XV
The day following the interview between Tatham and Faversham was a day ofexpectation for the inmates of Duddon. On the evening before, Tatham withmuch toil had extracted a more or less, coherent statement from NettaMelrose, persuading her to throw it into the form of an appeal to herhusband. "If we can't do anything by reasoning, why then we must trypressure," he had said to her, in his suavest County Council manner; "butwe won't talk law to begin with." The statement when finished and writtenout in Netta's childish hand was sent by messenger, late in the evening,within a covering letter to Faversham, written by Tatham.
Tatham afterward devoted himself till nearly midnight to composing aletter to Lydia. He had unaccountably missed her that afternoon, for whenhe arrived at the cottage from Pengarth she was out, and neither Mrs.Penfold nor Susy knew where she was. In fact she was at Mainstairs, andwith Faversham. She had mistaken a phrase in Tatham's note of themorning, and did not expect him till later. He had waited an hour forher, under the soft patter of Mrs. Penfold's embarrassed conversation;and had then ridden home, sorely disappointed, but never for one instantblaming the beloved.
But later, in the night silence, he poured out to her all his budget: thearrival of the Melroses; their story; his interview with Faversham; andhis plans for helping them to their rights. To a "friend" it was onlyallowed, besides, to give restrained expression to his rapturous joy inbeing near her again, and his disappointment of the afternoon. He thoughtover every word, as he wrote it down, his eyes sometimes a little dim inthe lamp-light. The very reserve imposed upon him did but strengthen hispassion. Nor could young hopes believe in ultimate defeat.
At the same time, the thought of Faversham held the background of hismind. Though by now he himself cordially disliked Faversham, he was quiteaware of the attraction the new agent's proud and melancholy personalitymight have for women. He had seen it working in Lydia's case, and he hadbeen uncomfortably aware at one time of the frequent references toFaversham in Lydia's letters. It was evident that Faversham had pushedthe acquaintance with the Penfolds as far as he could; that he wasLydia's familiar correspondent, and constantly appealing for help to herknowledge of the country folk. An excellent road to intimacy, as Tathamuneasily admitted, considering Lydia's love for the people of the dales,and her passionate sympathy with the victims of Melrose's ill-deeds.
Ah! but the very causes which had been throwing her into an intimacy withFaversham must surely now be chilling and drawing her back? Tatham, theyoung reformer, felt an honest indignation with the failure of ClaudeFaversham to do the obvious and necessary work he had promised to do.Tatham, the lover, knew very well that if he had come back to findFaversham the hero of the piece, with a grateful countryside at his feet,his own jealous anxiety would have been even greater than it was. For itwas great, argue with himself as he might. A dread for which he could notaccount often overshadowed him. It was caused perhaps by his constantmemory of Faversham and Lydia on the terrace at Threlfall--of the twofaces turned to each other--of the sudden fusion as it were of the twopersonalities in a common rush of memories, interests, and sympathies, inwhich he himself had no part....
He put up his letter on the stroke of midnight, and then walked his rooma while longer, struggling with himself and the passion of his desire;praying that he might win her. Finally he took a well-worn Bible from alocked drawer, and read some verses from the Gospel of St. John, quietinghimself. He never went to sleep without reading either a psalm or someportion of the New Testament. The influence of his Eton tutor had madehim a Christian of a simple and convinced type; and his mother'sagnosticism had never affected him. But he and she never talked ofreligion.
Nothing arrived from Threlfall the following day during the morning.After luncheon, Victoria announced her intention of going to call on thePenfolds.
"You can follow me there in the motor," she said to her son; "and if anynews comes, bring it on."
They were in the drawing-room. Netta, white and silent, was stretched onthe sofa, where Victoria had just spread a shawl over her. Feliciaappeared to be turning over an illustrated paper, but was in realitywatching the mother and son out of the corners of her eyes. Everythingthat was said containing a mention of the Penfolds struck in her anattentive ear. The casual conversation of the house had shown her alreadythat there were three ladies--two of them young--who were living not farfrom Duddon, and were objects of interest to both Lady Tatham and herson. Flowers were sent them, and new books. They were not relations; andnot quite ordinary acquaintances. All this had excited a furiouscuriosity in Felicia. She wished--was determined indeed--to see theseladies for herself.
