation. She was as pale as death, +she was, and trembling like a hasping leaf.”</p> + +<p>“My daughter! You must be mistaken! It must have been +some one else.”</p> + +<p>“O no, indeed, ma’am. I knows your daughter very well, and +a sweet pretty-spoken young lady she is too. The doctor’s servant +had brought a note, he had, to say as Miss Watson’s +mother was took very ill, and she was to go home directly minute. +He told me so while he was waitin’ for your daughter to come +down stairs.”</p> + +<p>“And Violet, my daughter, went away with this man?”</p> + +<p>“She did, ma’am. She hadn’t been gone above ten minutes +when you came in.”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford lifted her hand to her forehead with a gesture +expressive of bewilderment. Her face had grown ashy pale. +She felt that some great calamity was close at hand; but as yet +she was too entirely bewildered to understand the full import of +the communication that had startled her.</p> + +<p>“Only ten minutes!” she murmured, echoing the porter’s +words. “I must go in search of her. She cannot be gone far.”</p> + +<p>“It must be twenty minutes by this time, ma’am,” said the +man; “for it’s full ten since you came in. And as for lookin’ +for the young lady in such a neighbourhood as this, you might +us well expect to find a needle in a bundle of hay. The best +thing that you can do is to go quietly home. Of course, as soon as +your daughter finds she’s been fetched away by mistake for somebody +else, as she must have been, she’ll go home, and perhaps +will get there before you can.”</p> + +<p>“But if it should not have been a mistake! If it should have +been a plot—some villanous scheme to get my daughter into the +power of a scoundrel!”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford said this to herself, rather than to the man. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>She was thinking of Rupert Godwin’s threats—his dark hints at +dangers to which her daughter was exposed in that theatre.</p> + +<p>She had defied him, secure in the belief that Providence would +have pity upon her helplessness, and would shield her from the +power of her persecutor.</p> + +<p>She had defied the sworn enemy who had cast so black a +shadow upon her youth. She had dared to defy him, and already +he had asserted his power; already she felt how feeble a creature +she was to cope against his vengeful machinations.</p> + +<p>“I ought to have remembered how often the wicked are permitted +to triumph upon this earth,” she thought. “O heaven! +if the blow had fallen upon me only, I could have borne it; but +my daughter—my innocent darling! I cannot bear that she +should suffer. Welcome any misery to me, if my suffering could +preserve that bright blossom from being trampled in the dust!”</p> + +<p>Thought flits through the brain almost as rapidly as summer +lightning flashes across the face of heaven. These thoughts +passed through Clara Westford’s mind as she leant half-fainting +against the back of the chair from which she had risen.</p> + +<p>The porter’s compassion was excited by her evident distress.</p> + +<p>“You just go quietly home, ma’am,” he said, in a consoling +tone; “and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if you was to find +your daughter had got there before you.”</p> + +<p>Clara shook her head despairingly.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what reason I have to be terrified by this +business,” she said. “I will trust you, my good man, for I can +see that you pity me. You are well acquainted with the dangers +of a theatre. I daresay you know everything that goes on in +this place?”</p> + +<p>“Well, ma’am, I hear pretty nigh all that is to be heard, I +daresay,” answered the porter.</p> + +<p>“My daughter was very young—very inexperienced. She was +much admired, perhaps; and I know that unprincipled men are +sometimes admitted behind the scenes of a theatre. Tell me, my +good man, did you ever hear that my daughter was persecuted +by the attentions of any of these men?”</p> + +<p>“Never,” answered the man heartily; “there ain’t so many +as ever come behind the scenes in this house. People as don’t +know no better talk a great deal of nonsense about theatres, and +think that my Lord This and Sir Harry That are always lolling +about behind the scenes. But, bless your heart, ma’am, oftener +than not you’d find our green-room as quiet as a church; though +I don’t say but what one or two particular patrons do get let in +once in a way. And as for your daughter, I have heard say from +them as have took notice of her, that she was one of those modest +quiet young ladies as the wildest of young men going would +never dare to insult.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>In the intensity of her gratitude for these comforting +assurances Clara Westford stretched out her hand, and grasped +the grimy paw of the stage-doorkeeper.</p> + +<p>“My good friend,” she exclaimed, “you have spoken the +pleasantest words that I have heard for long from any stranger’s +lips. I will go home. I will try to think that this business has +been only a mistake, and that my daughter will return to me in +safety. But stay; let me ask you one question. You heard the +name of the doctor who sent for my daughter?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am; the servant may have mentioned the name; +but I can’t say I caught it, if he did.”</p> + +<p>“Nor the address?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am; unfortunately, I didn’t hear that either.”</p> + +<p>“Then I have no clue,” murmured Clara despairingly.</p> + +<p>She bade the porter good-night, and left the theatre. She +walked rapidly through those crowded streets, in which she +could not count a single friend. But quickly as she made her +way homewards, the time seemed cruelly long, so eager was she +to reach her lodging, where it was just possible that she might +find Violet safe.</p> + +<p>But, alas, only heart-sickening disappointment awaited her. +All was dark in the window of the little sitting-room. Violet had +not returned. Clara Westford tottered with feeble footsteps up +the narrow staircase, and entered the empty room. Hitherto she +had been supported by hope. Now despair came upon her: all +at once her strength seemed to forsake her. She threw herself +upon the old-fashioned rickety sofa, and gave way to a paroxysm +of grief.</p> + +<p>For a long time she was completely overwhelmed by that convulsive +outburst of despair. But at last she grew calm, with the +dull calmness of misery.</p> + +<p>“I must save her! I must save her!” she thought,—“even at +the peril of my own soul!”</p> + +<p>She did not kindle any light, but sat in the darkness, with her +head resting on the arm of the sofa, and her forehead tightly +pressed in her two hands.</p> + +<p>The unhappy woman was trying to think of a friend—some +long-forgotten friend, who might help her in this bitter hour +of calamity.</p> + +<p>But the poor have few friends on earth. Clara Westford had +been long-forgotten by those aristocratic relations who had +believed in the disgrace of Sir John Ponsonby’s beautiful daughter. +She had disappeared from the world as completely as if +the grave had hidden her. She <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'had scrupuously avoided'" id="tn-194">had scrupulously avoided</ins> all +possibility of any meeting with those who had known her before +her marriage with the merchant captain.</p> + +<p>Now, therefore, she could only count those friends whom she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>had known in Hampshire during her happy married life—simple, +well-to-do country people, unversed in the ways of the world, +who would be quite incompetent to help her in this crisis of her +life, even if they had been within call, and their friendship of +that sterling metal which resists the biting influence of adversity.</p> + +<p>Clara had known them only during the summer of her +existence. Their friendship had been very pleasant to her; but +she had found no opportunity of testing its quality or measuring +its force. She had dined with her friends, and her friends had +dined with her. They had killed the fatted calf to do her +honour; but while doing it they had been perfectly aware that +she had fatted calves of her own in the homestead. It was not +to such untried friendship as this that Mrs. Westford could +appeal in a desperate crisis.</p> + +<p>“It is to my direst enemy I must appeal,” she thought. +“Rupert Godwin has triumphed, and he alone on earth can help +me to recover my lost child.”</p> + +<p>Early the next morning Mrs. Westford walked to a quiet +street near St. James’s-square. On his visit to her lodging the +banker had left his card on her table, inscribed with the address +of his London abode.</p> + +<p>But even this desperate step resulted in disappointment. At +the banker’s lodgings Mrs. Westford only found James Spence, +the valet, who informed her that his master was out of town, and +was not likely to return until the following day.</p> + +<p>“If Mr. Godwin is at his country-house, I will go down there +to see him,” Clara said to the valet. “My business is most important; +indeed, it is a matter of life and death.”</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately, madam, Mr. Godwin is not at Wilmingdon +Hall,” the man answered very politely; “and I am sorry to say +I cannot inform you where he is. He told me nothing, except +that he was going into the country, and would return to-morrow +morning.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow! Then I will call here again,” said Clara, with +a sigh of real despair.</p> + +<p>She turned away, sick at heart, to retrace her steps to the +dreary lodging, now so utterly desolate.</p> + +<p>She walked slowly, for her feeble limbs could scarcely drag +themselves along. She had money in her purse; but she never +thought of hailing any vehicle. The dull stupor of her brain +seemed to render her almost unconscious of physical suffering. +The sunlit streets, gay with busy people hastening hither and +thither, lively with that bustling activity which looks like +happiness, swam before her weary eyes, worn and dim with long +weeping: yet she walked on, wending her steps mechanically +towards her joyless home. She was in the busiest part of the +Strand, when she suddenly heard her name spoken, in a voice +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>that sounded strangely familiar—a voice that was associated +with the happy past.</p> + +<p>She started like a creature newly awakened from some hideous +dream, and a taint flush passed over her wan face.</p> + +<p>A hand was laid gently upon her arm. A young man, with a +frank, manly countenance, bronzed to an almost Indian hue by +exposure to sun and wind, was looking earnestly in her face.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Westford!” he exclaimed, “dear Mrs. Westford! Is it +really you? I am so surprised to meet you thus—in London, +and alone.”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford looked at the speaker with a dreamy bewildered +gaze. The bronzed face seemed at first strange to her; +but the well-remembered voice brought back the past.</p> + +<p>She looked at the stranger for some moments in silence; then +her lips parted, and she gasped the familiar name—</p> + +<p>“Gilbert Thornleigh!”</p> + +<p>Yes; this bronzed stranger was no other than Gilbert Thornleigh, +the first mate of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>“Gilbert!” said Clara Westford; “can it indeed be you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear Mrs. Westford; myself, and no other. I have +survived all the perils of shipwreck—the dangers and privations +of a difficult journey in the wildest part of the coast of Africa—and +have set foot once more on British ground. I can’t tell you +how pleased I am to see the old streets, the familiar faces, and to +hear my mother tongue spoken on every side of me. Need I tell +you the delight I feel in seeing you? And yet, dear Mrs. +Westford,” exclaimed the young man, changing his tone +suddenly, and looking anxiously at Clara’s face, “I confess that +I am sorry to see you looking so pale and careworn, so sadly +altered since I saw you in Hampshire. And your dress—You +are in deep mourning. Great heavens! Violet! she is not dead?”</p> + +<p>The sailor’s bronzed check changed to an almost livid line as +he asked that terrible question.</p> + +<p>“Not dead! No, no; not dead!” Mrs. Westford answered +in a strange, half-bewildered way.</p> + +<p>“But I am sure that some calamity has happened to you,” +exclaimed Gilbert Thornleigh. “There are traces of sorrow in +your face. You are ill. I am sure you are ill.”</p> + +<p>“I am ill,” answered Clara; “the street in which we stand +spins round me. I cannot understand what has happened. I +meet you here—you whom I thought dead. You were saved, then? +You were rescued from the wreck of the <i>Lily Queen</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I and three of the crew contrived to swim ashore. We +had a hard fight for it, I can tell you, for it was no common +squall that sent the <i>Lily Queen</i> against the rock that shattered +her brave old timbers as you’d shatter a wine-glass if you were +to dash it against the curbstone yonder. We had nothing but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>our life-belts and our strong arms to rely upon, and we had to +swim against a terrific sea; but somehow or other we did reach +the land. The poor fellows who trusted to the boats went down +to the bottom, every one of them; and the ship herself was +ground to powder.”</p> + +<p>“And my husband—Harley? He was no doubt the last to +abandon the sinking vessel? I know his brave true heart. You +were saved, but Harley perished.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Thornleigh stared at his companion in utter bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mrs. Westford,” he exclaimed, “you are surely trying +to mystify me. Your husband was not on board when the ship was +lost. Captain Westford did not sail with us in the <i>Lily Queen</i>.”</p> + +<p>“He did not sail in the <i>Lily Queen</i>!”</p> + +<p>Clara Westford repeated the sailor’s words almost mechanically, +looking at him with wild dilated eyes.</p> + +<p>“He did not sail? He was not with you when you were +wrecked?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“No, most decidedly not. He intrusted the ship’s papers to +me, and I sailed as his deputy. I was at this very moment on +my way to the Waterloo Terminus, where I meant to have taken +the train to Winchester, fully expecting to find yourself and +Captain Westford at the Grange.”</p> + +<p>“Gilbert Thornleigh,” exclaimed Clara, “I must be mad—surely +I must be mad! You say my husband did not sail in the +<i>Lily Queen</i>? Yet this black dress has been worn for him, and for +him alone. From the hour in which he left the Grange to sail +for China on the 27th of last June, I have never seen my husband’s +face, nor have I received the faintest token of his existence.”</p> + +<p>“You have not seen him? You believed that he had sailed +last June?”</p> + +<p>“Most firmly.”</p> + +<p>“Great heavens!” cried Gilbert Thornleigh, “there must be +some terrible mystery here. Some calamity must have happened +to the Captain.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Clara, with the dull accent of utter hopelessness, +“nothing but death could separate Harley from his wife +and children.”</p> + +<p>The sailor had offered her his arm, and she had taken it almost +unconsciously. He led her out of the bustle and confusion of +the Strand into one of those quiet streets that lead down to the +river. Here they were undisturbed; here they could talk freely +of the strange mystery that surrounded the fate of Harley +Westford.</p> + +<p>“I cannot understand it,” murmured Clara, with a dreary +despair in her tone. “It’s all a bewildering dream.”</p> + +<p>Little by little Gilbert Thornleigh contrived to subdue Mrs. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>Westford’s agitation, while he told her, slowly and deliberately, +the story of the last day before the sailing of the <i>Lily Queen</i>.</p> + +<p>He told her how Harley Westford had quitted the ship, declaring +that he would recover his money from Rupert Godwin’s +hands at any hazard. He told her how the vessel had waited in +the dock, not only until the following morning, as Harley Westford +had ordered, but until the following sunset, the young man +deferring departure to the very last, in the hope that the Captain +would rejoin his ship.</p> + +<p>Then a lurid light broke upon Clara Westford’s mind.</p> + +<p>In this calamity, as in every other, she saw the one dark figure +always between her and happiness—Rupert Godwin, always +Rupert Godwin, her implacable enemy, her relentless persecutor.</p> + +<p>And now a hideous fear took possession of her. Rupert Godwin +had destroyed her husband!</p> + +<p>Yes; with his own desperate hand, or by the hand of some +hired assassin, Rupert Godwin had murdered his fortunate rival.</p> + +<p>By slow degrees this conviction shaped itself in Clara Westford’s +mind.</p> + +<p>“I can understand it all now,” she said. “There was good +reason for my dark forebodings, my gloomy presentiments. When +Harley left me on that bright summer morning, he left me to go +to his death.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Mrs. Westford, let us hope for the best,” murmured +the sailor; but there was little hopefulness in his tone.</p> + +<p>“Tell me one thing,” said Clara: “are you positive that my +husband lodged the sum of twenty thousand pounds in Rupert +Godwin’s hands? Are you sure that Harley did not owe money +to the banker?”</p> + +<p>“As certain as I am of my own name. Your husband had +been a very fortunate man, and the twenty thousand pounds +were the savings of his life.”</p> + +<p>“Then the document by which my children were made penniless +and homeless was a forgery,” exclaimed Clara.</p> + +<p>She told Gilbert Thornleigh the story of Rupert Godwin’s +seizure of the Grange and all its contents. But she could not +speak or dwell long on this subject; she could only think of one +thing—the mysterious disappearance of her husband.</p> + +<p>“He has been murdered, Gilbert,” she said; “my heart tells +me that it is so. He has fallen a victim to the relentless Rupert +Godwin.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Thornleigh shook his head incredulously.</p> + +<p>“Impossible, dear Mrs. Westford!” he exclaimed. “Rupert +Godwin has a high position in the world. He would never be +guilty of such a crime—a crime which must ultimately be discovered, +and for which he could have no adequate motive.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you, Gilbert, there is no infamy—no deed, however +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>dark—of which Rupert Godwin is not capable. I know him. +I know the cruelty of his heart. He is a man without conscience +and without mercy. Why should such a man hesitate to commit +murder?”</p> + +<p>The sailor was still incredulous. It is so difficult for a generous +nature to believe in the possibility of crime.</p> + +<p>“Some accident may have happened to the Captain,” he said. +“He may never have reached the bank.”</p> + +<p>“If any accident had happened, I should have been almost +sure to hear of it,” Clara Westford replied decisively. “Gilbert +Thornleigh, I think you loved my husband?”</p> + +<p>“I did, as truly as ever a son loved his father; and I had +good reason to love him. No father was ever kinder to his son +than the Captain was to me.”</p> + +<p>“Give me a proof of your devotion,” said Clara, with passionate +energy; “aid me to discover my husband’s fate.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” replied the young man; “my life is at your service. +I will shrink from neither trouble nor peril in the performance +of the duty I owe to my Captain.”</p> + +<p>“Then let us begin our work immediately. O, Gilbert, I can +neither know peace nor rest till this dark enigma has been solved.”</p> + +<p>The young man was silent for some moments, thinking deeply. +He was trying to form some plan of action.</p> + +<p>“When Captain Westford left me on board the <i>Lily Queen</i>, +I know that he was going straight to Mr. Godwin’s banking-house,” +he said at last. “The first fact we have to ascertain is +whether he ever reached that place. We can at least attempt to +settle that question by making inquiries of the clerks at the bank.”</p> + +<p>“I have not much faith in any of Rupert Godwin’s creatures; +but let us lose no time in questioning them. Providence may +give us help in an attempt to fathom the mystery of this man’s +crime. Let us go at once to the bank.”</p> + +<p>Gilbert Thornleigh was almost as earnest as Mrs. Westford. +He called a cab, and told the man to drive to Lombard-street. +They alighted before the door of the banking-house. Gilbert +went into the principal office, followed by Mrs. Westford.</p> + +<p>An old man, with a queer, almost humpbacked, figure and a +wizen face, was seated at one of the desks, bending over a ledger. +He looked up as Gilbert and his companion entered the office. +He cast at the sailor only a brief and careless glance of indifference; +but the whole aspect of his face changed as he looked +at Clara Westford.</p> + +<p>The eyes were fixed in a long earnest gaze, and the lips +trembled. It was evident that some sudden and violent emotion +shook the man to his inmost soul.</p> + +<p>This man was no other than Rupert Godwin’s confidential +clerk, Jacob Danielson.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p> + +<p>“I have come to ask a question relating to an event that happened +more than a year ago,” said the mate of the <i>Lily Queen</i>. +“Can you call to mind the dealings of this house during last +June twelvemonth?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I can,” answered the clerk, not looking at Gilbert +Thornleigh, but keeping his small deep-set eyes fixed intently +upon Clara Westford, who stood a little way behind the sailor. +“It depends very much upon the nature of those dealings. What +is it that you want me to remember?”</p> + +<p>“A captain in the merchant service, named Harley Westford, +lodged a sum of money in the hands of your principal during that +month, a large sum for a single deposit—twenty thousand +pounds. Do you remember the circumstances?”</p> + +<p>“I do.”</p> + +<p>“He returned the same day to withdraw the money, or he intended +to do so?”</p> + +<p>“He did return: and not finding Mr. Godwin here, he followed +him to his country seat, Wilmingdon Hall, in Hertfordshire. +I was there when he arrived.”</p> + +<p>“And he claimed the return of his money?”</p> + +<p>“He did.”</p> + +<p>“Were his claims acceded to?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Godwin told me as much.”</p> + +<p>“The money was returned?”</p> + +<p>“I repeat that Mr. Godwin told me so. I left Wilmingdon +Hall to catch the ten-o’clock train from Hertford. When I left, +Captain Westford was still with Mr. Godwin. I was so unlucky +as to lose the train. I returned to the Hall. When I returned +the Captain had left, no doubt carrying his twenty thousand +pounds with him. Mr. Godwin told me that he had restored the +money that evening, as the Captain was obliged to rejoin his +ship by daybreak; otherwise she would have sailed without him.”</p> + +<p>“She did sail without him,” answered Gilbert Thornleigh; +“from that hour to this, the Captain has never been seen by his +friends. He disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened +to swallow him up.”</p> + +<p>“Strange!” murmured the clerk thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Very strange,” replied the sailor; “there has been foul play +somewhere. I should not care to be in Rupert Godwin’s position. +Harley Westford was last seen in his house. Harley +Westford’s fortune was lodged in his hands. There are two +questions that I must have answered, somehow or other; the +first is, was that fortune ever restored to its rightful owner? +The second is one of even darker meaning: Did Harley Westford +ever leave Wilmingdon Hall alive?”</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson looked at the speaker with a strange expression.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose such a man as +Rupert Godwin would lie in wait to murder one of his customers +for the sake of twenty thousand pounds? Mr. Godwin is a +millionaire, and that which seemed a wonderful fortune to the +merchant captain would have been only a trifle to him.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Godwin may be a millionaire to-day,” answered Gilbert +Thornleigh; “but if the tongue of common report spoke truly, +he was no millionaire last June twelvemonth. He had just made +great losses, and there was a rumour that he was likely to become +bankrupt.”</p> + +<p>“The tongue of common report is a lying tongue,” replied +Jacob Danielson. “Come, young man, this talk is madness. +Rich men, such as Rupert Godwin, do not commit crimes. Seek +for your captain elsewhere; we are not responsible for his safety.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not,” answered Gilbert; “but the law may ask you +and your employer some strange questions about that meeting +at Wilmingdon Hall. My first task shall be to put the case in +the hands of the police; they may be able to discover whether +Harley Westford ever left that place alive.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so,” responded the clerk coolly. “The police are +very clever, no doubt; but they are sometimes baffled. They have +made two or three rather notable <i lang="it">fiascos</i> lately. Good morning. +Stay! In spite of your insolent insinuations, I should really +be glad to be of service to you. If I should obtain any information +likely to aid you in your search for the missing Captain, I +will send it to you. Where shall I address my letter?”</p> + +<p>He looked at Clara Westford as he spoke, and it was she who +answered him.</p> + +<p>“You can address your letter to me, Harley Westford’s wife, at +No. 4, Little Vincent-street, Lambeth,” she said eagerly.</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson started at the sound of her low earnest voice, +but neither Clara nor her companion observed his emotion. They +were too deeply engrossed by their own anxiety.</p> + +<p>They left the bank immediately after this. The young man +put his companion into a cab, and then parted from her, promising +to go at once to the proper quarter, where he might place +the matter of Harley Westford’s disappearance in the hands of +the detective police, and promising also to call upon her early +the next day, in order to tell her the result of his interview with +the chief official at Scotland-yard.</p> + +<p>Before she took off her bonnet and shawl Clara Westford +seated herself at her desk and wrote a letter to her son, telling +him of the return of Gilbert Thornleigh, and of the mysterious +disappearance of the Captain, and imploring him to exert himself +to the utmost in his endeavours to fathom the mystery.</p> + +<p>“By a providential chance you happen to be in the near neighbourhood +of Wilmingdon Hall,” wrote Clara Westford, “which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>I am told is within a few miles of Hertford. For Heaven’s sake, +my dear Lionel, make a good use of that chance, and try by +every means to discover whether your unhappy father left Rupert +Godwin’s house alive on the night of the 27th of June.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"> + CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">ESTHER VANBERG HAS HER WAY.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Esther Vanberg thought very little more of Violet after the +base scheme, in which she had assisted, had been successfully +carried out.</p> + +<p>Her lovely rival was gone; that was all she cared about. The +stage was now clear for herself. Mr. Maltravers was in a dilemma, +and was glad to allow the handsome and dashing Esther to appear +in the very part he had intended for Violet. Most complete, +therefore, was the triumph of the Jewess.</p> + +<p>She had but little dramatic ability, or she would long ago +have been elevated to a more important position in the theatre—in +the days when her beauty had been fresher than it was +now. But she managed to speak the few lines allotted to her +without breaking down, and she looked superb.</p> + +<p>The character she had to perform was that of a woman of +rank; which gave her an opportunity of displaying some of the +jewels which had been presented to her by the wealthy and +generous young Duke of Harlingford.</p> + +<p>Her dress was a triumph of art from a court milliner in +Clarges-street—a satin train of the softest pink almost covered +by a tunic of Malines lace. The delicate hue of the dress contrasted +exquisitely with the girl’s pale-olive skin; and she looked +as perilously lovely as that “Serpent of old Nile,” whose fatal +eyes cost Antony a world.</p> + +<p>A diamond bracelet encircled one of her slim wrists; a massive +band of yellow lustreless gold clasped with a large ruby star +adorned the other. Her purple-black hair was drawn off from +her proud clearly-cut face, coiled in a heavy knot at the back of +her head, and secured by a diamond comb.</p> + +<p>Attired thus, Esther Vanberg looked indeed worthy of the +rank and title of duchess.</p> + +<p>There were many that night in the crowded theatre who +thought as much; but there was one young man sitting alone +in a private box, who would gladly, ay even proudly, have bestowed +upon her that rank and title.</p> + +<p>This solitary young man, whose handsome face brightened as +he watched the beautiful actress, was no other than the Duke of +Harlingford, Esther Vanberg’s doting admirer.</p> + +<p>The haughty girl had quarrelled with him about some absurd +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>trifle, and had dismissed him from her <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'drawing-room as cooly'" id="tn-203">drawing-room as coolly</ins> as +a sovereign would banish an offending courtier. During three +or four weeks the infatuated young nobleman had in vain sought +for admission to the pretty little house in Mayfair. Every day +he received the same kind of answer—Miss Vanberg was not at +home; or Miss Vanberg was engaged.</p> + +<p>The Grand Monarque himself, in the plenitude of his power, +could scarcely have treated his subjects with more supreme +hauteur than the Duke had to endure from this friendless, nameless +ballet-girl.</p> + +<p>But unfortunately opposition only increased the young man’s +infatuation. The worse Esther Vanberg behaved to him, the +more ardently he worshipped her.</p> + +<p>Every night found him at his post in the private box, which +he had hired for the season, content to gaze at his idol, who did +not even condescend to glance towards the spot where he sat.</p> + +<p>He had the privilege of entering the green-room of the Circenses +whenever he pleased; but when last he was there, Esther +Vanberg had passed him by with a look of superb disdain. He +had spoken to her; but she had not deigned to reply to him. +So that now the weak-minded young man had not the courage +to intrude in that charmed circle.</p> + +<p>But to-night, to the Duke’s surprise and delight, the lovely +Jewess was pleased to be gracious. She looked towards his box +with the most bewitching smile of recognition. The enraptured +young nobleman saw that he was forgiven. He hurried round +to the stage-door directly the piece was over, and made his way +to the green-room. There were several members of the company +assembled there, engaged in discussing the merits of the new +piece, and amongst them the Duke beheld the object of his +adoration.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg was seated on a sofa, fanning herself with an +Indian fan of gaudy feathers and exquisitely carved wood. She +beckoned the Duke to her side with a wave of her fan.</p> + +<p>He was only too glad to obey the summons. In a moment +he was by her side, bending over her in an attitude of respectful +devotion.</p> + +<p>Strange as it may seem, the Duke respected this capricious, +self-willed woman. Her despotic temper, her insolence and +pride, kept him at her feet.</p> + +<p>She gave him her slender jewelled hand with a gesture of +superb condescension.</p> + +<p>“Come, Vincent,” she said, “let us be friends once more. I +am tired of seeing your gloomy face in that stage box. Who +were those people that used to place a death’s-head upon their +banquet-table, to remind them of their mortality? I’m sure +you would make a very good substitute for the skeleton head, if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>that sort of thing were the fashion nowadays. You look absolutely +funereal.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Esther, when a fellow calls at your house a dozen +times, and is told every time that you are out, though he hears +you strumming—”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, playing the piano.”</p> + +<p>“Well, say no more,” replied Miss Vanberg graciously; “I +daresay I have behaved rather badly to you during the last fortnight. +But I’m sure I must have had awful provocation—though +I can’t exactly remember what it was. However, you +may consider yourself forgiven.”</p> + +<p>“My darling Esther—” exclaimed the enraptured Duke.</p> + +<p>“Stay!” cried the young lady, with an imperious wave of her +fan; “you are only forgiven conditionally. I want you to do +me a favour.”</p> + +<p>“My adorable angel, is there anything you could ask that I +would refuse to do?”</p> + +<p>“Of course not,” answered Esther with the air of an empress: +“you will not refuse to do anything that you <em>can</em> do. But in +this case the question is, whether you can or not.”</p> + +<p>“My dearest Esther, if it is possible, consider it done; if it is +impossible, be assured that it shall be done.”</p> + +<p>“O, it’s the simplest thing in the world, if you only go to +work about it cleverly. You know how fond I am of riding, +and how anxiously I look forward to the hunting-season, when I +mean to go down to Berkshire, and enjoy the delight of a run +across country. Well, a few evenings ago, Captain Angus +Harding was in the green-room, and was talking most rapturously +about a crack hunter that was to be sold at Tattersall’s +the following day at two o’clock. A magnificent creature, he +said; a chestnut, without a white hair about him; a perfect +flyer, with only one defect, and that the common fault of chestnut +horses—ahem!—and dark-haired women—rather a queer +temper. The animal is called Devilshoof, and has been ridden +by the great steeplechaser Mr. Palgrave Norton. Captain +Harding declared that he would have given a thousand pounds +for such a horse, if he could possibly have afforded the money.”</p> + +<p>“Poor <i>dayvil</i>!” drawled the Duke. “Angus Harding is +always hard-up. He ought to be called Angus Hardup, by +Jove!” added the young nobleman, delighted with his feeble +attempt at wit.</p> + +<p>Miss Vanberg laughed heartily. She was in a charming +humour to-night.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she continued, “of course you may imagine that +after hearing such an account of this horse, I was seized with a +desire to have him. I kept my own counsel but determined to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>send my groom to Tattersall’s to bid any money for Devilshoof. +I gave him my orders early the next day, and my man was in +Tattersall’s yard at a quarter before two; but—would you +believe it?—that abominable Harding had misled me as to the +hour of the sale. Devilshoof had been sold for seven hundred +guineas at half-past one. Imagine my annoyance.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it was provoking,” answered the Duke; “but as the +horse is a queer temper, I call it rather a lucky escape.”</p> + +<p>“Temper!” exclaimed Esther Vanberg, with a scornful +laugh. “Do you think I should have been afraid of the animal’s +temper? I like a spirited horse. I like my temper to be at war +with the animal I ride, for I know I shall conquer, and I feel a +thrill of pride and triumph in the sense of power. I hate a quiet +horse. I would just as soon stay at home and sit on the sofa, +as go jogging up and down the Row on one of your placid +animals which are warranted ‘quiet for a lady.’ Now, my dear +Harlingford, what I have to say to you is this: when I set my +heart upon a thing, I am not accustomed to be disappointed. I +<em>have</em> set my heart upon this horse; so you must get him for me.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dearest Esther, you say that he was sold.”</p> + +<p>“What of that? He can be bought again, I suppose? The +man who bought him may be induced to sell him for a higher +price?”</p> + +<p>“That depends upon the character of the purchaser. Who +is he?”</p> + +<p>“Lord Bothwell Wallace.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’m afraid the matter is quite impossible,” replied the +Duke. “Bothwell Wallace is a great man in the shires, and +will scarcely care to part with a horse he fancies.”</p> + +<p>Miss Vanberg tossed her head disdainfully, while her brilliant +eyes flashed angrily upon the Duke.</p> + +<p>“O, very well,” she exclaimed; “let it be just as you please. +I shall know how to estimate the worth of your pretended affection, +when you cannot even gratify me in a little whim like this.”</p> + +<p>Now, this was a cruel speech, and a very unjust one into the +bargain; for the Duke had already spent a fortune upon the +gratification of Esther Vanberg’s little whims, never having +been in the habit of denying her anything, from Marie Antoinette’s +own writing-table, in tortoise-shell and Sèvres, to the +title-deeds of the prettiest villa on the banks of the Thames. +But the weak young man was ready to do anything, however +foolish, rather than incur one angry glance from the bright eyes +of his idol.</p> + +<p>“Well, my darling,” he said, almost piteously, “I will exert +myself to the utmost to accomplish what you want. But +Wallace is awfully rich; and I really don’t see how I am to +induce him to part with a horse he likes. However, I’ll do my +best.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + +<p>“Pray do,” answered Esther, rising languidly, and drawing a +costly Indian shawl about her shoulders, “and don’t come near +me until you can tell me that Devilshoof is mine. Never presume +to approach me again if you fail in getting him, for the +sight of you will be actually obnoxious to me. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>She held out her hand once more. The Duke kissed the +jewelled fingers, and accepted his sentence of banishment as +meekly as if Esther Vanberg had been the Emperor of all the +Russias.</p> + +<p>He wrote on the following day to Lord Bothwell Wallace, +offering that nobleman a thousand guineas for the horse which had +been bought at Tattersall’s for seven hundred. He informed +Lord Wallace that the horse was wanted for a lady who had set +her heart upon possessing him.</p> + +<p>The Duke fully expected a decided refusal to this offer; but +the letter which he received did not contain an actual refusal. +Lord Wallace wrote:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">My Dear Harlingford</span>,—I shall be very glad to get rid of +Devilshoof for the sum which I paid for him; but I will <em>not</em> sell +him to a lady. I and my grooms have tried him, and we find +him one of the worst-tempered brutes it was ever our bad fortune +to encounter. You’ve been in my harness-room at the +Caravansera, and you know I’m rather great in the invention of +teasers in the shape of bits. I’ve tried all my latest discoveries +on Devilshoof without effect. The brute is an incorrigible bolter; +and whatever good there ever was in him has been taken out of +him by gentleman jocks. He is so bad a temper that I don’t +care to keep him in my stud, in spite of his good looks. I shall +send him back to Tattersall’s, and have him sold for whatever +he will fetch. But no lady shall ride him with my concurrence.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span style="margin-right: 8em;">“Yours faithfully,</span><br> + “<span class="smcap p2r">Wallace.”</span> +</p> + +<p>The Duke of Harlingford imagined that this letter would perfectly +satisfy Esther Vanberg. She would, of course, not care +to possess a horse which a hunting-man like Bothwell Wallace +refused to ride. The Duke put the letter in his pocket, ordered +his cab, and drove at once to the coquettish little mansion in +Mayfair.</p> + +<p>Esther was at home, fluttering about her drawing-room in an +exquisite morning-dress of muslin and lace. She was arranging +the hot-house flowers in her vases, and looked up with a cry of +delight as the Duke entered the room. Looking up thus, in her +dainty summer dress, with her hands full of flowers, and all the +colour and brightness of her sunlit drawing-room for a background, +she made a picture which a Meissonier might have been +pleased to paint.</p> + +<p>“I triumph!” she exclaimed. “Devilshoof is mine!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>“No, my dearest Esther; but——”</p> + +<p>“But what?” interrupted the Jewess. “I will have no such +word as ‘but’ uttered in <em>my</em> house. I thought I told you not to +come near me until that horse was mine?”</p> + +<p>“Precisely, my darling,” answered the Duke, handing Lord +Wallace’s letter to the angry beauty; “but if you will only read +that, you will understand why I have not bought him.”</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg read the letter, and then tossed it from her +with a gesture of disdain.</p> + +<p>“Well!” she exclaimed; “of course you wrote to say that you +would buy the horse?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Esther!—after receiving such an account of him?”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” cried the Jewess contemptuously. “What cowards +you men are, in spite of all your pretended love of manly sports! +A horse is a little hot-tempered, and you are actually afraid to +ride him. I should despise myself for such cowardice! Write to +Lord Wallace immediately, and tell him that you will give him +his own price for Devilshoof.”</p> + +<p>“But, my darling Esther, you would never be so rash as to +ride him? It would be sheer madness.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind what it would be; sit down and write.”</p> + +<p>The Jewess pointed imperiously to the Marie Antoinette writing-table.</p> + +<p>For some time the Duke resisted; but Esther Vanberg’s power +over him was boundless, and in the end she triumphed.</p> + +<p>He wrote to Lord Wallace, telling him that the lady had set +her heart on the horse, and would have him at any price.</p> + +<p>It was with great unwillingness that the weak-minded young +man wrote this letter; for the thought of danger to his beloved +Esther inspired him with utter dismay; but he had not firmness +enough to oppose any fancy of the woman he so tenderly loved.</p> + +<p>He received a reply from Lord Wallace in a few hours.</p> + +<p>It ran thus:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Harlingford</span>,—If the lady whom you wish to gratify +has set her heart on <em>committing suicide</em>, she may as well do so +in one way as in another. I can only tell you once more, that +Devilshoof is unsafe for a lady to ride. He requires to be ridden +by a man with a wrist of iron, and a temper as determined as his +own.