Odeyne's marriage

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PACE THAT KILLS.

Odeyne sat in her well-appointed carriage, being rapidly driven from one grand house to another, leaving cards, paying short calls, or presenting herself for a few minutes at some fashionable reception.

Her manner was gracious and free from any shadow of constraint or anxiety; she spoke with her customary gentle amiability. She fancied that some amongst her friends looked at her with curiosity, and threw into their manner a shade of compassionate concern when they addressed her, but if she were conscious of this she gave no sign.

Nevertheless her heart was strangely heavy within her, and as she drove homewards through the westering sunlight, her duties all done, she lay back in her carriage with a cloud of care upon her brow, and the shadow deepening in the eyes which now looked as though they were no strangers to vigils or tears.

What was going on about her? What was the meaning of the strange sense of pressure and peril that seemed to be advancing upon them step by step? She had striven to fight against this feeling as a delusion of a wearied and jaded mind, but latterly it had become urgent and intense.

Why was Desmond so strangely preoccupied that he could neither eat nor sleep? Why could he never even spare the time to accompany her into society as he used to do, and yet was more urgent than ever that she should go, and that she should appear in all the richest trappings that wealth could buy?

Only this morning he had been almost fiercely insistent that she should carry out a very long programme of social duties; he had sketched out himself exactly where he wished her to show herself, and had charged her to be very gay and bright.

"Mind you let everybody see that you are well and happy, and that nothing is the matter," he said more than once, "and don't forget the ball at the Mastermans' in the evening. If I am not back in time, Beatrice will call for you and take you. I will settle all that with her. I have to step across to see Vanborough before I go to the City."

"Not back before ten o'clock, Desmond?" Odeyne had said. "Surely business cannot keep you all those hours. It is not good for you. You are looking terribly haggard and jaded as it is."

He turned upon her almost roughly, although as he continued to speak his manner grew gentler—

"Nonsense! whatever you do, don't go saying things like that about me if people ask questions. It's only the hot weather, and being cooped up in town so long. I thought we should have been able to get back sooner. I tell you what, Odeyne, once let me get these few transactions pulled through and we'll go home and shut ourselves up there together, and not see a soul but our own people for as long as ever you like. I'm sick to death with noise and bustle and the sea of faces about one. Sometimes I wish I'd never come at all—never begun this sort of thing. I don't think the game is worth the candle—I don't indeed!"

Something in the underlying bitterness and weariness of the tone in which these words were spoken touched Odeyne to the heart. She had gone over to her husband and kissed him tenderly, and he had suddenly clasped her in his arms almost passionately and had said—

"You deserve a better husband, my loyal and precious little wife! Oh, if I had only been worthy of you! But you will try to think kindly of me and forgive me all the pain and trouble I have brought—when once we are free again."

"Forgiveness is no word between husband and wife, dearest Desmond," Odeyne had said gently, "because we are one, you know."

His parting kiss and clasp had been balm to her heart, and yet the day had dragged slowly along, although she had carried out to the letter her husband's wishes, and a strange presage of coming misfortune weighed upon her heart.

She reached home to find Desmond still absent, and she sat down to her solitary dinner alone. For once she did not even take the trouble to dress. She would have to dress for the ball later. She wondered if Desmond would return to take her. She heartily wished she need not go. But she would do nothing at such a time to thwart his lightest wish. She was afraid that something terribly wrong was threatening. What it could be she had no idea. Of his business matters Desmond never spoke a word, but she was certain from a number of things that he was engaged in some very large and hazardous transactions, and that for some time he had been exceedingly and increasingly anxious.

Apparently some crisis was near at hand, and after it had passed there was a hope of better and quieter days. It seemed as though he were as weary as she of the round of the treadmill of business and pleasure, and was panting for the freedom and quiet of their own home.

The hope that buoyed up Odeyne's heart all through the day was that the return home was near at hand, and that Desmond had learnt a lesson which might remain with him throughout his life. Tired as she was, she prepared cheerfully to carry out her husband's wishes in the minutest detail. She chose her most becoming ball-dress, and let Alice arrange her hair in the newest mode. It was patent that a good deal depended upon her keeping a brave face before the world, and if so, Desmond should never have to say that she had failed him at a pinch.

She was nearly dressed, when the sound of rustling draperies, and a short, sharp knock at the door, announced the arrival of a visitor, and Beatrice came hastily in.

She was dressed with her usual elaborate care and richness, but her face was strangely pale, and had an odd, drawn look that startled Odeyne as she caught sight of it in the mirror.

"Beatrice!" she cried, releasing herself from Alice's hands and turning quickly round, "something is the matter!"

"Yes," answered Beatrice, in a voice not quite like her own, "my jewels are gone!"

"Your jewels? Do you mean they have been stolen?"

"Yes—it must have been yesterday whilst we were at dinner. But I only found it out this afternoon! I have had a detective. Every inquiry has been made, but at the present moment there is no clue as to the thief. Probably somebody who knew his business very well."

"Oh, Beatrice!—taken from your room whilst you were at dinner, you say?"

"That seems the most probable solution, for there is no trace of violence anywhere. The man must have slipped in during the arrival of the guests, whilst the door was standing open. All we know is this. Your man, Garth, came with a note for Algernon whilst we were at dinner, and had to wait for the answer. He was put into the little alcove just at the head of the first staircase, and as he was waiting he noticed a man coming downstairs with a bag in his hand, who let himself quietly out at the front door. He thought nothing much of it at the time, supposing it to be some hair-dresser or person of that kind, who had preferred to make use of the front rather than the back staircase, knowing that all the guests were at dinner. But it is supposed that that was the burglar, and Garth thinks he could identify him if he saw him again, and has described him pretty minutely to the police. Whether I shall ever see my jewels again is quite another matter," and Beatrice bit her lips nervously as though to try and bring back the blood to them.

Odeyne saw that she was trembling all over. She had never seen Beatrice so unnerved before.

"What does your husband say?" she asked.

"Oh, he had hardly time to take it in at all. Desmond telegraphed for him just after the discovery was made, and he went off in a tearing hurry, leaving me to think of everything. I have not seen him since. He telegraphed that he could not get back, but that I was to go to the ball with you."

"You do not look fit, Beatrice," said Odeyne.

"Fit! what does that matter? Alice shall rouge me up—if you have such a thing as a rouge-pot amongst your toilet accessories! And you must lend me jewels to-night, Odeyne, it won't do to appear without them at the Mastermans'. We must both of us make a brave show, my dear—just to prove to all the world how gay and prosperous we are. Go and get your mistress's jewels out, Alice, and dress me up as cleverly as you know how. Oh, I am not going to throw up the cards till the game is lost. I will at least die game—as the men call it!"

