The afternoon was calm and hazy, and Lisle lounged with great content in a basket-chair on Millicent’s lawn. His hostess sat near by, looking listless, a somewhat unusual thing for her, and Miss Hume, her elderly companion, genial in spite of her precise formality, was industriously embroidering something not far away. There was not a breath of wind astir; a soft gray sky streaked with long bars of stronger color hung motionless over the wide prospect. Wood and moorland ridge and distant hill had faded to dimness of contour and quiet neutral tones. Indeed, the whole scene seemed steeped in a profound tranquillity, intensified only by the murmur of the river.
Lisle enjoyed it all, though he was conscious that Millicent’s presence added to its charm. He had grown to feel restful and curiously at ease in her company. She was, he thought, so essentially natural; one felt at home with her.
“I haven’t often seen you with the unoccupied appearance you have just now,” he remarked at length.
“I have sent the book off, and after being at work on it so long, I feel disinclined to do anything else,” she said. “I’ve just heard from the publishers; they don’t seem enthusiastic. After all, one couldn’t expect that—the style of the thing is rather out of the usual course.”
Lisle looked angry and she was pleased with his indignation on her behalf.
“They show precious little sense!” he declared; “but you’re right. It’s one of your English customs to go on from precedent to precedent until you get an unmodifiable standard, when you slavishly conform to it. Now your book’s neither a classification nor a catalogue—it’s something far bigger. Never mind what the experts and scientists say; wait until the people who love the wild things and want their story made real get it into their hands!”
His confidence was gratifying, but she changed the subject.
“You Canadians haven’t much respect for precedent?”
“No; we try to meet the varying need by constantly changing means. They’re often crude, but they’re successful, as a rule.”
“It’s a system that must have a wide effect,” she responded, to lead him on. She liked to hear him talk.
“It has. You can see it in the difference between your country and mine. This land’s smooth and well trimmed; everything in it has grown up little by little; its mellow ripeness is its charm. Ours is grand or rugged or desolate, but it’s never merely pretty. The same applies to our people; they’re bubbling over with raw, optimistic vigor, their corners are not rubbed off. Some of them would jar on overcivilized people, but not, I think, on any one with understanding.” He spread out his hands. “You have an example; I’m spouting at large again.”
“Go on,” she begged; “I’m interested. But have you ever thought that instead of being younger than we are you’re really older. I mean that you have gone back a long way; begun again at an earlier stage, instead of going ahead?”
“Now you get at the bottom of things!” he exclaimed. “That’s always been an idea of mine. The people of the newer countries, perhaps more particularly those to whom I belong, are brought back to the grapple with elemental conditions. We’re on the bed-rock of nature.”
“Are you too modest to go any further?”
He showed faint signs of confusion and she laughed. “No doubt, the situation makes for pristine vigor, and we are drifting into artificiality,” she suggested. “Perhaps you, the toilers, the subduers of the wilderness, are to serve as an anchor for the supercivilized generations to hold on by.” She paused and quoted softly: “‘Pioneers; O pioneers!’”
“What can I say to that?” he asked with half-amused embarrassment. “We’re pretty egotistical, but one can’t go back on Whitman.”
“No,” she laughed mischievously; “I think you’re loyal; and there are situations from which it’s difficult to extricate oneself. Didn’t you find it so, for example, when you declined to come here with Nasmyth, because Miss Crestwick had pressed you to go to Marple’s?”
He could think of no neat reply to this and the obvious fact pleased her, for she guessed that he would rather have spent the evening with her. This was true, for now, sitting in the quiet garden in her company, he looked back on the entertainment with something like disgust. Marple’s male friends were, for the most part, characterized by a certain grossness and sensuality; in their amusements at games of chance one or two had displayed an open avarice. These things jarred on the man who had toiled among the rocks and woods, where he had practised a stringent self-denial.
“I heard that you figured in a striking little scene,” Millicent went on.
“I couldn’t help it.” Lisle appeared annoyed. “That man Batley irritated me; though, after all, I don’t blame him the most.”
This was a slip.
“Whom do you blame?” she asked sharply.
“Oh,” he explained, “I wasn’t the only person, present, and I hadn’t arrived at the beginning. Somebody should have stopped the fellow; the shares he tried to work off on Crestwick were no good.”
“Then Batley wanted to sell that silly lad some worthless shares—and there were other people looking on?”
He would not tell her that Gladwyne had watched the proceedings, to some extent acquiescing.
“I thought from what you said that you knew all about it,” he answered.
“No,” she replied, suspecting the truth, but seeing that it would be difficult to extract anything definite from him. “I only heard that you had an encounter of some kind with Batley. But why did you hint that he was not the worst?”
“He was merely acting in accordance with his instincts; one wouldn’t expect anything else.”
“The implication is that he was tacitly abetted by people of a different kind who ought to have known better.”
He was not to be drawn on this point, and she respected him for it.
“Was it only an animus against Batley that prompted you?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted candidly; “I wanted to get young Crestwick out of his clutches. I’m not sure he’s worth troubling about, but I’m sorry for his sister. As I’ve said before, there’s something fine in the way she sticks to him.”
The chivalrous feeling did him credit, Millicent admitted, but she was dissatisfied with it and was curious to learn if it were the only one he cherished toward the girl.
“That’s undoubtedly in her favor,” she commented indifferently.
