Witness to the Deed Part 19

"But Myra?" he cried. "Oh, she would never consent to its being so soon."

"I believe our dear Myra would, in the sweetness of her disposition alone, consent, Sir Mark," said Barron gravely; "and as soon as she knows of the vital importance of time to the man who will be her husband, she will endeavour to meet his wishes in every way."

"Yes, yes; she is a dear, good girl," said Sir Mark; "but this is terrible: so soon."

"The time for parting must come, Sir Mark, sooner or later; and think: it is for her benefit and happiness. Well, yes, I must confess to my own selfish wishes."

"And then there is her aunt--my sister. She would never consent to-- Yes, I know exactly what she would say--such indecent haste."

"Only an elderly lady's objection, Sir Mark," said Barron, smiling.

"You are certainly bringing forward a real difficulty now, for I fear that I have never found favour in Miss Jerrold's eyes. But surely she has no right to dictate in a case like this. Nay, let us have no opposition. I will appeal to Miss Jerrold myself. She is too high-minded and sweet a lady to stand in the way of her niece's and my happiness. I am satisfied of that. Come, Sir Mark, look at the case plainly. You have been a sailor, sir, and know the meaning of sudden orders to join. Nothing would stop you. Mine are not so sudden, for I have--that is, at all risks, I will have--a month. My fortune is at stake--Myra's fortune, I may say. Help me as you feel the case deserves."

The admiral was silent for a few minutes, during which he filled and emptied his claret gla.s.s twice.

"You've floored me, Barron," he said at last. "I can't find an argument against you."

"Then you consent? And you will help me in every way?"

"It is hard work, my boy--a terrible wrench, but I suppose I must. In a month," he muttered; "so soon--and for her to sail right away for a whole year."

Barron wrung his hand hard and smiled.

"How long will it be, my dear sir, before your old taste for the sea returns? Why, you'll be running across before three months are past.

Really I should not be surprised if you announced that you meant to come with us."

"Hah! Why not?" cried Sir Mark eagerly. "No, no; that would not do.

But I certainly will run over before long."

"Do, sir," cried Barron eagerly.

"Barbadoes, Bahamas, Bermuda," cried Sir Mark. "Why, I could take a trip anywhere among the islands. It's all familiar ground to me. But poor Myra--a month; so soon. I don't feel as if I am doing right, Barron; but there, it is fate."

"Yes, sir, it is fate."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

GUEST PAYS A LATE VISIT.

The crystals had dissolved in the gla.s.s as Stratton held it up and gazed fixedly at its contents, his face, stern and calm, dimly seen in the shadow, while the shape of the vessel he grasped was plainly delineated against the white blotting paper, upon which a circle of bright light was cast by the shaded lamp.

He was not hesitating, but thinking calmly enough. The paroxysm of horror had been mastered, and as a step was faintly heard crossing the court, he was trying to think out whether there was anything else which he ought to do before that cold hand gripped him and it would be too late.

He looked round, set down the gla.s.s for a moment by his letters, and thrusting aside the library chair he used at his writing table, he wheeled forward a lounge seat ready to receive him as he sank back, thinking quietly that the action of the terrible acid would perhaps be very sudden.

Anything more?

He smiled pleasantly, for a fresh thought flashed across his mind, and taking an envelope he bent down and directed it plainly, and without the slightest trembling of his hand, to Mrs Brade.

"Poor, gossiping old thing!" he said. "She has been very kind to me.

It will be a shock, but she must bear it like the rest."

He took a solitary five-pound note from his pocketbook, thrust it into the envelope, wrote inside the flap, "For your own use," and moistened and secured it before placing it with the other letters.

"About nine to-morrow morning she will find it," he thought, "and then-- poor soul! poor soul! The police and--I shall be asleep."

"G.o.d--forgive me!" he said slowly as, after a step in front of the easy-chair he had placed ready, he once more raised the gla.s.s, and closing his eyes:

"To Myra," he said, with a bitter laugh; and it was nearly at his lips when there was a sharp double knock at his outer door.

A fierce look of anger came into his countenance as he stood glaring in the direction of the summons. Then, raising the gla.s.s again, he was about to drink when there was a louder knocking.

Stratton hesitated, set down the gla.s.s, crossed the room, and threw open the doors, first one and then the other, with the impression upon him that by some means his intentions had been divined and that it was the police.

"Having a nap, old fellow?" cried Guest hurriedly, as he stepped in, Stratton involuntarily giving way. "I was crossing the inn and saw your light. Thought I'd drop in for a few moments before going to my perch."

He did not say that he had been pacing the inn and its precincts for hours, longing to hear the result of his friend's visit to Bourne Square, but unable to make up his mind to go up till the last, when, in a fit of desperation, he had mounted the stairs.

"I will not quarrel with him if he is the winner. One was obliged to go down. I can't afford to lose lover and friend in one day, even if it does make one sore."

He had taken that sentence and said it in a hundred different ways that evening, and it was upon his lips as he had at last knocked at Stratton's door.

Upon his first entrance he had not noticed anything particular in his friend, being in a feverish, excited state, full of his own disappointment; but as Stratton remained silent, gazing hard at him, he looked in his face wonderingly; and as, by the half light, he made out his haggard countenance and the wild, staring look in his eyes, a rush of hope sent the blood bubbling, as it were, through his veins. "Has she refused him?" rang in his ears, and, speechless for the moment, with his heart throbbing wildly, and his throat hot and dry, he took a step forward as he saw _carafe_ and water gla.s.s before him, caught up the latter, and raised it to his lips.

But only to start back in wonder and alarm, for, with a hoa.r.s.e cry, Stratton struck the gla.s.s from his hand, scattered its contents over the hearthrug, and the gla.s.s itself flew into fragments against the bars of the grate.

"Here, what's the matter with you, old fellow?" cried Guest wonderingly.

"Don't act like that."

Stratton babbled a few incoherent words, and sank back in the lounge, covering his face with his hands, and a hoa.r.s.e hysterical cry escaped from his lips.

Guest looked at him in astonishment, then at the table, where, in the broad circle of light, he saw the letters his friend had written, one being directed to himself.

They explained little, but the next instant he saw the wide-mouthed, stoppered bottle, caught it up, examined the label, and held it at arm's length.

"The cyanide!" he cried excitedly. "Mal! Stratton, old chap! Good G.o.d! You surely--no, it is impossible. Speak to me, old man! Tell me, or I shall go mad! Did Edie refuse you?"

Stratton's hands dropped from his face as he rose in his seat, staring wildly at his friend.

"Edie!" he said wonderingly.

"Yes, Edie!" cried Guest excitedly as he bent down toward his friend.

"Here, stop a minute; what shall I do with this cursed stuff?"

Striding to the window, he threw it open, leaned out, and dashed the bottle down upon the pavement, shivering it and its contents to fragments.

"Now speak," he cried as soon as he had returned. "No fooling, man; speak the truth."