"Beatrice, how wildly you talk," said Odeyne, as Alice went into the dressing-room to get the jewel-cases. There was no safe in this house, but they were securely locked up in a strong cupboard with a Bramah lock.

"Do I?" she queried with a short laugh. "I suppose it is a way we all of us have, when life or death hangs upon the next throw of the dice! Come, Odeyne, don't look at me like a scared creature. You must know by this time as well as I that something very critical is at hand. It is going to be neck or nothing, I take it, with a vengeance!"

Odeyne did not understand; but Alice was coming in with the jewel-boxes, and she made no reply.

"Take what you want," she said; "I am going to wear the string of pearls you sent me for a wedding present, Beatrice, and some ornaments that Desmond gave me soon afterwards."

"Well, make yourself grand enough, that is all; and I will have your diamonds, I think. I hope they will not be recognised as yours. I hardly think so. I was always rather great at diamonds myself—when I could get them."

Beatrice approached the table and opened some of the cases, and then, suddenly bending close down over them, uttered a sharp, startled cry.

"What is the matter?" asked Odeyne, who suddenly felt as though she were walking through a bad dream, not knowing from moment to moment what might happen next. "What is the matter?" she cried, coming up.

"Look!" cried Beatrice, whose face was as white as paper, and whose hands shook like aspens. "Look at your diamonds, Odeyne."

Odeyne looked, but could see nothing wrong.

"They are all there safe," she said, thinking that Beatrice had gone temporarily off her head with excitement. "What is the matter with you?"

"With me? You mean with them!" answered Beatrice, holding up case after case and closely examining them. "Odeyne, don't you see?—don't you understand?"

"See what? Understand what?" asked the girl, half frightened in spite of herself at her sister's words and looks.

"Somebody has been tampering with your jewels, Odeyne," said Beatrice. "These are not diamonds at all—they are only clever imitations. Somebody has done a very clever thing—has had duplicates made of your real stones in paste, and has quietly substituted the sham for the real! You have been even more shamelessly robbed than I have, my dear, for there has been a diabolic cunning and preparation over this fraud."

Odeyne stood silent and thunderstruck. If she had had time to observe anything else she would have noticed that Alice had suddenly turned as white as ashes, and put her hand to her heart as though some blow had been struck home there. She clutched at the back of a chair as though to save herself from falling; but neither her mistress nor Mrs. Vanborough had thoughts for her just then.

"What does it mean?" asked Odeyne, putting up her hand to her head in bewilderment. "What does it mean?"

"I think it means that there are traitors in the camp," answered Beatrice in a strange, dry voice. "I think it means that the rats are deserting the sinking ship, and human rats have the cleverness to carry off booty before they leave for ever."

But Odeyne could make nothing of these words. Her head was in a whirl. She stood looking down stupidly at the glitter of the sham gems, and all she could think of to say was—

"Are you sure they are not right, Beatrice? They look just the same—to me."

"You are not the first person who has been deceived by false gems, my dear," answered Beatrice, pulling herself together with a short, sharp laugh. "I think you have rather a faculty for taking glitter for gold. Don't be too much startled, my dear, when the truth comes home to you."

Odeyne heard these words without fully understanding them.

"Ought I to do anything?" she asked.

"I wouldn't trouble to-night. Let us see first what the night is going to bring forth," answered Beatrice. "There may be wheels within wheels that we know nothing about. Desmond himself may know all about it. Men have been driven to stranger shifts before this, than borrowing their wife's jewels for a while to tide them over a crisis."

Odeyne's pale face suddenly flushed crimson.

"Beatrice!" she exclaimed, almost fiercely. "You forget yourself, I think!"

"Perhaps I do," answered Beatrice, without a shadow of offence in her tone. "I think I have had enough to send me silly to-night. But come, Odeyne, we must not stay staring at these paste things like two blind owls. Paste or no, I must wear them to-night. They will pass muster in the throng we shall meet. Mrs. Vanborough's present reputation stands well enough to admit of the fraud undetected. Here, Alice, clasp this thing on my neck, please. It is at least lighter to wear than the original. Why, girl, your hands are like blocks of ice. You give me the shivers! You needn't be frightened at what you've heard. Your mistress is not the kind who will turn upon you, and accuse you of complicity with the robber."

"Alice, you are ill," said Odeyne. "But you must not give way. I should never think of blaming you. Indeed you have very little to do with my jewellery. We have always kept it locked away ourselves. It is probably the same gang that have robbed Mrs. Vanborough. Now don't tremble and look so white, but go to bed quietly. I can do very well without you when I come back, and I may be late. I do not feel sure of anything."

Time was getting on, and little as the two sisters-in-law felt disposed for the scene of gaiety which lay before them, loyalty to their husbands kept them to their appointment.

They put the finishing touches to their toilets, and then went down to the carriage.

"You don't think that girl knows anything about it, I suppose?" said Beatrice as they drove off. "She looked like a ghost, and was shaking like an aspen."

"I would trust Alice with untold gold!" answered Odeyne warmly. "I have had my fears for her. At first I was afraid she was going to have her head turned by all the admiration she received. She did try for a little while to play the fine lady rather too much. But she has good feeling and right principle, and of late she has been quite her own self again. I am certain she would die sooner than rob me. You must nob wrong her by a doubt, Beatrice."

"I think I have reached the stage when I doubt everybody," answered Beatrice a little bitterly. "I know Algy might be capable of getting up a plant like this, and keeping the jewels safe and snug somewhere; and I should not be certain of Desmond for that matter. Men often want a reserve fund to fall back upon in case of emergency. I don't think I could doubt you, Odeyne, but as for Alice and that husband of hers—I would not make too sure of their honesty, my dear. That man Garth is much too clever not to be a bit of a villain at heart!"

Odeyne was silent. She shivered a little at the recklessness of Beatrice's tone. Then a remembrance flitted across her brain of some words spoken long, long ago by Cissy Ritchie—now Cissy Hamilton, Guy's wife, her own sister—respecting the man Garth. She had not liked his face. She had thought it untrustworthy. But Desmond had always found him most faithful.

It seemed as though Beatrice was following out a similar train of thought, for she spoke suddenly aloud, though almost as one who speaks to herself.

"It might have been he. He knows the house. He was there some time, and there was nobody about. His description of another man may be just a clever bit of lying, to put us on a false scent. I should not be surprised in the least."

Odeyne knew what she meant, but said nothing. The dream-like feeling was coming over her again. A sort of numbness settled down upon her faculties. It gave her temporary relief from the terrible tension of the past day. She did not wish to be roused. She would sooner go on feeling it all a dream.

They arrived at the house whither they were bound. It belonged to one of the City princes, and the gathering included a great many persons who were more or less connected with the City and Stock Exchange. Others were there from a higher sphere. It was a very large assembly and a rather mixed one.

