CHAPTER XXXI
The following afternoon, as the London evening papers were publishingwhat they were pleased to call "A Romance in High Life," Derrick and hisfather made their way through an excited crowd, which had gathered aboutthe Court House. Affairs there had proceeded as Mr. Jacobs hadprophesied; the magistrates had listened with amazement, not only to Mr.Jacobs' statement, but to the announcement which Mr. Clendon had made ofhis identity and his relationship to Derrick; and the worthy chairman,Sir Courtenay Comber, using almost the identical words Mr. Jacobs hadattributed to him, had congratulated Derrick and informed him that heleft the Court "without a stain on his character." Notwithstanding itssatisfactory conclusion, the ordeal had been a trying one for father andson, and Derrick looked pale and somewhat worn as he grasped the hand ofReggie, who had been in Court, and had hurried after him to congratulatehim.
"I've got a carriage here for you, round the corner," he said; "and I'vesucceeded in stopping them ringing the bells."
"I'm glad," said Derrick; "but why should they want to ring the bells?"
"Well, you see," explained Reggie, as he led them to the carriage,"Lord Heyton--I mean the other man--is not a great favourite; whereas,somehow or other, you have caught the popular imagination; besides,it has leaked out that you are going to marry Miss Grant; andshe is tremendously popular. She has been very kind, in thedo-good-and-blush-to-find-it-known way, to the poor people about her;and Susie has told a good many of Miss Grant's angelic kindnesses toher. Hence these tears," he added, as the people crowded about them andcheered heartily. "Where shall I tell the man to drive, my lord?"
"To the Hall," replied Mr. Clendon gravely. "Yes," he said to Derrick,as the carriage drove off, "the Marquess--I mean your uncle, Talbot,wants to see you, naturally."
"You have told him?" said Derrick. "Poor man!"
"Yes, I have told him; and, strangely enough, he welcomed the news. Andyet it is not strange; for, alas! he knew the character of his son, knewthat he was not worthy to bear the title. There is something more on mybrother's mind than I am cognisant of. Some secret which worries him,"he added.
Derrick remained silent. He dared not probe the mystery of the hiddenjewel-case, of Heyton's sudden flight; but it was evident to him thatMr. Jacobs intended to conceal any knowledge he might have, and Derrickwas only too thankful to concur in that concealment.
On their way to the Hall, Derrick and his father spoke of many things ofthe past and the future; and presently the old man said in a low voice,
"You will be married soon, Derrick?"
"The first moment Celia will have me," replied Derrick, promptly.
"I would like you to spend your honeymoon in South America," said hisfather.
Derrick understood, and he nodded and laid his hand on the old man's.
"And you, sir? Shall you go there--soon?"
Mr. Clendon shook his head. "No," he responded. "The chasm between us istoo wide, has divided us for too long a time. But it shall be as yourmother wishes. You will talk to her----We will leave her future and mineon the knees of the gods. But yours, thank God! is assured. Howstrangely Fate works! How little I thought, when I helped Celia to cometo the Hall, that I was lending a guiding hand to the future of my son'swife. Derrick, that same fate has been very good to you."
"Don't I know it, sir!" said Derrick in a low voice.
They reached the Hall; and as they entered, they could not but beconscious of the stir of excitement there; the old butler and the otherservants looked at them with an intense interest. As the two men stoodin the hall, waiting the summons to the sick-room, Derrick looked roundhim eagerly; but it was not at the subdued splendour surrounding him; hescarcely noted the indications of luxury and wealth, the wealth andstate to which he was heir; he was looking and listening for some signof Celia; and he was so absorbed that he started when his father touchedhis arm and directed his gaze to a portrait.
"That is mine, Derrick," he said. "Do you see any resemblance toyourself?"
"Yes; I think--yes, I do," replied Derrick.
"I noticed it yesterday, directly I entered the hall, for the first timefor many years."
The footman came down to say that they might go up, and they ascendedthe broad stairs, Derrick still looking about him and listening; butCelia did not appear. They were ushered into the sick-room, and the doorclosed on them; and they remained there for nearly half an hour; for theinjured man had recovered something of his old strength, as if a burdenhad been lifted from his shoulders, and he was able to hear the story ofDerrick's identity and to speak a few words of relief and satisfaction.When they left the room both Derrick and his father were much moved, andthey went down the stairs in silence. Derrick stopped as they reachedthe hall, and again looked round him.
