The Red Rat's Daughter Part 16

"It is only natural that I should," she answered. "I also wish to be honest with Madame. You will give that promise, will you not, Jack?"

Browne considered for a moment. Embarra.s.sing as the position had been a few moments before, it seemed even more so now. At last he made up his mind.

"Yes," he said very slowly; "since you wish it, I will give you that promise, and I believe I am doing right. You love me, Katherine?"

"Ah, you know that," she replied. "I love and trust you as I could never do another man."

"And you believe that I will do everything that a man can do to bring about the result you desire?"

"I do believe that," she said.

"Then let it all remain in my hands. Let me be responsible for the whole matter, and you shall see what the result will be. As I told you yesterday, dear, if any man can get your father out of the terrible place in which he now is, I will do so."

She tried to answer, but words failed her. Her heart was too full to speak. She could only press his hand in silence.

"When shall I see you again?" Browne inquired, after the short silence which had ensued. "I leave for London this afternoon."

"For London?" she repeated, with a startled look upon her face. "I did not know that you were going so soon."

"There is no time to lose," he answered. "All our arrangements must be made at once. I have as much to do next week as I can possibly manage.

I suppose you and Madame have set your hearts on going to the East?"

"I could not let you go alone," she answered; "and not only that, but if you succeed in getting my father away, I must be there to welcome him to freedom."

"In that case you and Madame had better hold yourselves in readiness to start as soon as I give the word."

"We will be ready whenever you wish us to set off," she replied. "You need have no fear of that."

Half an hour later Browne bade her good-bye, and, in less than three hours, he was flying across France as fast as the express could carry him. Reaching Calais, he boarded the boat. It was growing dusk, and for that reason the faces of the pa.s.sengers were barely distinguishable. Suddenly Browne felt a hand upon his shoulder, and a voice greeted him with, "My dear Browne, this is indeed a pleasurable surprise. I never expected to see you here."

_It was Maas._

CHAPTER XV

Why he should have been so surprised at meeting Maas on board the steamer that evening Browne has never been able to understand. The fact, however, remains that he was surprised, and unpleasantly so. The truth of the matter was, he wanted to be alone, to think of Katherine and of the work he had pledged himself to accomplish. Even when one is head over ears in love, however, the common usages of society may claim some moderate share of attention; and, all things considered, civility to one's friends is perhaps the first of these. For this reason Browne paced the deck with Maas, watching the lights of Calais growing smaller each time they turned their faces towards the stern of the vessel.

Every turn of the paddle-wheels seemed to be taking Katherine farther and farther from him; and yet, was he not travelling to England on her errand, was he not wearing a ring she had given him upon his finger, and was not the memory of her face continually with him? Maas noticed that he was unusually quiet and preoccupied, and attempted to rally him upon the subject. He was the possessor of a peculiarly ingratiating manner; and, much to his own surprise, Browne found himself, before they had been very long on board, telling him the news, that was destined sorely to trouble the hearts of mothers with marriageable daughters before the next few weeks were out. "I am sure I congratulate you most heartily, my dear fellow," said Maas, with a fine show of enthusiasm. "I have had my suspicions that something of the kind was in the air for some considerable time past; but I did not know that it was quite so near at hand. I trust we shall soon be permitted the honour of making the young lady's acquaintance."

"I am afraid that will not be for some considerable time to come,"

Browne replied.

"How so?" asked Maas. "What are you going to do?"

"As I told you the other day, I am thinking of leaving England on a rather extended yachting cruise to the Farther East."

"Ah, I remember you did say something about it," Maas continued. "Your _fiancee_ will accompany you, of course?"

Browne scarcely knew what reply to offer to this speech. He had no desire to allow Maas to suspect his secret, and at the same time his conscience would not permit him to tell a deliberate untruth. Suddenly he saw a way out of his difficulty.

"We shall meet in j.a.pan, in all probability," he answered; "but she will not go out with me."

"What a pity!" said Maas, who had suddenly become very interested in what his companion was saying to him. "There is no place like a yacht, I think, at such a time. I do not, of course, speak from experience; I should imagine, however, that the rippling of the water alongside, and the quiet of the deck at night, would be eminently conducive to love-making."

To this speech Browne offered no reply. The train of thought it conjured up was too pleasant, and at the same time too sacred, to be shared with any one else. He was picturing the yacht making her way across a phosph.o.r.escent sea, with the brilliant tropical stars shining overhead, and Katherine by his side, the only sound to be heard being the steady pulsation of the screw and the gentle lapping of the water alongside.

At last the lights of Dover were to be distinctly seen ahead. The pa.s.sage had not been altogether a smooth one, and for this reason the decks did not contain as many pa.s.sengers as usual. Now, however, the latter were beginning to appear again, getting their luggage together and preparing for going ash.o.r.e, with that bustle that usually characterises the last ten minutes on board a Channel steamer. Always an amusing and interesting companion, Maas, on this particular occasion, exerted himself to the utmost to please. By the time they reached Charing Cross, Browne had to admit to himself that he had never had a more enjoyable journey. The time had slipped by so quickly and so pleasantly that he had been permitted no opportunity of feeling lonely.