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span style="margin-right: 8em;">“Always yours,</span><br> + “<span class="smcap p2r">Wallace.”</span> +</p> + +<p>The Duke hurried off to Mayfair with this second letter. Esther +Vanberg received it eagerly, and laughed gaily after reading it.</p> + +<p>“A wrist of iron, and a temper as determined as his own!” +she exclaimed, repeating the Viscount’s words. “Well, well; I +don’t know about the wrist of iron; but I know that no horse +that ever was foaled can have a more determined temper than I +have. We will see which is the stronger Devilshoof or I.”</p> + +<p>“You mean to ride the horse then, in spite of Wallace’s warning?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<p>“Mean to ride him?—of course I do!” cried the Jewess, who +was walking up and down the room in the highest spirits. “How +gloomily you look at me! Poor Harlingford! one would suppose +I was going to jump over a precipice, or to do something or other +that would be certain death. You men are all cowards. I’ll +show you that a horse can be conquered. Send Lord Wallace a +cheque for a thousand pounds, and tell him to send Devilshoof +to my stables.”</p> + +<p>Again the Duke remonstrated, entreated, implored; but again +Esther triumphed, and the foolish young man acceded to her +request. Had she ordered him to jump out of her drawing-room +window into the street below, his compliance with her command +would have only been a question of time.</p> + +<p>The cheque was sent; and early next morning Esther went +round to her stables to look at the animal.</p> + +<p>It was a pouring-wet day, and the Jewess could have found it +in her heart to quarrel with the very elements, so great was her +disappointment. She wanted to have ridden Devilshoof that +morning.</p> + +<p>“I suppose to-morrow will be fine,” she said. “Mind, Harlingford, +you hold yourself disengaged, to ride with me at eleven in +the morning. I shall ride as far as Richmond Park or Wimbledon +Common, for the sake of a gallop on the turf.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be ready, Esther,” answered the Duke gravely; “but +I wish you would ride any other horse than Devilshoof. You +used to be so fond of your mare Waterwitch.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but that is ages ago. I’m tired of her now: she’s almost +as fat as one of those horrible animals you took me to see at +Islington; and I mean to ride this chestnut beauty.”</p> + +<p>She laid her little white hand on the animal’s arching neck, +and he looked at her with his large brown eyes, which had something +almost demoniac in their fiery brightness. The appearance +of the horse fully justified his name of Devilshoof.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how it is,” exclaimed the Duke. “I suppose +Wallace’s letter has made a coward of me. But I give you my +honour, Esther, I would gladly sacrifice every penny I possess if +you would promise me never to ride that horse.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Harlingford,” cried the Jewess gaily, “you shall not +be allowed to give way to such foolish fancies. I never felt in +better spirits than I do to-day; and I anticipate a most delightful +ride to-morrow.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"> + CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE EVIDENCE OF THE MINIATURE.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">After his secret visit to the vaults below the northern wing, a +perpetual fever of mind possessed Lionel Westford. He shrank +from every chance of meeting with Julia Godwin. He brooded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>continually upon the circumstantial evidence of the blood-stained +shred of cloth, the black pool of blood, the leather glove, which +he had found in the cellar.</p> + +<p>A man had come to Wilmingdon one evening in the June of +the past year, and had never been seen to go away.</p> + +<p>The ravings of the old gardener were not the result of a disordered +mind; they were the offspring of an intellect which even +in its decay retained the memory of a dreadful scene.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford’s mind was tortured by conflicting feelings. +He knew that, having fallen upon the clue to a crime that had +escaped the eye of justice, it was his sacred duty to place that +clue in the hands of the police, in order that the secret of Wilmingdon +Hall might be dragged to light, and that justice might +overtake the criminal.</p> + +<p>But that criminal was Julia Godwin’s father. The image of +the woman he loved, pale, agonized, grief-stricken, rose before +him; and he felt that he <em>could not</em> be the means of bringing her +father to the gallows.</p> + +<p>Then he tried to believe that no murder had been committed +on that June evening. He tried to think that Rupert Godwin was +not guilty of the worst crime which man can commit. It was all +one great mystification, probably the result of a sequence of accidents. +The blood-stained fragment of a coat, the glove, the +ravings of Caleb Wildred might all be explained perhaps in +quite a different manner from that in which Lionel had been +inclined to read them.</p> + +<p>“Why should Rupert Godwin murder this stranger?” thought +the young man. “What motive could he have had? Pshaw! +I have been a madman to suspect him of such a deed—as mad +and foolish as that poor half-witted gardener, whose ravings, +after all, may be utterly meaningless.”</p> + +<p>It was thus that Lionel Westford reasoned with himself,—so +anxious was he to believe in the innocence of his mother’s enemy. +But, argue with himself as he would, the dark and terrible truth +was perpetually thrusting its hideous image before his eyes.</p> + +<p>It was quite in vain that he tried to think lightly of the mystery. +A dreadful weight oppressed his mind. He remembered the +strange feeling which had come over him on the day when he +for the first time entered Wilmingdon Hall.</p> + +<p>“It is useless to struggle against the truth!” he exclaimed +one day, after a long period of mental conflict. “The shadow of +crime darkens this place. The foul taint of blood poisons the +very atmosphere. Murder has been done here; and, come what +may, I must do my duty—yes, even at the cost of Julia Godwin’s +peace.”</p> + +<p>The long struggle had come to an end at last. Lionel Westford +resolved to lose no more time, but to leave Wilmingdon Hall +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>that very day, and seek an interview with one of the chief members +of the detective police immediately he reached London.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances he sat down to write to Julia Godwin, +his employer, his patroness.</p> + +<p>He had only occasion to tell her that particular business obliged +him to go to London, and that he was therefore compelled to relinquish +his employment without a more formal notice.</p> + +<p>He had only to tell her this, and to thank her for her goodness—to +express his appreciation of the benevolent feelings that +had prompted her to employ him.</p> + +<p>But, simple though the matter of the letter was, he found it +very difficult to write. He knew that the task he was about to +undertake was one which might bring despair and anguish upon +the woman whose generosity had rescued him from starvation—the +woman whom he fondly loved.</p> + +<p>His letter was very cold, very formal. He dared not trust +himself to reveal one spark of real feeling.</p> + +<p>He sealed and directed it. He then set in order the drawings +upon which he had been employed; and next hastily gathered +together his few possessions.</p> + +<p>These he packed in his portmanteau; but he resolved on leaving +the portmanteau behind him until he should be able to send +for it. He wanted to quit the house unnoticed; he wished his +departure to be undiscovered till he was far from Wilmingdon +Hall. He wished, above all things, to escape the chance of meeting +with Julia Godwin. Such a meeting would have been fatal; +for the young man felt that he should have failed in the endeavour +to conceal his feelings.</p> + +<p>He descended the stairs, crossed the hall, and went out upon +the lawn. The drawing-room windows were open, and he could +hear Julia Godwin singing. The song was very familiar to him, +for he had often sat in the summer twilight listening dreamily +to the melody. The rich tones of the singer went to his heart. +He was leaving her—perhaps forever. Or if they ever met again, +would she not look upon him as her worst and bitterest foe?</p> + +<p>He could not quit the Hall without stealing one last glance at +the face which had bewitched him.</p> + +<p>The long French windows were open to their utmost extent. +Lionel stole softly across the pathway, and stood for some +moments gazing silently at the face of the singer.</p> + +<p>Julia Godwin was very pensive. There was a look of profound +thought, or it might be of profound sadness, in her large dark +eyes. The tones of her voice were tremulous, and her hands +moved slowly over the keys of the piano.</p> + +<p>For but a few moments Lionel Westford lingered. He dared +not trust himself to stay longer, lest Julia should glance upward, +and see him standing by the open window. There was nothing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>he more dreaded than an interview with Rupert Godwin’s daughter, +and yet it was very difficult to turn away from that window.</p> + +<p>He did turn, however, and stole off unnoticed. He made his +way across the park, and walked to Hertford—no public vehicle +plying on the country road.</p> + +<p>He was going straight to the railway station, when he suddenly +remembered that there might possibly be a letter from his mother +or sister waiting for him at the post-office.</p> + +<p>He accordingly turned back, and went to the office. There +was a letter—a letter addressed to him in his mother’s handwriting; +but the writing seemed strangely tremulous.</p> + +<p>“O Heaven!” he thought; “I hope my mother is not ill.”</p> + +<p>He tore open the envelope hastily, and read the letter as he +walked towards the railway station. It was the letter which +Clara Westford had written after her interview with Gilbert +Thornleigh.</p> + +<p>No words can tell the horror of the young man as he read +that communication.</p> + +<p>His father, his beloved father, had been known to start for +Wilmingdon Hall on a night in the June of the previous year, +and had never been seen since. Twenty thousand pounds had +been paid into the hands of Rupert Godwin—of that very Rupert +Godwin who had represented Harley Westford as deeply indebted +to him, and who had driven the Captain’s wife and children +away from the home that had so long been their own.</p> + +<p>The people walking that day in the High-street of Hertford +must have been startled by the white face of Lionel Westford as +he sauntered along, brooding on the contents of his mother’s +letter. Could it be that his father had fallen a victim to the +murderous hand of Rupert Godwin? Could it have been the +blood of his own father which he had traced down the cellar-steps +below the northern wing?</p> + +<p>By what means was he to fathom the truth?</p> + +<p>Should he go on to London, and place the whole case in the +hands of the police? Or should he return to Wilmingdon Hall, +and endeavour himself to discover whether the visitor whom +Rupert Godwin had taken into the northern wing was indeed +Harley Westford?</p> + +<p>He decided on returning to the Hall. He fancied that he had +hit upon a plan by which he might at least settle the question of +his father’s identity with the stranger who had been seen by the +housekeeper to enter the northern wing in company with Rupert +Godwin.</p> + +<p>The sun was setting behind the noble elms and beeches of +Wilmingdon Park when Lionel Westford once more walked along +the avenue leading to the Hall.</p> + +<p>Half-way between the lodge-gates and the house he turned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>aside into the winding path which he had been directed to take +on his first coming to Wilmingdon.</p> + +<p>As he proceeded slowly along this shadowy pathway he took +a small object from his waistcoat-pocket and looked at it +intently. It was a gold locket, attached to a chain of soft +golden-brown hair. That soft brown hair had been cut from +Clara Westford’s head. The chain had been a birthday gift +from the mother to her son. The locket contained a carefully +painted and faithful likeness of Harley Westford, taken shortly +before that luckless midsummer which had been the commencement +of so many sorrows.</p> + +<p>Lionel had a purpose in choosing this shadowy path through +the thick shrubbery. He was going to the fernery, the spot +where he had first seen Caleb Wildred.</p> + +<p>He knew that the fernery was a favourite retreat with old +Caleb, and that the half-witted gardener would often spend +whole days there, brooding over his dark fancies, mumbling and +muttering to himself.</p> + +<p>Lionel was not disappointed. Caleb was there this evening, +sitting on a fragment of the rockwork, his elbows on his knees, +his chin in the palms of his hands, in the attitude of a person +who is thinking very deeply.</p> + +<p>He started as Lionel’s footfall sounded on some newly-fallen +leaves, the first of the fading summer. A moment afterwards +he looked up with a half-imbecile smile.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he muttered, “a stranger—a stranger! a young man +who talks to old Caleb sometimes. I’m not afraid or you. No, +no. You are kind to me, and I’m not afraid of you. But you +won’t try to find out the secret, will you? You won’t ask me +to betray my master? I’ve lived in this place so long, so long—man +and boy, man and boy; and you can’t surely ask me to +bring a Godwin to the gallows—not to the gallows!—no, no. +They used to hang ’em in chains when I was a boy; and I’ve +heard the dry bones rattle and the rusty irons creak on the old +coach-road between Hertford and London. You wouldn’t ask +me to hang one of the Godwin’s—one of the old stock!”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford seated himself upon the rockwork beside +the old man. He laid his hand gently on Caleb’s wrist, and +tried to soothe him.</p> + +<p>“Come, Mr. Wildred,” he said, “let us talk seriously. You +have allowed your mind to dwell too much upon this business. +I want you to help me; I want you to give me your aid in a +very serious matter. Look at this picture, and tell me if you +ever saw the face before?”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford opened the locket which contained his +father’s miniature, and held the picture before the old man.</p> + +<p>For a few moments Caleb Wildred stared at it with the blank +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>gaze of imbecility. Then a sudden change came over his face; +his eyes dilated, his lips trembled convulsively.</p> + +<p>“Great God of Heaven!” he cried, “the secret—the secret! +Where did you get that picture?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that,” answered Lionel, who could scarcely +control his agitation; “look at the face, and tell me if you ever +saw it before?”</p> + +<p>“If I ever saw it before!” cried the old gardener, in a voice +that rose almost to a shriek of agony; “he asks me if I ever +saw that face before! Why, it haunts me by day and by night—it +follows me wherever I go! If I look into the deep dark +water, I see it looking at me from the bottom, calm and smiling, +as it looked that night; if I shut myself up in the darkness, I +can see it still, with a light of its own about it. Wherever I +go, it follows me, and tortures me, because I keep that wicked +secret—that horrid secret of my master’s guilt. Take the +picture away, young man, unless you want to drive me raving +mad. It is the face of the man who was murdered in the +northern wing!”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford uttered one long cry of despair, and fell to +the ground, with his father’s miniature still clasped in his hand.</p> + +<p>When consciousness slowly returned, the young man found +himself alone, lying face downwards on the grass.</p> + +<p>The sky was dark, save for the faint and silvery glimmer of +distant stars high in the vault of heaven. It was late, and the +dew had fallen. Lionel Westford felt a deadly chill creeping +through his bones.</p> + +<p>There was a heavy feeling in his brain—a dull drowsiness +which was almost stupor; and yet the memory of what had +happened still held its place in his mind.</p> + +<p>The image of his father, slain by Rupert Godwin’s murderous +hand, was vividly impressed upon his imagination; he saw it +before him, almost as palpable as the giant trunks of oaks and +elms looming darkly through the night.</p> + +<p>He tried to rise, but found that his limbs were stiff and +aching. It was only with a powerful effort that at length he +staggered to his feet.</p> + +<p>When he looked about him, the scene around seemed to swim +before his eyes, the ground to reel beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>“O God!” he exclaimed, “am I going to be ill? Is my hand +to be rendered powerless at this moment, when I have such +need to use it as the avenger of my father’s death?”</p> + +<p>Slowly, and with tottering footsteps, Lionel Westford made +his way across the lawn, and approached the Hall. He knew +that the principal doors leading into the great entrance-hall were +never locked until late at night. He would be able to open +them, and enter the house unnoticed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> + +<p>He had changed his mind with regard to his plan of action. +He wanted to make the most of the strange chance which had +placed him beneath the banker’s roof—he wanted to obtain still +further proof of Rupert Godwin’s guilt.</p> + +<p>An alarming sense of helplessness was upon him as he +approached the mansion—a feeling of stupor and dizziness, +which increased with every moment.</p> + +<p>He opened the door, and entered the hall. None of the servants +happened to be about, and he was able to ascend the +staircase and reach his own apartments entirely unnoticed. +There were no candles burning on the table of the sitting-room, +but in the semi-darkness of the August night he could see that +the letter he addressed to Julia had been removed. There was +no white spot upon the dark ground of the table-cover.</p> + +<p>With weary, heavy steps he tottered into the adjoining room, +and flung himself upon the bed. It seemed as if he could not +have gone a step farther, even though his life had been at stake. +Many-coloured lights flashed before his dazzled eyes, a singing +noise sounded in his ears, and little by little the image of his +murdered father faded and melted away as Lionel Westford +lapsed into a state of unconsciousness.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"> + CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">FEVER-STRICKEN.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">When the servant who had been in the habit of waiting upon +Lionel Westford entered the young man’s bedroom late at night, +in order to close the shutters of the apartment, he found Lionel +lying on the bed in the state of unconsciousness into which he +had fallen. The astonishment of the servant was very great. +Several hours had passed since he had entered Lionel’s sitting-room +in order to prepare the table for dinner. He had then +found the apartment empty, and the letter addressed to Miss +Godwin lying on the table. He had taken that letter to Julia, +and had been told by her that Mr. Wilton had left the Hall for +an indefinite period, and that his services would therefore be no +longer needed in the chintz-rooms at the end of the corridor.</p> + +<p>But now he found Lionel Westford lying on the bed, dressed +in his walking clothes, and his hair damp and dishevelled.</p> + +<p>Lionel’s face was turned towards the wall, and it never occurred +to the man that he might possibly be ill. Only one idea entered +his mind; and that was, that the artist had been drinking somewhere +during his absence from the Hall, and had returned intoxicated +to fling himself dressed upon his bed.</p> + +<p>“If a servant did such a thing, he’d lose his situation,” thought +the man; “but I suppose your artist chaps can do what they +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>please. Miss Godwin seems to have an uncommon fancy for this +one, but I don’t know what she’ll say when she hears of his +goings-on.”</p> + +<p>He left Lionel’s room, and descended to the lower part of the +house. Julia Godwin was seated in the drawing-room; but she +was not alone. Mrs. Melville was on guard as usual, with her +eternal embroidery-frame before her, the very pattern of primness +and propriety.</p> + +<p>She had watched Julia narrowly since the coming of Lionel +Westford, and she by no means approved that young lady’s evident +liking for the artist.</p> + +<p>The man-servant entered the drawing-room and told the two +ladies of Mr. Wilton’s return.</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed Mrs. Melville’s indignation.</p> + +<p>“Returned!” she exclaimed; “returned to the Hall without +giving any notice of his return, or offering any explanation of his +conduct, after writing a formal letter to Miss Godwin announcing +his departure! I really never heard of such impertinence. What +can he mean by such conduct?”</p> + +<p>Julia said nothing. She had been cruelly wounded by the +receipt of Lionel’s cold-worded letter telling her of his departure, +and she had been very silent throughout the afternoon and evening. +She bent over her book so as to keep her face concealed from +Mrs. Melville and the servant, and made no remark whatever.</p> + +<p>“Julia, my dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Melville, “did you ever hear +of such mingled audacity and ingratitude? I am really quite +distressed upon your account, as this person is a kind of <i lang="fr">protégé</i> +of yours. Are you not surprised, my love, and are you not indignant +at such insolence?”</p> + +<p>Poor Julia was obliged to look up as she answered these energetic +questions.</p> + +<p>“There may be some reason for his conduct, perhaps, Mrs. +Melville,” she said gently. “He may have changed his mind, +and may have decided on returning to the Hall. He knew how +much I wanted those pictures finished, and he may have been +anxious to complete them.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dearest Julia, to return in such a manner, and to lie +down in his clothes, just like some horrid intoxicated member of +the working-classes! O, it’s really dreadful!”</p> + +<p>“That’s about it, I think, mum,” answered the servant, with +an ill-concealed grin. “I fancy as how Mr. Wilton has took a +little more than is good for him, and finding hisself queer, he +come back here to sleep instead of going up to London by rail.”</p> + +<p>“Intoxicated!” shrieked Mrs. Melville; “an intoxicated man +has dared to enter this house! Go to Mrs. Beckson immediately +Thomas, and tell her to go to Mr. Wilton’s apartment and order +him to leave the Hall without a moment’s delay. Not for an +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>instant will I suffer an intoxicated person to pollute this house +by his odious presence.”</p> + +<p>“Stop, Mrs. Melville,” said Julia; “we do not know that Mr. +Wilton is intoxicated; and I should think from what I have seen +of his habits that such a thing is most unlikely. In any case, +he must not be turned out of this house to-night. It is just +possible that he may be ill. To-morrow morning will be quite +soon enough for any investigation that you may wish to make; +and unless I am very much mistaken, Mr. Wilton will be able to +give a satisfactory explanation of his conduct.”</p> + +<p>“But, my darling Julia, I cannot really suffer an intoxicated +person to—”</p> + +<p>“This is my father’s house, Mrs. Melville; and on this point I +must beg to have my own way.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melville gave a dubious kind of cough. She felt that she +was treading on dangerous ground. Julia Godwin was a spoiled +child, and the banker might be very apt to resent any offence +against his darling.</p> + +<p>“Well, my sweetest Julia,” murmured the widow meekly, “if +you really wish an intoxicated person to remain in the house—”</p> + +<p>“I merely wish to hear Mr. Wilton’s own explanation of his +conduct to-morrow morning,” Julia answered quietly. “You can +go, Thomas,” she added, turning to the servant, who had lingered +to see the result of this little battle between the two ladies.</p> + +<p>No more was said that night upon the subject of Lionel’s +return, but there was some little restraint between the two ladies +all the evening. Julia occupied herself with her book, which she +affected to find intensely interesting; but Mrs. Melville could +see by the subdued light of the reading-lamp that her face was +very pale.</p> + +<p>“There is no doubt as to the state of her feelings,” thought +the widow; “the silly girl has fallen in love with this handsome +young adventurer. I must enlighten Mr. Godwin upon the subject +the first time he comes to Wilmingdon.”</p> + +<p>Early the next morning the two ladies were seated at breakfast +in a prettily-furnished room opening into the garden. Julia was +still pale and thoughtful; the widow was still watchful of her +charge—fearing that she might be blamed for any foolish attachment +formed by the banker’s daughter, and might perhaps forfeit +a most profitable and agreeable position. She tried to win Julia +to talk in her usual cheerful and animated manner; but the girl +was evidently preoccupied, and Mrs. Melville was obliged to +abandon the attempt to sustain any conversation.</p> + +<p>They were still seated at the breakfast-table when a knock +sounded on the door, which was opened the next moment to give +admittance to the portly form of Mrs. Beckson, the housekeeper, +who entered, curtseying with profound respect.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>“I am sure, ladies, I am very sorry to intrude upon you in the +midst of your breakfasts, especially being the bearer of unpleasant +news, as one may say, for of course illness is not pleasant, +even when relating to a stranger, thank Providence, and not a +member of the family, but still a remarkably civil-spoken and +genteel young man, who has no doubt seen better days, which is +the case with so many of us, only it isn’t our place to rebel against +the ways of Providence; and I’m sure, Miss Godwin, and you too, +Mrs. Melville, ma’am——”</p> + +<p>Julia had risen, deathly pale, and trembling violently. She +did not even make any attempt to conceal her agitation.</p> + +<p>“For pity’s sake, tell us what is the matter, Mrs. Beckson!” +she exclaimed, interrupting the rapid flow of the housekeeper’s +speech. “Is Mr. Wil——is any one ill?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it is Mr. Wilton, Miss,” answered Mrs. Beckson. “And +I think I never, in the whole course of my life, see any one in +such a raging fever.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melville turned uneasily towards Julia; she expected +that the girl would faint. But there was no weakness in Julia +Godwin’s nature; she had all a woman’s tenderness, but more +than a woman’s courage and endurance.</p> + +<p>She resumed her seat, and betrayed no further emotion, except +such anxiety as any woman might reasonably feel for a person +residing beneath her father’s roof.</p> + +<p>“Have you sent for the doctor, Mrs. Beckson?” she asked very +quietly.</p> + +<p>“O yes, Miss! I sent off immediately. William Jones, one of +the stablemen, has ridden off to Hertford as fast as he can gallop; +but, go as quick as he may, it must be some time before he +can get back with Doctor Granger; and in the meantime I’ve told +Thomas to get the poor young man into a nice warm bed, and +to bathe his head with vinegar and water.”</p> + +<p>“He is very ill, then?” said Julia.</p> + +<p>“Awful bad, miss! Since my poor cousin Caleb was took +with the brain-fever that night last June twelvemonth, I never +see any one half so bad—and this poor young man seems even +worse than Caleb. When our Thomas went into the room this +morning, he found Mr. Wilton sitting at the open window shivering +just as if he’d shake to pieces, and yet in a burning fever all +the time. And what’s the strangest part of the whole business, +he was raving about murder, and treachery, and stabbing, and +such-like, just for all the world like our Caleb.”</p> + +<p>“Strange!” murmured Julia.</p> + +<p>It was strange. A kind of horror filled the girl’s breast as she +thought that this was the second person who had been stricken +with sudden illness—with illness which reduced them from sanity +to raving madness; and that the minds of both should dwell on +the same dark and hideous subjects.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>“It is enough to make one superstitious,” she exclaimed, with +a shudder; “it is enough to make one believe that there is really +some truth in the ghastly stories the servants tell of those empty +rooms in the northern wing.”</p> + +<p>That morning was a sad one for Julia Godwin. She wandered +from room to room, trying to occupy herself, trying to distract +her mind from the one subject upon which it unceasingly brooded, +but trying in vain.</p> + +<p>She could only think of the artist whom she knew as Lewis +Wilton. He was ill—suffering; in danger, perhaps.</p> + +<p>For the first time she discovered that this man, whom she had +sought to benefit from an impulse of pure womanly compassion, +had now become dearer to her than any other creature in the +universe, except her father. A blush of shame dyed her face as +the truth gradually revealed itself to her.</p> + +<p>To love one who had never sought her love—to love a stranger, +whose station was in the eyes of the world infinitely beneath her +own—a stranger with whom she had become acquainted under +such peculiar circumstances! What would the world say, should +it ever know that Miss Godwin’s charity had ended by her falling +in love with the object of her compassion?</p> + +<p>Then, after some minutes of bitter and humiliating reflection, +Julia’s mind wandered back to those long afternoons in which +she had wasted hours talking to the artist in the laurel-walk or +beneath the solemn darkness of the spreading cedars.</p> + +<p>She remembered the low tones of his voice, the noble sentiments +which had dropped, as if unconsciously spoken, from his lips.</p> + +<p>“The world might despise him because of his poverty,” she +thought; “but whatever his present position may be, I feel sure +that he is a gentleman by birth and education.”</p> + +<p>There was some comfort in this thought. There is no such +torture for the heart of a proud woman as the idea that she has +wasted her love upon one who is unworthy of her respect.</p> + +<p>“I am not so mean a wretch as to remember his poverty,” +thought Julia. “I know that he is noble-minded, generous-hearted, +intellectual. What more can be needed to render him +worthy of any woman’s affection?”</p> + +<p>And then Julia Godwin bent her head with a modest gesture, +and a tender smile illumined her countenance, as some good +fairy’s voice seemed to whisper gently in her ear, “Ah, Julia, +and you know, too, that he loves you.”</p> + +<p>Even at such a time as this Julia Godwin could not repress +the thrill of happiness that stirred her breast as the conviction +that she was beloved by the young artist stole gradually upon +her. But in the next moment the thought of his illness sent an +icy chill through her heart. He was in danger; he might die.</p> + +<p>Men, as young and bright as he, had often been snatched suddenly +away in the very morning of life. He might die.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<p>Julia threw down the book which she had been vainly trying +to read, and went out through the French window on to the +broad gravel walk in front of the house.</p> + +<p>Along this walk the doctor must come. Julia paced slowly +up and down, waiting for his coming with extreme anxiety. +Several times, almost in spite of herself, her eyes wandered upwards +to the windows of the room in which she knew Lewis +Wilton must be lying.</p> + +<p>The Venetian shutters were closed; all was still. Mrs. Melville +came out of the breakfast-room, and joined the anxious girl +in her promenade up and down the gravel walk.</p> + +<p>Her presence tortured Julia, who found herself compelled to +reply to all manner of commonplace observations at a time when +her mind was distracted by secret anxiety. But the widow was +not a person to be easily shaken off. She talked perpetually, and +seemed as if she would not allow Julia to escape from her sight.</p> + +<p>At last the doctor’s gig drove up to the door of the Hall. Julia +hurried forward to receive him.</p> + +<p>“My dear Mr. Granger,” she said, “I wish you to tell me the +exact truth with regard to the patient you are about to visit: +for if there is any danger, I must write at once to my father.”</p> + +<p>Her manner was so calm and collected that the surgeon was +quite unable to guess the real state of her feelings.</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady, you are perfectly right,” he replied; +“if there is any danger, it will be better for you to write at once +to Mr. Godwin. In any case you shall hear the truth directly I +have seen this young man.”</p> + +<p>He entered the house. Julia remained without, still accompanied +by Mrs. Melville. An agony of suspense tortured the +proud girl’s heart during the interval that elapsed before the +doctor returned.</p> + +<p>He was not long absent, yet the time seemed intolerably +tedious. Every moment Julia fancied she heard the surgeon’s +step in the hall; every moment she expected him to emerge +from the door.</p> + +<p>At last he came. He looked very grave, and Julia could see +at the first glance that Mrs. Beckson had not exaggerated Lewis +Wilton’s illness.</p> + +<p>“He is very ill?” she said interrogatively.</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear Miss Godwin; I am sorry to say the case is +very serious. It seems to be rather a complicated case. There +is rheumatic fever, evidently the result of exposure to cold and +damp; and there seems to be some very great disorder of the +brain, which must have been caused by mental excitement. I +cannot imagine what has so upset the young man’s mind; but +the delirium is of an aggravated kind. I am afraid the servants +must have frightened him with some of their stories about the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>haunted rooms in the northern wing, for his ravings all seem to +relate to some story of a murder in one of the cellars under the +deserted rooms.”</p> + +<p>“That is very strange!” exclaimed Julia. “I should have +fancied Mr. Wilton was far too highly educated to be affected +by any such foolish stories.”</p> + +<p>“There is no accounting for this sort of thing. Superstition +is not always to be controlled by education.”</p> + +<p>“And you think there is danger, and that I ought to write to +papa?”</p> + +<p>“I do indeed, Miss Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“You will require further medical help, perhaps,” said Julia. +“Shall I ask papa to bring a physician from London?”</p> + +<p>“No, Miss Godwin; I think there is no necessity for that. +There is danger; but the case is not beyond the skill of an ordinary +practitioner. If there should be any change in the aspect +of the fever, I will ask for aid; as it is, care and watchfulness +can alone help our patient.”</p> + +<p>“Who is watching him now?”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Beckson, and the servant, Thomas Morrison. He will +need very careful watching; for in those fevers in which the +brain is affected there is sometimes danger of the patient doing +himself some desperate injury. A man has been known to cut +his throat—to jump out of a window. There is always a risk of +some terrible catastrophe.”</p> + +<p>Julia’s face grew ashy white to the very lips.</p> + +<p>“For shame, Mr. Granger!” cried Mrs. Melville indignantly; +“you have quite unnerved my sweetest Julia.”</p> + +<p>“Pray pardon me!” exclaimed the penitent doctor. “I +should have remembered that I was talking to a sensitive young +lady, and not to a brother surgeon. I hope you will forgive me, +Miss Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“You have no need of my forgiveness,” Julia answered. “I +asked you to tell me the truth, and I am very glad that you +have done so. I will write to papa immediately.”</p> + +<p>She had quite recovered herself by this time, and was able to +speak with perfect composure. The surgeon took his leave, +after promising to call again before dusk.</p> + +<p>Julia despatched a servant to the station at Hertford, with a +message which was to be telegraphed to Mr. Godwin’s London +lodgings.</p> + +<p>The telegram was duly delivered; and at five o’clock that afternoon +Rupert Godwin entered his daughter’s morning-room.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dearest girl,” he exclaimed, “what is all this melancholy +business? Your artistic protégé seized with brain-fever, +and you as much concerned about the matter as if your pet Skye +terrier’s valuable life was in danger. What is it, my darling?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> + +<p>He took his daughter in his arms and embraced her tenderly.</p> + +<p>Infamous as this man’s life had been—hard, cruel, and remorseless +though his nature was, he was at least sincere in his love for +his beautiful daughter. And yet it was a selfish affection, after +all—such a love as a Sultan might feel for his favourite slave. +She was a part of himself, an element of happiness in his life.</p> + +<p>Julia told her father the circumstances of the artist’s departure +from Wilmingdon, and his mysterious return the same evening. +She told him all that had happened that day, and the opinion of +the Hertford surgeon.</p> + +<p>“It is such a strange business altogether, papa,” she said. +“Mr. Granger fancies that Mr. Wilton’s mind has been affected by +some of the servants’ stories about the northern wing. He has +done nothing but rave about a murder committed in one of the +cellars. Papa, papa!—what is the matter?”</p> + +<p>Julia Godwin had ample cause for this exclamation, for the +banker had started from her as suddenly as if a thunderbolt had +fallen between him. What bolt from heaven could have been +more appalling than the words just uttered by his daughter’s +innocent lips?</p> + +<p>The father and daughter had been standing together near the +open window. The afternoon twilight shone full on Rupert Godwin’s +face.</p> + +<p>When Julia looked at him, she saw that great beads of perspiration +had started to his forehead. His face was livid; a convulsive +trembling shook him in every limb.</p> + +<p>“Papa!” cried Julia, “for pity’s sake speak to me! What is +the matter?”</p> + +<p>For some moments Rupert Godwin struggled to speak; but +his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.</p> + +<p>At last, with a terrible effort he spoke; but even then the words +had a strange, confused sound, like those of a man only just recovering +from a fit.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing,” he said, “only a physical affection. It is a +kind of nervous fit that comes upon me suddenly now and then.”</p> + +<p>“But, papa, it is very dreadful. You ought to consult a physician.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw, child! I tell you it is nothing!” exclaimed the banker +impatiently. “I will go upstairs and see this ailing protégé +of yours.”</p> + +<p>There was an attempt at carelessness in the tone, but the banker’s +face had not lost its livid hue. He hurried from the room, +and Julia stood in the doorway looking after him, inexpressibly +shocked and terrified by his manner.</p> + +<p>“Is it really a haunted house?” she thought; “and does some +dark shadow fall upon every one who enters it?”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"> + CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">AN ALARMING DISCOVERY.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin’s livid face was terrible to look upon, as he ascended +the broad oak staircase that summer afternoon; but by a +most powerful effort of his iron will he contrived to control his +countenance and assume a perfectly placid expression by the time +he reached the end of the long corridor, out of which Lionel Westford’s +apartments opened.</p> + +<p>He stopped for a few moments outside the door of the bedroom, +with his hand upon his breast. He was trying to still the +tumultuous throbbings of his heart.</p> + +<p>“This man knows my secret,” he thought; “but how, how has +he made the discovery? <em>He</em>—a stranger, utterly uninterested in +ferreting out the truth? The fiends of hell must have meddled +in the business. The doors were all locked and double-locked in +the northern wing; it is impossible, therefore—quite impossible, +that he can have penetrated to the cellar where—”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin did not finish the thought. He shuddered +faintly, as if the end of that unspoken sentence were too hideous +to be endured, even by his stony nature.</p> + +<p>“He cannot know,” thought the banker. “It must be some +old story, which happens by a strange chance to be like the +ghastly truth.”</p> + +<p>His countenance was quite composed by this time. For many +years, for the larger half of this man’s lifetime, his face had been +seldom other than a mask, beneath which he concealed his real +feelings.</p> + +<p>He entered the sick-chamber. Thomas Morrison, the footman, +was sitting near the window reading a newspaper; Mrs. Beckson +was dozing in a comfortable arm-chair. The sick man was lying +on a bed exactly opposite Rupert Godwin, as he entered the room.</p> + +<p>Never before had the banker, to his knowledge, seen his +daughter’s protégé. Yet that white face lying on the pillow +seemed strangely familiar to him.</p> + +<p>He tried in vain to think when and where he had seen a look +which was now recalled to him by the expression of those pallid +features.</p> + +<p>There was something very ghastly in the young man’s appearance, +for his head was bound with damp linen cloths, which +entirely concealed his hair.</p> + +<p>Every now and then that weary head rolled restlessly round +upon the pillow, and the pale parched lips muttered some indistinct +words.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beckson rose and curtsied respectfully to her employer. +She offered him the easy-chair, from which she had risen, and +the banker seated himself by the side of the bed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<p>“Is your patient still delirious?” he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“O yes, sir; just as bad as ever, as far as that goes; but +more quiet like. His raving and going on was quite dreadful a +few hours ago, but he’s worn himself out at last, poor dear +young gentleman, and now he’s been lying there for an hour and +more, just as you see, rolling his poor head about and muttering +to himself.”</p> + +<p>“What is it that he says in his delirium?” asked the banker.</p> + +<p>His face was almost as fixed as a mask carved out of granite +while he waited for an answer to his question.</p> + +<p>“Always the same thing—always the same thing, sir,” said +the housekeeper. “Something about a murder, and blood-stains +in the cellars under the northern wing.”</p> + +<p>“Have the servants been telling him any foolish ghost-story?”