Gerald made his appearance with the air of a man about to be hanged. He guessed well enough why Marsh wished to see him, but even in his dejection he was resolved upon making a fight of it. He had lost his inheritance, but he was determined, in his weak, mulish way, that he would not lose Hilda. And he was depending no little upon the girl herself helping him, if indeed she had not done so already. But in this he was destined to disappointment. Miss Marsh, in spite of her recent little outburst, was not the young lady to defy the world and console herself with love in a cottage. By no means; the tree must grow as the twig is bent, and although at first she had been a good deal disturbed at finding out the nature of her own feelings, it was not long before she returned to her old self, and the conclusion that in the existing circumstances Gerald Arkel was not for her, nor she for Gerald Arkel. Poor fond lover—his very moustache drooped with melancholy!
"Sir," began the Roman father, for the younger man left him to open the ball, "I am astonished and pained to learn that without my consent, that utterly unknown to me, you have had the audacity to engage yourself to my child; under such provocation I have no hesitation in saying that many a father would break off such a connection, root and branch, without vouchsafing reason of any kind. But I condemn no man unheard. You will therefore perhaps grasp the opportunity I hold out to you to explain your—your part of this affair."
"I love her," said Gerald, sitting miserably on his chair, "and she loves me, and what's more, I shan't give her up."
"Sir! I need hardly say you astound me. But once again in justice I ask you if you are in a position to support my child?"
Gerald cast a cynical glance round the shabby room.
"I can give her a better home than this," he said sullenly.
At this the Roman father threw off his classic yoke and took refuge in a more vehement and less stately method of expression.
"Confound you and your damned impudence, Mr. Arkel. What the devil do you mean by calling my house names? We are poor if you like, but honest—and that is more, yes, a damned deal more than you are."
"I am poor enough, I know, but——"
"I know that; you are a pauper—an absolute pauper, yet you have the brazen impudence to want my daughter to marry you!"
"I can work for her, I suppose?"
"No, sir, that's just what you can't do. Idle and dissipated you have always been, and idle and dissipated you always will be. Oh, I have heard of your goings-on in London, Mr. Arkel. You spent Barton's money freely while you had it, now you haven't got it, you are certainly not likely to make any for yourself."
"If the will is found——"
"Will!—found!—stuff and nonsense! Do you think the man who murdered your uncle for the sole purpose of stealing it is going to emerge from his hiding and make you a present of it? Don't be a fool, sir! Go and ask Dundas to give you a leg up, and try and do something to earn a pound a week. As to Hilda, put her out of your head."
By this time Gerald was almost beside himself.
"Mind your own business, Marsh," he shouted, jumping up. "I will not touch a penny of Dundas' money. But how I make my living, and what I decide to do, has nothing to do with you."
"Right! it hasn't. If I gave my consent to your marrying Hilda, it would have; as I decline to let my child throw herself away on a pauper, it hasn't. The best thing you can do is to quit this house and try and preserve your few scattered wits."
"You are beastly rude. But allow me to say that before I go I must hear what Hilda says," and with a very dogged look upon his face Master Gerald sat down.
"You will find that although Hilda has lapsed so far as to engage herself to you, she has still sufficient regard for the wishes of those in authority over her to obey them." The doctor was becoming classic again. "However, you shall see her."
Again Gerald cast an ironical glance round the room, as though mutely inquiring if he could possibly take Hilda into surroundings more impoverished than those amid which she was at present. But Marsh ignored the look entirely, for the very good reason that its contention was irrefutable even by him. So he stalked away, leaving Gerald to gnaw his moustache, and curse the fate which had robbed him of his money and now threatened to rob him of "the only girl he ever loved."
"But Hilda will be true," he thought. "She is too fond of me to lose me!"
She entered the room alone, red-eyed and pale, but with a look of determination on her face which sent a chill through Arkel's heart the moment he saw it. He rose to meet her, holding out his arms in welcome. Her name sprang to his lips. But she waved him back.
"No, no, Gerald! I cannot! I cannot! We must part."
"We will not part!" cried the man furiously. "You love me and I love you—no one has the right to part us."
"I must obey my parents."
"Not if they counsel you wrongly."
"Do they counsel me wrongly?" asked Hilda. "Gerald, do be reasonable—you are poor; I am poor. How can we marry?"
"I will work for you, Hilda—with you I can do anything!"
The girl shook her head sadly.
"If you were any other sort of man than what you are, perhaps," she said with relentless common-sense. "But I know you better than you do yourself. You love pleasure and you hate work. You have always pursued the one and avoided the other. I hate poverty with all the loathing of a lifetime. We should soon tire of each other. Believe me, Gerald, love in a cottage would not suit either of us. It would be madness to attempt it. Fond as I am of you I cannot contemplate it. It isn't to be thought of."
"So you really give me up?" cried he in anger.
She bowed her head.
"For both our sakes I give you up."
