Volume One—Chapter Fifteen.
Tempted.
It was some minutes before Chris opened that paper, and then he had to turn it over and over before he found the racing intelligence, and even then he did not begin to read, for plainly before him were the words,—
“Back the Prince’s filly.”
Then in a quick, excited way he looked down the column he had found, and before long saw that the important race on the tapis was at Liverpool, and the last bettings on the various horses were before him, beginning with the favourite at four to one, and going on to horses against which as many as five hundred to one was the odds.
But the Prince’s horse! What Prince? What horse? He stood thinking, and recalled a rumour which he had heard to the effect that the Prince’s horses were run under the name of Mr Blanck, and there, sure enough, was in the list far down:—
“Mr Blanck’s ch. f. Simoom, 100 to 1.” Chris dashed down the paper in a rage.
“What have I to do with such things as this?” he said aloud. “Even if I were a racing man I could not do it. It is too dishonourable.”
Then he set to work to argue the matter out. He had come upon the information by accident, and it might be perfectly worthless. Even if the advice was good, the matter was all speculation—a piece of gambling—and if a man staked his money upon a horse it was the merest chance whether this horse would win; so if he used the “tip,” he would be wronging no one, except, perhaps, himself, by risking money he could not spare.
Anxiety, love, jealousy and disappointment had combined to work Chris Lisle’s brain into a very peculiar state of excitement, and he found himself battling hard now with a strange sense of temptation.
Here was a message giving Glyddyr information how to make money, and it had fallen into other hands. Why should not he, Christopher Lisle, seize the opportunity, take advantage of such a chance as might never come to him again, and back the Prince’s horse to the extent of four or five hundred pounds? Poor as he called himself, he had more than that lying at his bankers; and if he won, it might be the first step towards turning the tables on Gartram, and winning Claude.
True, the information was meant for his rival, but what of that? All was fair in love and war. Glyddyr would stand at nothing to master him: so why should he shrink? It would be an act of folly, and like throwing away a chance.
Then his training stepped in, and did battle for him, pointing out that no gentleman would stoop to such an act, and for the next six hours a terrible struggle went on, which ended in honour winning.
“I would not do such a dirty action; and she would scorn me if I did,” he said to himself. “Eh? Want me, Mrs Sarson?”
“Which it’s taking quite a liberty, Mr Lisle, sir,” said his landlady, who had come for the fifth time into his room; “but if you would let me send for Doctor Asher, it would ease my mind—indeed it would.”
“Asher? Send for him? Are you ill?”
“I? No, my dear boy, but you are. You are quite feverish. It’s terrible to see you. Not a bit of dinner have you tasted, and you’ve been walking up and down the room as if you had the toothache, for hours. Now, do trust to me, my dear, an old motherly body like me; I’d better send for him.”
“My dear Mrs Sarson, he could not do me the least good,” said Chris, smiling at the troubled face before him. “It was a fit of worry, that’s all; but it’s better now—all gone. There, you see, I’m quite calmed down now, and you shall prescribe for me. Give me some tea and meat together.”
“But are you really better, my dear?”
“Yes; quite right now.”
“And quite forgive me for calling you my dear, Mr Lisle, sir? You are so like my son out in New Zealand, and you have been with me so long.”
“Forgive you? Yes.”
“That’s right,” said the woman, beginning to beam; and hurrying in and out she soon had a comfortable-looking and tempting meal spread waiting before her lodgers eager eyes, and he made a determined attack upon that before him.
“That’s more like you, Mr Lisle,” she said, smiling her satisfaction.
“Would you mind opening the window a little more, Mrs Sarson?” said Chris, as he drove the Prince’s horse right out of his mind; and races, jockeys, grand stands, and even Glyddyr faded from his heated brain.
“Certainly, sir. And what a lovely evening it is—beautiful. Hah! there goes that Mr Glyddyr’s boat off to his yacht; and there’s Mr Gartram in it, and the young ladies. Going for an evening sail, I suppose.”
Chris dropped his knife and fork upon his plate.
“Bless me!” ejaculated the landlady, turning sharply round.
“Nothing, nothing, Mrs Sarson,” said Chris hastily; “that will do now. I’ll ring. Don’t wait.”
The landlady looked at him curiously, and left the room; and as soon as she was gone, Chris sprang from his chair, took a binocular glass from where it hung in its case against the wall, focussed it, and fixed it upon the smart gig being rowed out on the bright water.
“I’ve fought all I knew, and I’m beaten,” he muttered, as he saw Glyddyr leaning towards Claude, and talking to her. “Every man has his temptations, and the best and strongest fall if the temptation is too strong. I am only a poor, weak, blundering sort of fellow, I suppose; and I’ve fallen—low—very low indeed.
“Claude, my darling!” he groaned, as he lowered the glass and gazed wistfully out toward the boat, “if it were some good, true fellow whom you loved, and I was going to see you happy, I’d try and bear it all like a man. But you can’t be happy with a fast scoundrel like that; and you love me. I know, I’m sure you do, and I’d do anything to save you from such a fate.”
He pitched the glass on to the sofa, took a time table from where it lay, and, after satisfying himself as to the hours of the trains, he went quickly towards the door, just as it was opened and Mrs Sarson appeared.
“There, my dear,” she said, holding up a large glass dish; “there’s a junket of which any woman might be proud, and—”
“No, no; not now, Mrs Sarson. I’m going out.”
“Going out, sir?”
“Yes; up to London.”
“To London, sir?”
“Yes; for a day or two,” and he hurried by her.
Half-an-hour later, he was on his way in the town fly to the railway station, just as the sun, low down in the west, was shining full on the white sails of Glyddyr’s yacht, as it glided slowly on over the bright, calm sea.