"You will hardly want to go out," said Victoria gently, standing byNetta's sofa, and looking down with kind eyes on the weary woman lyingthere.
Netta shook her head; then putting out her hand she took Victoria's andpressed it. Victoria understood that she was waiting feverishly for theanswer from Threlfall, and could do nothing and think of nothing till itarrived.
"And your daughter?" She looked round for Felicia.
"I wish to drive in a motor," said Felicia, rising and speaking with adecision which amused Victoria. Pending the arrival from London of somewinter costumes on approval, Victoria's maid had arranged for the littleItalian a picturesque dress of dark blue silk, from a gown of hermistress', by which the emaciation of the girl's small frame was somewhatdisguised; while the beauty of the material, and of the delicateembroideries on the collar and sleeves, strangely heightened the grace ofher curly head, and the effect of her astonishing eyes, so liquidlybright, in a face too slight for them.
In forty-eight hours, even, of comfort and cosseting her elfish thinnesshad become a shade less ghastly; and the self-possession which hademerged from the state of collapse in which she had arrived amazedVictoria. A week before, so it appeared, she had been earning a franca day in the vineyard of a friendly _contadino_. And already one mighthave thought her bred in castles. She was not abashed or bewildered bythe luxuries of Duddon, as Netta clearly was. Rather, she seemed to seizegreedily and by a natural instinct upon all that came her way--motors,pretty frocks, warm baths in luxurious bathrooms, and the attentions ofVictoria's maid. Victoria believed that she had grasped the wholesituation with regard to Threlfall. She was quite aware, it seemed, ofthe magnitude of her father's wealth; of all that hung upon her ownchances of inheritance; and of the value, to her cause and her mother's,of the support of Duddon. Her likeness to her father came out hour byhour, and there were moments when the tiny creature carried herself likea Melrose in miniature.
Victoria's advent was awaited at Green Cottage, she having telephoned toMrs. Penfold in the morning, with something of a flutter. Her visitsthere had not been frequent; and this was the first time she had calledsince Tatham's proposal to Lydia. That event had never been avowed byLydia, as we have seen, even to her mother; Lydia and Victoria had neverexchanged a word on the subject. But Lydia was aware of the shrewdguessing of her family, and she did not suppose for one moment that LadyTatham was ignorant of anything that had happened.
Mrs. Penfold, scarcely kept in order by Susy, was in much agitation. Shefelt terribly guilty. Lady Tatham must think them all monsters ofingratitude, and she wondered how she could be so kind as to come and seethem at all. She became at last so incoherent and tearful that Lydiaprepared for the worst, while Susy, the professed psychologist, revelledin the prospect of new "notes."
But when Victoria arrived, entering the cottage drawing-room with herfine mannish face, her stately bearing, and her shabby clothes, the newsshe brought seized at once on Mrs. Penfold's wandering wits, and for themoment held them fast. For Victoria, whose secret object was to discover,if she could, any facts about Lydia's doings and feelings during theinterval of separation, that might throw light upon her Harry'spredicament, made it cunningly appear that she had come expressly to tellher neighbours of the startling event which was now agitating Duddon, asit would soon be agitating the countryside.
Mrs. Penfold--
steeped in long years of three-decker fiction--satentranced. The cast-off and ill-treated wife returning to the scene ofher misery--with the heiress!--grown up--and beautiful: she saw it all;she threw it all into the moulds dear to the sentimentalist. Victoriademurred to the adjective "beautiful"; suggesting "pretty--when we havefed her!" But Mrs. Penfold, with soft, shining eyes, already beheld themother and child weeping at the knees of the Ogre, the softening of theOgre's heart, the opening of the grim Tower to its rightful heiress, thehappy ending, the marriage gown in the distance.
