Witness to the Deed Part 7

"Home!"

"To the hotel, sir?" said the footman.

"Home!" roared Sir Mark.

The footman sprang up to his seat, the carriage was driven off, and with the crowd increasing Miss Jerrold's took its place.

"Quick, Mr Guest," whispered the admiral's sister. "She is fainting."

He had felt Edie's hand pressing more and more upon his arm, but in his excitement this had not struck him as extraordinary; but now, as his attention was drawn to her, she dropped her bouquet, and in his effort to save her from sinking to the pavement the beautiful bunch of flowers was crushed under foot.

The next minute he had lifted the poor girl into the carriage, and handed the admiral's stern looking sister to her side.

Darting a look of agony at Edie's white face and the wreath and veil fallen aside, Guest drew back for the door to be closed, but Miss Jerrold made an imperious sign.

"No, no; come with us," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "You must help me; and explain. I dare not face my brother alone."

Guest sprang into the carriage, the door was shut quickly, and the footman leaped to his place as the horses started forward with a loud trampling of hoofs, but not quickly enough to take them beyond the hearing of a derisive cheer.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A BRAVE DEFENCE.

"The hotel! The idiot! To want to take us back there to face the half-hidden mockery and jokes of all those strangers. Oh, it's maddening!"

Sir Mark leaned forward, lowered the front window, and shouted to the coachman to drive faster.

"I saw them," he continued as he flung himself back in his seat, "the whole mob in the church sniggling with delight. Curse them! And that fellow, Stratton! If ever we stand face to face again I'll--Oh, I hope he will never have the audacity to come near me, for his own sake."

Myra had been sitting perfectly upright, looking as if suffering from some cataleptic seizure; but at the mention of Stratton she turned and laid her hand upon her father's arm.

"Oh, yes, of course!" he raged, with a mocking laugh. "Womanlike; a hundred excuses ready for him: cut himself in shaving--wedding clothes not home in time--sprained his ankle--a bad headache. Oh, you women, you women! If ever there were a pack of fools--"

"Father!"

That one word only, but full of so much agony that he turned and caught her to his breast.

"Brute! Senseless brute!" he literally growled. "Thinking of myself, of my own feelings, and not of you, my own."

Then raging again, with his countenance purple, and the veins of his temples starting:

"But you! To insult you, my child, and after that other horrible affair. How a man--who professed to worship you--could subject you to such an outrage--to such infamy! I tell you it is maddening."

"Father!" once more in a piteous tone.

"No; you shall not plead for him, my darling. You have behaved n.o.bly.

Like a true, self-respecting English lady. No acting, no silly girlish fainting, but like my daughter. You must go on, though. This scoundrel must be shown that he cannot insult you with impunity."

"Listen, father," she whispered after a desperate effort to restrain the hysterical burst of agony striving for exit.

"I will not. There is no excuse, Myra. A telegram--a messenger--his friend and best man. Nothing done. The man is--no; he is no man.

I'll--my lawyer shall--no; I'll go myself. He shall see that--Silence!

Be firm. Don't move a muscle. Take my arm when I hand you out, and not a word till we are in the drawing room."

For the carriage had stopped, after a rapid course, at Sir Mark's house in Bourne Square, where they had to wait some minutes before, in response to several draggings at the bell, the door was opened by an elderly housemaid.

"Why was not this door answered? Where is Andrews?" thundered the admiral as the footman came in, looking startled, and closed the door behind which the housemaid stood, looking speechless at her master's unexpected return.

"Shall the carriage wait, Sir Mark?" interposed the footman.

"No! Stop; don't open that door. I said, why was this door not answered?"

"I'm very sorry, Sir Mark," faltered the woman, who was trembling visibly. "I was upstairs cleaning myself."

"Bah! Where is Andrews? Where are the other servants?"

"They all went to the wedding, Sir Mark."

"Bah!"

"Father--upstairs--I can bear no more," whispered Myra.

Brought back to his child's suffering, the admiral hurried her up to the drawing room and let her sink back on a couch. Then, turning to the bell, he was about to ring for help, but Myra rose.

"No; don't ring," she said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "I'm better now."

At that moment Miss Jerrold's carriage stopped at the door, and directly after Sir Mark's sister appeared with Edie, who, looking white and scared, ran at once to her cousin and clung to her, uttering violent sobs.

"Silence, Edie!" thundered the admiral. "Look at your cousin. You must be a woman now. Ah, here you are, then!" he continued fiercely as Percy Guest entered.

"Yes; I came up for a moment before I go on there."

"I'm glad you've come," cried the old man furiously, and leaping at someone upon whom he could vent his rage. "Now, then, explain, you dog.

What does that villain--that scoundrel--mean by insulting me--my child, like this? d.a.m.n him! I'll--"

"Stop, Sir Mark!" cried Guest firmly. "You don't know what you are saying."

"What?"

"And I will not stand here and have my dear old friend and schoolfellow insulted by such words."

"Insulted!" cried Sir Mark, with a harsh laugh; "insulted?"

"Yes, sir. Malcolm Stratton is the soul of honour--a gentleman who would have laid down his life sooner than cause pain to the lady he loves with all his heart."

"G.o.d bless you for that, Mr Guest!" cried Myra--catching the young man's hand as she spoke--in a broken voice, which she fought hard to render calm.