The Mark Of Cain Part 23

"Well, I suppose she did! I always fancied, after what happened at _The Bunhouse_, that that dreadful Mr. Cranley sent her to me under a false name. It was not _her_ fault. The question is, What was her reason for keeping her real name concealed?"

"That's what I'm coming to," said Barton. "I have a friend, a Mr.

Maitland."

"Mr. Maitland of St. Gatien's?" asked the widow.

"Yes."

"I know him."

"Yes, I have often heard him speak of you," said Barton. "Well, he had a _protegee_--a kind of ward, to tell a long story in few words--a girl whom he had educated, and whom he was under some kind of promise to her father to marry. The father died suddenly; the girl disappeared mysteriously from school at the same moment; and Maitland, after many efforts, has never been able to find out anything about her. Now, this girl's name, this girl in whom my friend was interested, was Margaret Shields. That is the very name by which your friend, Miss Harman, called Margaret. So, you see, even if I am right, and if she _does_ care for me, what a dreadful position I am in! I want to marry the girl to whom my friend is, more or less, engaged! My friend, after doing his best to find his ward, and after really suffering a great deal of anxiety and annoyance, is living abroad. What am I to say to him?"

"Mr. Barton," said Mrs. St John Deloraine, "perhaps you alarm yourself too much. I think"--here she dropped her voice a little--"I think--I don't think Mr. Maitland's _heart_ is very deeply concerned about Miss Shields. I may be wrong, but I know him pretty well"--she gave a little nervous laugh--"and I don't think he's in _love_ with Margaret."

By the time she reached the end of this interrupted and tentative discourse Mrs. St. John Deloraine was blushing like a rose in June.

Barton felt an enormous weight lifted from his heart, and a flood of welcome light poured into his mind. The two philanthropists were in love with each other!

"He's an awfully good fellow, Maitland," he replied. "But you are right; I'm _sure_ you are right. You must know. He is _not_ in love with Margaret."

Mrs. St. John Deloraine seemed not displeased at the tribute to Maitland's un.o.btrusive virtues, and replied:

"But he will be very glad to hear that she is found at last, and quite safe; and I'll write to him myself, this very evening. I heard from him--about a charity, you know--a few days ago, and I have his address."

By this time they had reached the carriage. Janey, with many embraces, tore herself from Margaret, and went off with her attendant; while Mrs.

St John Deloraine, with a beaming face, gave the coachman the order "Home."

"We shall see you to-morrow at luncheon," she cried to Barton; and no offer of hospitality had ever been more welcome.

He began to walk home, turning over his discoveries in his thoughts, when he suddenly came to a dead halt.

"By George!" he said out loud; "I'll go back and have it out with her at once. I've had enough of this shillyshally."

He turned and strode off in the direction of Cheyne Walk. In a few minutes he was standing at the familiar door.

"Will you ask Miss--Miss Burnside if she can see me for one moment?" he said to the servant "I have forgotten something she wished me to do for her," he added in a mumble.

Then he was taken into the boudoir, and presently Margaret appeared, still in her bonnet and furs.

"I couldn't help coming back, Margaret," he said, as soon as she entered the room. "I want to tell you that it is all right, that you needn't think--I mean, that I know all about it, and that there is nothing, _nothing_ to prevent us--I mean Margaret, if you _really_ care for me--"

Then he came to a dead stop.

It was not a very easy situation. Barton could not exactly say to Margaret, "My dear girl, you need not worry yourself about Maitland. He does not care a pin for you; he'll be delighted at being released. He is in love with Mrs. St. John Deloraine."

That would have been a statement both adequate and explicit; but it could not have been absolutely flattering to Margaret, and it would have been exceedingly unfair to her hostess.

The girl came forward to the table, and stood with her hand on it, looking at Barton. She did not help him out in any way; her att.i.tude was safe, but embarra.s.sing.

He made a charge, as it were, at the position--a random, desperate charge.

"Margaret, can you trust me?" he asked.

She merely put out her hand, which he seized.

"Well, then, believe me when I tell you that I know everything about your doubts; that I know more than anyone else can do; and that there is _nothing_ to prevent us from being happy. More than that, if you will only agree to make me happy, you will make everyone else happy too.

Can't you take it on trust? Can't you believe me?"

Margaret said nothing; but she hid her face on Barton's shoulder. She _did_ believe him.

The position was carried!

CHAPTER XV.--The Mark of Cain.

Next morning Barton entered his sitting-room in very high spirits, and took up his letters. He had written to Maitland the night before, saying little but, "Come home at once. Margaret is found. She is going to be my wife. You can't come too quickly, if you wish to hear of something very much to your advantage." A load was off his mind, and he felt as _Romeo_ did just before the bad news about _Juliet_ reached him.

In this buoyant disposition, Barton opened his letters. The first was in a hand he knew very well--that of a man who had been his fellow-student in Paris and Vienna, and who was now a prosperous young physician. The epistle ran thus:

"Dear Barton.--I'm off to the West of Ireland, for a fortnight People are pretty fit, as the season has not run far. Most of my patients have not yet systematically overeaten themselves. I want you to do something for me. Martin & Wright, the lawyers, have a queer little bit of medical jurisprudence, about which young Wright, who was at Oriel in our time, asked my opinion. I recommended him to see you, as it is more in your line; and _my_ line will presently be attached to that eminent general pract.i.tioner, 'The Blue Doctor.' May he prosper with the Galway salmon!

"Thine,

"Alfred Franks."

"Lucky beggar!" thought Barton to himself, but he was too happy to envy even a man who had a fortnight of salmon-fishing before him.

The next letter he opened was in a blue envelope, with the stamp of Messrs. Martin & Wright. The brief and and formal note which it contained requested Dr. Barton to call, that very day if possible, at the chambers of the respectable firm, on "business of great importance."

"What in the world can they want?" thought Barton. "n.o.body can have left _me_ any money. Besides, Franks says it is a point in medical jurisprudence. That sounds attractive. I'll go down after breakfast."

He walked along the sunny embankment, and that bright prospect of houses, trees, and ships have never seemed so beautiful. In an hour he was in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and had shaken hands with young Wright, whom he knew; had been introduced to old Wright, a somewhat stately man of business, and had taken his seat in the chair sacred to clients.

"Dr. Barton," said old Mr. Wright, solemnly, "you are, I think, the author of this book?"

He handed to Barton a copy of his own volume, in its gray paper cover, "Les Tatouages etude Medico-Legale".

"Certainly," said Barton. "I wrote it when I was in Paris I had plenty of chances of studying tattooing in the military hospitals."

"I have not read it myself," said old Mr. Wright, "because I am not acquainted with the French language; but my son tells me it is a work of great learning."

Barton could only bow, and mutter that he was glad Mr. Wright liked it.

_Why_ he should like it, or what the old gentleman wanted, he could not even imagine.

"We are at present engaged in a very curious case, Dr. Barton," went on the lawyer, "in which we think your special studies may a.s.sist us. The position is this: Nearly eight months ago a client of ours died, a Mr.

Richard Johnson, of Linkheaton, in the North. You must excuse me if I seem to be troubling you with a long story?"