Mount Royal Volume Iii Part 21

"Had we not better leave Heaven out of the question?" she said with a mocking smile; and then slowly, gravely, deliberately, she said, "Yes, I will meet you at eleven o'clock to-morrow, at Bodmin Road Station--and you will tell me all that has happened."

"What secret can I withhold from you, love--my second self--the fairer half of my soul?"

Urgently as he had pleaded his cause, certain as he had been of ultimate success, he was almost overcome by her yielding. It seemed as if a fortress which a moment before had stood up between him and the sky--ma.s.sive--invincible--the very type of the impregnable and everlasting, had suddenly crumbled into ruin at his feet. His belief in woman's pride and purity had never been very strong: yet he had believed that here and there, in this sinful world, invincible purity was to be found. But now he could never believe in any woman again. He had believed in this one to the last, although he had set himself to win her. Even when he had been breathing the poison of his florid eloquence into her ear--even when she had smiled at him, a willing listener--there had been something in her look, some sublime inexpressible air of stainless womanhood which had made an impa.s.sable distance between them.

And now she had consented to run away with him: she had sunk in one moment to the level of all disloyal wives. His breast thrilled with pride and triumph at the thought of his conquest: and yet there was a touch of shame, shame that she could so fall.

Emily St. Aubyn came over to the piano, and made an end of all confidential talk.

"Now you are both here, do give us that delicious little duet of Lecocq's," she said: "we want something cheerful before we disperse.

Good gracious Mrs. Tregonell, how bad you look," cried the young lady, suddenly, "as white as a ghost."

"I am tired to death," answered Christabel, "I could not sing a note for the world."

"Really, then we mustn't worry you. Thanks so much for that lovely Beethoven music--the 'Andante'--or the 'Pastorale'--or the 'Pathetique,'

was it not? So sweet."

"Good-night," said Christabel. "You won't think me rude if I am the first to go?"

"Not at all. We are all going. Pack up your wools, mother. I know you have only been pretending to knit. We are all half asleep. I believe we have hardly strength to crawl upstairs."

Candles were lighted, and Mrs. Tregonell and her guests dispersed, the party from the billiard-room meeting them in the hall.

These lighter-minded people, the drama of whose existence was just now in the comedy stage, went noisily up to their rooms; but the Baron, who was usually among the most loquacious, retired almost in silence. Nor did Christabel do more than bid her guests a brief good-night. Neither Leonard nor his friend Jack Vandeleur had shown themselves since dinner.

Whether they were still in the Squire's den, or whether they had retired to their own rooms no one knew.

The Baron's servant was waiting to attend his master. He was a man who had been with de Cazalet in California, Mexico, and South America--who had lived with him in his bachelorhood and in his married life--knew all the details of his domestic career, had been faithful to him in wealth and in poverty, knew all that there was to be known about him--the best and the worst--and had made up his mind to hold by an employment which had been adventurous, profitable, and tolerably easy, not entirely free from danger, or from the prospect of adversity--yet always hopeful. So thorough a scamp as the Baron must always find some chance open to him--thus, at least, argued Henri le Mescam, his unscrupulous ally. The man was quick, clever--able to turn his hand to anything--valet, groom, cook, courier--as necessity demanded.

"Is Salathiel pretty fresh?" asked the Baron.

"Fit as a fiddle: he hasn't been out since you hunted him four days ago."

"That's lucky. He will be able to go the pace to-morrow morning. Have him harnessed to that American buggy of Mr. Tregonell's at six o'clock."

"I suppose you know that it's hardly light at six."

"There will be quite enough light for me. Pack my smallest portmanteau with linen for a week, and a second suit--no dress-clothes--and have the trap ready in the stable-yard when the clock strikes six. I have to catch a train at Launceston at 7.45. You will follow in the afternoon with the luggage."

"To your London rooms, Sir?"

"Yes. If you don't find me there you will wait for further instructions.

You may have to join me on the other side of the channel."

"I hope so, Sir."

"Sick of England already?"

"Never cared much for it, Sir. I began to think I should die of the dulness of this place."

"Rather more luxurious than our old quarters at St. Heliers ten years ago, when you were marker at Jewson's, while I was teaching drawing and French at the fashionable academies of the island."

"That was bad, Sir; but luxury isn't everything in life. A man's mind goes to rust in a place of this kind."

"Well, there will not be much rust for you in future, I believe. How would you like it if I were to take you back to the sh.o.r.es of the Pacific?"

"That's just what I should like, Sir. You were a king there, and I was your prime minister."

"And I may be a king again--perhaps this time with a queen--a proud and beautiful queen."

Le Mescam smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

"The queenly element was not quite wanting in the past, Sir," he said.

"Pshaw, Henri, the ephemeral fancy of the hour. Such chance entanglements as those do not rule a man's life."

"Perhaps not, Sir; but I know one of those chance entanglements made Lima unpleasantly warm for us; and if, after you winged Don Silvio, there hadn't been a pair of good horses waiting for us, you might never have seen the outside of Peru."

"And if a duel was dangerous in Lima, it would be ten times more dangerous in Cornwall, would it not, Henri?"

"Of course it would, Sir. But you are not thinking of anything like a duel here--you can't be so mad as to think of it."

"Certainly not. And now you can pack that small portmanteau, while I take a stretch. I sha'n't take off my clothes: a man who has to be up before six should never trifle with his feelings by making believe to go to bed."

CHAPTER XII.

"SHE STOOD UP IN BITTER CASE, WITH A PALE YET STEADY FACE."

The silence of night and slumber came down upon the world, shadow and darkness were folded round and about it. The ticking of the old eight-day clock in the hall, of the bracket clock in the corridor, and of half a dozen other time-pieces, conscientiously performing in empty rooms, took that solemn and sepulchral sound which all clocks, down to the humblest Dutchman, a.s.sume after midnight. Sleep, peace, and silence seemed to brood over all human and brute life at Mount Royal. Yet there were some who had no thought of sleep that night.

In Mr. Tregonell's dressing-room there was the light of lamp and fire, deep into the small hours. The master of the house lolled, half-dressed, in an armchair by the hearth; while his friend, Captain Vandeleur, in smoking-jacket and slippers, lounged with his back to the chimney-piece, and a cigarette between his lips. A whisky bottle and a couple of siphons stood on a tray on the Squire's writing-table, an open pistol-case near at hand.

"You'd better lie down for a few hours," said Captain Vandeleur. "I'll call you at half-past five."

"I'd rather sit here. I may get a nap by-and-by perhaps. You can go to bed if you are tired: I sha'n't oversleep myself."

"I wish you'd give up this business, Tregonell," said his friend, with unaccustomed seriousness. "This man is a dead shot. We heard of him in Bolivia, don't you remember? A man who has spent half his life in shooting-galleries, and who has lived where life counts for very little.

Why should you stake your life against his? It isn't even betting: you're good enough at big game, but you've had very little pistol practice. Even if you were to kill him, which isn't on the cards, you'd be tried for murder; and where's the advantage of that?"

"I'll risk it," answered Leonard, doggedly, "I saw him with my wife's hand clasped in his--saw him with his lips close to her face--close enough for kisses--heard her promise him an answer--to-morrow. By Heaven there shall be no such to-morrow for him and for me. For one of us there shall be an end of all things."

"I don't believe Mrs. Tregonell is capable"--began Jack, thoughtfully mumbling his cigarette.

"You've said that once before, and you needn't say it again. Capable!

Why, man alive, I _saw_ them together. Nothing less than the evidence of my own eyes would have convinced me. I have been slow enough to believe.