</p> + +<p>“O no, sir; that’s next to impossible; for there is no story +of a murder, nor anything whatever, connected with the cellars. +They do say the northern wing is haunted; but the story they +tell is only about the ghost of a young lady who died of a broken +heart, on account of her lover being killed in the civil wars; and +they do say she walks in the passages of the northern wing every +new-year’s eve at twelve o’clock precisely.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” muttered the banker; “there is no accounting +for the queer ideas that get into the brain of a delirious man. +I suppose this young man has been reading a novel, and has +mixed up the story with his knowledge of this house. He’ll +have some other fancy to-morrow, I daresay. You can leave +him for the present, Mrs. Beckson; and you too, Morrison. I +heard the bell ringing for tea in the servants’ hall just as I came +upstairs. I’ll keep watch over your invalid.”</p> + +<p>“You’re very kind, sir; but I’m afraid you’ll find it dreadfully +wearing to hear him going on, always the same thing over +and over again.”</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford turned his head upon the pillow, and looked +full at the banker, with bloodshot and dilated eyes.</p> + +<p>“Rupert Godwin!” he said, in low, distinct tones,—“Rupert +Godwin—the murderer of—”</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment, and then, with a long moan of +anguish, he cried:</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is too hideous—too horrible! I cannot believe it!”</p> + +<p>“Now, isn’t it dreadful to hear him, sir?” exclaimed the +housekeeper. “He’s been going on in that foolish way for the +last hour, mixing up your name with his mad fancies.”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing strange in that,” answered the banker +coolly. “Delirious people always have these absurd fancies. +This is not the first case of fever that I have seen.”</p> + +<p>“And it isn’t the first that I’ve seen either,” returned Mrs. +Beckson. “There was my cousin, Caleb Wildred, who was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>taken ill last year—last June twelvemonth; just after that +strange gentleman came to the Hall; the night that Mr. Danielson +was with you, as you may remember, sir. Caleb was just +for all the world like this young gentleman; and what’s the +strangest part of the business is, that Caleb said exactly the +same things. His talk was all about a murder, and a body +thrown down the steps of one of the cellars in the northern +wing.”</p> + +<p>Once more, as in the drawing-room half an hour before, the +banker was taken completely off his guard; once again that +iron nature was shaken; the big drops of perspiration started to +the livid brow; the strong limbs were seized with a sudden +trembling.</p> + +<p>“Caleb said that?” he gasped. “Caleb Wildred?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; he was always telling the same story; his talk was +exactly like this gentleman’s talk—the same words, as far as I +can remember.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?” cried Rupert Godwin. “Speak, woman!—where +is he?”</p> + +<p>He rose as if he would have rushed to find the old gardener +that very moment; but in the next instant he recovered himself, +and sat down again quietly by the side of the sick-bed.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed; “I was almost beginning to think +that there must be some meaning in these mad ravings, and +that some dark deed had really been committed beneath my +roof. But it is all nonsense. These two men must have +heard the same story—some lying tradition of the past, no +doubt. You may go, Mrs. Beckson; I will remain with the +invalid for half an hour, while you take your tea.”</p> + +<p>The man-servant had already departed. Mrs. Beckson curtsied, +and retired; but there was a puzzled expression on her +honest countenance. She was surprised and bewildered by the +banker’s unusual conduct.</p> + +<p>For some time after the housekeeper’s departure Rupert +Godwin sat quite motionless, watching the pallid face of the +sick man, and listening to those muttered words which were +every now and then repeated in the same accents:</p> + +<p>“Rupert Godwin—the murderer—blood-stains on the stairs—blood +in the cellar—cruel—treacherous!”</p> + +<p>Always the same words—the same broken sentences—again +and again, again and again.</p> + +<p>The bloodshot eyes gazed at vacancy; but there was a fixed +look of horror in them, as if the eyeballs had been struck with +sudden rigidity while beholding some hideous sight.</p> + +<p>At last the banker rose from beside the bed, where he had +seemed fixed as if by some unholy spell.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford’s clothes lay on a chair near the bed, and on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>the dressing-table were scattered a handkerchief, a bunch of +keys, some letters and papers which had been taken from his +pockets.</p> + +<p>The banker went over to the dressing-table, and examined +the different objects lying there.</p> + +<p>His hand struck against a hard substance lying under a cambric +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>He removed the handkerchief, and saw a gold locket attached +to a chain of soft auburn hair. He opened the locket, and a +frank manly face looked out at him with a confiding smile.</p> + +<p>It was the face of the brave, generous-hearted sea-captain, +Harley Westford.</p> + +<p>It was the face of the man whom Rupert Godwin had stabbed +on the threshold of the cellar-steps.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"> + CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">DISCOMFITED.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">For some minutes Rupert Godwin stood with the open miniature +in his hand, gazing at the face of his victim.</p> + +<p>At first a kind of stupor seemed to obscure his senses, and he +could only stand motionless, staring blankly at that frank handsome +countenance.</p> + +<p>His senses were confused by the suddenness of the shock. It +was some time before he could reason calmly about what had +happened.</p> + +<p>How had Harley Westford’s miniature come to be lying there? +How had the sea-captain’s likeness fallen into the possession of +Julia Godwin’s protégé?</p> + +<p>For some little time he stood with the picture still in his +hand, wondering at the extraordinary chance which had brought +it there. Then he set to work to examine the letters and papers, +in the hope that they might give him some clue to the mystery.</p> + +<p>The first letter which he took up revealed the entire truth. It +had been lying seal upwards, or Rupert Godwin could scarcely +have failed to recognize the handwriting.</p> + +<p>It was the letter addressed to Lionel at the Post-office, Hertford, +under his initials only. It was the letter which Clara +Westford had written to her son, telling him of her meeting with +Gilbert Thornleigh, and setting him upon the track of his +missing father.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin sank into the nearest chair, that terrible letter +clenched tightly in his hand.</p> + +<p>“They are on my track,” he muttered in a thick voice, for the +muscles of his throat seemed paralyzed by agitation; “they are +on my track. How am I to avoid them?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> + +<p>He looked towards the bed. Never, perhaps, had a darker or +more threatening face glowered above a helpless and unconscious +invalid.</p> + +<p>“Only by wading deeper in crime,” he said, this time with +slow deliberate accents; “only by wading deeper.”</p> + +<p>He thrust the letter into his breast-pocket, and then sat +brooding, with his face hidden in his hands.</p> + +<p>When he at last uncovered it, there was a strange look of determination +in that ashen face. He walked to the side of the +bed, and stood for some moments looking down at the sick man.</p> + +<p>“<em>His</em> son!” he muttered; “<em>his</em> son! That was the likeness +which sent a chill through my breast. But it is all a mystery +still. How did he discover the secret of the cellar? Did he +come here on purpose to find out the truth? No, that can +scarcely be; for his mother’s letter is dated only two days back, +and when she wrote that letter her suspicions were only just +aroused. No matter; I dare not bewilder my brain by trying to +solve these questions. I must act; they are on my track, and +action alone can save me. Shall I fly? No, not while there is one +inch of safe ground to fight for, amidst an ocean of peril. Flight +is the first resource of the coward; it is the last hope of the bold +criminal. This young man knows my secret, somehow or other. +What matters how, since he does know it? He and Caleb +Wildred have discovered the truth; but as yet they have not +denounced me, except in the ravings of delirium. Their tongues +must be stopped.”</p> + +<p>The housekeeper returned while Mr. Godwin was absorbed in +these meditations.</p> + +<p>“You can resume your seat by the side of your patient, Mrs. +Beckson,” he said; “there has been no change. I shall remain +at the Hall until this young man is out of danger; and I shall +look into his room now and then, to see how he is going on. +You need never be surprised by my coming. I am a light sleeper, +and I daresay I shall look in once or twice in the course of the +night.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure it’s very kind of you, sir, to take such an interest +in the poor young gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“I think it’s only natural that I should feel an interest in a +sick man; common humanity demands as much,” answered the +banker coolly. “By the bye, you will be watching for a very +long time. I hope you are wakeful?”</p> + +<p>“O yes, sir, pretty wakeful.”</p> + +<p>“You take something to keep you awake, I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, thank you, I’ve just taken a cup of strong tea, and +I may take another in the course of the evening.”</p> + +<p>“Tea is not the thing. You should try coffee.”</p> + +<p>“Is coffee better than tea, sir?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>“Infinitely better. I’ll send you a strong cup of coffee by-and-by. +I always take coffee after dinner.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure, sir. Well, I will take a cup, if you’ll be so very +kind as to send it.”</p> + +<p>The banker went to his room, changed his dress, which was +dusty with travelling, and bathed his head and face in cold water.</p> + +<p>Then he descended to the dining-room, where he found Julia +waiting for him.</p> + +<p>He dined with his daughter and her duenna. Julia was too +entirely preoccupied by her own emotion to perceive the silence +of her father; it seemed only natural to her that an air of gloom +should pervade everything, while the man she loved lay suffering +upstairs. But Mrs. Melville remarked the banker’s abstracted +manner, and wondered at it; she thought that he had perhaps +discovered the secret of his daughter’s affection for a penniless +stranger.</p> + +<p>After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing-room, while +Rupert Godwin remained seated at the foot of the long dinner-table.</p> + +<p>Here his coffee was brought to him, about twenty minutes +after the ladies had left him. The servant placed the salver +by his master’s side, and immediately quitted the room. The +coffee was served in a small antique silver coffee-pot. There +was only one cup and saucer, of Sèvres china, on the salver. +Rupert Godwin rang the bell, and told the servant to bring a +second cup and saucer.</p> + +<p>“I want a cup of my own coffee to be taken to Mrs. Beckson,” +he said. “Strong coffee is the best thing in the world to keep +any one awake.”</p> + +<p>But when the man returned with the cup and saucer, Mr. +Godwin said:</p> + +<p>“You need not wait. I will take the coffee myself to Mrs. +Beckson. I am going to the sick-room.”</p> + +<p>It seemed strange that so proud a man as Rupert Godwin +should trouble himself to take a cup of coffee to his housekeeper, +and the man-servant thought as much.</p> + +<p>He might, perhaps, have thought Rupert Godwin’s conduct +stranger still, had he seen him take a small vial from his waistcoat-pocket, +and pour about a teaspoonful of a thick dark fluid +into one of the coffee-cups.</p> + +<p>That little vial was one which the banker had taken from his +dressing-case before descending to the dining-room that evening. +The dark fluid was opium.</p> + +<p>The coffee, made as strong as a Turkish potentate might have +taken it, and very much sweetened, almost entirely disguised +the bitter flavour of the opium. The banker tasted half a +spoonful of the mixture.</p> + +<p>“No,” he muttered; “I don’t think Mrs. Beckson will discover +anything queer in the taste of that coffee.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + +<p>He took the cup and saucer, and carried them to the sick-room.</p> + +<p>“There, my good Beckson,” he said, “I don’t think you are +very likely to fall asleep after taking this.”</p> + +<p>He handed her the coffee. The old woman had been nodding +and blinking in her easy-chair when he entered the room, but +she opened her eyes and endeavoured to appear very wakeful, as +she took the cup of coffee from her master’s hand. Rupert +Godwin left her, and returned to the lower part of the house. +His private apartment, the room specially sacred to him, was +the library. It was there that he kept the keys of the northern +wing in a small iron safe, the key of which he carried always in +his pocket.</p> + +<p>The keys of the doors in the northern wing could only be obtained, +therefore, by the breaking open of this small iron safe, of +the use of a false key.</p> + +<p>But the locks were not of a kind to be easily opened by a false +key. It was, indeed, supposed to be quite impossible for any +false key to open them.</p> + +<p>The banker examined the safe. The keys of the northern +wing hung in their usual place; the dust which had accumulated +during the last twelvemonth was thick upon them.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin was utterly unable to understand Lionel +Westford’s discovery of his crime.</p> + +<p>“How did he find out my ghastly secret?” he thought. “By +what devilry did he stumble upon the truth?”</p> + +<p>The banker dared not dwell upon this question. His brain, +even <em>his</em> clear and powerful intellect, seemed to grow dull and +confused, as he tried to solve the dark riddle.</p> + +<p>He went to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Melville and Julia +were seated. The widow was occupied, as usual, with the embroidery-frame. +Miss Godwin was sitting with an open book +before her—a book whose pages might quite as well have been +blank paper.</p> + +<p>“Julia,” said the banker, “I feel tired after my journey down +here, and considerably upset by this vexatious affair of your +protégé’s illness. I shall go to bed at once, and I should advise +you to retire early; for you too have been worried by this +affair.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, papa,” answered Julia, without looking up from her +book; “I shall go to bed very early.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, my love.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, dear papa.”</p> + +<p>Julia rose from her seat, and the banker pressed his lips to +her forehead. He wished Mrs. Melville good-night, and then +left the room.</p> + +<p>In less than ten minutes afterwards Julia flung down her +book with a weary sigh.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p> + +<p>“I <em>am</em> very tired,” she said. “Good-night, dear Mrs. Melville.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, sweet child. You are pale, my love; this tiresome +business has quite upset you.”</p> + +<p>Julia was glad to escape from the widow’s sympathy. She +retired to her own apartments, which were at some distance +from the rooms occupied by Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>She dismissed her maid, and exchanged her silk dress for a +loose white dressing-gown. In spite of what she had said to +Mrs. Melville, she had no inclination for sleep; on the contrary, +she felt more than usually wakeful. Every nerve was strung to +its utmost tension—all her senses seemed intensified.</p> + +<p>She went to the window and flung it open; but even the chilly +night air failed to cool her burning brow. The anxiety of the +day, the emotions which she had been compelled to repress, had +affected her very acutely. Now that she was alone, free to give +way to her agitation, she leant her head against the sash of the +window, and sobbed convulsively.</p> + +<p>“I love him so dearly,” she murmured; “and yet I cannot +save him from suffering. I dare not even inquire whether he is +better or worse.”</p> + +<p>For a long time Julia stood at the open window, gazing out +into the obscurity of the summer night.</p> + +<p>Then she seated herself near a pretty little reading-table +loaded with new books, and tried to read.</p> + +<p>She sat for more than an hour with a volume in her hand. +Her eyes travelled along the lines, her hand turned the leaves, +but she paid little attention to the contents of the book. Her +mind dwelt perpetually upon Lionel’s danger. She remembered +what the doctor had said about his delirium. If he were not +watched, he might do some desperate act; in fevers, such as his, +men had been known to commit suicide. No words can express +the horror with which this idea inspired her.</p> + +<p>In the loneliness and silence of the night this feeling of horror +increased every moment.</p> + +<p>What if those who watched the sick man should fail in their +watchfulness? Mrs. Beckson was an old woman, and so not +unlikely to give way to drowsiness. Thomas Morrison might +desert his post.</p> + +<p>The clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven—half-past eleven—then +twelve; and still Julia sat brooding over this one agonizing +fear.</p> + +<p>The sick man’s attendants would neglect him, to the peril of +his life.</p> + +<p>Hideous images arose before her. She saw Lionel blood-stained, +dying, with a ghastly wound across his throat. Every +moment she expected to hear a maniac shriek ring through the +silent house.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> + +<p>At last the agony of this one thought became almost too intense +for endurance. Julia flung aside her book, and began to +pace up and down the room.</p> + +<p>By this time it was a quarter-past twelve.</p> + +<p>“I will not endure this suspense any longer,” Julia exclaimed +at last. “At any hazard, I <em>will</em> know if he is safe. One peep +into his room will tell me if Mrs. Beckson is awake. If I only +know that he is carefully watched, I can resign myself to the +knowledge of his suffering.”</p> + +<p>She opened the door and looked out into the corridor. All +was dark and silent. There could be little doubt that the whole +household was sleeping, except the two servants who watched +the sick man.</p> + +<p>Julia wrapped a dark shawl about her head and shoulders, +and then, with light and cautious footsteps, crept along the corridor.</p> + +<p>She opened the door of Lionel’s apartment. The handle +turned almost noiselessly in her cautious hand. She looked into +the room, and one glance told her that her anxious fears had not +been groundless.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beckson’s head lay back upon the cushions of her easy-chair, +and her heavy breathing was that of a person in a profound +slumber.</p> + +<p>There was no other attendant in the room.</p> + +<p>The invalid was asleep. He lay quite motionless, his pale +face turned towards the door by which Julia had entered. The +voluminous chintz curtains were drawn on the other side of the +old-fashioned four-post bedstead.</p> + +<p>Julia advanced into the room with the intention of awakening +Mrs. Beckson; but just as she was approaching the housekeeper’s +chair, she was startled by the sound of footsteps in the +corridor.</p> + +<p>Her first impulse was to hide. She dreaded the discovery of +her visit to the sick-chamber, since that discovery must betray +an unusual anxiety for Lionel’s welfare.</p> + +<p>She obeyed that first impulse, for there was no time for reflection. +She crept swiftly past the bed round to the other side +where she could be most completely concealed by the curtains.</p> + +<p>From between a very narrow opening in these curtains she was +able to see everything that happened in the room.</p> + +<p>The footsteps in the corridor drew nearer. They were those +of a man. Presently the door was cautiously opened, and Rupert +Godwin entered the room.</p> + +<p>Julia was not very much surprised at this late visit of her +father to the sick-chamber. What more natural than that he +should be anxious about the young man who was a dweller beneath +his roof?</p> + +<p>She fancied that he would at once awaken the housekeeper +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>and that he would be very angry with her for having fallen +asleep daring the hours of her watch.</p> + +<p>But to Julia’s surprise the banker made no attempt to arouse +Mrs. Beckson. He walked past her with no further notice than +one sharp scrutinizing glance, and bent with a thoughtful face +over the bed.</p> + +<p>From between the curtains Julia watched her father’s +face. There was something in the expression of that familiar +face which chilled her heart, and inspired her with a sudden +terror—a terror whose nature she could not define.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin held a candle in his hand, and the light of it +shone full upon his gloomy countenance. Julia stood motionless, +almost breathless, gazing at him from her hiding-place behind +the curtains. Presently he passed the flame of the candle slowly +backwards and forwards before the eyes of the sleeper.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford’s eyelids never stirred.</p> + +<p>Then the banker turned towards Mrs. Beckson, and watched +her intently for some moments.</p> + +<p>No words could express Julia’s astonishment at her father’s +conduct; she was paralyzed by that shapeless fear which had +taken possession of her mind as she saw him bending over the +sick man.</p> + +<p>Presently he approached the table, upon which the patient’s +medicine-bottles had been placed. There were two bottles, one +large and half empty, the other smaller and nearly full.</p> + +<p>The banker lifted the small bottle and looked at it. Then he +removed the cork and smelt the mixture. It was a saline draught +to be taken the first thing in the morning, and it was colourless +as water. Rupert Godwin took a tiny vial from his waistcoat-pocket—so +tiny, that Julia could only just distinguish what +it was, as the banker held it between his finger and thumb. He +withdrew the cork with his teeth, for his left hand was occupied +with the medicine-bottle.</p> + +<p>Then, slowly and deliberately, he poured several drops of some +colourless fluid from the tiny vial into the larger bottle containing +the draught. He replaced the medicine-bottle in the precise +spot from which he had taken it, looked once more at each +of the sleepers, and then crept stealthily from the room.</p> + +<p>Whatever purpose had brought him thither had been achieved. +Could Julia doubt that it was a dark and dreadful one?</p> + +<p>She shivered as if stricken by an ague fit, and there was a +sickness worse than death at her heart. She loved her father so +dearly; could she believe him to be——</p> + +<p>What? A midnight poisoner?</p> + +<p>His actions pointed to this hideous conclusion. What motive +but the deadliest of all motives could have brought him to that +room, in the stillness of the night, to tamper with the sick man’s +medicine?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> + +<p>“It cannot be!” thought the horror-stricken girl. “I must +be mad, or dreaming. That which I have seen cannot be real. +It cannot be!”</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands tightly upon her forehead. She was +trying to collect her scattered senses.</p> + +<p>“O God, it is too real,” she murmured, “too real!”</p> + +<p>Her father’s face had revealed more than even his actions. +There was no evidence that the liquid he had dropped into the +sick man’s medicine was poisonous in its nature; but his face +had been the face of an assassin.</p> + +<p>“O Heaven!” thought Julia; “I have heard of people becoming +suddenly mad, and being tempted by some diabolical +suggestion to the commission of a deadly crime. Surely it must +be thus with my father.”</p> + +<p>The wretched girl clung to this belief as to one faint ray of +hope. It was better to think that her father was a madman, a +hapless distraught creature, possessed by the devil, than that +he was a deliberate and cold-blooded assassin.</p> + +<p>Slowly and stealthily Julia crept from her hiding-place and +advanced to the little table upon which the medicine-bottles +stood. She looked at the housekeeper, fearing every moment +that she might awake; but the old woman slept on in a heavy +slumber, induced by the drugged coffee.</p> + +<p>Julia took the medicine-bottle in her hand, and looked +anxiously round the room.</p> + +<p>She was looking for an empty bottle.</p> + +<p>Presently she perceived one standing on a corner of the mantelpiece. +Into this she poured the contents of the vial which +her father had tampered with.</p> + +<p>She then filled the vial with pure water from the water-bottle +on the wash-hand stand.</p> + +<p>The poisoned medicine she carried away with her, departing +as noiselessly as she had come, after one last anxious glance at +the two sleepers.</p> + +<p>Throughout the remainder of that wretched night Julia Godwin +sat at her window, staring vacantly out at the starlit +heavens.</p> + +<p>She saw those stars fade slowly in the chill morning light; +but still she sat motionless, like a creature whom some great +horror had changed into stone. Yet in all this long agony her +senses did not fail her.</p> + +<p>At seven o’clock she went to her dressing-room, after disarranging +the coverings of her bed, so that her maid might not +discover that she had been up all night. She locked the bottle +containing the medicine in a desk in her dressing-room, and +then commenced a careful toilette.</p> + +<p>At half-past seven her maid came to her, and found her very +nearly dressed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<p>“I was a little earlier than usual this morning, Mitford, but +you are just in time to do my hair,” Julia said very calmly; +“have you heard how Mr. Wilton is going on this morning?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss. He is pretty much the same, I hear; still delirious, +but a good deal quieter. Poor Mrs. Beckson’s quite upset, +I hear, this morning. She fell asleep, poor old soul, and +slept all night, and woke this morning with a dreadful headache, +and quite put out to find that she had been asleep so +long. However, luckily her patient seemed to have been very +quiet, so there was no harm done.”</p> + +<p>Julia Godwin shuddered as she thought of the harm that +<em>might</em> have been done during the watcher’s slumber, if Providence +had not interposed to shield the banker’s intended victim.</p> + +<p>When the bell rang for breakfast she went down to the dining-room. +Surely her father would not be there; or, if he were +there, his manner would reveal the frenzy of a distraught brain. +But, to her utter bewilderment, she saw him, calm and self-possessed, +seated at the head of the breakfast-table, with an open +Bible under his hands.</p> + +<p>Yes; it was unspeakably horrible. This man, this midnight +poisoner, was about to read the Gospel to his assembled household!</p> + +<p>It was a rule with Rupert Godwin to read morning prayers to +his family and servants whenever he slept at his country-house. +Whatever his life might be in London, in Hertfordshire his +habits were those of extreme respectability.</p> + +<p>Julia watched him with dilated eyes as he read. Presently +he began prayers. The servants knelt; the master also sank +upon his knees.</p> + +<p>The proud girl’s noble spirit revolted against this hideous +hypocrisy. She rose from her seat and walked to one of the +windows, where she remained looking out at the garden, while +her father read the morning prayer, in which he besought the +grace of Heaven for that kneeling household, and implored the +Divine guidance for all the actions of his life. Even as he read +Rupert Godwin perceived the figure of his daughter standing by +the open window, and was not a little disturbed by her unusual +conduct.</p> + +<p>Presently, when the servants had risen from their knees and +left the room, Mr. Godwin went to the window where Julia +stood.</p> + +<p>“Why did you not join in our prayers just now?” he asked, +looking at her with concealed terror.</p> + +<p>She turned her face towards him. It was deadly pale, and +the dark eyes fixed themselves upon the banker’s countenance +with a strange earnestness.</p> + +<p>“I could not kneel and pray this morning,” she said in tremulous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>accents. “I could not ask for Heaven’s blessing on this +household, or on—you.”</p> + +<p>She looked at him intently as she pronounced that last word. +His face grew livid; but he was able to conquer all other evidences +of his agitation.</p> + +<p>“Why not, Julia?” he asked coldly.</p> + +<p>“O, my unhappy father, cannot you guess the reason?” cried +the wretched girl in an outburst of passionate grief.</p> + +<p>The banker looked at her with a scowl upon his face.</p> + +<p>“Are you mad, Julia?” he exclaimed. “What, in the name +of all that is ridiculous, has inspired you with this folly? I +have a peculiar aversion to anything in the way of heroics. +What is the meaning of these tragic airs?”</p> + +<p>“O, father, father!” she cried, suddenly bursting into tears. +“Heaven grant that I have wronged you!”</p> + +<p>She rushed from the room before Rupert Godwin could question +her further. A hundred conflicting feelings tortured her +breast, but amidst them all there still lingered one ray of hope.</p> + +<p>Her father might be guiltless of the poisoner’s dark intent. +She could not believe that the parent she loved so dearly was +the worst and vilest of earth’s creatures.</p> + +<p>“It is too horrible—too horrible!” she murmured, when she +had reached the shelter of her own apartment and flung herself +upon the bed, hiding her pale face in her clasped hands. “It is +too bitter a blow, too cruel, to be forced to hate the father I +have loved so dearly. To hate him! The father I have been so +proud of—from whom I have never known anything but love +and indulgence. And yet, can I do otherwise than hate him, if +he is what he seemed to be last night? A murderer—and the +vilest of murderers—the secret assassin, who carries death to the +unconscious sleeper!”</p> + +<p>She brooded on the scene of last night until her brain grew +dizzy with the violent strain that was made upon it. Why +should her father attempt the life of Lewis Wilton—the penniless +obscure artist? What motive could have induced him to +injure this stranger, whom accident only had thrown across his +path? No—an attempt so purposeless could only be the murderous +freak of a madman. Or was it not possible that Julia had +been mistaken in the import of the scene she had witnessed, and +that the liquid added to the medicine was harmless—some experimental +remedy which Mr. Godwin chose to administer in secret, +rather than encounter the opposition of a medical practitioner, +or the prejudices of an ignorant nurse?</p> + +<p>No words can depict the agony of this unhappy girl. Noble +and pure of heart, she could but detest guilt and treachery. +Yet she was devoted to her father; and her breast was tortured +by the thought of his peril, should his guilty attempt become +known to the world.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + +<p>“I will ascertain the truth,” she thought; “come what may +I will discover the nature of the liquid which he mingled with +the sleeper’s medicine. If it should be something harmless after +all, O, what happiness!—what a blessed relief from this unendurable +agony of mind! And yet, can I hope it?—can I forget +my father’s face as he looked at me to-day—so dark, so livid, so +like the countenance of a murderer?”</p> + +<p>While Julia abandoned herself to her sorrow, the banker +paced the breakfast-room, tormented by horrible fears—fears +which until lately had been almost strangers in his breast. His +daughter’s conduct had affected him more acutely than anything +that had happened to him for a long time.</p> + +<p>Could <em>she</em> suspect? No, it was impossible. Elsewhere suspicion +might arise, but not <em>here</em>—not in her mind. She is as +innocent and confiding as a child.</p> + +<p>He thought over the events of the previous night, and he +could perceive no flaw, no blemish, in his deadly work; all had +been planned so carefully, all had been executed so successfully, +and at an hour when Julia must naturally have been asleep in her +own room.</p> + +<p>It was impossible that she could know anything.</p> + +<p>“I understand it all,” thought the banker. “She is in love +with this Lionel, and he has revealed his real name to her, and +has told her the story of his mother’s wrongs.”</p> + +<p>Reassured a little by this thought, Rupert Godwin paced his +room with a quick nervous step, listening for the opening of the +door. He was waiting for the coming of the person who should +announce to him the death of Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>But the door was not opened; no one came. Breakfast remained +untouched upon the table, where the richly painted +Worcester china, the antique silver dishes, the mellow brown of +a ponderous ham, the golden tints of a raised pie decorated in alto +relievo by some Benvenuto Cellini of pastrycooks, would have +made a study for a painter of still life.</p> + +<p>The poor envy the rich sometimes, and it is only natural that +the penniless should murmur complainingly against the waste +and luxury of a millionaire’s household, and be rather slow to +recognize the harmony of a universe in which one man has +half-a-dozen country seats, a shooting-box in the Highlands, and +a house in Park-lane, while another man’s children look at him +with wan haggard faces as he sits moaning with his gaunt elbows +on his bony knees—out of work! Yet if the veriest pauper in +all England could have looked into that splendid room and +watched the dark face of Rupert Godwin, he would have +hugged himself in his rags as he contemplated the misery of a +bad man surrounded by the luxury of a prince.</p> + +<p>No one came to speak the slow solemn words that tell of death; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>and yet the time had long passed at which Lionel Westford +should have taken his medicine.</p> + +<p>Again and again Rupert Godwin had looked at his watch. +At last he could endure the suspense no longer. He left the +breakfast-room, and went straight to Lionel’s apartment.</p> + +<p>He expected to behold the face of the dead, still and shadowy +in a shrouded chamber. But the chamber was not darkened; +the windows had been opened, and the balmy morning air blew +into the room. Lionel was lying with his eyes fixed upon the +door. He raised himself in the bed as Rupert Godwin entered, +and fixed those wild bloodshot eyes upon the banker.</p> + +<p>“My father’s murderer!” he cried, pointing to the advancing +figure. “Don’t you see him? Will no one seize him? Will no +one hold him for me? My father’s murderer, Rupert Godwin!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beckson was seated by the bedside. She had taken a +cup of strong tea, and had recovered in some measure from the +effects of the opiate given her by the banker, though her head +ached, and she felt a sensation of drowsiness that was very difficult +to shake off.</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed Rupert Godwin’s bewilderment when he +found his intended victim still living, still vigorous, still able to +proclaim his guilt.</p> + +<p>He looked at the bottles on the table near the bed.</p> + +<p>The bottle which he had tampered with was empty.</p> + +<p>“Who gave the invalid his medicine?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I did, sir,” answered Mrs. Beckson.</p> + +<p>“He took it quietly?”</p> + +<p>“O yes, sir. Though he does rave and go on so at times, he +always takes his medicine quietly enough.”</p> + +<p>“There was none spilt, then?”</p> + +<p>“Not a drop, sir.”</p> + +<p>The banker looked at his housekeeper very intently. It was +evident that she was speaking the truth.</p> + +<p>No suspicion had as yet entered her mind. Here, at least, +there was safety.</p> + +<p>But how was it, then, that the poison had failed in its effect? +It was not a poison likely to fail. Rupert Godwin had laid his +plans deliberately, and was not a man to make any mistake in a +deadly business like this.</p> + +<p>He left the room. He dared not remain longer in that apartment, +to be denounced as a murderer.</p> + +<p>At present that denunciation was only regarded as the senseless +raving of delirium. What if those who watched the invalid +should come by-and-by to believe in it—to search, to investigate? +It was all one dark labyrinth of horror. Rupert Godwin felt as +if a network had been closing round him, slowly but surely—a +fatal web, from which escape would ere long be impossible.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> + +<p>“I must remove this man somehow,” he thought, as he went +back to his own room. “The poison has failed, and I must try +some other means, less deadly, less dangerous, but as certain. I +think I know of a plan by which Lionel Westford’s lips may be +as surely closed as if he slept the cold slumber of the dead.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"> + CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">PUT TO THE TEST.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">The doctor from Hertford came at noon to see his patient. As +he left the sick-chamber he was met by Julia, who had been +watching for him at the door of her own apartment.</p> + +<p>She beckoned the surgeon into her pretty sitting-room. A +small portable easel was arranged upon the table, with an open +colour-box, a palette, and a sheaf of brushes. It seemed as if +Julia had been painting.</p> + +<p>Amongst the colours and brushes there was a little medicine +vial, filled with a colourless liquid, but bearing no label whatever.</p> + +<p>“<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Good-morning, Mr. Grainger'" id="tn-237a">Good morning, Mr. Granger</ins>,” said Julia. “How is your +patient?”</p> + +<p>She was quite calm, although still very pale; and she asked +the question in a quiet tone that betrayed no emotion except a +natural interest in the invalid.</p> + +<p>The surgeon shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“I cannot say that there is much change,” he said, “either +for better or worse. It is a very peculiar case, Miss Godwin—a +case in which the mind seems more affected than the body. I +am about to speak to your father on the subject, and I shall +propose calling in further medical aid. I must confess that the +case is somewhat beyond me, the mind is so very strangely +affected. One rooted idea seems to have taken firm possession +of the brain.”</p> + +<p>“And that idea is——”</p> + +<p>“A very horrible one, Miss Godwin—something about murder +and treachery; and unfortunately my patient has taken it into +his head to mix your father’s name with all his wild talk. There +is no accounting for these delirious fancies. Good morning.”</p> + +<p>“<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Stay, Mr. Grainger'" id="tn-237b">Stay, Mr. Granger</ins>,” exclaimed Julia. “I want to ask +your advice about something.”</p> + +<p>“And I shall be most happy to give it.”</p> + +<p>“It is a very trivial subject. When I was in town some +weeks ago, I was recommended a wash to mix with my colours +for painting. It is a mixture intended to brighten the tints, I +believe; but the shopkeeper who recommended it told me that +I must be very careful how I use it, as it is of a poisonous nature. +I am so foolish as to be almost afraid to use the wash at all +after having heard this, and I should be very glad if you would +tell me whether it really is poisonous.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> + +<p>Julia Godwin placed the medicine vial in the surgeon’s hand. +He removed the cork and smelt the liquid.</p> + +<p>“Poisonous!” he exclaimed; “I should think it was poisonous +indeed! Why, my dear young lady, do you know that there +is a considerable admixture of prussic acid in this fine wash of +yours? Upon my word, people have no right to sell such stuff, +even if it does give brilliancy to the water-colours, which I can +scarcely believe.”</p> + +<p>Julia’s pale face grew white to the very lips.</p> + +<p>“There is prussic acid in it, then?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly, my dear Miss Godwin; but there is no +occasion for so much alarm. So long as you do not let any of +this liquid approach your lips there is no possible danger.”</p> + +<p>“And if—if an accident were to happen—if any one were to +drink that stuff?”</p> + +<p>The surgeon smiled.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear young lady, that imprudent person would +not live to drink anything else. But I will take the bottle home +and analyze its contents, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“O, no!” exclaimed Julia, taking the bottle hastily from his +hand, “not on any account; there is no occasion.”</p> + +<p>“I should recommend you to throw the stuff away.”</p> + +<p>Julia went to one of the windows, and poured the contents of +the bottle upon the mould of a box of flowers in her balcony.</p> + +<p>“You are satisfied now?” she said, with a smile.</p> + +<p>Heaven knows how difficult it was for her to assume that +careless manner, that smiling countenance.</p> + +<p>“Quite satisfied,” answered the surgeon. “Good morning.”</p> + +<p>He left the room, closing the door after him. In the next +moment Julia flung herself on her knees, her hands clasped +above her head, her tearless eyes raised piteously to Heaven.</p> + +<p>“O God of mercy, have compassion on my misery!” she +cried; “for now I know the worst. My father is a villain and +a murderer! I understand all now—that delirious raving about +murder and treachery; those wild accusations which mystify +the watchers in the sick-room: I understand all now. Beneath +them there is hidden some fearful story, and it is to seal for ever +the lips of his accuser that my father would have committed a +murder.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"> + CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">RIDING TO HER DOOM.</h3> + + + +<p class="noindent">Esther Vanberg’s prophecy respecting the weather was fully +realized. The sun shone with unusual and most un-English +splendour upon that morning on which she had arranged to ride +Devilshoof for the first time.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> + +<p>In spite of the pain and terror with which her hardihood inspired +him, Esther’s devoted adorer presented himself in her +drawing-room as the hands of the Sèvres timepiece indicated +the appointed moment.