Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 83

"Stephen Davenant?"

"Yes, I saw him, but I don't think he saw me. He is looking well."

Leonard nodded.

"He did not see you--but it wouldn't have mattered."

"No," said Jack, with a sigh. "Len, this is the first 'square meal,' as they say over the sea, that I've enjoyed since I left. I'm very tired."

"I can see that," said Leonard. "Go off to bed, old man. We'll have no more questions tonight."

Jack rose and took his candle.

"Yes, one more," he said, as he held Leonard's hand, tightly. "Is--is she well, Len?"

Leonard nodded.

"Yes, I think so----"

"That's all," said Jack, resolutely. "Good-night, Len, good-night," and he turned away quickly.

Leonard stole into Jack's room several times that night and looked down upon the tired, weary face, still handsome for all its lines and haggardness, handsomer some might have thought, for suffering sets a seal of dignity upon a man's face if there be sterling stuff in him.

Leonard looked down at it pityingly.

"Poor old man; he has had a hard time of it if any man has."

Jack turned up at breakfast time looking much refreshed.

"First good night's rest I've had since--oh, too long to remember, Len.

Dreamed that all that has happened was only a dream, and that I was waking up and going to see----" he broke off suddenly and sighed.

Leonard was delighted to see him so much better.

"We'll leave town directly, Jack," he said. "I've just done my usual batch of work, and am free. We'll spend our Christmas at some old inn----"

Jack looked at him gratefully.

"You're a staunch old man, Len," he said, quietly. "You'd sacrifice your sweetheart to your friend."

Len colored.

"I'm sure she'd be the first to urge us to go," he said. "Laura is so unselfish."

"She shan't be sacrificed for me," said Jack. "No, Len, I'll go off by myself, before anyone knows I'm back--hallo! what's that?"

It was a footstep on the stairs, Len motioned for Jack to retreat into the bedroom, and only just in time, for, barely stopping to knock, Mr.

Levy Moss opened the door.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

"Good-morning, Mr. Dagle," said Moss, his eyes roaming about the room.

"Here I am again, you see, Mr. Dagle; and where is Mr. Newcombe? He's here, I know."

"If you know so much you've no need to ask," said Leonard. "Who told you he was here?"

Levy Moss winked one bleared eye cunningly.

"I'm smart, Mr. Dagle; I keep my eyes open and my feet a-moving."

"Just so," said Leonard, "and if you'll be good enough to move them out of my room I shall be obliged. Please observe that these are _my_ rooms, Mr. Moss, and not Mr. Newcombe's, and that I am not desirous of further visits from you."

"You're sharp, too, Mr. Dagle," said Moss; "but Mr. Newcombe's here; you don't want two cups and saucers, and two plates, you know, for your breakfast, eh?"

"Get out!" said Len, who, when he was roused was, like most quiet men, rather hot-headed. "Get out! and, by the way, if you meet Mr. Newcombe, I'd advise you to keep clear of him; he's back from America and carries two revolvers and a bowie knife, and I needn't tell you, who know him so well, that he'd as soon put a bullet through your head or stick the knife in between your ribs as look at you--far rather, perhaps."

Moss turned pale.

"I hope Mr. Jack won't do anything rash."

"I won't answer for him. They don't think much of killing your sort of people on the other side, Moss. Get out," and Mr. Moss shuffled out; Leonard bolting the door after him.

Jack came in and sat down quietly and gravely.

"I've frightened him," said Leonard, smiling. "He'll keep clear of you for a day or two. But how did he know you were back? He couldn't have been keeping watch for all these months."

"I don't know; someone must have seen me, and told him; I don't know who, Len. I'm going out."

"Now, Jack?" said Leonard, fearfully.

Jack smiled.

"No, Len; I won't cut it again without telling you and saying 'good-by.'

I'm only going for a walk; and I'll be back to dinner."

Leonard looked after him, still rather anxiously; there was a look of determination on the pale, thoughtful face which alarmed him.

Jack walked to Regent street--please mark that he didn't call a hansom; though Len had pressed some money upon him--and then into Piccadilly, and still with the thoughtful look of determination on his face, into Park Lane, and ascended the steps of Lady Bell's villa.

A footman, who knew not Jack, opened the door, and Jack, who had not any cards, gave his name, which the footman gave to Lady Bell's maid as "Mr.

Bluecut."

Jack walked into the drawing-room, every article of which was familiar to him; and sat down in the chair which he had so often drawn close to Lady Bell's, only a few months back; and yet how long, long ago it seemed.

Presently the door opened, and Lady Bell came in.