Miss Cayley's Adventures

by Grant Allen

  XI

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT

  I did not sleep that night. Next morning, I rose very early from arestless bed with a dry, hot mouth, and a general feeling that the solidearth had failed beneath me.

  Still no news from Harold! It was cruel, I thought. My faith almostflagged. He was a man and should be brave. How could he run away andhide himself at such a time? Even if I set my own anxiety aside, justthink to what serious misapprehension it laid him open!

  I sent out for the morning papers. They were full of Harold. Rumours,rumours, rumours! Mr. Tillington had deliberately chosen to put himselfin the wrong by disappearing mysteriously at the last moment. He hadonly himself to blame if the worst interpretation were put upon hisaction. But the police were on his track; Scotland Yard had 'a clue': itwas confidently expected an arrest would be made before evening atlatest. As to details, authorities differed. The officials of the GreatWestern Railway at Paddington were convinced that Mr. Tillington hadstarted, alone and undisguised, by the night express for Exeter. TheSouth-Eastern inspectors at Charing Cross, on the other hand, wereequally certain that he had slipped away with a false beard, in companywith his 'accomplice' Higginson, by the 8.15 P.M. to Paris. Everybodytook it for granted, however, that he had left London.

  Conjecture played with various ultimate destinations--Spain, Morocco,Sicily, the Argentine. In Italy, said the _Chronicle_, he might lurk fora while--he spoke Italian fluently, and could manage to put up at tiny_osterie_ in out-of-the-way places seldom visited by Englishmen. Hemight try Albania, said the _Morning Post_, airing its exclusive'society' information: he had often hunted there, and might in turn behunted. He would probably attempt to slink away to some remote spot inthe Carpathians or the Balkans, said the _Daily News_, quite proud ofits geography. Still, wherever he went, leaden-footed justice in thisage, said the _Times_, must surely overtake him. The day of universalextradition had dawned; we had no more Alsatias: even the Argentineitself gives up its rogues--at last; not an asylum for crime remains inEurope, not a refuge in Asia, Africa, America, Australia, or the PacificIslands.

  I noted with a shudder of horror that all the papers alike took hisguilt as certain. In spite of a few decent pretences at not prejudgingan untried cause, they treated him already as the detected criminal, thefugitive from justice. I sat in my little sitting-room at the hotel inJermyn Street, a limp rag, looking idly out of the window with swimmingeyes, and waiting for Lady Georgina. It was early, too early, but--oh,why didn't she come! Unless _somebody_ soon sympathised with me, myheart would break under this load of loneliness!

  Presently, as I looked out on the sloppy morning street, I was vaguelyaware through the mist that floated before my dry eyes (for tears weredenied me) of a very grand carriage driving up to the doorway--the porchwith the four wooden Ionic pillars. I took no heed of it. I was tooheart-sick for observation. My life was wrecked, and Harold's with it.Yet, dimly through the mist, I became conscious after a while that thecarriage was that of an Indian prince; I could see the black faces, thewhite turbans, the gold brocades of the attendants in the dickey. Thenit came home to me with a pang that this was the Maharajah.

  It was kindly meant; yet after all that had been insinuated in court theday before, I was by no means over-pleased that his dusky Highnessshould come to call upon me. Walls have eyes and ears. Reporters werehanging about all over London, eager to distinguish themselves bysuccessful eavesdropping. They would note, with brisk innuendoes aftertheir kind, how 'the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggar called early in theday on Miss Lois Cayley, with whom he remained for at least half an hourin close consultation.' I had half a mind to send down a message that Icould not see him. My face still burned with the undeserved shame of thecross-eyed Q.C.'s unspeakable suggestions.

  Before I could make my mind up, however, I saw to my surprise that theMaharajah did not propose to come in himself. He leaned back in hisplace with his lordly Eastern air, and waited, looking down on thegapers in the street, while one of the two gorgeous attendants in thedickey descended obsequiously to receive his orders. The man was dressedas usual in rich Oriental stuffs, and wore his full white turban swathedin folds round his head. I could not see his features. He bent forwardrespectfully with Oriental suppleness to take his Highness's orders.Then, receiving a card and bowing low, he entered the porch with thewooden Ionic pillars, and disappeared within, while the Maharajah foldedhis hands and seemed to resign himself to a temporary Nirvana.

  THE MESSENGER ENTERED.]