"You never really cared for me!"
"I did—I do. You are the only man I ever loved; but I cannot blind myself even so. If you had only a small income I would marry you; or if you had a strong will or a clever brain I would marry you. But, Gerald, dear Gerald, you know you have neither. You are the dearest fellow in the world; yes, and the handsomest, and the nicest, but—but without an income! No, dear, it would never do. We should grow to hate each other in no time. Take my advice: marry a rich woman, and you will be happy."
He looked at her for a moment, and tried to speak. Then his fury overcame him, and he grew scarlet in the face and inarticulate. Alarmed at his violence Hilda ran out of the room. As she opened the door her father appeared.
"Arkel, Arkel, what is this?" he said. "Control yourself, man, control yourself."
Gerald staggered forward and clutched the doctor's arm. Again he tried to speak, but failed to articulate a word. Then, with a pitiable cry, he fell senseless to the floor.
"Ah," said the doctor, bending over him with professional calm, "even were you rich as Crœsus, you are not the husband for my child."
"What is it?" cried Mrs. Marsh coming on the scene.
"Nothing—don't alarm yourself. Just a little exhibition of the Barton family nerves, my dear, that's all. Neurosis, neurosis: that ever tabooed word! It came out queerly enough in the uncle, goodness knows! I wonder what shape it's going to take now in the nephew?"
"Has he given up Hilda?"
"Well, no; but she's given him up. Wait here, Amelia. I must get something from the surgery."
* * *
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE REWARD OF MIRIAM.
Mrs. Perks received her quondam lodger with much show of heartiness. During those few weeks' stay at the Pitt Hotel, while she had been recruiting her shattered health prior to taking up the engagement at Lesser Thorpe, Miriam had endeared herself to the little woman. And Mrs. Perks, although snappish, distrustful, and burdened by the many cares and hardened by the experience of sordid London life, was, nevertheless—as she said herself—not slow to recognise a good woman when she saw one, and she had long since admitted Miriam in her own mind to that category. She had regretted Miss Crane's departure sincerely, and now welcomed her even more so.
"You shall 'ave your own bed and
sitting-room," she said, drawing her shawl tightly round her spare form, "and that for as long as you likes. Don't offer me money, or I shall refuse it with scorn; so don't offer it, I begs."
"But I can't live on you for nothing, Mrs. Perks."
"If it's pride which sticks in your throat," said the landlady rubbing her nose, "there is the 'ouse accounts which I can't do nowise, not 'aving an intelligent 'ead for figures. Do them for me, Miss Cranes, and you'll be paying me 'andsome."
"I'll do the accounts with pleasure," replied Miriam, thankful for the opportunity of thus paying her way; "and if you accept payment for my board and lodging like that, I shall be only too pleased."
So the bargain was struck, and Miriam undertook to balance the finances of the Pitt Hotel, which, to speak truly, were in a sad muddle. Mrs. Perks was a good landlady, an excellent housekeeper, but when it came to figures, Mrs. Perks was not in the first flight. The hotel, though by no means a high class one, paid well enough. Those who patronised it were of the shabby-genteel order. Would-be authors, frowsy foreigners, shabby ne'er-do-weels, came here for bed and board; and Mrs. Perks, as hard as a diamond if not so brilliant, screwed money out of them somehow. But the fact that they generally came again argued that even pertinacious and dogged as she was, Mrs. Perks had something on the other side which more than counterbalanced her capabilities in this direction. There were those who could speak very feelingly of the natural kindness within Mrs. Perks, and of her invariable readiness to hold out a helping hand to the unfortunate. A hard woman, a sordid woman, yet a true woman withal, and therefore capable of a great tenderness. There were many worse people than Mrs. Perks.
As the days went by and Miriam grew in favour, the landlady contracted the habit of taking tea with her in the bed-sitting room which was her abode for the time. And on these occasions, softened by the tea and mellowed by the toast, the old lady was wont to wax confidential, and talk a great deal about the late Mr. Barton. But what had been the true state of affairs between them Miriam never learned. Mrs. Perks was quite able, and evidently intended, to keep that to herself. For the rest she spoke both good and ill of the Squire, though on the whole she seemed in nowise to grieve that he was no more.
"Ah, Miss Cranes," she sighed on one of these occasions, "he was a bad 'un, was Mr. Barton; in fact, I don't think I ever knowed a wuss. Yet he 'ad 'is good points too. You couldn't call 'im 'oly and you couldn't call 'im wicious; he was betwixt and between like—a Moses and a Judas—and where he's gone to is more than I can tell."
"I suppose you know all about his life in London?"
"I do and I don't, Miss Cranes. He 'elps me to take this 'otel, and I paid off the money 'e advanced, so 'im and me was quits. But although I was 'ouse-keeper at the Manor House some time, and 'e put me 'ere in the way of earnin' my own livin', it wasn't a good 'eart as made 'im do it—oh dear no, not at all. He wanted a home 'ere where 'e could go and come without bein' talked about."