"For suppose!"--she turned gayly to her daughters for sympathy--"supposeshe were to marry Mr. Faversham! And then Mr. Melrose can have a stroke,and everything will come right!"
Lydia and Susy smiled dutifully. Victoria sat silent. Her silence checkedMrs. Penfold's flow, and brought her back, bewildered to realities; tothe sad remembrance of Lydia's astonishing and inscrutable behaviour.Whereupon her manner and conversation became so dishevelled, in hereffort to propitiate Lady Tatham without betraying either herself orLydia, that the situation grew quickly unbearable.
"May I see your garden?" said Victoria abruptly to Lydia. Lydia rose withalacrity, opened the glass door into the garden, and by a motion of thelips only visible to Susy appealed to her to keep their mother indoors.
A misty October sun reigned over the garden. The river ran sparklingthrough the valley, and on the farther side the slopes and jutting cragsof the Helvellyn range showed ghostly through the sunlit haze.'
A few absent-minded praises were given to the phloxes and the begonias.Then Victoria said, turning a penetrating eye on Lydia:
"You heard from Harry of the Melroses' arrival?"
"Yes--this morning."
Bright colour rushed into Lydia's cheeks. Tatham's letter of thatmorning, the longest perhaps ever written by a man who detestedletter-writing, had touched her profoundly, caused her an agonizedsearching of conscience. Did Lady Tatham blame and detest her? Hermanner was certainly cool. The girl's heart swelled as she walked alongbeside her guest.
"Everything depends on Mr. Faversham," said Victoria. "You are a friendof his?" She took the garden chair that Lydia offered her.
"Yes; we have all come to know him pretty well."
Lydia's face, as she sat on the grass at Lady Tatham's feet, lookingtoward the fells, was scarcely visible to her companion. Victoria couldonly admire the beauty of the girl's hair, as the wind played with it,and the grace of her young form.
"I am afraid he is disappointing all his friends," she said gravely.
"Is it his fault?" exclaimed Lydia. "Mr. Melrose must be mad!"
"I wonder if that excuses Mr. Faversham?"
"It's horrible for him!" said Lydia in a low, smothered voice. "He_wants_ to put things right?"
It was on the tip of Victoria's tongue to say, "Does he too write to youevery day?" but she refrained.
"If he really wants to put things right, why has he done nothing allthese seven weeks?" she asked severely. "I saw Colonel Barton thismorning. He and Mr. Andover are in despair. They felt such confidence inMr. Faversham. The state of the Mainstairs village is too terrible!Everybody is crying out. The Carlisle papers this week are full of it.But there are scores of other things almost as bad. Mr. Faversham rushesabout--here, there, and everywhere--but with no result, they tell us, asfar as any of the real grievances are concerned. Mr. Melrose seems to beinfatuated about him personally; will give him everything he wants; andpays no attention whatever to his advice. And you know the latestreport?"
"No." Lydia's face was bent over the grass, as she tried to aid abumble-bee which was lying on its back.
"It is generally believed that Mr. Melrose has made him his heir."
Lydia lifted a face of amazement, at first touched strangely with relief."Then--surely--he will be able to do what he wants!"
"On the contrary. His silence has been bought--that's what people say.Mr. Melrose has bribed him to do his work, and defend his iniquities."
"_Oh!_ Is that fair?" The humble-bee was so hastily poked on to his legsthat he tumbled over again.
"Well, now, we shall test him!" said Victoria quietly. "We shall see whathe does with regard to Mrs. Melrose and her daughter. Harry will havetold you how he went to him yesterday. We had a telephone message thismorning to say that a letter would reach us this afternoon from Mr.Faversham. Harry will bring it on here; and I asked him to bring FeliciaMelrose with him in the car. We thought you would be interested to seeher."
There was a pause. At last Lydia said slowly:
"How will you test Mr. Faversham? I don't understand."
"Unless the man is an adventurer," said Victoria, straightening hershoulders, "he will, of course, do his best to put this girl--who is therightful heiress--into her proper place. What business has he with Mr.Melrose's estates?"