  A minute later, a knock sounded on my door. 'Come in!' I said, faintly;and the messenger entered.

  I turned and faced him. The blood rushed to my cheek. 'Harold!' I cried,darting forward. My joy overcame me. He folded me in his arms. I allowedhim, unreproved. For the first time he kissed me. I did not shrink fromit.

  Then I stood away a little and gazed at him. Even at that crucial momentof doubt and fear, I could not help noticing how admirably he made upas a handsome young Rajput. Three years earlier, at Schlangenbad, Iremembered he had struck me as strangely Oriental-looking: he had thefeatures of a high-born Indian gentleman, without the complexion. Hislarge, poetical eyes, his regular, oval face, his even teeth, his mouthand moustache, all vaguely recalled the highest type of the Easterntemperament. Now, he had blackened his face and hands with somepermanent stain--Indian ink, I learned later--and the resemblance to aRajput chief was positively startling. In his gold brocade and amplewhite turban, no passer-by, I felt sure, would ever have dreamt ofdoubting him.

  'Then you knew me at once?' he said, holding my face between his hands.'That's bad, darling! I flattered myself I had transformed my face intothe complete Indian.'

  'Love has sharp eyes,' I answered. 'It can see through brick walls. Butthe disguise is perfect. No one else would detect you.'

  'Love is blind, I thought.'

  'Not where it ought to see. There, it pierces everything. I knew youinstantly, Harold. But all London, I am sure, would pass you by,unknown. You are absolute Orient.'

  'That's well; for all London is looking for me,' he answered, bitterly.'The streets bristle with detectives. Southminster's knaveries have wonthe day. So I have tried this disguise. Otherwise, I should have beenarrested the moment the jury brought in their verdict.'

  'And why were you not?' I asked, drawing back. 'Oh, Harold, I trustyou; but why did you disappear and make all the world believe youadmitted yourself guilty?'

  He opened his arms. 'Can't you guess?' he cried, holding them out tome.

  I nestled in them once more; but I answered through my tears--I hadfound tears now--'No Harold; it baffles me.'

  'You remember what you promised me?' he murmured, leaning over me andclasping me. 'If ever I were poor, friendless, hunted--you would marryme. Now the opportunity has come when we can both prove ourselves.To-day, except you and dear Georgey, I haven't a friend in the world.Everyone else has turned against me. Southminster holds the field. I ama suspected forger; in a very few days I shall doubtless be a convictedfelon. Unjustly, as you know; yet still--we must face it--a convictedfelon. So I have come to claim you. I have come to ask you now, in thismoment of despair, will you keep your promise?'

  I lifted my face to his. He bent over it trembling. I whispered thewords in his ear. 'Yes, Harold, I will keep it. I have always loved you.And now I will marry you.'

  'I knew you would!' he cried, and pressed me to his bosom.

  We sat for some minutes, holding each other's hands, and saying nothing;we were too full of thought for words. Then suddenly, Harold rousedhimself. 'We must make haste, darling,' he cried. 'We are keeping Partaboutside, and every minute is precious, every minute's delay dangerous.We ought to go down at once. Partab's carriage is waiting at the doorfor us.'

  'Go down?' I exclaimed, clinging to him. 'How? Why? I don't understand.What is your programme?'

  'Ah, I forgot I hadn't explained to you! Listen here, dearest--quick; Ican waste no words over it. I said just now I had no friends in thew
orld but you and Georgey. That's not true, for dear old Partab hasstuck to me nobly. When all my English friends fell away, the Rajputwas true to me. He arranged all this; it was his own idea; he foresawwhat was coming. He urged me yesterday, just before the verdict (when hesaw my acquaintances beginning to look askance), to slip quietly out ofcourt, and make my way by unobtrusive roads to his house in CurzonStreet. There, he darkened my face like his, and converted me toHinduism. I don't suppose the disguise will serve me for more than a dayor two; but it will last long enough for us to get safely away toScotland.'

  'Scotland?' I murmured. 'Then you mean to try a Scotch marriage?'

  'It is the only thing possible. We must be married to-day, and inEngland, of course, we cannot do it. We would have to be called inchurch, or else to procure a license, either of which would involvedisclosure of my identity. Besides, even the license would keep uswaiting about for a day or two. In Scotland, on the other hand, we canbe married at once. Partab's carriage is below, to take you to King'sCross. He is staunch as steel, dear fellow. Do you consent to go withme?'