There was dancing in one great room, and the entertainment was called a ball; but great numbers of persons made no attempt to dance, but moved about the other rooms, talking together, and watching those who came in with more or less of interest.

It seemed to Odeyne as though the arrival of herself and Beatrice excited a certain amount of interest and attention. Was it fancy that they were both regarded rather closely, and that there was more than met the ear in some of the words addressed to them?

She felt also as though Beatrice were acting a part all the while, although she could not have explained why. She was so gay, so racy, so brilliant. She made sallies that convulsed her listeners, and her grande dame air had never been more striking than to-night.

When questioned about husband or brother she unhesitatingly declared that they would soon be here. They had been detained by business rather late, and must dine, poor things, and have a smoke before turning out; but they were probably on their way now to answer for themselves; and so on, and so on; whilst Odeyne, who was certain that Beatrice knew no more of their movements than she did herself, listened in amaze, and was thankful that her sister-in-law's quick readiness saved her from the necessity of answering any of these embarrassing questions.

Yet what did it matter whether Desmond and Algernon appeared or not? And why did so many persons ask for them? Once she heard a whisper behind her quite distinct and clear.

"I think it must be all right after all. Those are Mrs. St. Claire and Mrs. Vanborough. They would hardly have shown their faces to-night if——"

A burst of music from the ball-room drowned the conclusion of the sentence. Odeyne felt her heart beating almost to suffocation, and she moved away from Beatrice's side and made her way out into a little covered balcony which she thought was quite empty. It was, however, tenanted by one person, a slight, girlish young creature, the young wife of an acquaintance of Desmond's, just known to Odeyne by sight and name.

As she sat down wearily, Mrs. Neil came up to her with a hesitating and almost deprecating air, and, sinking down upon the lounge beside her, clasped her hands nervously together, forgetting in her visible embarrassment to go through the ordinary form of greeting.

"Oh, Mrs. St. Claire," she said, "I am so glad to see you here. I have been so unhappy these last days; but you will tell me if I am wrong. It is all right, is it not? It is only wicked people who call it all a gigantic swindle? It will be all right in the end, will it not?"

Odeyne felt her lips growing dry. She had some trouble in framing her question.

"What are you talking about, Mrs. Neil?"

"Oh, don't mind keeping up before me—I know all about it. My husband has lots of shares; he says he will be ruined if—but of course that will never be! It is only a horrid calumny! Only I should be so glad to hear you say that you knew it was all right and a real genuine thing."

"If you would tell me what you mean," said Odeyne, "I should, perhaps, be better able to answer you; but——"

"Oh, Mrs. St. Claire, of course I mean the mine—the gold mine they are all going wild about in the City. Mr. St. Claire and Mr. Vanborough are two of the directors, and they say they know all about it. You must have heard them talk. They say they have got up the whole thing."

"My husband never talks to me about business," answered Odeyne, trying to speak very calmly. "I have never heard him mention any mine. But I think—I hope—that if he is concerned in any scheme it will at least be honourably conducted. No one can be certain of success; but I think you may be sure that there will be upright dealing."

"That's what I said!" cried the little wife eagerly. "I was sure it would not turn out a swindle. Oh, I am so much obliged to you. You have made me happy again. I have been so wretched all day. It is so hard to be ruined in one night by some terrible crash—and disagreeable people frightened Alfred so, and said he had been a fool to trust his money in the hands of a known speculator. But I am sure your husband would never do a wicked thing, would he, Mrs. St. Claire?"

There was such childish appeal and such earnestness in the girl-wife's manner that Odeyne could have cried aloud in the anguish of her spirit.

Why could she not say that Desmond was above all reproach? Why could she not assure her that there was nothing to fear? She had said all she dared to do, but she could not go on repeating that assurance. Each moment that she reflected more upon the situation, the less assured did she feel that something terribly wrong was not hanging over them.

She rose suddenly to her feet and moved away.

"I hope all will be right, Mrs. Neil," she said; "but I do not understand business. Misfortune sometimes falls upon the most honourable."

And then she found herself face to face with Beatrice, who, underneath the rouge she had found and put on, was looking ghastly pale.

"Come, Odeyne, we have done our duty; we can be going now," she said. "There is a great rush for supper. We shall not be noticed. Do not say good-night to a single soul, but just come away. If they notice our departure they will think we are going somewhere else. We have done what we were sent here to do. Now we had better go and see if there is any news at home of our respective husbands."

She gripped Odeyne's arm almost fiercely. Together they went down the staircase and had their carriage called up. When they were within its friendly shelter Beatrice suddenly broke into dry, tearless sobs.

"This is the last of it—this is our last appearance in public, Odeyne," she said. "The next time we try to show our faces we should be hooted away as the wives of the men who are posted on the Stock Exchange as a pair of swindlers!"

CHAPTER XVII.

DARK DAYS.

Home at last!—the house looking as usual; the butler and footman ready to admit their mistress on her return.

Yes, the master of the house had returned, she was informed; he was upstairs waiting for her. Odeyne drew a deep breath of relief. Somehow she had had an awful presentiment creeping over her that she would find Desmond gone—where or why she could not have said.

With a sense of unspeakable relief she mounted the stairs, but before she had reached her room she was met by a message from the nursery.

"Master Guy is rather poorly. Hannah says will you please come and see him at once? She wanted to tell you before you left, but you did not come to the nursery as usual, and had gone before she knew."

Odeyne's heart smote her. For once in her life she had omitted her parting visit to the child before starting forth for her evening's entertainment. Beatrice's loss, coupled with the strange and disquieting discovery as to her own jewels, had for the moment driven all else from her mind. She had not remembered the nursery visit till she was just about to enter the carriage, and then Beatrice had said almost sharply—

"Oh, never mind. The boy will survive the loss of one kiss. We have more important matters on hand to-night than cuddling babies. It is high time we showed ourselves. You cannot go back now."

So Odeyne had not seen the child since afternoon, and was quite unprepared for the news of indisposition.

Without pausing at her own door she went straight up to the nursery, to find the boy wide awake, fretting and a little feverish. Hannah was disturbed, because Guy was generally so bright and well.

"But there, ma'am," she said, "it's this nasty London does it. The blessed lamb has been used all his life to be out of doors half his time. How can he be expected to thrive cooped up in hot rooms and baking streets?"

This was exactly Odeyne's feeling. Since the hot weather had set in with such unwonted sultriness she had been very anxious about the child. She was not surprised to see him a little out of sorts. It did not make her very anxious, for it seemed to her a thing to be expected. But she did make a resolve there and then that Guy at least should go home to the Chase upon the morrow. Whether she could do so immediately was a point upon which she must consult Desmond, but the boy should leave London at once, and Cissy would look after him and see that no harm befell him till her return. Desmond had been speaking of returning home very soon for some little while now. Surely after to-night they might safely go back, and leave behind them, like a bad dream, all these cares and worries which had of late gathered round them.