"You will find her in there," said his father, nodding towards thelibrary; and Derrick, with a sudden flush and a brightening of the eyes,knocked at the door.
The voice that said, "Come in," made his heart leap. He turned thehandle of the door and entered. Celia had heard his voice in the hall,was expecting him; she was standing by the table, her hand pressed onit, her face pale but her eyes glowing with the ineffable light of love.
"Sydney!" she murmured, all her heart in her voice.
He took her in his arms and, for a moment, there was silence; then sheraised her head and whispered,
"It is all right, Sydney?"
"It is all right," he responded. "I am here, as you see; I am acquitted;all is well. But, dearest," he hesitated apologetically, "you must notcall me 'Sydney.'"
She looked up at him, her brows knit slightly; and he gathered her tohim still more closely, as he went on.
"I've got the strangest news to tell you, Celia. You will think that youare dreaming, as I have been dreaming ever since I myself heard it."
"They have been talking, saying strange things--the servants, Imean--and Mrs. Dexter came in just now and tried to tell me--something;but she was too excited and checked herself; she said I should hear itfrom you! What is it, Syd----But I'm not to call you that? What am I tocall you?"
"Derrick," he said; "it is the name that you shall always call me by;but the world will know me as Lord Heyton."
She started in his arms and, drawing back her head, gazed up at him inamazement; and she listened as he told her the wonderful news; at firstwith bewilderment and then with a gravity and a lack of enthusiasm whichsurprised him.
"You are glad, dearest?" he asked. "You are surprised, astonished, ofcourse? It takes some time to realize. You are glad?"
"Are you?" she asked in a low voice.
Derrick shrugged his shoulders; then, as if he were ashamed of thegesture, he said quickly,
"That I have found a father--and such a father--yes. And I have found amother too. Have you guessed that it is the Donna Elvira I have told youso much about? You are surprised; and no wonder. It is part of thestrange story. I will tell you all about her presently. Of course, I amglad. I was all alone in the world--but for you--but for you, Celia! andthe loneliness was hard sometimes to bear. But for the rest, the titleand the estates and the other things, I welcome them only because youwill share them with me. Celia, I'm not such an idiot as not to realizethat I am coming to you as something more than a penniless adventurer,well-nigh nameless, a man of no account. If I had all the world at mycommand, the highest title a man could bear, I should only value thembecause I could lay them at your feet."
The tears welled to her eyes and, of her own accord, she drew his headdown to her and laid her sweet lips on his.
"You are too good to me; I am not worth it," she said, brokenly. Then,with something like a start, she whispered, with a dawning fear andhorror in her eyes, "And the other--Lord Heyton? And his wife! Oh, poor,poor woman! And she has borne so much already! She is lying there,upstairs, prostrated. Who is to tell her? Oh, Derrick, dearest, who isto tell her?"
"You," he said, gently. "No one can break it to her better than youcan."
"Oh, must I? Oh,
it will be hard for her."
"It will be hard, Celia; but no one can do it better than you. You willsoften the blow. She will realise her debt to you, through me. Tell herthat her future shall be cared for--but you know that I shall look afterthat. Celia, you, who are so quick, so acute, have divined the truth. Itwas for Miriam that I took on myself the forged cheque. I--cared for heronce; I thought I was in love with her. I thought so until that nightyou came to me and stood like an angel of rescue between me and ashameful death. As to Miriam's husband----"
Derrick paused and, looking down at her steadily, laid his hand on hershoulder with an almost masterful pressure.
"--There must be nothing more said about him between us two, Celia," hecontinued, with solemnity in his voice and manner. "He is gone; let himgo and take the past with him. But one word: Celia, it was Heyton whowronged Susie, it was Heyton who forged the cheque; it was because LadyGridborough thought me guilty of wrecking Susie's life, that she cut methat morning when she passed us at the gate by the wood. She knows thetruth now; for Reggie has got Susie to reveal it----"
"Reggie!" murmured Celia.
"Yes; he fell in love with Susie the first time he saw her; he has beentelling me all about it."
"And Susie yielded! I can scarcely believe it," said Celia, with a noteof delight in her voice.
"She yielded," said Derrick, with a smile. "Reggie is a wonderful youngman; and has a way with him, as the saying is. He must have laid hardsiege to Susie's heart--perhaps he won her through the child. Anyway, hehas done so; and, in doing so, has cleared my name."
"I am glad, glad!" Celia murmured, giving him a little hug. "Yes; he isa wonderful young man; I saw that the first time I met him." She toldhim of that meeting in the British Museum Reading Room. "Oh, I can quiteunderstand, now I come to think of it; with all her seeming coldness,Susie has a tender heart. I've found that out----"
"By the surest way, the revelation of your own," said Derrick. He lookedround the room, as if everything in it were precious to him. "And thisis where you have worked," he said.
"Yes," she nodded, also looking round; "and I have been very happyhere--or should have been," she went on softly, her eyes on his, "if Ihad been able to keep a certain man out of my thoughts. But he was thereall the time; I could close my eyes and be back at 'The Jail,' lookingover the rails at his upturned face and hearing his voice. What awonderful thing love is!"
"And yet so easy to understand," he said with a smile, as he caught herto him again. There was silence for a while; then he said, "We'll bemarried soon, Celia?"
She blushed and her eyes fell for a moment; then she raised them to hisand whispered,
"Yes."
"My father wants us to spend our honeymoon in South America; wants us togo to my mother. You will go; you will not mind the long journey?"
She was silent for a moment; then, almost solemnly, but with an infinitelove in her eyes and her voice, she murmured,
"'Whither thou goest, I will go ... thy people shall be my people.'"
* * * * *
As Celia went to Miriam's room, can it be wondered that her step grewslower and, notwithstanding her own happiness, that her heart waxedheavy with sorrow for the wretched young wife? She found Miriam lyingback in her chair, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, her face almostvacant of any expression; she seemed weighed down by the apathyresulting from utter hopelessness, from a knowledge of some evil fromwhich she could not escape. She turned her eyes to Celia, and Celia'sheart was made to ache by the look of dumb suffering in them, that lookwhich the weak always wear when the world is going wrong with them.
Celia knelt down beside the chair, and took one of the nerveless hands.
"Are you better, getting stronger, Lady Heyton?" she asked, gently.
Miriam shook her head listlessly, and gazed out of the window; then sheturned her eyes again slowly to Celia, and said, in a toneless voice,
"Is it true, what the servants are saying, that the Marquess's elderbrother has been discovered, and that the Marquess, our Marquess, is nolonger the master here? Marie came and told me something about it; butshe was confused and rambled, and I could make very little of it."
"It is true," said Celia. "The elder brother is alive, is here in thehouse. He had been living in seclusion for years; the Marquessdiscovered a little while ago that his brother was alive; but the realMarquess did not wish to displace his younger brother. He was living inpoverty, working for his living. I knew him at that time."
Miriam looked only slightly interested. "You knew him? That's strange."
"Yes; it is all very strange," Celia agreed. "It was Mr. Clendon--westill call him that; it is so difficult to remember that he is theMarquess--and I lived in the same building; we called it 'The Jail'; itwas so prison-like." Her voice grew dreamy, as she spoke. "He played theviolin in the orchestra of a theatre; I used to hear him practising; themusic floated up to my room; how long ago it seems! It was he whopersuaded Lord Sutcombe to engage me as librarian, here at the Hall."
"It sounds like a novel," commented Miriam, absently.
"Yes," assented Celia; "but it isn't any more wonderful and astoundingthan the occurrences one reads of in the newspapers almost every day."
"And there is no doubt? I mean, it is all settled; he _is_ theMarquess?" said Miriam, still apathetically, as if no change, howeverrevolutionary, could affect her.
"Yes, it is all settled, or will be very soon," said Celia. "The lawyersare coming down to-morrow; the evidence is quite complete." There wassilence for a minute or two; then Celia, with her heart beating fast andheavily, said, in a still lower voice, "There is something else I musttell you, Lady Heyton. Mr. Clendon, the real Marquess, has--has a son."
She stopped to let this sink in, and Miriam's brows knit slightly; thenshe said, almost inaudibly,
"You mean that--that Heyton, my husband, is not the heir, is not LordHeyton?"
"Yes," said Celia in a whisper. It seemed to her that Miriam drew a longbreath of relief; but she made no comment and Celia went on, with stillgreater difficulty, "I must tell you who he is, Lady Heyton. I want toprepare you for a shock, and I don't know how to do it. You--you knowhim."
"I know him?" repeated Miriam, with dull surprise. "You mean I have methim. What is his name? Heyton, of course."
"That is his name, his title," said Celia; "but he has borne severalnames, has had a strange history. You knew him by the name of DerrickDene."
Miriam did not start; but the pallor of her face increased, and hertear-swollen eyes fixed themselves with a kind of wan wonder and shameon Celia.
"Derrick Dene!" she echoed, faintly.
"Yes," murmured Celia; and, as briefly and gently as she could, she toldMiriam of Derrick's recent experiences. Miriam's hands went up to herface; but they dropped into her lap again and she looked before her andsaid, in a stricken voice,
"I see you know everything. Yes, it was Heyton, my husband, who forgedthe cheque; I know it now: he is capable of--anything." She shuddered."It was to save me from the shame and unhappiness of being a felon'swife that Derrick sacrificed himself. Yes; it was just what he woulddo." She glanced at Celia. "You know, of course, that I--I once caredfor him; that we were to be married; I jilted him for a title, formoney----"
"Don't say any more," pleaded Celia; but Miriam went on ruthlessly.
"I was a weak fool; I might have known that no good would come of suchtreachery--oh, yes, I knew in my heart; I knew that Derrick was worth ahundred of _him_. I sinned with my eyes open; no, I shut them; I wasblinded by the thought, the prospect of being--what I am," she addedbitterly; then, suddenly, she fixed her eyes on Celia's downcast face."Derrick told you this? Then he knows you very well; you are a closefriend of his; you are----?"
"Yes," murmured Celia. "I am going to be his wife--very soon. We met in'The Jail.'" She did not, she could not tell how that meeting had beenbrought about; she wanted to spare Miriam all she could; but,notwithstanding her resolut
ion, the next words slipped outunconsciously. "He was accused of the robbery of the jewels----" She bither lip; but it was too late for remorse.
Miriam dropped back in the chair, her eyes closed and her lips becamelivid.
"He did not do it!" she gasped.
"No, no!" said Celia, quickly; "he has been proved innocent."
There was silence for a moment; while Miriam evidently made an effort tocontrol her agitation.
"Who--who----? Have they found out who did it?"
"No," broke in Celia, swiftly and tremulously. "No one has beendiscovered. Mr. Jacobs, the detective, said that no one will bediscovered. The jewels have been found."
"I know," murmured Miriam.
"There will be no more trouble," whispered Celia, soothingly.
Again there was a pause, then Miriam asked brokenly,
"Heyton--my husband?"
"He has gone abroad," said Celia, hanging her head; "he will be awaysome time."
Miriam's lips moved; she whispered, at last,
"I understand!--I must leave here--at once. I will go back to my peopleor hide myself somewhere in London."
"Oh, go back to your people," said Celia. "I--I want to tell you howsorry the Marquess, all of us, are for you, how deeply we sympathisewith your loss; it weighs upon us all."
"It need not do," said Miriam, with a touch of bitterness. "I havealways been a stranger and an alien here. Strangely enough, Celia, Ihave felt as if I--I have been walking on quicksand that might swallowme up at any moment. Oh, I have been as unhappy as I deserve. All thetime, I have felt a sense of--of--oh, I can't explain; but it seemed tome as if my treachery to Derrick would come back on me. And it has! Ifyou knew"--she shuddered--"but I can't tell you. I shall never open mylips--I want to go at once. Yes; I am quite strong enough. I want to goaway from here--from you all. I want to be at rest, somewhere where Ican try to forget. What a downfall! What a downfall!"
Celia, with the tears in her eyes, put her arm round the trembling form.
"Dear Lady Heyton," she murmured, "you must not give way. It may not beall as black as you think. And--and Derrick wishes me to tell you thatyour future--oh, how am I to put it!--that you will be well cared for;that you will have no need for anxiety about the future."
"Derrick!" breathed Miriam, ashamedly. "Yes, it is what he would do. Itis like him to think of me, even in the moment of his own happiness. Oh,God, how ashamed I am!"
"You will not refuse--to let them help you, to let them look after you?"pleaded Celia.
"No," replied Miriam, with a bitter laugh. "I'll take their charitythankfully enough. It's part of my punishment, I suppose. But I want togo at once. You seem to pity me----"
"Oh, Lady Heyton!"
"Then help me to get away. Send a telegram to my people to say that I amcoming; tell Marie to pack----"
"Yes," said Celia, feeling that Miriam had decided on the best course."I will see to everything. Will you lie down and rest, while I geteverything ready?"
"Rest!" echoed Miriam, bitterly. "There cannot be a moment's restfor me while I am in this house. I have lain awake listening,listening----" She shuddered. "Go now. I'd try to thank you, if I could.You've been kind to me--Derrick's wife!" She pushed Celia from her androse unsteadily. "Oh, go; I'm grateful, but the sight of you remindsme----"
With the tears running down her cheeks, Celia left her, to find Marieand send off the telegram.
CHAPTER XXXII
In the matter of an early marriage, both Derrick's father and he whom wehave known as the Marquess, were on Derrick's side; indeed, the sick manwas, if possible, more anxious than the others that the wedding shouldtake place without delay.
"I want everything settled before--before I go, Wilfred," he said."Something of the burden on my mind--not all! Ah, not all--will belifted, if I can know that I shall, under Providence, leave thesuccession settled. You and I are old men, Wilfred--I am very near thegrave. It is our duty to see, as far as lies within our power, that thefuture of the house is set upon a sound foundation. Your son, Derrick,will be a worthy successor; Celia--I need say nothing in her praise; shehas won all our hearts, and she will lend a lustre to the title thatwill come to her."
A fortnight is not a long time in which to prepare the trousseau of afuture Marchioness; but, with Lady Gridborough's enthusiasticassistance, Celia did her best; though, it must be confessed, she didnot attach so much importance to this matter of the trousseau as itusually demands and receives from the bride elect; in fact, though LadyGridborough has been described as an assistant, she bore the lion'sshare of the business, while Celia, as Lady Gridborough expressed it, inhomely language, "gadded about, and mooned" with her lover.
She wanted a quiet wedding, but the church was full, and some ardentspirits had insisted upon decorating it, and an avenue of children,clothed in white and armed with flower blossoms to throw upon thepathway of the bride. Reggie was best man; and, consciously orunconsciously, had the air of one who had brought about the wholeaffair.
"If you had fixed the date a day later," he confided to Derrick, as hehelped him into the regulation frock coat, and impressed upon him thesolemn fact that the wedding ring was in the right-hand pocket of hiswaistcoat, "you'd have had to find another best man; for Susie and I aregoing to be married to-morrow at a quiet little church not a hundredmiles from here. Ours is going to be really a quiet wedding: bride andbridegroom; parson, pew-opener and perhaps two sniffling children. Weare going straight to France; address uncertain. And we're going to livethere--that's one of the advantages of my profession, one of theprecious few advantages; you can carry it on anywhere."
"I'm glad," said Derrick, as he wrung Reggie's hand. "No wonder you lookso happy to-day: and I thought it was on my account!"
"So it is--partly," said Reggie. "You see, you're filling the bill soeminently satisfactorily. Between you and me, it isn't often that thehero in real life--in real life and out of fiction, mind you!--finishesup the last chapter looking absurdly happy in a frock coat and lavendertrousers. You're the most satisfying 'hero' I've ever met with. And asto the bride--well, you wouldn't be married this morning, old chap, if Isat down right here and told you what I think of her."
"But you've told me already," said Derrick, laying his hand on Reggie'sshoulder and shaking him affectionately.
To Lady Gridborough's intense satisfaction and delight, the sun shonebrightly on Celia who, as the oldest inhabitant declared, was the mostbeautiful bride that had ever stood before the altar of the old church.One wedding is monotonously similar to another; and on this occasionthere was nothing to distinguish Derrick's and Celia's, save the factthat the bridegroom had only just been acquitted of a criminal chargeand had been discovered to be the heir to a marquisate; but the crowdwhich filled the church and gathered outside, felt these facts to beimportant ones, and they cheered the bride and bridegroom as theyemerged from the church, husband and wife.
In the circumstances, it was not possible that there should be anyfestivities at the Hall--they would come later, all felt, when the happycouple returned from their honeymoon. There was an affecting scene whenDerrick and Celia stood beside the bed of the injured man. But as hetook Derrick's hand, and signed to Celia to bend down that he might kissher, there was, plainly, an expression of relief in the dying man'swasted face. The great wrong had been set right; the elder brotherrestored to his own, his son, this handsome, erect young fellow, withthe frank and honest eyes, established, or on the way to beingestablished, as the heir.
The old man, lying there, a statesman and an aristocrat, recognized theresponsibilities of his position, all that was due to the great familyof which he had supposed himself the head; and that due was now beingpaid. As he blessed them both, his hand sought that of his elderbrother, whom he had put in his proper place, and his eyes turnedaffectionately, restfully, to his.
Of course, Lady Gridborough and Reggie had been invited to thebreakfast, which was disposed of somewhat hurriedly; for there was atrain to catch. There wer
e no speeches; they were not necessary; LadyGridborough did most of the talking, breaking off now and then,sometimes to smile happily at Derrick and Celia, at others to wipe hereyes; for Lady Gridborough, at a wedding, was always hovering betweensmiles and tears.
They gathered in the hall, waiting for Celia to appear in her travellingdress; and presently she came down, radiant, blushing; but, before shewent to her husband, she drew Reggie aside.
"I want to ask you to take a message from me to Susie," she whispered."Tell her that I saw her in the church this morning; tell her that Ishall always love her, and that some time--before long, I hope--we shallmeet." Reggie, very red, and looking very happy, nodded. "And will yougive her this as a wedding present?"
He opened the small case she slipped into his hand, and saw a pendant inthe form of a ruby heart set round with diamonds. It was not a verycostly gift, though doubtless it would seem so in Susie's eyes. ButReggie understood all it meant; the emblem of affection, warm andglowing; and again he could only nod.
Derrick's last word was with his father. The two men stood, with handsenclasped, looking at each other in a mute exchange of affection andtrust.
"You will not be away too long?" said the father. "You are needed here."He glanced upwards towards his brother's room. "And I need you too,Derrick--my son that was lost and is found." He paused, then he added,"Tell her that it shall rest with her."
Derrick gave the hand a pressure of comprehension.
As the carriage was starting, Celia's eyes wandered over the groupgathered to see them off: Mrs. Dexter, as well as Lady Gridborough,between tears and smiles. Mr. Douglas, holding back Roddy, who wasmaking frantic efforts to follow the carriage; but Derrick's eyes werefixed on his father.
* * * * *
In due course--how ecstatically happy was that course!--Derrick andCelia reached the ranch. On the steps stood Donna Elvira, his mother,awaiting them, with a kind of proud patience. She had drawn herself upto her full height, was evidently fighting for self-composure; but, atthe sight of her son, her hauteur melted, and, with a cry, she claspedhim in her arms; but, the next moment, with a Spanish courtesy whichswiftly melted to tenderness, she turned to the rather pale andtrembling girl, and embraced her. With a hand of each in hers, she drewthem into the house. There are moments too sacred for intrusion; suchmoments were those which passed between these three. At first sight, theDonna's heart had gone out to her son's beautiful young wife; and it waswith a sigh that she said, after much talk had passed between them,
"Yes, you must not forget, dearest child, that you have a mother, andanother home, here in the South. You will come sometimes? And for a longvisit? The journey is so short nowadays, is it not? You will not forgetaltogether the lonely woman who has found a son--and a daughter?"
It was not until he and his mother were alone together that Derrickdelivered his father's message; and he did so gently, tenderly, with hishand laid in hers. Donna Elvira was silent for a long time; then shesaid, in a low voice,
"We will leave it to time, Derrick. You say, in your language, that Timeheals all things. And the wound is now almost healed. We willwait----Yes, we will leave it to time."
And with that Derrick had to be satisfied.
It was towards the close of their stay at the ranch that Derrickreceived a letter from his father containing the news of the death ofhim who had been known so long to the world as the Marquess of Sutcombe.The last days of the stricken man had passed in peacefulness andforgetfulness. He had never spoken of his son, had seemed to remembernothing of the terrible tragedy which had cast its shadow over all theirlives; all his conscious thought had been of the brother whose place hehad usurped, at first innocently, but whom now he had restored to hisown. The letter closed with a hint that Derrick's father found theresponsibility of his titles and honours somewhat hard to bear; andDerrick knew that the old man needed him.
This letter brought their visit--already a long one--to an end, andDerrick and Celia started for home. Nothing shall be said of theirreception; indeed, the most eloquent pen could not attempt to vie withthe glowing periods in which the great event was enshrined in thecolumns of the local paper; suffice it that, after a progress throughmany triumphal arches, much cheering; some speechifying on the part ofDerrick--which was by no means particularly happy but was received withdelirious enthusiasm--the carriage conveyed them to the Hall, whereDerrick's father and Celia's old friend stood, leaning on his stick, andawaited them.
"Thank God you've come back, Derrick!" said his father, fervently. "Youand Celia are wanted here, very badly. You see," he added, with a touchof pathos, "I have been away from all this so long, I am so unused toeverything----My dear, will you believe me"--he turned to Celia with asmile that had not a little pathos in it--"I sometimes long for thequietude, the--the bareness of 'The Jail'!"
"I know," said Celia in a low voice, and with a glance at Derrick besideher.
For she and Derrick, on their way home, had stopped for a night inLondon and had gone back to "The Jail." They had slept in her old room,and they had stood, hand in hand, in his, where first they had met,where she had come to him, an angel of rescue.
There were festivities enough now and to spare. The whole place seemedpermeated by their happiness, and Derrick was wondering how long therollicking would last and when he should be able to take up the dutieswhich devolved upon him. One evening it chanced that he and Celia werewalking through the village, on their way from Lady Gridborough's,engaged in earnest converse about those same duties; and, in the middleof a sentence, Celia broke off, and, catching at his arm, exclaimed,
"Derrick! Oh, Derrick, look!"
Derrick followed the direction of her eyes, and saw a huge tent with anumber of persons bustling about it. It was a circus tent; and,moreover, it was Bloxford's Mammoth Circus itself. He stopped andstared; then he laughed.
"Why, it's old Bloxford!" he cried, brightly. "Celia, this is a piece ofluck. Think of his coming here--here, of all places! By George! how gladI shall be to see him; and I've an idea he'll be glad to see me! We'llgo--no, not now"--stopping short--"I'll go to the show to-night."
"You'll take me, Derrick?" she said, eagerly. "I want to see him sobadly."
Restraining the desire to go there and then, they had an early dinnerand, on foot, made their way to the circus. The tent was crammed; theperformance had just begun; Derrick and Celia got seats in the bestpart, and, exchanging glances of pleasure, they looked on. The wholecompany was there in force; and when Isabel rode into the ring on herblack charger, Celia pressed Derrick's arm and whisperedenthusiastically,
"What a splendid woman, Derrick! Oh, she's really grand! And how sherides!"
"Yes," responded Derrick, a trifle confusedly; for--well, whilerecounting his adventures to Celia, he had omitted any mention of theIsabel episode. "She is a great friend of mine. And so is thatfine-looking chap who is going to do the trapeze act presently. There heis, standing by the entrance, where they come into the arena. His nameis Sidcup: splendid fellow, isn't he?"
"Splendid," murmured Celia, admiringly. "How clever they all are!"
"Here, come, let's go round at once, now," said Derrick, as theperformance came to an end and the band played "God save the King." Heled her round to the performers' tent, and almost ran against Mr.Bloxford. Needless to say, he wore his fur coat. At sight of Derrick'ssmiling face and outstretched hand, Mr. Bloxford started and stared, ina bewildered fashion, then he recognised Derrick and, grasping the hand,shook it heartily.
"Why, dash my stars and stripes, if it isn't Sydney Green!" heexclaimed, with so evident a pleasure that Celia's eyes glowed and shesmiled upon him; and Mr. Bloxford, as if drawn by the smile, turned toher, and, sweeping off his hat, said,
"And I take it you're his young lady, miss?"
"I'm his wife," said Celia, with unabashed pride.
"You don't say!" commented Mr. Bloxford, his admiration eloquentlyexpressed in his staring, Simian eyes. "Well, Mr. Green
, you've takenthe cake! Lor' bless my soul, what a picture you'd make in thehigh-stepping act! And you're well, and doing well, I should say, by thelook of you, Mr. Green," he said to Derrick, who, indeed, lookedabsurdly happy and proud at that moment. "Well, you deserve it. Lookhere, ma'am, I could tell you a sight about this big gentleman of yours.You take it from me that he's a topper, a tip-topper. Here, just step inhere, and I'll tell you how he saved the whole show from a wrecking outthere in that darned dingo-land, Buenos Aires."
"I should like to hear it very much, Mr. Bloxford," said Celia, stillglowing on him; "though my husband has already told me about it."