He did not respond and they talked about other matters; but Lisle was now sensible of a slight constraint in Millicent’s manner and on the whole she was glad when he took his leave. Quick-witted, as she was, she guessed that he disapproved of the part Clarence had played in the affair at Marple’s, and this, chiming with her own suspicions, troubled her. She had a tenderness for Clarence, and she wondered how far her influence might restrain and protect him if, as his mother had suggested, she eventually married him. Another point caused her some uneasiness—Bella Crestwick had boldly entered the field against her and was making use of the Canadian to rouse Clarence by showing him that he had a rival. The thought of it stirred her to indignation; she would not have Lisle treated in that fashion. After sitting still for half an hour, she rose with a gesture of impatience and went into the house.
On the same evening Bella Crestwick felt impelled to lecture her brother after dinner. That was not a favorable time, for the young man’s good opinion of himself was generally strengthened by a glass or two of wine.
“I thought that matter of the shares would have taught you sense, but you must listen to Batley again this afternoon,” she scolded. “You were with him for half an hour. I’ve no patience with you, Jim.”
“He’s not so easy to shake off, particularly as I’m in his debt,” returned the lad. “Besides, he’s an interesting fellow, the kind you learn a good deal from. It’s an education to mix with such men.”
“The trouble is that it’s expensive. Come away with me before he ruins you. There’s Mrs. Barnard’s invitation to their place in Scotland; it would be a good excuse.”
Her brother’s rather lofty manner changed.
“You’re a dear, Bella. You know you don’t want to go.”
Having a strong reason for wishing to stay, she colored at this. Among his other unprepossessing characteristics, Jim had a trick of saying things he should suppress.
“Never mind me,” she answered. “Will you come?”
He had an incomplete recognition of the magnitude of the sacrifice she was ready to make, though it was not this that decided him not to fall in with it.
“No,” he said with raw self-confidence. “I’m not one to run away; but I’ll promise to keep my eye on the fellow after this and be cautious. All his schemes aren’t in the same class as those mining shares, you know.”
Bella lost her temper and told him some plain truths about himself, and this did not improve matters, for in the end she retired, defeated, leaving Jim rather sore but on the whole satisfied with the firmness he had displayed. The girl felt dejected and almost desperate. She could not continually apply to Lisle for assistance, and she shrank from the only other course that seemed open to her; but her affection for the misguided lad impelled her to make another attempt to rescue him, and a few days later she found her opportunity. It was a bold measure she had decided on, one that might cost her a good deal, but she was a young woman of courage and determination.
Mrs. Marple and her daughter drove over with her to call on Mrs. Gladwyne. They found several other people present, and as usual there was no ceremony; the day was fine, and the hostess sat outside, while the guests strolled about the terrace and gardens very much as they liked. Bella, hearing that Clarence was engaged in the library and would not be down for a little while, slipped away in search of him. Her heart beat painfully fast as she went up the wide staircase, but she was outwardly very collected—a slender, attractive figure—when she entered the room. In her dress as well as in her manner Bella was usually distinguished by something unconventional and picturesque. She was not pleased to see Batley standing beside the table at which Gladwyne sat, but the man gathered up some papers when he noticed her.
“I’ve explained the thing, Gladwyne, and I expect Miss Crestwick will excuse me,” he said.
His manner was good-humored as he bowed to her and though she almost hated the man she was conscious of a faint respect for him. He might have thwarted her by remaining, for she had often made him a butt for her bitter wit. Now, however, when she had shown that his presence was not required, he was gallantly withdrawing. When he went out she sat down and Gladwyne rose and stood with one hand on the mantel, waiting for her to begin. Instead, she glanced round the room, which always impressed her. It was lofty and spacious, the few articles of massive furniture gave it a severe dignity, and there was no doubt that Gladwyne, with his handsome person and highbred air, appeared at home in it.
While she looked around, he was thinking about her. She was provocatively pretty; a fearless, passionate creature, addicted to occasional reckless outbreaks, but nevertheless endowed with a vein of cold and calculating sense. What was as much to the point, she was wealthy, and people were becoming more tolerant toward her; but in the meanwhile he wondered what she wanted.
“I came about Jim,” she said at length.
“Well?”
The man’s expression, which suddenly changed, was not encouraging and she hesitated.
“You know what he’s doing. I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“It’s nothing alarming; I don’t suppose he’s very different from most lads of his age. Perhaps it would be better to let him have his head.”
“No,” she replied decidedly. “The pace is too hot; I can’t hold him. He’ll come to grief badly if he’s not pulled up. You know that as well as I do!”
Her anger became her, bringing a fine glow to her cheeks and a hint of half-imperious dignity into her pose. It had an effect on him, but he felt somewhat ashamed of himself.
“Well,” he asked in a quiet voice, “what’s the favor?”
“Shouldn’t a sportsman and a man of your kind grant it unconditionally beforehand? Must you be sure you won’t get hurt when you make a venture?”
“You’d risk it,” he answered, bowing. “You’re admirable, Bella. Still, you see, I’m either more cautious or less courageous.”
She was badly disappointed. She knew that a good deal depended on his answer to her request, and shrank from making it, because it would prove the strength or weakness of her hold on him. The man attracted her, and she had somewhat openly attempted to capture him. She longed for the position he could give her; she would have married him for that and his house, but she was willing to risk her success for her brother’s welfare.
“I want you to tell Batley that he must keep his hands off of Jim,” she said.
He started at this.
“He can’t do the lad much harm. Aren’t you attaching a little too much importance to the matter?”