Lady Tatham spoke with imperious energy.
Lydia's eyes showed an almost equal animation.
"May he not share with her? Aren't they immense?"
"At present he takes everything--so they say. It looks ugly. A completestranger--worming himself in a few weeks or months into an old man'sconfidence--and carrying off the inheritance from a pair of helplesswomen! And making himself meanwhile the tool of a tyrant!--aiding andabetting him in all his oppressions!"
"Oh, Lady Tatham! no, no!" cried Lydia--the cry seemed wrung fromher--"I--we--have only known Mr. Faversham this short time--but _how_can one believe--"
She paused, her eyes under their vividly marked eyebrows painfullysearching the face of her companion.
Victoria said to herself, "Heavens!--she _is_ in love with him--and sheis letting Harry sit up at nights to write to her!"
Her mother's heart beat fast with anger. But she held herself in hand.
"Well; as I have said, we shall soon be able to test him," she repeated,coldly; "we shall soon know what to think. His letter will show whetherhe is a man with feeling and conscience--a gentleman--or an adventurer!"
There was silence. Lydia was thinking passionately of Mainstairs andof the deep tones of a man's voice--"If _you_ condemn and misunderstandme--then indeed I shall lose heart!"
A humming sound could be heard in the far distance.
"Here they are," said Lady Tatham rising. Victoria's half-masculinebeauty had never been so formidable as it was this afternoon. Deep in herheart, she carried both pity for Harry, and scorn for this foolish girlwalking beside her, who could not recognize her good fortune when itcried out to her.
They hastened back to the drawing-room; and at the same moment Tatham andFelicia walked in.
Felicia advanced with perfect self-command, her small face flushed withpink by the motion of the car. In addition to the blue frock, Victoria'smaid had now provided her with a short cape of black silk, and a widestraw hat, to which the girl herself had given a kind of tilt, a touch ofaudacity, in keeping with all the rest of her personality.
As she came in, she glanced round the room with her uncannily largeeyes--her mother's eyes--taking in all the company. She dropped a littlecurtsey to Mrs. Penfold, in whom the excitement of this sudden appearanceof Melrose's daughter had produced sheer and simple dumbness. She allowedher hand to be shaken by Lydia and Susy, looking sharply at the former;while Susy looked sharply at her. Then she subsided into a corner by LadyTatham. It was evident that she regarded herself as under that lady'sparticular protection.
"Well?" said Lady Tatham in an eager aside to her son. She read hisaspect as that of a man preoccupied.
Tatham shrugged his shoulders with a glance at Felicia. Victoriawhispered to Lydia: "Will you tell your mother I want to speak a fewwords to Harry on business?"
Mother and son passed into the garden together.
"A declaration of war!" said Tatham, as he handed a letter to her. "Ipropose to instruct our solicitors at once."
Victoria read hastily. The writing was Faversham's. But the mindexpressed was Melrose's. Victoria read him in every line. She believedthe letter to have been simply dicta
ted.
"DEAR LORD TATHAM:
"I have laid Mrs. Melrose's statement before Mr. Melrose. I regret to saythat he sees no cause to modify the arrangements made years ago withregard to his wife, except that, in consideration of the fact that MissMelrose is now grown up, he will add L20 yearly to Mrs. Melrose'sallowance, making it L100 a year. Provision will be made for thecontinuance of this allowance to Mrs. Melrose till her death, andafterward to the daughter for her lifetime; _on condition that_ Mr.Melrose is not further molested in any way. Otherwise Mr. Melroseacknowledges and will acknowledge no claim upon him whatever.
"I am to add that if Mrs. Melrose is in difficulties, it is entirelyowing to the dishonest rapacity of her family who have been living uponher. Mr. Melrose is well acquainted with both the past and recent historyof Mr. Robert Smeath, who made a tool of Mrs. Melrose in the matter of adisgraceful theft of a valuable bronze from Mr. Melrose's collection--"
"The Hermes!" cried Victoria. "She has never said one word to me aboutit."
