The Beautiful Wretch; The Pupil of Aurelius; and The Four Macnicols Part 10

'You must face it like a man, friend King,' said the other. 'You have acted rightly, great as the pain must be to yourself. It is the young man's last chance, and surely he accepts it or he would not be coming at all. And--she--also.'

'If only he hadn't married her--if only he hadn't married her. She might have ruined him in pocket, as she has ruined others before; but, to come in here----'

He glanced at the portraits along the walls; he seemed scarcely to know what he was saying.

'You might preach a sermon from what I am suffering now, Vicar. Oh, I deserve it. My pride has been taken down at last. But the punishment is hard----'

'Pardon me, friend King; but you exaggerate surely. Surely a certain measure of family pride is justifiable; it ought to nerve a man to be worthy of those who have gone before him. Nor have I ever thought that your feeling about your name being a heritage that you had to guard jealously and piously was otherwise than just----'

'Five centuries, Vicar--for five centuries the Kings of Kingscourt, whether knights or commoners, have been gentlemen--gentlemen every man of them; and this is the end!'

'But even now, old friend, you must not look at the blackest side of things. Alfred may requite you yet by his conduct for the tremendous sacrifice you and Mrs. King are making. He has committed a social crime; but surely that is better than living in sin----.'

'Vicar, I know you have tried to look only at the cheerful side of things, as far as your cloth will permit, and I trust in G.o.d that something may yet come of it; but if not--if this last appeal to him produces nothing more than the others--then there is a final alternative that may help me to save Kingscourt and the family name.'

'What is that?' his friend said, eagerly.

'I will not speak of it now; we must hope for the best.'

At this moment there was heard the rumbling of carriage wheels outside, and the old man started.

'Come, let us go into the hall,' he said quickly; and then he added, in a lower and agitated voice, 'Vicar, do you think my poor wife will--will have to kiss this woman? That is what she dreads. That is what terrifies her.'

The pale-faced clergyman seemed embarra.s.sed, and said hastily,

'There will be some confusion, no doubt. Come, friend King, pull yourself together. You are welcoming home your son and his newly-married wife, remember.'

The great bell rang, the servants swarmed into the hall, the door was opened, and outside, in the darkness, the carriage lamps were visible, shining down on the broad steps. At the same moment a lady came along from the corridor; a tall, elderly woman, with a pale, sweet face, quite white hair done up in old-fashioned little curls, and with eyes of a sad, benign expression. She seemed to be very pleased and cheerful; it was only the Vicar, who shook hands with her, who knew that her whole frame was trembling.

'So you have come to welcome home the bride, Mr. Lynnton,' she said, in a clear voice, so that every one could hear. 'Alfred will be pleased to see you again, after his long absence. They say that being so much abroad has greatly improved him.'

'It could not well improve his appearance, Mrs. King; he was always a handsome lad,' said the Vicar--his eyes still turned towards the door.

This was, indeed, a strikingly handsome man who now came up the steps--taller and more ma.s.sive than his brother Frank, lighter also in hair and eyes. At this first glance one scarcely noticed that his face was somewhat flushed, and that the light blue eyes had a sort of uncertain nervous throb in them.

'My wife, mother.'

The Vicar stared with astonishment. This pretty, bright-faced little thing did not look more than eighteen or nineteen, though in fact she was five-and-twenty; and in her tight-fitting ulster and plain gray hat, and quiet yellow-gray gloves, she looked the very embodiment of girlish grace, and neatness, and decorum.

The white-haired woman took this new visitor by both hands.

'I am glad you have come, my dear,' said she, without any quaver of the voice, and she kissed her first on one cheek and then on the other.

'But you must be tired with your long journey. Come, I will show you your dressing-room; they have taken some tea up for you.'

'And to-night we dine at seven, my dear,' said the father of the house, addressing her at the same time, 'for we thought you might be hungry after your journey. So don't take too much time in dressing, my dear; we are plain folks; we will see all your finery another night.

Higgins, have Mrs. Alfred's boxes taken up at once.'

Mrs. Alfred meanwhile stood looking a little puzzled, a little amused, but not at all shy. She seemed to consider it rather a good joke.

'Go on, Jinny,' her husband said to her lazily; 'I shan't dress.'

'That is an old privilege of Alfred's, my dear,' said Mrs. King, leading the new-comer away. 'His father, now, hasn't missed dressing for dinner one evening since we were married, except the night the vicarage took fire. But I suppose young men are not so ceremonious now. Here is your room, my dear; Catherine is bringing some hot water, and she will open your boxes for you.'