“No; not in the least,” she answered vehemently. “I’ve told you so already. But can’t you keep to the point? My brother’s being ruined in several ways besides the debts he’s heaping up; and I’ve humbled myself to beg your help.”
“Was it so very hard?” he asked, and his voice grew soft and caressing.
She was shaken to the verge of yielding. The man was handsome, cultivated, distinguished, she thought. Whether she actually loved him, she did not know, but he could gratify her ambitions and she was strongly drawn to him. He had given her a lead, an opening for a few telling words that might go far toward the accomplishment of her wishes; but, tempted as she was, she would not utter them. She was loyal to the headstrong lad; Jim stood first with her.
“That is beside the point,” she said with a becoming air of pride. “I expected you would be willing to do whatever you could. To be refused what I plead for is new to me.”
He considered for a moment or two, watching her with keen appreciation. Bella in her present mood, with her affectations cast aside, appealed to him. She was not altogether the woman he would have chosen, but since he must secure a rich wife, there were obvious benefits to be derived from a match with her. He devoutly wished he could accede to her request.
“Well?” she broke out impatiently.
“I’m sorry,” he said; “I’m unable to do as you desire. Of course, I wish I could, if only to please you, though I really don’t think the thing’s necessary.”
“You needn’t tell me that again! It’s a waste of time; I’m not going to discuss it. Face the difficulty, whatever it is. Do you mean that you can’t warn off Batley?”
Gladwyne saw that she would insist on a definite answer and in desperation he told the truth.
“It’s out of the question.”
It was a shock to her. In a sudden flash of illumination she saw him as he was, weak and irresolute, helpless in the grip of a stronger man. It was significant that she felt no compassion for him, but only disgust and contempt. She was no coward, and even Jim, who could so easily be deluded, was ready enough to fight on due occasion.
“You are afraid of the fellow!” she exclaimed.
Gladwyne colored and moved abruptly. He had imagined that she was his for the asking, but there was no mistaking her cutting scorn.
“Bella,” he pleaded, “don’t be bitter. You can’t understand the difficulties I’m confronted with.”
“I can understand too much!” Her voice trembled, but she rose, rather white in face, with an air of decision. “When I came I expected—but after all that doesn’t matter—I never expected this!”
He made no answer; the man had some little pride and there was nothing to be said. He had fallen very low even in this girl’s estimation and the fact was almost intolerably galling, but he could make no effective defense. She went from him slowly, but with a suggestive deliberation, without looking back, and there was a hint of finality in the way she closed the door.
Once outside, she strove to brace herself, for the interview had tried her hard. She had had to choose between Gladwyne and her brother, but for that she was now almost thankful. The man she had admired had changed and become contemptible. It was as if he had suddenly collapsed and shriveled before her startled eyes. But that was not all the trouble—she was as far from saving Jim as ever.
It cost her an effort to rejoin the others, but she was equal to it and during the rest of her stay her conversation was a shade more audacious than usual.
Evening was drawing on when Bella strolled aimlessly down the ascending road that led to Marple’s residence. On one hand of the road there was a deep rift, filled with shadow, in which a beck murmured among the stones, and the oaks that climbed to the ridge above flung their great branches against the saffron glow in the western sky. Fallen leaves, glowing brown and red, had gathered thick beneath one hedgerow and more came slowly sailing down; but Bella brushed through them unheeding, oblivious to her surroundings. She had suffered during the few days that had followed her interview with Gladwyne and even the sharp encounter with Miss Marple in which she had recently indulged had not cheered her, though it had left her friend smarting.
Presently she looked around with interest as a figure appeared farther up the road, and recognizing the fine poise and vigorous stride, she stopped and waited. Lisle was a bracing person to talk to, and she wanted to see him. He soon came up with her and she greeted him cordially. Unlike Gladwyne, he was a real man, resolute and resourceful, with a generous vein in him, and she did not resent the fact that he looked rather hard at her.
“You don’t seem as cheerful as usual,” he observed.
“I’m not,” she confessed. “In fact, I think I was very nearly crying.”
“What’s the trouble?” He showed both interest and sympathy.
“Oh, you needn’t ask. It’s Jim again. I’ve tried every means and I can’t do anything with him.”
“He is pretty uncontrollable. Seems to have gone back to Batley again. I wonder if it would be any good if I looked for an opportunity for making a row with the fellow?”
“No,” she answered, with appreciation, for this was very different from Gladwyne’s attitude. “It would only separate Jim from you, and I don’t want that to happen. Please keep hold of him, though I know that can’t be pleasant for you.”
“He is trying now and then, but I’ll do what I can. Gladwyne, however, has more influence than I have. Did you think of asking him?”
She colored, and in her brief confusion he read his answer with strong indignation—she had pleaded with Gladwyne and he had refused to help.
“Do you know,” she said, looking up at him, “you’re the only real friend I have. There’s nobody else I can trust.”
“I think you’re wrong in that,” he declared; and acting on impulse he laid a hand protectingly on her shoulder, for she looked very dejected and forlorn. “Anyway, you mustn’t worry. I’ll do something—in fact, something will have to be done.”
“What will you do?”
He knitted his brows. There was a course, which promised to be effective, open to him, but he was most averse to adopting it. He could give Gladwyne a plain hint that he had better restrain his confederate, but he could enforce compliance only by stating what he knew about the former’s desertion of his cousin. He was not ready to do that yet; it would precipitate the climax, and once his knowledge of the matter was revealed his power to use it in case of a stronger need might be diminished. The temptation to leave Jim Crestwick to his fate was strong, but his pity for the anxious girl was stronger.
