If Sinners Entice Thee
Page 3
andindistinct. Two of the men were doctors, the third Richard Harrison, ofthe firm of Harrison and James, solicitors, of Bedford Row, and thefourth George Stratfield, the Baronet's younger son.
The haggard man had spoken once or twice, giving certain instructions tohis solicitor, but at last there was a long silence, unbroken save bythe rustling of the stiff grey gown of the nurse, who entered for aninstant, then left again in silence.
The eccentric old man, whose reputation throughout Berkshire was that ofa tyrannical landlord, a bigoted magistrate and a miserly father, atlast opened his dull filmy eyes. The white bony fingers lying on thecoverlet twitched uneasily, as, glancing at his son, he beckoned himforward.
Obediently the young man approached.
"Promise me one thing, George," the dying man exclaimed with an effort,in a voice so low as to be almost indistinguishable. "Promise me thatyou will never marry that woman."
"Why, father? Why are you so bitterly prejudiced against Liane?"
"I have my reasons," was the answer.
"But I love her," the young man urged. "I can marry no one else."
"Then go abroad, forget her, and remain a bachelor. Erle Brooker'sdaughter shall never become a Stratfield," was the harsh reply, utteredwith considerable difficulty.
George, a tall well-built young fellow, with fair hair, a fair moustacheand blue eyes, was a typical specimen of the English gentleman, still inhis well-worn riding breeches and tweed coat, for that morning beforethe arrival of the doctors he had, in order to get a prescription madeup, ridden hard into Reading. He made no reply to his father's words,he did not wish to offend the Baronet, yet he could not give a pledgewhich he intended to break.
"Will you not promise?" Sir John again demanded, a strange lookoverspreading his haggard ashen features.
Again a deep silence fell.
"No," answered his son at last. "I cannot promise to give up Liane, forI love her."
"Love! Bah. I tell you that woman shall never be your wife. If Johnwere here, instead of with his regiment in India, he would fully endorseevery word I say. Brooker's girl shall never enter our family."
"What do you know against her?" the son asked dismayed. "Why, you havenever set your eyes upon either father or daughter! Some confoundedeavesdropper must have been telling you of our clandestine meetings, andthis has annoyed you."
"I am aware of more than you imagine," the dying man answered. "Willyou, or will you not, promise to obey my wish?"
There was a look of firm determination in the old man's countenance; alook which the son did not fail to notice.
"No, father," he answered. "Once for all, I decline."
"Then if such be your decision you must take the consequences. You arean unworthy son."
"In the matter of my marriage I shall follow my own inclinationsentirely," the young man said calmly.
"Very well," the Baronet answered, and making a sign to his solicitor,Harrison, commanded his son to leave the room.
At first George demurred; but in accordance with the suggestion of thedoctors that the wishes of their patient should be respected at thatcrisis-time, he went out, and passing downstairs to the library threwhimself back in one of the roomy leather chairs.
Yes, he loved Liane. With her vivacious half-English, half-Frenchmannerisms, her sweet musical accent, her dark beauty and grey trustingeyes, she was unlike any other woman he had ever beheld. They had metby chance on Mortimer Common a few months before. One morning, whileriding towards Ufton, he had found her at the roadside endeavouring tore-adjust her cycle, which had met with a slight accident. Hisproffered services were gratefully accepted, and from that moment theirfriendship had ripened into passionate and devoted love. Almost dailythey took long walks and rides together, but so secret had been theirmeetings that until half-an-hour ago he had no idea that his father wasaware of the truth. He had purposely kept the matter from Sir Johnbecause of his severe illness, yet someone, whom he knew not, must havewatched him and gone to the Baronet with some foul libellous story.
As he lay back in the chair, his gaitered legs crossed, his sun-brownedhands clasped behind his head, gazing up to the old panelled ceiling, hereflected that in a few hours the Court would no longer be his home.His elder brother, Major Stratfield, who for the past five years hadbeen in India with his regiment, the East Surrey, had been telegraphedfor, and in a few weeks would arrive and become Sir John Stratfield,while he, dogged by the misfortune attendant on being a younger son,would go forth from the old place with an income the extent of which hecould not know until after the will had been read.