"I hope I shall see you again before you go," said Maas, as they stood together in the courtyard of the station on the look-out for Browne's hansom, which was awaiting its turn to pull up at the steps. "When do you think you will be starting?"

"That is more than I can tell you," said Browne. "I have a great many arrangements to make before I can think about going. However, I am certain to drop across you somewhere. In the meantime, can I give you a lift?"

"No, thank you," said Maas. "I shall take a cab and look in at the club before I go home. I could not sleep until I have heard the news of the town; who has married who, and who has run away with somebody else. Now, here is your cab; so let me wish you good-night. Many thanks for your society."

Before Browne went to bed that night, he ascended to his magnificent picture gallery, the same which had been the pride and glory of his father's heart, and, turning up the electric light, examined a picture which had lately been hung at the farther end. It was a Norwegian subject, and represented the mountains overlooking the little landlocked harbour of Merok. How much had happened since he had last looked upon that scene, and what a vital change that chance meeting had brought about in his life! It seemed scarcely believable, and yet how true it all was! And some day, if all went well, Katherine would stand in the self-same hall looking upon the same picture, mistress of the beautiful house and all it contained. Before that consummation could be brought about, however, they had a difficult piece of work to do.

And what would happen supposing he should never return? What if he should fall into the hands of the Russian Government? That such a fate might befall him was far from being unlikely, and it would behove him to take all precautions in case it should occur. In his own mind he knew exactly what those precautions would be. Waking from the day-dream into which he had fallen, he glanced once more at the picture, and then, with a little sigh for he knew not what, made his way to his bedroom and retired to rest. Next morning he was up betimes, and by nine o'clock had telegraphed to Southampton for the captain of his yacht. At ten o'clock he ordered his hansom and drove to his lawyers' office in Chancery Lane. The senior partner had that moment arrived, so the clerk informed him.

"If you will be kind enough to step this way, sir," the youth continued, "I will conduct you to him."

Browne did as he was requested, and followed him down a pa.s.sage to a room at the farther end. Browne's visits were red-letter days in the calendar of the firm. When the lad returned to his high stool in the office, it was to wonder how he would spend his time if he were the possessor of such enormous wealth. It is questionable whether he would have considered Browne so fortunate had he been made acquainted with all the circ.u.mstances of the case. He was an irreproachable youth in every way, who during the week wore a respectable black coat and top-hat, and lived at Blackheath; while on Sundays he rode a tandem bicycle with the girl of his heart, and dreamt of the cottage they were to share together, directly the firm could be persuaded to make the salary, on which it was to be supported, a little more elastic.

"How do you do, my dear Mr. Browne?" inquired the lawyer, rising from his chair as Browne entered, and extending his hand. "I understood you were in Paris."

"I returned last night," said Browne. "I came up early because I want to see you on rather important business."

"I am always at your service," replied the lawyer, bringing forward a chair for Browne's use. "I hope you are not very much worried."

"As a matter of fact, Bretherton, I have come to see you, because at last I am going to follow your advice, and--well, the long and the short of it is, I am going to be married!"

The lawyer almost jumped from his chair in surprise. "I am delighted to hear it," he answered. "As I have so often said, I feel sure you could not do a wiser thing. I have not the pleasure of knowing Miss Verney; nevertheless----"

Browne held up his hand in expostulation. "My dear fellow," he said, with a laugh, "you are on the wrong scent altogether. What on earth makes you think I am going to marry Miss Verney? I never had any such notion."

The lawyer's face was a study in bewilderment. "But I certainly understood," he began, "that----"

"So have a great many other people," said Browne. "But I can a.s.sure you it is not the case. The lady I am going to marry is a Russian."

"Ah, to be sure," continued the lawyer. "Now I come to think of it, I remember that my wife pointed out to me in some ladies' paper, that the Princess Volgourouki was one of your yachting party at Cowes last summer."

"Not the Princess either," said Browne. "You seem bent upon getting upon the wrong tack. My _fiancee_ is not a millionairess; her name is Petrovitch. She is an orphan, an artist, and has an income of about three hundred pounds a year."

The lawyer was unmistakably shocked and disappointed. He had hoped to be able to go home that night and inform his wife, that he was the first to hear of the approaching marriage of his great client with some well-known beautiful aristocrat or heiress. Now to find that he was going to espouse a girl, who was not only unknown to the great world, but was quite lacking in wealth, was a disappointment almost too great to be borne. It almost seemed as if Browne had offered him a personal affront; for, although his client was, in most respects, an easy-going young man, still the lawyer was very well aware that there were times when he could be as obstinate as any other man. For this reason he held his tongue, and contented himself with bowing and drawing a sheet of note paper towards him. Then, taking up a pen, he inquired in what way he could be of service.

"The fact of the matter is, Bretherton," the other began, "I have a communication to make to you which I scarcely know how to enter upon.

The worst of it is that, for very many reasons, I cannot tell you anything definite. You must fill in the blanks according to your own taste and fancy; and, according to how much you can understand, you can advise me as to the best course for me to pursue."

He paused for a moment, and during the interval the lawyer withdrew his gla.s.ses from his nose, polished them, and replaced them. Having done so, he placed his finger-tips together, and, looking at Browne over them, waited for him to proceed.