</p> + +<p>The Duke was pale and anxious-looking. He could not forget +Lord Wallace’s warning with respect to the thoroughbred hunter. +But the Jewess was almost as radiant as the summer sunlight +which was shining into her tiny conservatory. She was walking +up and down the room in high spirits, singing a gay little +Swiss ballad, and slashing the trailing skirt of her riding-habit +with a turquoise-handled whip.</p> + +<p>She looked superb in her equestrian costume. The closely-fitting +habit revealed the outline of her graceful figure. A tiny +turban hat, adorned with a peacock’s breast of shining green +and purple, was perched coquettishly upon her queen-like head. +The blue-black hair was coiled in a tight mass of plaits at the +back of this regal head, and secured by a small golden comb. +Her head-gear might very easily have been in better taste, but +it certainly could not have been more becoming, and it was the +becoming rather than the correct which the strong-minded Miss +Vanberg affected.</p> + +<p>“Esther,” cried the Duke of Harlingford, “you look positively +adorable!”</p> + +<p>“I am always adorable,” answered the Jewess, gaily, “when +I happen to be in a good temper, which perhaps is not very +often. But to-day I am bent upon enjoying myself. You must +give me a superb luncheon at the Star and Garter, Harlingford. +This is the very weather for whitebait and moselle. If I were a +person of fortune, I would have iced moselle laid on all over my +house, like the water-service, and a cistern of Badminton on the +roof. O, how I long for a canter over the greensward of Richmond +Park! Devilshoof has been saddled for the last ten +minutes. Look at him!—did you ever see a greater beauty?” +exclaimed Esther, pointing to the open window.</p> + +<p>The young Duke looked out, and in the street below he saw +the thoroughbred chestnut in charge of a groom, who seemed to +have some little difficulty in keeping the animal quiet.</p> + +<p>Certainly, the horse was a superb creature; but as certainly +he was an animal that few women would have cared to ride.</p> + +<p>“How do you like his looks?” asked the Jewess.</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” answered the Duke, gravely.</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, he said earnestly:</p> + +<p>“Esther, I have some little claim upon your affection. You +know how devotedly I have loved you. You know that I am +even ready to break with all my family for your sake—to snap +my fingers at the prejudices of the world in which I live, in order +that I may make you my wife. You know this, Esther! I do +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>not boast of my love, or make any merit of my devotion; for I +am so weak where you are concerned that I cannot help loving +you, in spite of my better reason. I never refused to gratify +any whim of yours; and I have not received much kindness in +return for my obedience to your fancies. For the first time in +my life I ask you a favour. Do not ride that horse.”</p> + +<p>There was a tender earnestness in the Duke’s tone that for a +moment almost melted the stubborn heart of Esther Vanberg; +but in the next instant she drew herself up proudly, and met her +lover’s entreating look with a defiant smile.</p> + +<p>“My dear Harlingford,” she said, “I think I must have the +blood of a warrior in my veins, for I have a horror of showing +the white feather. I have set my heart upon proving the folly +of Lord Bothwell Wallace’s warning. Come, Devilshoof is getting +impatient.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, Esther,” the young nobleman replied sadly; “I +have been refused the first and the last favour that I shall ever +ask at your hands.”</p> + +<p>The Jewess turned to look at him wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“You are offended with me, Harlingford?” she said.</p> + +<p>“No, Esther; only grieved.”</p> + +<p>No more was said until the Jewess and her companion were +mounted. They rode through the Park to the Kensington-road, +crossed Hammersmith-bridge, and went through Barnes. Devilshoof +seemed quiet and tractable enough under the light hand of +his new mistress; and, after watching the animal intently for +some little time, the Duke began to recover his spirits. Perhaps, +after all, Bothwell Wallace had been mistaken about the horse.</p> + +<p>Esther was in her gayest humour, and at such a time the brilliant +Jewess could be marvellously fascinating. She talked a +good deal of nonsense, perhaps; but what is more delightful +than nonsense from the lips of a beautiful woman who is not +quite a fool? The Duke forgot all his fears, bewitched and +delighted by his companion’s vivacity.</p> + +<p>They rode thus gaily onward to Richmond. During the whole +of the journey Devilshoof had behaved splendidly, and Esther +was loud in her praises of him.</p> + +<p>At the Star and Garter they dismounted, and left their horses +to be refreshed under the watchful care of Esther’s groom. An +obsequious attendant ushered the young nobleman and his lovely +companion into one of the pretty little garden rooms, which the +ruthless hand of that seven-league-booted giant, Limited +Liability, has swept off the face of the earth. The Duke ordered +the whitebait and moselle which his idol affected, with such +accompanying delicacies as the taste of an accomplished German +waiter might suggest.</p> + +<p>“Pray let the luncheon be served quickly,” Esther exclaimed, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>as she removed her hat, and threw aside her whip and gloves. +“I am longing for that canter in the Park, Harlingford. I +suppose you are reconciled to Devilshoof now?”</p> + +<p>“Well, darling, I begin to think that Wallace must have +exaggerated his vices. But I shall never feel easy while you +insist on riding him. However, perhaps when you have sustained +your reputation for pluck by a canter or two, you’ll let +me send the brute down to Leicestershire.”</p> + +<p>The luncheon was served very speedily. The Duke of Harlingford +was well known at the Star and Garter, and swift are +the feet and dexterous are the hands which perform the bidding +of a ducal guest.</p> + +<p>The cook had done his best, the perfume of the moselle was +delicious, and the Jewess drank several glasses of the sparkling +beverage.</p> + +<p>“Here is to the health of my glorious hunter, Devilshoof!” +she said gaily, lifting the glass above her head.</p> + +<p>Never had the Duke beheld her so bewitching. He was fascinated +by her—intoxicated far more by the splendour of her dark +eyes than by the pale ambrosia of Rhineland.</p> + +<p>It was nearly four o’clock when Miss Vanberg rose from the +table, and adjusted her coquettish little hat before the glass over +the mantelpiece. Four o’clock, and a radiant summer afternoon. +Richmond Hill was looking its gayest as the Duke and his companion +mounted their horses before the portico of the Star and +Garter. Carriages were passing to and fro; loungers were +strolling on the broad terrace; dinner-eaters were beginning to +arrive at the hotel; and in the distance a band was playing a +German waltz, whose pensive strain mingled with the shrill +happy voices of little children playing under the elms.</p> + +<p>“I never felt in higher spirits,” cried Esther, as she sprang +lightly into the saddle. “Come, Vincent, now for our gallop in +the Park!”</p> + +<p>As she lifted her habit, and put her little foot into the groom’s +hand before mounting her horse, the Duke perceived for the first +time a slender steel spur glittering at the heel of her patent +leather boot. When she had adjusted herself in the saddle he +turned to her with an anxious face. “Good heavens, Esther!” +he exclaimed, as they rode away from the hotel, “you surely +cannot be so mad as to intend using a spur with that horse?”</p> + +<p>“And why should I not, you most fidgety man?” asked the +Jewess, with a saucy laugh.</p> + +<p>“Because, if there is any truth in what Wallace says, the +animal has a devil of a temper, and a touch from a spur may +send him half mad. For mercy’s sake, Esther, be prudent!”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” cried the haughty girl, with a contemptuous shrug +of her shoulders; “one would think I was some school-girl who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>had only had half-a-dozen lessons in a riding-school. You forget +that I have hunted in Leicestershire, and been in at the +death after many a ride across the stiffest country in England. +Come, Vincent! Hurrah for the horse that can carry me with +the speed of a lightning-flash across hill and dale!”</p> + +<p>She flung her arm above her head, waving the tiny riding-whip +with a triumphant flourish.</p> + +<p>They were in the heart of the Park by this time, on a broad +open expanse of greensward, a sunny sky above them, the purple +woodlands stretching far around, the birds singing merrily under +that cloudless sky.</p> + +<p>Devilshoof held his head high, his nostrils dilated as they +scented the air sweeping across the broad expanse. He was +going at a <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'swingeing canter'" id="tn-242">swinging canter</ins>, when Esther, delighting in her +companion’s anxiety, suddenly shouted the loud view-halloo of +the hunting-field, and planted her spur in the animal’s side. That +one touch seemed to act like magic. In the next moment Lord +Bothwell Wallace’s opinion of the horse was fully confirmed.</p> + +<p>Away flew Devilshoof, scudding across the grassy expanse +swift as the wind, uprooting little patches of grass with his +flying hoofs as he tore along. At first the Jewess laughed +gaily, pleased with the animal’s spirit. She turned round to +look at the Duke with a smile upon her face, and waved her +whip above her head as a signal to him to follow her.</p> + +<p>But all at once this daring and obstinate woman began to be +conscious of her folly. Danger lay before her—a danger whose +extent she could not estimate.</p> + +<p>The grassy expanse sloped suddenly downward; and at the +bottom of the slope there was a rugged timber fence, about +eight feet high, dividing the Park from the enclosed lands +beyond.</p> + +<p>On the other side of this fence the ground sloped abruptly +upward, stony, rugged, and steep.</p> + +<p>Towards this danger, hidden until now, Devilshoof was flying +at the speed of a racehorse.</p> + +<p>In vain the Jewess tried to pull him up. The animal had got +the bit between his teeth, and held it locked as if in an iron vice.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg’s face grew deadly white, but to the last her +dauntless spirit defied danger. She was a first-rate horsewoman, +and held herself as firmly in the saddle as if she had been a part +of the animal she rode.</p> + +<p>But the danger was close upon her now. Devilshoof went +madly at the fence, cleared it with his fore-feet, but caught his +hind-legs in the topmost rail, and fell crashing down against the +rugged slope beyond.</p> + +<p>The Duke of Harlingford, riding his hardest to overtake the +Jewess, arrived only in time to see the catastrophe. The groom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>came behind him. Both men were white to the very lips, and +breathless with terror. They knew the extent of the danger that +had been seen only when too late.</p> + +<p>They dismounted on the near side of the fence, tied up their +horses, and clambered over the wooden boundary. It was the +work of but a few moments; those few moments, however, seemed +an eternity of agonized suspense to the Duke of Harlingford.</p> + +<p>Between them, the two men contrived to drag the horse away +from the motionless form of his rider. The animal’s shoulder +was broken.</p> + +<p>“Take him away!” exclaimed the Duke in hoarse gasping accents. +“Take the cursed brute from my sight, and blow out his +brains; he has killed the only woman I ever loved.”</p> + +<p>“God grant it mayn’t be quite as bad as that, your grace; let +us hope for the best,” said the groom, as he took the bridle and +led the horse away.</p> + +<p>The young man knelt down on the rugged slope beside the +Jewess. Esther Vanberg was lying on her back, with her face +looking upward to the afternoon sky. Her beauty was unblemished—no +scratch disfigured the pale olive skin. The still +face, with its closed eyes and long drooping lashes, looked as +calm as the face of a statue.</p> + +<p>Presently the eyelids were raised, very slowly, and the glorious +dark eyes looked with a strange languid gaze at the face of the +Duke.</p> + +<p>“Esther!” he exclaimed, with a wild cry of rapture. “You +are not dead! O, thank Heaven! thank Heaven!”</p> + +<p>The strong man’s face sank upon his clasped hands, and he +sobbed aloud. The revulsion of feeling had been even more difficult +to bear than the agony that had preceded it.</p> + +<p>The Jewess looked at her lover with a languid smile.</p> + +<p>“Why, you dear, affectionate goose, who said I was dead? I +never saw such a man—to be frightened about a trifle of a spill. +That animal has thrown me, I suppose? Well, well, Vincent; +you and your friend are right after all, I daresay; and I’ve been +fairly punished for my obstinacy. I scarcely knew where I was +just now. I fainted, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, darling; you were unconscious for a few moments. O, +Esther, what an age of agony it seemed! I thought you were +dead.”</p> + +<p>“Dead! Why, I’m not even hurt. I only feel a kind of +numbness—just as if I hadn’t any sense in my limbs. The +shock, you know, and that kind of thing.”</p> + +<p>“My own darling, where can I take you? The nearest lodge +must be upwards of a mile from here; but I’ll carry you in my +arms, if you feel fit to come.”</p> + +<p>“Fit to come? Of course I am! I daresay I shall be able to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>walk when this numbness goes off. But perhaps you’d better +carry me at first.”</p> + +<p>The Duke lifted the light burden in his arms. Alas for that +slender form! It hung as inertly in his arms as though it had +been a corpse. There was no spring, no elasticity; it was a deadweight +which the Duke carried.</p> + +<p>He called to the groom, who left Devilshoof tied to the fence +at some distance, while he came to render service to his mistress.</p> + +<p>“Thank God for this escape, your grace!” the man said +earnestly.—“We’ve had a rare fright about you, ma’am.”</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg was a liberal mistress, and her servants were +attached to her, in spite of her violent temper. The Duke +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'instrusted his beloved burden'" id="tn-244">intrusted his beloved burden</ins> to the groom, while he himself +mounted his horse. Then the groom placed Esther in the young +man’s arms, and he seated her in front of him on the saddle, +and walked his horse gently away.</p> + +<p>“We shall meet a carriage before long, I daresay, my darling,” +he said; “and I will get you a more comfortable mode of conveyance.”</p> + +<p>The Jewess was very pale. Her large dark eyes were fixed on +the face of the Duke with a strangely anxious and inquiring +gaze. They looked unnaturally large now, those dark eyes, and +all their lustrous brilliancy had faded.</p> + +<p>“Do you think I am much hurt, Vincent?” she asked very +earnestly. “I don’t suffer any pain; but this numbness in my +limbs is so strange. There seems no life in me below my +shoulders. What if the life should never come back?”</p> + +<p>The Duke looked at her with his face blanched by a new terror. +The revulsion of feeling upon finding her alive and conscious +had been so great, that Vincent had imagined all serious danger +to be past. But now an icy horror crept through his veins.</p> + +<p>“I remember a man being thrown from his hunter down in +Leicestershire,” said the Jewess, in a low faint voice, watching +the Duke’s face anxiously as she spoke. “At first he didn’t +seem hurt at all; but he was just like me—he couldn’t move a +bit; and when they carried him home, the surgeon found that +his back was broken. He died before it was dark that night. +O, Vincent, do you think I am going to die?”</p> + +<p>“Going to die!” cried the Duke. “What, darling, when I +hold you in my arms—your own bright self, with your eyes +looking into mine? Why, Esther, this is foolish; my brave girl’s +proud spirit has gone all at once!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Vincent, the proud spirit has gone. It will never come +back again. I’m afraid it was a wicked spirit, and led me into +many evil deeds. I hope I am not dying, Vincent,” she said +very slowly; and then added, in a still lower voice, “for I do +not think I am fit to die.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> + +<p>“You shall not die!” cried the Duke, with an almost savage +energy. “How can you talk of dying, Esther, when you know +that I would give the last drop of my heart’s best blood to save +you? I tell you you shall not die. All the greatest surgeons +in London shall be summoned. Science can do marvellous +things, and it shall save you. I will give them every penny of +my fortune, but, I say, they shall save you! Fear nothing, my +own darling. You shall know the power of a devoted love.”</p> + +<p>He drew her closer to him with his strong right arm, while +his left hand held the reins.</p> + +<p>At this moment carriage-wheels sounded on the road. The +Duke looked round, and saw a plain brougham, drawn by one +horse, which was approaching at a smart pace.</p> + +<p>“A doctor’s brougham, I’ll lay my life!” cried the young man. +“Nothing could be more providential. Cheer up, Esther darling; +if there is a medical man in that carriage, he’ll soon laugh +your fears out of you.”</p> + +<p>The Duke drew up his horse, and waited for the advancing +vehicle. He made a sign to the coachman as it approached, and +the man stopped. Vincent rode up to the carriage-window.</p> + +<p>The glass was down; an elderly, gray-haired gentleman, with +a cheery, pleasant face, looked out.</p> + +<p>“Is there anything the matter?” he asked, looking with quick +observant eyes at Esther’s pale face, and the slender form leaning +so languidly against the Duke’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Yes. This lady has met with an accident, and I have been +on the look-out for a carriage in order to beg a lift for her. Are +you a medical man, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I am.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God for that! Will you assist me to place the lady +in your carriage, and see her conveyed to the Star and Garter?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly.”</p> + +<p>The doctor was an active little man. He arranged the +cushions on the seat of the brougham, and then skipped lightly +out of the vehicle, and took Esther Vanberg in his arms.</p> + +<p>“Any bones broken?” he asked, as cheerily as though a few +fractured bones were of very little consequence when he was by +to set them.</p> + +<p>“No, thank Providence!” answered the Duke. “Miss Vanberg +only complains of numbness in the limbs—nothing else; +she is suffering no pain.”</p> + +<p>All at once the doctor’s face changed. Its cheerful expression +gave place to a very grave and earnest look.</p> + +<p>Esther had been watching the medical man’s countenance +very intently.</p> + +<p>As she saw the change, a low cry of terror broke from her +pale lips.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> + +<p>“I knew that it was so!” she said. “I am going to die!” +And then, in low mournful accents, she murmured:</p> + +<p>“So unfit to die! so unfit to die!”</p> + +<p>The doctor recovered his professional presence of mind in a +moment.</p> + +<p>“My dear young lady,” he said, “I must not have any foolish +alarm of this kind. As yet we do not know that there is danger. +The sensation you complain of may be only the effect of the +shock—the severe shaking, the——”</p> + +<p>“You are deceiving me, doctor!” cried Esther angrily. “But +it is no use. Your face told me the truth just now.”</p> + +<p>The medical man saw that his thoughts had been read by +those anxious eyes.</p> + +<p>“I did not quite like that symptom of the numbness,” he +said; “that was all. There may be nothing in it. Was it a +very bad fall? Don’t talk, my dear young lady; your friend +will tell me all about it.”</p> + +<p>The doctor had placed himself on a little seat with his back +to the horse. Esther was lying opposite to him. The Duke +rode by the side of the carriage, as the vehicle drove slowly towards +the principal gates of the Park—those gates which Esther +Vanberg had entered so joyously less than an hour before.</p> + +<p>The Duke of Harlingford related the circumstances of the accident. +The medical man listened attentively; but while he +listened he kept his eyes fixed on Esther’s white face, and his +fingers on her pulse. He tried to conceal his anxiety; but the +brisk cheerfulness of manner that was common to him had quite +forsaken him. He was very grave—very watchful, like a man +who feels that danger is at hand.</p> + +<p>“Shall we take her to the Star and Garter?” asked the Duke.</p> + +<p>“You could not take her to a better place. You will telegraph +for some female relations, I suppose—her mother, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>“She has no mother. She is an orphan.”</p> + +<p>“Your sister, I conclude?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered the Duke, looking at Esther with inexpressible +affection; “she is a lady whom I hope to make my wife.”</p> + +<p>Esther returned his look, and the tears gathered slowly in her +eyes. O, what a noble heart this was, which she had so often +trampled upon and spurned in her pride and folly! What a devoted +love! What a self-sacrificing affection, which she had +trifled with and imposed upon in the haughty recklessness of her +stubborn nature! But now that nature seemed melted all at +once.</p> + +<p>“Heaven have pity upon me!” she thought. “I believe I +have been a demon until to-day. And now I seem transformed +into a woman, with womanly feelings—womanly tears! But the +change comes too late!—too late, too late!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"> + CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE SHADOW OF DEATH.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">The medical man felt rather inquisitive as to the name and position +of his patient and her companion. The Duke was unattended; +but from the appearance of the horse he rode, and from +the careless manner in which he spoke of putting up at the Star +and Garter, Mr. Granby, the surgeon, concluded that he was at +least tolerably well off. But he had no idea of the rank of his +patient’s companion until the carriage arrived at the Star and +Garter, when a bevy of waiters crowded to obey the orders of the +fair-haired, elegant-looking young man, whom they addressed as +“your grace.”</p> + +<p>The helpless girl was carried to a suite of spacious rooms on the +first floor. She was laid on the sofa, and then the doctor turned +round and addressed the Duke.</p> + +<p>“I must beg you to leave us, sir,” he said. “I require the +assistance of some middle-aged woman, who has been used to +wait upon an invalid. I daresay there is such a person in the +house.”</p> + +<p>The waiter who had escorted them to the apartments replied +that there was a person qualified to attend to the young lady, +under Mr. Granby’s direction.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” said the surgeon; “then you will be kind enough +to send her to me immediately.—In the mean time, perhaps you +will kindly assist me to wheel this sofa into the next room?” he +added, to the Duke.</p> + +<p>The adjoining apartment was a bedroom, large and airy, like +the sitting-room, and overlooking the garden of the hotel. Beyond +the garden stretched one of the fairest landscapes in England—the +winding river, now crimsoned by the sinking sun; the +distant hills and woodlands, purple with the cool shadows of +evening.</p> + +<p>Esther looked round the room with an expression of alarm.</p> + +<p>“Why do you bring me here?” she exclaimed. “I shall not +be obliged to sleep at Richmond, shall I? Surely I shall be well +enough to go home?”</p> + +<p>“Not to-night, my dear young lady; it is growing late, and +you require rest,” said the doctor in a soothing tone.</p> + +<p>The Jewess looked at him anxiously, but said no more.</p> + +<p>The Duke was banished from the bedchamber. Pale, and +restless with the slow torture of suspense, he paced up and +down the sitting-room, while the doctor remained alone with his +patient.</p> + +<p>A respectable-looking woman appeared presently, escorted by +the waiter. She was one of the head chambermaids, and she had +lived in private families, where she had had considerable experience +in nursing.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span></p> + +<p>In cases of real need people seem, by general consent, to forget +the very meaning of the word “trouble.” The woman came +cheerfully to devote herself to the young lady who had fallen +from her horse. She was a clean comfortable-looking woman, of +about five-and-forty, called Martha Gibbs, the very <i lang="fr">beau idéal</i> of +a Martha.</p> + +<p>The doctor opened the door, and Mrs. Gibbs went into the +bedroom. Then the door was again closed, and the Duke of +Harlingford resumed his weary pacing up and down the room.</p> + +<p>How long the time seemed! And yet, during all that period +of suspense, the young nobleman did not once look out upon the +evening landscape, which spread itself like some glorious picture +of earth’s rarest beauty before the open windows.</p> + +<p>His eyes were never lifted from the carpet, as he paced up and +down, up and down, straining his ear to catch some sound of +voices from the chamber within—sometimes hoping, sometimes +despairing, but never praying. Alas! it was so long since this +young man had lifted his voice in supplication to his Creator, that +now, when he had such need to pray, the words would not come. +Prayer seemed a mockery upon his lips. His frivolous, dissipated +life; his association with men who scoffed at the very +name of religion; all his own faults and follies,—arose before +him in this dread hour of anguish, and he felt himself unworthy +to ask for Heaven’s compassion upon his sorrow. How doubly +appalling is the face of death when it confronts the man who +is without religion! Who does not remember that woful picture +of the dying Dubois, fighting against death till the last, and +then sending in hot haste for the Viaticum, with the <i>special +ceremonial for cardinals</i>?</p> + +<p>At length that period of agonizing suspense came to an end. +The door of the bedroom was opened, and the medical man appeared.</p> + +<p>One eager glance at his face told the Duke that the surgeon +had melancholy tidings to impart. He rushed forward, and +grasped Mr. Granby’s arm.</p> + +<p>“The case is much worse than I thought,” he exclaimed; “I +can see it in your face. Miss Vanberg’s injuries are serious?”</p> + +<p>“They are very serious.”</p> + +<p>“She will be a cripple for life?”</p> + +<p>The surgeon shook his head sadly.</p> + +<p>“O God!” cried the Duke, “then it is even worse than that! +She will be paralyzed, perhaps helpless? No matter! She shall +find what it is to be truly loved! O, doctor, for pity’s sake speak, +and speak plainly—tell me the worst!”</p> + +<p>The Duke raised his head, and looked earnestly at the surgeon’s +face.</p> + +<p>“I understand,” he said; “you can give me no hope. She is——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>He could not finish the sentence. He paused, struggled with +the passionate sobs that rent his breast, and then gasped, in a +hoarse whisper:</p> + +<p>“I shall lose her?”</p> + +<p>“On earth, your grace. Let us hope that you may meet her +again in heaven.”</p> + +<p>The Duke shuddered as he listened to those solemn words. +Alas! he knew but too well that the life of the Jewess had not +fitted her for a higher and purer sphere than this lower world. +Proud and reckless, she had lived a pagan life, neither worshipping +in the synagogues of her own people nor at any Christian +shrine; and now that the shadow of death hovered near, Vincent, +Duke of Harlingford, felt how utterly helpless were his rank and +wealth to ward off one pang from the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>“My God,” he murmured, “it is too bitter a stroke! And +yet it is only a fitting retribution for my useless, frivolous life. +But she seemed so little hurt!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, my dear sir,” answered the doctor gravely, “those very +symptoms which gave you hope filled me with alarm. The absence +of pain, the numbness of the limbs—I knew too well what +those portended. The spine is fractured.”</p> + +<p>“And no science can save her?”</p> + +<p>“No. It may give you some satisfaction to call in further aid. +I will telegraph immediately, if you please, for the two best men +in Saville-row.”</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake do so! But before you go give me one +word of comfort. You have spoken her doom, but it will not be +soon; she will live for some time, surely?”</p> + +<p>Again the surgeon shook his head, with the same sad expression +on his face.</p> + +<p>“I wish to tell you the truth,” he said, “for I know that in +these cases the truth is wisest and best. Miss Vanberg’s hours +are numbered. If she has relatives whom she would wish to see, +they had better be telegraphed for at once.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered the Duke mournfully; “my poor girl stands +alone in the world. She has had many admirers, but not one +friend, except myself,—a weak and dangerous one; for I yielded +to all her caprices, against my own better judgment, and I allowed +her to commit the imprudence that is to cost her her life. +She has no friends, doctor; but there is one favour you can do me.”</p> + +<p>“Your grace has only to command my services.”</p> + +<p>“After you have telegraphed for the London surgeons, I shall +be truly grateful if you will call upon some clergyman in this +town, and request him to come at once to my poor girl. You +reside in the neighbourhood, and are, no doubt, on intimate terms +with some minister of the Church?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the doctor, “I do know a clergyman in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>immediate neighbourhood, one of the best men that ever breathed. +I will call on him immediately after sending the telegram, and +will bring him here with me.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you very much. In the mean while I may see her, +I suppose?” said the Duke, looking with mournful, yearning +eyes to the door of the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you may see her. She is quite conscious, and very +calm—though she knows the worst.”</p> + +<p>The Duke bent his head. He could not speak, but he grasped +the doctor’s hand with a grateful pressure, and then passed silently +into the sick-room.</p> + +<p>Esther Vanberg was lying quite motionless, her eyes fixed on +the door as the Duke entered. Never before had Vincent seen +so much tenderness in those eyes. The shadow of death, so near +at hand, seemed to have a very softening influence upon the +Jewess.</p> + +<p>She pointed silently to an arm-chair by the side of the bed. The +Duke seated himself, and took the feeble hand which stretched +itself towards him.</p> + +<p>The proud woman was quite subdued. She could read the +signs of an unspeakable sorrow in the pale face of her lover, and +she felt how unworthy she was of such unbounded devotion.</p> + +<p>“Dear Vincent,” she murmured softly, “you must not grieve +for me. You have all your life before you. It is better for your +happiness, much better, that I should die. I have been a proud, +capricious creature, and I never should have made a good wife. +Believe me, dear, it is better as it is. I know that you will grieve +just at first; but by-and-by the sorrow will all wear away, and +you will only remember me as one of the pale shadows of the +past. Then I hope you will marry a woman of your own station, +a woman worthy of your love.”</p> + +<p>“My darling! my own dear love! I would give my dukedom, +and the last acre of the Harlingford lands—I would give my +very soul—if I could save you!”</p> + +<p>“I know your true heart, Vincent; and I can believe all you +say, poor boy! But I know that my death will be ultimately +for your happiness. And now, dear, I have done many wicked +things in my life. I want to repent of them before I die—to +atone for some, if I can. There was one cruel wrong I inflicted +upon an innocent girl, prompted by an envious hatred of her +good looks—and her success in the theatre. You’ll despise me +when I tell you how mean and cruel I have been—but I must +tell you, Vincent, however hard it is to do it.”</p> + +<p>In as few words as could tell the story, Esther related the +circumstances of the treacherous plot against Violet Westford. +The Duke listened with a grave face. He was deeply grieved by +the recital of Esther’s sin.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>“I was very wicked, was I not, Vincent?” she asked, when +she had finished her story; “and you will hate me for my +wickedness.”</p> + +<p>“No, Esther: but I hate the man who tempted you—that +cold-blooded scoundrel, Rupert Godwin, who, for some wicked +purpose of his own, played upon a woman’s foolish jealousy, in +order to make her the instrument of his treachery.”</p> + +<p>“Rupert Godwin!” cried the Jewess. “Is Mr. Godwin’s +name Rupert?”</p> + +<p>“It is.”</p> + +<p>“Strange! strange!”</p> + +<p>“Why so, darling?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know; but the name is an uncommon one, and it is +connected with the history of my childhood. O, Vincent, I +have not many hours to live; but before I die I should like to +tell you the story of my youth. I think it would make you +understand why I have been a proud and extravagant woman—reckless +of the feelings of others, seeking only my own pleasure, +heartless, ungrateful. If I live long enough, Vincent, I will tell +you that story.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XL"> + CHAPTER XL.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">A FATAL LESSON.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">While Esther Vanberg lay very calm and still, with her hand +linked in that of the Duke, the door was softly opened, and the +surgeon appeared on the threshold of the chamber.</p> + +<p>He was not alone. Behind him came the ever-welcome visitor +to the death-chamber, the minister of the Gospel. The proud +heart may scorn Heaven’s gentle laws while life is in its zenith, +while the grave seems so far away; but, sooner or later, the dark +hour comes, and the only earthly comforter is welcome.</p> + +<p>“My friend, Mr. Champneys, has come to see our patient,” +the surgeon said softly: “shall you and I leave them alone for a +little? The nurse will see that Miss Vanberg wants nothing. +She understands all that is required.”</p> + +<p>The Duke rose from his seat by the bedside, and submissively +followed the medical man.</p> + +<p>They entered the sitting-room, and seated themselves in +mournful silence. Candles had been brought, and the curtains +drawn. A table had been laid for dinner, but the Duke took +nothing but a glass of water.</p> + +<p>“Is there no hope?” he asked presently, in heart-broken +accents.</p> + +<p>“None, upon this earth. I have telegraphed for the most +eminent surgeons in England; but I have only done so in +deference to your affectionate anxiety. I regret to say that the +case is quite hopeless. Miss Vanberg’s life is a question of so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>many hours. She may possibly survive the night, but even that +is doubtful.”</p> + +<p>No more was said. The two men sat in silence. Vincent +Mountford covered his face with his hands. But this time he +shed no tears. He was occupied in solemn prayer for the departing +soul of the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>For upwards of an hour he sat thus. Then the door of the +bedroom was opened, and the clergyman emerged.</p> + +<p>“I am leaving her in peace,” he said. “I never talked with any +one more humbly desirous to obtain solace from the true source +of all consolation. I shall return in a few hours; my presence +may afford some comfort. In the meantime, I wish you good-evening. +Do not hesitate to send for me if—if there should be any +unlooked-for change, or if the patient should wish to see me.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Champneys departed as quietly as he had entered; and +next minute the door of the sick-room was again opened, and +Martha Gibbs appeared on the threshold.</p> + +<p>“Miss Vanberg wishes to speak to you, sir,” she said, addressing +the Duke.</p> + +<p>Vincent Mountford hastened to respond to that summons. +Once more he seated himself by the bed of the dying girl.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Gibbs passed silently into the sitting-room, leaving the +lovers alone together.</p> + +<p>Even in the brief interval that had passed, the Duke saw a +change in the face he loved.</p> + +<p>Yes, the pale shadow was hovering nearer. The small hand +was feebler; the dark eyes had a more spiritual light—the radiance +of a soul fast escaping from its earthly bondage.</p> + +<p>“Vincent,” said the Jewess, “I want to tell you the story of +my youth. Ah, no, no!” she exclaimed, answering his look of +remonstrance; “it will do me no harm to speak. I should +suffer more were I compelled to keep silence. The only excuse +for my life lies in the story of my childhood. I must speak of +that, Vincent, before I die.”</p> + +<p>“Speak, then, darling! Every word of yours is precious to +me.”</p> + +<p>“Let me begin at the beginning. The first thing I can remember +is living in a great city—Paris, as I found out afterwards. +I remember beautiful apartments; windows that opened +into a garden, in which there was a fountain in a marble basin. +I remember a happy, idle life, spent in this fairy mansion, and in +those beautiful gardens; shut in from the great city by high +walls and sheltering chestnut-trees.</p> + +<p>“I remember a face, a lovely woman’s face, darker than my +own—dark with the rich olive hue of the South. I remember +that foreign-looking face smiling upon me, and I knew that she +to whom it belonged was my mother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span></p> + +<p>“She was my mother. Hushed in her arms I used to sink to +sleep in the still summer twilight while she sang to me. O, +Vincent, I can almost hear her voice now as I think of her; and +the old time comes back—I am a child once more. My mother +was not happy. I was only a very little child when I first discovered +that secret. She was not happy. Sometimes she would +sit, pale and silent, for hours together—with her hands lying +listlessly in her lap. Sometimes her tears fell upon my face as +I lay in her arms. Children are quick to perceive sorrow. I +saw that my mother was unhappy; and, child though I was, I +watched her closely.</p> + +<p>“Few friends visited us in that splendid abode, and even to +me its lonely splendour seemed sad and dreary.</p> + +<p>“Now and then—at long intervals, as I thought—a gentleman +came; a gentleman whom I was told to call papa. He +took me on his knee sometimes, and caressed me; and when he +was with us my mother’s manner changed from its dreary quiet, +its outbreaks of passionate sorrow.</p> + +<p>“When he was with us my mother seemed gay and happy. +She would sit on a heap of cushions at his feet, looking up at +him with her dark eyes, which had a light like yellow sunshine in +them, smiling at him, talking to him, happy and vivacious as +some joyous bird.</p> + +<p>“Ah, how beautiful I thought her then, in her rich dress, with +jewels flashing on her hands and arms!</p> + +<p>“But as I grew older, my father’s visits were rarer; my +mother’s sorrow became deeper and more settled day by day.</p> + +<p>“Then, by-and-by, there was a sudden change in our life. My +father came very often, but not alone; he brought with him a +young Englishman, an empty-headed fop, as I know now, with +a heart of ice. Even then, child as I was, I perceived the man’s +shallow nature, and I instinctively detested him.</p> + +<p>“But my mother cared very little what guests she welcomed +so long as she was blessed with the presence of the man she +loved. She smiled her brightest smiles upon my father’s friend, +and greeted him with her sweetest words.</p> + +<p>“My father came day after day, week after week; but his +English friend always came with him. He bought my mother a +carriage, and we went to races and fêtes; but the Englishman +accompanied us everywhere.</p> + +<p>“This may have gone on for some three months, when the +end came.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Vincent, that end was very terrible! It was the old, +old story: passionate devoted love on the one side; on the +other, selfishness and cruelty. The Englishman, whose name I +forget, came one day to announce that the house which was our +only home had changed hands. He was its new master. My +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>mother might still be its mistress. He brought his credentials +with him, in the shape of a letter from my father.</p> + +<p>“That letter now lies amongst my private papers, Vincent, +and I have read it again and again, until its every word seems +branded on my brain. That horrible letter has influenced my +life; for it taught me to believe all men false and cruel. I +accepted their flatteries; I let them squander their fortune on +my follies; but I never trusted them; and it is only now, when +the world is fading away from me, that I begin to understand +there may really exist one good man upon this earth.</p> + +<p>“Shall I tell you the contents of that letter, Vincent? It +was very brief, for the writer had used little ceremony.</p> + +<p>“The man my mother loved had grown tired of her and of her +devotion. He had sold her to his wealthy friend! <em>That</em> was +the gist of the letter. The elegant house, the horses, the carriages, +all had been lost at the card-table; and the last stake +had been the woman whom he had sworn to love and cherish to +the hour of his death!</p> + +<p>“Within an hour of the receipt of that letter my mother and +I left the luxurious home in which I had been born. She took +me to England—to London; and London did indeed seem a +dreary city after the bright boulevards and chestnut-trees of +Paris. All through one long summer day we wandered in the +dismal muddy streets of the most squalid neighbourhood on the +Surrey side of the Thames, and at length, worn out, wearied, +and miserable, we took possession of our new home.</p> + +<p>“Shall I tell you what it was like, Vincent, that new home,—the +first that ever sheltered me in your native country?</p> + +<p>“It was a garret, so poorly furnished, so utterly wretched, +that a tolerably prosperous crossing-sweeper would have despised +it for a habitation when his day’s work was over. The +rain pattering against the casement beat in upon us through the +gaps in the broken glass; and the chill night wind crept in +through a hundred different cracks and crannies.</p> + +<p>“‘This is the only lodging we can afford, child,’ my mother +cried bitterly, as I stood in the midst of the wretched chamber, +staring helplessly about me, utterly bewildered by the change in +our position. ‘It is as good a home as either you or I have +any right to occupy; for we are friendless outcasts, penniless +wretches, who know not where to look for their daily bread.’