George's life had certainly not been a happy one. Since his mother'sdeath a few months after his birth, his father had become a hard man,irritable and misanthropic. He kept no company, begrudged every pennyhis son cost him at college, and appeared to take a delight in obtainingthe ill-will of all his neighbours. He knew that scarcely a person inthe parish would regret his decease, and used frequently to comment withself-satisfaction upon the unenviable reputation he had gained. Thiswas merely eccentricity, people said; but for George it was decidedlyunpleasant, for while he was welcomed in every house, his father wasnever invited. Sometimes this fact impressed itself forcibly on the oldman's mind, but on such occasions he would only laugh contemptuously,saying:
"Ah, the Stratfields of Stratfield can afford to treat with contemptthese mushroom merchants without breeding, and without pedigree."
At whatever George had achieved the baronet had never shown theslightest sign of satisfaction. His career at Balliol had beenbrilliant, he had eaten his dinners at Lincoln's Inn and been dulycalled to the Bar, but all to no purpose, for almost as soon as he hadbeen "called," his father, strangely enough, refused to grant him anyfurther allowance unless he gave up his chambers and returned to live atStratfield. This he had been forced to do, although much against hisinclination, for he preferred his friends of the Common Room to thesociety of his eccentric parent. However, it had after all turned outfor the best, he reflected, because a month after he had come back hehad met the grey-eyed girl whose beauty held him entranced, and whom heintended to ask to become his wife. From the very first it had beenarranged between them that they should keep their acquaintance secret,only Nelly Bridson being aware of it, and it was she who met George withnotes from Liane when, on rare occasions, the latter was unable to keepher appointments. He had found both girls extremely pleasantcompanions, and through the sunny months the bright, halcyon days hadpassed happily.
In obedience to Liane's wish he had refrained from calling upon CaptainBrooker. Truth to tell, the refined, ingenuous girl, with her Frenchchic and charming manner, was ashamed of their shabby home, of herfather's frayed but well-cut clothes, of the distinct evidences of theirpoverty, and feared lest her lover should discover the secret of herfather's rather ignominious past. She had told him that the Captain wasa half-pay officer, and that her mother had been French; but she hadbeen careful never to refer to the polyglot society in which they hadmoved on the Continent, nor to the fact that she was daughter of a manwell-known in all the gaming establishments in Europe. All that was ofthe past, she had assured herself. If George knew the truth, thencertainly he would forsake her. And she loved him no less than headored her. Hence her lover had been puzzled not a little by hersteadfast refusal to tell him anything definite regarding her earlierlife, and the equal reticence of her foster sister. Of course, he couldnot fail to recognise behind this veil of mystery some family secret,yet in his buoyant frame of mind, happy in his new-found love, ittroubled him but little. Liane, his enchantress, loved him; that wassufficient.
For more than half-an-hour he sat in the old brown library in the sameposition, plunged deep in gloomy reflection. The sunset streamed inthrough the big windows of stained glass whereon were the arms of theStratfields with the motto, "Non vi, sed voluntate," which his ancestorshad borne through six centuries. The ancient room, lined from floor toceiling with the books of past generations,
seemed in that calm silenthour aglow with many colours.
The suddenness with which the storm-cloud had broken away, and the sun'slast rays again shone forth, aroused him. He glanced at his watch. Itwas already seven o'clock, and Liane was awaiting him beneath therailway bridge in Cross Lane, fully a mile away.
He made a movement to rise, but next moment, reflecting that he couldnot leave the house while his father lay dying, sank back into his chairagain. Liane knew of his father's illness, and would undoubtedly wait,as she had often waited before.
Yet why was he sitting there inactive and patient? The bitter truthrecurred to him. He had refused to give his pledge, and had thereforebeen banished from his father's presence. And this because he lovedher!
He rose, and gazed out down the long