“I’ll have a talk with Gladwyne,” he promised.
“That wouldn’t be of the least use!”
“I think he’ll do what I suggest,” Lisle answered with a trace of grimness. “Make your mind easy; I’ll have Batley stopped.”
She looked at him in surprise, filled with relief and gratitude. He was one who would not promise more than he could perform; but how he could force his will on Gladwyne she did not know.
“You’re wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Whatever one asks you’re able to do.”
“And you’re very staunch.”
“Oh!” she said, standing very close to him, with his hand still on her shoulder, “we won’t exchange compliments—they’re too empty, and you deserve something better.” She glanced round swiftly. “Shut your eyes, tight!”
He obeyed her, and for a moment light fingers rested on his breast; then there was a faint warm touch upon his cheek. When he looked up she was standing a yard away, smiling mockingly.
“Don’t trust your imagination too much—it might have deceived you,” she warned. “But you have sense; you wouldn’t attach an undue value to anything.”
“Confidence and gratitude are precious,” he answered. “I’d better point out that I haven’t earned either of them yet.”
Bella was satisfied with this, but she grew graver, wondering how far she might have delivered Gladwyne into his hands. She was angry with the man, but she would not have him suffer.
“I don’t know what power you have—but you won’t make too much use of it—I don’t wish that,” she begged. “After all, though, Jim must be got out of that fellow’s clutches.”
“Yes,” assented Lisle, “there’s no doubt of it.”
She left him presently and he went on down the dale, not exactly repenting of his promise, but regretting the necessity which had led to his making it. The task with which he had saddled himself was an exceedingly unpleasant one and might afterward make it more difficult for him to accomplish the purpose that had brought him to England, but he meant to carry it out.
As it happened, he met Mrs. Gladwyne at Millicent’s, where he called, and he spent an uncomfortable half-hour in her company. She had shown in various ways that she liked him, and calling him to her side soon after he came in, she talked to him in an unusually genial manner. He felt like a traitor in this gracious lady’s presence and it was a relief when she took her departure.
“You look troubled,” Millicent observed.
“That’s how I feel,” he confessed. “After all, it isn’t a very uncommon sensation. It’s sometimes difficult to see ahead.”
“Often,” she answered, smiling. “What do you do then—stop a little and consider?”
“Not as a rule. The longer you consider the difficulties, the worse they look. It’s generally better to go right on.”
Millicent agreed with this; and soon afterward Lisle took his departure and walked back to Nasmyth’s in an unusually serious mood. They were sitting smoking when his host broached the subject that was occupying him.
“It’s some time since you said anything about the project that brought you over,” he remarked.
“That’s so,” assented Lisle. “I’m fixed much as I was when we last spoke of it. When I was in Canada, I thought I’d only to find Gladwyne and scare a confession out of him. Now I find that what I’ve undertaken isn’t by any means so simple.”
“I warned you that it wouldn’t be.”
“You were right. There’s his mother to consider—it’s a privilege to know her—she’s devoted to the fellow. Then there’s Millicent; in a way, she’s almost as devoted, anyhow she’s a staunch friend of his. I don’t know how either of them would stand the revelation.”
“It would kill Mrs. Gladwyne,” Nasmyth declared.
There was silence for a while, and then Lisle spoke again.
“I’m badly worried; any move of mine would lead to endless trouble—and yet there’s the black blot on the memory of the man to whom I owe so much; I can’t bring myself to let it remain. Besides all this, there’s another complication.”
“Young Crestwick’s somehow connected with it,” Nasmyth guessed.
Lisle did not deny it.
“That crack-brained lad seems to be the pivot on which the whole thing turns. Curious, isn’t it? I wish the responsibility hadn’t been laid on my shoulders. Just now I can’t tell what I ought to do—it’s harassing.”
“Don’t force things; wait for developments,” Nasmyth advised him. “I’m not trying to extract information; the only reason I mentioned the subject is that a man in the home counties has asked me to come up for a few weeks and bring you along. He’s a good sort, there’s fair sport, and it’s a nice place; but I don’t mind in the least whether I go or not.”
“Then I’d rather stay. I’ve a feeling that I may be wanted here.”
“I’m quite satisfied, for a reason I’ll explain. You have ridden that young bay horse of mine. He comes of good stock and he’s showing signs of an excellent pace over the hurdles. Now I couldn’t expect to enter him for any first-rate event—he’s hardly fast enough and it’s too expensive in various ways—but there’s a little semi-private meeting to be held before long at a place about thirty miles off. I might have a chance there if we put him into training immediately. You know something about horses?”
“Not much,” responded Lisle. “I’ve made one long journey in the saddle in Alberta; but you’ve seen our British Columbian trails. Our cayuses have generally to climb, and as a rule I’ve used horses only for packing. Still, I’m fond of them; I’d be interested in the thing.”
Nasmyth nodded.
“One difficulty is that there’s nothing in the neighborhood that I could try him for pace against except that horse of Gladwyne’s.”
“He’d no doubt let you have the beast.”
“It’s possible,” Nasmyth agreed dryly. “But I’ve objections to being indebted to him; and I don’t want Batley, Marple and Crestwick to take a hand in and put their money on me. However, we’ll think it over.”
