from an appeal to a Court of Law."
At those words the gathered venom in Lady Lundie planted its
second sting--under cover of a protest addressed to Mr. Moy.
"I beg to inform you, Sir, on behalf of my step-daughter," she
said, "that we have nothing to dread from the widest publicity.
We consent to be present at, what you call, 'this informal
inquiry,' reserving our right to carry the matter beyond the four
walls of this room. I am not referring now to Mr. Brinkworth's
chance of clearing himself from an odious suspicion which rests
upon him, and upon another Person present. That is an
after-matter. The object immediately before us--so far as a woman
can pretend to understand it--is to establish my step-daughter's
right to call Mr. Brinkworth to account in the character of his
wife. If the result, so far, fails to satisfy us in that
particular, we shall not hesitate to appeal to a Court of Law."
She leaned back in her chair, and opened her fan, and looked
round her with the air of a woman who called society to witness
that she had done her duty.
An expression of pain crossed Blanche's face while her
step-mother was speaking. Lady Lundie took her hand for the
second time. Blanche resolutely and pointedly withdrew it--Sir
Patrick noticing the action with special interest. Before Mr. Moy
could say a word in answer, Arnold centred the general attention
on himself by suddenly interfering in the proceedings. Blanche
looked at him. A bright flash of color appeared on her face--and
left it again. Sir Patrick noted the change of color--and
observed her more attentively than ever. Arnold's letter to his
wife, with time to help it, had plainly shaken her ladyship's
influence over Blanche.
"After what Lady Lundie has said, in my wife's presence," Arnold
burst out, in his straightforward, boyish way, "I think I ought
to be allowed to say a word on my side. I only want to explain
how it was I came to go to Craig Fernie at all--and I challenge
Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn to deny it, if he can."
His voice rose at the last words, and his eyes brightened with
indignation as he looked at Geoffrey.
Mr. Moy appealed to his learned friend.
"With submission, Sir Patrick, to your better judgment," he said,
"this young gentleman's proposal seems to be a little out of
place at the present stage of the proceedings."
"Pardon me," answered Sir Patrick. "You have yourself described
the proceedings as representing an informal inquiry. An informal
proposal--with submission to _your_ better judgment, Mr. Moy--is
hardly out of place, under those circumstances, is it?"
Mr. Moy's inexhaustible modesty gave way, without a struggle. The
answer which he received had the effect of puzzling him at the
outset of the investigation. A man of Sir Patrick's experience
must have known that Arnold's mere assertion of his own innocence
could be productive of nothing but useless delay in the
proceedings. And yet he sanctioned that delay. Was he privately
on the watch for any accidental circumstance which might help him
to better a case that he knew to be a bad one?
Permitted to speak, Arnold spoke. The unmistakable accent of
truth was in every word that he uttered. He gave a fairly
coherent account of events, from the time when Geoffrey had
claimed his assistance at the lawn-party to the time when he
found himself at the door of the inn at Craig Fernie. There Sir
Patrick interfered, and closed his lips. He asked leave to appeal
to Geoffrey to confirm him. Sir Patrick amazed Mr. Moy by
sanctioning this irregularity also. Arnold sternly addressed
himself to Geoffrey.
"Do you deny that what I have said is true?" he asked.
Mr. Moy did his duty by his client. "You are not bound to
answer," he said, "unless you wish it yourself."
Geoffrey slowly lifted his heavy head, and confronted the man
whom he had betrayed.
"I deny every word of it," he answered--with a stolid defiance of
tone and manner
"Have we had enough of assertion and counter-assertion, Sir
Patrick, by this time?" asked Mr. Moy, with undiminished
politeness.
After first forcing Arnold--with some little difficulty--to
control himself, Sir Patrick raised Mr. Moy's astonishment to the
culminating point. For reasons of his own, he determined to
strengthen the favorable impression which Arnold's statement had
plainly produced on his wife before the inquiry proceeded a step
farther.
"I must throw myself on your indulgence, Mr. Moy," he said. "I
have not had enough of assertion and counter-assertion, even
yet."
Mr. Moy leaned back in his chair, with a mixed expression of
bewilderment and resignation. Either his colleague's intellect
was in a failing state--or his colleague had some purpose in view
which had not openly asserted itself yet. He began to suspect
that the right reading of the riddle was involved in the latter
of those two alternatives. Instead of entering any fresh protest,
he wisely waited and watched.
Sir Patrick went on unblushingly from one irregularity to
another.
"I request Mr. Moy's permission to revert to the alleged
marriage, on the fourteenth of August, at Craig Fernie," he said.
"Arnold Brinkworth! answer for yourself, in the presence of the
persons here assembled. In all that you said, and all that you
did, while you were at the inn, were you not solely influenced by
the wish to make Miss Silvester's position as little painful to
her as possible, and by anxiety to carry out the instructions
given to you by Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn? Is that the whole truth?"
"That is the whole truth, Sir Patrick."
"On the day when you went to Craig Fernie, had you not, a few
hours previously, applied for my permission to marry my niece?"
"I applied for your permission, Sir Patrick; and you gave it me."
"From the moment when you entered the inn to the moment when you
left it, were you absolutely innocent of the slightest intention
to marry Miss Silvester?"
"No such thing as the thought of marrying Miss Silvester ever
entered my head."
"And this you say, on your word of honor as a gentleman?"
"On my word of honor as a gentleman."
Sir Patrick turned to Anne.
"Was it a matter of necessity, Miss Silvester, that you should
appear in the assumed character of a married woman--on the
fourteenth of August last, at the Craig Fernie inn?"
Anne looked away from Blanche for the first time. She replied to
Sir Patrick quietly, readily, firmly--Blanche looking at her, and
listening to her with eager interest.
"I went to the inn alone, Sir Patrick. The landlady refused, in
the plainest terms, to let me stay there, unless she was first
satisfied that I was a married woman."
"Which of the two gentlemen did you expect to join you at the
inn--Mr. Arnold Brinkworth, or Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?"
"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn."
"When Mr. Arnold Brinkworth came in his place and said what was
necessary to satisfy the scruples of the landlady, you understood
that he was acting in your interests, from motives of kindness
only, and under the instructions of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn?"
"I understood that; and I objected as strongly as I could to Mr.
Brinkworth placing himself in a false position on my account."
"Did your objection proceed from any knowledge of the Scottish
law of marriage, and of the positi on in which the peculiarities
of that law might place Mr. Brinkworth?"
"I had no knowledge of the Scottish law. I had a vague dislike
and dread of the deception which Mr. Brinkworth was practicing on
the people of the inn. And I feared that it might lead to some
possible misinterpretation of me on the part of a person whom I
dearly loved."
"That person being my niece?"
"Yes."
"You appealed to Mr. Brinkworth (knowing of his attachment to my
niece), in her name, and for her sake, to leave you to shift for
yourself?"
"I did."
"As a gentleman who had given his promise to help and protect a
lady, in the absence of the person whom she had depended on to
join her, he refused to leave you to shift by yourself?"
"Unhappily, he refused on that account."
"From first to last, you were absolutely innocent of the
slightest intention to marry Mr. Brinkworth?"
"I answer, Sir Patrick, as Mr. Brinkworth has answered. No such
thing as the thought of marrying him ever entered my head."
"And this you say, on your oath as a Christian woman?"
"On my oath as a Christian woman."
Sir Patrick looked round at Blanche. Her face was hidden in her
hands. Her step-mother was vainly appealing to her to compose
herself.
In the moment of silence that followed, Mr. Moy interfered in the
interests of his client.
"I waive my claim, Sir Patrick, to put any questions on my side.
I merely desire to remind you, and to remind the company present,
that all that we have just heard is mere assertion--on the part
of two persons strongly interested in extricating themselves from
a position which fatally compromises them both. The marriage
which they deny I am now waiting to prove--not by assertion, on
my side, but by appeal to competent witnesses."
After a brief consultation with her own solicitor, Lady Lundie
followed Mr. Moy, in stronger language still.
"I wish you to understand, Sir Patrick, before you proceed any
farther, that I shall remove my step-daughter from the room if
any more attempts are made to harrow her feelings and mislead her
judgment. I want words to express my sense of this most cruel and
unfair way of conducting the inquiry."
The London lawyer followed, stating his professional approval of
his client's view. "As her ladyship's legal adviser," he said, "I
support the protest which her ladyship has just made."
Even Captain Newenden agreed in the general disapproval of Sir
Patrick's conduct. "Hear, hear!" said the captain, when the
lawyer had spoken. "Quite right. I must say, quite right."
Apparently impenetrable to all due sense of his position, Sir
Patrick addressed himself to Mr. Moy, as if nothing had happened.
"Do you wish to produce your witnesses at once?" he asked. "I
have not the least objection to meet your views--on the
understanding that I am permitted to return to the proceedings as
interrupted at this point."
Mr. Moy considered. The adversary (there could be no doubt of it
by this time) had something in reserve--and the adversary had not
yet shown his hand. It was more immediately important to lead him
into doing this than to insist on rights and privileges of the
purely formal sort. Nothing could shake the strength of the
position which Mr. Moy occupied. The longer Sir Patrick's
irregularities delayed the proceedings, the more irresistibly the
plain facts of the case would assert themselves--with all the
force of contrast--out of the mouths of the witnesses who were in
attendance down stairs. He determined to wait.
"Reserving my right of objection, Sir Patrick," he answered, "I
beg you to go on."
To the surprise of every body, Sir Patrick addressed himself
directly to Blanche--quoting the language in which Lady Lundie
had spoken to him, with perfect composure of tone and manner.
"You know me well enough, my dear," he said, "to be assured that
I am incapable of willingly harrowing your feelings or misleading
your judgment. I have a question to ask you, which you can answer
or not, entirely as you please."
Before he could put the question there was a momentary contest
between Lady Lundie and her legal adviser. Silencing her ladyship
(not without difficulty), the London lawyer interposed. He also
begged leave to reserve the right of objection, so far as _his_
client was concerned.
Sir Patrick assented by a sign, and proceeded to put his question
to Blanche.
"You have heard what Arnold Brinkworth has said, and what Miss
Silvester has said," he resumed. "The husband who loves you, and
the sisterly friend who loves you, have each made a solemn
declaration. Recall your past experience of both of them;
remember what they have just said; and now tell me--do you
believe they have spoken falsely?"
Blanche answered on the instant.
"I believe, uncle, they have spoken the truth!"
Both the lawyers registered their objections. Lady Lundie made
another attempt to speak, and was stopped once more--this time by
Mr. Moy as well as by her own adviser. Sir Patrick went on.
"Do you feel any doubt as to the entire propriety of your
husband's conduct and your friend's conduct, now you have seen
them and heard them, face to face?"
Blanche answered again, with the same absence of reserve.
"I ask them to forgive me," she said. "I believe I have done them
both a great wrong."
She looked at her husband first--then at Anne. Arnold attempted
to leave his chair. Sir Patrick firmly restrained him. "Wait!" he
whispered. "You don't know what is coming." Having said that, he
turned toward Anne. Blanche's look had gone to the heart of the
faithful woman who loved her. Anne's face was turned away--the
tears were forcing themselves through the worn weak hands that
tried vainly to hide them.
The formal objections of the lawyers were registered once more.
Sir Patrick addressed himself to his niece for the last time.
"You believe what Arnold Brinkworth has said; you believe what
Miss Silvester has said. You know that not even the thought of
marriage was in the mind of either of them, at the inn. You
know--whatever else may happen in the future--that there is not
the most remote possibility of either of them consenting to
acknowledge that they ever have been, or ever can be, Man and
Wife. Is that enough for you? Are you willing, before this
inquiry proceeds any farthe
r to take your husband's hand; to
return to your husband's protection; and to leave the rest to
me--satisfied with my assurance that, on the facts as they
happened, not even the Scotch Law can prove the monstrous
assertion of the marriage at Craig Fernie to be true?"
Lady Lundie rose. Both the lawyers rose. Arnold sat lost in
astonishment. Geoffrey himself--brutishly careless thus far of
all that had passed--lifted his head with a sudden start. In the
midst of the profound impression thus produced, Blanche, on whose
decision the whole future course of the inquiry now turned,
answered in these words:
"I hope you will not think me ungrateful, uncle. I am sure that
Arnold has not, knowingly, done me any wrong. But I can't go back
to him until I am first _certain_ that I am his wife."
Lady Lundie embraced her step-daughter with a sudden outburst of
affection. "My dear child!" exclaimed her ladyship, fervently.
"Well done, my own dear child!"
Sir Patrick's head dropped on his breast. "Oh, Blanche! Blanche!"
Arnold heard him whisper to himself; "if you only knew what you
are forcing me to!"
Mr. Moy put in his word, on Blanche's side of the question.
"I must most respectfully express my approval also of the course
which the young lady has taken," he said. "A more dangerous
compromise than the compromise which we have just heard suggested
it is difficult to imagine. With all deference to Sir Patrick
Lundie, his opinion of the impossibility of proving the marriage
at Craig Fernie remains to be confirmed as the right one. My own
professional opinion is opposed to it. The opinion of another
Scottish lawyer (in Glasgow) is, to my certain knowledge, opposed
to it. If the young lady had not acted with a wisdom and courage
which do her honor, she might have lived to see the day when her
reputation would have been destroyed, and her children declared
illegitimate. Who is to say that circumstances may not h appen in
the future which may force Mr. Brinkworth or Miss Silvester--one
or the other--to assert the very marriage which they repudiate
now? Who is to say that interested relatives (property being
concerned here) may not in the lapse of years, discover motives
of their own for questioning the asserted marriage in Kent? I
acknowledge that I envy the immense self-confidence which
emboldens Sir Patrick to venture, what he is willing to venture
upon his own individual opinion on an undecided point of law."
He sat down amidst a murmur of approval, and cast a
slyly-expectant look at his defeated adversary. "If _that_
doesn't irritate him into showing his hand," thought Mr. Moy,
"nothing will!"
Sir Patrick slowly raised his head. There was no
irritation--there was only distress in his face--when he spoke
next.
"I don't propose, Mr. Moy, to argue the point with you," he said,
gently. "I can understand that my conduct must necessarily appear
strange and even blameworthy, not in your eyes only, but in the
eyes of others. My young friend here will tell you" (he looked
toward Arnold) "that the view which you express as to the future
peril involved in this case was once the view in my mind too, and
that in what I have done thus far I have acted in direct
contradiction to advice which I myself gave at no very distant
period. Excuse me, if you please, from entering (for the present
at least) into the motive which has influenced me from the time
when I entered this room. My position is one of unexampled
responsibility and of indescribable distress. May I appeal to
that statement to stand as my excuse, if I plead for a last
extension of indulgence toward the last irregularity of which I
shall be guilty, in connection with these proceedings?"
Lady Lundie alone resisted the unaffected and touching dignity
with which those words were spoken.