</p> + +<p>“Ah, Vincent, I dare not dwell upon that horrible time; for +the shadow of death grows darker round me; and though I feel +so little pain, the numbness seems creeping, creeping to my +heart, and I know that the end must be very near.</p> + +<p>“My mother went out on the day after our arrival, leaving +me alone in that most miserable house. She did not return +until late at night, and then she told me that she had obtained +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>work which would give us, at the worst, enough to keep us +from starvation.</p> + +<p>“After this she went out every night, and was sometimes +away from me half the day. She never came home till after +midnight; and as soon as I was old enough to understand anything +of London life, I knew that she was a <i lang="fr">figurante</i> at a minor +theatre on the Surrey side of the Thames.</p> + +<p>“By-and-by we moved to a lodging which, although very +humble and very poorly furnished, was a palace in comparison +with the miserable garret that had first sheltered us.</p> + +<p>“So long as my mother lived, I never entered a theatre. +She loved me with the same passionate affection which I felt +for her; and she could not bear that I should be exposed to the +dangers and temptations of a life in which she saw so many +fall into a fatal career of extravagance and vice. Her life was +a very hard one; and others saw the change in her which I +was too inexperienced to perceive. Strangers saw that the hard +life was slowly killing her.</p> + +<p>“One day she came in from her morning duties at the +theatre with the hectic tint in her cheeks heightened, and the +fatal brightness of her eyes even more brilliant than usual.</p> + +<p>“It was my birthday, she had told me early that morning, +and I was fifteen that day.</p> + +<p>“She took both my hands, and led me to the window.</p> + +<p>“‘Turn your face towards the light, Esther,’ she said. ‘Let +me see your eyes, for I am going to tell you something, and I +want to see if you are my own true daughter.’</p> + +<p>“I looked at her wonderingly; and we stood thus, each looking +with fixed and earnest gaze into the other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“‘Esther,’ said my mother, ‘I saw your father in the streets of +London to-day. I saw him, and spoke to him; to him—to the +man for whom I fled from a happy home in my native country—for +whose sake I broke my father’s heart! But the vengeance +of Heaven follows such sins as mine surely—too surely; and +that vengeance has tracked me step by step ever since the fatal +night upon which I was beguiled by your father’s empty promises +to leave the shelter of my home, trusting in the honour of +a villain. To-day, for the first time after weary years of beggary, +I met your father in the street. For your sake, Esther, and for +your sake only, I followed and spoke to him. He was very much +surprised to see me, and even more disgusted to see me such an +altered creature. His face said as much. I told him that his +daughter was growing into womanhood; that in all the world +she had not one friend to replace the mother on whose face the +hand of death had set its stamp. I implored him to have pity +upon this friendless child; I promised forgiveness for my own +blighted life—for the lies that had lured me from my home—the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>cool treachery which would have sold me with the goods and +chattels lost at a gaming-table. I humiliated myself to the +dust, Esther, for your sake—only for your sake!</p> + +<p>“‘Shall I tell you how that man answered my prayers? He +told me to starve, or to rot, where I pleased; but not to obtrude +my ghastly face on him. He had given me my chance, he said, +and I might have squandered the wealth of a weak-minded fool +who would have supported me in the splendour I was so fond +of. I had chosen to fling away this chance, and whatever +misery had come to me had been brought upon me by my own +folly. He was not responsible for that folly, he told me, and he +would not give me sixpence to save me from the pangs of +starvation.</p> + +<p>“‘This was what he said to me, Esther; but no words can tell +the brutal manner in which he spoke, the cold-blooded insolence +of his gaze. He could not have looked more scornfully at the +dirt beneath his feet than he looked at me—at me, whose girlish +brain was well-nigh turned by his flattery when he stole me +from my home.</p> + +<p>“‘You are indeed changed,’ he said. ‘I can scarcely bring +myself to believe that the creature I am looking at was once the +vaunted beauty of Seville.’</p> + +<p>“‘I could find no words to speak my indignation. I was +choked by the suffocating tears of shame and despair. He +turned upon his heel, and left me—left me standing like a statue +in the windy street, with the rain driving gustily at me, and the +icy cold creeping to my very heart.’</p> + +<p>“I burst into a torrent of sobs, and fell on my mother’s breast. +I tried to comfort her; but there are some sorrows in which any +attempt at comfort seems a mockery; and hers was one of them.</p> + +<p>“‘Esther,’ she said, ‘I have told you this story as a solemn +warning. You must be dull indeed if you cannot understand +the bitter moral to be learnt from my life. Crush out from your +heart every vestige of womanly affection. You are beautiful, +and your beauty will win you lovers. Remember my fate! +Remember that their admiration is the false worship of the profligate, +who pays homage to the divinity that he is only eager to +destroy. Value your charms only for their power to win the +love you trample upon and despise. Be proud and pitiless, +false and mercenary, as the wretches who pretend to adore you; +for only thus will you keep them at your feet. They will be the +slaves of a beautiful demon, who laughs at their devotion, and +mocks them with false hopes, while she ruins them by her reckless +extravagance, her insatiable avarice; but they would grow +weary of the love of an angel, when once she has been won by +their treacherous pleading. Take everything from them, but +give nothing in return—not one true word, not one tender +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>thought. Revenge my fate, Esther, and be warned by the +misery you have seen. Remember the anguish of a woman who +sacrificed her life to one unhappy passion, and who will die the +heart-broken victim of a scoundrel.’</p> + +<p>“This, and much more, my mother said to me, not once, but +many times, before she faded slowly from me, leaving me alone +in the world.</p> + +<p>“Such, Vincent, was the teaching of my early youth; such +were the precepts that had been carefully instilled into me when +I found myself lonely and destitute, with the world all before me.</p> + +<p>“I was not quite sixteen years of age when my mother died. I +looked in the glass; but my life had been such a secluded one, +that but for my mother’s words I should scarcely have known +that I was beautiful.</p> + +<p>“At first I was stunned by my calamity, and I sat day after +day in my lonely room, in the idle helplessness of complete +despair.</p> + +<p>“One day the proprietor of the theatre in which my mother +had been employed called upon me, and offered to engage me, +paying for my services at the same pitiful rate as my mother +had received for hers.</p> + +<p>“I accepted his offer, since it afforded me the only chance of +escaping starvation. I entered the theatre, and in the following +year I received the offer of an engagement from the manager of +the Circenses, where I have been employed ever since, and where +I first met you, Vincent, and won the love which I have done so +little to deserve.</p> + +<p>“But I think you will understand now why my heart has +seemed cold and hard as stone. My mother had taught me to +believe that my father was only a sample of the rest of mankind. +She had believed herself, and she had taught me to think, that +truth, honour, loyalty, generosity, pure and unselfish affection +did not exist in the breast of any man living. I had learnt the +fatal lesson only too well, and you know what that lesson had +made me—a heartless, pitiless creature, eager for my own pleasure +alone, at any cost to others; extravagant, reckless, greedy, +valuing those who admired me only for the wealth they lavished +on me; proud and insolent, cold and ungrateful. To win you for +my husband, to wear the coronet of a duchess, and to push my +way into the great world in defiance of all who should oppose me—this +was my ambition. But even to win such a prize as this I +could not control the passionate temper which had so long been +freely indulged; I could not curb the insolent tongue on whose +reckless audacity I prided myself.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but true and pure love could have exercised such +forbearance as you have always shown me. O, forgive me, +Vincent; forgive me for my heartless ingratitude! I see things +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>in a softened light now that the shadows are closing round me, +and I can understand how good, how noble you have been to me. +You would have taken the nameless Jewess to your arms; you +would have bestowed the sacred name of wife on the reckless +adventuress who squandered your wealth and laughed at your +love. Forgive me, Vincent! Remember my early teaching, the +wrongs of my broken-hearted mother; remember these, and +forgive me!”</p> + +<p>“I do, Esther, with all my heart,” answered the Duke in a +broken voice. “If you could live, darling; if heaven would +spare you, the dismal lesson of the past should be forgotten in +the happiness of the future, and you should learn that a man’s +love can be as true and pure, as unselfish and devoted, as the +affection of the woman who unites her fate to his.”</p> + +<p>“Vincent,” said the Jewess, “when I am dead, you will go to +my house and examine all my papers. If amongst them you +can find any clue to the identity of my father, seek him out, if +he still lives, and tell him of his victim’s death, and of the death +of that daughter whom he refused to rescue from starvation.”</p> + +<p>No more was said upon this subject. Esther gave Vincent +Mountford some few directions respecting the papers which he +was to examine.</p> + +<p>“And now,” she said, “my true and only friend, I have one +last favour to ask of you. My jewels and pictures, the furniture +of my house, my carriage and horses, are worth a considerable +sum. I should like them all to be sold to the best advantage—except +such things as you, Vincent, may like to keep for my +sake; and let the proceeds of the sale be given to Miss Watson, +the girl whom I so cruelly injured in my wicked jealousy. You +will do this, will you not, Vincent? It is the only atonement I +can make for the treachery which may have caused so much +pain. I trust in you, dear and faithful friend! Miss Watson +must never know the name of the person by whose bequest she +inherits the money; for if she did so, she might refuse to receive +it. Let this last act of justice be as little known as the guilty +act for which it is a poor reparation. Promise me, Vincent!”</p> + +<p>The young man gave a solemn promise; and the dark eyes of +the Jewess looked at him with a calmer light, as she lay back +upon the pillow from which she was never to rise again.</p> + +<p>It was late by this time, and the London surgeons had +arrived. The Duke left the room as the medical men entered it.</p> + +<p>Once more he paced slowly up and down the sitting-room; +and, in spite of all that the Richmond surgeon had said to him, +his heart was agitated by a faint thrill of hope.</p> + +<p>That hope was soon changed to the calm quiet of despair. +After about a quarter of an hour of suspense, the door of the +bedchamber was opened, and the medical men came out, grave +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>and silent, and in their solemn faces Vincent Mountford read the +death warrant of the woman he loved.</p> + +<p>“There is no hope?” asked the Duke, appealing to the Richmond +surgeon.</p> + +<p>“None!” that gentleman answered solemnly.</p> + +<p>Vincent Mountford sank helplessly down upon the nearest +chair. This time he gave way to no passionate outburst of grief: +this time he was calm and silent; but he felt that the one bright +dream, the fond delusion of his youth, was melting away from +him for ever.</p> + +<p>The time might come when Esther Vanberg’s beautiful face +would smile upon him, faint and shadowy as the face that haunts +a sleeper in his dream; but that time would be slow to come; +and to-night it seemed to the Duke of Harlingford as if all the +joy and brightness of his life had vanished away from him, never +to be recalled.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLI"> + CHAPTER XLI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">SILENCED.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">After the discovery of the deadly nature of that draught which +Rupert Godwin had attempted to administer to the unconscious +invalid, a dull stupor seemed to take possession of Julia’s mind.</p> + +<p>The horror of her thoughts was too terrible for endurance. +The brain almost gave way beneath its burden. The heart which +until now had throbbed with love for this guilty father was well-nigh +broken by the knowledge of his crime.</p> + +<p>“A secret assassin—a midnight poisoner!” thought the +miserable girl, as she brooded over the events of the past few +days. “Had his crime been of any other nature, had his guilt +been the consequence of a moment’s violence, the fatal act of +sudden rage, I could have pitied and forgiven him. But how +can I pity the criminal whose treachery hides itself beneath a +smile?”</p> + +<p>She paced up and down the room, her hands clasped before +her face, maddened by the thoughts which distracted her over-tasked +brain.</p> + +<p>“And all my life, all my life, I shall have to keep this hideous +secret hidden in my breast! Day after day I shall see my +father smiling upon people who, were I to reveal what I know, +would think the story of that night the wild delusion of a +maniac. I can understand now why my brother could never be +happy in this house—why there was always a gulf between him +and my father, a yawning gulf of distrust that was almost +hatred. My brother’s instinct revealed to him that fatal truth, +to which my love has blinded me. He saw that my father was +unworthy of a son’s affection, and he ran away from a home +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>whose atmosphere was hateful to him. He knew what I could +not understand. He knew that it was the stifling atmosphere +of falsehood and hypocrisy.”</p> + +<p>All that day Julia remained in her own apartments. Mrs. +Melville came to her and entreated to be admitted; but the girl +was inflexible, and refused to see anyone.</p> + +<p>“I am suffering from a headache,” she said, opening the door +a little way, in order to speak to the widow, “and all I want is +undisturbed quiet. My brain has been over-excited by the +anxiety of the past few days. Pray do not ask to see me, dear +Mrs. Melville. I shall be infinitely better if you leave me quite +alone.”</p> + +<p>The widow was really alarmed by her charge’s conduct. She +went straight to Mr. Godwin’s study, and informed him of what +had passed.</p> + +<p>But, to her surprise, she found the banker almost indifferent +upon the subject of his daughter’s illness. This man, who was +known to be so fond and devoted a father, seemed to-day as if he +scarcely understood the communication that was made to him +respecting his idolized child.</p> + +<p>“She is ill, you say?” he muttered impatiently. “Yes, yes; +I thought she seemed ill this morning when I saw her. I don’t +wonder. Her mind seemed affected, I fancied. I begin to fear +that the fever from which Mr. Wilton is suffering is contagious. +I shall take Julia to Brighton with me to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I should imagine it would be very wise to do so. The dear +girl is far too sensitive to be exposed to the excitement and +anxiety of a sick-house,” answered the lady. “I will go at once +and make arrangements for the journey. You will require me +to accompany you, I conclude, Mr. Godwin?”</p> + +<p>“No!” exclaimed the banker, turning upon her almost angrily; +“I shall require no one. You were asking me the other day for +permission to pay a visit to some friends in town. I give you +that permission now, and I will write you a cheque for a half +year’s salary in advance, if you wish it. My daughter and I +will go alone to Brighton, and this house will be shut up and +left in the care of Mrs. Beckson.”</p> + +<p>“And Mr. Wilton?” asked Mrs. Melville wonderingly.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wilton’s comfort and safety will be provided for,” +answered Rupert Godwin impatiently. “And now, Mrs. Melville, +I must wish you good morning. I am very busy.”</p> + +<p>The banker had been standing all this time at the door of his +study. He closed it now, leaving Mrs. Melville bewildered by +the strangeness of his manner.</p> + +<p>Her bewilderment would have been even greater, had she seen +him standing in the centre of the room, with his hands clasped +about his head, staring vacantly at the floor.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span></p> + +<p>“The net is closing round me,” he muttered; “it’s closing +round me. The meshes gather about me thicker and thicker—the +web grows tighter; and I shall find myself all at once +bound hand and foot without hope of escape. My daughter +suspects me. How or why she has learnt to do so, I cannot +conceive; but she suspects. Another spy, whose lips must be +sealed; another creature whose every word I must fear! Surely +she would not betray me! No, no; she would not betray the +father whom she has loved, unless the hideous secret escaped her +in the ravings of delirium. I have to guard against that danger +as well as every other. O, what a life!—what a life! The hand +of the avenger is upon me: it pushes me on to wade yet deeper +in guilt; but at the end of all what do I see? Security? No; +there is no security for the wretch whose secret is once known to +any mortal but himself.”</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause of blank terror and dismay, Rupert Godwin +lifted his head with an impetuous and defiant gesture.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed; “I am a coward and a fool to-day. +What was my intellect given me for, if not to triumph over +meaner men? The world is still with me. The dupes and fools +still trust the wealthy banker. Who would believe Rupert Godwin +is an assassin—a thief—a baffled poisoner? No; I will not +despair because that young man has fathomed the secret of his +father’s murder—I will not despair even though my own +daughter suspects my guilt. The odds may be against me; but +if the game is to be a desperate one, I will not throw away a +single chance.”</p> + +<p>A servant opened the door of the library. In a moment +Rupert Godwin’s brow cleared. He was himself again; or +rather, he resumed once more that false and smiling semblance +which he presented to the world.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he demanded. “Are those two gentlemen here?”</p> + +<p>“They are, sir,” answered the servant, ushering in two gentlemen.</p> + +<p>One was Mr. Granger, the doctor from Hertford; the other +was a little fat man, with a pale flabby face and sandy hair. +There was a cunning expression in his reddish-brown eyes, and +a physiognomist would have perceived the signs of a brutal and +cruel nature in the low receding forehead, the thick lips and +massive jaws.</p> + +<p>This pale-faced, sandy-haired man wore the orthodox costume +of a medical practitioner, and exhibited that expanse of spotless +cambric which is generally supposed to be the outward indication +of that highly-prized grace—respectability. He seated himself +opposite Mr. Godwin, while the Hertford surgeon stood near +the window.</p> + +<p>The sandy-haired man called himself Doctor Wilderson +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>Snaffley, and he was the proprietor of a private lunatic asylum, +on which he had bestowed the romantic appellation of “The +Retreat.” He had published several pamphlets on the efficacy +of a paternal indulgence in the treatment of lunatics—pamphlets +in which the pages quite bristled with Latin quotations.</p> + +<p>“I little thought, when I saw your advertisement in the +<cite>Times</cite> some weeks ago, that I should ever be under the necessity +of appealing to you for assistance, Dr. Snaffley,” said Rupert +Godwin; “but I regret to tell you that I do require your services. +A young man, who is a kind of protégé of my daughter’s, something +of an artist, employed out of charity to mount some drawings +of my son’s, has been seized with a fever, under which his +mind seems entirely to have given way. Mr. Granger will tell +you that he has been treating this young man for fever only; +but the malady appears to have its seat in the mind, or at least +mainly there. He has therefore come to the conclusion that this +is a case requiring quite another course of treatment—he has +come to the conclusion that this unhappy young man is mad.”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Godwin,” interposed the surgeon; +“but I must remind you that the suggestion of madness first +came from you.”</p> + +<p>“Did it?” asked the banker carelessly. “Well, it may be +so—my memory is not quite clear upon that point. The first +direct suggestion may have come from me. You medical men +only deal in hints and innuendos. You are so abominably +cautious. Indirectly you suggested the idea of mental disease; +for I have been much too busy to give this unfortunate young +man’s case any serious consideration.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, certainly,” said Dr. Snaffley, in a slow ponderous +way, which, like his spotless shirt-front, seemed indicative of extreme +respectability—a kind of social solidity. “Your duties, +sir, are no doubt multifarious. We are aware of the onerous +duties of such a position as yours, Mr. Godwin.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good,” replied the banker. “But, however +busy I may be, I must see that this young man is properly +cared for. It is quite clear to my mind that he is mad. There +seems no doubt as to the lamentable fact. Whether there is +hereditary madness in this case I know not; for the unhappy +young man is a mere waif, without friends or connections, so far +as I can understand, and quite penniless. I know nothing of +his past history; I only know that my daughter picked him up, +almost starving, at a printseller’s in Regent-street, where he was +offering some drawings for sale, and that he has been employed +in this house ever since.”</p> + +<p>“Very creditable to Miss Godwin’s benevolent nature, I am +sure,” murmured Dr. Snaffley.</p> + +<p>“Under ordinary circumstances, this young man would of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>course be handed over to the proper authorities, to be treated as +a pauper lunatic. But I cannot suffer that. My daughter has +chosen to undertake a work of benevolence—the rescue of a +fellow-creature from destitution and despair. Whatever the cost +to myself, I am bound to carry out that work to its furthest +limit; so if this young man’s mind is indeed gone, as I regret +to say I believe it is, I am prepared to place him under your +care, Dr. Snaffley, and to offer you whatever remuneration you +may think fair and liberal.”</p> + +<p>The doctor bowed. His cunning brown eyes twinkled with +gratification at having secured another inmate for that peaceful +and delightful home which he called the Retreat; but he dropped +his eyelids, and affected disinterested feeling.</p> + +<p>“I am ready to serve you, Mr. Godwin,” he said; “and in +serving you it is very pleasant to serve also the cause of +humanity. Your noble offer to protect this friendless young +man is indeed worthy of a Christian. Let me see him. My +friend here, Mr. Granger, is prepared to give a certificate, I +believe.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the surgeon, shaking his head mournfully; +“I am really very sorry, but I am afraid there is no doubt about +the case—the young man is mad. That rooted delusion, that +morbid idea about an imaginary murder, can only result from +madness. The fever has been got under, but the hallucination +still remains. There are all the symptoms of insanity.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin sighed heavily.</p> + +<p>“It is very sad,” he said. “My poor Julia will feel it deeply, +for she had such a high opinion of the unfortunate young man’s +talents. I trust that you will bring the calmest deliberation to +bear upon this case, gentlemen, and that you will decide nothing +hastily.”</p> + +<p>The banker rang a bell, and ordered a servant to conduct the +two medical men to the invalid’s apartment.</p> + +<p>The two men left him—one impressed with the generosity of +his employer, the other delighted at the promise of profit.</p> + +<p>Dr. Wilderson Snaffley was an unprincipled adventurer, who +was a disgrace to the science which he made subservient to his +own schemes. He was a man who throughout his life had enriched +himself by preying upon the weakness, or trading upon +the wickedness of his fellow-men. The Retreat was a kind of +tomb, in which guilty secrets could be very easily hidden; and +some of the mysteries buried within those dismal walls were +terrible ones.</p> + +<p>Dr. Snaffley was the last man to be deceived by hypocrisy, for +he was himself an accomplished hypocrite. He penetrated the +pretence of generosity beneath which Rupert Godwin sought to +conceal his real purpose, and he perceived that there was some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>mysterious reason for the banker’s benevolence towards a +stranger.</p> + +<p>“I understand,” he thought, as he followed the servant upstairs. +“I have only to keep quiet, and I may make this business +very profitable. One thing is perfectly clear: Mr. Godwin +wants to get rid of his young friend.”</p> + +<p>Dr. Snaffley entered the room, while his fellow-practitioner +waited in an adjoining apartment.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford was lying in an uneasy slumber; but he was +awakened by the entrance of the doctor, and opened his eyes in +a wild, wondering stare.</p> + +<p>The proprietor of the Retreat seated himself in an easy-chair +by the bed, and laid his hand softly on the wrist of the invalid.</p> + +<p>Lionel looked at him, and then turned away, murmuring some +low incoherent words. The doctor bent over him, listening intently; +but the young man’s mind had gone back to the scenes +of his early youth. He fancied himself a student once more, +amidst light-hearted companions—now at a boat-race, now at a +wine-party. His feeble voice had a strangely melancholy sound +as it strove to shape itself into a jovial shout or a cry of triumph.</p> + +<p>“Brazenose wins!” he cried; “ten to one upon Brazenose! +Bravo! Brazenose!”</p> + +<p>The doctor knew that his patient was acting over again the +scenes of a University career.</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha!” thought he; “this nameless, friendless, penniless +young man has been educated at one of the Universities. +That looks rather strange, Mr. Godwin. We shall find out +something more by-and-by.”</p> + +<p>He kept his place by the bedside, listening intently to Lionel’s +half-broken words.</p> + +<p>Presently the young man started up from his pillow, erect as a +dart.</p> + +<p>“Murdered!” he cried. “My poor father—my brave, noble-hearted +father, murdered by the hand of a villain, in the cellars +below the northern wing!”</p> + +<p>Dr. Wilderson Snaffley’s flabby face was always pale, but it +grew livid as he listened to these words.</p> + +<p>“The cellars below the northern wing,” he muttered; “why, +the man is talking of this house! I knew that there was a +mystery. Murder! That’s a big word. So, Mr. Godwin, you +seem to want my services very badly. People do not send their +friends to the Retreat for nothing. A private madhouse is rather +expensive—an expensive luxury; but when people want to get +rid of a troublesome acquaintance, they don’t mind coming down +handsomely.”</p> + +<p>Again the doctor bent over the patient, and listened breathlessly. +The young man had fallen back upon his pillow, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>lay prostrate and exhausted. For some time the silence was +only broken by incoherent murmurs; and then Lionel spoke +once more of the northern wing, the cellar-stairs, the foul +deed that had been done in that accursed spot—all in broken +sentences; but the doctor had been accustomed to listen to the +ravings of a maniac, and he knew how to put those broken +phrases together.</p> + +<p>“My father’s blood!” exclaimed Lionel, in a hoarse whisper. +“Yes, father, I saw the traces of that blood spilt by a murderer’s +hand. But the crime shall not go unpunished. Yes; your son +shall track that guilty wretch to the gallows. Rupert Godwin—Rupert—<em>her</em> +father!”</p> + +<p>It was such broken sentences as these which Dr. Wilderson +Snaffley heard as he bent over the prostrate form of the invalid. +He saw that Lionel Westford was suffering from brain-fever, +and that his mind was distracted by the memory of some deed, +the discovery of which had been the chief cause of his illness.</p> + +<p>The proprietor of the Retreat was able to discover what the +simple Hertford surgeon had been utterly unable to understand; +for to him the idea of any guilty deed done by Rupert Godwin +seemed so utterly preposterous, that he attributed Lionel’s persistent +accusations to the ravings of insanity.</p> + +<p>Dr. Wilderson Snaffley had made a fortune by the crimes of +other men; and he was only familiar with the darkest and most +hideous side of human nature. He was ready to believe anything. +Cunning, false, designing, he knew how to turn guilty +secrets to his own advantage without betraying his knowledge of +them.</p> + +<p>He went downstairs presently, leaving his fellow-practitioner +to enter the sick-chamber alone, and form his unbiassed opinion +as to the condition of the patient.</p> + +<p>Dr. Snaffley found Rupert Godwin in his study. By no look +or gesture did the banker betray impatience or uneasiness; and +yet the doctor knew very well that he was both impatient and +uneasy.</p> + +<p>“Well, doctor,” he said, “is there any hope for this poor +young man?”</p> + +<p>The doctor shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips.</p> + +<p>“It is a very difficult case,” he said; “a most critical case. +I never met one at all resembling it. I can only see one chance +of cure, and that is very hazardous.”</p> + +<p>“What is the nature of this one chance?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you. This young man appears to be possessed +with a monomania—a single delusion. Once dispel that, and +you may restore the brain to its balance. Our patient has +formed some idea about the cellars below the northern wing of +this house. Your servants have told him some ghastly legend, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>I suppose, and he has dwelt so long upon its details, that his +imagination has become completely distempered by queer fancies. +Now, what I think is this: Why not attempt to cure him by +proving to him the absurdity of his delusion? He fancies that +a murder has been committed in one of the rooms, or in one of +the cellars, belonging to the northern wing. Have a public investigation +of those rooms and cellars. Call in the assistance of +the police, and let them search for traces of this imaginary +murder. If there has been any foul deed done there, the secret +of it will be brought to light, and that would, of course, be a +satisfaction to you, as owner of this house. If not—if this horrible +story is only the invention of a distempered brain, there is +every chance that, when the young man has witnessed <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'a practical investigaton'" id="tn-266">a practical +investigation</ins>, he will see how foolish his fancies have been, +and the balance of the mind will be restored.”</p> + +<p>Throughout this speech Wilderson Snaffley had kept his eyes +fixed upon the banker’s face. When he had finished speaking, +Rupert Godwin shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.</p> + +<p>“My dear Doctor Snaffley,” he said, “I begin to think that +madhouse physicians do indeed catch a little of their patients’ +disease. Can you for a moment imagine that any revelation of +the groundlessness of this unhappy young man’s fancies will +dispel them, and restore him to reason? What arguments can +ever induce the ghost-seer to disbelieve in his phantom? No; +he believes to the end, and perhaps dies a victim to the visitations +of a shadow which he conjures out of his own brain.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will not attempt my plan? You will not cause +any investigation of the grounds for this man’s story?”</p> + +<p>“There are no grounds. No, Doctor Snaffley. Cure your +patient if you can; but you must devise some better means than +this before you will cure him.”</p> + +<p>“Be it so, then,” answered the proprietor of the Retreat, still +watching the face of the banker with a fixed and searching gaze. +“Be it so. I am prepared to certify to this young man’s insanity; +and I am willing to take him under my charge, and to +keep him in my establishment, pledging myself to ensure his +safe keeping. I am willing to do this; but I shall expect a +liberal compensation for my trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Name your terms.”</p> + +<p>“Five hundred a year.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” muttered the banker. “Are not those absurdly +extravagant terms, taking into consideration the position of the +patient?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Godwin; the terms are not by any means extravagant, +taking into consideration the <em>nature of the case</em>,” answered +Doctor Wilderson Snaffley.</p> + +<p>The two men looked at each other. It was only for a moment +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>that their eyes met; but Rupert Godwin knew that his secret +was divined by the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Agreed,” said the banker; “I accept your terms.”</p> + +<p>At ten o’clock that night Lionel Westford was removed from +Wilmingdon Hall to the Retreat, which was situated in a very +lonely part of the county, some ten miles from the banker’s +mansion. He was taken away in a close carriage, lying upon a +mattress. An opiate <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'prepared by Dr. Snaffle'" id="tn-267">prepared by Dr. Snaffley</ins> had been administered +to him; and he slept too soundly to give any trouble to +those who conveyed him to his new home.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLII"> + CHAPTER XLII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">GIRT WITH FIRE.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin did not quit Wilmingdon Hall quite so soon as +he had told Mrs. Melville he intended to leave it; but he contrived +that the widow should take her departure some time +before the removal of Lionel Westford by Doctor Snaffley and +his myrmidons.</p> + +<p>In the solitude of her own apartments, Julia Godwin heard +nothing of what was passing in her father’s house. She lay +upon a sofa in her own room, not sleeping, but oppressed by a +kind of stupor. She felt as though she would have been glad +to die, that in the repose of death she might no longer be +haunted by the memory of her father’s guilt.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Melville had tried to gain admission to Julia’s room, but +found the door locked. The unhappy girl feigned to be asleep, +and made no reply to the widow’s anxious entreaties for admittance.</p> + +<p>The banker had behaved very liberally to his daughter’s companion; +but, accomplished hypocrite as he was, Mrs. Melville +could not help suspecting that he must have some reason for +wishing her to leave his house so suddenly.</p> + +<p>The widow thought there was something wrong, but imagined +that the banker was harassed by some commercial difficulty—perhaps +threatened by ruin; and she considered herself fortunate +in securing an advance of six months upon her very handsome +salary, when other people might lose by a bankruptcy.</p> + +<p>She left the Hall, therefore, in excellent spirits, after bidding +adieu to Mr. Godwin, who promised to communicate with her as +soon as he and his daughter were settled at Brighton.</p> + +<p>At eleven o’clock that night all was quiet in Wilmingdon +Hall, and the banker strode up and down the dining-room, after +dismissing the servant who had attended upon him.</p> + +<p>The habits of the household were early. At ten o’clock all +except the servant who waited on Mr. Godwin had retired to +their several apartments. By eleven all was still as the grave; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>and, pacing to and fro the large empty room, Rupert Godwin was +able to contemplate his position with something like calmness.</p> + +<p>“<em>He</em> is safe,” the banker muttered, “and will remain so, +while I can pay that man, who has fathomed my secret and +means to profit by it. So long as I can satisfy his exorbitant +claim, all will be secure in that quarter. How much simpler +would have been the effect of that draught, had not some devilry +interfered to prevent its being administered! Nothing could +have been more natural than that young man’s death; and a +decent funeral would have won for me the reputation of a kind +and liberal patron. However, at the worst, he is safe. The +next thing from which I have cause for fear is my daughter’s +suspicions. She knows something; but how much does she +know? That is the point. Was hers the hand which interposed +so mysteriously between that draught and the lips for +which it was intended? Was it she who baffled my plans, and +put my neck in danger of the gallows? And will she consider +it her duty to betray her father? These are fearful questions; +but, come what may, I must know the worst. I will face this +girl, hear what she has to say, and learn how far she dare accuse +me.”</p> + +<p>The banker took one of the candlesticks from the dining-room +table, and went upstairs to his daughter’s room.</p> + +<p>He knocked, and waited, listening for some moments; but +there was no answer.</p> + +<p>He knocked again, with the same result.</p> + +<p>Then he spoke:</p> + +<p>“Julia,” he said, in a low but resolute tone, “it is I—your +father. I beg you to admit me immediately.”</p> + +<p>He heard his daughter’s footsteps slowly approaching the +door, and then a low voice answered, in broken accents:</p> + +<p>“Pray pardon me, papa. I cannot see you to-night. I am +distracted with an excruciating headache, and really cannot see +anyone.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot accept that excuse, Julia; I must see you, and immediately. +I command you to admit me. I insist upon knowing +your reasons for this most extraordinary conduct.”</p> + +<p>“Father, for pity’s sake—” cried the miserable girl, in an imploring +voice that was broken by hysterical sobs.</p> + +<p>“If you do not unlock your door immediately, I will burst it +open,” rejoined the banker resolutely.</p> + +<p>He had the desperate resolution of a man who feels that +despair is close upon him, that death and danger are tracking +his footsteps, and that only indomitable courage can save him +from the fate he has merited.</p> + +<p>The key turned in the lock. The banker opened the door, +and entered his daughter’s apartment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span></p> + +<p>He shuddered, as he stood in presence of the girl, whose +glorious beauty had been wont to shine upon him radiant with +youth and happiness. To-night, he beheld the pale face of a +woman whose heart has been racked with the anguish of despair.</p> + +<p>That colourless face looked soddened with tears. The dark +luxuriant hair hung loosely about Julia Godwin’s shoulders; her +hands were locked together, her white lips trembled convulsively, +as she averted her gaze from the father whom she had once loved +so dearly, but whose presence now inspired her with horror.</p> + +<p>“Julia,” said the banker, “I want to know the meaning of +your conduct to-day. Why have you secluded yourself in this +unusual manner, so obstinately refusing to admit anyone to your +room?”</p> + +<p>“I have been very ill.”</p> + +<p>“In that case you must see the doctor. I will send one of the +servants for Mr. Granger immediately.”</p> + +<p>“There is no occasion. My illness is not one that can be cured +by Mr. Granger. It is an illness of the mind, rather than of +the body.”</p> + +<p>“Julia!” cried the banker sternly, “are you going mad? +There was something in your manner when you spoke this +morning that was unlike the conduct of a rational being. What +is amiss with you?”</p> + +<p>His daughter was silent. For a few moments she stood quite +motionless, with her hands clasped, and her eyes fixed upon her +father’s face with a heart-rending expression.</p> + +<p>“Father,” she said, after that brief silence, “I had a dream last +night—a dream so horrible, that it has oppressed me throughout +the day, and I cannot shake it off. It clings to me still. It will +haunt me till I find forgetfulness in the grave. Shall I tell you +that hideous dream?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if telling it will give you relief.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing can give me relief. There is nothing but misery +for me henceforward upon this earth. But I will tell you my +dream. I dreamt last night that the sick man lying in this +house was menaced by some terrible danger. I did not know +the nature of the peril; but I knew that it was deadly peril, +and close at hand. I thought that—guided always by some +subtle instinct that was stronger than reason—I left my room +in the dead of the night, resolved to watch over the helpless +invalid, to save him if possible from the danger that threatened +him. I did leave my room, and crept along the corridor with +stealthy footsteps. I went into Mr. Wilton’s room, and found +that the old woman who was set to watch him had fallen asleep +at her post. That was the first part of the danger.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” muttered the banker, “a commonplace dream +enough, and a very natural one. You have troubled yourself a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>good deal more than was necessary or becoming about this +protégé of yours.”</p> + +<p>“That is only the beginning of my dream, father,” answered +Julia, “you will find the end of it neither commonplace nor +natural. I had not been in the sick-room many moments, when +I was startled by the sound of stealthy footsteps in the corridor +outside. The same instinct that had prompted me to seek the +sick man’s apartment prompted me now to hide—or it might be +only a feeling of embarrassment at my strange position. I had +no time for reflection; so, obeying the impulse of the moment, +I concealed myself behind the curtains of the bed. From that +hiding-place I saw a man enter the room. I saw the hand of +a murderer mix poison with the medicine which was to be administered +to the sleeper. I saw the assassin’s face; yes, father, +as plainly as I see yours at this moment. O, Heaven! have pity +upon me; when shall I forget the horror of that time?”