Rossmoyne Part 42

At this moment, the gates of Moyne being in sight, and those of Coole long pa.s.sed, Kit suddenly appears on the top of a high stone wall, and calls gayly to Desmond to come and help her alight.

"And now go away too," she says: "you are forbidden goods, you know, and we must not be seen talking to you, under pain of death."

"Good-by," says Desmond, with alacrity, who is, in truth, sulky, and undesirous of further parley with his beloved. "Good-by, Miss Beresford."

"Good-by," says Monica, shortly.

"We shall see you again soon, no doubt," says Kit, kindly, in her clear, sweet treble.

"I think it very improbable," returns he, raising his hat gravely and taking his departure.

"Now, what _have_ you been saying to that wretched young man, Monica?"

says Kit, severely, standing still in the middle of the road, the better to bring her sister beneath the majesty of her eye.

"Nothing. Nothing that any reasonable being could object to," declares Monica, with such an amount of vigor as startles Kit. "But of all the ill-tempered, bearish, detestable men I ever met in my life, _he is the worst_."

Which unlooked for explosion from the gentle Monica has the effect of silencing Kit for the remainder of the walk.

CHAPTER XV.

How the Misses Blake discover a gigantic fraud--How Terence is again arraigned, and brought before the Court on a charge of duplicity--and how he is nearly committed for contempt.

Reaching home, they find the atmosphere there decidedly clouded. Miss Priscilla, who has returned from her drive just a moment before, is standing in the hall, gazing with a stern countenance upon the old-fashioned eight-day clock, in which two or three people might be safely stowed away. The clock regards her not at all, but ticks on loudly with a sort of exasperating obstinacy, as though determined to remind every one of the flight of time.

"Who has wound this clock?" demands Miss Priscilla, in an awful tone.

With a thrill of thankfulness the girls feel they can answer truthfully, "Not I."

"Dear me!" says Miss Penelope, timidly, advancing from the morning-room; "I did. You were so long out, Priscilla, and I feared--I mean, I thought it would save you the trouble."

"Trouble in winding a clock! What trouble could there be in that? And it is _never_ wound until Sat.u.r.day evening. For twenty years I have wound it on Sat.u.r.day evening. A good eight-day clock nearly fifty years old can't bear being tampered with. Now, Penelope, why did you do that? You know that I can't endure old rules to be upset."

"But, my dear Priscilla, I only thought as I was pa.s.sing----"

"You _thought_, Penelope; but I wish you _wouldn't_ think. There are other things you ought to think about that you often neglect; and----"

"Now, Priscilla, is that just? I think--I _hope_ I seldom neglect my duty; and I must say I didn't expect this from _you_."

Here Miss Penelope dissolves into tears, to Monica's grief and dismay.

"Oh, Aunt Priscilla, I am sure Aunt Pen only meant to save you trouble,"

she says, earnestly, putting her arms round Miss Penelope, who sobs audibly on her shoulder.

"And who says I thought anything else?" says poor Miss Priscilla, fiercely, though her voice trembles with emotion: it is terrible to her to see her faithful friend and sister in tears of her causing.

"Penelope, I meant nothing, but I have heard something that has grieved and disturbed me: so I must needs come home and avenge my ill-temper on the best creature in the world. Alas! I am a wicked woman."

"Oh, no, no," cries Miss Penelope. "My dear Priscilla, you will break my heart if you talk thus. My good soul, come in here and tell me what has happened to distress you."

In truth it is quite plain now that something has happened during her drive to take Miss Priscilla's well-balanced mind off its hinges.

"Where is Terence?" she asks, looking from one to other of the group in the hall.

"Here," says Terence himself, coming leisurely towards her from a side-pa.s.sage.

"Come in here with me," says Miss Priscilla; and they all follow her into the morning-room.

Here she turns and faces the unconscious Terence with a pale, reproachful face.

"When I tell you I have just come from Mitson the coast-guard, and that I thanked him for having lent you his gun, you will understand how I have been grieved and pained to-day," she says, a tremor in her voice.

Terence is no longer unconscious; and Monica feels that her heart is beating like a lump of lead.

"Oh! what is it, Priscilla?" asks Miss Penelope, greatly frightened.

"A tale of craft and cunning," says Miss Priscilla in a hollow tone.

"Mitson tells me he never lent him that gun. Terence has wilfully deceived us, his poor aunts, who love him and only desire his good. He has, I fear, basely mystified us to accomplish his own ends, and has indeed departed from the precious truth."

"I never said Mitson did lend it to me," says Terence, sullenly: "you yourself suggested the idea, and I let it slide, that was all."

"All! Is not prevarication only a _mean_ lie? Oh, Terence, I am so deeply grieved! I know not what to say to you."

The scene is becoming positively tragical. Already a sense of crime of the blackest and deepest dye is overpowering Terence.

"Whom _did_ you get that gun from, Terence?" asks Miss Priscilla, sternly.

No answer.

"Now, Terence, be calm," says Miss Penelope. "Sit down now, Terence, and collect yourself, and don't be untruthful again."

"I have told no lie, aunt," says Terence, indignantly.

"Then tell your good Aunt Priscilla who gave you the gun."

Dead silence.

"Are we to understand that you _won't_ tell us, Terence?" asks Miss Priscilla, faintly. She is now much the more nervous of the two old maids.

Terence casts a hasty glance at Monica's white face, and then says, stoutly,--

"I don't want to tell, and I _won't_!"

"Terence!" exclaims the usually mild Miss Penelope, with great indignation, and is going to further relieve her mind, no doubt, when Miss Priscilla, throwing up her hands, checks her.

"Let him alone, Penelope," she says, sadly. "Perhaps he has some good reason: let us not press him too far. Obduracy is better than falsehood.

Let us go and pray that heaven may soften his heart and grant him a right understanding."