Chris turned his eyes away, and looked straight before him as he mentally conjured up the gathered thousands—the bright green course, the glossy horses making their preliminary canter, with the gay silken jackets of the jockeys filling out as they rose in their stirrups, and flashing in the bright sunshine. There was the trampling of hoofs over the springy turf, the starting as the flag was dropped, the dashing of one to the front, of others challenging, and the minutes of excitement as, in a gathering roar, one horse seemed to glide out from a compressed group, gradually increasing its distance as it sped.
Hiss, rush, roar! Then the vision had parsed away, and Chris Lisle was seated, not in a saddle, but on a cushion in a first-class carriage, the speed increasing and the wind rushing by the windows as, with cheeks flushed, he rode on, his teeth set, and completely now under the domination of one thought alone as he softly repeated to himself the words he had read upon the telegram,—
“Back the Princes filly.”
and a few minutes later the figures he had seen in that day’s news,—
“100 to 1.”
The simoom seemed to be scorching up his brains.
It was all one whirl of excitement to Chris Lisle—that railway journey to town, and there were moments when he asked himself whether he was sane to go upon such a mission. The night journey of the train seemed like a race, and the rattle of the bridges and tunnels suggested the shouts and cheers of the crowd as the horses swept on. But he had determined to persevere, and with stubborn determination he went on, reached town, and without hesitation laid his money—four hundred pounds, in four different sums so as to insure himself as well as he could, in each case getting the odds of 100 to 1, so that, should the Prince’s horse come in first, he would be the winner of forty thousand pounds.
As soon as this was done, he went to a quiet hotel to try and get some rest.
But that was impossible, for he was face to face with his folly. Four hundred pounds gone in an insane hope of winning forty thousand, and he could see now how absurd it was.
“Never mind,” he said bitterly; “I shall not be the first fool who has lost money on a race, and I shall have had the excitement of a bit of gambling.”
His idea was to stay in town and go to a theatre, so as to divert the current of his thoughts; then have a long night’s rest and go to some other place of amusement the next day, so as to pass the time till the race had been run, and he knew the worst.
He dined, or rather tried to dine, and for the first time in his life drank heavily, but the wine seemed not to have the slightest effect.
Then in a feverish heat he went to one of the best theatres, and saw a social drama enacted by the people who filled his brain, what was going on upon the stage being quite a blank.
He saw himself as a disappointed hero, and Glyddyr, as the successful man, carrying all before him, winning Claude’s love, and then, in what seemed to be the last act, there was a wedding, and a wretched man going afterwards right along to one of the towering cliffs overhanging the sea, below Danmouth, and leaping off to end his woes.
“I’m glad I came to the theatre,” he said mockingly to himself, in one of his lucid intervals. “Better have gone to a doctor for something to send me to sleep.”
Then he became conscious of the fact that people in the pit were saying “Hush!” and “Sit down!” and that somebody had risen and come out from the place where he was jammed in, right in the centre of the stalls, just as the climax of the play was being reached.
Then he grew conscious that he was the offender, and breathed more freely as he got out into the cool night air.
It was not ten, and he found a chemist’s open near the Strand.
“I’m not very well,” he said to the gentlemanly-looking man behind the counter. “Had a lot of trouble, made me restless, and I want to take something to give me a good nights rest. Can you give me a dose of laudanum?”
The man looked at him curiously.
“You ought to go to a doctor,” he said.
“Doctor! Absurd! What for? I’m as well as you are. Give me something calming. It will be better than going back to the hotel and taking brandy or wine.”
The chemist nodded, and prepared a draught.
“What’s that? Laudanum—morphia?”
“No; a mild dose of chloral. Try it. If it does not act as you wish, I should advise you to go to a physician in the morning.”
Chris nodded, took the bottle, and strolled back to his hotel, where he at once went to bed after swallowing his draught.
It did not have the desired effect. His idea was to take a draught which would plunge him in oblivion for a few hours; but this dose of chloral seemed to transport him to a plain, surrounded by mountains covered with the most gloriously-tinted foliage, where flowers rippled all over the meadow-like pastures, and cascades of the most brilliant iridescent waters came foaming down, sparkling in the glorious sunshine.
All deliciously dreamy and restful, but when the morning came it did not seem to him that he had slept. Still, he was calmer, and felt more ready to think out the inevitable.
“How many hours shall I have to wait?” he said.
The race would probably be run about three o’clock, and till then he must be as patient as he could.
“Better go back at once,” he thought, “and repent at leisure over my madness.”
But he did not, for he accepted the last suggestion of his brain, partook of a hurried breakfast, and jumped into a hansom; had himself driven to the station, and soon after was being borne away by the express.
The rest of that day’s proceedings were a dreamy whirl of confusion. The rushing noise of the train seemed to bring back the old excitement, and this increased as he reached the station, and had himself driven to the course, where one of the first things he learned was that the case was hopeless; for the horse he had backed had gone down in the betting, till two hundred to one could be obtained, and for the first time he felt sick at heart.
He went up into the principal stand, securing a good place to see the race, and waited while two others were run, the horses flying by without exciting the slightest interest; the only satisfaction he gained was in having them pass, so as to be nearer to the great feature of the day.
At last, just as he had pictured it from old recollections of a minor race he had once seen, there was the shouting and bawling of the odds, the clearing of the course, and then the preliminary canter of the ten competitors, among which he now made out the colours of Simoom, a big ordinary-looking horse, with nothing to draw attention to it, while the three first favourites of the cognoscenti were the perfection of equine beauty, and their admirers shouted with excitement as they flashed by.
Then, after five false starts, each of which was maddening to Chris, who, while thinking the worst, could not help a gleam of hope piercing the dark cloud which overshadowed him, the cry arose that they were off, and amid a babel of sounds, as the parti-coloured throng of jockeys swept along the green course and disappeared, spasmodic cries arose, “Lady Ronald,” “Safflower—Safflower leads,” “Rotten race,” “The favourite shows ’em all her heels,” “Look! The favourite!”
The horses, after a period of silence, had swept round into sight again, and it was seen that three were together, then there was an interval, and there were four, another interval, and the rest behind.