They retired to sleep soon afterward; and the next day Lisle walked across to call on Gladwyne, in a quietly determined mood. Clarence was in his library, and he looked up with some curiosity when Lisle was shown in. Lisle came to the point at once.
“You’ve no doubt noticed that Jim Crestwick has been going pretty hard of late,” he said. “Bets, speculation, and that sort of thing. He can’t keep it up on a minor’s allowance. It will end in a bad smash if he isn’t checked.”
Gladwyne’s manner became supercilious.
“I fail to see how it concerns you, or, for that matter, either of us.”
“We won’t go into the question—it’s beside the point. What I want you to do is to pull him up.”
He spoke as if he meant to be obeyed, and Gladwyne looked at him in incredulous astonishment.
“Do you suppose I’m able to restrain the lad?”
“You ought to be,” Lisle answered coolly. “It’s your friend Batley who’s leading him on to ruin; I’m making no comments on your conduct in standing by and watching, as if you approved of it.”
The man grew hot with anger.
“Thank you for your consideration.” His tone changed to a sneer. “I suppose you couldn’t be expected to realize that the attitude you’re adopting is inexcusable?”
“If you don’t like it, I’ll try another,” Lisle returned curtly. “You’ll give Batley his orders to leave the lad alone right now.”
Gladwyne rose with his utmost dignity, a fine gentleman whose feelings had been outraged by the coarse attack of a barbarian; but Lisle waved his hand in a contemptuous manner.
“Stop where you are; that kind of thing is thrown away on me. You’re going to listen for a few minutes and afterward you’re going to do what I tell you. To begin with—why, after you’d opened it, didn’t you wipe out all trace of the cache on the reach below the last portage your cousin made?”
The shot obviously reached its mark, for Gladwyne clutched the table hard, and then sank back limply into his seat. He further betrayed himself by a swift, instinctive glance toward the rows of books behind him, and Lisle had no doubt that the missing pages from George Gladwyne’s diary were hidden among them. He waited calmly, sure of his position, while Gladwyne with difficulty pulled himself together.
“Have you any proof that I found the cache?” he asked.
“I think so,” Lisle informed him. “But we’ll let that slide. You’d better take the thing for granted. I’m not here to answer questions. I’ve told you plainly what I want.”
There was silence for nearly a minute during which Gladwyne sat very still in nerveless dismay. All resistance had melted out of him, his weakness was manifest—he could not face a crisis, there was no courage in him.
“The miserable young idiot!” he broke out at length in impotent rage. “This is not the first trouble in which he has involved me!”
“Just so,” said Lisle. “Not long ago his sister came here, begging you to save him, and you wouldn’t. It’s not my part to point what she must think of you. But I’m in a different position; you won’t refuse me.”
Gladwyne leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair as if he needed support, and his face grew haggard.
“The difficulty is that I’m helpless,” he declared.
Lisle regarded him with contempt.
“Brace up,” he advised him. “The fellow you’re afraid of is only flesh and blood; he has his weak point somewhere. Face him and find it, if you can’t talk him round. There’s no other way open to you.”
A brief silence followed; and then Gladwyne broke it.
“I’ll try. But suppose I can induce him to leave Crestwick alone?”
“So much the better for you,” Lisle answered with a dry smile. “I’m not here to make a bargain. I don’t want anything for myself.”
He went out, consoling himself with the last reflection, for the part he had played had been singularly disagreeable. Passing down the wide staircase and through the great hall, he turned along the terrace with a sense of wonder and disgust. It was a stately house; the wide sweep of lawn where two gardeners were carefully sweeping up the leaves, the borders beyond it, blazing with dahlias and ranks of choice chrysanthemums, conveyed the same suggestion of order, wealth and refinement. One might, he thought, have expected to find some qualities that matched with these—dignity, power, a fine regard for honor—in the owner of such a place, but he had not even common courage. An imposing figure, to outward seeming, the Canadian regarded him as one who owed everything to a little surface polish and his London clothes.
Lisle paused to look back when he reached the end of the terrace, from which a path that would save him a short walk led through a shrubbery. One wing of the building was covered with Virginia creeper that glowed with the gorgeous hues of a fading maple leaf, the sunlight lay on the grass, and the feeling of tranquillity that hung about the place grew stronger. He thought that he could understand how the desire to possess it would stir an Englishman reared in such surroundings, and yet he was now convinced that this was not the impulse which had driven Gladwyne into deserting his starving cousin. The man had merely yielded to craven fear.
He heard footsteps, and looking around was a little surprised to see Batley moving toward him.
“You have just called on Gladwyne,” Batley began.
Lisle stopped. There was, so far as he knew, nothing to be said in favor of the man, but his cool boldness was tempered by a certain geniality and an occasional candor that the Canadian could not help appreciating. He preferred Batley to Gladwyne.
“That’s so,” he agreed.
“I’m inclined to think your visit concerned me. I’ve noticed your interest in young Crestwick—it’s obvious—I don’t know whether one could say the same of the cause of it?”
“We won’t discuss that. If you have anything to say to me, you had better adopt a less offensive style.”
Batley smiled good-humoredly.
“You’re quick at resenting things. I don’t see why you should expect a longer patience from me.”
“I don’t expect anything from you,” Lisle informed him. “In proof of it, I’ll mention that I called to tell Gladwyne he must keep you off of Jim Crestwick.”
He made a slip in the last few words, which the other quickly noticed.
“Ordered him, in fact,” he said.