  My faculty for promptly making up such mind as I possess stood me oncemore in good stead. 'Implicitly,' I answered. 'Dear Harold, thiscalamity has its happy side--for without it, much as I love you, I couldnever have brought myself to marry you!'

  'One moment,' he cried. 'Before you go, recollect, this step isirrevocable. You will marry a man who may be torn from you this evening,and from whom fourteen years of prison may separate you.'

  'I know it,' I cried, through my tears. 'But-- I shall be showing myconfidence in you, my love for you.'

  He kissed me once more, fervently. 'This makes amends for all,' hecried. 'Lois, to have won such a woman as you, I would go through it alla thousand times over. It was for this, and for this alone, that I hidmyself last night. I wanted to give you the chance of showing me howmuch, how truly you loved me.'

  'And after we are married?' I asked, trembling.

  'I shall give myself up at once to the police in Edinburgh.'

  I clung to him wistfully. My heart half urged me to urge him to escape.But I knew that was wrong. 'Give yourself up, then,' I said, sobbing.'It is a brave man's place. You must stand your trial; and, come whatwill, I will strive to bear it with you.'

  'I knew you would,' he cried. 'I was not mistaken in you.'

  We embraced again, just once. It was little enough after those years ofwaiting.

  'Now, come!' he cried. 'Let us go.'

  I drew back. 'Not with you, dearest,' I whispered. 'Not in theMaharajah's carriage. You must start by yourself. I will follow you atonce, to King's Cross, in a hansom.'

  He saw I was right. It would avoid suspicion, and it would prevent morescandal. He withdrew without a word. 'We meet,' I said, 'at ten, atKing's Cross Station.'

  I did not even wait to wash the tears from my eyes. All red as theywere, I put on my hat and my little brown travelling jacket. I don'tthink I so much as glanced once at the glass. The seconds were precious.I saw the Maharajah drive away, with Harold in the dickey, arms crossed,imperturbable, Orientally silent. He looked the very counterpart of theRajput by his side. Then I descended the stairs and walked out boldly.As I passed through the hall, the servants and the visitors stared at meand whispered. They spoke with nods and liftings of the eyebrows. I wasaware that that morning I had achieved notoriety.

  At Piccadilly Circus, I jumped of a sudden into a passing hansom.'King's Cross!' I cried, as I mounted the step. 'Drive quick! I have notime to spare.' And, as the man drove off, I saw, by a convulsive dartof someone across the road, that I had given the slip to a disappointedreporter.

  At the station I took a first-class ticket for Edinburgh. On theplatform, the Maharajah and his attendants were waiting. He lifted hishat to me, though otherwise he took no overt notice. But I saw his keeneyes follow me down the train. Harold, in his Oriental dress, pretendednot to observe me. One or two porters, and a few curious travellers,cast inquiring eyes on the Eastern prince, and made remarks about him toone another. 'That's the chap as was up yesterday in the Ashurst willkise!' said one lounger to his neighbour. But nobody seemed to look atHarold; his subordinate position secured him from curiosity. TheMaharajah had always two Eastern servants, gorgeously dressed, inattendance; he had been a well-known figure in London society, and atLord's and the Oval, for two or three seasons.

  'Bloomin' fine cricketer!' one porter observed to his mate as he passed.

  'Yuss; not so dusty for a nigger,' the other man replied. 'Fust-ritebowler; but, Lord, he can't 'old a candle to good old Ranji.'

  As for myself, nobody seemed to recognise me. I set this fact down tothe fortunate circumstance that the evening papers had published roughwood-cuts which professed to be my portrait, and which naturally led thepublic to look out for a brazen-faced, raw-boned, hard-featuredtermagant.

  I took my seat in a ladies' compartment by myself. As the train wasabout to start, Harold strolled up as if casually for a moment. 'Youthink it better so?' he queried, without moving his lips or seeming tolook at me.

  'Decidedly,' I answered. 'Go back to Partab. Don't come near me againtill we get to Edinburgh. It is dangerous still. The police may at anymoment hear we have started and stop us half-way; and now that we haveonce committed ourselves to this plan it would be fatal to beinterrupted before we have got married.'

  'You are right,' he cried; 'Lois, you are always right, somehow.'

  I wished I could think so myself; but 'twas with serious misgivings thatI felt the train roll out of the station.