"Miss Melrose has been telling me the story," said Tatham, smiling at therecollection. "By George, that's a rum little girl! She glories in it.But she says her mother has been consumed with remorse ever since. Goon."
"And if any attempt is made to blackmail or coerce Mr. Melrose, he willbe obliged, much against his will, to draw the attention of the Italianpolice to certain matters relating to Mr. Smeath, of which he has theevidence in his possession. He warns Mrs. Melrose that her father'scareer cannot possibly bear examination.
"I regret that my reply cannot be more satisfactory to you.
"Believe me,
"Yours faithfully,
"CLAUDE FAVERSHAM."
Victoria had turned pale.
"How _abominable_! Why, her father is bedridden and dying!"
"So I told Faversham--like a fool. For it only--apparently--gives Melrosea greater power of putting on the screw. Well, now look here--here'ssomething else." He drew another letter from his pocket, and handed it toher.
Victoria unfolded a second note from Faversham--marked "confidential,"and written in evident agitation.
"MY DEAR TATHAM:
"I am powerless. Let me implore you to keep Mrs. Melrose quiet! Privatelya great deal may be done for her. If she will only trust herself to me,in my private capacity, I will see that she is properly supplied for thefuture. But she will simply bring disaster on herself if she attempts toforce Melrose. She--and you--know what he is. I beg of you to beguided--and to guide her--as I advise."
"An attempt, you see, to buy us off," said Tatham scornfully. "I proposeto take the night train from Pengarth this evening, and consult oldFledhow to-morrow morning."
"Old Fledhow," _alias_ James Morton Fledhow, solicitor, head of one ofthat small group of firms which, between them, have the great estates ofEngland in their pigeon-holes, had been the legal adviser of the Tathamfamily for two generations. Precipitation is not the badge of his tribe;but Victoria threw herself upon this very natural and youthful impulse,before even it could reach "old Fledhow."
"My dear Harry, be cautious! What did Mrs. Melrose say? Of course youshowed her the letter?"
Tatham candidly admitted that he hardly knew what Mrs. Melrose had said.The letter had thrown her into a great state of agitation, and she hadcried a good deal. "Poor papa, poor papa!" pronounced with the accent onthe first syllable, seemed to have been all that she had been able toarticulate.
"You know, Harry, there may be a great deal in it?" Victoria'scountenance showed her doubts.
"In the threat about her father? Pure bluff, mother!--absolute bluff! Asfor the bronze--a wife can't steal from her husband. And under thesecircumstances!--I should like to see a British jury that would touchher!"
"But she admits that half the proceeds went to her father."
"Twenty years ago?" Tatham's shrug was magnificent. "I tell you he'll getno change out of that!"
"But he hints at other things?"
"Bluff again! Why the man's helpless in his bed!"
"I suppose even dying can be made more unpleasant by the police," saidVictoria. She pondered, walking thoughtfully beside a rather thwarted andimpatient youth, eager to play the champion of the distressed in his ownway; and that, possibly, from more motives than one. Suddenly her facecleared.
"I will go myself!" she said, laying her hand on her son's arm.
"Mother!"
"Yes! I'll go myself. Leave it to me, Harry. I will drive over toThrelfall to-morrow evening--quite alone and without notice. I had someinfluence with him once," she said, with her eyes on the ground.
Tatham protested warmly. The smallest allusion to any early relationbetween his mother and Melrose was almost intolerable to him. But LadyTatham fought for her idea. She pointed out again that Melrose might verywell have some information that could be used with ghastly effect evenupon a dying man; that Netta was much attached to her father, and wouldprobably not make up her mind to any drastic step whatever in face ofMelrose's threats.
"I don't so much care about Mrs. Melrose," exclaimed Tatham. "We cangive her money, and make her comfortable, if it comes to that. Butit's the girl--and the hideous injustice of that fellow there--thatFaversham--ousting her from her rights--getting the old man into hispower--boning his property--and then writing hypocritical notes likethat!"