Lisle made no answer and Batley resumed:
“You have some kind of a hold on Gladwyne; so have I. Of course, it’s no news to you. I’m a little curious to learn what yours consists of.”
“Why?”
“It struck me that we might work together.”
“I’m not going in for card-sharping or anything of that kind!”
The man seemed roused by this, but he mastered his anger.
“Civility isn’t expensive and sometimes it’s wise,” he observed. “I won’t return the compliment; in fact, I’ll credit you with the most disinterested motives. All I mean is that I might help you and you might help me. I’m not quite what you seem to think I am, and if I can get my money back out of Gladwyne I won’t harm him.”
“I don’t care in the least whether you harm him or not. But I’ll try to arrange that you drop Crestwick.”
Batley considered this for a moment or two.
“Well,” he said, “I’m sorry we can’t agree; but as regards Crestwick you can only head me off by forcing Gladwyne to interfere. Between ourselves, do you think he’s a man who’s likely to take a bold course?”
“I think so—in the present case.”
“You mean if the pressure’s sufficient. Now you have given me a glimpse at your hand and I’ll be candid. Gladwyne rather let me in, and there’s a risk in dealing with a lad who’s to all intents and purposes a minor; I’ve gone about as far with him as I consider judicious. Don’t do anything that may damage Gladwyne financially without giving me warning, and in return I’ll let Crestwick go. To some extent, I only got hold of him as an offset to the trouble I’ve had with Gladwyne. Is it a bargain? You can trust me.”
“We’ll let it go at that,” replied Lisle. “But I’ll keep my eye on you.”
Batley’s gesture implied that he would not object to this, and he turned away, leaving the Canadian to walk back to Nasmyth’s thoughtfully. Lisle did not think he had done Gladwyne much harm by his tacit admissions, and he had some degree of confidence in Batley’s assurance.
Gladwyne spent the first few days that followed Lisle’s visit in a state of dread and indecision. He had allowed the Canadian to understand that he would endeavor to prevent Crestwick’s being further victimized, but he had already failed to induce Batley to abandon the exploitation of the lad and he had no cause for believing that a second attempt would be more successful. Moreover, he shrank from making it; the man had shown him clearly that he would brook no interference.
On the other hand, he was equally afraid of Lisle. This cool, determined Canadian was not to be trifled with, and he knew or suspected enough about the tragedy in British Columbia to make him dangerous. It was certain that a revelation of Batley’s speculation would go a very long way toward establishing the truth of any damaging story Lisle thought fit to tell. Supposing the two by any chance combined their knowledge—that he had raised money in anticipation of his cousin’s death, and afterward left him to perish—nothing that he could say would count against the inference. George had been a healthy man, not much older than Clarence, when the money was borrowed, and his decease within a limited time had appeared improbable. Nobody would believe the actual truth that Batley with characteristic boldness had, in return for what he thought a sufficient consideration in the shape of an exorbitant interest, taken a serious risk. The thing would look like a conspiracy between the heir presumptive and the speculator who lent the money; and in this, for a bold man, there might have been a loophole for escape, but Gladwyne knew that he had not the nerve to use the fact against his ally.
Nevertheless, Gladwyne was really guiltless in one respect—he had not desired his cousin’s death; he would have gone back to the rescue had he not dreaded that he would share George’s fate. Lack of courage had been his bane, and it was so now, for instead of speaking to Batley he temporized. The man had made no further attempt upon Crestwick, and Gladwyne decided that until he did so there was no need for him to interfere. Still, as the next few weeks passed, he was conscious of a growing dread of the Canadian which, as sometimes happens, became tinged with hatred. Lisle was the more serious menace, and it was ominous that he now and then exchanged a word or two with Batley. If the two formed an offensive alliance, he would be helpless at their hands.
In the meanwhile, Nasmyth has been training his horse for the approaching meeting and after trying him against one belonging to a neighbor and not finding it fast enough he had reluctantly fallen back on a chestnut owned by Gladwyne. The animal possessed a fine speed and some jumping powers. Its chief fault was a vicious temper; but Gladwyne was seldom troubled by lack of nerve in the saddle. It was in time of heavy moral strain that he failed, and he was glad to arrange with Nasmyth for a sharp gallop.
Somewhat to the latter’s regret, news of his intentions had spread, and on the morning of the trial a number of people, including the Marples and Crestwicks and Millicent, had gathered about the course. It was a dark day, with a moist air and a low, gray sky. The grass was wet, a strip of plowing which could not be avoided was soft and heavy, and the ground in front of several of the jumps was in a far from satisfactory state. Nasmyth, who kept a very small establishment and had hitherto generally ridden the horse, walked round part of the course with Lisle.
“It will be heavy going and there’s a nasty greasy patch at the biggest fence,” he said. “I’d have waited for a better day only that it’s often wet where they have the meeting, and I want to see what he can do over ground like this. You’ll have to watch him at the jumps.”
“He’d do better with you in the saddle,” Lisle suggested.
“I’d rather put you up. I’m not going to ride at the meeting; I’m over the weight they ought to give him and I want to get him used to a stranger’s hands. As it’s an outside event of no importance, I haven’t fixed on my man yet.”
They walked back toward the starting-point, where Gladwyne was waiting, with Batley and Crestwick in attendance. As they approached it, Millicent joined them.
“Are you going to ride to-day?” she asked Lisle.
“Nasmyth insists,” was the answer. “I’m afraid I won’t do him much credit.”
Gladwyne looked up with a slight frown.