"Oh, well, you don't want to hear it from me; though, mind you, it wasone of the coolest things I've ever seen done. Oh, he's grit allthrough, is that good man of yours."
"I know he is," said Celia, her face radiant, her smile fascinating andbewildering.
"But, look here!" he said. "The company will want to see you. Here, comealong! I tell you, ma'am"--over his shoulder to Celia, as he led the wayto the "Green Room"--"he is the most popular man we've ever had. And gota head as well as a heart; the best head _I_ ever saw. Here, ladies andgentlemen," he cried to the medley group in the performers' tent,"here's an old friend come to pay you a visit. Here's Mr. Sydney Green,_and_ his missis!"
They all turned and stared for a moment in silence. Isabel's face wentpale, but not so pale as Alice's. Isabel was the first to recover. Witha flush on her face now, she came forward with her graceful swing andheld out her hand, first to Derrick and then, after a momentary pause,to Celia; her hand was grasped warmly by both. An excited interchange oftalk ensued; and presently, in the midst of it, Derrick felt a hand onhis arm, and Sidcup, to whom he had spoken already, signed to him.Derrick went out of the tent with him.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Sidcup," he began; butSidcup interrupted him with a nod and a smile.
"I wanted to get you away for a moment, to tell you that it's--allright," said Sidcup, colouring a little and looking just a trifleembarrassed, and yet with a tone of pride in his voice. "Isabel and Ihave fixed it up. Yes; we were spliced before we left South America.It's all right, old boy! Congratulate me!"
Derrick shook his hand until Sidcup winced, and they both laughed like acouple of boys.
"Congratulate you! I should think I do!" said Derrick. "I wish you couldhave heard my wife just now, expressing her admiration for yours. She ismore beautiful than ever."
"Oh, well," said Sidcup, with a modest pride; "come to that, you've gota beauty too. Tell you what, Green, we're both of us deuced lucky men."
"You never spoke a truer word in your life," said Derrick; "and you, atany rate, deserve your luck."
They returned to the tent, talking as they went; and there, lo andbehold! they found the future Marchioness of Sutcombe the centre of alaughing and talking group, the hearts of all of which she had conqueredat first sight. For, consider: she was now a future Marchioness, but notlong since she had been Celia Grant, living on a pound a week in Brown'sBuildings--as she told them. Derrick tore her away at last, leaving thecircus company ignorant of the exalted position of their guests; but,half an hour afterwards, they were astounded beyond words to receive aninvitation to dine next night at Thexford Hall; an invitation fromSydney Green and his wife, otherwise, Lord and Lady Heyton.
That dinner is marked with a white stone in the history of Derrick andCelia.
* * * * *
One is reluctant to strike a discordant note, a note of squalid tragedy,in the harmony to which the lives of Celia and Derrick moved; but thisrecord would not be complete without an account of the ending of the manwho was known as Lord Heyton. Such an ending as his was inevitable. Hedied in a drunken brawl in a Chinese doss-house in Manchuria. For monthsbefore his death he had been a cause of trouble and anxiety to theauthorities of the district; in such a place villainy and roguery havefull scope; but poor Heyton never rose to the height of either. Smalland petty offences only were those which came within his capacity.
For some time he had been connected with a gang of card-sharpers, livingunder an alias, and depending for his food and drink upon the small witswhich Providence had vouchsafed him. It was during a dispute in one ofthe lowest doss-houses in the place that he met his death. There hadbeen a quarrel, a scuffle, a death-thrust with a knife by a cold-bloodedChinaman, and it was not until the authorities had searched the body,that his identity had been discovered.
Derrick received the news of the death of Miriam's husband, the one-timerecognised heir to the title and estate, from the British Consul; and hereceived the grim tidings with something like relief. His was the taskto convey the tragic information to Miriam. Of that interview nothingshall be said. She also had received the account of her husband's deathwith something like relief; for, to her, he had been dead long since. Atone point only did she shed tears; it was when she tried, in falteringaccents, to express to Derrick her gratitude for all that he and Celiahad done, and were doing, to render her life free from care.
The interview, painful as it necessarily had been, saddened Derrick; buthis face cleared as, on his return to the Hall, he met Celia and tookher in his arms; and, as her lips clung to his, he asked himself, as hehad often asked himself in odd moments of his happiness, "What have Idone to deserve my luck?"
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