The Red Rat's Daughter Part 20

"Now here's the club," said Jimmy, as they reached the building in question. "Let us go in and have some luncheon. After that what are you going to do?"

"I am off to Paris this afternoon," the other replied. "Madame Bernstein and Miss Petrovitch leave for j.a.pan in one of the French boats the day after to-morrow, and I want to see them before they go."

After luncheon with Foote, Browne returned to his house, wrote a letter containing the most minute instructions to Captain Mason, and later on caught the afternoon express for Paris. The clocks of the French capital were striking eleven as he reached his hotel that night. He was worn out, and retired almost immediately to bed, though it would have required but little persuasion to have taken him off to the Rue Jacquarie. As it was, however, he had to content himself with the reflection, that he was to see her the very first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER XVIII

Nine o'clock on the following day, punctual almost to the minute, found Browne exchanging greetings with the _concierge_ at the foot of the stairs, who, by this time, had come to know his face intimately. The latter informed him that Mademoiselle Petrovitch was at home, but that Madame Bernstein had gone out some few minutes before. Browne congratulated himself upon the latter fact, and ran upstairs three steps at a time. Within four minutes from entering the building Katherine was in his arms.

"Are you pleased to see me again, darling?" he inquired, after the first excitement of their meeting had pa.s.sed away.

"More pleased than I can tell you," she answered; and as she spoke Browne could see the love-light in her eyes. "Ever since your telegram arrived yesterday, I have been counting the minutes until I should see you. It seems like years since you went away, and such long years too!"

What Browne said in reply to this pretty speech, it does not behove me to set down here. Whatever it was, however, it seemed to give great satisfaction to the person to whom it was addressed. At length they sat down together upon the sofa, and Browne told her of the arrangements he had made. "I did not write to you about them, dear,"

he said, "for the reason that, in a case like this, the less that is put on paper the better for all parties concerned. Letters may go astray, and there is no knowing what may happen to them. Therefore I thought I would keep all my news until I could tell it to you face to face. Are you ready for your long journey?"

"Yes, we are quite ready," said Katherine. "We are only waiting for you. Madame has been very busy for the last few days, and so have I."

She mentioned Madame's name with some little trepidation, for she feared lest the old subject, which had caused them both so much pain on the last occasion that they had met, might be revived. Browne, however, was careful, as she was, not to broach it.

"And when will your yacht leave England?" she inquired, after he had detailed his arrangements to her.

"On Monday next at latest," he answered. "We shall not be very far behind you."

"Nevertheless it will be a long, long time before I shall see you again," she continued in a sad tone. "Oh, Jack, Jack, I cannot tell you how wicked I feel in allowing you to do so much for me. Even now, at this late hour, I feel I have no right to accept such a sacrifice at your hands."

"Stop," he replied, holding up his finger in warning. "I thought we had agreed that nothing more should be said about it."

At this juncture there was the sound of a footstep in the pa.s.sage outside, and a few seconds later Madame Bernstein entered the room. On seeing Browne she hastened forward, and greeted him with all the effusiveness of which she was mistress. "Ah, Monsieur Browne," she said, "now that I see you my courage returns. As Katherine has doubtless told you, everything is prepared, and we are ready to start for Ma.r.s.eilles as soon as you give the order. Katherine is looking forward to the voyage; but as for me---- Ah! I do hate the sea more than anything in the world. That nasty little strip of salt water which divides England from France is a continual nightmare to me, and I never cross it without hoping it may be the last time."

Browne tried to comfort her by telling her of the size of the vessel in which they were to travel, and a.s.sured her that, even if she should be ill, by the time they were out of the Mediterranean she would have recovered. Seeing that no other consolation was forthcoming, Madame was compelled to be content with this poor comfort.

Though Browne had already breakfasted in the solid, substantial English fashion, he was only too glad to persuade Madame Bernstein and his sweetheart to partake of _dejeuner_ at one of the famous cafes on the Boulevards. After the meal Madame returned to the Rue Jacquarie in order to finish a little packing, which she had left to the last moment; while Browne, who had been looking forward to this opportunity, a.s.sumed possession of Katharine, and carried her to one of the large shops in the Rue de la Paix, where he purchased for her the best dressing-bag ever obtained for love or money; to which he added a set of sables that would have turned even Russian Royalty green with envy.

Never had his money seemed so useful to Browne. These commissions executed, they returned to the Rue Jacquarie, where they found Madame Bernstein ready for the journey. The express was due to leave Paris for Ma.r.s.eilles at 2.15 p.m. Twenty minutes before that hour a cab drove up to the door, and in it Browne placed Madame Bernstein and Katherine, following them himself. Wonderful is the power of a gift!

Browne carried the bag, he had given Katherine that morning, down to the cab with his own hands, and without being asked to do so, placed it on the seat beside her. He noticed that her right hand went out to take it, and held it lovingly until they reached the station, where she surrendered it to him again.