He stood before her, flushed and excited; a broad-shouldered avenger ofthe sex, such as any distressed maiden might have been glad to lightupon. But again Victoria was aware that the case was not as simple as itsounded. However, she was no less angry than he. Mother and son were onthe brink of making common cause against a grasping impostor; who was notto be allowed to go off--either with money that did not belong to him, orwith angelic sympathies that still less belonged to him. Meanwhile onthis point, whatever may have been in their minds, they said on thisoccasion not a word. Victoria pressed her plan. And in the end Tathammost reluctantly consented that she should endeavour to force a surpriseinterview with Melrose the following day.
They returned to the little drawing-room where Felicia Melrose, itseemed, had been giving the Penfolds a difficult half hour. For as soonas the Tathams had stepped into the garden, she had become entirelymonosyllabic; after a drive from Duddon at Harry Tatham's side, duringwhich, greatly to her host's surprise, she had suddenly and unexpectedlyfound her tongue, talking, in a torrent of questions, all the way,insatiably.
Mrs. Penfold, on her side, could do little but stare at "the heiress ofThrelfall." Susy, studying her with shining eyes, tried to make her talk,to little purpose.
But Lydia in particular could get nothing out of her. It seemed to herthat Felicia looked at her as though she disliked her. And every now andthen the small stranger would try to see herself in the only mirror thatthe cottage drawing-room afforded; lengthening out her long, thin neck,and turning her curly head stealthily from side to side like a swanpreening. Once, when she thought no one was observing her, she took acarnation from a vase near her--it had been sent over from Duddon thatmorning!--and put it in her dress. And the next moment, having pulled offher glove, she looked with annoyance at her own roughened hand, and thenat Lydia's delicate fingers playing with a paper-knife. Frowning, shehastily slipped her glove on again.
As soon as Tatham and his mother reappeared, she jumped up with alacrity,a smile breaking with sudden and sparkled beauty on her pinched face, andwent to stand by Victoria's side, looking up at her with eager docilityand admiration.
Victoria, however, left her, in order to draw Lydia into a corner besidea farther window.
"I am sorry to say Harry has received a very unsatisfactory letter fromMr. Faversham."
"May I ask him about it?"
"He wants to tell you. I am carrying Miss Melrose back with me. But Harrywill stay."
Words which cost Victoria a good deal. If what she now believed was thetruth, how monstrous that her Harry should be kept dangling here! Herpride was all on edge. But Harry ruled her. She could make no move tillhis eyes too were ope
ned.
Meanwhile, on all counts, Faversham was the enemy. To that _chasse_ firstand foremost, Victoria vowed herself.
* * * * *
"Well, what do you think of her?" said Tatham, good-humouredly, as heraised his hat to Felicia and his mother disappearing in the car. "She'smore alive to-day; but you can see she has been literally starved. That_brute_ Melrose!"
Lydia made some half audible reply, and with a view to prolonging his_tete-a-tete_ with her, he led her strolling along the road, through agolden dusk, touched with moonrise. She followed, but all her pleasantself-confidence with regard to him was gone; she walked beside him,miserable and self-condemned; a theorist defeated by the incalculableforces of things. How to begin with him--what line to take--how to undoher own work--she did not know; her mind was in confusion.
As for him, he was no sooner alone with her than bliss descended on him.He forgot Faversham and the Melroses. He only wished to talk to her, andof himself. Surely, so much, "friendship" allowed.
He began, accordingly, to comment eagerly on her letters to him, and histo her, explaining this, questioning that. Every word showed her afreshthat her letters had been the landmarks of his Scotch weeks, the chiefevents of his summer; and every word quickened a new remorse. At last shecould bear it no longer. She broke abruptly on his talk.
"Mayn't I know what's happened at Threlfall? Your mother told me--you hadheard."
He pulled himself together, while many things he would rather haveforgotten rushed back upon him.
"We're no forrader!" he said impatiently. "I don't believe we shallget a brass farthing out of Melrose, if you ask me; at least withoutgoing to law and making a scandal; partly because he's Melrose, andthat sort--sooner die than climb down, and the rest of it--but mostly--"
He broke off.
"Mostly?" repeated Lydia.
"I don't know whether I'd better go on. Faversham's a friend of yours."
Tatham looked down upon her, his blunt features reddening.
"Not so much a friend that I can't hear the truth about him," said Lydia,smiling rather faintly. "What do you accuse him of?"
He hesitated a moment; then the inner heat gathered, and flashed out.Wasn't it best to be frank?--best for her, best for himself?
"Don't you think it looks pretty black?" he asked her, breathingquick; "there he is, getting round an old man, and plotting for moneyhe's no right to! Wouldn't you have thought that any decent fellowwould sooner break stones than take the money that ought to have beenthat girl's--that at least he'd have said to Melrose 'provide for herfirst--your own child--and then do what you like for me.' Wouldn't thathave been the honest thing to do? But I went to him yesterday--told himthe story--he promised to look into it--and to use his influence. We senthim a statement in proper form, a few hours later. It's horrible whatthose two have suffered! And then, to-day--it's too dark for you toread his precious letter, but if you really don't mind, I'lltell you the gist of it."
He summarized it--quite fairly--yet with a contempt he did not try toconceal. The girl at his side, muffled in a blue cloak, with a dark hoodframing the pale gold of the hair, and the delicate curves of the face,listened in silence. At the end she said:
"Tell me on what grounds you think Mr. Melrose has left his property toMr. Faversham?"
"Everybody believes it! My Carlisle lawyers whom I saw this morning areconvinced of it. Melrose is said to have spoken quite frankly about it tomany persons."
"Not very strong evidence on which to condemn a man so utterly as youcondemn him," said Lydia, with sudden emotion. "Think of the difficultyof his position! May he not be honestly trying to steer his way? And maynot we all be doing our best to make his task impossible, putting theworst construction--the very worst!--on everything he does?"
There was silence a moment. Tatham and Lydia were looking into eachother's faces; the girl's soul, wounded and fluttering, was in hereyes. Tatham felt a sudden and choking sense of catastrophe. Theirhouse of cards had fallen about them, and his stubborn hopes with it.She, with her high standards, could not possibly defend--could notpossibly plead--for a man who was behaving so shabbily, so dishonourably,except--for one reason! He leapt indignantly at certainty; although itwas a certainty that tortured him.
"There is evidence enough!" he said, in a changed voice. "I don'tunderstand how you can stick up for him."
"I don't," she said sadly, "not if it's true. But I don't want to believeit. Why should one want to believe the worst, you and I, about anybody?"
Tatham kept an explosive silence for a moment, and then broke outhoarsely:
"Do you remember, we promised we'd be real friends?--we'd be really frankwith each other? I've kept my bargain. Are you keeping it? Isn't theresomething you haven't told me!--something I ought to know?"
"No, nothing!" cried Lydia, with sudden energy. "You misunderstand--youoffend me."
She drew her breath quickly. There were angry tears in her eyes, hiddenby the hood.
A gust of passion swept through Tatham, revealing his manhood to itself.He stopped, caught her hands, and held them fiercely, imprisoned againsthis breast. She must needs look up at him; male strength compelled;they stood motionless a few seconds under the shadows of the trees.
"If there _is_ nothing--if I _do_ misunderstand--if I'm wrong in what Ithink--for God's sake listen to me--give me back my promise. I can't--Ican't keep it!"
He stooped and kissed the fingers he held, once, twice, repeatedly; thenturned away, shading his eyes with his hand.
Lydia said, with a little moan:
"Oh, Harry!--we've broken the spell."
Tatham recovered himself with difficulty.
"Can't you--can't you ever care for me?" The voicewas low, the eyes still hidden.
"We oughtn't to have been writing and meeting!" cried Lydia, in despair."It was foolish, wrong! I see it now. I ask your pardon. We must saygood-bye, Harry--and--oh!--oh!--I'm so sorry I let you--"
Her voice died away.