  Oh, that long journey north, alone, in a ladies' compartment--with thefeeling that Harold was so near, yet so unapproachable: it was anendless agony. _He_ had the Maharajah, who loved and admired him, tokeep him from brooding; but I, left alone, and confined with my ownfears, conjured up before my eyes every possible misfortune that Heavencould send us. I saw clearly now that if we failed in our purpose thisjourney would be taken by everyone for a flight, and would deepen thesuspicion under which we both laboured. It would make me still moreobviously a conspirator with Harold.

  Whatever happened, we must strain every nerve to reach Scotland insafety, and then to get married, in order that Harold might immediatelysurrender himself.

  HE TOOK A LONG, CARELESS STARE AT ME.]

  At York, I noticed with a thrill of terror that a man in plain clothes,with the obtrusively unobtrusive air of a detective, looked carefullythough casually into every carriage. I felt sure he was a spy, becauseof his marked outer jauntiness of demeanour, which hardly masked anunderlying hang-dog expression of scrutiny. When he reached my place,he took a long, careless stare at me--a seemingly careless stare, whichwas yet brim-full of the keenest observation. Then he paced slowly alongthe line of carriages, with a glance at each, till he arrived justopposite the Maharajah's compartment. There he stared hard once more.The Maharajah descended; so did Harold and the Hindu attendant, who wasdressed just like him. The man I took for a detective indulged in afrank, long gaze at the unconscious Indian prince, but cast only a hastyeye on the two apparent followers. That touch of revelation relieved mymind a little. I felt convinced the police were watching the Maharajahand myself, as suspicious persons connected with the case; but they hadnot yet guessed that Harold had disguised himself as one of the twoinvariable Rajput servants.

  We steamed on northward. At Newcastle, the same detective strolled, withhis hands in his pockets, along the train once more, and puffed a cigarwith the nonchalant air of a sporting gentleman. But I was certain now,from the studious unconcern he was anxious to exhibit, that he must be aspy upon us. He overdid his mood of careless observation. It was tooobvious an assumption. Precisely the same thing happened again when wepulled up at Berwick. I knew now that we were watched. It would beimpossible for us to get married at Edinburgh if we were thus closelypursued. There was but one chance open; we must leave the train abruptlyat the first Scotch stopping station.

  The detective knew we were booked through for Edinburgh. So
much I couldtell, because I saw him make inquiries of the ticket examiner at York,and again at Berwick, and because the ticket-examiner thereupon entereda mental note of the fact as he punched my ticket each time: 'Oh,Edinburgh, miss? All right'; and then stared at me suspiciously. I couldtell he had heard of the Ashurst will case. He also lingered long aboutthe Maharajah's compartment, and then went back to confer with thedetective. Thus, putting two and two together, as a woman will, I cameto the conclusion that the spy did not expect us to leave the trainbefore we reached Edinburgh. That told in our favour. Most men trustmuch to just such vague expectations. They form a theory, and thenneglect the adverse chances. You can only get the better of a skilleddetective by taking him thus, psychologically and humanly.

  By this time, I confess, I felt almost like a criminal. Never in my lifehad danger loomed so near--not even when we returned with the Arabs fromthe oasis. For then we feared for our lives alone; now, we feared forour honour.

  I drew a card from my case before we left Berwick station, and scribbleda few hasty words on it in German. 'We are watched. A detective! If werun through to Edinburgh, we shall doubtless be arrested or at leastimpeded. This train will stop at Dunbar for one minute. Just before itleaves again, get out as quietly as you can--at the last moment. I willalso get out and join you. Let Partab go on; it will excite lessattention. The scheme I suggest is the only safe plan. If you agree, assoon as we have well started from Berwick, shake your handkerchiefunobtrusively out of your carriage window.'

  I BECKONED A PORTER.]

  I beckoned a porter noiselessly without one word. The detective was nowstrolling along the fore-part of the train, with his back turned towardsme, peering as he went into all the windows. I gave the porter ashilling. 'Take this to a black gentleman in the next carriage but one,'I said, in a confidential whisper. The porter touched his hat, nodded,smiled, and took it.

  Would Harold see the necessity for acting on my advice?-- I wondered. Igazed out along the train as soon as we had got well clear of Berwick. Aminute--two minutes--three minutes passed; and still no handkerchief. Ibegan to despair. He was debating, no doubt. If he refused, all waslost, and we were disgraced for ever.