Odeyne kissed and crooned over the little crib till Guy began to be drowsy, soothed by her presence, and weary with his long vigil. The nursery was very hot. Odeyne sent for ice, and by a judicious arrangement of windows and doors soon had a better atmosphere about the boy. She believed he would sleep now, and to-morrow he should go home. She would send a letter to Guy and Cissy, and they would be father and mother to him for a little while, if she could not accompany him. How good it was to picture Guy so near! What a difference it would make to her. He was always such a help and comfort—a tower of strength when there was need. It hardly even struck her as strange now that she should think rather of the brother than the husband, as a stay and support at this time. There had been that about Desmond of late which had put it out of her power to regard him as any bulwark between her and the waves of anxiety and trouble.

She descended the stairs to her room. Desmond was there. His face was deadly pale. There was a strange, hunted look in his eyes, and yet, as she approached him with a slight exclamation of concern, his thin lips tried to form themselves into a natural smile, as though to allay anxiety on his account.

"Desmond, dear! are you ill? You look worn out. Why did you not go to bed when you came in? That is the only place you are fit for."

Her eyes wandered round the room as she spoke, and noted certain signs of disorder. They fell upon a portmanteau strapped up as if for immediate travelling. Desmond, too, was not in the clothes he had left the house in that morning. He was in an inconspicuous travelling suit of grey tweed. He was holding his pocket-book in his hand.

"I have some work still to see to, dearest," he said. "There is a little hitch in some of our business matters, and I have to go off at once to set things right. What money have you in the house? It is too late to get a cheque cashed to-night; but give me what you have, and I will leave you a cheque to present at the bank first thing in the morning; and perhaps you had better go home then, and wait for me there."

"Oh, Desmond! that is just what I am longing to do! The child is not well; I want to take him home. But can't you come with us, dear? I don't like leaving you here."

A strange little spasm passed over Desmond's face.

"I shall not be here. I have to go away on business immediately; but I will join you at the Chase as soon as ever I can—trust me for that. Look here, Odeyne; you just have Alice down, and get packed up as sharp as ever you can, and be off by the first train. It will be far the best thing for you and the boy both. Take everything that belongs to us with you, for I shall write and give up the house immediately; and call at the bank on your way to the station, and draw out a good sum to carry on with. Give me all that you have, and I think I'll have your jewels to take care of, too. I may perhaps——"

"Oh, Desmond, I must tell you about that! Something rather terrible has happened. Beatrice has been robbed of her jewels, and a great many of mine—nearly all my diamonds—have been taken too, and false ones left in their place. I don't know when it can have happened, for I should not have known the difference if Beatrice had not found it out."

A strange grey pallor overspread Desmond's face, and he uttered a startled exclamation.

"What!" he cried; "tell me again!"

Odeyne told him all, not surprised that he should be horrified and amazed, yet feeling that she did not entirely understand his frame of mind. When he had heard her to the end he exclaimed sharply—

"And where is Garth? Let him be called at once."

"He had not come back when I left home," said Odeyne. "Alice was asking me if I had had any message from you about him. The servants would know if he had come in since."

"Find out instantly!" said Desmond, with a rather wild light in his eyes. "I sent him back at six o'clock to wait here for me. They did not tell me he had not come. I have been expecting him ever since I arrived."

Odeyne hurried away and made the needful inquiries; but no one had seen Garth. Last of all she went to the door of their room and knocked. Instantly it was opened by Alice, who looked like a ghost, but had made no attempt to undress or go to bed.

"No, she had seen nothing of her husband, she said, nor had any message or note reached her. She was shaking like an aspen, but denied being ill.

"Then if you are not ill, Alice," said Odeyne, "come down and help me. I am not going to bed at all. Master Guy is poorly, and I shall take him home to the Chase first thing to-morrow. We shall not come back here any more, so there will be plenty for us to do. Your master has to go away on business, and will join us later. You and I will have all the arrangements to make, so we shall have our hands full."

Odeyne had no room in her mind for troubling herself over the missing jewels; it seemed to her that it was only one bubble upon a whole sea of mystery and trouble. Alice crept, white and trembling, after her mistress, and was closely and sharply questioned by Desmond as to her husband's movements; but it was plain she knew nothing, and was consumed by fears she dared not put into words. Desmond turned away from her with a few bitter words, the meaning of which was not understood by Odeyne, though Alice shrank at them as though struck by a sharp blow.

"Give me those pearls you wear," he said abruptly, "and anything of value that may be left you. And let me have the money quick. I must not delay longer now."

With a terribly sinking heart Odeyne opened her cash-box and jewel drawer, unfastened the string of pearls from her throat, and taking the stars from her hair at the same time. Desmond thrust the notes and valuables into a small bag he carried with him, and then took up the portmanteau himself and carried it from the room, staggering a little, like a man walking in a dream.

Odeyne sprang after him, closing the door behind her. There was a light burning on this landing, but the rest of the house was dark, Odeyne having dismissed the servants to bed by her husband's desire, when she went to inquire for Garth.

"Desmond, Desmond," she cried piteously, "what is it? Oh, what is it? Have not I, your wife, the right to share the trouble, whatever it may be?"

He took her suddenly in his arms and kissed her passionately again and again.

"So you will, my poor innocent darling—so you will!" he answered. "God forgive me; for I can never forgive myself! Would to heaven I had listened to you before, my faithful little wife! To think that it has come to this. O my God!—forgive me my wickedness, and visit not my sin upon her innocent head!"

A great terror came over Odeyne, and she clung to him with frantic hands.

"Desmond!—Desmond!—don't leave me! Take me with you! I am your wife. We took each other for better for worse. I have the right to be at your side through everything! Take me with you, if you must go!"

He clasped her to his breast, and yet after one long embrace he put her from him.

"It cannot be. I will come back—if I can—if I dare. But you must stay here—with the boy. He will comfort you for the evil your husband has done you. For better for worse; when was it you spoke those words before, and I made such a confident boast? Was it in this life, or in another I have almost forgotten? Oh, my wife, that it should come to this! Why, why was I such an arrant fool?"

He smote his brow with his hand. The bitterness of his remorse was pitiful to see. The longing to comfort him gave to Odeyne strength in the midst of her weakness and bewilderment.

"Dearest," she said, "I think you trusted too much in yourself; you did not look to God for help, guidance, strength to resist temptation. Perhaps this trouble will bring you to Him, as happiness never did. Oh, my darling, I pray it may be so! Do you pray also for yourself. God is very good; He punishes, but He forgives. I shall pray for you night and day till you come back to me. But oh, Desmond—husband—do not leave me long! I cannot bear it!"