And the old lady herself went and stirred up the fire, and drew the low easy chair nearer to the little table where the tea-things were, and continued talking in the kindliest way to her new guest until the maid arrived. Mrs. Alfred had said nothing at all, but she seemed contented and amused.

At seven o'clock every one had a.s.sembled in the drawing-room except Mrs. Alfred. The Vicar's wife had arrived: she was a stout, anxious-eyed little woman, who was obviously alarmed, and talked much to a.s.sure those around her that she was quite at ease. Mr. Alfred himself was lazy, good-natured, indifferent--he had drunk two or three gla.s.ses of sherry meanwhile to pa.s.s the time.

Punctually at seven Mrs. Alfred appeared. She looked more prim and nice and neat than ever in this black silk dress with old lace on the open square in front and on the cuffs of the tight sleeves.

'Mrs. Lynnton--my daughter Jinny,' said the old white-haired lady, introducing the new-comer to the Vicar's wife.

Dinner was announced, and the big folding doors thrown open.

'My dear,' said Mr. King to his wife, 'I must take in Mrs. Alfred. It is a welcome home, you know. Alfred, you take in Mrs. Lynnton. Come along, child.'

And he gave her his arm with great ceremony, and led her into the long, old-fashioned dining-room, which was a blaze of candles, and gave her the seat at his right hand, and immediately called for a fire-screen lest the fire should be too much.

'Or will you sit the other side, my dear?' said he.

'Oh no, sir,' she said, very prettily, out of compliment to his age.

'Oh no, sir, I am best pleased to sit where you wish me to sit.'

For by this time the amused look had gone out of her face, and she seemed to have grown sensible of the great kindness these people were trying to show her.

Dinner went on, and the conversation rested mainly between Mr. Alfred, who was asking questions about the people in the neighbourhood, and the Vicar, who answered him. But when anything amusing was said, it was addressed to Mrs. Alfred, or else they looked to see whether she was pleased; and she received a great deal of attention from the old gentleman next her, and had many kind things said to her by his wife.

But Mrs. Alfred's face grew more and more strange. She seemed depressed and troubled--timid at the same time and self-conscious; once or twice her lips were tremulous. And then all at once she rose, and quickly went to where Mrs. King sat, and threw herself on her knees, and clasped the old lady's knees, and burst into a wild fit of sobbing and crying. The old lady turned very pale, and put her hand on the younger woman's head gently. The servants pretended to see nothing.

Mr. Alfred flushed angrily, and said--

'Jinny, don't make a fool of yourself. Go back to your seat.'

Then the elder woman raised her, with a tenderness and compa.s.sion not altogether a.s.sumed, and led her back, saying--

'You are tired, my dear. I thought you looked tired, my dear. We will let you go soon to bed tonight.'

Then everybody talked at once, and the little incident seemed easily forgotten. Moreover, as the evening progressed, old Stephen King convinced himself that he had done what was best for the bygone Kings of Kingscourt and any Kings of Kingscourt there might be. He would pay off his son's debts once more. These two would be content to remain for years in the country, till bygones should be bygones elsewhere; and even in the country the neighbours might pretend to a convenient ignorance. The Vicar would help him.

The Vicar and his wife left about ten; Mr. and Mrs. Alfred retired early; the various agitations that had shaken the old silver-haired dame gave place to a quiescence that was in a measure hopeful. Then sleep overtook the old manor-house, and the silence of the night.

About midnight there was a loud crash in the dining-room. Certain of the servants slept on the ground-floor for safety's sake; and the first one--indeed, the only one--to be thoroughly aroused by this sudden noise was the butler, a young man who had inherited the position from his father. He jumped up, hastily donned some clothes, and carried a light along to the room, wisely thinking that if it was only a picture that had fallen he need not alarm the whole household. At the same time he went cautiously, for he did not wish to be seized by the throat unawares.

He found the dining-room door open, and something, in the dark inside, lying p.r.o.ne on the floor. He pushed forward his candle, and to his horror found it was Mrs. Alfred, who was slowly raising herself by both hands.

'Oh, ma'am, what has happened?' he cried.

'Be quiet. Where's the brandy?' she said, angrily; and then she put her hand to the side of her forehead. 'I've struck my head against something.'

This young man was a miracle of discretion, but he was startled. She did not talk incoherently, and yet she could not rise.