life. But would that man adhere to his compact? shewondered. Was the crisis only postponed until after her marriage--untilafter she had given herself to him in exchange for her father's life?She knew too well that he would never face exposure; she knew, alas!that, like many before him, he would rather take his own life than bearthe brunt of those scurrilous and unscrupulous attacks. He had morethan once told her so--not directly, of course, but in language that wasunmistakable.
She had had no confidence in Dubard since the night when he had examinedthe safe in the library. He would, she felt assured, play her false.His ingenuity was unparalleled, and he was, moreover, a friend of herfather's bitterest enemy. Therefore, what had she to hope from him?The attack upon the Minister and his methods was only postponed in orderto lure her and her father into a sense of security. What was toprevent the allegation being made after she had given herself to him inmarriage? As she walked there in the evening light beneath the highdark pines she fully realised the insecurity of the position. In theend the man Borselli must triumph, and she, with her father, would beequally a victim.
What her father had told her of the incident in the Chamber thatafternoon revealed the truth. Dubard had, by his clever scheming,succeeded in postponing the blow until after she had become his wife.She knew well his intimate friendship with Angelo Borselli, and feltassured that it was in the interests of the Under-Secretary that he hadopened that safe which His Excellency had believed to be closed soeffectively to everyone.
"You will seek to retaliate, will you not?" she asked her fathersuddenly. "You will surely not allow Borselli another opportunity ofconspiring against you! He should be removed from office upon somepretext or other."
Her father smiled at her words, and replied--
"It would be easy to retaliate, my dear, but it would be unwise."
"Why? If he remains in office, he may to-morrow, or on some occasionwhen you least expect it, level a blow that might crush you?"
"I know! I know!" he groaned. "I am not safe by any means. Until Vitodiscovers what has really occurred I must remain patiently inactive."
"But why not remove Borselli from office? You could surely do that! Itis your duty to yourself to do so!"
"Ah! You do not know everything, Mary," answered her father verygravely. "To attempt his dismissal at the present moment would be amost injudicious course. By making charges against him I should alsoimplicate myself. If I spoke a single word to his detriment, it wouldbe suicidal. I should be seeking my own downfall."
"Then, to speak plainly, you are unable to dismiss him?" she said in alow, distinct voice, looking her father straight in the face with aglance of reproach. "You are entirely in that man's hands?"
His Excellency, grave and thoughtful again, nodded in the affirmative,sighed heavily, and then admitted--
"You know the truth, my dear. My secrets are, unfortunately, his?"
And she echoed his sigh with her white lips compressed. She foresaw,alas! that for her there was no hope of escape from that hideous compactshe had been compelled to make. She had given herself as the price ofher father's honour, the price of his very life, to a man whom she couldneither trust nor love--a man who, when it suited his own interests,would break his bond without the slightest compunction, and allow thecrushing blow to fall upon her house--a blow that must be fatal to herbeloved father, who stood there so grave and thoughtful at her side.
She contemplated the future, but saw in it only a grey, limitless sea ofblank despair.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
BILLY GRENFELL IS PHILOSOPHIC.
"Then we must break up the home, I suppose?"
"I suppose so, Billy, much as I regret it. But a fellow has to takeadvantage of the main chance in his life, you know, and this is mine?"declared George Macbean, leaning back in his padded chair at thebreakfast-table in their high-up old room in Fig Tree Court, Temple.
"I should think so! An appointment in the Italian Ministry of War atsuch a salary isn't an offer that comes to every man, and you'd be afool if you didn't accept it. You must have some high official friendwhom you've never told me about--eh?" And William Grenfell,barrister-at-law, known as "Billy" to his intimates, with whom Macbeanshared chambers, took up his friend's letter and re-read it, asking,"What's the signature? These foreigners sign their names in such anabominable manner that nobody can ever read them."
"Angelo Borselli, the Under-Secretary. I met him in the summer, while Iwas staying with my uncle near Rugby."
"And he offers you a billet like this? By Jove, you're lucky!" And thebig, burly, clean-shaven fellow of about thirty-five, one of theever-increasing briefless brigade, rose and looked out across the quietcourtyard. "You'll throw over that pompous ass Morgan-Mason, won't you?I wonder how you stood the cad so long."
"Necessity, my dear fellow. It has been writing letters forMorgan-Mason or starve--I preferred the former," remarked Macbean, witha smile.
The old panelled sitting-room, with its well-filled bookcase, itspipe-rack, its threadbare carpet, and its greasy, leather-coveredchairs, worn but comfortable, differed but little from any otherchambers in that old-world colony of bachelors. Macbean and Grenfellhad had diggings together and employed the same laundress for the pastthree years, the former spruce and smart, mixing with the West End worldin which his employer moved, while the latter was a thorough-goingBohemian, eccentric in many ways, unsuccessful, yet nevertheless a manbrimming over with cleverness. They had been fast friends ten yearsbefore, and when opportunity had offered to share chambers they hadeagerly embraced it.
Billy never had a brief. He idled in the Courts with a dummy briefbefore him in order to impress the public, but his slender income wasmostly derived from contributions to certain critical reviews, who tookhis "stuff" and paid him badly for it.
George Macbean, though he could so ill afford it, bore the major portionof the expenses of their small household, for he knew well the littlereverses of fortune that had been Billy's, and what a good, generousfellow he really was at heart.
Through those three years they had lived together no wry word had everarisen between them, but this letter which Macbean had received causedthem both to ponder.
Grenfell was a man of even temper and full of good-humour. He bubbledover with high spirits, even in the face of actual adversity, while overat the Courts he was recognised as a wit of no mean order. But thoughtof the breaking up of their little home and their separation filled himwith deepest regret.
Macbean realised all that his friend felt, and said simply--
"I'm very sorry to go, Billy. You know that. But what can I do? Imust escape my present soul-killing drudgery. You don't know of halfthe insults I've had to swallow from Morgan-Mason because I happen to bethe son of a gentleman."
"I know, old chap; I know well. Of course you must accept thisappointment," said the other in a tone of quiet sadness. "I can shiftfor myself--or at least I hope so."
"To leave you is the only regret I have in leaving England, Billy,"declared Macbean, taking his friend's hand and grasping it firmly.
But the big fellow, with his eyes fixed before him across the square,remained sad and silent.
The letter had come to George as a complete surprise, reviving withinhis mind pleasant memories of Orton, of the Minister Morini who hadlived incognito, of Borselli, and of Mary most of all. He would, if heaccepted, meet them again, and become on friendly terms with the mostpowerful men in Italy. The offer seemed almost too good to be real.Had it been the first of April he would have suspected fooling. But heread the big official letter headed "Under-Secretary for War--Rome"offering him the appointment, and saw that no fraud had been attempted.
Both men filled their pipes mechanically, lit them from the same match,as was their habit, and smoked in silence. Both were too full of regretfor mere words. They understood each other, and neither was surprisedat the other's heavy thought. Their friendship had been a very closeand pleasant one, but in future the
ir lives lay apart. Grenfellregarded it philosophically with a little smile, as was his wontwhenever things went wrong with him, while Macbean pondered deeply as towhat the future had in store for him.
Before his eyes rose a vision of a lithe and dainty figure in a whitedress on the tennis-lawn at Orton, that woman who was so delightfullycosmopolitan, with the slight roll of the r's when she spoke thatbetrayed her foreign birth--the woman whom rumour had engaged to theyoung French count upon whom the honest village folk looked withconsiderable suspicion.
"You'll be glad to leave the service of that hog-merchant," Billyremarked at last, for want of something better to say, "and Icongratulate you upon your escape from him. What you've told me in thepast is sufficient to