The second group excited no notice, save from Chris, who made out that his horse was with them; and while every eye was fixed on the exciting race between the favourite and the two horses which strove hard to get abreast, there was suddenly a yell of excitement, for Simoom all at once shot out from among the second lot, and going well, with her jockey using neither whip nor spur, began rapidly to near the leaders.
The shouts increased, and a thrill ran through Chris as he saw the plain-looking mare glide on, but apparently too late to overtake the others.
Another roar as it was seen that the favourite’s jockey was beginning to use his whip, and the roar increased as Safflower was level with her shoulder, was head to head, was head in front, and the next moment, hopelessly beaten, the favourite was passed by Lady Ronald as well, who now challenged Safflower, and they were racing level for fifty yards.
The excitement grew frantic. “Safflower! Lady Ronald! Safflower! Safflower!”
“No, no, no!” shouted a man on Chris’s left. “Look!”
Chris heard all he said, and stood there bending forward, his lips apart, and eyes starting, as if turned to stone, living a very life in those seconds, as, amid a roar like the rushing of the tempest itself, the contemned mare came on.
“By George, sir, if the course had been a hundred yards more, she’d have won,” roared the man on Chris’s left. “Safflower’s done. It’s Lady Ronald; by—, no. Hurrah! Simoom! Simoom!” and in the midst of the frantic excitement, the mare upon which Chris’s hopes were fixed passed Safflower. There was a quick touch of the whip and she was alongside of Lady Ronald, and then Simoom’s nose showed in front, and in the next few bounds she was half-a-length ahead, and swept past the post—winner.
The man on Chris’s left suddenly seized his arm.
“Hurrah for the dark horse,” he cried. “Just for the fun of the thing, I put a sov on her, and I’ve won two hundred pounds. I beg your pardon, sir, I see you’re hit. Forgive my excitement. Don’t be down-hearted; come and have a glass of champagne.”
“Thank you,” said Chris quietly; but he did not move, for the place seemed to be spinning round him, and he held tightly by the rails till a hand was laid upon his arm.
“Can I help you? You look ill.”
“Help me? No; I’m all right now,” said Chris, making an effort. “It was so sudden.”
“Have you lost heavily?”
“Lost?” said Chris, looking at him wildly. “No; I’ve won.”
He felt his hand being shaken warmly, and then he sank back into a wild, confused dream, in the midst of which he knew that he was being borne back by one of the express trains, with the roar of the race in his ears, and the sight of the horses sweeping by before his eyes.
As he neared town he began to grow more calm, and he found himself repeating the words,—
“Forty thousand pounds! I’ve won; but shall I win her now?”
And then, like a dark cloud, came the recollection of how he had obtained the information upon which his success was based.
“I can never name it to a soul,” he muttered. “I must have been mad.”
Volume One—Chapter Sixteen.
Gartram Takes his Dose.
“It’s all right, I tell you, my dear boy. You don’t understand women yet. A girl who says snap the moment you say snip, isn’t worth having. A good, true woman takes some wooing and winning; and no wonder, for it is a tremendous surrender for her to make.”
“Yes, sir, you are quite right, but—”
“Yes; never mind the buts, Glyddyr. I could put my foot down, and say: ‘Claude, my dear, there’s your husband,’ but it would mean a scene, and a lot of excitement, and I should be ill—perhaps have one of my confounded fits.”
“But without going so far as that, sir, couldn’t you—just a little, you know—parental authority—you understand. I am kept back so terribly as yet.”
“No, my lad, I should not be serving your cause,” said Gartram firmly. “You see, she had always been so intimate with that fellow Lisle. Boy and girl together. It will take a little time to wean her from the fancy, and if I pull out the authoritative stop I shall be making him into a hero and her into a persecuted heroine. I may as well tell you that she is a bit firm, like I am, and any angry discussion on my part would perhaps make her stubborn.”
“Then, perhaps, you had better not speak, sir.”
“Decidedly not. There, you have the run of my place. Set to and win her like a man. Get along with you, you dog. Smart, handsome fellow like you don’t want any help. It’s only a matter of time. Don’t seem to push your suit too hard. Treat it all as a something settled; and all you have to do is to get her used to you and her position as your betrothed. Bah! it will all come right, so don’t let’s risk opposition. You will win.”
“You are right, sir,” said Glyddyr. “I’ll be patient.”
“Of course you will. That’s right. I say, though, that little upset?”
“Little upset, sir?” said Glyddyr starting.
“I mean about your friend, the visitor from town, whose wife came after him.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Glyddyr. “I didn’t know what you meant.”
“Rather an exciting affair, that. Strikes me that if it had had a tragic termination, your friend would not have broken his heart. I say, here you are in a hurry to get married, and you never know how the lady may turn out.”
“Ah, that was an exception, sir,” said Glyddyr hurriedly.
“Yes; but depend upon it, my dear boy, that was a hasty marriage. The gentleman said snip, and she said snap. Wasn’t it so?”
“Yes; I think you are right,” said Glyddyr.
“What a temper that woman must have. They tell me she deliberately stepped off the pier to follow him, or drown herself in a fit of passion.”
“Well, I’ll take your advice, sir,” said Glyddyr, hurriedly changing the conversation. “Of course, I can’t help feeling impatient.”
“No, of course, no,” said Gartram. “Come in,” he added, as there was a timid knock at the door.
“I beg pardon, sir, but Doctor Asher said I was to be particular as to time.”
Sarah Woodham entered the room with a small tray, bearing glass and bottle.
There was a peculiar, shrinking, furtive look about the woman, that would have impressed a stranger unfavourably; but Glyddyr was too intent upon his own business, and Gartram already disliked his old servant, and did not shrink about showing it.
“Oh!” he said roughly. “Well, pour it out. Won’t take a glass, I suppose, Glyddyr?”
“Oh, no, thanks. Not my favourite bin.”