  At last, after long waiting, as I stared still along the whizzing line,with the smoke in my eyes, and the dust half blinding me, I saw, to myintense relief, a handkerchief flutter. It fluttered once, not markedly,then a black hand withdrew it. Only just in time, for even as itdisappeared, the detective's head thrust itself out of a farther window.He was not looking for anything in particular, as far as I couldtell--just observing the signals. But it gave me a strange thrill tothink even now we were so nearly defeated.

  My next trouble was--would the train draw up at Dunbar? The 10 A.M. fromKing's Cross is not set down to stop there in Bradshaw, for nopassengers are booked to or from the station by the day express; but Iremembered from of old when I lived at Edinburgh, that it used always towait about a minute for some engine-driver's purpose. This doubt filledme with fresh fear; did it draw up there still?--they have acceleratedthe service so much of late years, and abolished so many old accustomedstoppages. I counted the familiar stations with my breath held back.They seemed so much farther apart than usual. Reston--Grant'sHouse--Cockburnspath--Innerwick.

  The next was Dunbar. If we rolled past _that_, then all was lost. Wecould never get married. I trembled and hugged myself.

  The engine screamed. Did that mean she was running through? Oh, how Iwished I had learned the interpretation of the signals!

  Then gradually, gently, we began to slow. Were we slowing to pass thestation only? No; with a jolt she drew up. My heart gave a bound as Iread the word 'Dunbar' on the station notice-board.

  I rose and waited, with my fingers on the door. Happily it had one ofthose new-fashioned slip-latches which open from inside. No need tobetray myself prematurely to the detective by a hand displayed on theouter handle. I glanced out at him cautiously. His head was thrustthrough his window, and his sloping shoulders revealed the spy, but hewas looking the other way--observing the signals, doubtless, to discoverwhy we stopped at a place not mentioned in Bradshaw.

  Harold's face just showed from another window close by. Too soon or toolate might either of them be fatal. He glanced inquiry at me. I noddedback, 'Now!' The train gave its first jerk, a faint backward jerk,indicative of the nascent intention of starting. As it braced itself togo on, I jumped out; so did Harold. We faced one another on the platformwithout a word. 'Stand away there:' the station-master cried, in anangry voice. The guard waved his green flag. The detective, stillabsorbed on the signals, never once looked back. One second later, wewere safe at Dunbar, and he was speeding away by the express forEdinburgh.

  It gave us a breathing space of about an hour.

  YOU CAN'T GET OUT HERE, HE SAID, CRUSTILY.]

  For half a minute I could not speak. My heart was in my mouth. I hardlyeven dared to look at Harold. Then the station-master stalked up to uswith a threatening manner. 'You can't get out here,' he said, crustily,in a gruff Scotch voice. 'This train is not timed to set down beforeEdinburgh.'

  'We _have_ got out,' I answered, taking it upon me to speak for myfellow-culprit, the Hindu--as he was to all seeming. 'The logic of factsis with us. We were booked through to Edinburgh, but we wanted to stopat Dunbar; and as the train happened to pull up, we thought we needn'twaste time by going on all that way and then coming back again.'

  'Ye should have changed at Berwick,' the station-master said, stillgruffly, 'and come on by the slow train.' I could see his carefulScotch soul was vexed (incidentally) at our extravagance in paying theextra fare to Edinburgh and back again.

  In spite of agitation, I managed to summon up one of my sweetestsmiles--a smile that ere now had melted the hearts of rickshaw cooliesand of French _douaniers_. He thawed before it visibly. 'Time wasimportant to us,' I said--oh, he guessed not how important; 'andbesides, you know, it is so good for the company!'

  'That's true,' he answered, mollified. He could not tilt against theinterests of the North British shareholders. 'But how about yer luggage?It'll have gone on to Edinburgh, I'm thinking.'

  'We _have_ no luggage,' I answered boldly.

  He stared at us both, puckered his brow a moment, and then burst outlaughing. 'Oh, ay, I see,' he answered, with a comic air of amusement.'Well, well, it's none of my business, no doubt, and I will notinterfere with ye; though why a lady like you----' He glanced curiouslyat Harold.

  I saw he had guessed right, and thought it best to throw myselfunreservedly on his mercy. Time was indeed important. I glanced at thestation clock. It was not very far from the stroke of six, and we mustmanage to get married before the detective could miss us at Edinburgh,where he was due at 6.30.