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw!” exclaimed Rupert Godwin; “distempered dreams +like these arise from a disordered brain. Beware how you indulge +in them, Julia. They are the forerunners of madness. Such +youth and beauty as yours would be sadly wasted in the padded +room of a private lunatic asylum. Take my advice, Julia, and +do not give way to the influence of evil dreams, lest such a fate +should be yours.”</p> + +<p>This advice sounded like a threat. But Julia Godwin did not +quail beneath her father’s stern gaze or threatening tone.</p> + +<p>“It would be better to be really mad than to suffer as I do,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“Why should this dream affect you? It is as absurd and inconsequential +as dreams usually are. What motive should anyone +have for murdering your protégé? Besides, how did you +know that the liquid mixed with the draught was poison?”</p> + +<p>“Because—in my dream—I caused the draught to be analyzed—or, +at least, I consulted a surgeon as to its nature, and he told +me that it contained prussic acid.”</p> + +<p>“A very strange dream. Come, Julia, let me hear no more of +this folly. I shall remove you from here to-morrow, and shall +take you with me to Brighton. If I do not speedily find you recovered +from these morbid fancies, I shall conclude that your +mind is seriously affected, and I shall place you under the charge +of a medical man accustomed to deal with mental disorder.”</p> + +<p>“You would do that, father?” asked Julia; “you would declare +me to be mad, and give me over to the care of a stranger?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I would do so without a moment’s hesitation,” answered +the banker resolutely, “if I saw reason for such a course. Once +for all, I tell you, I will endure no folly of the kind which you +have practised to-day. I know how to act when I am assailed +by the morbid fancies of madness; and to prove my power to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span>protect myself from the folly of others, I will tell you of something +that has happened to-day—something that is <em>not</em> a dream. +But, first, come with me.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin led the way to the apartment which had lately +been occupied by Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>“You see, Julia,” he said, pointing to the bed upon which the +young man had so lately been lying, “this person, in whom you +take so much interest that you must needs dream horrible dreams +about him, has disappeared: you will never see him again.”</p> + +<p>“Great Heaven!” cried Julia, “he is dead! And you—<em>you</em> +dare tell me this!”</p> + +<p>“He is not dead; but he is as completely lost to the living as +if he were buried in the deepest grave that was ever dug for +mortal man. He was like you, Julia; and he had foolish fancies. +He was tormented by some absurd idea about a murder—a foul +deed which had no existence save in his own distempered imagination, +but which, little by little, had shaped itself into a reality. +Poor fellow! he could not abandon his dream, and the end of it +is, that two qualified practitioners have pronounced him a confirmed +maniac, and to-night he will sleep in that living tomb—a +private lunatic asylum. And now, Julia, you can return to your +room; I think we shall understand each other in future; and you +will trouble me no more by the relation of ghastly dreams, that +are as meaningless as they are unpleasant.”</p> + +<p>Once more the eyes of the father and daughter met—the +girl’s expression sorrowful, despairing; the man’s gaze proudly +defiant, with the defiance of a fiend.</p> + +<p>Julia did not utter another word. She turned from her father, +and left the room with a slow step and a drooping head. It +seemed to her as if the end of the world had come. She felt +that she could not endure life now that her father had revealed +himself to her in his true character.</p> + +<p>And the man she loved, what of him?</p> + +<p>“Heaven give me power to think calmly!” she murmured on +her knees in her own room. “Let me plan some means for +watching over him. An impulse, inspired by Providence, enabled +me to save him from an untimely death. May the same Providence +watch over him now in his helplessness, and enable me +to rescue him from a life that can be little better than death!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Early next morning the banker went to his daughter’s room +to order her immediate preparation for departure from Wilmingdon +Hall. He intended to take her to London by an early +train, and thence to Brighton.</p> + +<p>He found her rooms empty. Julia Godwin had fled from the +home which had sheltered her from her girlhood.</p> + +<p>This was the last blow that fell upon him before he left Hertfordshire, +and the stroke was a crushing one.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"> + CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE CLERK’S STORY.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">While Gilbert Thornleigh was employed in putting the case of +Harley Westford’s disappearance into the hands of the police, +Clara sat in her shabby lodging, brooding over the troubles +which environed her, until it seemed as if there was not one ray +of sunshine to illumine the darkness of her fate.</p> + +<p>The mysterious disappearance of her daughter—her beloved +Violet—was almost more horrible to contemplate than the dark +fate of her brave and true-hearted husband.</p> + +<p>Harley Westford might have died the victim of treachery—he +might have perished by the pitiless hand of the assassin; +but the fate of Violet might be something worse than death.</p> + +<p>Shame—disgrace—degradation! These were the dangers +which the mother dreaded for the daughter she loved. And +she was quite helpless. She knew not what step to take—how +to attempt a rescue of the lost girl. Sorrows had crowded upon +her with a bewildering rapidity, and the sufferer succumbed +beneath the force of a burden which hourly grew heavier and +harder to bear. The revelation made by Gilbert Thornleigh had +been the last overwhelming blow; and Clara Westford sat in a +listless attitude, helpless, nerveless, apathetic, like a creature +who had outlived all sense of sorrow. “Who am I? and where +am I?” she asked herself; “are these troubles real, or are they +part of some long feverish dream?”</p> + +<p>There comes a stage in human sorrow when the sufferer seems +to lose all hold upon reality. The victim cannot understand +why the chastisement should be so heavy, the cup of anguish so +bitter and so deep. The brain refuses to grapple with the horrible +realities that crowd upon it. There is a merciful pause in +life’s fever, a dull apathy, which may perhaps be designed to +save the anguish-stricken sufferer from madness.</p> + +<p>For Clara Westford this pause, this apathy, did not last long.</p> + +<p>One joy, at least, was in store for the woman upon whom so +many sorrows had come with crushing force during the last +twelve months—one joy, so wild and deep in its intensity, that +the overwrought brain could scarcely sustain the sudden shock +of so much joy.</p> + +<p>While Clara Westford sat by her bedside, with her head lying +wearily upon the pillow, her tearless eyes fixed on the dingy +ceiling above her with a blank unseeing stare, carriage-wheels +sounded in the street below, and a vehicle drew up close at hand.</p> + +<p>The bedchamber opened out of the sitting-room, and the door +of communication between them was open. Clara rushed to the +window, and looked down into the street. Her heart throbbed +tumultuously. She was in that over-excited state in which +every incident alarms the mind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<p>A very handsome close carriage, simple in its appointments, +but drawn by a superb pair of horses, was standing before the +door of the house. A bright face appeared at the window of the +carriage—a lovely face, framed in clustering golden hair; a face +which seemed like that of an angel to Clara Westford, for it was +the face of her daughter.</p> + +<p>A servant opened the door of the carriage, and Violet alighted. +She rushed into the house, and her mother heard the light +familiar footstep hurrying up the stairs.</p> + +<p>She burst into a torrent of tears, the first she had shed since +her daughter’s disappearance, and in the next moment Violet +was clasped in her mother’s arms.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford saw that this was no heart-broken, dishonoured +girl, who returned thus, radiant and smiling, to bury her beautiful +face on her mother’s breast, and to cry amidst her passionate +sobs:</p> + +<p>“Dear mother, I have come back to you! I have been rescued +by a kind and noble friend; and we shall be happy together +once more.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke the door was opened, and an elderly lady entered—a +lady with a pale gentle face that had once been beautiful, +and smoothly banded silver hair. This lady was the Dowager +Marchioness of Roxleydale.</p> + +<p>“I have brought you back your daughter, Mrs. Westford,” +said the Marchioness; “and I feel that I deserve your thanks, +for the treasure I restore to you is a priceless one. If I have +learnt to love this dear girl in a few hours, how tenderly must +you love her who have known her for a lifetime!”</p> + +<p>The mother’s heart was full to overflowing. She uttered no +word relating to Gilbert Thornleigh’s return, or to the ghastly +mystery involved in Captain Westford’s disappearance. Her +child was restored to her, and she taught herself to smile, while +her heart was still racked by anxiety, that no cloud should overshadow +the joy of Violet’s return.</p> + +<p>The Marchioness did not remain long with the mother and +daughter.</p> + +<p>“I will not intrude upon your happiness,” she said; “but I +shall hope not to lose sight of this sweet girl, whom my son’s +wicked folly, instigated, I am sure, by bad advisers, has involved +in so much trouble. I shall pay some visits while I am in town, +and return to Essex this evening. But whenever I come to +London I shall make a point of calling upon you. Violet has +told me a good deal of her history; and if I can find any way +of serving either herself or her brother through the influence of +my friends, I shall not be slow to do so. In the mean time, she +has given me a promise not to return to the perilous life of a +theatre, as with her attainments and accomplishments, assisted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>by my hearty recommendation, she cannot fail to obtain very +remunerative employment as a daily governess. There <em>are</em> people +in the world who know how to respect the ladies to whom they +intrust the education of their children. I shall make it my +business to find a lady in whose employment Violet will feel that +she is respected and esteemed.”</p> + +<p>The Marchioness pressed Clara Westford’s hand, and kissed +Violet almost as affectionately as if the grateful girl had been +indeed her daughter.</p> + +<p>When she was gone, the mother and child sat down side by +side, happy in the delight of being once more together; so happy +in this, that the wife forgot for a few moments the mystery of +her husband’s disappearance.</p> + +<p>But that bitter memory was very swift to return; and it was +only by heroic self-control that Clara contrived to keep her +daughter in ignorance of the anxiety which was gnawing at her +heart.</p> + +<p>While they were sitting together, talking of Violet’s <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'escape faom danger'" id="tn-274">escape +from danger</ins>, and of the warm friend she had found at a moment +when she seemed to be surrounded by enemies, the servant of +the house came into the room, and handed a visiting-card to Mrs. +Westford.</p> + +<p>It was a dirty-looking, old-fashioned card, and upon it was +inscribed a name that seemed vaguely familiar to Clara:</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Jacob Danielson.</span><br> +<i>Who entreats Mrs. Westford to grant him a<br> +private interview.</i> +</p> + +<p>These words were written in pencil below the name on the +card.</p> + +<p>“Danielson!” murmured the widow; “I have an idea that the +name was once familiar to me. And yet that may be only fancy—it +is such a common name.”</p> + +<p>“The persing seemed very anxious to see you, mem,” said the +girl who had brought the card.</p> + +<p>“What sort of person is he?”</p> + +<p>“A little old man, mem; very shabby and common-looking, +with a hump on his pore old back, mem. He said he had somethink +very particular to tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Something particular to tell me! If it should be—I will see +him, Susan,” exclaimed the widow, with sudden agitation. “Go +to your room, dear. I must see this man alone.”</p> + +<p>The slipshod maid-of-all-work ran down stairs to admit the +stranger; and Clara Westford half led, half pushed Violet into +the inner room, before the anxious girl had time to inquire into +the cause of her mother’s agitation.</p> + +<p>In the next minute Jacob Danielson entered the little sitting-room, +his hat in his hand, his head bent in a respectful attitude.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p> + +<p>“What is your business, sir?” asked Clara Westford, looking +at him very anxiously.</p> + +<p>“You do not remember me, madam?”</p> + +<p>“Remember you? No!”</p> + +<p>“And yet it is only a day or two since you saw me. I am Mr. +Rupert Godwin’s confidential clerk—the person of whom you +and a young sailor made some inquiries respecting your missing +husband.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes!” cried Clara eagerly; “I remember. And you +have something to tell me? For pity’s sake do not trifle with +me! If you knew what I suffer—”</p> + +<p>“I have something to tell you, madam—I have much to tell +you. But I cannot yet give you any information about your +husband. I came to you to-day to make you the offer of my +friendship. But perhaps you will despise such an offer from +such a person as I am?”</p> + +<p>“Despise your friendship! No, indeed, Mr. Danielson; I am +in too much need of friends to despise the kindly feeling even of +a stranger.”</p> + +<p>“You are changed, Mrs. Westford,” murmured the old clerk; +“very much changed since I knew you.”</p> + +<p>“Since you knew me!” exclaimed Clara. “Have we ever been +known to each other? Your name just now seemed familiar to +me; but I have no recollection of you.”</p> + +<p>“No, Mrs. Westford!” cried Jacob Danielson, with a sudden +burst of passion; “you cannot remember me, because the stamp +of degradation is upon me. It is more than twenty years +since I knew you. I was a man then, with some remnant +of self-respect, though the world had begun to teach me how +vile a thing I was, in my misshapen form, my low birth, my +hopeless poverty. But I was a man then, with a man’s ambitious +yearnings to climb some few steps of life’s great ladder. Now you +look only upon a degraded ruin—the hideous wreck of that which +was once a man. Mrs. Westford, do you remember, when you +were completing your education at your father’s country seat, +the humpbacked village schoolmaster who was employed to teach +you classics? Do you remember reading Virgil during the +summer afternoons, before you had grown too grand a lady to +care about old Latin fables?”</p> + +<p>“I do remember the schoolmaster at the dear old park!” cried +Clara. “Yes; and he was called Danielson. I knew that the +name was familiar to me. And you are that very Mr. Danielson? +Ah, then indeed you are sadly changed. I should never +have recognized you.”</p> + +<p>“Yet I am not so much changed as the daughter of Sir John +Ponsonby,” said the clerk, with an intensity of bitterness, “if +she can deign to feel one spark of compassion for the wretch +who stands before her.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Mr. Danielson? It has not been my +habit to refuse pity to anyone who needed it.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” cried Jacob Danielson, with sudden vehemence. +“Ah! I see you have a convenient memory, Mrs. Westford. +You have quite forgotten the day on which the humpbacked +scholar was beaten like a rebellious hound at your bidding!”</p> + +<p>“Beaten!” exclaimed Clara, “at my bidding! What, in +Heaven’s name, do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“O, Mrs. Westford, you have indeed forgotten the past,” said +the clerk, in tones of quiet irony.</p> + +<p>“I have forgotten nothing,” answered Clara. “Pray sit down +quietly and explain yourself. There must be some mistake in +all this.”</p> + +<p>The clerk dropped listlessly into a chair.</p> + +<p>“It is so easy for the person who strikes the blow to forget,” +he murmured, “but not so easy for the victim on whom the blow +falls.”</p> + +<p>Clara looked at him, with perfect mystification in her countenance.</p> + +<p>“I am weary of these enigmas,” she said coldly; “pray speak +plainly, Mr. Danielson.”</p> + +<p>“I will,” answered the clerk; “I will go back to the day when +you were seventeen years of age—yes, it was your seventeenth +birthday; and I had been teaching you for a year then, and had +found you the brightest pupil whose apt intelligence ever sent a +thrill of pride through a master’s heart. It was your birthday. +You and some happy girls of your own age were to celebrate the +day by a rustic <i lang="fr">fête</i>. You were busy, decorating your favourite +rooms with garlands of flowers, when I came that morning to +give you your usual lesson. You told me that you were to have +a holiday—there were to be no studies that day; but when I +would have turned to leave you, Heaven knows how sorrowfully, +you called me back, and invited me—me, the humpbacked, low-born, +village schoolmaster—to share the day’s pleasure, to join +in the simple festival.</p> + +<p>“Can I ever forget that day? Have I ever forgotten it? No, +Mrs. Westford, not once in all these long dreary years has the +memory of that bright summer morning faded away from me. +I have drowned it in fiery drink—I have maddened my miserable +brains with brandy; but I have never forgotten, and I never +shall. Upon my deathbed the memory of my youth’s one passion +will haunt me still, as it has haunted me all my life.</p> + +<p>“I can see you now as I saw you that day, Clara. Ah, let me +call you Clara once more, as I did on that fatal day—as I have +called you in my dreams ever since, as I shall call you with my +latest breath when I die! What can it matter to you if such a +wretch as I am insolent in the madness of my idolatry? What +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>am I but a worm beneath your feet? Yes, Clara, I can see you +now as I saw you then, with your soft brown hair falling in +ringlets to your waist, and shot with wandering gleams of gold; +your large dark eyes, blue with the serene azure of the skies; +your parted lips, more lovely than if they had been sculptured +out of coral. I had Catullus and Horace at my fingers’ ends in +those days, and all manner of poetic fancies used to arise in my +mind as I looked at you. A garland of white lilies crowned +your brow; but the loveliest of them was not fairer than yourself. +You were pleased to be gracious to me; you bade me help +you with the baskets of June roses, the honeysuckle, the seringa, +which you were twining into wreaths and festoons to decorate +your pretty rooms. The proud baronet’s lovely daughter did +not know that the humpbacked schoolmaster was so mad, so +presumptuous, as to love her with a devotion which the fairest +of womankind does not always inspire even once in a lifetime—the +devotion of the slavish idolater, who cries, Give me leave only +to lie upon the ground under your feet, that I may be trampled +out of life by the creature I adore!</p> + +<p>“Clara!” cried the clerk, with subdued vehemence, “I went +mad altogether that day—I lost all consciousness of who and +what I was. I might have had the rank of a duke, the wealth of +a millionnaire, the beauty of an Adonis, for all the recollection I +had of the monstrous gulf that separated you and me. I remembered +only that you were beautiful, and that I loved you. In an +evil moment my folly reached its climax. I spoke. I told you +all. In one instant I was reminded of the audacity to which my +wild passion had urged me. The daughter of Sir John Ponsonby +answered my mad burst of passionate prayer with quiet +dignity. She did not rebuke my presumption, but she let me +understand how much I had presumed. Had all ended here, +Clara, I could have borne my deserved humiliation, and I should +have cherished your image as that of the purest and best of +womankind, as well as the loveliest. But my punishment did +not so end. Your wrath was not appeased by my humble apology. +I slunk away from you abashed, repentant, and, as I +thought, forgiven. You had deceived me by an appearance of +mercy which you did not feel. As I was crossing the park, dejected, +miserable, with my heart bleeding, and tears that were not +all unmanly in my eyes, I was pursued, seized roughly, violently, +by a couple of lacqueys, and dragged by brute force to your +father’s study, where the infuriated baronet sprang on me, and +horsewhipped me until I was unable to crawl from his presence. +Then only was his fury appeased. He sent for a surgeon, and +under the cover of night I was carried home to my lonely dwelling, +where I recovered from my wounds as I might, unnoticed +and unaided—except by a deaf old village crone who succoured +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>me in my helplessness, and never thought of questioning the +nature of my illness, which I told her arose from rheumatism.</p> + +<p>“Call it cowardice, if you like; I sought no redress from the +man who had assaulted me; I kept the secret of my wrongs, +and, as soon as I was sufficiently recovered, I threw up my situation +and came to London, leaving my native place for ever, +and leaving it a heart-broken man.</p> + +<p>“You had found it impossible to forgive the wretch who dared +to love you, Clara, and who in an evil hour told you of his love. +You urged your father to avenge a wrong which some women +would have been merciful enough to pardon—for even the love +of a Caliban is a kind of tribute.”</p> + +<p>“It is false!” cried Mrs. Westford, with passionate energy; +“I never mentioned your name to my father on that day. I +never knew until this moment that you had suffered an indignity, +such a cruel wrong, at his hands. I remember, now, that +my French governess was in the conservatory adjoining the room +in which we were standing when you made that foolish avowal +which I forgave as completely as I regretted that it should have +been spoken. She overheard all, and threatened to tell my +father. I implored her not to betray you, and I believed until +this moment that she had kept your secret. For myself, I +should have been the last to inflict humiliation upon a man +whose learning I respected, and for whose patient kindness as a +tutor I had good reason to be grateful.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Westford, is this true?” asked the clerk earnestly.</p> + +<p>“Look in my face, and doubt me if you can,” answered +Clara.</p> + +<p>“No, I cannot doubt you,” answered Danielson, with a burst +of emotion. “Truth beams from the eyes whose loveliness has +haunted me throughout a lifetime. O, how I have wronged +you! But it is not yet too late to repair that wrong; and it +shall be repaired. Trust in me, Clara Westford; you have +found a friend who will restore you your rights—an avenger +who will bring your enemy, Rupert Godwin, to justice.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"> + CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE DUKE OF HARLINGFORD MAKES A DISCOVERY.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Esther Vanberg was buried in a churchyard north-west of +London, a rustic spot on the summit of a hill—a churchyard in +which a poet might love to lie and dream away the summer +hours. Old yew-trees spread their solemn shadows on the +velvet grass, and the pure hues of white marble monuments +glimmered here and there among the dark foliage.</p> + +<p>The Jewess had noticed this spot once when riding a little +way out of town with her devoted lover; and she had said, half +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>playfully, that if she could choose her own grave she would +desire nothing better than to be buried in that sequestered +churchyard.</p> + +<p>Vincent Mountford, who forgot no sentiment that those +beloved lips had ever expressed, took care that this wish should +be religiously observed.</p> + +<p>The Jewess was buried in one of the fairest spots in that +rustic churchyard. The funeral was entirely without ostentation, +and there was only one mourner; but perhaps there are +few graves over which such tears are shed as those which filled +the eyes of Vincent Mountford, while the rector was reading the +solemn service of the dead.</p> + +<p>All was over, and the young man drove slowly back to town. +All was over! Alas, how much anguish is conveyed in those +three little words!</p> + +<p>The last office of love had been performed, and there was no +more to be done but to leave the quiet churchyard where the +loved one lay in a tranquil slumber,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Deeper than the frost can bite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deeper than the hail can smite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Deep asleep by day and night,</div> + <div class="verse indent14">Our delight.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>For a time at least the Duke of Harlingford was a broken-hearted +man. The glories of his four-in-hand, the finest team +in England, had no further charm for him. Other men of his +class were deep in the delights and excitements of English +races and regattas, or hurrying off to ride in continental steeplechases, +or to lose their money at German spas. But Vincent +Mountford felt as if these things could give him no more +pleasure; they were all alike “stale, flat, and unprofitable,” +and he turned from his familiar friends with a kind of loathing.</p> + +<p>“I never saw a fellow so awfully cut up,” said the Duke’s +intimates to each other dolefully. “There’ll be no shooting at +Mountford’s place this season, and no chance of his standing in +for a moor with Bothwell Wallace, as he talked of doing.”</p> + +<p>It is a bad day for wild Prince Hal’s companions when the +prince takes to wearing sack-cloth and bestrewing his head +with ashes. There were some irreverent worldings who complained +that it was a hard thing Miss Vanberg must needs +break her back before the shooting-season, and at a time when +the grouse promised more than usually good sport.</p> + +<p>Vincent Mountford wrote to one of the first sculptors in +England, begging him to design a monument for the grave +of a dearly-loved friend—a lady who had died in the zenith +of her days; but he did not reveal the name of her whose +tomb that monument was to adorn.</p> + +<p>“Let her sleep far away from the memories of her wasted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>life,” he thought sadly; “and let those who look upon her +resting place know only that she was young and beautiful and +beloved.”</p> + +<p>A sad task remained for Vincent Mountford after the burial +of the Jewess. He had promised to examine her papers, to +arrange the many valuable things she left behind her, and to +see that the proceeds of their sale were handed over to the +girl whom Esther Vanberg had so deeply injured.</p> + +<p>This girl was only known to the Duke as Miss Watson, the +<i lang="fr">figurante</i> of the Circenses. From the stage-doorkeeper at the +theatre he obtained Violet’s address; then sent for his lawyer, +and placed in his hands the carrying out of Esther’s last wish.</p> + +<p>But before the day appointed for the sale—before the +auctioneer’s assistants entered the <i lang="fr">bijou</i> little residence in +Bolton-row, and those expensive frivolities on which Esther +had squandered a small fortune <i lang="fr">pour se distraire</i>, were <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'duly set set forth'" id="tn-280">duly +set forth</ins> in the flourishing language of a fashionable auctioneer’s +catalogue—Vincent Mountford went alone to examine +and destroy the papers left by the Jewess, so that nothing +which she might have wished to keep sacred should fall into the +hands of strangers. The task was a very painful one; and +the young man would have encountered death in its most +terrific form with a pang less keen than he now felt as he +went up the familiar staircase in the bright summer noontide,—that +staircase at the top of which he had so often seen +her standing looking down at him, ready to scold or to praise +him, as the humour of the moment prompted her, but always +charming to that one faithful slave who never found his chains +too heavy.</p> + +<p>He entered alone into those elegant little rooms, which +Esther’s beauty had adorned, as some priceless jewel adorns +the casket that contains it.</p> + +<p>The same exotics were blooming in the conservatory—the +faded bouquets, on whose fresh bloom the eyes of the dead +had looked, still remained undisturbed in the vases in which +her hands had arranged them.</p> + +<p>The birds were singing gaily in the sunshine, though the +white hands that had so often tended them lay still and cold +in their last resting-place. A little dog, Esther’s favourite, +whined piteously as he looked up at the Duke, and this faithful +creature was the only object in those rooms that bore witness +of the melancholy event which had almost broken Vincent +Mountford’s heart.</p> + +<p>He took from his pocket the little bunch of keys given him +by the Jewess, and seated himself before the piece of furniture, +half cabinet, half writing-table, in which she had kept her +papers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + +<p>Nothing could have been more careless than her habits. The +Duke sat for long hours, that would have wearied another +man, trying to introduce some order into that mass of bills +and letters, notes of invitation, tradesmen’s circulars, catalogues +of pictures, playbills, programmes of concerts, and +crumpled receipts.</p> + +<p>At last he had looked over them all, and had placed on +one side every fragment of paper which bore any of the +beloved handwriting. These he sorted and folded, as tenderly +as a miser might fold a packet of bank-notes; and when he +had collected the last of them, he packed them very neatly +in a sheet of foolscap, and sealed the packet in several places +with his signet-ring.</p> + +<p>Upon this packet he wrote only these few words:</p> + +<p>“Esther’s papers. To be burnt immediately after my death—unopened.”</p> + +<p>He had no wish that the prying eyes of strangers should ever +inspect those records of the woman he had loved; frivolous, +meaningless, though the greater number of them were. Nor +yet could he bring himself to destroy the smallest paper on which +the beloved hand had inscribed the most commonplace words.</p> + +<p>The rest of the papers, with the exception of tradesmen’s bills +and receipts, he burnt.</p> + +<p>Then he turned his attention to the few remaining contents +of the odorous sandal-wood pigeon-holes into which Miss +Vanberg had thrust papers, trinkets, faded flowers, and worn +gloves, without the smallest attempt at classification.</p> + +<p>Among these there was a miniature set in a rim of pearls.</p> + +<p>It was the picture of a lovely woman, a Spanish Jewess, whose +face proclaimed her at once the mother of the dead girl.</p> + +<p>On the back of the gold case which contained the miniature +was engraved the inscription:</p> + +<p class="center"> +“<span class="smcap">From Rupert to his beloved Lola.</span>” +</p> + +<p>The Duke examined the miniature very closely and then it +suddenly occurred to him—</p> + +<p>Was there not, perhaps, something more than this inscription—some +hidden spring in the case of the miniature, which might +reveal a secret that Esther Vanberg had been too careless to +discover?</p> + +<p>“I will take it to my jeweller,” muttered the young man; +“if there is anything hidden in this massive case—which seems +needlessly thick and heavy—he is the most likely person to find +it out.”</p> + +<p>The Duke was not slow to carry out this idea. He drove +straight from Bolton-row to a jeweller’s in Bond-street, and +handed the locket to one of the assistants.</p> + +<p>“If there is anyone in your establishment who understands +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>the mechanism of these things better than you do, I should be +very glad if you would take him this, and ask him to examine +it,” he said. “I will wait while you do so.”</p> + +<p>The Duke seated himself by the counter, and after he had +been waiting ten minutes, the jeweller’s assistant returned with +an elderly man, who held the locket open in his hand.</p> + +<p>He had discovered a secret spring, the nature of which he +explained to Vincent Mountford.</p> + +<p>“Nobody except a working jeweller could have opened the +locket,” he said in conclusion; “for the spring has evidently +not been used for years. It is a very peculiar piece of jeweller’s +work, and has been made by no English mechanic. The gold +and the workmanship are both undoubtedly foreign.”</p> + +<p>The inner case of the locket contained a second miniature—the +portrait of a young man; a dark handsome face, which +seemed very familiar to the Duke of Harlingford.</p> + +<p>As he drove away from the jeweller’s he brooded thoughtfully +upon that pictured face, trying, but without success, to remember +when and where he had seen a face resembling it.</p> + +<p>“Those dark eyes, that peculiar mouth, are strangely familiar +to me,” he thought; “and yet I cannot tell whom they recall +to my mind.”</p> + +<p>The Duke drove across Waterloo Bridge, and sought out the +obscure street in which Clara Westford and her children had +lived during the days of their poverty. He had obtained the +<i lang="fr">figurante’s</i> address from the door-keeper at the Circenses, and he +was now going to announce to her with his own lips the news of +her good fortune.</p> + +<p>All the practical part of the business he left to his lawyer; +but he wished himself to tell Miss Watson of the money which +had been left to her; as he fancied that he should thus more +completely carry out Esther Vanberg’s dying request. He +found the house in which Clara and her daughter lodged; sent +up his card by the servant with a request that he might see Miss +Watson on most urgent business.</p> + +<p>He was shown immediately into the shabbily furnished sitting-room, +to which a certain air of refinement had been imparted +by Mrs. Westford and her daughter at a very small cost. A +few books, a vase of flowers, a caged bird, and a work-basket of +graceful form, were the most expensive ornaments Violet had +been able to buy; but even these small things relieved the sordid +vulgar poverty of the room.</p> + +<p>Clara Westford was sitting on one side of the little table, +working; while her daughter sat opposite to her, reading aloud.</p> + +<p>She closed the book as the Duke of Harlingford entered.</p> + +<p>He remembered Violet at the Circenses only as a very lovely +girl; he perceived now for the first time that she was a perfect +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>lady—self-possessed, and yet modest; and to Vincent Mountford’s +mind, more beautiful in her well-worn black dress and simple +linen collar than she had been in her brilliant stage costume.</p> + +<p>He seated himself, at Mrs. Westford’s request; and then he +told Violet in a very few words that he was empowered to inform +her of a small fortune that had been left her by a person whose +name was to be kept a secret.</p> + +<p>“The bequest consists of a balance in the hands of the +testator’s banker, and of personal property of a valuable character, +which is to be sold, in order that the proceeds of the sale +may be handed to you with the other money in one sum. The +amount will not be a large one. Four or five thousand pounds +at most.”</p> + +<p>Four or five thousand! It seemed an enormous sum to Violet, +who had felt the keenest pangs of poverty. She burst into +hysterical tears; for she was completely overcome by the thought +that henceforward her mother might be spared at least the +anguish of want.</p> + +<p>But suddenly she wiped her tears away, and addressed the +Duke with imploring earnestness.</p> + +<p>“O, sir,” she exclaimed, “are you sure that no degradation +attaches to this mysterious bequest? Why should this money +be left to me by a person who conceals his name? Can you +assure me, on your honour, that I am justified in accepting this +unexpected wealth?”</p> + +<p>“I give you my word, as a gentleman, that you are justified +in taking the money that has been left you,” answered the Duke +gravely. “It is bequeathed by a lady who once did you an injury, +and who most sincerely repented that wrong before she died. +The thought that the gift of her fortune might do something to +repair that injury was a solace to her on her deathbed. And I +assure you that you would be actuated by a false pride were you +to reject this bequest.”</p> + +<p>“In that case, I will accept it, gratefully, gladly,” returned +Violet. “You would wish me to do so, would you not, mamma?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Violet; for if I can believe in the evidence of an honest +face, I am sure this gentleman would not advise you to take a +false step,” said Mrs. Westford.</p> + +<p>The Duke bowed.</p> + +<p>“I am here to execute the last wishes of the dead,” he answered +mournfully.</p> + +<p>“But I never knew that anyone had wronged me,” exclaimed +Violet, “except one person; and that was not a lady, but a +gentleman—or, at any rate, a person whose rank gave him a +right to be called a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“You will never know the entire history of that wrong,” +answered the Duke. “I rejoice to see you here in safety with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>your mother, and to know that you have therefore escaped from +all serious peril. As for the bequest, of which I have informed +you, I beg you to accept it when it reaches you without question, +and let the dead be forgiven.”</p> + +<p>Little more was said; and the Duke departed, pleased, even +in the midst of his grief, by the knowledge that Esther Vanberg’s +fortune had fallen into the hands of a deserving girl.</p> + +<p>From Lambeth he drove to his club, where he dismissed his +cab and strolled into the reading-room.</p> + +<p>He had no wish for society; but solitude was very terrible to +him, for it was haunted by the shadow of the dead—the mournful +memories of the loved and the lost.</p> + +<p>He fell back, therefore, into his old habits, and took his accustomed +seat in the public reading-room, though not without a +strange sense of wonder that he should be able to take his place +amongst other men, to read the evening papers, and talk in the +conventional manner about the events recorded in them, while +she was lying in that quiet churchyard.</p> + +<p>Could she indeed be there? Was it true? Was it possible? +The catastrophe which had caused her death he could realize—her +death itself; but not the fact that all was so completely +finished, so entirely a thing of the past; and that she was lying +in her grave—never to look upon him again on this earth, unconscious +of his love, regardless of his anguish, a creature for +ever removed from him and the world of which he was a part. +He sat for upwards of an hour, with a newspaper before him, +brooding over the great mystery. There were very few people +in the reading-room at this time, for it was late. The dusk was +closing in already; and the <i lang="fr">habitués</i> of the club were almost all +of them dining in one of the larger apartments.</p> + +<p>The Duke left his seat by-and-by, and walked to the window. +The room was very dreary in the waning daylight, and the street +below the windows was almost deserted, the West-end world +having gone home to dine.</p> + +<p>A gentleman was seated close to the open window reading a +paper; he lowered the sheet from before his face and looked up, +as Vincent Mountford approached him.</p> + +<p>This gentleman was Rupert Godwin, the banker. He had +come to town in search of Julia, and had dropped into the club, +pale and worn out by fatigue, to take a hasty dinner. He had +heard nothing of his missing daughter; and he had just returned +from the office of a private detective, whom he had been consulting +as to the best means of seeking her.</p> + +<p>In his own words, the web was closing round him. Narrower +and narrower grew the fatal circle; and he scarcely knew which +way to step without finding himself face to face with some new +danger.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<p>As he looked up at the Duke of Harlingford, whom he had +met very frequently in society and in the familiar intercourse of +the club reading-room, he tried to affect some of his old ease of +manner, though the effort was a painful one.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening, Duke,” he exclaimed. “How is it that I find +you here at an hour when you ought to be glorifying some Belgravian +dinner-table by your presence?”</p> + +<p>The young man looked intently at that pale face, those un-English +black eyes, dimly seen in the gathering dusk. This face—the +face of Rupert Godwin the banker—was the image which +had floated before his mental vision since he had seen the hidden +miniature in Esther Vanberg’s locket. The face in the portrait +was the youthful likeness of that face on which Vincent Mountford +now looked.</p> + +<p>The Duke knew something of the banker’s history. He knew +that Rupert Godwin had, in his early manhood, been a resident +in Spain, where a branch house belonging to the banker had +been carried on by a junior partner.</p> + +<p>Rapid as lightning an electric chain of ideas flashed through +the mind of the Duke.</p> + +<p>This man, this banker, half Spaniard, half English, was the +betrayer of the beautiful Spanish Jewess, and the father of +Esther Vanberg.</p> + +<p>Occupied as Mr. Godwin was with his own thoughts, he could +not help perceiving the strange expression, the solemn earnestness, +in the Duke of Harlingford’s face.</p> + +<p>“There is something amiss with you to-night, is there not?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Vincent Mountford: “I have lately lost one +who was most dear to me. It is but a very short time since +I stood beside the grave of the only woman I ever loved. Do +you know the name of Vanberg, Mr. Godwin?”</p> + +<p>The banker started; and pale though his face had been, it +grew a shade paler as he looked up nervously at the Duke.</p> + +<p>The young man handed him the miniature of the beautiful +Jewess.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see this before?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The shrinking, half-shuddering movement with which Rupert +Godwin recoiled from that faded miniature in its jewelled case +told enough.