“Thank your stars. Nice thing to be under the doctor’s hands. Hard, isn’t it? Regular piece of tyranny.”
“Oh, you’ll soon get over that, Mr Gartram. Temporary trouble.”
“Ah, I don’t know, my lad. Here, that’s more than usual, isn’t it, Sarah?”
“No, sir. Exactly the quantity.”
“Humph! Bah! Horrible!”
He had gulped the medicine down, and thrust the glass back on the tray.
“There, take it away,” he said.
The woman looked at him furtively, and slowly left the room.
“How I do hate to see a nurse in black,” exclaimed Gartram impatiently. “When a man’s ill, the woman who attends upon him ought to look bright and cheerful. That woman always gives me a chill.”
“Why not make her dress differently?”
“Can’t. Widow of that poor fellow who was killed.”
“Oh, yes; I remember.”
“Whim of Claude’s to have her here.”
“Yes, I know. Your old servant. Well, it was a graceful act on Miss Gartram’s part.”
“Of course; but it worries me.”
“The medicine makes you feel a little irritable, perhaps.”
“No, it does not, man. It’s tonic, and I’m taking chloral, which is calming, or I don’t know what I should do.”
“Chloral?” said Glyddyr.
“Yes; curse it—and bless it. I don’t know what I should do without it. Tell you what though. You must give me some more sails in your yacht. Cuts both ways?”
“I shall be most happy.”
“Yes; does me good and gives you pleasant opportunities, eh? I ought to be ashamed to say it, perhaps, but I am not. Confound that medicine! What a filthy taste it does leave in one’s mouth; quite makes one’s throat tingle, too.”
“When will you have another sail, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. When did we go last?”
“Tuesday.”
“To be sure; and this is Thursday. That medicine seems to confuse me a bit sometimes. Well, say this evening. By-the-bye, Glyddyr, that was a pleasant little idea of yours.”
“What idea, sir?”
“Quite startled my girl when that puss Mary drew her attention to it. How cunning you young fellows grow now-a-days.”
“I don’t quite grasp what you mean, sir.”
“Altering the name of the yacht.”
“Oh!”
“A very delicate little compliment, my lad, and it does you credit.”
“But Miss Gartram, sir?” said Glyddyr hurriedly; “is she in the drawing-room?”
“In the drawing-room? no,” said Gartram, with a strange display of irritability. “I told you when you first came that she had gone for a long walk up the glen with her cousin.”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t think—”
“Now, damn it all, Glyddyr, don’t you take to contradicting me; and perhaps by this time that confounded scoundrel Lisle has followed her.”
Glyddyr leaped from his seat.
“No, no; I don’t mean it,” said Gartram, calming down. “Lisle is not at home. Gone to London, I think, or I wouldn’t have let them go. There, my lad, don’t you take any notice of me,” he continued, holding out his hand; “it’s that medicine. I wish Asher was hung. So sure as I take a dose, I grow irritable and snappish, just as if a fit was threatening; but it keeps ’em off, eh?”
“I should say so, decidedly; and I wouldn’t dwell upon the possibility if I were you.”
“Well, curse it all, man, who does?” cried Gartram fiercely. “There, I beg your pardon. Go and meet the girls and come back, and we’ll have an early dinner, and then you can take us for a sail. Well, what the devil do you want?” he roared, as Sarah re-entered the room; “haven’t I just taken the cursed stuff?”
“Beg pardon, sir, a telegram.”
“Well, don’t stand staring like a black image. Give it to me.”
“For Mr Glyddyr, sir—the boy heard from the sailors at the pier that he was here, and brought it on.”
“Well, then, give it to him; and look here, I’m sure you must have given me too strong a dose this morning.”
“No, sir; Miss Claude measured it before she went. I took the bottle and glass to her.”
“Humph! Feels wrong somehow. Is it fresh stuff?”
“No, sir; the same.”
“Humph! Well, Glyddyr, good news?”
“Ye-es,” said Glyddyr, with a peculiar look in his eyes. “Only from my agent in town. You’ll excuse me now?”
“To be sure. Go round by the bridge and you’ll meet ’em. Dinner at five. Hi, Sarah! Mind that: five.”
“Yes, sir,” said the woman, and she glided like a black shadow out of the room after Glyddyr, who hurried along the terrace down to the beach, where he could light a cigar and smoke.
“I feel as if they were poisoning me amongst them,” said Gartram quite savagely. “Not trying to put me out of the way, are they, for the sake of my coin? How I do hate to see that woman going about like a great black cat. Bah! I’m as full of fancies as a child.”
Glyddyr lit his cigar and took out his telegram again and read it.
“My congratulations. Hope you put it on heavy. I did. Coming down.—Gellow.”
The curse which Glyddyr uttered was, metaphorically speaking, glowing enough to fuse the sand.
The next minute he began walking swiftly along under the towering granite cliffs, so as to get out of sight and hearing while he gave vent to his feelings, for he felt that he could not command himself.
The telegram meant so much.
“I shall have to kill that man before I have done. Yes; I shall have to kill that man,” said Glyddyr.
He started and looked up, for, plainly heard, some one seemed to repeat his words, “Kill that man.”
“Bah!” he cried impatiently, as he looked in the direction from which the sounds came, to find he was facing a huge wall of rock. “Frightened at echoes now!”
End of Volume One.
Volume Two—Chapter One.
The Looming of a Storm.
“Well, my dear,” said Gartram, as Claude entered the room; “want to see me?”
“Yes, papa; you sent for me.”
“I sent for you? Oh, to be sure; I forgot.”
He was seated in an easy-chair, leaning back as if half-asleep, and he raised himself slowly as Claude came to his side.
She looked at him keenly, and felt a curious sensation of sinking and dread, as it struck her that her father was suffering from the effects of the sedative in which he indulged.
“Well,” he said smiling, “what are you looking at?”
“At you, dear; are you well?”
“Never better, my dear. Sit down; I want to talk to you.”