  So I smiled once more, that heart-softening smile. 'We have each our ownfancies,' I said blushing--and, indeed (such is the pride of race amongwomen), I felt myself blush in earnest at the bare idea that I wasmarrying a black man, in spite of our good Maharajah's kindness. 'He isa gentleman, and a man of education and culture.' I thought thatrecommendation ought to tell with a Scotchman. 'We are in sore straitsnow, but our case is a just one. Can you tell me who in this place ismost likely to sympathise--most likely to marry us?'

  He looked at me--and surrendered at discretion. 'I should think anybodywould marry ye who saw yer pretty face and heard yer sweet voice,' heanswered. 'But, perhaps, ye'd better present yerself to Mr. Schoolcraft,the U.P. minister at Little Kirkton. He was aye soft-hearted.'

  'How far from here?' I asked.

  'About two miles,' he answered.

  'Can we get a trap?'

  'Oh ay, there's machines always waiting at the station.'

  WE TOLD OUR TALE.]

  We interviewed a 'machine,' and drove out to Little Kirkton. There, wetold our tale in the fewest words possible to the obliging andgood-natured U.P. minister. He looked, as the station-master had said,'soft-hearted'; but he dashed our hopes to the ground at once by tellingus candidly that unless we
had had our residence in Scotland fortwenty-one days immediately preceding the marriage, it would not belegal. 'If you were Scotch,' he added, 'I could go through the ceremonyat once, of course; and then you could apply to the sheriff to-night forleave to register the marriage in proper form afterward: but as one ofyou is English, and the other I judge'--he smiled and glanced towardsHarold--'an Indian-born subject of Her Majesty, it would be impossiblefor me to do it: the ceremony would be invalid, under Lord Brougham'sAct, without previous residence.'

  This was a terrible blow. I looked away appealingly. 'Harold,' I criedin despair, 'do you think we could manage to hide ourselves safelyanywhere in Scotland for twenty-one days?'

  His face fell. 'How could I escape notice? All the world is hunting forme. And then the scandal! No matter where you stopped--however far fromme--no, Lois darling, I could never expose you to it.'

  The minister glanced from one to the other of us, puzzled. 'Harold?' hesaid, turning over the word on his tongue. 'Harold? That doesn't soundlike an Indian name, does it? And----' he hesitated, 'you speakwonderful English!'

  I saw the safest plan was to make a clean breast of it. He looked thesort of man one could trust on an emergency. 'You have heard of theAshurst will case?' I said, blurting it out suddenly.

  'I have seen something about it in the newspapers; yes. But it did notinterest me: I have not followed it.'

  I told him the whole truth; the case against us--the facts as we knewthem. Then I added, slowly, 'This is Mr. Harold Tillington, whom theyaccuse of forgery. Does he look like a forger? I want to marry himbefore he is tried. It is the only way by which I can prove my implicittrust in him. As soon as we are married, he will give himself up at onceto the police--if you wish it, before your eyes. But married we must be._Can't_ you manage it somehow?'

  My pleading voice touched him. 'Harold Tillington?' he murmured. 'I knowof his forebears. Lady Guinevere Tillington's son, is it not? Then youmust be Younger of Gledcliffe.' For Scotland is a village: everyone init seems to have heard of every other.'

  'What does he mean?' I asked. 'Younger of Gledcliffe?' I remembered nowthat the phrase had occurred in Mr. Ashurst's will, though I neverunderstood it.

  'A Scotch fashion,' Harold answered. 'The heir to a laird is calledYounger of so-and-so. My father has a small estate of that name inDumfriesshire; a _very_ small estate: I was born and brought up there.'

  'Then you are a Scotchman?' the minister asked.

  'Yes,' Harold answered frankly: 'by remote descent. We are trebly of thefemale line at Gledcliffe; still, I am no doubt more or less Scotch bydomicile.'

  'Younger of Gledcliffe! Oh, yes, that ought certainly to be quitesufficient for our purpose. Do you live there?'

  'I have been living there lately. I always live there when I'm inBritain. It is my only home. I belong to the diplomatic service.'

  'But then--the lady?'

  'She is unmitigatedly English,' Harold admitted, in a gloomy voice.

  'Not quite,' I answered. 'I lived four years in Edinburgh. And I spentmy holidays there while I was at Girton. I keep my boxes still at my oldrooms in Maitland Street.'