“You won’t mind?” Nasmyth asked him. “I’d penalize the horse by nearly a stone.”
“No,” replied Gladwyne, shortly; “there’s no reason why I should object.”
This was true, but he had an unreasoning aversion to facing this opponent. Of late, the Canadian had caused him trouble at almost every turn, and it looked as if he could not even indulge in a morning’s amusement without being plagued with him. He was conscious of a most uncharitable wish that Lisle would come to grief at one of the fences and break his neck. In many ways, this would be a vast relief.
“Would anybody like to make it a sporting match?” Crestwick asked. “The bay’s my fancy; I’m ready to back it.”
Bella tried to catch his eye, but he disregarded this. She, however, saw Lisle glance at Batley and noticed the latter’s smile.
“It isn’t worth while betting on trials,” Batley declared. “Better wait until the meeting.”
The girl was less astonished than gratified. Gladwyne was surprised and disconcerted. He had said nothing to Batley about Crestwick, but he had noticed Lisle’s warning glance, and the other’s prompt acquiescence appeared significant. It looked as if the two had joined hands, and that was what he most dreaded. An almost overpowering rage against the Canadian possessed him. When he attempted to mount, the chestnut gave him trouble by backing and plunging; but the bay was quiet and Nasmyth stood for a few moments by Lisle’s stirrup.
“Save him a bit for the second round,” he advised. “Another thing, look out when you come to the big-brushed hurdles, particularly the second time.”
Batley volunteered as starter, and when he got them off satisfactorily the spectators scattered, one or two to watch the pace across the plowed land, the others moving toward the stiffest jumps—the course was roughly circular.
The trial was a new experience to Lisle, and he felt the exhilaration of it as, remembering his instructions, he strove to hold his mount. Gladwyne’s horse was a length ahead of him, the wind lashed his face, and the thrill of the race grew keener when he swept over the first fence, hard upon the flying chestnut’s heels. He dropped another length behind as they crossed the next field and labored over the sticky plowing; then there was a low fence and ditch, a narrow meadow, and then the hurdles Nasmyth had mentioned, filling a gap in a tall thorn hedge. They were wattled with branches which projected a foot or so above them.
It did not look an easy jump and the grass was slippery and soft, but the chestnut accomplished it cleverly and the bay flew at the hurdles with every sign of confidence. Then, though Lisle felt the hoofs slide as the beast took off, they were over and flying faster than ever across a long, wet field. As they approached the end of the first round, the chestnut began to drop back; Lisle could let the bay go and he determined to bring him home the winner. It was his first fast ride in England; and he had, indeed, seldom urged a horse to its utmost pace—the British Columbian trails, for the most part, led steeply up or down rugged hillsides, where speed was out of the question. It was very different on these level English meadows, though the ground was softer than usual and the fences were troublesome. He rode with a zest and ardor he had hardly expected to feel.
He led at the next fence and some of the onlookers shouted encouragement when, drawing a little farther ahead, he once more reached the sticky plowed land. Here the bay slowed a little, toiling across the clods, but a glance over his shoulder showed his opponent still at least two lengths behind. Gladwyne, however, now roused himself to ride in earnest. Hitherto he had taken no great interest in the proceedings, but he had just seen Bella wave her hand to Lisle and then Millicent’s applauding smile. He resented the fact that both should be pleased to see him beaten by this intrusive stranger. It reawakened his rancor, and the strain of the last week or two had shaken him rather badly. He was nervous, his self-control was weak; but he meant to pass his rival.
He was still behind at the next fence, but pressing his horse savagely he crept up a little as they approached the one really difficult jump; and as they sped across the narrow meadow Lisle fancied that the bay was making its last effort. Crestwick was standing near the hurdles, with Nasmyth moving rapidly toward them not far away and Bella running across a neighboring field. Crestwick watched Gladwyne intently. The man’s face was strangely eager, considering that all he had been asked to do was to test the bay’s speed, and there was a hardness in his expression that fixed Crestwick’s attention; he wondered the cause of it.
Bella was close to him, when Lisle, riding hard, rushed at the hurdles, and Jim found it hard to repress a shout as the bay’s hoofs slipped and slid on the treacherous turf. The horse rose, however; there was a heavy crash; wattled branches and the top bar of the hurdle smashed. Lisle lurched in his saddle; and then the bay came down in a heap, with the man beneath him.
It was impossible to doubt that Gladwyne had seen the accident, but the chestnut rushed straight at the shattered hurdle, teeth bare, nostrils dilated, head stretched forward, and Crestwick thrilled with horror. The fallen horse was struggling, rolling upon its rider, just beyond the fence; but Gladwyne did nothing, except sit ready for the leap. It was incomprehensible; so was the look in the man’s face, which was grimly set, as the big chestnut rose in a graceful bound.
There was a sickening thud on the other side, a flounder of slipping hoofs, and the staccato pounding of the gallop broke out again. The chestnut had come down upon the fallen horse or helpless man, and was going on, uncontrollable. Crestwick rushed madly at the hedge, and scrambling through, badly scratched and bareheaded, found Nasmyth trying to drag Lisle clear of the bay. The Canadian’s eyes were half open, but there was no expression in them; one arm and shoulder looked distorted, and his face was gray. Half-way across the field Gladwyne was struggling savagely with the plunging chestnut.
“Get hold!” ordered Nasmyth hoarsely. “Some bones broken, by the look of him; but he’ll have his brains knocked out in another moment.”