Claude shrank inwardly as she took a chair, but he was not satisfied.
“Come a little nearer, my dear.”
She obeyed, and the shrinking sensation increased as she felt that there was only one subject upon which her father was likely to speak.
“That’s better,” he said, taking her hand. “Mr Glyddyr has been here this morning?”
“No, father.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed rather sharply. “Now, I don’t quite like the tone in which you said that ‘No, father,’ my dear; and I think it is quite time that you and I came to an understanding. Claude, my dear, you have been thinking a good deal lately about what young people of your age do think of a great deal—I mean marriage.”
“Oh, no, papa,” said Claude emphatically.
“Don’t contradict, my dear. I am not blind, and it is perfectly natural that you should think of such a thing now.”
Claude was silent.
“You and Christopher Lisle were a good deal thrown together.”
Claude’s cheek began to deepen in colour.
“You were boy and girl together, and if not brother and sister in your intimacy, at least like cousins.”
“Yes, papa.”
“Well, presuming upon that, Master Christopher must suddenly forget he was a boy, and came to me with the most impudent proposals.”
“Papa!”
“There, I am not going to say any more about him, only I have taken that as a preface to what will follow.”
Claude drew a deep, long sigh.
“Now, of course, that was all boyish folly, and I bitterly regret that we should have had such a scene here; but the natural course of events was, that I should think very seriously of your future settlement in life.”
“I am settled in life, father,” said Claude firmly. “I do not intend to leave you.”
“Thank you, my darling. Very good and filial of you,” said Gartram, taking and holding her hand. “One moment, the room is very warm; I’ll open the window.”
“Let me open it, dear,” said Claude; and she went and threw open the French window, returning directly to sit down, her countenance growing a little hard.
“Now, then, child, we may as well understand each other at once.”
“Yes, papa, if you wish it.”
“Well, my darling, I began life as a very poor man. I had a good name, but I was a pauper.”
“Not so bad as that, papa?”
“Worse. The worst kind of pauper—a gentleman without an income, and with no means of making one. But there, you know what I have done; and I can say now that, thanks to my determined industry, I have honourably made a great fortune. Well, you don’t look pleased.”
“No, dear; I often think you would have been happier without the money.”
“Silly child! You have had your every wish gratified, and do not know the value of a fortune. Some day you will. Well, my dear, I am growing old.”
“No, not yet.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, I am; and my health is getting completely wrecked.”
“Then let’s go away and travel.”
“No; I have another project on hand, Claude. It has long been my wish to see you married.”
“Papa!”
“To some good man who loves you.”
“Oh!”
“A man of wealth and some position in the world, and that man I believe I have found in Parry Glyddyr.”
“Papa, I—”
“Hush, my dear, let me speak; you shall have your turn. Glyddyr is the representative of a good old Welsh family. He had three hundred thousand pounds at his father’s death, and, best of all, he loves my darling child very dearly. Now, what do you say to that?”
“I do not love Mr Glyddyr,” replied Claude coldly.
“Tut, tut, tut. Nonsense, my dear, not yet. It is the man who loves first; that makes an impression upon the woman, who, as soon as she feels the influence of the man’s affection, begins to love him in return. A man’s love begins like a flash; a woman’s is a slow growth. That is nature, my dear, and you cannot improve upon her.”
“Papa, I—”
“Now, don’t be hasty, my child. Glyddyr is a very good fellow—a thorough gentleman. I like him, he loves you, and if you will only put aside all that boy and girl nonsense of the past, you will soon like him too—more than you can conceive. But, as he reasonably enough says, you don’t give him a chance.”
“Did Mr Glyddyr say that?” said Claude, with her lip curling.
“Yes; and really, Claude, you are sometimes almost rude to him with your coldness. Come, my dear, I want you to see that it is the dearest wish of my life to have you happy.”
“Yes, papa dear, I know it is, but—”
“Now, let’s have no buts. I favour Glyddyr’s suit because he is all one could desire, and he came to me like a frank gentleman and told me how he saw you first and took a fancy to you, but thought he should forget it all; then felt his love grow stronger, and, as he has shown us—he has waited months and months to prove himself—felt that you were the woman who would make him happy and—”
“I could not make Mr Glyddyr happy, papa.”
“Nonsense, dear! What do you know of such things? I say you can, and that he can make you very happy and me, too, in seeing you married well.”
“Papa, dear, I don’t think you quite understand a woman’s heart,” said Claude.
“I understand a girl’s, my dear—yours in particular—so now I want you to set aside some of this stiff formality, and to meet Glyddyr in a more friendly way. Of course I don’t want you to throw yourself at his head. You are an extremely wealthy heiress. I’ve made my money for you, my pet, and you can afford to be proud, and to hold him off. Make him know your value, and woo and win you, but, hang it all, my child, don’t turn yourself into an icicle, and freeze the poor fellow’s passion solid.”
“Papa, dear, you said I should speak soon.”
“And so you shall, my darling; but I have not quite done. I want you to think all this over, and to look at it as a duty first, then as a matter of affection. Oh, it’s all right, my pet. I’m glad to see so much maiden modesty and dutiful behaviour. I didn’t want him to think he had only to hold out his hand for you to jump at it; certainly not. You are a prize worth winning, and you are quite right to teach him your value, you clever little jade. There, I think I’ve nearly done. Only begin to melt a little now, and give the poor fellow a bit of encouragement. And you must not be piqued at his saying you were so distant. I drew that out of him. He did not come to complain, though I must say he had good cause. There, now, I have quite done, and I am sure my darling sees the common sense of all this. I don’t want to lose my Claudie, and I shouldn’t at all dislike a trip on the Continent with her. There’s no hurry—a year—two, if you like. I’ll let my pet make her own terms, only let’s give the poor fellow a chance. Then I may tell Glyddyr?”
“No, father dear,” said Claude firmly; “you must not tell Mr Glyddyr anything.”
“What?”
“He is a man I do not like.”