</p> + +<p>“Your daughter, your abandoned, forgotten daughter, would +have cursed you on her dying bed, Rupert Godwin,” said the +Duke, solemnly, “if the shadow of death had not softened all +things before her eyes. She uttered no word of love or forgiveness—she +only told me the story of her life. The days of duelling +are past, or I might tell you more plainly what I think of a +man who leaves two helpless women to starve in the streets of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>London. As it is, I will say only that you and I had better +meet as strangers after to-night.”</p> + +<p>The Duke bowed gravely, and turned his back upon the man +who had once carried his head so proudly amongst the noblest +frequenters of that room. Now he had no word of defiance to +utter. He felt that the fatal circle was narrowing. A strange +influence had been upon him for the last few days, and all his +old hardihood of spirit seemed to have deserted him.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLV"> + CHAPTER XLV.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">THE FACE OF THE LOST.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">The Retreat, the abode in which Dr. Wilderson Snaffley received +his patients, was a place which seemed eminently calculated to +drive the sanest person mad.</p> + +<p>Dismal walls of an unusual height, and ornamented at the +top with iron spikes, surrounded a dreary wilderness of tangled +bushes and tall lean poplars, which was designated a garden. +In the centre of this garden stood a high square house; a house +which had once been white, but from whose damp-stained walls +the stucco had peeled off in great patches. Long rows of curtainless +windows, every one the precise pattern of its neighbour, +looked out upon the dismal wilderness. There were not even +blinds to shut out the glaring heat of the sun; but wooden +shutters, painted black, swung to and fro before the windows +with every gust of wind, and the rusty hinges made a dreary +creaking noise, that was like the groaning of a human creature +in pain.</p> + +<p>This was the place of which Dr. Snaffley spoke so pleasantly +to the friends of his patients, describing it always as “a delightful +country mansion, standing in the midst of its own grounds.”</p> + +<p>But the doctor knew his patrons; and he was not deluded +by the sympathetic looks or compassionate phrases of the people +who intrusted their relatives to his keeping, and who took no +trouble to ascertain the nature of the place that sheltered the +afflicted creatures, or the comforts that softened their calamity. +Dr. Snaffley knew that no one who entered the gates of the +Retreat would have committed a beloved relative to his care. +The unfortunates who came to that dark abode were people who +were to be <em>got rid of</em>. No matter how cheerless the home, how +wretchedly furnished the room, how miserable the daily fare, +how chill and damp the atmosphere; the patients were only +likely to die the sooner, and the bitterly-grudged stipend cease +to be paid.</p> + +<p>Dr. Snaffley took patients at different rates, for he varied his +charge according to the circumstances of the persons who employed +him. His policy was neither to ill-use his patients nor +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>to starve them; his policy was to keep them alive at the smallest +possible cost. He was not personally cruel; but he allowed the +men and women he employed to do pretty much as they liked; +while he lived his own life, and enjoyed himself after his own +manner in London, only putting in an appearance at the Retreat +now and then.</p> + +<p>In that joyless, comfortless mansion there was, it may be +hoped, less actual cruelty than in some of those dens of iniquity +which have encumbered this beautiful earth. There were padded +rooms, into which the dangerous lunatics were thrust, and kept +under lock and key; but the harmless lunatics were allowed +considerable liberty. The walls were so high, and the neighbourhood +so utterly desolate, that there was little chance either +of escape or of communication being held with the outer world.</p> + +<p>By far the larger number of his patients, and those for whom +Dr. Wilderson Snaffley was the most liberally paid, <em>were not mad</em>, +but were the wretched victims who, for some reason or other, +had been put out of the way by their unnatural relatives upon +the infamous pretence of insanity.</p> + +<p>These patients were very quiet. At first they were loud in +their complaints. They cried out bitterly for justice; they +threatened—they implored—they wept—they wrote letters, and +tried with piteous persistence to hold some communication with +the outer world—to find some means of reaching the ear of +mercy, of enlisting the voice of justice in their cause. But no +eye save that of Heaven saw their sufferings; no mortal ear +but that of merciless gaolers heard their complaints; and in +time they were all wearied out, one after another, and submitted +with a stupid apathy to an inevitable fate. A hopeless, changeless +melancholy took possession of them. They sat motionless +at the windows, staring blankly out upon the gloomy prospect. +They rarely conversed with one another; for what could they +talk of in that living grave?</p> + +<p>Sometimes they roamed listlessly in the dreary wilderness, +staring at those walls which shut them out from all they had +ever loved or cherished. They ate their scanty meals in despondent +silence. The wild chatter of the really mad patients +tortured them with its discordant jargon; and they had no +heart to speak amidst the Babel that surrounded them.</p> + +<p>Thus it was not strange that many who entered that place as +sane as the wretches who sent them there became at last raving +maniacs.</p> + +<p>All Dr. Snaffley wanted was the liberty to enjoy himself +abroad, and the power to save a fortune for his old age from the +profits of the Retreat. He was already rich; but every day +brought him new wealth, and every day made him more greedy +of gain.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> + +<p>Still, notwithstanding the <em>good luck</em> that had attended his +dreary abode for many years, Dr. Snaffley had never before +caught so rich a prize as the patient committed to his care by +Rupert Godwin the banker.</p> + +<p>The proprietor of the Retreat knew his power; he knew that +the patient called Lewis Wilton, who had been placed under his +care, was capable of revealing a secret that might have condemned +Rupert Godwin to a felon’s doom.</p> + +<p>The patient once within the walls of the Retreat, the secret +was safe—as safe as if it had been buried in the grave of a +second victim.</p> + +<p>“If Rupert Godwin had dared, he would have murdered this +young man,” thought Dr. Snaffley; “he only pays me because +he hasn’t pluck enough to play the bolder game.”</p> + +<p>For some days and nights after his removal to the Retreat, +Lionel Westford remained still unconscious—still a prey to +delirious fancies, to terrible visions, to all the wild delusions of +a violent attack of brain-fever.</p> + +<p>But Dr. Wilderson Snaffley, although a scoundrel and a charlatan, +was not without a certain cleverness in his professional +capacity. He prescribed for the young man with a watchful +care that he did not often bestow upon a patient, for Lionel +Westford’s life was worth five hundred pounds a year to him—more +than the income derived from five ordinary patients.</p> + +<p>For this reason the invalid enjoyed privileges that had never +before been shown to any inmate of the Retreat.</p> + +<p>A private bedchamber was allotted to him, instead of a miserable +truckle-bed in one of the bare wards, where twenty patients +slept side by side, with the wind whistling round them from the +chinks in the worm-eaten doors and window-frames. The battered +furniture of the dreary mansion was ransacked in order that +a tolerably comfortable bed and a dilapidated easy-chair might +be found for Lionel’s private room.</p> + +<p>The fever-stricken young man progressed very rapidly in the +hands of his new attendant; and in little more than a week +after his removal from Wilmingdon Hall the patient had recovered +consciousness.</p> + +<p>That recovery of consciousness was the most awful hour in +Lionel Westford’s life—more awful even than the hour in which, +stricken by the revelation of his father’s murder, he fell senseless +on the turf in Wilmingdon Park.</p> + +<p>As he opened his eyes and stared stupidly about him, trying +helplessly to remember where he was, the bare and wretched aspect +of the chamber sent a deadly chill to his heart.</p> + +<p>Where was he? Never before had he seen those dreary, dirty +walls. That dingy paper, with its geometrical pattern in dirty +yellow and faded brown, falling in tattered shreds here and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>there, and looking as if it had not been renewed for twenty years, +and those bare carpetless boards, belonged to no chamber that +he could remember; for, poor and shabby though his Lambeth +lodging had been, it had at least been clean, and here all looked +dirty and disorderly. At first the invalid’s mind was too weak +to arrive at any definite conclusion. He could only lie staring +at the wretched chamber, with a vague wonder in his mind.</p> + +<p>He knew he had never before been in that room; but for a +time that was all he knew or sought to know. He was not terrified +by its strangeness. He did not recollect where he had +last been, or what had happened to him. His mind was almost +a blank.</p> + +<p>Then, little by little, memory came back, with all its power to +torture. He remembered his pretty bedchamber at Wilmingdon +Hall—the perfume of flowers blowing in at the open window, +the luxurious furniture, the comfort and beauty of all around him.</p> + +<p>Then the image of Julia Godwin arose before him in all the +splendour of her beauty. Then a dark form pushed that brilliant +image aside, and the face of the banker scowled at him +with hate and fear in every lineament.</p> + +<p>It was the countenance that had so often looked down upon +him in his delirium. It looked on him now, as it had looked +then; and it recalled the memory of the crime that had been +committed in the northern wing.</p> + +<p>Then the picture was complete. Lionel remembered all the +past—the mystery which it had been his fate to discover; the +secret which Providence had revealed to him; the evidence that +had been link by link united into one perfect chain, identifying +the Captain of the <i>Lily Queen</i> with the victim of Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>But where was he? How had he been removed from the +luxurious chamber which had been his to this dismal and poverty-stricken +room, such as no gentleman’s servant would have occupied +without complaining bitterly of the master who allotted it +to him?</p> + +<p>He fancied that he must have been removed into some desolate +and disused chamber in Wilmingdon Hall. He was in the +north wing, perhaps, in one of the bedchambers of that forgotten +building, which ignorant people believed to be haunted by the +shadows of the dead.</p> + +<p>It was noon when Lionel Westford lay helpless in his lonely +chamber, with the anguish of consciousness, instead of the +childish fancies of delirium. The sunlight streamed into the +room through the narrow opening of a shutter which had been +blown against the outside of the window.</p> + +<p>The window reached to the ground; and the young man was +still scrutinizing his apartment with curious eyes, when the +shutter was blown back from the window, and the chamber, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span>which had been only dimly lighted before, was suddenly exposed +to the full glare of the mid-day sun.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford turned his gaze from the chamber itself to +the prospect without.</p> + +<p>In all this time he had never once doubted that he was still +an inmate of Wilmingdon Hall. He fancied that he had only +been removed to some remote and uninhabited part of the house, +where his ravings could not be heard—where no prying ear could +listen to the ominous words which might fall from his lips.</p> + +<p>He believed this, and he was not disabused of his error; for, +by a strange coincidence, the scene which met his eyes beyond +the window of his room was not unlike the neglected garden +which was to be seen from the windows of the northern wing.</p> + +<p>There all was ruin and desolation—overgrown shrubs, whose +straggling branches were strangers to the gardener’s pruning-knife, +long rank grass, ill-looking weeds, moss-grown gravel. +Here were the same weeds, the same rank grass, blown to and +fro by the autumn wind, the same weird tangled bushes, withering +under the autumn sun.</p> + +<p>The northern garden at Wilmingdon Hall was shut in by an +old brick wall; a noble mass of brickwork, with buttresses that +might have served to sustain the ramparts of some mediæval +castle. Here too the wall loomed, dark and dismal-looking, +against the blue autumn sky.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” muttered Lionel Westford; “they have removed me +to the northern wing. The murderer feared to hear himself denounced +by the lips of his victim’s son; and he has banished me +here—here, where I may lie forgotten and neglected; here, +where <em>she</em> may never know my fate! I only wonder that he has +let me live; for he must know that, if I am ever able to leave +this place, I shall devote the rest of my life to the task of bringing +my father’s assassin to justice.”</p> + +<p>Then, as he put the story of the past together bit by bit, +Lionel Westford remembered that he had entered Wilmingdon +Hall under an assumed name. He did not think of his mother’s +letter, or his father’s miniature—two things which bore direct +evidence to his identity.</p> + +<p>“I am only a stranger to Rupert Godwin,” thought the young +man, “unless in my delirium—for I suppose I have been delirious—I +have revealed who I am, and my knowledge of his iniquity. +Surely, if I had done so, he would have murdered me +while I lay helpless in his power, as he murdered my father; +and since I live, I may be sure that I owe my life to his ignorance.”</p> + +<p>For some time he lay too weak to move, gazing straight before +him at the desolate garden, the neglected weeds waving drearily +to and fro in the wind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> + +<p>“Strange,” he thought, “very strange, that they should have +banished me to the building within whose walls my father met +his fate.”</p> + +<p>Then, with a faint thrill of that latent superstition which +lurks in almost every breast, he remembered the ghastly stories +he had heard about that northern wing—the shrouded form +which had scared ignorant intruders, and sent them shrieking +from that deserted edifice.</p> + +<p>He remembered all this now. He had smiled at the foolish +stories when they were told him, and had laughed to scorn +the servants’ talk of ghosts and goblins; but now, weakened +by his illness, prostrate, lonely, and wretched, Lionel thought +very differently of the gloomy regions of which he fancied +himself an inhabitant.</p> + +<p>As the dreary moments crept on, intolerably long while they +left him in such miserable uncertainty with regard to his fate, +the invalid’s spirits sank lower and lower, and the agonizing +tears of despair filled his eyes.</p> + +<p>Then a kind of superstitious horror took possession of him. +His utter loneliness, the strange quiet of the place, oppressed +him to an extreme degree. The thought of his father’s assassination +became every moment more vivid, until he pictured the +scene of horror in all its hideous detail.</p> + +<p>“O, God!” he exclaimed, bursting into a flood of hysterical +tears, “if Rupert Godwin does know who I am, it must have +been by the instinct of a refined and hellish cruelty that he +decided upon banishing me to this deserted building. If ever +the dead yet haunted the living, surely my father’s shadow will +haunt me.”</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely escaped his lips, the tears were still +wet upon his cheeks, when a dark form suddenly came between +him and the sunlight.</p> + +<p>A white death-like face looked in at him with a wan melancholy +gaze.</p> + +<p>Lionel Westford lifted himself from the pillow, uttered a wild +prolonged shriek, and then fell back unconscious.</p> + +<p>It was his father’s face that had looked at him through the +sunlit window—the face of the Captain of the <i>Lily Queen</i>, the +face that had smiled upon him in the days of his careless +boyhood; but changed into the face of death.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"> + CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">SUSPENSE.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin was too desperately circumstanced, and too +hardened a sinner, to be much affected by the revelation made +by the Duke of Harlingford with regard to Esther Vanberg’s +identity with his deserted daughter. Are there human beings +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>created without that attribute of the mind, that natural love +and tenderness, pity and remorse, which we blend into one +general whole and call “a heart”?</p> + +<p>It would seem so; it would seem as if there are some natures +in which there is no such element as heart or conscience. These +are the exceptional criminals whom men wonder at, and whose +iniquities the merciful are apt to ascribe to mental disease.</p> + +<p>The banker had been struck by Esther Vanberg’s likeness to +the lovely Spanish Jewess whom his treachery had lured from +the home of a doting father, a rich wine-merchant of Seville, +who had toiled long and patiently in order to amass the fortune +which was to secure the future welfare of his only child, Lola. +The girl was engaged to be married to the cashier in the Seville +banking-house belonging to the Godwin firm, when the young +<i lang="fr">roué</i> saw her, and at once determined to oust his inferior.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin was handsomer and more polished than his +<i lang="fr">employé</i>. He was already a man of the world; the cashier was +only an honest and devoted lover, eager to achieve a better position +in life before he claimed the heiress of old Isaac Mendez. +While the young man worked at his bureau, the employer hung +about the footsteps of the merchant’s daughter, followed her to +church and bull-fight, bribed her old nurse, flattered and fooled +her doting father, and turned the poor girl’s head by his impassioned +pleading. The end came only too quickly—the hackneyed +conclusion of the hackneyed story.</p> + +<p>Lola let herself quietly out of the paternal dwelling one starless, +airless summer night, and left Seville under the protection +of Rupert Godwin. They started at once for Paris, where Lola +had been told the marriage would take place. There were +reasons why it could not be performed at Seville. Mr. Godwin’s +father had formed plans of his own for his son’s matrimonial +settlement, and for a time the marriage would have to be kept +secret.</p> + +<p>“There is no safer place than Paris,” said Rupert; and Lola, +who had heard Paris talked of as a kind of earthly elysium, was +quite ready to agree to this proposal.</p> + +<p>In Paris the banker lodged his divinity in one of the prettiest +villas in the <span lang="fr">Champs Elysées</span>, a <i lang="fr">bijou</i> mansion built and decorated +in the Moorish style, at a fabulous outlay, for a Muscovite prince +lately deceased, and bought under the hammer by Mr. Godwin +at about ten per cent of its original cost. In this luxurious nest +Lola Mendez found herself a kind of fairy princess—flattered, +beloved; but she never became the wife of Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had thought it quite probable that the <i lang="fr">figurante</i> +might be his own daughter; but he had concerned himself no +more about her fortunes in her lovely and reckless womanhood +than he had done in her deserted girlhood.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span></p> + +<p>But when the Duke showed him the portrait of his victim, +the proud man did feel the humiliation of his position. He +winced beneath the cold contempt of the generous young +patrician, for he was not without the plebeian’s natural reverence +for rank, and it was hard to be despised by a duke. He had +sunk so very low now, that every new stroke wounded him to +the quick. Hemmed in on every side by danger, a superstitious +terror had taken possession of him, and he saw in every incident +of his troubled life a new omen of ruin.</p> + +<p>His daughter’s flight had filled him with unspeakable fear. +He had loved this girl with the bad man’s selfish love, which +sees in the beloved object only a source of pleasure or happiness +to himself; still, he had loved her, and he felt her desertion +deeply.</p> + +<p>But this was the least element in his trouble. Julia knew +his guilty secret; she doubtless possessed the proof that in +intention, if not in act, he was a poisoner.</p> + +<p>Would she betray him? Surely, not willingly. But she +might be seized with a fever, such as that which had stricken +Lionel Westford, and in her delirium she might utter the +accusing words which would lead, perhaps, step by step, to the +discovery of all his crimes.</p> + +<p>Ah, if the criminal could only foresee the agonies that follow +the commission of crime, even when the torturing voice of conscience +is dumb; if he could calculate the labour, the patience, the +self-abnegation, the watchfulness which will be required of him +during every hour of his ensuing existence, in which the one end +and aim of his life will be to keep <em>that</em> secret,—surely the very +selfishness which suggests the crime would restrain the hand of +the criminal.</p> + +<p>The search for Julia had been, so far, made in vain. Advertisements +had been inserted in the papers; inquiries had been +made in every direction, but without avail. If she had read the +appeals in those advertisements, Julia had been inexorable, for +she had never answered them.</p> + +<p>But Julia had not read those advertisements. While private +detectives were searching for her in every direction suggested by +Rupert Godwin, the missing girl had fled to a neighbourhood +which the banker had never dreamt of suggesting.</p> + +<p>She had dressed herself, upon the morning of her flight, in +some dark homely garments which she had been making for the +poor; and, thus disguised, with an unfashionable straw bonnet, +and a thick veil over her face, she had walked to Hertford in the +dewy morning, while it was yet scarcely light. She had taken +the first train for London, stepping quite unobserved into a +second-class carriage. From the station at King’s Cross she +had driven straight to Waterloo, going thence by express to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span>Winchester. At the Winchester station she had taken a fly, +which drove her to a quiet retreat in the New Forest.</p> + +<p>In her journey thither she had evidently a settled purpose, +for her conduct from first to last had betrayed no hesitation as +to whither she should go.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Three or four days after the old clerk’s visit to the lodging in +the Waterloo-road, Clara Westford received a letter in the handwriting +which had been so familiar to her in her early girlhood, +when the deformed schoolmaster had devoted himself to her +education, inspired by a passion which had been the keynote of +his life,—such a passion as Quasimodo felt for the beautiful +dancing-girl—such a passion as in the breast of Quasimodo’s +master, the priest of <span lang="fr">Nôtre Dame</span>, called itself fatality.</p> + +<p>The old clerk’s letter was very brief:—</p> + +<p>“I told you I could atone in some measure for the wrong I +inflicted upon you when I imagined your father’s treatment of +me was inspired by your express request. You shall see that I +can make some amends for having thus suspected you of conduct +which was foreign to your noble nature. If you will come with +your daughter to the bank parlour this day week, at twelve +o’clock, you will receive my atonement; and at the same time +you will, perhaps, experience the greatest and the happiest surprise +that you have ever known in the whole course of your life.</p> + +<p class="right pno-blank-bottom"> + <span style="margin-right: 8em;">“—Your respectful and obedient</span><br> + “<span class="smcap p2r">Jacob Danielson.</span></p> + +<p class="pno-blank-top"> + “<i>Tuesday morning.</i>” +</p> + +<p>A surprise! An atonement! It was quite in vain that Clara +Westford perused and reperused the old clerk’s letter in the +hope of discovering something of its meaning.</p> + +<p>A surprise—a happy surprise—wrote Jacob Danielson. Alas, +what happy surprise could there be for her, since her husband, +the lover of her youth, the adored friend and companion of her +womanhood, met his fate at the hands of an assassin?</p> + +<p>“Unless Jacob Danielson can bring the dead back to life, I +know not what happiness he can give me,” thought Clara mournfully.</p> + +<p>She was almost crushed down by the weight of her sorrows. +They had come upon her, one after another, without even a brief +interval of peace. Only a short time had elapsed since her +daughter had been restored to her, and already a new grief was +racking the mother’s heart.</p> + +<p>Her son had never responded to that letter in which she had +told him of her meeting with Gilbert Thornleigh—a letter which +was of a nature to demand an immediate answer.</p> + +<p>Day after day she had expected the reply; but none had +come—for the reader knows the cause of Lionel Westford’s +silence, and how little power he had to respond to that appalling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span>communication. The mother wrote again and again, imploring +some answer to her anxious letters; but still the post brought no +tidings of the beloved son.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford had no address, except the Hertford post-office, +to which she could direct her letters. She believed her son to be +living in the town of Hertford, and she had imagined that +forgetfulness alone had prevented his sending her the address of +the house in which he lived.</p> + +<p>But as time wore on, and still no answer came to her letters, +Clara Westford felt that something must have happened to her +son. Lionel was the last in the world to neglect a mother’s supplicating +letters; he had always been the most attentive and +devoted of sons.</p> + +<p>“My boy is ill,” exclaimed Clara, when she found herself no +longer able to keep her uneasiness hidden from Violet. “He +must be dangerously ill,” she cried; “dying, perhaps; for if he +were able to hold his pen, if he were able to dictate a letter, I am +sure that he would not leave me in this state of suspense.”</p> + +<p>On the day after she had received Jacob Danielson’s letter, +Mrs. Westford determined on going to Hertford. Her little +stock of money was nearly exhausted; but she had just enough +to pay the expenses of the journey, and she had no longer the +grim visage of starvation frowning upon her darkly in the future, +for Violet’s mysterious good fortune had changed the worldly +position of the widow and her daughter.</p> + +<p>“Do not despair, dearest mother,” pleaded Violet; “even +amidst all our bitter miseries, Providence has not wholly deserted +us. What can be more providential than the chance by +which I inherit a fortune from some mysterious benefactress, +whose name I do not even know? Depend upon it, dearest +mother, the turning-point has come on the dark road, and in +future our path will be smoother than it has been during the last +year, even though we may have little sunshine to illumine our +lives,” murmured Violet sadly.</p> + +<p>She was thinking of George Stanmore, the lover whose fancied +inconstancy was the settled sorrow of her life—a grief endured +so patiently, a burden borne with such Christian resignation, +that it had left no shadow on the calm loveliness of her pensive +face. Her beauty was altered in character since the days when +she had wandered, light-hearted as some wood-nymph, in the +depths of the New Forest; but it was even more exquisite now +in its pensive gravity of expression than it had been when +radiant with the smiles of careless girlhood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford set out alone for Hertford. Violet had entreated +to be allowed to accompany her mother, but Clara refused.</p> + +<p>“No, Violet,” she said; “Heaven only knows what I may +have to go through. I may find my boy lying in his grave, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>buried by strangers who did not even know of his mother’s existence. +I may find him on a sick-bed: in that case I need not +tell you that I shall remain with him. But, whatever may +happen, I will telegraph to you, Violet, if I am detained.”</p> + +<p>It was with a very heavy heart that Clara Westford started +on that journey. She seated herself in the corner of a second-class +carriage, with her face hidden by a shabby crape veil; and +she took little notice of her fellow-passengers, or of the autumn +landscape that spun past the open windows of the carriage. Her +heart was oppressed by the anticipation of some calamity. The +image of her beloved son, racked by sickness, or lying still in +death, haunted her brain with a torturing persistence. The +voices of her companions jarred upon her ears. It was so terrible +to hear their careless laughter—their gay discussions of the +pleasures awaiting them at the end of their journey—their eager +talk of business to be done, and money to be gained, at this or +that market-town—their speculation and argumentation about +the state of the crops in the country they were passing through—while +before her there was only a blank horizon, darkened +by the shadow of a hideous fear. It seemed to her that her life +and her sorrows must be exceptional in a world where people +could be so busy and so free from care as all these fellow-passengers +appeared to be.</p> + +<p>At last she reached her destination, and a sickness like death +itself came over her as she told herself that she would soon learn +the worst. She went at once to one of the porters, and inquired +her way from the station to the post-office.</p> + +<p>Here she fancied that her suspense would end. The people +belonging to the office would be able to tell her the address of +her son, and she would have nothing to do but to go straight to +his lodging.</p> + +<p>But an unutterable despair took possession of her when the +woman who answered her inquiries told her that she knew +nothing whatever of the gentleman whose letters had been addressed +to him under the name of Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>“We have so many people call for letters,” she said, “that it +is quite impossible we can remember them all.”</p> + +<p>On looking into the pigeon-hole where the letters addressed +under the initial W. were deposited, the woman found three +letters directed to Lionel Westford.</p> + +<p>Clara asked permission to look at them, and found that they +were her own three letters of inquiry, written one after the +other during the period of her alarm respecting Lionel.</p> + +<p>The woman returned them to the pigeon-hole, as she could +give them up to no one but the person to whom they were +addressed.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford asked the postmistress if she remembered the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>gentleman who had been accustomed to call for letters bearing +that address.</p> + +<p>Yes, the woman remembered him perfectly. She had been +struck by his good looks, his affable manner. She remembered +the last time he called. It was on a very bright afternoon, but +she could not say exactly how long ago.</p> + +<p>Had he ever told her in what part of the town he lived?</p> + +<p>No, he had been very reserved, though so pleasant-spoken. +He had never said anything about himself.</p> + +<p>After this, Clara Westford wandered hopelessly about the +town until long after dark, making inquiries in every direction +where she thought there might be the smallest chance of obtaining +a clue to Lionel’s whereabouts.</p> + +<p>She went to a printseller’s, to several booksellers’, to all the +inns, even to humble little taverns in obscure by-streets and +alleys, where poverty alone would seek a resting-place. But +there was only one answer to her inquiries. No one had heard +the name of Westford—no one had met with any stranger from +London answering to the description which Mrs. Westford gave +of her son.</p> + +<p>It was ten o’clock when Clara returned to the railway station, +disconsolate and broken-hearted. Fortunately for her, the last +train had not yet left; and after waiting some time she took her +place in one of the second-class carriages, and was conveyed +back to London as ignorant of her son’s whereabouts as she had +been when she set out that morning to seek for him.</p> + +<p>Violet knew by her mother’s face, the moment she looked at +her, that no good tidings had greeted her at Hertford.</p> + +<p>She knelt by Mrs. Westford’s side, removed the heavy black +shawl from her shoulders with gentle, caressing hands, and tried +by every means in her power to console the unhappy woman.</p> + +<p>“You have not found him, mother,” she said. “I can see +that by your face. But is it not better to be still uncertain of +his fate than to know, perhaps, that we have lost him? There +is always hope where there is uncertainty. Ill news travels fast, +you know, dearest. I am sure we should have heard if anything +serious had happened to my brother. If he had been seized +with illness, we should have been told of it. He must have had +letters about him containing our address, and in such cases +there is always some good Samaritan to summon a sick man’s +relations. Do you know, mamma darling, I have an idea that +the surprise alluded to in Mr. Danielson’s letter must be something +that concerns Lionel. Try to hope this, dearest; and do +not give way to grief which may be entirely groundless.”</p> + +<p>With such a loving comforter, Clara Westford could not quite +despair. At the worst, it was a relief not to have heard ill news +of Lionel. He had left Hertford most likely. His letters had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>been intrusted to strangers, perhaps, to carry to the post, and +had never been posted. And again, in spite of herself, Clara +could not help feeling some confidence in the mysterious hints of +the old clerk.</p> + +<p>A surprise, and a happy surprise, he had written. Ah, surely +some great joy must be in store for her. She had suffered so +much, that it was scarcely unreasonable she should expect some +blessing at the hands of Providence.</p> + +<p>“But they cannot give me back the dead,” thought Clara. +“I can only hope to go down to the grave in peace, with my +children by my side. No power on earth can restore the lost, +nor give me back the happy days in which my husband and I +walked side by side in the dear old garden at the Grange.”</p> + +<p>As she mused thus, the widow’s thoughts went back to that +happy time. She fancied herself once more leaning on her husband’s +arm—proud of him, and of his love; the happiest wife +whose heart ever beat faster at the sound of a husband’s footstep.</p> + +<p>On the day which had been mentioned in the clerk’s letter, +Clara Westford and her daughter dressed themselves neatly in +their mourning garments and walked into the City.</p> + +<p>Clara’s mind had been much disturbed by the mysterious +tenor of the old man’s letter.</p> + +<p>That he should ask her to meet him in the bank parlour +was in itself very extraordinary. That room was the sanctuary +of Rupert Godwin; and the clerk must have unusual +power if he could venture to make any appointment of his +own in that apartment.</p> + +<p>But the entire contents of the letter were a mystery to +Clara, and she resolved on obeying the old clerk in blind +confidence, since she was quite unable to penetrate his motives. +His manner had impressed her with the perfect sincerity of +his wish to serve her.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that she presented herself at the bank in Lombard-street +at the appointed hour, accompanied by her daughter.</p> + +<p>The two ladies were shown at once into the parlour, where they +found Rupert Godwin seated at the table, with Jacob Danielson +standing at the back of his chair.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"> + CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">RESURGAM.</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">Rupert Godwin had been summoned to the bank by a letter +from his clerk.</p> + +<p>“My dear sir,” wrote Jacob, “things are looking very black +in the City, and the old rumour is beginning to get afloat again. +You had better come to the office and look into matters yourself. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>I have made a business appointment for you to-morrow, +at twelve sharp; and as it is an affair of some considerable importance +I would recommend you to be punctual.—Obediently +yours, J. D.”</p> + +<p>This letter had been addressed to the banker’s West-end +apartments; and it was this summons which had brought him +to the bank about three minutes before Clara and Violet entered it.</p> + +<p>For some time Rupert Godwin’s affairs had been gradually +sinking back into the state in which they had been before his +theft of the twenty thousand pounds intrusted to him by the +sea captain.</p> + +<p>That sum was not the tenth part of the amount that would +have been needed to restore the firm to a solvent position. But +it had been enough to stop the leak in the ship, and to enable +the rotten old vessel to right herself for a time, while her captain +sailed in search of new gold-fields.</p> + +<p>Small depositors—always the first to take alarm—had been +appeased. Suspicion had been set at rest by the promptitude +with which all demands were satisfied; and customers who had +withdrawn their balances in a fever of alarm, had brought +back their custom when the panic was over.</p> + +<p>Unhappily for Rupert Godwin, this halcyon state of things +could not endure for ever. The effects of the preceding year’s +commercial panic were still felt. The edifice of credit had been +shaken to its foundations, and the enchanted temple still tottered, +frail as some confectioner’s fairy fabric of spun sugar.</p> + +<p>There were prophetic rumours of an approaching crisis more +alarming than that through which the commercial classes of +London had passed, more or less scorched and scathed by the +ordeal, so lately. There were those who said that the first blast +of the trumpet which sounded the alarm in the halls of the Stock +Exchange would ring the death-knell of Rupert Godwin’s credit.</p> + +<p>There was one who knew this only too well; and that one +was the banker himself. He knew that an hour’s run upon his +bank would demonstrate the fact of his insolvency.</p> + +<p>He had been insolvent for more than ten years, and had borne +the burden of that guilty secret, knowing that whenever the crash +came thousands of innocent people would suffer for the inordinate +extravagance which had sapped the capital of one of the most +respectable private banks in the metropolis.</p> + +<p>Utterly indifferent as to the sufferings of other people, this +knowledge had troubled Rupert Godwin very little. But he +was considerably disturbed by the thought of his own ruin—his +disgrace, and perhaps even poverty; or, at any rate, a miserable +state of existence which to him would be little better than absolute +indigence—a kind of suspension between the heaven of wealth +and the hell of penury. “Better to be an outcast and Bohemian, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>begging in the high-road by day and sleeping in an empty barn +by night, than to drag out the remnant of my days as a dreary +old twaddler in some suburban cottage, with a maid-of-all-work +to wait upon me, and a garden thirty feet square to walk in,” +the Sybarite said to himself as he contemplated the future. He +had tried to make a purse for himself; but of late his mind had +been entirely absorbed by considerations that were even more +alarming than his financial difficulties; and he had not been +able to garner any great store against the day of ruin. He had +set aside something; but even that something would be wrested +from him if he did not make his plans for a speedy escape from +the financial storm whose first hoarse thunders already rumbled +ominously in the distance. And those commercial tempests +travel so quickly!</p> + +<p>Upon his confidential clerk’s fidelity the banker relied with implicit +confidence; not because he believed the clerk to be attached +to his person, or bound to him by any sense of honour. Mr. +Godwin had directed his attention to the vices rather than the +virtues of his fellow-men. He had paid Danielson handsomely +for fidelity in the past, and had promised him ample payment +for fidelity in the future; and, as he looked upon good faith as a +marketable commodity, to be purchased in any quantities at the +current market rate, he was troubled by no doubt of his ally’s +fidelity.</p> + +<p>He came to the office this morning in no very pleasant frame +of mind; but distrust of Jacob Danielson had no part in his +conflicting doubts and difficulties.</p> + +<p>“Well, Jacob,” he said, as he seated himself at his desk, +“how are things looking?”</p> + +<p>“As black as they can look,” answered the clerk, with a mixture +of respect and indifference that always galled his master—“as +black as they can look. People have begun to talk; and +when they once begin, it is not very easy to stop them. There +may be a run upon the bank any day, and then the murder’s out.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin’s nerves had been terribly shaken of late. He +could not control a slight shuddering movement as the clerk pronounced +that ghastly word “murder.”</p> + +<p>Before he could speak, one of the junior clerks opened the +parlour-door and ushered in Mrs. Westford and her daughter.</p> + +<p>The banker started violently, and half rose from his chair with +a convulsive movement at the aspect of those two slender figures +draped in solemn black.</p> + +<p>“Who are these people?” he gasped. “I cannot see them.—Walters, +take these ladies back to the public office; they can +have no business here.—What is the meaning of this, Danielson?” +added the banker, turning indignantly to the old clerk. “You +told me you had arranged an important business meeting here +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span>at this hour. These people cannot possibly have any business +to transact with me.”</p> + +<p>“O, yes, they have, sir,” answered the clerk quietly.—“Sit +down, ladies, pray. Mr. Godwin is rather unprepared for your +visit, you see, as I have not found time to explain matters to him +before your arrival. But he will find the business very simple—quite +simple. Pray sit down.”</p> + +<p>The mother and daughter obeyed. Clara had not in any manner +saluted the banker, nor he her, though they had looked at +each other fixedly for a moment.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford’s face was pale, and rigid as the face of a statue.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin’s countenance had grown livid. The sudden +appearance of those two women had inspired him with a strange +fear.</p> + +<p>As he turned indignantly towards the old clerk, something in +Jacob Danielson’s face told the banker that he was about to find +a deadly foe in the man who had so long been his tool and +accomplice.