The strain was becoming too much. Odeyne felt a mist rising before her eyes; her head swam; she hardly knew when Desmond laid her upon a couch on the landing and hastily called to Alice. What happened after that she never clearly remembered, but presently knew that the grey light of the summer dawn was stealing through an open window near her head, and that Alice was chafing her hands and holding a glass to her lips; but Desmond was gone.

Now they were in the train, rushing swiftly through the smiling country, back to the home towards which Odeyne's heart had turned with such longing all these past weeks, but which would be terribly empty and lonely now till Desmond came back.

Alice and Hannah were with her, and little Guy, looking roused and better already for getting beyond the region of London smoke. The men-servants had remained behind. Odeyne had paid them their wages and dismissed them. They appeared perfectly prepared for this, and some instinct warned her that she had better reduce her establishment as quickly as possible. She was not able to think connectedly yet; but in her heart of hearts she was aware that some financial crash had taken place, and that she must prepare herself for changed circumstances. That was in itself a matter of small consequence to her. Great wealth had brought little real joy to Odeyne. She could live more happily in a cottage than she had lived in her grand London house. But oh, if others should suffer loss and poverty from any act of her husband's! That was the thought which kept her in an agony of trepidation and anguish. She thought of the words heard last night (could it have been only last night?—it seemed years ago now), and of the cloud of pitiful anxiety in the eyes of the young wife. Oh, it was impossible that Desmond could have done anything to involve others in trouble! He so kind and friendly to all! Oh, no!—that was altogether unbelievable!

But Guy would be there to meet her—Guy would tell her all. A little while ago she had felt almost embarrassed at the thought of the first meeting with Guy and Cissy; but that feeling was entirely swallowed up in the present pressing distress.

For Guy and Cissy had been married, and the Chase had been full of her own family and their guests, and yet she herself had only run down for the day, just to witness the ceremony, and to fly back to her many engagements, which Desmond would not or could not forego. She had done her utmost to arrange differently, but circumstances (or her husband's will) had been too strong for her; and although nobody had blamed her by so much as a look or a word, she had felt herself to be acting a heartless part, like some fine fashionable madam—not like the loving sister Guy had a right to expect in her.

But Guy would never think of that now. As soon as he knew she was in trouble he would come to her. She would send for him as soon as she got home. She felt she needed some strong presence near her; but she was startled to see him on the platform waiting for her, his face full of kindly concern, his eyes brimful of love, asking no questions, but seeing to everything for her, as though he were now her rightful protector.

Not till they were in the carriage together, the servants and child having been put into the luggage brougham, did she speak a word; and then she turned her white face and heavy eyes towards him and asked—

"Guy, how did you know?"

"Desmond wired from Dover early this morning. I had been prepared by Edmund two days before. He had heard things that made him very uneasy, and went to town on purpose to see Desmond and ask. After that he came to me here. My poor darling! what can I say to comfort you?"

Odeyne put her hand to her head.

"I don't understand, Guy; I don't know now what has happened. Only that we have been robbed, that Desmond has gone away for a little, and that something is wrong about the business."

Guy gave her a quick glance, and answered gently—

"Yes, there is something wrong about the business. I do not know the details myself yet. Perhaps you need never know them. We must just wait and see what happens. Sometimes things turn out better in the end than people think for. I hope you will not think that Cissy and I have been very officious, but we had Desmond's authority. Some of the superfluous servants have gone—including the housekeeper and the man-cook. They began to be very insolent and overbearing, and to spread damaging reports in the place. So they have been sent away."

"I am so glad," said Odeyne, rather wearily. "Desmond had so much to think of he forgot to name it. I seem only to want to be quiet, and to have you, Guy, and the boy—and—and—Desmond!" and then Odeyne's tears suddenly ran over, and she leaned back in the carriage and sobbed as though her heart would break.

He let her alone; and she was quiet and outwardly calm when they drew up at the familiar door. There was no retinue of servants to greet her to-day; but the warm clasp of Cissy's arms was more to her than any outward show of hired service, and Odeyne was so utterly worn out in body and mind that she let Cissy undress her and put her to bed, and quickly fell into the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, from which all hoped that she would not wake till outraged nature had recouped herself for all the pressure put upon her.

It was only after Odeyne was sound asleep in the darkened room that Cissy had time to turn her attention to Alice, who had utterly collapsed upon their arrival at the Chase, and was lying on her bed shaken, by storms of hysterical sobbing that seemed to tear her to pieces when they came upon her.

Cissy, as a doctor's daughter, knew how to treat the physical symptoms of the disorder, and Alice became more herself in time; but there was such despair in her eyes that Cissy's heart was touched, and bending over her she said—

"What is the matter, Alice? Is anything troubling you, beyond your mistress's troubles?"

Alice suddenly sat up and pushed the masses of damp hair out of her eyes.

"Oh, miss—I mean ma'am, I don't know how to bear it! I feel as though the shame and misery of it would kill me!"

"Now be calm, Alice; you will make yourself ill if you go on so; and for your mistress's sake you must bear up. She will need your loving care through this time of trouble. She has depended so upon you."

Alice wrung her hands together in mute misery.

"That is just it, ma'am—that is just it! She has been such a loving, gentle, trusting mistress, and I have deceived her—I have betrayed her trust!"

"Alice, what do you mean? I do not understand."

For a moment there was a great struggle in the girl's mind. Must she keep her terrible secret, or was it her duty to speak? She swayed to and fro in the tumult of her feelings; but the desire for human sympathy and counsel prevailed over all other considerations, and she cried out—

"Oh, ma'am, I am afraid—oh, I am terribly afraid—that it is my husband who has robbed them. He was always on at me about the jewels. He would have me let him have them to study the pattern. I was silly and vain past belief. I thought some day I would have such things to wear myself, and sometimes he would bring me home a necklet or bracelet just like one of the mistress's, and I would wear it at some party, and think I looked like her. Of course they were all shams, and I knew it, but they were very clever shams. I used to think he did it to please me, but I begin to see he had another purpose now. I couldn't make it out always—he was so keen to know so many things where the jewels were concerned; and I told him everything, and showed him everything, and contrived often to have them in my keeping for a bit, that I might please him by a sight of them. And so, ma'am—I fear now that he has got the real ones, and left the sham ones in their place. There's lots of times he could have done it, for I never would have suspected him of such a thing—never!—never!"

She broke down into sobbing again, and Cissy, who had heard something of the loss of the stones and the manner of their disappearance, was lost in astonishment at the tale. True, she had always felt an instinctive distrust of the man Garth, but she had never supposed him capable of such deliberate treachery as this. She felt deeply sorry for the unhappy wife, who, with all her little faults and vanities, had been loyal and devoted to her mistress all her life through.

"But, Alice, I am dreadfully sorry to hear this. And if this is so, where is your husband? Has he told you? How do you know?"