Gartram’s countenance changed a little, but he kept down his anger.
“Not yet, my dear, not yet, of course. It is not natural that you should, but you will in time, and the more for feeling a bit diffident now. Come, we understand one another, and I won’t say a word to the poor boy. You will let him feel that the winter is passing, the thaw beginning. Give him a little spring first, and the summer in full swing by-and-by.”
Claude shook her head.
“It is impossible, papa, dear. I could never like Mr Glyddyr.”
“Now, my dear child, don’t make me angry by adopting that obstinate tone. You are too young yet to understand your own mind.”
“I know I could never love Mr Glyddyr sufficiently to be his wife.”
“Now, look here—”
“Don’t be angry with me, dear. You wish me to be always frank and plain with you?”
“Of course, but—”
“I must know about a matter like this. I do not and cannot love this man.”
“Absurd, Claude.”
“I don’t want to marry. Let me stay here with you. I can be very happy amongst the people I know, and who know me, and require my help.”
“Yes; a gang of impostors sucking my money through you.”
“No, no. What I give is to make you loved and venerated by the poor people who are sometimes in distress.”
“Now I don’t want a lecture on the relief of the poor, my dear,” said Gartram quickly. “I want you to quietly accept my wishes. I am your father, and I know what is for your good.”
Claude was silent, for she knew by familiar signs that the tempest was about to burst.
“Do you think I wish you to marry some penniless scoundrel, who wants to get my money to make ducks and drakes with it? There: I was getting cross, but I am not going to be. Once more, there is no hurry. Thaw by degrees. It will prove Glyddyr to you, and let you see that the poor fellow is thoroughly sincere. Come, my pet, we understand each other now? Hang it all, Claude, don’t look at me like that!”
“My dearest father,” she cried, after a moment’s hesitation, and she threw herself upon his breast and nestled to him, “are you not making a mistake?”
“No; I am too much of a business man, my dear. I am not making a mistake, unless it is in being too easy with you, and pleading when I might command. There, I’m glad you agree with me.”
“No, no, papa; I cannot,” she said tearfully.
“Now, Claude, my darling, don’t make me angry. You know what my health is, and how, if I am crossed, it irritates me. You are my obedient child, and you agree with what I say?”
“No, papa,” she said imploringly; “I cannot.”
“Then you are thinking still of that beggarly, fortune-hunting scoundrel Lisle?”
“Father, dear, don’t speak like that of Christopher Lisle. He is a true gentleman.”
“He is a true money-seeking vagabond, and I have forbidden him my house for the best of reasons. I would sooner see you dead than the wife of a man like that.”
Claude shrank away from him, and her convulsed face hardened, with the faint resemblance to her father beginning to appear.
“You are unjust to him.”
“It is false, madam,” he cried excitedly, with his brow beginning to grow knotty. “I know the scoundrel by heart, and as you are refusing to meet me on the terms full of gentleness and love which I propose, you must be prepared for firmness. Now, please understand. It is the dearest wish of my heart that you should marry Parry Glyddyr. I like him; he is the man I wish to have for my son-in-law; and he loves you. Those are strong enough points for me, and I’ll have no opposition.”
“Father!”
“Silence! I will not hurry matters, but you may look upon this as a thing which is definitely settled. Glyddyr is coming here this morning, as I told you before. I shall tell him that we have come to an understanding, and that he may consider himself as accepted, with a long probation to go through. There, you see, I am quite calm, for I make that concession to you—plenty of time.”
“Father, dear, listen to me,” cried Claude passionately.
“No! I’ll listen to no more. You can go now and think. You will come to your senses by-and-by, I have no doubt, even if it takes time.”
Claude caught his hand in hers, but he withdrew his own with an angry gesture, and she shrank back for a moment. There was that, though, in his face which made her hesitate about saying more, and reaching up, and kissing him hurriedly, she left the room, thinking that he would calm down.
He stood watching her as she left, and then, grinding his teeth with rage, his face flushing and his temples beating hard, he strode across to the door, locked it securely, and drew a curtain across.
“The scoundrel! He has poisoned her mind. But I’d sooner kill him—I’d sooner—Oh, it’s maddening,” he cried, as he went to a drawer, fumbled with the key on a bunch he drew from his pocket, and had some difficulty in opening it, for his hand trembled with suppressed passion.
Then he drew open the receptacle, and from the back took out a ring with three curiously formed keys. These clinked together with the involuntary movements of his hands as he crossed to a bookcase, took out a couple of books, opened a little door behind them, and thrust another key in at the side. There was a sharp click, and he started back, withdrawing the key, and stood and gave his head a shake as if to clear it.
“How I do hate to be put out like this,” he muttered, as he laid his hand in a particular way upon the end of the bookcase, which slowly revolved on a pivot, and laid bare a large iron door.
“I don’t feel at all myself,” he continued, as he used the third and largest key, which opened the great door of his safe, and exposed a massive-looking closet built in the wall with blocks of granite, at the back of which were half-a-dozen iron shelves.
“Hah!” he exclaimed, as he stood in the opening, reaching forward and taking down a small square box, which was heavy. “He’d like to have the pleasure of spending you, no doubt, but I can checkmate him. Now,” he continued, “let’s finish counting.”
He carried the box to the table, set it down, and then took out, one by one, five canvas bags, one of which he untied, and poured out a little heap of sovereigns. This done, he went back to the safe and took a small, thick ledger from another shelf, walked back to the table, opened the book, and made an entry of the date therein, then, leaving the pen in the opening, seated himself once again to count the coins into little piles of twenty-five.
“No,” he murmured; “I haven’t worked all these years to have my money swallowed up by a fortune-hunter. No, Master Chris Lisle.”
He started from his seat, overturning a pile of sovereigns, for at that moment, sweet and clear, came the song of a robin seated upon a tamarisk just outside the window.
