Honor Edgeworth; Or, Ottawa's Present Tense Part 28

"You see," the old man was saying "you never can rely much on girls, Honor was taken with such a bad headache to-night that she preferred we would leave her behind, Madame d'Alberg insisted on my coming, since I was well enough for the first time in a long while."

"Certainly, you should not have missed the trip," Vivian answered, "but I am sorry that Honor should be indisposed, I wanted her particularly to-night."

So--thought Guy, it has come to this--"Honor"--how pat it came from his vicious lips. He made up his mind at this juncture to listen to every word, feeling sure to find some valuable clue before this night was over. The voice of a.s.sumed anxiety broke from Vivian's lips and interrupted Guy's thought.

"I hope you are on the way to complete recovery at last Mr. Rayne," he said, "really I begin to feel anxious about you."

Guy fancied the old man shaking his head in the usual contemplative way as the words came--

"Oh no, my dear boy, my system has completely broken up now, my decline is a matter of months only, now."

Vivian was about to protest, when Mr. Rayne continued:

"And I don't mind much, time was when I felt life full of responsibilities that cheered me on, but now--my old age is almost a blank--"

Guy understood this illusion and winced, the unsteady voice still continued:

"Since Honor's welfare in the dim future, when I shall be dead and gone, promises to be safe, I have had no reluctance to die. I lived for her."

At these words Guy strained every nerve in his body and listened devouringly. Vivian spoke next,

"What surprises me," he said "is that Honor has not been s.n.a.t.c.hed away long before this."

"She's a strange girl," Mr. Rayne answered pensively, "she does not take fancies easily, she has treated open admirers with such provoking coldness since she has 'come out' that I wonder at her having a friend left."

"That is what weakens my hope," said Vivian Standish, in a splendid mockery of despair. "I fear that she might meet my proposal with the same indifference, and thus make my life a miserable blank."

The color rushed to Guy's face, and then faded as suddenly away.

"Infernal villain!" he muttered, and it was only by an extraordinary effort he conquered the impulse to spring upon the person of this vile adventurer, and strangle him then and there. What providential influence had brought him back to Ottawa at such a crisis, he asked himself.

"Well," he heard his uncle say distractedly, "I have not broached the subject to her yet. She is a strange disposition and cannot be treated like others of her age and s.e.x. I think the better plan would be, for you to deserve her love first, and from what we have all seen of you, I reckon that will not be the hardest of tasks. This is September--if you wish, after three months longer, I will speak to her, and tell her my opinion of you."

"How can I ever thank you or repay you sufficiently, dear Mr. Rayne,"

was the answer Guy heard to this painful speech of his uncle's. "I have no fear," continued the hypocrite, anxiously, "except," and he hesitated--"that she may have loved already--that is the only obstacle I dread."

"I don't think it," said Henry Rayne. "I'm sure she has not--who could she have loved?"

"You ought to know," continued Standish "whether at any time of her life she has met with some-one she preferred to any other. Do you think for instance," and his voice lowered so that Guy could scarcely catch its accents "that there was anything between her and--your nephew, Guy Elersley?"

Guy's face wore the strangest expression of contempt and pain, as he leaned nearer still to the side from whence the voices came. He could see them now--dark shadows only on the misty outline of the night. They were leaning with their backs against the small green railing, each smoking a cigar. Guy crouched nearer the protecting wall, and waited patiently for the issue of this strange _rencontre_. His uncle was silent for a second, and the uncertain voice with which he answered Vivian's last remark, pained him severely.

"Why do you think that?" he asked, almost huskily, "That never struck my mind, and if it had, I a.s.sure you, Standish, much as I esteem you, I would have kept that boy by me. If I suspected that Honor would ever love him, my life's happiness would have been complete."

Guy's eyes were growing moist.

"It is only natural," said the smooth, bland voice of Vivian Standish "that you should like to encourage the welfare of your own, but I must say, that Guy Elersley did not make a proper use of the advantages fortune threw in his way." Guy agreed sadly here "I think he was a little ungrateful besides, in return for your kindness, for I had always understood from him, that in his eyes, you were worth only the wealth you would leave him at your death. I don't want to run down the absent ones, but all the same, I must say, that Elersley had his faults."

Guy ground his teeth in smothered hatred.

"Spare me this, Standish," said the old man pleadingly, "for in spite of all that has happened, I cannot teach myself to forget how I loved this boy all his life, fondly and foolishly, and if he were within my arm's grasp at this moment, I doubt whether I would not take him back to me again as warmly as ever, for I never cease to reproach myself for having treated him so severely for so small an offence."

"It is your excessive mercy and goodness that cause you this regret,"

Vivian said, "for you surely were lenient to him in your justice after all."