When they made their appearance on the platform an official hurried forward to meet them, and conducted them forthwith to the special saloon carriage Browne had bespoken for their use that morning. As she stepped into it Katherine gave a little grateful glance at her lover to show that she appreciated his generosity. Poor as she had always been, she found it hard to realize what his wealth meant. And yet there were many little signs to give her evidence of the fact--the obsequious railway officials; his own majestic English servant, who brought them a sheaf of papers without being instructed to do so; and last, but by no means least, the very railway carriage itself, which was of the most luxurious description. On Madame Bernstein entering the compartment she placed herself in a corner, arranged her travelling-rug, her smelling-salts, her papers, and her fan to her satisfaction; and by the time she had settled down the journey had commenced. The train was an express, and did not stop until it reached Laroche at 4.40. Here afternoon tea was procured for the ladies; while on reaching Dijon, two hours and a half later, it was discovered that an unusually luxurious dinner had been ordered by telegraph, and was served in the second compartment of the carriage. Having done justice to it, they afterwards settled themselves down for the night. It is a very significant fact that when Browne looks back upon that journey now, the one most important fact, that strikes his memory, is that Madame Bernstein fell asleep a little after eight o'clock, and remained so until they had pa.s.sed Pontanevaux. During the time she slept, Browne was able to have a little private conversation with Katherine; and whatever trouble he had taken to ensure the journey being a successful one, he was amply compensated for it. At ten o'clock the polite conductor begged permission to inform mesdames and monsieur that their sleeping apartments were prepared for them. Browne accordingly bade the ladies good-night.

As the young man lay in his sleeping compartment that night, and the train made its way across France towards its most important sea-port, Browne's dreams were of many things. At one moment he was back in the Opera House at Covent Garden, listening to _Lohengrin_, and watching Katherine's face as each successive singer appeared upon the stage.

Then, as if by magic, the scene changed, and he was on the windy mountain-side at Merok, and Katherine was looking up at him from her place of deadly peril a few feet below. He reached down and tried to save her, but it appeared to be a question of length of arm, and his was a foot too short. "Pray allow me to help you," said Maas; and being only too grateful for any a.s.sistance, Browne permitted him to do so. They accordingly caught her by the hands and began to pull. Then suddenly, without any warning, Maas struck him a terrible blow upon the head; both holds were instantly loosed, and Katherine was in the act of falling over the precipice when Browne awoke. Great beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead, and, under the influence of this fright, he trembled as he did not remember ever to have done in his life before. For upwards of an hour he lay awake, listening to the rhythm of the wheels and the thousand and one noises that a train makes at night. Then once more he fell asleep, and, as before, dreamt of Katherine. Equally strange was it that on this occasion also Maas was destined to prove his adversary. They were in j.a.pan now, and the scene was a garden in which the Wistaria bloomed luxuriously. Katherine was standing on a rustic bridge, looking down into the water below, and Maas was beside her. Suddenly the bridge gave way, and the girl was precipitated into the water. Though she was drowning, he noticed that Maas did nothing to help her, but stood upon what remained of the bridge and taunted her with the knowledge that, if she were drowned, her mission to the East would be useless. After this no further sleep was possible. At break of day he accordingly rose and dressed himself.

They were pa.s.sing through the little town of Saint-Chamas at the time.

It was a lovely morning; not a cloud in the sky, and all the air and country redolent of life and beauty. It was a day upon which a man might be thankful for the right to live and love. Yet Browne was sad at heart. Was he not about to part from the woman he loved for nearly two whole months? Brave though he was in most things, it must be confessed he feared that separation, as a confirmed coward fears a blow. But still the train flew remorselessly on, bringing them every moment nearer and nearer their destination.

When they reached it they drove direct to an hotel. Here they breakfasted, and afterwards made their way to the steamer. Browne's heart was sinking lower and lower, for never before had Katherine seemed so sweet and so desirable. Once on board the vessel they called a steward to their a.s.sistance, and the two ladies were shown to their cabins. As they afterwards found out, they were the best that Browne could secure, were situated amidships, and were really intended each to accommodate four pa.s.sengers. While they were examining them Browne hunted out the chief steward, and the stewards who would be likely to wait upon his friends. These he rewarded in such a way that, if the men only acted up to their protestations, the remainder of the pa.s.sengers would have very good cause to complain. Having finished this work of bribery and corruption, he went in search of the ladies, only to be informed by the stewardess that they had left their cabins and had gone on deck. He accordingly made his way up the companion-ladder, and found them standing beside the smoking-room entrance.

"I hope you found your cabins comfortable," he said. "I have just seen the chief steward, and he has promised that everything possible shall be done to make you enjoy your voyage."

"How good you are!" said Katherine in a low voice, and with a little squeeze of his hand; while Madame protested that, if it were possible for anything to reconcile her to the sea, it would be Monsieur Browne's kindness. Then the warning whistle sounded for non-pa.s.sengers to leave the ship. Madame Bernstein took the hint, and, having bade him good-bye, made her way along the deck towards the companion-ladder, leaving the lovers together. Katherine's eyes had filled with tears and she had grown visibly paler. Now that the time had come for parting with the man she loved, she had discovered how much he was to her.