“Good heavens! I must be mad,” he cried. “Who opened that window? Yes; Claude, I remember,” he muttered; and he was in the act of crossing to close it when he stopped short, threw out his hands, and fell with a heavy thud upon the thick Turkey carpet, to lie there with his face distorted, struggling violently, and striking his hands against a chair.
Volume Two—Chapter Two.
Chris Visits the Museum.
Racing did not agree with Chris Lisle, for the morning after his return from town he rose with a bad headache; and as he lived one of the most regular lives, he knew that it could not be caused by errors of diet. It would have been easy enough to have attributed it to the true cause—constant worry—but he was not going to own to that, as it seemed weak, so he set it down to his hair being too long.
“No wonder my head’s hot,” he said to himself; and, acting upon impulse, he hurried out of the room, and walked straight along the cliff road toward where, a few minutes before, Michael Wimble had had his head out of his door, looking for customers, after the fashion in which a magpie looks about for something to secrete.
He was a dry, yellow-looking man, thin, quick and sharp in action as the above-named bird, one to which his long nose and quick black eyes gave him no little resemblance; and this he enhanced by his habit of thrusting his head out of his door, laying his ear on his shoulder, and looking sidewise in one direction, then changing the motion by laying his other ear upon the fellow shoulder, and looking out in the opposite direction.
The Danmouth people, as a rule, always looked straight out to sea in a contemplative fashion, in search of something which might benefit them—fish, a ship in distress, flotsam and jetsam; but Michael Wimble looked for his benefits from the shore, and seldom gazed out to sea.
His place of business was called generally “the shop,” in spite of an oval board bearing upon it, in faded yellow letters upon a drab green ground, the word “Museum” as an attraction to any strangers who might visit the place, and be enticed by curiosity to see what the museum might contain, as well as by a printed notice pasted on each door-post, “Free admission.” Once within, they might become customers for shaving, haircutting, a peculiar yellow preparation which Michael Wimble called “pomehard,” or some of the sundries he kept in stock, which included walking-sticks, prawn nets, fishing lines, and white fish hooks, made of soft tinned iron, so that, if they caught in the rough rocky bottom, or some stem of extra tough seaweed, a good tug would pull them through it—bending without breaking—a great advantage and saving, so long as they did not behave in this way with a large fish.
Michael Wimble was very proud of his museum, and took pleasure in telling the seaside visitors that he had collected all his curiosities himself, and very much resented upon one occasion its being called a “Marine store” by a gentleman from town.
The museum began as a labour of love, for Michael had cast his eyes upon the fair elderly motherly widow, Chriss landlady, and, since the commencement of his collection, he had laboured on, in the belief that, as it increased in importance, so would the woman soften toward him; and that some day all his four-roomed dwelling would become museum and business place, while he would go and reside at the widow’s house—widow no longer, but Mrs Wimble—his own.
The beginning of the museum was a star-fish, with four small rays and one of enormous size, that he picked up during his regular morning walk along the sea shore, wet or dry, summer or winter, at six o’clock, as near to the edge of the water as he could get, returning close under the cliffs in time to have his place of business opened by eight.
The star-fish was duly dried and admired, and talked about by his regular customers; and this seemed so satisfactory that it was soon supplemented by a cuttlefish bone.
A piece of wood well bored by teredoes followed. Then a good-sized chump of ship timber, with a cluster of barnacles attached, was carried in one morning to commence the fine, fusty, saline, sea-weedy odour which smothered completely the best hair oil, the pomade and the scented soap.
The museum grew rapidly: hanks of seaweed, more cuttlefish bones, native sponges, shells of all sorts and sizes, some perfect, and some ground thin and white by long chafing in the shingle. Stones of all kinds, from spar to serpentine, and grey and ruddy granite; sharks’ teeth, pieces of mineral of metallic lustre, fragments of spar, and fossils, including great ammonites, chipped out of a bed of rock which presented its water-washed face to the advancing tide.
There was always something to bring home to suspend from the wall, arrange on shelf, or give a place of honour in one or other of the glass cases, which by degrees were purchased; and as Wimble’s museum increased, so it became of local celebrity.
Michael Wimble had been peering out when a customer appeared, and after due soaping and softening with hot water, the barber was operating with a thin razor, which scraped off the harsh bristles off the fisherman with a peculiar metallic ring.
The final triumphant upper scrape was being given when Chris entered the museum, and the barber’s eyes twinkled, for there were signs about Chris which suggested a new customer, one who was in the habit of getting his professional aid in the county town.
“At liberty in a moment, sir,” said the barber obsequiously; and he rapidly wrung out a sponge, removed the unscraped-off soap from the fisherman’s face, and threw a towel at him with a look which seemed to say, “Take that and be off.”
“Nyste mornin’ this, Mis’ Lisle, sir,” said the fisherman, wiping his face slowly. “Long time since you’ve had a run after the bahss.”
“Yes, ’tis,” said Chris shortly.
“Ay, ’tis as you say, sir, that it is; but when you feel in the right mind you’ve only got to say so, and I’m your man, punt and all.”
“Cut or shave, sir?” said the little barber, with a look at his regular customer which seemed to say, “Go.” And he went.
“Cut,” said Chris laconically; and he took his seat in the operating chair.
The barber looked disappointed as he drew his professional print cloth round his customer, giving it a shake, and then securing it about his neck like a Thug with a new victim.
“Much or little off, sir?” continued Wimble, with a preliminary snip in the air.
“Much; but don’t make it a confounded crop,” said Chris sourly; for he had a natural dislike to the barber, and was vexed with himself for not having had his hair cut in London.
“Much, but not too much,” said Wimble thoughtfully; and then, with the customary chatter of his profession, he started a topic.
“Been up to the quarry, sir, lately?”
“No.”
That was a negative strong enough to have crushed some men, but it only acted as a spur on the proprietor of the museum.
“Then I should advise you to go up, sir. I was there this morning, just casting an eye round for spars and crystals, and natural hist’ry specimens in general, and Mr Gartram’s men have blasted out some of the finest stones I think I ever saw.”
