Cord and Creese Part 49

"Oh, I've had them--It's not so much for myself, Johnnie--but for you.

For if I'm a lord you'll be a lord too."

"Lord Potts. Ha, ha, ha!"

"No," said my father, with some appearance of vexation, "not that; we'll take our t.i.tle the way all the lords do, from the estates. I'll be Lord Brandon, and when I die you'll get the t.i.tle."

"And that's your little game. Well, you've played such good little games in your life that I've nothing to say, except--'Go it!'"

"She's the one that'll give me a lift."

"Well, she ought to be able to do something."

By this time I concluded that I had done my duty and prepared to retire.

I did not wish to overhear any of their conversation. As I walked out of the room I still heard their remarks:

"Blest if she don't look as if she thought herself the Queen," said John.

"It's the diamonds, Johnnie."

"No it ain't, it's the girl herself. I don't like the way she has of looking at me and through me."

"Why, that's the way with that kind. It's what the lords like."

"I don't like it, then, and I tell you _she's got to be took down!_"

This was the last I heard. Yet one thing was evident to me from their conversation. My father had some wild plan of effecting an entrance into society through me. He thought that after he was once recognized he might get sufficient influence to gain a t.i.tle and found a family. I also might marry a lord. He thus dreamed of being Lord Brandon, and one of the great n.o.bles of the land.

Amidst my sadness I almost smiled at this vain dream; but yet John's words affected me strongly--"You've played such good little games in your life." Well I knew with whom they were played. One was with Despard, the other with Brandon.

This then was the reason why he had sent for me from China. The knowledge of his purpose made my life neither brighter nor darker. I still lived on as before.

During these months Mrs. Compton's tender devotion to me never ceased. I respected her, and forbore to excite that painful fear to which she was subject. Once or twice I forgot myself and began speaking to her about her strange position here. She stopped me with her look of alarm.

"Are you not afraid to be kind to me?" I asked.

She looked at me piteously.

"You are the only one that is kind to me," I continued. "How have you the courage?"

"I can not help it," she murmured, "you are so dear to me."

She sighed and was silent. The mystery about her remained unchanged; her gentle nature, her tender love, and her ever-present fear. What was there in her past that so influenced her life? Had she too been mixed up with the crime on the _Vishnu_? She! impossible. Yet surely something as dark as that must have been required to throw so black a cloud over her life. Yet what--what could that have been? In spite of myself I a.s.sociate her secret with the tragedy of Despard. She was in his family long. His wife died. She must have been with her at the time.

The possibilities that have suggested themselves to my mind will one day drive me mad. Alas, how my heart yearns over that lonely man in the drifting ship! And yet, merciful G.o.d! who am I that I should sympathize with him? My name is infamy, my blood is pollution.

I spoke to her once in a general way about the past. Had she ever been out of England? I asked.

"Yes," she answered, dreamily.

"Where?"

She looked at me and said not a word.

At another time I spoke of China, and hinted that perhaps she too knew something about the East. The moment that I said this I repented. The poor creature was shaken from head to foot with a sudden convulsion of fear. This convulsion was so terrible that it seemed to me as though another would be death. I tried to soothe her, but she looked fearfully at me for a long time after.

At another time I asked her directly whether her husband was alive. She looked at me with deep sadness and shook her head. I do not know what position she holds here. She is not housekeeper; none of the servants pay any attention to her whatever. There is an impudent head servant who manages the rest. I noticed that the man who showed me to her room when I first came treats her differently from the rest. Once or twice I saw them talking in one of the halls. There was deep respect in his manner.

What he does I have not yet found out. He has always shown great respect to me, though why I can not imagine. He has the same timidity of manner which marks Mrs. Compton. His name is Philips.

I once asked Mrs. Compton who Philips was, and what he did. She answered quickly that he was a kind of clerk to Mr. Potts, and helped him to keep his accounts.

"Has he been with him long?" I continued.

"Yes, a considerable time," she said--but I saw that the subject distressed her, so I changed it.

For more than three months I remained in my room, but at last, through utter despair, I longed to go out. The n.o.ble grounds were there, high hills from which the wide sea was visible--that sea which shall be a.s.sociated with his memory till I die. A great longing came over me to look upon its wide expanse, and feed my soul with old and dear memories.

There it would lie, the same sea from which he so often saved me, over which we sailed till he laid down his n.o.ble life at my feet, and I gave back that life to him again.

I used to ascend a hill which was half a mile behind the Hall within the grounds, and pa.s.s whole days there unmolested. No one took the trouble to notice what I did, at least I thought so till afterward. There for months I used to go. I would sit and look fixedly upon the blue water, and my imagination would carry me far away to the South, to that island on the African sh.o.r.e, where he once reclined in my arms, before the day when I learned that my touch was pollution to him--to that island where I afterward knelt by him as he lay senseless, slowly coming back to life, when if I might but touch the hem of his garment it was bliss enough for one day. Ah me, how often I have wet his feet with my tears--poor, emaciated feet--and longed to be able to wipe them with my hair, but dared not. He lay unconscious. He never knew the anguish of my love.

Then I was less despairing. The air around was filled with the echo of his voice; I could shut my eyes, and bring him before me. His face was always visible to my soul.

One day the idea came into my head to extend my ramble into the country outside, in order to get a wider view. I went to the gate.

The porter came out and asked what I wanted. I told him.

"You can't go out," said he, rudely.

"Why not?"

"Oh, them's Potts's orders--that's enough, I think."

"He never said so to me," I replied, mildly.

"That's no odds; he said so to me, and he told me if you made any row to tell you that you were watched, and might just as well give up at once."

"Watched!" said I, wonderingly.

"Yes--for fear you'd get skittish, and try and do something foolish. Old Potts is bound to keep you under his thumb."

I turned away. I did not care much. I felt more surprise than any thing else to think that he would take the trouble to watch me. Whether he did or not was of little consequence. If I could only be where I had the sea before me it was enough.

That day, on going back to the Hall, I saw John sitting on the piazza.

A huge bull-dog which he used to take with him every where was lying at his feet. Just before I reached the steps a Malay servant came out of the house.

He was about the same age as John. I knew him to be a Malay when I first saw him, and concluded that my father had picked him up in the East. He was slight but very lithe and muscular, with dark glittering eyes and glistening white teeth. He never looked at me when I met him, but always at the ground, without seeming to be aware of my existence.

The Malay was pa.s.sing out when John called out to him,