In the distance of the lane, a labourer emerged whistling from a gate,with his dog. Tatham's hands dropped to his sides; they walked ontogether as before. The man passed them with a cheerful good-night.
Tatham spoke slowly.
"Yes--perhaps--we'd better not meet. I can't--control myself. And Ishould go on offending you."
A chasm seemed to have opened between them. They turned and walked backto the gate of the cottage. When they reached it, Tatham crushed her handagain in his.
"Good-bye! If ever I can do anything to serve you--let me know!Good-bye!--dearest--_dearest_ Lydia." His voice sank and lingered onthe name. The lamp at the gate showed him that her eyes were swimmingin tears.
"You'll forgive me?" she said, imploringly.
He attempted a laugh, which ended in a sound of pain. Then he lifted herhand again, kissed it, and was gone; running--head down--through thedimness of the lane.
Meanwhile, wrapped in the warm furs of the motor, Felicia and Lady Tathamsped toward Duddon.
Felicia was impenetrably silent at first; and Victoria, who neverfound it easy to adapt herself to the young, made no effort to rouseher. Occasionally some passing light showed her the girl's pallidprofile--slightly frowning brow, and pinched lips--against the darklining of the car. And once or twice as she saw her thus, she wasstartled by the likeness to Melrose.
When they were halfway home, a thin, high voice struck into the silence,deliberately clear:
"Who is the Signorina Penfold?"
"Her mother is a widow. They have lived here about two years."
"She is not pretty. She is too pale. I do not like that hair," saidFelicia, viciously.
Victoria could not help an unseen smile.
"Everybody here thinks her pretty. She is very clever, and a beautifulartist," she said, with slight severity.
The gesture beside her was scarcely discernible. But Victoria thought itwas a toss of the head.
"Everybody in Italy can paint. It is as comm
on--as common aslizards! There are dozens of people in Lucca who can paint--a wholevilla--ceilings, walls--what you like. Nobody thinks anything at allabout them. But Italian girls are very clever also! There were two girlsin Lucca--Marchesine--the best family in Lucca. They got all the prizesat the Liceo, and then they went to Pisa to the University; and one ofthem was a Doctor of Law; and when they came home, all the street inwhich they lived and their _palazzo_ were lit up. And they were verypretty too!"
"And you--did you go to the Liceo, Felicia?"
"No! I had never any education--none, none, _none_! But I could get it,if I wanted," said the voice, defiantly.
"Of course you could. I have asked your mother to stay with us tillChristmas. You might get some lessons in Carlisle. We could send you in."
Felicia, however, made no response to this at all, and Victoria felt thather proposal had fallen flat. But, after a minute or two, she heard:
"I should like--to learn--to _ride_!"
Much emphasis on the last word; accompanied by nodding of the fantasticlittle head.
"Well, we shall see!" laughed Victoria, indulgently.
"And then--I would go out--with Lord Tatham!" said Felicia. "Oh, but heis too _divine_ on horseback! There were some Italian cavalry officers atLucca. I used to run to the window every time to see them pass by. But heis nobler--he is handsomer!"
Victoria, taken by surprise, wondered if it would not be well toadminister a little snubbing to compliments so unabashed. She tried. ButFelicia interrupted her:
"Do you not admire him--your son?" she said eagerly, slipping up close toVictoria. "Can he jump and swim rivers--on his horse--and come downmountains--on his haunches--like our _cavalleria_? I am certain he can!"
"He can do most things on a horse. When the hunting begins, you willsee," said Victoria, smiling in spite of herself.
"Tell me, please, what is the hunting? And about the shooting, too. LordTatham told me--this afternoon--some ladies shoot. Oh, but I will learnto shoot! I swear it--yes! Now tell me!"
Thus attacked, the formidable Victoria capitulated. She was soon in themidst of stories of her Harry, from his first pony upward. And she hadnot gone far before a tiny hand slipped itself into hers and nestledthere; moving and quivering occasionally, like a wild bird voluntarilytame. And when the drive ended, Victoria was quite sorry to lose itslithe softness.