"Let us drop his name," interrupted the old man, "it has not crossed my lips for years, but now that your suggestion brings back the past to me, I am puzzled and surprised a little. I remember now, how Honor carefully collected every little trifling belonging of Guy's that had been left at our house, and carried them to her own room, where they have laid since.

I thought at the time, it was to spare me the pain of coming across them, as she had heard something of our dispute; but now, I recognize the possibility of there having been a more pitiful motive. She never utters his name either. I wonder have I done them both the awful wrong of thrusting myself between their young hearts, and spoiling the happy ambition of their lives--may G.o.d help me to repair it if I have!"

Guy's head fell wearily on his folded arms that rested on the back of a vacant chair in front of him. This was such a painful scene to witness in silence that he felt himself almost overcome. He never cherished Honor so wildly or devotedly as he did at this moment. The details that fell from the lips of his uncle were items of a sad, sweet tale for him--he no longer doubted of her faithful love for him now.

Lest Mr. Rayne should become too remorseful for the injustice he had done these young people, Vivian hastened to speak in a rea.s.suring voice.

"But it is plain, Mr. Rayne, if your nephew thought anything of this girl, he would have sent her some word or token of regard at parting, in spite of you or anyone else, that might encourage or sustain her love during their separation. This he did not think it worth his while to do, which is almost proof positive that he cared very little for her."

"Heaven help me to bear this!" was Guy's inarticulate prayer as those last words reached his ears. "Of all the infamous blackguards and disreputable scoundrels I ever met"--here he stopped, and listened again. They had resumed the topic of Vivian's proposal.

"I tell you," said Mr. Rayne wearily, "to visit and court her for three months longer, anyway. At the end of that time you can propose if you will, and I will give my consent readily. I am glad to hear you say you have means enough to hold you independent of my little girl's fortune. I would not like to see her wedded for her dowry."

"The wealth of character and beauty is her real dowry, Mr. Rayne," the hypocrite replied, "Any other is worthless before that."

"Aye, aye! you are right there, my boy," added Mr. Rayne, shaking his head pensively. Then changing his tone suddenly said, "I feel a little chilly here, Vivian, my boy; let us go inside."

"Take my arm, Mr. Rayne, and let me feel that in even so little a thing I can make myself useful to you."

They pa.s.sed in silently where the lamp light and music and merry sounds flooded the gay rooms. Guy bent forward as they closed the little gla.s.s door behind them, and caught a glimpse of the changed, wasted, melancholy old man he loved so well, leaning on the traitorous arm of a tall, straight, handsome one, who was a.s.sociated with the bitterest feelings of hatred and revenge within his breast.

How he longed to be away from this merry-making crowd, where he could lay his wearied head to rest, and where the mockery of life might cease to taunt him for a little while. Only one thought saved him and encouraged him through all--the thought that _she_ had not forgotten him, in spite of the base treachery practised by the man he had trusted.

Through all his painful realizations, this angelic face of his beloved, soothed and comforted and cheered him until he felt a new strength in his arm and a new fire in his heart, urging him on to retributive action.

Out of all that crowd of merry-makers that landed back on the Queen's Wharf, close on to midnight of that night, not one had noticed the solitary figure under the broad felt hat, though his very friends jostled and elbowed past him in the throng.

Stepping ash.o.r.e, he hired a carriage and drove rapidly away. He had spent an evening with all the old faces after an absence of years, and not one of his many friends and acquaintances suspected Guy Elersley any nearer than the possible distance of the unknown.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

"Was I deceived or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?"

--_Milton_

"Three months! three months!" Guy said in a low, puzzled voice, as he lay wide awake on his bed, turning and twisting all the circ.u.mstances of his recent discoveries over and over in his head. "I can never stay here all that time. Besides, I have a good deal to do." He thought over it a little while longer, and then looking quite satisfied, he turned himself comfortably on the other side and went deliberately off into a peaceful sleep.

Three months never appear to us to contain half of their real length when we have much to consider and much to do in a given time of that duration. One month had already elapsed, during whose flight Guy had made some important discoveries.

He had traced up the bogus parsonage, and had even found, by some lucky accident, the residence of Philip Campbell, the rescuer of Fifine de Maistre. The "Lower Farms" is, of all secluded spots, about the most secluded, and people went there just as Guy did--through curiosity. It tempted Guy in his search as being the most direct route from the house where the extraordinary wedding had taken place. He had been sitting in the small public room of the village inn a few hours after his arrival, hiding his anxious face behind the folds of the country weekly newspaper, when the conversation of a group of men at the counter in the corner interested him.

"Take somethin', doctor," said one burly, good-natured fellow to an aged person of apparent dignity and respectability, "you must feel all out o'

sorts after this day's work."