"My heart tells me," said Alice, with a mournful certainty that was more eloquent than any burst of tears. "Did you not hear? He has gone too. He was sent back with a message to my lady, but he never came. Nothing has been heard of him since. He did not even say good-bye to me. He had the jewels; he cared for nothing else. I shall never see him again! He used me to get his wicked will—and then he left me. He never really loved me—I have known that for a long time now. He admired me, and thought I should be a useful tool and dupe—that is all! He has said so in his sleep. He has showed me his evil heart. He has done now what will make him afraid ever to come back—unless he is caught and brought back! I shall never see him again, unless I see him in a felon's dock. And once I thought he loved me!"

She covered her face with her hands, and turned it to the wall. Her tears were all shed now; a dull lethargy was creeping over her. Cissy knew not whether to speak or to leave her alone, but the question was decided for her by a knock at the door; she opened it to find a maid standing without, who said—

"If you please, ma'am, the Captain and Miss St. Claire are here. I am afraid to disturb the mistress. I thought I had better tell you."

"The Captain" was the name Edmund went by in the household, where he was a great favourite. Cissy already felt as though she had gained a brother in him.

"I will come immediately," she said, and hastened downstairs.

The drawing-room door stood open, and within were Edmund and Maud, standing with grave, expectant faces, as though either the bearers or recipients of evil tidings. Maud moved hastily forward.

"Mother sent me, Cissy. She heard they had come back. She could not rest a moment; and Edmund drove me across. What has happened? and where is Desmond?"

"I don't know," answered Cissy gravely. "Odeyne does not know. I dare not say much—she is on the verge of a nervous fever. Desmond is gone off somewhere—she does not know where. Guy had a wire from him from Dover early this morning—that is the last we have heard of him."

Edmund whistled. Maud threw up her hands with a little gesture as of despair.

"He has absconded!" she exclaimed in a tone that was little above a whisper.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CRASH.

"Where has he gone, Odeyne? Where has he gone? He could not have left you without a word, as Algernon has left me. They have gone together—and surely you know where they are!"

It was Beatrice who spoke these words; but such a white, wild-eyed Beatrice, that Odeyne hardly knew her.

She broke in upon her at dusk, on that strange day of confusion and bewilderment, and her haggard face bespoke the mental suffering through which she had passed during the past four-and-twenty hours.

Odeyne turned upon her quickly, and took her by the hands.

"Of whom are you speaking, Beatrice? Has Algernon gone too? What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean?"

"It means that we are ruined, ruined, ruined!" cried Beatrice, sinking into a chair and covering her face with her hands. "But, Odeyne, speak, tell me—where is Desmond? You must at least know that!"

"I do not know," answered Odeyne in a very low voice. "He went away—I think he has gone abroad—on business. He will no doubt write soon. Is Algernon gone too?"

"They went together. So much we know, but nothing else. It is terrible, terrible, terrible! Odeyne, I went back home to Rotherham Park to-day to see if there was any trace of Algy there. Do you know what I found there? Bailiffs in possession—the place and all its contents up for sale...." She paused and uttered a strange hysterical laugh. "Will that be the fate of the Chase next? Has Desmond, too, absconded, leaving a mountain of debt behind? Are we both to be left to the mercy of our own relations, whilst our husbands have to flee the country for safety?"

"Beatrice, what do you mean?" asked Odeyne almost sharply, conscious of a pang at her heart that she could not understand or subdue. "Why do you speak such terrible words? Tell me what has happened. I do not understand."

With a great effort Beatrice commanded herself, and made Odeyne sit down beside her.

"How much do you know of this wretched business?" she asked.

"I do not understand anything. Desmond never spoke to me of his affairs. I know that something is terribly wrong; but I think he has gone away to try and set it right."

"He has gone away because it can never be set right," said Beatrice, "and because he is involved in a fraudulent scheme, which has involved a number of persons in ruin. I can't tell how far he and Algernon have been dupes, or how far they have duped others. I believe that man Garth has been at the bottom of a great deal of the villainy of this last bubble. They got to trust him more and more. Sometimes I told Algy they left too much to him. It began by merely dabbling in stocks and shares—speculating on the Stock Exchange people call it; and Desmond was very quick, and made great sums, and Algy too, by his advice. But men never know where to stop, and one thing led to another. I don't understand details, but it is some great mining scheme that has ruined us all. It has broken now like a bubble—and what will be the end no one knows. Meantime Desmond and Algy and Garth have all disappeared. That gives it a very ugly look. Oh, if I were a man I would stay and face things out! I would never run away like a coward, and let all the misery and shame fall upon the defenceless women at home!" And Beatrice's eyes flashed as she wrung her hands together half in angry scorn, half in despair.

"And your house, Beatrice, what did you say about that?"

"Algy's creditors have taken possession of it, my dear. I am a homeless outcast. My mother will give me an asylum for the present; and I believe there is a small pittance settled upon me which will just keep me and the boy from starvation! You may thank your stars, Odeyne, that the Chase is entailed, and that Desmond made a handsome settlement upon you. His creditors will not be able to fleece you and the boy. You will live in clover, whoever else loses."

Odeyne drew her brows together in perplexity.

"But if Desmond has debts—I don't think he has—but if he has, of course I shall pay them. I would not touch the money till every claim was satisfied."

Beatrice uttered a mirthless little laugh.

"My dear, I fancy that before Desmond's claims were all satisfied—claims upon him, I should say, from those whom he has involved in his ruin, there would be nothing left at all! It is generally the way when men lose their heads over some scheme of fabulous wealth and it topples about their ears. Be thankful that you are placed above want, and stick to everything you can. That is my advice; and if you can't help me to any news of our husbands I will go back to mother again. One mercy is that she gauged the characters of both Desmond and Algy pretty correctly. She is not crushed with horror at this catastrophe as Maud is. She has been preparing herself for it all along."

Beatrice was too restless and excited and unnerved to remain long anywhere, and Odeyne did not seek to detain her. The day had been one long series of shocks, and she wanted time for thought. She had sent Guy and Cissy back to their home an hour ago, wishing to be quiet that evening; and they had left her, hoping she would not fully realise all that had come upon her. Perhaps she had not done so till the arrival of Beatrice; but now she felt that her eyes had been opened, and that she could not close them any more. She must think out the thing that had befallen, and decide upon her own line of action.

She went up to the nursery, to find the child sleeping the sound, dreamless sleep of healthy childhood. He had responded at once to removal into the pure air of his home. All the feverish fretfulness had left him since his midday nap; he now looked as well as even his mother could desire.

Thankful that one threatened source of anxiety was removed, Odeyne dismissed the nurse to her supper, and sat down beside the open window, in a position where she could command a view of the sleeping child, to review the situation, and put together the different items of news dropped by one and another, so as to get a clear idea of the exact position of affairs.

