A Double Knot Part 83

"A note!"

Of course--a note to explain why she was not there.

He glanced at himself in the long cheval-gla.s.s that had so often reflected the form of his beautiful wife. His face was very pale, but he could see that he looked perfectly cool and collected as he crossed to the toilet-table and took up the note.

He raised his gla.s.ses, and saw that it was open--a note directed in a feminine hand to Lady Henry Moorpark.

The note fell from his fingers and a frown gathered on his brow as, after a few moments' hesitation, he walked rapidly out of the chamber and down into the drawing-room, where he rang the bell, and a footman came to the call.

"Has her ladyship gone out, Robert?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And Miss Allerton?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Did they have the carriage?"

"No, my lord; Miss Allerton went out directly after dinner, and her ladyship soon after."

"That will do."

The man left the room, and Lord Henry stood for a few minutes gazing straight before him, and with a strangely stern aspect in his face.

Love and chivalry were fighting hard with ordinary worldliness, and it was a question which would win.

"I ought to go," he said at last--"I will go. Heaven knows that I do not--that I will not doubt her; but she is not here, and it is very strange. I will go."

He went downstairs, all in the most calm and deliberate way, as if everything depended upon his being perfectly cool, and after ringing for one of the servants, he was helped on with his light overcoat, his hat and gloves were handed to him, his black cane with its crutch handle, and he went quietly out into the square. He raised his cane as a hansom cab came by, got in, and was driven to the Channel Hotel, where he paid and dismissed the man.

An attendant was in the vestibule as he entered, and, beckoning to the man, he placed a half-sovereign in his hand, a feeling of shrinking on the increase, and the shame making him hesitate as he asked whether two ladies had come there since eight or nine o'clock.

"Two ladies, without luggage? Yes, sir. And a gentleman. In Number 99, sir."

Lord Henry hesitated again, for love and chivalry seemed to throw themselves in his way to prevent him from doing what he told himself was a mean action.

But he felt that he must go on now, and, going a little closer to the man, he said:

"Take me up at once, and show me in without announcing my name."

The man nodded, and led him up the great staircase, pa.s.sing what seemed to be innumerable rooms before stopping at one where he waited for his lordship to come close up before throwing open the door for him to enter.

The telegram was right so far: Lady Henry Moorpark was there, but she was in company with Ruth.

So far good; but Captain Marcus Glen, her old lover, was present, and Mr Paul Montaigne.

Marie sank into the nearest chair. Paul Montaigne caught Ruth by the wrist, and whispered a few words; while, on seeing who had come, Marcus Glen stepped boldly forward, and seemed ready to defend the woman he loved.

"Be silent," whispered Montaigne--"not a word! Your only hope now is to cling to me."

"May I ask what is the meaning of this meeting, Lady Henry?" asked his lordship. "I had a telegram advising me to come here, and I find you in company with Captain Glen."

"Who came to meet me, Lord Henry," cried Ruth, flinging off Montaigne's grasp and clinging to Glen's arm.

Glen directed one glance at Marie, who had turned from him, and was standing with knitted brow, half-closed eyes, and blanched face, crushed down as it were by her shame, and with all a soldier's quickness of decision he determined to try and save her.

"Let me explain, Lord Henry--Lady Henry," said Glen quickly. "I am to blame for this clandestine meeting. Lady Henry, you meant well by your pursuit, but you cannot alter matters now. Ruth accepts me as her husband, and nothing but force would take her away. If I have spoken too plainly, you must forgive me. Once more, I am to blame."

"Well acted," muttered Montaigne. "Now, my Lady Marie; it is your turn now."

But Marie stood as if stunned.

"This is fine, heroic language, Captain Glen," said Lord Henry; "may I ask to how many ladies you have used it before?"

"I deserve your rebuke, my lord," said Glen; "but there comes a time to every man when he feels that he is in earnest. I am in earnest now."

"If, sir, you are in earnest, why did you not make your advances like a gentleman?"

"One moment," interposed Montaigne, who had now recovered himself, and stood with a smile upon his lip; "Lord Henry, I have been protector, tutor to these ladies from their childhood: I wish to say a few words to Captain Glen."

Lord Henry bowed.

"Ruth, my child," continued Montaigne, "leave Captain Glen for a few minutes."

She shrank from him with such a look of revulsion that the rage in his breast flamed up again, and his craftiness for the moment failed.

"Now, sir," said Glen sternly, and he looked menacingly at the man whom he blamed for the frustration of that night's plans.

"You have cleverly hoodwinked the poor old fool amongst you," whispered Montaigne, "but you have not blinded me. I have a prior claim to Miss Allerton's hand, and I tell you this," he cried, his rage making him tremble, "that after this night, if you so much as approach her again, I'll expose Marie to her husband--I'll tell him all."

Glen glanced at Marie, who was talking in a low voice to Lord Henry, while, suffering now from the reaction, Ruth had sunk into a chair, trembling at what she had dared to do.

"You understand," continued Montaigne, upon whose forehead the veins stood out. "That is my price for silence. Ruth is mine, or I drag that woman into the dust."

He stood there with his face thrust forward, his hands clenched, and a fiercely vindictive look in his eyes, while Glen seemed to be weighing his position, but he was not. He let his eyes wander from Montaigne to Lord Henry. Then he glanced at Ruth, who for a moment met his gaze with a piteous, appealing glance, before flushing deeply, and drooping in very shame.

"Heaven bless her, she is too good for me!" thought Glen; "but before this scoundrel should lay hands upon her--"

"You understand me," reiterated Montaigne; "now go."

"Understand you!" whispered Glen; and as he spoke he laid one hand sharply on Montaigne's shoulder, clutching him in so fierce a grip that he caused intense pain. "Yes; now understand me."

Montaigne glared at him, and he suffered acutely, but he did not wince.

"You have uttered your threats: now hear mine. That lady's reputation is in your hands."

"Is this all?" said Montaigne defiantly.