"Why, where did he use to go?"
"Ah!"—Mrs. Perks sniffed significantly—"where didn't he go? Slums was pleasures to 'im and criminals delights. Lor', Miss Cranes, if you only knowed the awful people as called 'ere to see Mr. Bartons, your blood would freeze in your veins!"
"Did you ever happen to notice a tall dark man, wearing a black cloak?"
"Wot, with a white face and a scar on it? Ah, that I did. What 'is name was, I didn't rightly know. The Shadder Mr. Barton called 'im, and shadder 'e was in his comin's and goin's, an' no mistake. 'E was a bad 'un, that Shadder, and I believe 'e did all Mr. Barton's wicked work for 'im. I never looked in the noospapers, Miss Cranes, but I expected to see a 'orrid murder by the Shadder and Mr. Bartons, but some'ow they managed to keep clear of the gallers."
"It was extraordinary his connection with that man," assented Miriam. "I can't think what he kept him for—there's no doubt he employed him regularly."
Mrs. Perks tossed her head, rose and tightened her shawl again.
"Oh, I don't know. I never saw anything wrong except that Mr. Bartons came 'ome at all hours, and let all kinds of 'orrid creatures call on 'im; but I'm sure there was some devilment goin' on. Not that I ought to be surprised," cackled Mrs. Perks, "for the Bartons family was all of 'em mad as March 'ares."
"Mad?"
"Yes, Miss Cranes. His father drank 'orrid, and he was fond of low company for some wickedness I couldn't rightly make out. Mrs. Arkel, his sister, 'ad the temper of a demon, and Mrs. Darrow, his niece, 'as the same, as no doubts you know well. As for young Mr. Arkel, 'e's on 'is way to die of strong drink."
Miriam felt a thrill.
"You don't mean to say that Mr. Arkel drinks to excess?"
"I should jus' say 'e do. 'E comes 'ere at times and is drunk for days! Can't 'elp it, 'e sez—I'd 'elp 'im if I'd my way. There was another of 'em in an asylum; she was always stealin', couldn't 'elp it, it seemed no'ow. As for the morals of 'em, I blushes to think of the way they used to carry on. It's a blessin', I'm sure, that some of 'em's committed suicide."
"Major Dundas seems to be perfectly normal in every way."
"Oh, 'e's the proud and 'aughty sort, 'e is. I never 'eard anything worse than that about 'im. But 'e'll break out some day, Miss Cranes, never you fear. What's born in the Barton bones'll come out in the Barton flesh, mark my words if it don't."
Apparently Major Dundas was the only member of the house of Barton for whom Mrs. Perks had even comparative approval. And Miriam had little doubt but that she was correct in her judgment, if not in her prognostications. At least she had had a lengthy experience of the family. An hereditary weakness had undoubtedly exhibited itself in various manners, none of which was either trivial or attractive. Theft, or to give it the more scientific name, kleptomania, uncontrollable rage, alcoholism, and—in the Squire—distinct and avowed homicidal mania, which characteristics left little ground for doubt as to there being decided mental aberration in the Barton family. But of the last, and more serious failing on the part of the late Squire, Mrs. Perks seemed to be wholly in ignorance. To her he was an eccentric, and a dilettante in crime—a seeker after the lower strata of humanity, but nothing more.
As soon as she arrived in town Miriam had at once proceeded to investigate the fact of Jabez' being in England. Her first visit was to the hovel of Mother Mandarin, for there she knew he was wont to take refuge when in London. But to her surprise Mother Mandarin knew nothing of his present whereabouts. She had not seen him indeed since he had left for Lesser Thorpe. Shorty, too, although he looked knowingly at her and seemed once or twice on the point of being confidential, denied all knowledge of him. For Jabez' own sake she inserted a cypher advertisement in several of the daily papers, warning him of the great danger he was running by remaining in England. But he made no sign of any kind, and Miriam gave up in despair.
She heard from Inspector Prince that in spite of the thorough search of all outgoing steamers for America, both at Southampton and at Liverpool, no trace had been found of the man she had described. And from the mere fact of the inspector writing to her thus ex-officio, she gathered—and rightly—that she had not failed so far as he was concerned. So she was forced to rest content with the knowledge that for the present, at least, Jabez, wherever he was, was safe.
Then one morning Gerald Arkel made his appearance at the Pitt Hotel. He was very much changed. His former expression of light-hearted gaiety had given way to one of dejection, even sullenness. His dress, usually so irreproachable, was conspicuous now by his untidy carelessness; and the springy gait, which had always been so characteristic of him, was gone. It was almost as if the breath of old age had passed over him, and in the passing had roughed the outlines of his youth.
"My! you do look bad, Mr. Arkel!" was Mrs. Perks' greeting. "Wot 'