"Ha! ha!" laughed Lord Dogwood, with a third oath, "your mind is not onthe cards. Who is the latest young beauty, pray, who so absorbs you? Ihear a whisper in town of a certain misadventure of yours----"
"Dogwood," said Wynchgate, clenching his fist, "have a care, man, or youshall measure the length of my sword."
Both noblemen faced each other, their hands upon their swords.
"My lords, my lords!" pleaded a distinguished-looking man of moreadvanced years, who sat at one side of the table, and in whose featuresthe habitues of diplomatic circles would have recognized the handsomelineaments of the Marquis of Frogwater, British Ambassador to Siam, "letus have no quarrelling. Come, Wynchgate, come, Dogwood," he continued,with a mild oath, "put up your swords. It were a shame to waste time inprivate quarrelling. They may be needed all too soon in Cochin China,or, for the matter of that," he added sadly, "in Cambodia or in DutchGuinea."
"Frogwater," said young Lord Dogwood, with a generous flush, "I waswrong. Wynchgate, your hand."
The two noblemen shook hands.
"My friends," said Lord Wynchgate, "in asking you to abandon our game, Ihad an end in view. I ask your help in an affair of the heart."
"Ha! excellent!" exclaimed the five noblemen. "We are with you heart andsoul."
"I propose this night," continued Wynchgate, "with your help, to carryoff a young girl, a female!"
"An abduction!" exclaimed the Ambassador somewhat sternly. "Wynchgate, Icannot countenance this."
"Mistake me not," said the Earl, "I intend to abduct her. But I proposenothing dishonourable. It is my firm resolve to offer her marriage."
"Then," said Lord Frogwater, "I am with you."
"Gentlemen," concluded Wynchgate, "all is ready. The coach is below. Ihave provided masks, pistols, and black cloaks. Follow me."
A few moments later, a coach, with the blinds drawn, in which were sixnoblemen armed to the teeth, might have been seen, were it not for thedarkness, approaching the humble lodging in which Winnifred Clair wassheltered.
But what it did when it got there, we must leave to another chapter.
CHAPTER V
THE ABDUCTION
The hour was twenty minutes to ten on the evening described in our lastchapter.
Winnifred Clair was seated, still fully dressed, at the window of thebedroom, looking out over the great city.
A light tap came at the door.
"If it's a fried egg," called Winnifred softly, "I do not need it. I ateyesterday."
"No," said the voice of the Landlady. "You are wanted below."
"I!" exclaimed Winnifred, "below!"
"You," said the Landlady, "below. A party of gentlemen have called foryou."
"Gentlemen," exclaimed Winnifred, putting her hand to her brow inperplexity, "for me! at this late hour! Here! This evening! In thishouse?"
"Yes," repeated the Landlady, "six gentlemen. They arrived in a closedcoach. They are all closely masked and heavily armed. They beg you willdescend at once."
"Just Heaven!" cried the Unhappy Girl. "Is it possible that they mean toabduct me?"
"They do," said the Landlady. "They said so!"
"Alas!" cried Winnifred, "I am powerless. Tell them"--shehesitated--"tell them I will be down immediately. Let them not come up.Keep them below on any pretext. Show them an album. Let them look at thegoldfish. Anything, but not here! I shall be ready in a moment."
Feverishly she made herself ready. As hastily as possible she removedall traces of tears from her face. She threw about her shoulders anopera cloak, and with a light Venetian scarf half concealed the beautyof her hair and features. "Abducted!" she murmured, "and by six of them!I think she said six. Oh, the horror of it!" A touch of powder to hercheeks and a slight blackening of her eyebrows, and the courageous girlwas ready.
Lord Wynchgate and his companions--for they it was, that is to say, theywere it--sat below in the sitting-room looking at the albums. "Woman,"said Lord Wynchgate to the Landlady, with an oath, "let her hurry up. Wehave seen enough of these. We can wait no longer."
"I am here," cried a clear voice upon the threshold, and Winnifred stoodbefore them. "My lords, for I divine who you are and wherefore you havecome, take me, do your worst with me, but spare, oh, spare this humblecompanion of my sorrow."
"Right-oh!" said Lord Dogwood, with a brutal laugh.
"Enough," exclaimed Wynchgate, and seizing Winnifred by the waist, hedragged her forth out of the house and out upon the street.
But something in the brutal violence of his behaviour seemed to kindlefor the moment a spark of manly feeling, if such there were, in thebreasts of his companions.
"Wynchgate," cried young Lord Dogwood, "my mind misgives me. I doubt ifthis is a gentlemanly thing to do. I'll have no further hand in it."
A chorus of approval from his companions endorsed his utterance. For amoment they hesitated.
"Nay," cried Winnifred, turning to confront the masked faces that stoodabout her, "go forward with your fell design. I am here. I am helpless.Let no prayers stay your hand. Go to it."
"Have done with this!" cried Wynchgate, with a brutal oath. "Shove herin the coach."
But at the very moment the sound of hurrying footsteps was heard, and aclear, ringing, manly, well-toned, vibrating voice cried, "Hold! Stop!Desist! Have a care, titled villain, or I will strike you to the earth."
A tall aristocratic form bounded out of the darkness.
"Gentlemen," cried Wynchgate, releasing his hold upon the frightenedgirl, "we are betrayed. Save yourselves. To the coach."
In another instant the six noblemen had leaped into the coach anddisappeared down the street.
Winnifred, still half inanimate with fright, turned to her rescuer, andsaw before her the form and lineaments of the Unknown Stranger, who hadthus twice stood between her and disaster. Half fainting, she fellswooning into his arms.
"Dear lady," he exclaimed, "rouse yourself. You are safe. Let me restoreyou to your home!"
"That voice!" cried Winnifred, resuming consciousness. "It is mybenefactor."
She would have swooned again, but the Unknown lifted her bodily up thesteps of her home and leant her against the door.
"Farewell," he said, in a voice resonant with gloom.
"Oh, sir!" cried the unhappy girl, "let one who owes so much to one whohas saved her in her hour of need at least know his name."
But the stranger, with a mournful gesture of farewell, had disappearedas rapidly as he had come.
But, as to why he had disappeared, we must ask our reader's patience foranother chapter.
CHAPTER VI
THE UNKNOWN
The scene is now shifted, sideways and forwards, so as to put it atMuddlenut Chase, and to make it a fortnight later than the eventsrelated in the last chapter.
Winnifred is now at the Chase as the guest of the Marquis andMarchioness. There her bruised soul finds peace.
The Chase itself was one of those typical country homes which are, orwere till yesterday, the glory of England. The approach to the Chase laythrough twenty miles of glorious forest, filled with fallow deer andwild bulls. The house itself, dating from the time of the Plantagenets,was surrounded by a moat covered with broad lilies and floating greenscum. Magnificent peacocks sunned themselves on the terraces, whilefrom the surrounding shrubberies there rose the soft murmur of doves,pigeons, bats, owls and partridges.
Here sat Winnifred Clair day after day upon the terrace recovering herstrength, under the tender solicitude of the Marchioness.
Each day the girl urged upon her noble hostess the necessity of herdeparture. "Nay," said the Marchioness, with gentle insistence, "staywhere you are. Your soul is bruised. You must rest."
"Alas," cried Winnifred, "who am I that I should rest? Alone, despised,buffeted by fate, what right have I to your kindness?"
"Miss Clair," replied the noble lady, "wait till you are stronger. Thereis something that I wish to say to you."
Then at last, one morning when W
innifred's temperature had fallen toninety-eight point three, the Marchioness spoke.
"Miss Clair," she said, in a voice which throbbed with emotion,"Winnifred, if I may so call you, Lord Muddlenut and I have formed aplan for your future. It is our dearest wish that you should marry ourson."
"Alas," cried Winnifred, while tears rose in her eyes, "it cannot be!"
"Say not so," cried the Marchioness. "Our son, Lord Mordaunt Muddlenut,is young, handsome, all that a girl could desire. After months ofwandering he returns to us this morning. It is our dearest wish to seehim married and established. We offer you his hand."
"Indeed," replied Winnifred, while her tears fell even more freely, "Iseem to requite but ill the kindness that you show. Alas, my heart is nolonger in my keeping."
"Where is it?" cried the Marchioness.
"It is another's. One whose very name I do not know holds it in hiskeeping."
But at this moment a blithe, gladsome step was heard upon the flagstonesof the terrace. A manly, ringing voice, which sent a thrill toWinnifred's heart, cried "Mother!" and in another instant Lord MordauntMuddlenut, for he it was, had folded the Marchioness to his heart.
Winnifred rose, her heart beating wildly. One glance was enough. Thenewcomer, Lord Mordaunt, was none other than the Unknown, theUnaccountable, to whose protection she had twice owed her life.
With a wild cry Winnifred Clair leaped across the flagstones of theterrace and fled into the park.
CHAPTER VII
THE PROPOSAL
They stood beneath the great trees of the ancestral park, into whichLord Mordaunt had followed Winnifred at a single bound. All about themwas the radiance of early June.
Lord Mordaunt knelt on one knee on the greensward, and with a touch inwhich respect and reverence were mingled with the deepest and manliestemotion, he took between his finger and thumb the tip of the girl'sgloved hand.
"Miss Clair," he uttered, in a voice suffused with the deepestyearning, yet vibrating with the most profound respect, "MissClair--Winnifred--hear me, I implore!"
"Alas," cried Winnifred, struggling in vain to disengage the tip of herglove from the impetuous clasp of the young nobleman, "alas, whither canI fly? I do not know my way through the wood, and there are bulls in alldirections. I am not used to them! Lord Mordaunt, I implore you, let thetears of one but little skilled in the art of dissimulation----"
"Nay, Winnifred," said the Young Earl, "fly not. Hear me out!"
"Let me fly," begged the unhappy girl.
"You must not fly," pleaded Mordaunt. "Let me first, here upon bendedknee, convey to you the expression of a devotion, a love, as ardent andas deep as ever burned in a human heart. Winnifred, be my bride!"
"Oh, sir," sobbed Winnifred, "if the knowledge of a gratitude, athankfulness from one whose heart will ever treasure as its proudestmemory the recollection of one who did for one all that one could havewanted done for one--if this be some poor guerdon, let it suffice. But,alas, my birth, the dark secret of my birth forbids----"
"Nay," cried Mordaunt, leaping now to his feet, "your birth is allright. I have looked into it myself. It is as good--or nearly asgood--as my own. Till I knew this, my lips were sealed by duty. While Isupposed that you had a lower birth and I an upper, I was bound tosilence. But come with me to the house. There is one arrived with me whowill explain all."
Hand in hand the lovers, for such they now were, returned to the Chase.There in the great hall the Marquis and the Marchioness were standingready to greet them.
"My child!" exclaimed the noble lady, as she folded Winnifred to herheart. Then she turned to her son. "Let her know all!" she cried.
Lord Mordaunt stepped across the room to a curtain. He drew it aside,and there stepped forth Mr. Bonehead, the old lawyer who had castWinnifred upon the world.
"Miss Clair," said the Lawyer, advancing and taking the girl's hand fora moment in a kindly clasp, "the time has come for me to explain all.You are not, you never were, the penniless girl that you suppose. Underthe terms of your father's will, I was called upon to act a part and tothrow you upon the world. It was my client's wish, and I followed it. Itold you, quite truthfully, that I had put part of your money intooptions in an oil-well. Miss Clair, that well is now producing a milliongallons of gasolene a month!'
"A million gallons!" cried Winnifred. "I can never use it."
"Wait till you own a motor-car, Miss Winnifred," said the Lawyer.
"Then I am rich!" exclaimed the bewildered girl.
"Rich beyond your dreams," answered the Lawyer. "Miss Clair, you own inyour own right about half of the State of Texas--I think it is in Texas,at any rate either Texas or Rhode Island, or one of those big states inAmerica. More than this, I have invested your property since yourfather's death so wisely that even after paying the income tax and theproperty tax, the inheritance tax, the dog tax and the tax onamusements, you will still have one half of one per cent to spend."
Winnifred clasped her hands.
"I knew it all the time," said Lord Mordaunt, drawing the girl to hisembrace, "I found it out through this good man."
"We knew it too," said the Marchioness. "Can you forgive us, darling,our little plot for your welfare? Had we not done this Mordaunt mighthave had to follow you over to America and chase you all around Newportand Narragansett at a fearful expense."
"How can I thank you enough?" cried Winnifred. Then she added eagerly,"And my birth, my descent?"