"Katherine," said Browne, in a voice that was hoa.r.s.e with suppressed emotion, "do you know now how much I love you?"

"You love me more than I deserve," she said. "I shall never be able to repay you for all you have done for me."

"I want no repayment but your love," he answered.

"Si vous n'etes pas un voyageur, m'sieu, ayez l'obligeance de debarquer," said a gruff voice in his ear.

Seeing that there was nothing left but to say good-bye, Browne kissed Katherine, and, unable to bear any more, made for the gangway. Five minutes later the great ship was under way, and Katherine had embarked upon her voyage to the East.

CHAPTER XIX

As soon as the mail-boat, which was carrying Katherine and Madame Bernstein to the East, was out of sight, Browne turned to his man, who was waiting beside him, and said: "Now, Davis, a cab, and quickly too.

We must not miss that train for London whatever happens."

As it was, they were only just in time. He had scarcely taken his seat before the train began to move out of the station. Placing himself in a corner of the carriage, he endeavoured to interest himself in a book; but it was of no use. Though his material body was seated in the carriage being whirled away across the green plains of Southern France, his actual self was on board the great mail-boat, which was cutting its way through the blue waters, carrying Katherine mile by mile farther out of his reach. Dreary indeed did Europe seem to him now. It was a little before twelve o'clock when the train left Ma.r.s.eilles; it was nearly four next afternoon when he sighted the waters of the Channel at Calais. Much to his astonishment and delight, Jimmy Foote met him at Dover, and travelled back to town with him. During his absence Browne had entrusted their arrangements to his care; and in consequence Jimmy carried about with him an air of business, which at other times was quite unusual to him.

"I have been down to Southampton," he reported, "and have seen Mason.

He was hard at work getting the stores aboard, and asked me to tell you he will be able to sail without fail early on Monday morning. When do you think we had better go down?"

"On Sunday," said Browne. "We may as well get on board as soon as we can."

Though he spoke in this casual way, he knew that in his heart he was waiting the hour of departure with an impatience, that bordered almost on desperation. He longed to see the yacht's head pointed down Channel, and to know that at last she was really in pursuit of the other boat, which had been granted such a lengthy start. On reaching London they drove together to Browne's house. It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and there were still a hundred and one things to be settled. Upon his study table Browne discovered upwards of fifty invitations from all sorts and conditions of people. He smiled cynically as he opened them, and, when the last one had been examined, turned to Jimmy.

"Thank Heaven, I can decline these with a clear conscience," he said.

"By the time the dates come round we shall be on the high seas, far beyond the reach of dinners, dances, and kettledrums. I wonder how many of these folk," he continued, picking up one from the heap and flicking it across the table to his friend, "would have me in their houses again if they knew what I am about to do?"

"Every one of them, my boy," the other replied; "from the d.u.c.h.ess of Matlock downwards. You might help a thousand Russian convicts to escape from Saghalien, and they will pardon you; but you are doing one other thing for which you must never hope to be forgiven."

"And what may that be?" Browne inquired.

"Why, you are marrying Miss Petrovitch," answered Jimmy. "If she were a famous beauty, a great heiress, or even the daughter of a peer, all would be well; but you must remember that no one knows her; that, however much you may love her, and however worthy she may be, she is nevertheless not chronicled in the _Court Guide_. To marry out of your own circle is a sin seldom forgiven, particularly when a man is a millionaire, and has been the desire of every match-making mother for as long as you have."

"They had better treat my wife as I wish them to, or beware of me,"

said Browne angrily. "If they treat her badly they'll find I've got claws."

"But, my dear fellow, you are running your head against the wall," said Jimmy. "I never said they _would_ treat her badly. On the contrary, they will treat her wonderfully well; for, remember, she is your wife.

They will accept all her invitations for dances in London, will stay with her in the country; they will yacht, hunt, fish, and shoot with you; but the mothers, who, after all is said and done, are the leaders of society, will never forget or forgive you. My dear fellow," he continued, with the air of a man who knew his world thoroughly, which, to do him justice, he certainly did, "you surely do not imagine for an instant that Miss Verney has forgotten that----"

"We'll leave Miss Verney out of the question, Jimmy, if you don't mind," replied Browne, with rather a different intonation.

"I thought that would make him wince," murmured Jimmy to himself; and then added aloud, "Never mind, old man; we won't pursue the subject any further. It's not a nice one, and we've plenty else to think about, have we not? Let me tell you, I am looking forward to this little business more than I have ever done to anything. The only regret I have about it is that there does not appear to be any probability of our having some fighting. I must confess I should like to have a brush with the enemy, if possible."

"In that case we should be lost men," Browne replied. "No; whatever we do, we must avoid coming into actual conflict with the Authorities. By the way, what about Maas?"