Crestwick was cruelly kicked as the bay rolled in agony, striking with its hoofs; but he stuck to his task, and with some difficulty they dragged Lisle out of danger. When they had accomplished it, Marple came running up with two or three others and Nasmyth called to him.
“Came in the car, didn’t you? Go off for Irvine as hard as you can drive. Drop somebody at my place to run back with a gun.”
Marple swung round and set off across the field, and Crestwick understood why the gun was wanted when he glanced at the fallen horse. Nasmyth informed him that nothing could be done until the doctor came, and he turned away toward where his sister was waiting. His forehead and hands were torn and he was conscious of a bad ache in his back where a hoof had struck, but these things scarcely troubled him. He was overwhelmed, horror-stricken; and the shock of seeing Lisle crushed and senseless was not the only cause of it. Bella, gasping after her run, with hair shaken loose about her face, seemed to be suffering from the same sensation that unnerved him.
“Is he dead?” she asked falteringly.
“No. Badly hurt, I think.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed with intense relief. “I was most horribly afraid.” She paused before she resumed: “You were close by the hurdles.”
Jim knew she meant that he must have seen what happened, but, shaking as he was, he looked hard at her, wondering in a half-dazed fashion what reply he should make. He thought her suspicions were aroused.
“You were some way back; you couldn’t have seen anything plainly,” he ventured.
“I was very near—looking back toward them—when they crossed the field before the jump. You’ve gone all to pieces. What did you see?”
“I can’t talk about it now,” Jim broke out. “He’s coming back.”
Gladwyne had dismounted and was with some difficulty leading the chestnut toward the hedge. His face was white; he moved with a strong suggestion of reluctance; and when he reached the spot where Lisle lay he seemed to have trouble in speaking.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked.
“I can’t tell,” Nasmyth answered sternly. “Shoulder’s smashed; don’t know if that’s the worst. Why didn’t you pull up the brute or send him at the hedge to the right?”
“He’s hard in the mouth—you know his temper. You couldn’t have turned him.”
“I’d have tried, if I’d had to bring him down and break his neck!”
Nasmyth checked himself, for this was not the time for recriminations, and Millicent, who had been running hard, brushed past them. She did not stop until she bent over Lisle. Then she turned to Nasmyth with fear in her strained expression.
“I think he’ll get over it,” Nasmyth told her. “I won’t take the responsibility of having him moved until the doctor arrives.”
“Quite right,” agreed Batley, walking up and casting a swift and searching glance at Gladwyne.
“But you can’t let him lie on the wet grass!” Millicent expostulated.
“I’m afraid we must; it’s safest,” said Batley. “The shock’s not so much to be dreaded with a man of his kind.”
He and Nasmyth took charge of the situation, sternly refusing to listen to all well-meant suggestions, until at last the doctor and Marple came hurrying across the field. The former hastily examined the injured man and then looked up at Nasmyth.
“Upper arm gone, close to the shoulder joint,” he announced. “Collar-bone too. I’ll give him some brandy. Shout to those fellows with the stretcher.”
He was busy for some time, and in the meanwhile Batley picked up the flask he had laid down and handed it to Gladwyne.
“Take a good drink and pull yourself together,” he said quietly.
At length Lisle was gently lifted on to the stretcher, and as they carried him away the report of a gun ran out. The onlookers dispersed and Gladwyne was walking home alone when Millicent overtook him. She was puzzled by his limp appearance and the expression of his haggard face. It was only natural that he should keenly feel his responsibility for the accident, but this did not quite seem to account for the man’s condition. He looked absolutely unnerved, like one who had barely escaped from some appalling catastrophe.
“You shouldn’t take it quite so much to heart,” she comforted him. “I don’t think Irvine felt any great uneasiness; and nobody could blame you.”
“You’re the only one who has said so,” he answered moodily.
“They couldn’t; you stole away. Of course, it’s a great pity—I’m distressed—but you must try to be sensible. These accidents happen.”
He walked on a while in silence, and then with an effort looked around at her.
“Millicent,” he said, “you’re wonderfully generous—the sight of anybody in trouble stirs you—but I don’t feel able to bear your sympathy.”
“Then I’ll have to offer it to Lisle,” she smiled. “But I’ll walk with you to the lodge; and then you had better go in and keep quiet until you get back your nerve.”
When she left Gladwyne she went on to Nasmyth’s, where she waited until the doctor on leaving told her that he was perfectly satisfied with the prospect for the Canadian’s recovery. It would, he said, be merely a question of lying still for a considerable time. Millicent was conscious of a relief which puzzled her by its intensity as she heard the news, but she asked Nasmyth to send somebody to inform Gladwyne.
“I think he’s desperately anxious and feeling the thing very badly,” she concluded.
“Then he could have come over to inquire, as you have done,” Nasmyth answered. “In my opinion, he deserves to be uncomfortable.”
“Why are you so hard on him?”
The man’s face grew grim.
“I’ve had to help Irvine with Lisle, for one thing. We were satisfied that his injuries were not caused by the bay rolling on him; he seems to have escaped from that with a few bad bruises. The worst of the accident might have been avoided if Clarence had had nerve enough.”
“But you couldn’t blame him very greatly for losing his head—he had no warning, scarcely a moment to think. It was so sudden.”
“The result’s the same,” retorted Nasmyth. “Lisle has to pay. But to please you I’ll send Clarence word that Irvine’s not anxious about him.”