But she had hardly composed herself to the task before the door opened softly, and a wan, white face peered in, and Odeyne, after looking at it a moment as if hardly recognising it, suddenly held out her hand, exclaiming—

"My poor Alice, come here to me. We are both suffering the same trouble. I fear, my poor child, it was a bad day for you when you elected to follow me out into the world."

Alice's face quivered, but her tears had all been shed. She was calm now, though she looked like a ghost. She came forward and stood before Odeyne, her eyes upon the ground.

"I wanted to see you, ma'am; I wanted to tell you everything. The fault is mine. I was deceived. I let myself be made a tool of. It was vanity that did it—I wanted to be finer than my right station. I see it all now; but that will not bring back the jewels—and it is my husband who robbed you!"

She covered her face with her hands and trembled. Odeyne had begun to suspect this before, so Alice's statement did not take her by surprise. Beatrice had plainly spoken her opinion of Garth; and the disappearance of the confidential clerk at such a moment looked ugly. Yet all that Odeyne said was—

"My poor Alice, I feel for you from the bottom of my heart. We are both in great trouble and perplexity. Sit down, my poor child, and let us talk together. There is so much I want to know. We are both ignorant and inexperienced; but perhaps, if we compare notes, we shall come to a clearer understanding of what has happened. Tell me, Alice, do you know the nature of the work in which my husband and yours have been engaged of late? It has nothing to do with the business house where Mr. St. Claire has been connected. It is something altogether independent of that."

Alice did not know much, nor was she very clear; but bit by bit Odeyne seemed to see the thing piecing itself together before her eyes. Desmond had begun by small speculations, and had been very fortunate. He had employed Garth a good deal in these transactions, and the quickness of the subordinate had been very useful. Their ventures had turned out well time after time. Algernon Vanborough, to whom gambling in some form or another was as the salt of life, had been drawn in—good nature prompting Desmond to try and share any good thing with his luckless brother-in-law. Algernon had been terribly unlucky of late upon the turf; but for a considerable time he was very fortunate in this new sort of speculation.

Then came a repetition of a state of affairs between the two men with which Odeyne had never been conversant, but which was well known to the rest of the family.

Desmond had once before posed as Algernon's reformer, and the experiment had led to his being drawn into the losses of that extravagant young man, which might have led both of them to ruin, had it not been for Desmond's sudden successes on the Stock Exchange. He believed himself stronger than Vanborough and his associates. In reality he was far weaker, as those who understood his real disposition were well aware.

So it had proved in this case. Vanborough had been bitten by a hundred dreams of wealth, and had plunged into speculations of the wildest nature. Desmond was only too easily induced to follow; and their trusted tool, Garth, was plainly nothing better than an unscrupulous sharper. How far any one of the three had become criminally involved could not at this moment be decided. The fact that all three had fled in one night looked ugly, and aroused Odeyne's keenest anxiety. But not even to Alice would she speak of her most terrible fear. That must be locked away in the recesses of her own heart.

"But, ma'am, you are safe, and the Chase is safe," Alice said eagerly at the end. "Walter always told me that nothing could hurt you, because of the settlements and the entail. The master's creditors can't touch that. He always said that it was such a pity Mrs. Vanborough's money had not been tied up fast too."

Odeyne looked round her, and then out of the window, at the expanse of dewy park and gardens. She had come to love her beautiful home very dearly; yet she spoke with great composure.

"That may be the law, Alice; but there are moral obligations to think of as well as mere legal ones. If I find that others are suffering loss through any action of my husband's I shall make every restitution in my power. Master Guy is too young as yet to understand or feel any change in position. The Chase will some day be his, but it will not hurt him to leave it for a time. Unless things turn out very differently from what I fear, I shall try to find a tenant for it, and let it furnished, and live somewhere myself on as little as possible, till all the claims that are just and right have been settled."

Alice looked at her in mute admiration and amaze. It was some while before she ventured upon the next question.

"But where could you go, ma'am? Back home again?"

"I think not," answered Odeyne quietly; "I do not think that would quite answer. And I should like to be in some place where the master could easily find me if he wanted me. I have been thinking about it a good deal. I think I shall remove, with baby and nurse, to those rooms in your lodge, Alice, which were built on before you married. Hannah would come with me, and you would not leave me, Alice. There we could hide ourselves in obscurity, and wait till our husbands return to us!"

Alice sank down upon her knees beside Odeyne, bursting once more into bitter weeping.

"Yours will come back to you some day, ma'am; for he loves you, he loves you. But I shall never see Walter again. He has gone for ever. I do not think he ever cared for me. I was useful to him; but that was all. He left me without a word or a sign. He will never come back!"

"Oh, Alice, do not say that! I thought he was always an affectionate husband, and that you were so happy together."

"At first I was happy, because he promised me all sorts of fine things, and dressed me up and made a fool of me. But I never got any hold upon him, ma'am. I was always afraid to say a word. If I thought him wrong, I dared not say so. I wasn't true to my better self, nor to the things I'd been brought up to. I let him coax me to do what I knew was wrong; and though he praised me for obeying him, I see now that he despised me in his heart. I lost his respect, and I think when that goes, love soon follows. If I'd been a truer woman, maybe I'd have been a happier one, and have held him back from that great last wrong."

Odeyne was silent, casting her mind back over the past years, and wondering whether she, perhaps, had erred in like manner. Had she been always true to her better judgment? Could she have done more than she had attempted to withhold her husband from his perilous courses? Humbly she admitted her shortcomings and failings, humbly she took upon herself freely and fully her share in the punishment; but one ray of comfort gilded the retrospect. She had never lost her husband's love, her husband's confidence and respect. He had always called her his "good angel," his "guiding star." Often she had told him that he must not thus speak and regard her—that she was no angel, no safe guide; but his answer had always been one so full of love that she could not chide him over-much.

Yes, he had loved her all through; nothing had changed that; and he had always been looking forward to a time when this feverish race after wealth should be over, and they could enjoy a quiet life together as of old.

Ah, how happy they could have been in some humble little home, with each other and the child, if he had only been able to see it! But the thirst for gold was upon him, and he could heed nothing else whilst it lasted; and when once the tide of fortune seemed to have turned against him he lost his head, as too many men of his calibre do in like case; then things had gone desperately wrong, and he had become involved in all manner of ways before he realised his own position, or the peril looming over him.

Bit by bit Guy and Edmund made all this out. Things were in a terrible tangle. There were angry creditors to meet, and, what was harder still, broken-hearted dupes, who had been tempted to follow Desmond's lead, believing him to be some great financial light, and then had awoke to find themselves cheated by the veriest will-o'-the-wisp, and landed in a quagmire of poverty and loss.

