Prince Charlie Part 26

"We will hope so, Queenie."

"Another man, d.i.c.k! A strong, healthy and well man. And what I am praying to see, d.i.c.k--for I think the tie will help you to keep straight--well and able to marry."

There ensued a moment's silence. The listener's imagination supplied the gap. What he had seen at the back of the bungalow at Wivernsea helped him thereto. He heard the pa.s.sionate sobbing; the impact of their lips.

Then he heard no more.

A great blurring veil seemed to come over sight, hearing, even faculty; to enshroud him. He staggered away as if physically injured. What he had heard hurt so.

On the other side of the door were Gracie's mother, Gracie's father. And they were talking of his coming back from a voyage well enough to marry.

His thoughts went away. Were of that sweet, innocent little child down at Wivernsea. As she came before him he almost groaned; it was too terrible, too horrible. Poor little Gracie!

Trembling fingers unlocked the door; he got downstairs somehow; down to the level of the bar. Called for brandy there, and, regardless of its quality, swallowed it.

It was a mechanical act. Instinct told him that he needed brandy, and he wanted to be doing something; inaction at that moment was maddening.

He walked outside.

CHAPTER XXI

THE ONLY WAY

The cabman was of a speculative nature. Had hung on the chance of Masters' needing to return. Half-sovereign fares are not picked up every hour in the day; the man who dispensed them was worth waiting for.

"Where to, sir?"

The query called down through the trap in the cab roof. The reply was:

"Back again."

Directions so given, because, for the moment, the fare could think of nowhere else.... The cool air blowing on his face gradually brought him back to his usual clear perception of things; he remembered.

The woman he loved so, was lost and dead to him; he quite realized that.

Knew too that he loved her still; would do anything to ensure or bring about her happiness. Pity--heart-felt, whole-souled pity--was mingled with his feeling for her now.

Pondering over his position, he came to think of her as more sinned against than sinning. Almost joined in the prayer that the man she loved--whose existence was a bar to his own success--might return well enough to marry.

For Gracie's sake too--sweet, winsome little Gracie! If the man returned well enough to marry it would silence tongues. Surely it was a good prayer.

Then Gracie would grow up knowing nothing of her childhood. No bar sinister would, anyway, be apparent on her escutcheon. She could travel her road in life without a dark shadow o'erhanging it.

If he returned well enough to marry! Why shouldn't he? Or was he, in the solitude which he feared, likely to become despondent again? Was he not more liable to be so, in abstinence from those accustomed stimulants?

Despondent even to the clutching of a razor again?

What manner of man was he that had stolen the heart of Gracie's mother?

What manner of man was he who could have led astray so pure, so loving a soul?

Surely Rigby had spoken rightly; it were best for such a man no longer to c.u.mber the earth. And yet--that was not the only consideration. There was another. Two: Gracie and her mother.

The man had said that he feared solitude. Had spoken of his personal appearance with loathing. Had feared that no soul would wish to speak to him; that Drink was written on his face. Even allowing for exaggeration, there must be a basis of truth.

Was it wise to let him spend that voyage alone? Was it not possible to send with him a companion? One who would interest him; divert his thoughts; take him out of himself?

A companion to do this for her sake--for her child's sake. Why not himself? What was there in it after all? Not even self-sacrifice.

Masters felt that a voyage would do him good. That to stop in England just then, where he was, would stifle him. Let him go on to the broad ocean where he would be able to breathe.

His work he could take with him. Write as well, better, on the ship than in his own rooms. Why not? There was a soul to help to save! There was a woman to be made happy! A child to be taken out of the range of the pointed finger of shame! Why not?

If it were true, as the mother said, that he had saved the child's life, was it to be saved only that she should suffer misery thereafter?

Undeserved misery in all the future years? Should he not prevent that if he could?

Himself! Who better fitted? His heart and soul would be in the act. He would be working for those he loved! What a triumph if he could restore this man to her Well Enough To Marry. Why not?

Resolution: he would go. Yes, he would go on to the boat: it was the only way. The cab pa.s.sed a bill-poster's h.o.a.rding. A drama being played in London just then was: _The Only Way_. The mind of the man in the cab had run in keeping with the theatre announcement. He thought of Sidney Carton.

He would go! The hero of that _Tale of Two Cities_ was not the only man who had made sacrifices for the woman he loved; although his own sacrifice was hardly worth such a name. In his heart he wished it greater.

The thought trembled through his mind, result of the years of journalistic labour, that his cruise would serve in affording a supply of copy. He hated himself for the thought; it seemed to sully the purity of his motive, his love. He wanted to give to the woman he loved whole-souled service. Yet was weak enough to want an excuse.

Sidney Carton, when his good work was accomplished, died on the scaffold. When Masters had accomplished his good work--well, there would be time enough to think of that later.

Life was worth living just then: for her sake. It would have little value to him after; after its work was over. Then he would be content, wishful to rest.

The cab had reached Parliament Street. The fare's hand went through the roof trap; the driver reined up.

"There is a pa.s.senger--ship's pa.s.senger--agent's, somewhere round here,"

he called up to the bending-down driver, "c.o.c.kspur Street, I think; do you know it?"

"So many about, sir. Might you happen to know the name, sir?"

"M'no. Yes! I have just remembered it: Sewell and Crowther."

"Oh, yes; I know the place, sir. Do you want to drive there?"

"Please."

"Right, sir."

A few minutes later the cab stopped and he was alighting at the pa.s.senger agents' door. Entering, he said to the counter clerk:

"You are booking for _La Mascotte_, leaving for the Mediterranean, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir; we're the agents."