</p> + +<p>“Insolent scoundrel!” he exclaimed, “how do you dare to +defy me thus? Take your friends out of my room! I will not +be intruded on by any one.”</p> + +<p>“These ladies are no friends of mine,” answered the clerk; +“though I shall be proud indeed if I can render them any service. +They are no intruders here. They have a claim upon +you, Mr. Godwin, and a very large one.”</p> + +<p>“You are mad!” exclaimed the banker contemptuously. +“What claim can these ladies have upon me?”</p> + +<p>“A very terrible one, it may be, Rupert Godwin,” replied +Clara Westford solemnly. “What if I come to claim justice +upon the murderer of a beloved husband? Retribution is very +slow sometimes; but it is none the less certain. Sooner or later +the day of reckoning comes; if not in this world, in the next. +Heaven have pity on those who are not allowed to expiate their +iniquities upon earth!”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin tried to carry matters with a high hand—but +even his bravado failed him in this supreme moment of fear. +His livid countenance, convulsed every now and then by sudden +spasms, betrayed the state of his mind.</p> + +<p>“We will not talk of retribution here,” said Jacob Danielson. +“It is only on a matter of business that these ladies have called +on you this morning, Mr. Godwin. They come to claim the +sum of twenty thousand pounds, intrusted to your care by +Captain Harley Westford, of the <i>Lily Queen</i>, with five per cent. +interest thereupon for the time the money has been in your +hands.”</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin laughed aloud. It was a wild spasmodic +kind of laugh, and by no means agreeable to hear.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span></p> + +<p>“My good Danielson,” he exclaimed, “you are evidently +going mad. I had better send for the parish authorities and +the parish strait-waistcoat.”</p> + +<p>“Not just yet,” replied the clerk coolly. “You are rather +fond of putting people into lunatic asylums, I know. But as I +am not mad, your philanthropic and compassionate nature need +not be troubled by any concern about me. Perhaps you’ll be so +kind as to pay these ladies the money they claim—twenty-one +thousand pounds. Mrs. Westford’s husband died suddenly; +but he made his will, bequeathing all he possessed to his wife, +with undivided power to administer his affairs. She has not +yet gone through the usual formula; but as this is an exceptional +case you can afford to waive ceremony, and pay Captain +Westford’s widow the money that belongs to her, without waiting +for legal formalities. Here is the receipt signed by yourself, +and witnessed by me.”</p> + +<p>The clerk produced an oblong slip of paper, which he held +before the eyes of his master. Those eyes glared at the document +with a blank stare of mingled astonishment and horror.</p> + +<p>“Where,” he gasped,—“where did you——”</p> + +<p>“Where did I find it?” said the clerk, with supreme coolness. +“Ah, to be sure. I was prepared to hear you ask that question. +I’ll tell you where I found it. On the night on which Harley +Westford came to you at Wilmingdon Hall, to claim the money +which this receipt represents, he wore a light overcoat. Ah, +you remember it, I see. The night was warm; and when the +Captain came into the dining-room, where you and I were lingering +over our dessert, he carried his outer coat across his arm. +When he left the dining-room he flung it down upon a chair. +<em>I</em> found it there when I returned to the Hall, after missing the +train. I’m rather of an inquisitive disposition, and I had peculiar +motives for my curiosity that night; so I took the liberty to +examine the pockets in the Captain’s overcoat. I was very well +rewarded for my pains, for in the small breast-pocket I found +<em>this</em>. You recognize it, Mr. Godwin, I can see. It is the receipt +for which <em>you</em> searched the same pocket that night, but a little +too late. You only half did your work when you stabbed +Captain Westford in the back, and flung him down the cellar-steps, +to lie and rot there unburied and forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“O, great Heaven!” shrieked Clara, with a wail of agony. +“My husband was murdered then—by him; and you know the +secret of his murder! You know, and you have never denounced +the hellish assassin!”</p> + +<p>“Hush, Mrs. Westford,” cried the clerk, almost imperiously; +“not a word! I told you that the greatest surprise, the <em>happiest</em> +surprise you had ever experienced in your life, would come upon +you to-day. Wait, and trust in me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford had risen in her sudden agony and terror; but +overawed,—influenced, in spite of herself, by something in the +old clerk’s manner,—she sank back upon her chair, pale and +breathless, waiting to hear more.</p> + +<p>“Come, Mr. Godwin,” said Jacob Danielson; “the best thing +you can do is to pay this money quietly, and immediately. You +would scarcely care to have any public inquiries made as to how +I came into possession of this receipt.”</p> + +<p>“It is a forgery!” gasped the banker.</p> + +<p>“Is it? That’s a question which must be decided by a court +of law, if you dispute the settlement of Mrs. Westford’s claim. +And if this case once gets into a court of law, you may be sure +it will be sifted to the very bottom. The mystery of that summer +night at Wilmingdon Hall will be brought before the public, +and then——”</p> + +<p>Jacob Danielson uttered the last words very slowly.</p> + +<p>“I will pay the money,” cried Rupert Godwin; “but you +must give me time!”</p> + +<p>“Not a day! Not an hour! I know the state of your +affairs. This money shall be paid before these ladies leave this +house. If you have not that amount of ready cash, you have +convertible securities, and they must be melted at once. Nor is +that all, Mr. Godwin. You must sign a paper acknowledging +that the document under which you took possession of the +Grange——”</p> + +<p>“I will do no such thing!” answered the banker defiantly. +Then, with a sudden burst of fury, he sprang upon the old clerk, +and seized him by the throat.</p> + +<p>“Villain! hypocrite! dog!” he cried, “you have taken my +money, you have pretended to serve me, and now you turn upon +me and betray me—you, my slave, my foot-ball, the creature +that I have paid as I pay the lowest scullery-maid in my house! +But I——”</p> + +<p>He released his hold, for the door was opened, and one of the +clerks looked in with a scared face. He had overheard the noise +of the scuffle in the outer office.</p> + +<p>But as Rupert Godwin had sunk back exhausted into his +chair, and as Jacob Danielson was standing quietly by him in +his usual deferential attitude when the man looked in, he murmured +an apology and withdrew, closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>“You perceive, Mr. Godwin, that violence here is not quite so +secure from detection as in the cellars of the northern wing. +Every man’s house is his castle; but there is some difference +between a haunted abbey in Hertfordshire and an office in the +heart of Lombard-street,” said Jacob, with quiet significance. +“I tell you again, you had better call your cashier, and order +him to realize stock to the amount of twenty thousand pounds. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>How about those Canadian Grand-Trunk Debenture Bonds +which you bought the other day? Ah, I had my eye upon you, +you see, when you were quite unconscious of my watchfulness. +That’s a capital form of security. Safe as a bank-note; easy +to realize; no fuss or bother involved in the transfer. You can +sell those in the open market. We will talk of the forged documents +afterwards.”</p> + +<p>Never was baffled fury more strongly visible in a human face +than it was in the scowling visage of the banker, as he turned +from the clerk and touched a little handbell on the table.</p> + +<p>His summons was responded to in less than a minute. The +same clerk who had looked into the room before looked in again.</p> + +<p>“The cashier,” said Rupert Godwin briefly.</p> + +<p>The clerk retired, and another man presented himself.</p> + +<p>“You realized some Mexican securities yesterday, by my +order?” said the banker.</p> + +<p>“I did, sir.”</p> + +<p>“To what amount?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty-four thousand three hundred and twenty pounds.”</p> + +<p>“You will hand over bank-notes to the amount of twenty-one +thousand pounds to this lady.”</p> + +<p>The banker pointed to Mrs. Westford. The cashier looked +surprised; but he bowed in assent, retired, and presently reappeared +with a packet of bank-notes.</p> + +<p>“Twenty notes of five hundred each, and eleven notes of a +thousand each,” said the cashier, as he handed the packet to his +employer.</p> + +<p>“Good. And now your deposit-receipt,” said the banker to +Jacob Danielson.</p> + +<p>The clerk gave Rupert Godwin the oblong slip of paper with +one hand, while with the other he received the packet of notes.</p> + +<p>“There, Mrs. Westford, is the fortune amassed by your husband +in years of hazardous adventure,” said Jacob Danielson. +“The documents relating to the Grange will be admitted as +forgeries by Mr. Godwin. And you will be able to return to +your home whenever you please.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot accept this money,” answered Clara.</p> + +<p>“But it is your own.”</p> + +<p>“It has passed through the hands of my husband’s murderer. +There is not one of these notes that, to my mind, is not stained +with my husband’s blood. It is not money which I want, Mr. +Danielson, but justice—justice on the man who murdered my +husband.”</p> + +<p>“She is mad!” cried Rupert Godwin hoarsely. “I will not +be thus defied in my own house by a mad woman and a scoundrel. +I will——”</p> + +<p>His hand moved towards the bell, but he did not touch it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> + +<p>“Ring that bell, Rupert Godwin,” cried the old clerk; “or +if you will not, I will.”</p> + +<p>The clerk’s skinny fingers pressed the spring of the bell,—not +once only, but three separate times.</p> + +<p>“What is the meaning of this?” gasped the banker.</p> + +<p>“It means that you have failed in the capacity of assassin as +completely as you have failed in your commercial career, Mr. +Godwin,” answered the clerk coolly.—“You shall have justice, +Mrs. Westford,” he continued, turning to Clara, “but not on +the murderer of your husband, for he survived the stroke that +was intended to be his death-blow. He is here to denounce, in +his own person, the would-be assassin and the daring swindler.”</p> + +<p>As the old clerk spoke, the powerful form of the merchant +captain appeared upon the threshold, and in the next moment +Clara Westford flung herself into her husband’s arms with a +wild hysteric shriek.</p> + +<p>It was indeed as if the dead had been restored to life.</p> + +<p>Harley Westford had changed terribly since the hour when he +had last stood in that room, in all the pride and vigour of manhood. +His stalwart figure had wasted, though it still retained +its noble outline. His handsome face was pale and careworn; +dark circles surrounded his frank blue eyes, and haggard lines +had been drawn about his mouth; but as he clasped his wife to +his breast, his countenance was illumined by a light which +restored to it, for a moment, all its former brightness.</p> + +<p>“It is not a dream!” cried Clara; “it is not a dream! O, +Harley, Harley, is it really you? I have suffered so much—so +much! I can scarcely bear this surprise.”</p> + +<p>These words were spoken amidst hysteric sobs that almost +choked their utterance. Violet was sobbing on her father’s +shoulder. The Captain looked from his wife to his daughter. +Unspeakable affection beamed from his countenance; but he +was unable to utter a word. He sank into a chair presently, +quite overcome, and his wife and child knelt one on each side +of him.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin looked on this picture with the gaze of a +baffled fiend. He had the passions of an Iago, but not the +triumph which gladdened the heart of the Venetian schemer +even in the hour of defeat. He had not the grim satisfaction of +seeing the ruin he had worked. He had achieved nothing—not +even the misery of the rival he hated.</p> + +<p>“I told you you only half did your work that night at Wilmingdon +Hall. With all your cleverness, you’ve proved no better +than a bungler!” exclaimed the old clerk triumphantly.</p> + +<p>The banker groaned aloud; but he uttered no exclamation of +surprise—no questioning word. Ruin had fallen upon him—so +entire, so unexpectedly, that he was quite <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'unable to struggel'" id="tn-305">unable to struggle</ins> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>longer with the awful shadow of Nemesis. He could only abandon +himself to a sullen despair. Remorse was a stranger to <em>his</em> +nature: remorse is the sorrow we feel for the wrong we have +done to others. It was only on his own account that Rupert +Godwin suffered.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak fnormal" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"> + CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> +</div> +<h3 class="nobreak fnormal">“VENGEANCE IS MINE.”</h3> + + +<p class="noindent">After the first wild confusion of that scene in the bank parlour +there was a pause, a brief silence, which Jacob Danielson was the +first to break.</p> + +<p>“When you flung your victim to his dark hiding-place in the +cellar under the northern wing,” said the old clerk, addressing +himself slowly and deliberately to his employer, “you might as +well have taken the trouble to ascertain that he was really dead. +It would have been a more business-like mode of proceeding, and +I am surprised that you, a business man, should have failed to +adopt it: but, perhaps, your courage failed you at the last +moment, and you had not sufficient firmness to remain by the +body of your victim, and to listen for the last pulsation of the +heart which you had done your best to put to silence. However +this may have been, you left your work half undone. And +when I returned to Wilmingdon Hall, after contriving to miss +my train, I returned in time to save at least the life of your +intended victim. I had suspected some sinister motive in your +desire to get rid of me, and I managed to lose the train, after +having dismissed your servant. I was thus free to hurry back +to the park, and to re-enter the grounds unobserved. I made +my way rapidly towards the house, and the nearest way took +me past the north garden. In one of the windows of the +deserted wing I saw a light shining through the chinks in the +shutters. Heavy and ponderous though those shutters are, they +were not strong enough to conceal the secrets which you would +have hidden behind them. I crept softly towards the window, +and should have looked in through the chink, but the post of spy +was already occupied. An old man, a gardener, was standing +with his face flattened against the window, peeping into the +room. When I saw this I crept away as quietly as I had +approached, and went round to the occupied portion of the +house. I went to the dining-room, where I took the opportunity +to secure that deposit-receipt which has just proved so +valuable to Mrs. Westford. Five minutes after I had seated +myself, you made your appearance. Your face, your manner, +both told me that something terrible had happened in that +deserted room, in spite of your wonderful self-command. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>you left me, I went straight to the window where I had seen the +light. There the old gardener was lying senseless on the ground. +I stooped over him, and found that he was in a kind of swoon. +Then I felt convinced some hideous crime had been committed +in that room, and that the witness of it had fallen senseless, +horror-stricken with the awful sight he had beheld. I peeped +into the room, but I could see nothing. All was dark. Then I +remembered that during my earliest visits to the Hall I had +heard of an underground passage leading from the grotto to the +cellars of the northern wing, and communicating by means of a +staircase with the ground floor. I determined on groping my +way into this passage, and from thence to the room where I felt +convinced a horrible deed had been done. I returned to the +house, and waited in the dining-room till you had gone to your +own apartments. I then went to the servants’ hall, where I +procured a dark lantern, under pretence of searching for a purse +I had lost in coming through the grounds; and, armed with this, +I reached the grotto unobserved, entered the subterranean passage, +followed its windings to the cellars, and then groped along +to the cellar staircase, intending to penetrate to the room above. +But I had no occasion to do so, for at the foot of the cellar-stairs +I stumbled upon the body of the captain yonder.</p> + +<p>“I tore open his waistcoat, which was soaked with blood; +and when I felt for the beating of the heart, a faint throb told +me that the murderer had not completed his work. I found the +wound, and staunched it with a woollen handkerchief from my +neck; then of a heap of straw and rubbish which I discovered in +a corner I made a kind of bed, on which I laid the unconscious +victim of an intended assassination.</p> + +<p>“Having done this, I hurried back to the gardens, returned +to the house, allowed one of the servants to conduct me to my +room; and to all appearance retired for the night. But no +sooner was the household wrapped in slumber, or at least in +silence—for surely <em>one</em> member of that household could have +slept little that night—no sooner was all quiet, than I crept from +my room, left the house, and went to a little inn in the neighbourhood +where I was known, and where I hired a horse and gig +on the plea of having lost the mail-train, and wanting to drive +to London in the dead of the night rather than miss an early +appointment on the following morning.</p> + +<p>“With this horse and gig I returned to the park, and drove to +a sheltered spot near the entrance of the grotto. Then the most +difficult part of my work had to be done. Alone and unaided I +half carried, half dragged the unconscious sea captain from the +cellar to the place where I had left the gig. I contrived to fasten +him securely in the vehicle, and then drove at a walking pace to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>a house I had known in the past, and where I was sure of finding +easy admission for my almost lifeless charge.</p> + +<p>“That house was the Retreat; a private lunatic asylum, kept +by a man whose life I knew to be one long career of charlatanism +and villany. There I knew that only one question would be +asked: Was I prepared to pay for the care of the patient? If +my answer to that inquiry was satisfactory, all would be settled.</p> + +<p>“I drove slowly along the lonely road leading to the Retreat. +I met only one solitary horseman, and he asked me if my friend +sitting in a heap at the bottom of the gig was ill or drunk. +I answered, ‘Drunk,’ and passed on without further question.</p> + +<p>“Arrived at the Retreat I rang up the attendants, and was +received by Dr. Wilderson Snaffley, who rose from his comfortable +bed to see me. I told him that my charge was a relation +who had stabbed himself in a fit of lunacy, induced by delirium +tremens; and that in order to keep his infirmity a profound +secret, I had brought him straight to the Retreat, where I knew +every effort would be made to save his life. I said that I was +prepared to pay liberally for his maintenance.</p> + +<p>“That was quite enough. Dr. Wilderson Snaffley examined +his still unconscious patient; but he did not ask me any +troublesome questions, nor did he even remark that people do +not usually stab themselves <em>in the back</em> when they endeavour to +commit suicide.</p> + +<p>“You will ask me, Clara Westford, why I acted thus—why I +did not denounce the would-be assassin, and restore Harley +Westford to the wife and children who loved him. I answer you, +that one fatal passion had warped my nature, and transformed +me into something between a madman and a drunkard. It +pleased me to think that, by keeping the secret of Mr. Godwin’s +crime, I should be revenged upon you, Clara; for I had loved +you, and I believed that my presumptuous love had been +revenged by you with the cruel pride of a woman who thinks it +sport to trample on the heart of the plebeian wretch who dares +to adore her. I sought for power over Rupert Godwin—for +since my blighted youth had passed into premature old age, +avarice had been the ruling passion of my life; and, possessed +of the secret of Harley Westford’s supposed murder, I knew +that I should have unlimited command over the purse of my +employer. Thus a double motive prompted me to secrecy. And +for more than a year I have kept my secret, disturbed by no +pang of remorse, moved by no contrition, until destiny brought +me once more face to face with the woman I had once so fatally +loved.</p> + +<p>“Then all at once the ice melted, the hardened nature softened, +and I could no longer endure the thought of what I had done.</p> + +<p>“I sought you out, Mrs. Westford, and from your own lips I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>discovered how deeply I had wronged your noble nature. From +that moment my course lay clear before me: the only atonement +in my power was to undo what I had done. For that purpose I +went to the madhouse where your husband was hidden. A few +words to Dr. Wilderson Snaffley, informing him that circumstances +were altered with me, and that I was no longer able to +pay for my patient, were quite sufficient.</p> + +<p>“The learned and conscientious physician discovered immediately +that his charge was quite well, and perfectly able to enter +the world again. I was thus enabled to quit the Retreat with +Captain Westford as my companion. But we were obliged to +leave behind us a patient whom we should have been glad to +bring with us. That patient, Mrs. Westford, is no other than +your son, to whom the finger of Providence had indicated the +secret of his father’s attempted murder, and whom Mr. Godwin +incarcerated in a prison which was intended to entomb him +until he was transferred from that living grave to a more comfortable +resting-place in some obscure churchyard. Had Lionel +Westford been placed in any other lunatic asylum than the +Retreat, you might have had some difficulty in discovering his +prison house. Fortunately, he was confided to the care of Dr. +Wilderson Snaffley and father and son met beneath that gentleman’s +hospitable roof.—A strange meeting, was it not, Rupert +Godwin, between the son who believed his father had been murdered, +and the father who never thought to look upon a familiar +face again?</p> + +<p>“But Providence sometimes brings about very strange meetings. +Lionel Westford’s release from imprisonment under Dr. +Snaffley’s tender care will be easily managed, I daresay. The +doctor will not be particularly anxious to retain his patient when +he discovers that his wealthy patron is a bankrupt and a felon.—That +is all I have to tell, Captain Westford; it is for you to +seek redress for the wrongs that have been done to you and +yours. An aggravated attempt at assassination is a crime rather +heavily punished even by our mild legislature.”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” cried Harley Westford, holding up his hand, with a +warning gesture; “‘Vengeance is mine’ saith the Lord. The +law of the land will have very little hold upon that man. +Look at Rupert Godwin’s face. Send for a doctor, some one.” +There was sudden confusion and alarm. The clerk loosened his +employer’s cravat, while Captain Westford opened the door of the +outer office and despatched a messenger post haste for the nearest +surgeon.</p> + +<p>Rupert Godwin had fallen back in his chair a lifeless, shapeless +heap of stricken mortality. The fevered, unresting brain, so +long kept on the rack, had succumbed at last to a paralytic shock +of an aggravated character. For weeks past the banker had been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>subject to convulsive starts and unwonted nervous sensations; +but these sensations had affected him at long intervals, and had +been very transient in their nature. They had therefore caused +no alarm in the breast of the unhappy wretch who had so many +other reasons for fear.</p> + +<p>The shock of Danielson’s demand, of Harley Westford’s reappearance, +the overwhelming sense of failure and ruin, had been +too much for even that vigorous intellect. The chord, so long +strained to its utmost tension, snapped suddenly, and Rupert +Godwin became a creature whom his worst enemies could afford +to pity.</p> + +<p>A medical man came in hot haste to the bank parlor, and then +another, and another, till there was quite a bevy of solemn-looking +gentlemen hovering over the prostrate man. The tidings of +Rupert Godwin’s affliction had spread like wildfire; and before +his attendants had carried the heavy lifeless form to a sofa in an +adjoining room, the fact that the banker had been stricken by +paralysis was common talk on ’Change. Those who had prophesied +the downfall of his house shrugged their shoulders, and +lowered the corners of their mouths ominously.</p> + +<p>“This will bring matters to a crisis,” said one.</p> + +<p>“How do we know that he hasn’t made away with himself?” +asked another.</p> + +<p>The medical gentlemen announced that the spark called life +was not extinguished, although the other and more subtle flame +called consciousness had gone out, never again to illumine this +earth for Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>There was very little hope of his recovery, the doctors said; +but their looks and tones implied that there was no hope. The +stricken wretch lay with his dim eyes half shut; and his medical +attendants said that he might lie thus for hours—or, indeed, +for days.</p> + +<p>It was even possible that he might continue to live in that +miserable state; and thus the Westfords left him to the care of +his clerk Danielson.</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t a friend in the world, or a creature who ever loved +him, except his daughter,” said the clerk; “and even she has +deserted him. I’ll look after him somehow or other for the rest +of his life. I’ve nothing particular to do with myself or my +money, so I may as well take care of him. I must get him away +from this place, by hook or by crook; for there may be a run on +the bank to-morrow, and when people find out the state of the +case they may want to tear Mr. Godwin to pieces.”</p> + +<p>In the course of that afternoon the clerk contrived to remove +the awful wreck of humanity which had once been his employer. +He carried Mr. Godwin to a place of safety. Not to Wilmingdon +Hall; for that splendid mansion, with all its treasures, would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span>in all probability fall very speedily into the hands of the officials +of the Bankruptcy Court, to be dealt with for the benefit of +the banker’s creditors, or to be mysteriously absorbed in the legal +costs attendant on his bankruptcy.</p> + +<p>The shelter to which Jacob Danielson took his employer was +a very humble one. It was a second floor in a little square behind +the Borough, where Mr. Danielson had been for some years +a lodger.</p> + +<p>Here, upon a flock-bed, the banker lay for some dreary days +and nights, staring at the bare wall opposite him; and even the +man who watched him so closely failed to discover the precise +moment in which the vacant <ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'stare of idiotcy'" id="tn-311">stare of idiocy</ins> changed to the +blindness of death.</p> + +<p>Thus closed the existence of a man who had drained the cup +of life’s excitements and enjoyments to the very dregs, and who +had tasted to the uttermost the bitterness of the drops at the +bottom of the chalice. There was an inquest, very quietly conducted, +and the usual verdict of “Death from natural causes;” +and this was all. The secret of Rupert Godwin’s crimes was +known only to his confidential clerk, and those who had suffered +so heavily at his hands.</p> + +<p>But many knew and lost by his commercial disasters, his reckless +speculation, his unjustifiable extravagance, by which the +foundations of a once substantial house of business had been undermined, +until the whole fabric fell in one mass of ruin. Many +an innocent victim suffered—many an impoverished creditor +cursed the name of Rupert Godwin.</p> + +<p>Let us turn to a brighter picture. Let us turn to that pleasant +home on the borders of the New Forest, that quaint old +dwelling-place surrounded by picturesque gardens, the beloved +home in which Clara Westford had passed all her happy married +life.</p> + +<p>Once more she could call that dear home her own. Once more +she wandered in the well-kept gardens, where the autumn flowers +bloomed gaily under a bright October sky—where the rustle of +the forest leaves fell upon her ear like a soothing murmur of loving +voices, as she walked on the smooth lawn, leaning—O how +proudly!—on her husband’s arm. Once more she occupied the +pretty rooms, which bore no evidence of a stranger’s occupation, +for an old servant of the Westfords had been left in charge of the +Grange during Rupert Godwin’s brief hold upon the estate, and +the smallest trifles had been held sacred for the love of an exiled +house.</p> + +<p>She did not return alone with her loved husband. Lionel +went with them, and Violet—happy in the society of the father +and mother they loved so tenderly.</p> + +<p>But the brother and sister soon found another kind of happiness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>in other society; for in one of their forest walks they came +upon a young man sketching, with a beautiful girl dressed in +deep mourning by his side.</p> + +<p>The girl was Julia Godwin, and the artist was Edward Godwin, +the young man whom Violet had known under the name of +George Stanmore.</p> + +<p>It was to the protection of her brother that Julia had fled, +when her father’s presence had become unendurable. Edward +Godwin had returned to England after an artistic tour in Belgium, +and had established himself again in the little cottage in +the New Forest, hoping to meet his promised wife once more +among the shadowy walks she had so dearly loved.</p> + +<p>His surprise on hearing that the Westfords had left the Grange, +and that the estate had become the property of a Mr. Godwin, +a banker in Lombard-street, was extreme. He wrote immediately +to his sister announcing his whereabouts, and asking her if she +could throw any light upon the circumstances under which his +father had acquired this new property.</p> + +<p>The reply to that letter came in the person of Julia herself. +She told her brother that she had left home because that home +had become intolerable to her; but he could not extort from her +any account of the causes that had made it so. She was loyal +to the father whom she had once so dearly loved, whom she still +thought of with a passionate regret.</p> + +<p>Here, in this quiet haven, the news of her father’s death reached +her. That event, which at one time would have been so bitter a +calamity for her, seemed now a kind of relief. He was dead—and +at rest. He could be called before no earthly tribunal to +answer for his crimes. He had gone to be judged by the All-just, +and the All-merciful.</p> + +<p>If he had but repented—</p> + +<p>That was a question which no earthly lips could answer. Julia +fondly hoped that repentance had come to the sinner before the +closing-in of that dark scene, which she contemplated with unutterable +horror.</p> + +<p>Strange explanations followed the first surprise of that +meeting. The presence of Julia Godwin compelled the revelation +of a secret which until this moment the painter had +hidden from the woman he loved. He was compelled to tell +Violet that his name was not George Stanmore, but Edward +Godwin; and that he was the son of that unhappy man +whose bankruptcy and death had lately been recorded in all the +newspapers.</p> + +<p>Violet did not tell her lover that his father had been the cruel +enemy of her family—the sole cause of the sad interval of poverty +and suffering during which she had been absent from the +Grange. The generous girl had not the heart to tell Edward +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span>Godwin this; but she received his explanations very coldly notwithstanding.</p> + +<p>“I wonder you remember me now, Mr. Godwin,” she said +proudly, “for when you saw me last, on the stage of the Circenses, +you did not seek to renew your acquaintanceship with me.”</p> + +<p>And then Edward’s earnest protestations convinced her in a +few moments that he had not recognized her, and that he had +only been struck by what he imagined was a most wonderful +accidental likeness. After that all went smoothly between the +reunited lovers, and they began to talk of how the secret of their +love was to be broken to the merchant captain and his wife.</p> + +<p>They were alone together under the arching trees; for, by the +merest accident of course, Julia and Lionel had strolled one way, +while Edward and Violet went the other.</p> + +<p>“I can ask for your hand boldly now, Violet dearest,” said +Edward Godwin. “Fortune has been very good to me since last +we met. My pictures have been successful, both in English and +Continental Exhibitions, and I have received very liberal prices +for my work. I am growing rich, darling, and I have splendid +prospects for the future. I want nothing but a dear little wife to +sit beside my easel—a sweet household divinity, whose fair young +face will inspire me with all kinds of poetical ideas. My life has +been a very hard one, Violet; and when I was reticent as to my +own history, it was because the subject was a most painful one. +There was bad blood between my father and me. I cannot speak +harshly of the dead, and therefore I will say nothing as to the +cause of our quarrel. But we did quarrel, and we parted at +once, and for ever. I went into the world penniless, and I have +lived by my pencil ever since, having sworn to starve sooner than +touch a sixpence of my father’s money. There is no spur so +sharp as poverty. I have worked hard, and I have been amply +rewarded for my work.”</p> + +<p>It is needless to linger with these lovers. They walked long +under the shadow of those solemn forest trees, and they could +have walked there for hours with no sense of weariness, with no +consciousness of the monotony of their conversation, though it +was very monotonous.</p> + +<p>While they lingered in the red westering light, another pair of +lovers strolled near them, arm-in-arm. Lionel had declared his +affection for Julia, and had won from her the confession that he +had been loved almost from the first. But she did not tell him +how she had saved his life when he had so nearly fallen a victim +to a midnight assassin.</p> + +<p>That night Lionel and Violet confessed all to their parents.</p> + +<p>The communication was by no means a pleasant one to Harley +Westford and his wife. Imagine the countenances of Signor +and Signora Capulet, when informed that their sole daughter +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>and heiress has set her affections on the young scion of the +Montagues!</p> + +<p>It was difficult for Clara Westford to believe that the son of +Rupert Godwin could be worthy of any woman’s love, much +less of the love of that pearl amongst women, her own idolized +daughter.</p> + +<p>But idolized children generally have their own way, however +irrational their caprices may appear. And after considerable +pleading, Violet and Lionel won Clara and her husband to consent +to receive Rupert Godwin’s children.</p> + +<p>When once this consent had been gained, all the rest was easy. +Edward Godwin was not a man to be misunderstood by his +fellow-men; and the acquaintance which Harley Westford had so +<ins class="corr" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'reluctantly begun speedly'" id="tn-314">reluctantly begun speedily</ins> promised to ripen into friendship. +“Is the young man to suffer because his father was a scoundrel?” +the sailor asked himself. “That may be the letter of the old +Jewish law, but I’m sure it isn’t Christianity. The Teacher who +refused to cast a stone at a guilty woman would have been the +last to punish her innocent children. Let young Godwin stand +upon his own merits; and if I find he’s a good fellow, he shall +marry my daughter, in spite of the scar under my left shoulder +which bears witness against his father.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Westford had been still less inclined than her husband +to look kindly on the children of her merciless enemy; but even +she was not inexorable. Julia’s grace and beauty—to say +nothing of her evident devotion to Lionel—were quite irresistible; +and before long the visitors from the forest cottage were as gladly +welcomed at the Grange as any guests who had ever crossed the +hospitable threshold.</p> + +<p>It was early in the following June, yet quite midsummer +weather, when the bells of the little village church pealed gaily +for a double wedding.</p> + +<p>Two fairer brides have rarely stood before an altar; two nobler +bridegrooms seldom pledged the solemn vows which influence a +lifetime.</p> + +<p>Captain Westford and his wife looked on with eyes that were +dimmed by a mist of happy tears. Their own life lay before +them, bright and sunny as it had been when they too had stood +side by side before the altar of a sacred fane. Might these two +young lives, now beginning, be as happy! That was the prayer +breathed silently from the heart of husband and wife.</p> + +<p>Two pretty little rustic villas arose in the neighbourhood of +the Grange. Not the builder’s ideal of Italian-Gothic, with a +rickety-looking campanello tower for the stowage of empty crates +and servants’ luggage, but trim little Tudor cottages, with broad +stone-mullioned windows and roomy porches—a happy blending +of the substantial and picturesque.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span></p> + +<p>Edward Godwin’s pencil soon won for him a world-wide fame; +but he was known only to the world by the name he had assumed +when he first met Violet at the county-ball and in the +forest glades.</p> + +<p>Lionel, who had always been at heart a painter, followed the +profession of his brother-in-law, and in his own style was almost +equally successful.</p> + +<p>If he had loved art for no other reason, he would have loved +it very dearly for the sake of that meeting in the printseller’s +shop, when he looked for the first time on the beautiful face of +his wife.</p> + +<p>And thus the curtain falls upon three happy homes—three +united households, in which the days glide smoothly by, across +whose threshold the demon Discord never passes; households on +which the angels may look with approving smiles—households +wherein “Love is lord of all.”</p> + + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center"> +LONDON:<br> +PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,<br> +<span class="fs75">STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="transnote"> +<h2> + Transcriber’s Notes +</h2> + +<p class="p2l p2r">Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been + silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences + within the text and consultation of external sources.</p> + +<p class="p2l p2r">Some hyphens in words have been silently removed and some silently + added when a predominant preference was found in the original book.</p> + +<p class="p2l p2r">Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text + and inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained.</p> + +<ul class="left"> +<li> <a href="#tn-toc">Contents</a>: ‘<span class="smcap">Julia’s Protege</span>’ replaced +by ‘<span class="smcap">Julia’s Protégé</span>’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-8">Page 8</a>: ‘the penniless hidalgoes’ replaced by ‘the penniless + hidalgos’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-61" >Page 61</a>: ‘doated with senile fondness’ replaced by ‘doted with + senile fondness’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-74" >Page 74</a>: ‘the nose, Anatasia’ replaced by ‘the nose, Anastasia’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-94" >Page 94</a>: ‘a doating father’ replaced by ‘a doting father’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-110" >Page 110</a>: ‘words in replp’ replaced by ‘words in reply’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-141a" >Page 141a</a>: ‘horror took possesion’ replaced by ‘horror took + possession’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-141b" >Page 141b</a>: ‘would be necesary’ replaced by ‘would be necessary’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-149" >Page 149</a>: ‘in the civiliszd world’ replaced by ‘in the civilized + world’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-154" >Page 154</a>: ‘for the first sime’ replaced by ‘for the first time’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-157" >Page 157</a>: ‘to the effect thal’ replaced by ‘to the effect that’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-173" >Page 173</a>: ‘the chief subects’ replaced by ‘the chief subjects’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-176" >Page 176</a>: ‘there’s an undergound’ replaced by ‘there’s an + underground’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-178" >Page 178</a>: ‘For sometime she’ replaced by ‘For some time she’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-194" >Page 194</a>: ‘had scrupuously avoided’ replaced by ‘had scrupulously + avoided’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-203" >Page 203</a>: ‘drawing-room as cooly’ replaced by ‘drawing-room as + coolly’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-237a" >Page 237a</a>: ‘Good-morning, Mr. Grainger’ replaced by ‘Good morning, + Mr. Granger’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-237b" >Page 237b</a>: ‘Stay, Mr. Grainger’ replaced by ‘Stay, Mr. +Granger’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-242" >Page 242</a>: ‘swingeing canter’ replaced by ‘swinging canter’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-244" >Page 244</a>: ‘instrusted his beloved burden’ replaced by ‘intrusted his + beloved burden’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-266" >Page 266</a>: ‘a practical investigaton’ replaced by ‘a practical + investigation’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-267" >Page 267</a>: ‘prepared by Dr. Snaffle’ replaced by ‘prepared by Dr. + Snaffley’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-274" >Page 274</a>: ‘escape faom danger’ replaced by ‘escape from danger’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-280" >Page 280</a>: ‘duly set set forth’ replaced by ‘duly set forth’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-305" >Page 305</a>: ‘unable to struggel’ replaced by ‘unable to struggle’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-311" >Page 311</a>: ‘stare of idiotcy’ replaced by ‘stare of idiocy’.</li> +<li> <a href="#tn-314" >Page 314</a>: ‘reluctantly begun speedly’ replaced by ‘reluctantly begun + speedily’.</li> +</ul> + +</div> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77631 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |