CHAPTER III. DIANA SCHEMES
Notwithstanding the brave face Ruth Westmacott had kept during hispresence, when he departed Sir Rowland left behind him a distressamounting almost to anguish in her mind. Yet though she might suffer,there was no weakness in Ruth's nature. She knew how to endure. Diana,bearing Richard not a tenth of the affection his sister consecrated tohim, was alarmed for him. Besides, her own interests urged the avertingof this encounter. And so she held in accents almost tearful thatsomething must be done to save him.
This, too, appeared to be Richard's own view, when presently--within afew minutes of Blake's departure--he came to join them. They watchedhis approach in silence, and both noted--though with different eyes anddifferent feelings--the pallor of his fair face, the dark lines underhis colourless eyes. His condition was abject, and his manners, neverof the best--for there was much of the spoiled child about Richard--wereclearly suffering from it.
He stood before his sister and his cousin, moving his eyes shiftily fromone to the other, rubbing his hands nervously together.
"Your precious friend Sir Rowland has been here," said he, and it wasnot clear from his manner which of them he addressed. "Not a doubt buthe will have brought you the news." He seemed to sneer.
Ruth advanced towards him, her face grave, her sweet eyes full ofpitying concern. She placed a hand upon his sleeve. "My poor Richard..."she began, but he shook off her kindly touch, laughing angrily--a merecackle of irritability.
"Odso!" he interrupted her. "It is a thought late for this mockkindliness!"
Diana, in the background, arched her brows, then with a shrug turnedaside and seated herself on the stone seat by which they had beenstanding. Ruth shrank back as if her brother had struck her.
"Richard!" she cried, and searched his livid face with her eyes."Richard!"
He read a question in the interjection, and he answered it. "Had youknown any real care, any true concern for me, you had not given causefor this affair," he chid her peevishly.
"What are you saying?" she cried, and it occurred to her at last thatRichard was afraid. He was a coward! She felt as she would faint.
"I am saying," said he, hunching his shoulders, and shivering as hespoke, yet, his glance unable to meet hers, "that it is your fault thatI am like to get my throat cut before sunset."
"My fault?" she murmured. The slope of lawn seemed to wave and swimabout her. "My fault?"
"The fault of your wanton ways," he accused her harshly. "You have soplayed fast and loose with this fellow Wilding that he makes free ofyour name in my very presence, and puts upon me the need to get myselfkilled by him to save the family honour."
He would have said more in this strain, but something in her glance gavehim pause. There fell a silence. From the distance came the melodiouspealing of church bells. High overhead a lark was pouring out its song;in the lane at the orchard end rang the beat of trotting hoofs. Itwas Diana who spoke presently. Just indignation stirred her, and, whenstirred, she knew no pity, set no limits to her speech.
"I think, indeed," said she, her voice crisp and merciless, "that thefamily honour will best be saved if Mr. Wilding kills you. It is indanger while you live. You are a coward, Richard."
"Diana!" he thundered--he could be mighty brave with women--whilst Ruthclutched her arm to restrain her.
But she continued, undeterred: "You are a coward--a pitiful coward," shetold him. "Consult your mirror. It will tell you what a palsied thingyou are. That you should dare so speak to Ruth..."
"Don't!" Ruth begged her, turning.
"Aye," growled Richard, "she had best be silent."
Diana rose, to battle, her cheeks crimson. "It asks a braver man thanyou to compel my obedience," she told him. "La!" she fumed, "I'll swearthat had Mr. Wilding overheard what you have said to your sister, youwould have little to fear from his sword. A cane would be the weaponhe'd use on you."
Richard's pale eyes flamed malevolently; a violent rage possessed himand flooded out his fear, for nothing can so goad a man as an offensivetruth. Ruth approached him again; again she took him by the arm, seekingto soothe his over-troubled spirit; but again he shook her off. And thento save the situation came a servant from the house. So lost in angerwas all Richard's sense of decency that the mere supervention of theman would not have been enough to have silenced him could he have foundadequate words in which to answer Mistress Horton. But even as he rackedhis mind, the footman's voice broke the silence, and the words thefellow uttered did what his presence alone might not have sufficed todo.
"Mr. Vallancey is asking for you, sir," he announced.
Richard started. Vallancey! He had come at last, and his coming wasconnected with the impending duel. The thought was paralyzing to youngWestmacott. The flush of anger faded from his face; its leaden huereturned and he shivered as with cold. At last he mastered himselfsufficiently to ask:
"Where is he, Jasper?"
"In the library, sir," replied the servant. "Shall I bring him hither?"
"Yes--no," he answered. "I will come to him." He turned his back uponthe ladies, paused a moment, still irresolute. Then, as by an effort,he followed the servant across the lawn and vanished through the iviedporch.
As he went Diana flew to her cousin. Her shallow nature was touched withtransient pity. "My poor Ruth..." she murmured soothingly, and set herarm about the other's waist. There was a gleam of tears in the eyes Ruthturned upon her. Together they came to the granite seat and sank to itside by side, fronting the placid river. There Ruth, her elbows on herknees, cradled her chin in her hands, and with a sigh of misery staredstraight before her.
"It was untrue!" she said at last. "What Richard said of me was untrue."
"Why, yes," Diana snapped, contemptuous. "The only truth is that Richardis afraid."
Ruth shivered. "Ah, no," she pleaded--she knew how true was theimpeachment. "Don't say it, Diana."
"It matters little that I say it," snorted Diana impatiently. "It is atruth proclaimed by the first glance at him."
"He is in poor health, perhaps," said Ruth, seeking miserably to excusehim.
"Aye," said Diana. "He's suffering from an ague--the result of a lackof courage. That he should so have spoken to you! Give me patience,Heaven!"
Ruth crimsoned again at the memory of his words; a wave of indignationswept through her gentle soul, but was gone at once, leaving anineffable sadness in its room. What was to be done? She turned to Dianafor counsel. But Diana was still whipping up her scorn.
"If he goes out to meet Mr. Wilding, he'll shame himself and every manand woman that bears the name of Westmacott," said she, and struck a newfear with that into the heart of Ruth.
"He must not go!" she answered passionately. "He must not meet him!"
Diana flashed her a sidelong glance. "And if he doesn't, will things bemended?" she inquired. "Will it save his honour to have Mr. Wilding comeand cane him?"
"He'd not do that?" said Ruth.
"Not if you asked him--no," was Diana's sharp retort, and she caught herbreath on the last word of it, for just then the Devil dropped the seedof a suggestion into the fertile soil of her lovesick soul.
"Diana!" Ruth exclaimed in reproof, turning to confront her cousin. ButDiana's mind started upon its scheming journey was now travelling fast.Out of that devil's seed there sprang with amazing rapidity a tree-likegrowth, throwing out branches, putting forth leaves, bearing already--inher fancy--bloom and fruit.
"Why not?" quoth she after a breathing space, and her voice was gentle,her tone innocent beyond compare. "Why should you not ask him?" Ruthfrowned, perplexed and thoughtful, and now Diana turned to her withthe lively eye of one into whose mind has leapt a sudden inspiration."Ruth!" she exclaimed. "Why, indeed, should you not ask him to forgothis duel?"
"How, how could I?" faltered Ruth.
"He'd not deny you; you know he'd not."
"I do not know it," answered Ruth. "But if I did, how could I ask it?"
"Were I Richard's sister,
and had I his life and honour at heart as youhave, I'd not ask how. If Richard goes to that encounter he loses both,remember--unless between this and then he undergoes some change. Were Iin your place, I'd straight to Wilding."
"To him?" mused Ruth, sitting up. "How could I go to him?"
"Go to him, yes," Diana insisted. "Go to him at once--while there is yettime."
Ruth rose and moved away a step or two towards the water, deep inthought. Diana watched her furtively and slyly, the rapid rise and fallof her maiden breast betraying the agitation that filled her as shewaited--like a gamester--for the turn of the card that would show herwhether she had won or lost. For she saw clearly how Ruth might be socompromised that there was something more than a chance that Diana wouldno longer have cause to account her cousin a barrier between herself andBlake.
"I could not go alone," said Ruth, and her tone was that of one stillbattling with a notion that is repugnant.
"Why, if that is all," said Diana, "then I'll go with you."
"I can't! I can't! Consider the humiliation."
"Consider Richard rather," the fair temptress made answer eagerly. "Besure that Mr. Wilding will save you all humiliation. He'll not deny you.At a word from you, I know what answer he will make. He will refuse topush the matter forward--acknowledge himself in the wrong, do whateveryou may ask him. He can do it. None will question his courage. It hasbeen proved too often." She rose and came to Ruth. She set her armabout her waist again, and poured shrewd persuasion over her cousin'sindecision. "To-night you'll thank me for this thought," she assuredher. "Why do you pause? Are you so selfish as to think more of thelittle humiliation that may await you than of Richard's life andhonour?"
"No, no," Ruth protested feebly.
"What, then? Is Richard to go out and slay his honour by a show of fearbefore he is slain, himself, by the man he has insulted?"
"I'll go," said Ruth. Now that the resolve was taken, she was brisk,impatient. "Come, Diana. Let Jerry saddle for us. We'll ride to ZoylandChase at once."
They went without a word to Richard who was still closeted withVallancey, and riding forth they crossed the river and took the roadthat, skirting Sedgemoor, runs south to Weston Zoyland. They rode withlittle said until they came to the point where the road branches on theleft, throwing out an arm across the moor towards Chedzoy, a mile or soshort of Zoyland Chase. Here Diana reined in with a sharp gasp of pain.Ruth checked, and cried to know what ailed her.
"It is the sun, I think," muttered Diana, her hand to her brow. "I amsick and giddy." And she slipped a thought heavily to the ground. In aninstant Ruth had dismounted and was beside her. Diana was pale, whichlent colour to her complaint, for Ruth was not to know that the pallorsprang from her agitation in wondering whether the ruse she attemptedwould succeed or not.
A short stone's-throw from where they had halted stood a cottage backfrom the road in a little plot of ground, the property of a kindly oldwoman known to both. There Diana expressed the wish to rest awhile, andthither they took their way, Ruth leading both horses and supporting herfaltering cousin. The dame was all solicitude. Diana was led into herparlour, and what could be done was done. Her corsage was loosened,water drawn from the well and brought her to drink and bathe her brow.
She sat back languidly, her head lolling sideways against one of thewings of the great chair, and languidly assured them she would be bettersoon if she were but allowed to rest awhile. Ruth drew up a stool tosit beside her, for all that her soul fretted at this delay. What if inconsequence she should reach Zoyland Chase too late--to find that Mr.Wilding had gone forth already? But even as she was about to sit, itseemed that the same thought had of a sudden come to Diana. The girlleaned forward, thrusting--as if by an effort--some of her faintnessfrom her.
"Do not wait for me, Ruth," she begged.
"I must, child."
"You must not;" the other insisted. "Think what it may mean--Richard'slife, perhaps. No, no, Ruth, dear. Go on; go on to Zoyland. I'll followyou in a few minutes."
"I'll wait for you," said Ruth with firmness.
At that Diana rose, and in rising staggered. "Then we'll push on atonce," she gasped, as if speech itself were an excruciating effort.
"But you are in no case to stand!" said Ruth. "Sit, Diana, sit."
"Either you go on alone or I go with you, but go at once you must. Atany moment Mr. Wilding may go forth, and your chance is lost. I'll nothave Richard's blood upon my head."
Ruth wrung her hands in her dismay, confronted by a parlous choice.Consent to Diana's accompanying her in this condition she could not;ride on alone to Mr. Wilding's house was hardly to be thought of, andyet if she delayed she was endangering Richard's life. By the verystrength of her nature she was caught in the mesh of Diana's scheme.She saw that her hesitation was unworthy. This was no ordinary cause, noordinary occasion. It was a time for heroic measures. She must ride on,nor could she consent to take Diana.
And so in the end she went, having seen her cousin settled again in thehigh chair, and took with her Diana's feeble assurances that she wouldfollow her in a few moments, as soon as her faintness passed.