The legitimate claims upon Desmond's estate were sufficiently heavy in all conscience; but these could gradually be met and discharged by incomings from the business house, the partners in which showed themselves very well disposed and kindly at this juncture of affairs. Although of late Desmond's attendance at the office had been irregular and meagre, he had done some good service by his quickness and energy, when he had really given his mind to the matter before him, and they were ready to stand his friend now. They thought he had made a great mistake in disappearing like a criminal, as though his affairs could not bear the light of day. True enough, there were some shady transactions among them, but nothing which could actually bring him under the ban of the law. Nor were his affairs in such desperate condition as those of his brother-in-law. There seemed reason enough why that gentleman had given his country a wide berth at this juncture; but Desmond would have done better to stay, and face the thing out to the bitter end.

This was the opinion of those who strove to look into the ugly business and unravel the many tangled skeins; but Odeyne, hearing bit by bit how matters stood, understood better than her brothers how terrible a thing it would be to Desmond to face the situation he had brought upon himself.

She remembered the strained, anxious face of Mrs. Neil at that hateful ball. It had haunted her almost ever since. The Neils were persons who had been tempted to their ruin by Desmond's name as director of this luckless mining venture. He might have encouraged them to place their money in it; and there were many others in like case with them. Oh yes, Odeyne could understand his disappearance and his silence. Desmond had a tender heart and a sensitive nature. He could not bear to see sorrow and suffering about him. She had often reproved him gently for his almost reckless liberality, when any case of distress came personally beneath his notice. How could he bear to meet the people whom he had (consciously or unconsciously) helped to ruin? It was not wonderful to her that he should have fled. There had always been a vein of moral cowardice in Desmond's nature. She had not realised it as fully before as she did now; but this knowledge helped her to understand Desmond's desperate flight at this juncture better than many persons understood it. They thought he believed himself more deeply incriminated than he was. Odeyne did not. She believed he was kept away by the dread of seeing and hearing of suffering which his blind confidence had occasioned.

"Edmund," said Odeyne, as her brothers laid before her the state of affairs some three weeks after the first shock, "you say that I have an income of twelve hundred a year—apart from the business, which is going to pay off the legal debts in instalments—and this house to live in. What rental should I get for the Chase if I were to let it furnished for two or three years?"

"Odeyne! what do you mean?" he asked quickly.

"I mean what I say. I am not going to live here without Desmond. You say he may come back any day when he sees by the papers (if he does see them) that there is no danger to himself in doing so; but I know him better. I do not think he will come. He is gone because he cannot bear to see and hear of the misery of the people who have been ruined through following his lead in those wretched mines. Guy, you have seen some of those people. Tell me, if I were to sell off some of the expensive things here that Desmond bought for me—the house has been perfectly crowded with them—and let the house furnished for three years, and live at the lodge with little Guy and two servants, on a couple of hundreds a year, how soon would there be something to give back to these people—enough to save them from ruin? Desmond has spent hundreds, if not thousands, upon ornaments and curios and beautiful things that the house does not really want. If I were to send a lot of them up to Christie's—they are all presents to me that I am speaking of—and sell them off, would not that go some way towards starting some of these poor things in life again? And then, as money came in, it would go towards refunding a part of their lost capital. Edmund, don't stare at me as though I were out of my senses. Guy understands. I am not going to do anything very wild and rash; but I cannot—I cannot live on here alone in every luxury, whilst people like the Neils, and others, are ruined, and all by trusting Desmond's advice. With the rest I have nothing to do, only those who trusted him with their money, and lost it through him."

Edmund whistled softly to himself. Guy laid his hand upon Odeyne's hand, and said gently—

"I will help you, Schwesterling—I think I know them all; there are not so very many; but some few have lost their all. It has been very sad to see them; but it will be new life for them to know that something will be done. There is no legal obligation upon you, but I think you will be happier, and there is room in our little house for you and the boy, till you can return to the Chase again."

There were tears of gratitude in her eyes as she answered—

"Thank you, dear Guy. It will be sweet to have you so near, but I would rather go to the lodge, and have my own little home there, and a place for Desmond always ready. I think he will come and seek me there some day. Till then I shall be happier there than I could be here. Edmund, dear, you are not vexed with me. Indeed I am trying to do what is really the most right thing, and to clear my husband's name and good fame from any shadow that may have fallen across it."

Edmund bent over her and kissed her again and again.

"I think you are the best wife and the best woman in the world. People may say you are doing a Quixotic thing, but I truly believe you will be the happier for doing it, and I know that Maud will bless you for clearing Desmond's name. She is taking it very hard, poor darling. It has come upon her, and you, as a greater blow than upon many."

"Thank you, dear Edmund; and you will help me to sell such things as I can part with at once, and to find a tenant for the house as quickly as possible?"

"There will be no trouble about that," said Edmund quickly. "General Mannering was asking me only the other day if there would be any chance of getting such a house in this neighbourhood. I believe he would jump at the Chase, and give a good rental as a yearly tenant. He would not care for any sort of lease, as his movements are rather uncertain."

Odeyne's face brightened as it had not done for many days.

"Ah, how nice that would be! Dear Edmund, do see about it as quickly as possible. I cannot be happy here, missing Desmond so terribly, and feeling that all this display and expense are such a mockery. I want to get away into a smaller place as soon as possible, and to feel that I am doing something towards paying off what I can only call Desmond's 'debts of honour.'"

If Odeyne met no opposition from her brothers, she was not destined to come off scatheless in other quarters.

Upon the next day, as she stood surrounded by a collection of articles she was selecting to send up to be sold at the first possible date, Beatrice suddenly burst in upon her in a state of the greatest excitement.

"Odeyne! what is this I hear? You must be mad! You must not dream of such a thing! Let the Chase, indeed! Sell all your valuables! It is sheer madness! What people like you and I have to do is just to stick to everything—everything! Defy the world, and throw sentiment of every kind to the winds! Why, if I had your opportunities I would add to my establishment, and flaunt about in grand style, just to show I had nothing to be ashamed of! To go and hide your head in a hole and give up everything to pay imaginary debts! Odeyne, you must not do it! It is absurd! it is wicked!"

Odeyne turned round with a sweet smile in her sad eyes.

"I am so sorry you are vexed, Beatrice; but I think you would do the same if you were in my position."

Beatrice gave a hard laugh. She had changed very much during the past weeks. She looked older, thinner, less brilliant; as if something had gone out of her life which could never come back to it.

"I ever give up anything for a sentimental scruple! That shows how much you know!"

"Not for a sentimental scruple, but for my dear husband's honour," answered Odeyne quietly. "If you loved Algernon as I love Desmond you would do the same for him—I know you would, Beatrice, whatever you say."

Beatrice was silent, biting her lips, and looking from place to place in the familiar room with strange, restless glances. Then suddenly flinging her arms about Odeyne's neck, she cried—