"It is all right," interjected the Old Lawyer. "It is A 1. Your father,who died before you were born, quite a little time before, belonged tothe very highest peerage of Wales. You are descended directly fromClaer-ap-Claer, who murdered Owen Glendower. Your mother we are stilltracing up. But we have already connected her with Floyd-ap-Floyd, whomurdered Prince Llewellyn."
"Oh, sir," cried the grateful girl. "I only hope I may prove worthy ofthem!"
"One thing more," said Lord Mordaunt, and stepping over to anothercurtain he drew it aside and there emerged Lord Wynchgate.
He stood before Winnifred, a manly contrition struggling upon featureswhich, but for the evil courses of he who wore them, might have beenalmost presentable.
"Miss Clair," he said, "I ask your pardon. I tried to carry you off. Inever will again. But before we part let me say that my acquaintancewith you has made me a better man, broader, bigger and, I hope, deeper."
With a profound bow, Lord Wynchgate took his leave.
CHAPTER VIII
WEDDED AT LAST
Lord Mordaunt and his bride were married forthwith in the parish churchof Muddlenut Chase. With Winnifred's money they have drained the moat,rebuilt the Chase, and chased the bulls out of the park. They have sixchildren, so far, and are respected, honoured and revered in thecountryside far and wide, over a radius of twenty miles incircumference.
II
JOHN AND I
OR, HOW I NEARLY LOST MY HUSBAND
(_Narrated after the approved fashion of the best Heart and HomeMagazines_)
_II.--John and I; or, How I Nearly Lost My Husband._
It was after we had been married about two years that I began to feelthat I needed more air. Every time I looked at John across thebreakfast-table, I felt as if I must have more air, more space.
I seemed to feel as if I had no room to expand. I had begun to askmyself whether I had been wise in marrying John, whether John was reallysufficient for my development. I felt cramped and shut in. In spite ofmyself the question would arise in my mind whether John reallyunderstood my nature. He had a way of reading the newspaper, propped upagainst the sugar-bowl, at breakfast, that somehow made me feel as ifthings had gone all wrong. It was bitter to realize that the time hadcome when John could prefer the newspaper to his wife's society.
But perhaps I had better go back and tell the whole miserable story fromthe beginning.
I shall never forget--I suppose no woman ever does--the evening whenJohn first spoke out his love for me. I had felt for some time past thatit was there. Again a
nd again, he seemed about to speak. But somehow hiswords seemed to fail him. Twice I took him into the very heart of thelittle wood beside Mother's house, but it was only a small wood, andsomehow he slipped out on the other side. "Oh, John," I had said, "howlonely and still it seems in the wood with no one here but ourselves! Doyou think," I said, "that the birds have souls?" "I don't know," Johnanswered, "let's get out of this." I was sure that his emotion was toostrong for him. "I never feel a bit lonesome where you are, John," Isaid, as we made our way among the underbrush. "I think we can get outdown that little gully," he answered. Then one evening in June after teaI led John down a path beside the house to a little corner behind thegarden where there was a stone wall on one side and a high fence rightin front of us, and thorn bushes on the other side. There was a littlebench in the angle of the wall and the fence, and we sat down on it.
"Minnie," John said, "there's something I meant to say----"
"Oh, John," I cried, and I flung my arms round his neck. It all camewith such a flood of surprise.
"All I meant, Minn----" John went on, but I checked him.
"Oh, don't, John, don't say anything more," I said. "It's just tooperfect." Then I rose and seized him by the wrist. "Come," I said, "cometo Mother," and I rushed him along the path.
As soon as Mother saw us come in hand in hand in this way, she guessedeverything. She threw both her arms round John's neck and fairly pinnedhim against the wall. John tried to speak, but Mother wouldn't let him."I saw it all along, John," she said. "Don't speak. Don't say a word. Iguessed your love for Minn from the very start. I don't know what Ishall do without her, John, but she's yours now; take her." Then Motherbegan to cry and I couldn't help crying too. "Take him to Father,"Mother said, and we each took one of John's wrists and took him toFather on the back verandah. As soon as John saw Father he tried tospeak again--"I think I ought to say," he began, but Mother stopped him."Father," she said, "he wants to take our little girl away. He loves hervery dearly, Alfred," she said, "and I think it our duty to let her go,no matter how hard it is, and oh, please Heaven, Alfred, he'll treat herwell and not misuse her, or beat her," and she began to sob again.
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