  'Oh, that will do,' the minister answered, quite relieved; for it wasclear that our anxiety and the touch of romance in our tale had enlistedhim in our favour. 'Indeed, now I come to think of it, it suffices forthe Act if one only of the parties is domiciled in Scotland. And as Mr.Tillington lives habitually at Gledcliffe, that settles the question.Still, I can do nothing save marry you now by religious service in thepresence of my servants--which constitutes what we call anecclesiastical marriage--it becomes legal if afterwards registered; andthen you must apply to the sheriff for a warrant to register it. But Iwill do what I can; later on, if you like, you can be re-married by therites of your own Church in England.'

  'Are you quite sure our Scotch domicile is good enough in law?' Haroldasked, still doubtful.

  'I can turn it up, if you wish. I have a legal handbook. Before LordBrougham's Act, no formalities were necessary. But the Act was passed toprevent Gretna Green marriages. The usual phrase is that such a marriagedoes not hold good unless one or other of the parties either has had hisor her usual residence in Scotland, or else has lived there fortwenty-one days immediately preceding the date of the marriage. If youlike, I will wait to consult the authorities.'

  'No, thank you,' I cried. 'There is no time to lose. Marry us first, andlook it up afterwards. "One or other" will do, it seems. Mr. Tillingtonis Scotch enough, I am sure; he has no address in Britain butGledcliffe: we will rest our claim upon that. Even if the marriage turnsout invalid, we only remain where we were. This is a preliminaryceremony to prove good faith, and to bind us to one another. We cansatisfy the law, if need be, when we return to England.'

  The minister called in his wife and servants, and explained to thembriefly. He exhorted us and prayed. We gave our solemn consent in legalform before two witnesses. Then he pronounced us duly married. In aquarter of an hour more, we had made declaration to that effect beforethe sheriff, the witnesses accompanying us, and were formally affirmedto be man and wife before the law of Great Britain. I asked if it wouldhold in England as well.

  'You couldn't be firmer married,' the sheriff said, with decision, 'bythe Archbishop of Canterbury in Westminster Abbey.'

  Harold turned to the minister. 'Will you send for the police?' he said,calmly. 'I wish to inform them that I am the man for whom they arelooking in the Ashurst will case.'

  Our own cabman went to fetch them. It was a terrible moment. But Haroldsat in the sheriff's study and waited, as if nothing unusual werehappening. He talked freely but quietly. Never in my life had I felt soproud of him.

  At last the police came, much inflated with the dignity of so great acapture, and took down our statement. 'Do you give yourself in charge ona confession of forgery?' the superintendent asked, as Harold ended.

  'Certainly not,' Harold answered. 'I have not committed forgery. But Ido not wish to skulk or hide myself. I understand a warrant is outagainst me in London. I have come to Scotland, hurriedly, for the sakeof getting married, not to escape apprehension. I am here, openly,under my own name. I tell you the facts; 'tis for you to decide; if youchoose, you can arrest me.'

  The superintendent conferred for some time in another room with thesheriff. Then he returned to the study. 'Very well, sir,' he said, in arespectful tone, 'I arrest you.'

  So that was the beginning of our married life. More than ever, I feltsure I could trust in Harold.

  The police decided, after hearing by telegram from London, that we mustgo up at once by the night express, which they stopped for the purpose.They were forced to divide us. I took the sleeping-car; Harold travelledwith two constables in a ordinary carriage. Strange to say,notwithstanding all this, so great was our relief from the tension ofour flight, that we both slept soundly.

  Next morning we arrived in London, Harold guarded. The police hadarranged that the case should come up at Bow Street that afternoon. Itwas not an ideal honeymoon, and yet, I was somehow happy.

  At King's Cross, they took him away from me. Still, I hardly cried. Allthe way up in the train, whenever I was awake, an idea had been hauntingme--a possible clue to this trickery of Lord Southminster's. Pettydetails cropped up and fell into their places. I began to unravel it allnow. I had an inkling of a plan to set Harold right again.

  The will we had proved----but I must not anticipate.

  When we parted, Harold kissed me on the forehead, and murmured rathersadly, 'Now, I suppose it's all up. Lois, I must go. These rogues havebeen too much for us.'

  I HAVE FOUND A CLUE.]

  'Not a bit of it,' I answered, new hope growing stronger and strongerwithin me. 'I see a way out. I have found a clue. I believe, dearHarold, the right will still be vindicated.'

  And red-eyed as I was, I jumped into a hansom, and called to the cabmanto drive at once to Lady Georgina's.