Wimble waited for an answer, but none came; and, after a little snipping, which was all done with the operator’s head very much on one side, he continued—
“Fine property, that of Mr Gartram’s, sir. Grand estate.”
Chris felt as if he would have liked to gag the barber with his own lather brush. But he sat still, holding his breath while the man prattled on.
“You said much off, sir? yes, sir; very good plan, sir; keeps the head cool, and after a wash or a shampoo, just a rub with the towel and there you are. I often admire our visitor, Mr Glyddyr, for that, sir.”
Chris flinched.
“Don’t be alarmed, sir; only the scissors touched the skin; cold steel, sir. Keeps his hair very short, sir; quite like a Frenchman. Wonderfully fond of our town, sir. His yacht’s always here.”
Chris grunted, and wished he had not come to have his hair cut, as the man innocently prattled on.
“If I might take the liberty of saying so, why don’t you take to a yacht?”
“Can’t afford it,” said Chris bluntly.
Wimble uttered a little laugh that suggested disbelief.
“They do say, sir, as this Mr Glyddyr is making up to Miss Gartram, sir.”
Chris set his teeth hard. He could not jump up and run out of the place with his hair half cut.
“And that Mr Gartram is set upon it, sir. Well, it’s a fine opening for any young man, I’m sure. Mr Gartram must have a deal of money up yonder. I often wonder he has never been robbed—that’s it, sir. The other side, please: thank you. Stone walls and bolts and bars are all very well, but, as I said to Doctor Asher when I was cutting him the other day—If a man wants to commit a robbery, stone walls and iron bars is no use. ‘No, sir,’ I says, ‘there’s sure to be times when doors is open and iron bars undone, and those are the times that a thief and a robber would choose.’”
“Humph!” ejaculated Chris. “So you think there are times when a man might easily rob Mr Gartram?”
“I do, sir, indeed; and if you’ll believe me there, I wouldn’t have his money and live as he does for anything.”
“Ah, well, I won’t believe you,” said Chris drily.
“But you may, sir. Yes, sir, it isn’t safe to live with so much money in your house.”
“Well, I’ll tell Mr Gartram what you say.”
The scissors dropped on the floor with a crash, and Wimble stood, wide-eyed, and harrowing his thin whiskers with his comb.
“What’s the matter?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” faltered the barber; “you said—”
“That I’d tell Mr Gartram.”
“I—I—I beg your pardon, Mr Lisle, sir; don’t do that. Mr Gartram’s my landlord—a hard man, sir, in paint and repairs; and if he knew that I’d said such a thing about him being robbed or murdered, why, I do believe, sir, he’d turn me out of house and home.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Chris gruffly. “Lesson to you to hold your tongue.”
This was so decided a rebuff that Wimble frowned, picked up his scissors, and went on snipping in silence for nearly half a minute, when the desire to talk, or habit of using his jaws in concert with the opening and shutting of his scissors, mastered him again.
“If I might be so bold as ask, sir, Mrs Sarson quite well?”
“Yes, quite well.”
“Most amiable woman, sir,” said the barber, “Her house always seems to me as if it might take a prize—so beautifully kept, sir—so delicately clean.”
“Yes.”
“I often wonder she hasn’t married again.”
Chris had heard hints from his landlady about an offer of marriage from the owner of the museum, but it had slipped from his memory till now, when the suggestive remark brought it all back, and a mischievous spirit seemed to enter into him.
He could not find it in his heart to bully the man, whose prattling gossip was a part of his trade, but he could vex him and revenge himself in another way for the annoyance Wimble was inflicting, and with boyish love of mischief he replied—
“Yes; so do I. But perhaps it is probable.”
Wimble checked his scissors as they were half-way through a tuft of hair.
“Indeed, sir?” he said, as he went on snipping. “Yes; of course you, being, as you may say, one of the family, and living on the premises, would know.”
“Yes,” said Chris, in a tone suggestive of much knowledge; and then there was an interval of snipping, and Wimble coughed.
“If one might say so, sir,” he said, “that was a most gallant act of yours the other day.”
“Eh? What was?”
“Swimming out after that handsome French lady, and saving her life.”
“Pooh! Nonsense!” said Chris pettishly.
“But it was, sir. People talk about it a deal.”
“More fools they.”
“Yes, sir; but people will talk.”
“Yes,” said Chris meaningly; “they will.”
“Yes, sir; and it’s wonderful what a man will go through for a woman’s sake—I mean a gentleman for a lady.”
“You miserable little pump,” muttered Chris to himself.
“Elderly gentleman, or young, sir?” said Wimble insinuatingly.
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“What you said, sir, about Mrs Sarson, sir—her future, sir.”
“Oh, you mustn’t ask me, Mr Wimble. It would be very much out of place for me to say anything. Done?”
“One minute, sir. Anything on, sir? Lime cream?”
“No; just a brush.—Thanks; that will do.—Good morning.”
Trifling words do a great deal of mischief sometimes, and Chris Lisle’s had the effect of making the owner of the museum stand at his door with his head sidewise, watching his last client till he was out of sight, and as he went down the street, dark thoughts entered his mind about age and good looks and opportunity; of the result of his own observations in life as to the weakness of elderly ladies for youth; and one by one ideas came into his mind such as had never been there before.
“If it does turn out so,” he muttered, as he slowly went back into his place of business, and apostrophised the head of a huge dog-fish which had been preserved and furnished with two glass eyes, asquint, and whose drying had resulted in a peculiar one-sided smile; “yes, if it does turn out so, I hope, for his sake and mine, he will not come here to be shaved.”
His thoughts had such a terrible effect upon Michael Wimble, that he took a razor from where it reposed in one of a series of leather loops against the wall, opened it, seized a leather strap which hung by one end from a table, and began to whet the implement with a degree of savage energy that was startling.
Chris had his hair cut, and his head felt easier, but the barber’s did not.