The Man Between Part 28

This news stimulated Ethel's thinking, and when she also stood beside the two cradles, and the little Nicholas opened his big blue eyes and began to "bawl for what he wanted," a certain idea took fast hold of her, and she nursed it silently for the next month, watch-ing Tyrrel at the same time. It was near October, however, before she found the proper opportunity for speaking. There had been a long letter from the Judge.

It said Ruth and he were home again after a wonderful trip over the Northern Pacific road. He wrote with enthusiasm of the country and its opportunities, and of the big cities they had visited on their return from the Pacific coast. Every word was alive, the magnitude and stir of traffic and wrestling humanity seemed to rustle the paper. He described New York as overflowing with business. His own plans, the plans of others, the jar of politics, the thrill of music and the drama--all the mult.i.tudinous vitality that crowded the streets and filled the air, even to the roofs of the twenty-story buildings, contributed to the potent exhilaration of the letter.

"Great George!" exclaimed Tyrrel. "That is life! That is living! I wish we were back in America!"

"So do I, Tyrrel."

"I am so glad. When shall we go? It is now the twenty-eighth of September."

"Are you very weary of Rawdon Court"'

"Yes. If a man could live for the sake of eating and sleeping and having a pleasant time, why Rawdon Court would be a heaven to him; but if he wants to DO something with his life, he would be most unhappy here."

"And you want to do something?"

"You would not have loved a man who did not want TO DO. We have been here four months. Think of it! If I take four months out of every year for twenty years, I shall lose, with travel, about seven years of my life, and the other things to be dropped with them may be of incalculable value."

"I see, Tyrrel. I am not bound in any way to keep Rawdon Court. I can sell it to-morrow."

"But you would be grieved to do so?"

"Not at all. Being a lady of the Manor does not flatter me. The other squires would rather have a good man in my place."

"Why did you buy it?"

"As I have told you, to keep Mostyn out, and to keep a Rawdon here. But Nicholas Rawdon craves the place, and will pay well for his desire. It cost me eighty thousand pounds. He told father he would gladly give me one hundred thousand pounds whenever I was tired of my bargain. I will take the hundred thousand pounds to-morrow. There would then be four good heirs to Rawdon on the place."

Here the conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Nicholas, who came to invite them to the christening feast of the twins. Tyrrel soon left the ladies together, and Ethel at once opened the desired conversation.

"I am afraid we may have left the Court before the christening," she said. "Mr. Rawdon is very unhappy here. He is really homesick."

"But this is his home, isn't it? And a very fine one."

"He cannot feel it so. He has large interests in America. I doubt if I ever induce him to come here again. You see, this visit has been our marriage trip."

"And you won't live here! I never heard the line. What will you do with the Court? It will be badly used if it is left to servants seven or eight months every year."

"I suppose I must sell it. I see no----"

"If you only would let Nicholas buy it. You might be sure then it would be well cared for, and the little lads growing up in it, who would finally heir it. Oh, Ethel, if you would think of Nicholas first. He would honor the place and be an honor to it."

Out of this conversation the outcome was as satisfactory as it was certain, and within two weeks Nicholas Rawdon was Squire of Rawdon Manor, and possessor of the famous old Manor House. Then there followed a busy two weeks for Tyrrel, who had the superintendence of the packing, which was no light business. For though Ethel would not denude the Court of its ancient furniture and ornaments, there were many things belonging to the personal estate of the late Squire which had been given to her by his will, and could not be left behind. But by the end of October cases and trunks were all sent off to the steamship in which their pa.s.sage was taken; and the Rawdon estate, which had played such a momentous part in Ethel's life having finished its mission, had no further influence, and without regret pa.s.sed out of her physical life forever.

Indeed, their willingness to resign all claims to the old home was a marvel to both Tyrrel and Ethel. On their last afternoon there they walked through the garden, and stood under the plane tree where their vows of love had been pledged, and smiled and wondered at their indifference. The beauteous glamor of first love was gone as completely as the flowers and scents and songs that had then filled the charming place. But amid the sweet decay of these things they once more clasped hands, looking with supreme confidence into each other's eyes. All that had then been promised was now certain; and with an affection infinitely sweeter and surer, Tyrrel drew Ethel to his heart, and on her lips kissed the tenderest, proudest words a woman hears, "My dear wife!"

This visit was their last adieu, all the rest had been said, and early the next morning they left Monk-Rawdon station as quietly as they had arrived. During their short reign at Rawdon Court they had been very popular, and perhaps their resignation was equally so. After all, they were foreigners, and Nicholas Rawdon was Yorkshire, root and branch.

"Nice young people," said Justice Manningham at a hunt dinner, "but our ways are not their ways, nor like to be. The young man was born a fighter, and there are neither bears nor Indians here for him to fight; and our politics are Greek to him; and the lady, very sweet and beautiful, but full of new ideas--ideas not suitable for women, and we do not wish our women changed."

"Good enough as they are," mumbled Squire Oakes.

"Nicest Americans I ever met," added Earl Danvers, "but Nicholas Rawdon will be better at Rawdon Court." To which statement there was a general a.s.sent, and then the subject was considered settled.

In the meantime Tyrrel and Ethel had reached London and gone to the Metropole Hotel; because, as Ethel said, no one knew where Dora was; but if in England, she was likely to be at the Savoy. They were to be two days in London. Tyrrel had banking and other business to fully occupy the time, and Ethel remembered she had some shopping to do, a thing any woman would discover if she found herself in the neighborhood of Regent Street and Piccadilly. On the afternoon of the second day this duty was finished, and she returned to her hotel satisfied but a little weary. As she was going up the steps she noticed a woman coming slowly down them.

It was Dora Mostyn. They met with great enthusiasm on Dora's part, and she turned back and went with Ethel to her room.

Ethel looked at her with astonishment. She was not like any Dora she had previously seen. Her beauty had developed wondrously, she had grown much taller, and her childish manner had been superseded by a carriage and air of superb grace and dignity. She had now a fine color, and her eyes were darker, softer, and more dreamy than ever. "Take off your hat, Dora," said Ethel, "and tell me what has happened. You are positively splendid. Where is Mr. Mostyn?"

"I neither know nor care. He is tramping round the world after me, and I intend to keep him at it. But I forget. I must tell you how THAT has come about."

"We heard from Mrs. Denning. She said she had received you safely."

"My dear mother! She met me like an angel; comforted and cared for me, never said one word of blame, only kissed and pitied me. We talked things over, and she advised me to go to New York. So we took three pa.s.sages under the names of Mrs. John Gifford, Miss Gifford, and Miss Diana Gifford. Miss Diana was my maid, but mother thought a party of three would throw Mostyn off our track."

"A very good idea."

"We sailed at once. On the second day out I had a son. The poor little fellow died in a few hours, and was buried at sea. But his birth has given me the power to repay to Fred Mostyn some of the misery he caused me."

"How so? I do not see."

"Oh, you must see, if you will only remember how crazy Englishmen are about their sons. Daughters don't count, you know, but a son carries the property in the family name. He is its representative for the next generation. As I lay suffering and weeping, a fine scheme of revenge came clearly to me. Listen! Soon after we got home mother cabled Mostyn's lawyer that 'Mrs. Mostyn had had a son.' Nothing was said of the boy's death. Almost immediately I was notified that Mr. Mostyn would insist on the surrender of the child to his care. I took no notice of the letters. Then he sent his lawyer to claim the child and a woman to take care of it. I laughed them to scorn, and defied them to find the child. After them came Mostyn himself. He interviewed doctors, overlooked baptismal registers, advertised far and wide, bribed our servants, bearded father in his office, abused Bryce on the avenue, waylaid me in all my usual resorts, and bombarded me with letters, but he knows no more yet than the cable told him. And the man is becoming a monomaniac about HIS SON."

"Are you doing right, Dora?"

"If you only knew how he had tortured me! Father and mother think he deserves all I can do to him. Anyway, he will have it to bear. If he goes to the asylum he threatened me with, I shall be barely satisfied.

The 'cat-faced woman' is getting her innings now."

"Have you never spoken to him or written to him? Surely"

"He caught me one day as I came out of our house, and said, 'Madam, where is my son?' And I answered, 'You have no son. The child WAS MINE.

You shall never see his face in this world. I have taken good care of that.'

"'I will find him some day,' he said, and I laughed at him, and answered, 'He is too cunningly hid. Do you think I would let the boy know he had such a father as you? No, indeed. Not unless there was property for the disgrace.' I touched him on the raw in that remark, and then I got into my carriage and told the coachman to drive quickly.

Mostyn attempted to follow me, but the whip lashing the horses was in the way." And Dora laughed, and the laugh was cruel and mocking and full of meaning.

"Dora, how can you? How can you find pleasure in such revenges?"

"I am having the greatest satisfaction of my life. And I am only beginning the just retribution, for my beauty is enthralling the man again, and he is on the road to a mad jealousy of me."

"Why don't you get a divorce? This is a case for that remedy. He might then marry again, and you also."

"Even so, I should still torment him. If he had sons he would be miserable in the thought that his unknown son might, on his death, take from them the precious Mostyn estate, and that wretched, old, haunted house of his. I am binding him to misery on every hand."

"Is Mrs. Denning here with you?"

"Both my father and mother are with me. Father is going to take a year's rest, and we shall visit Berlin, Vienna, Rome, Paris or wherever our fancy leads us."

"And Mr. Mostyn?"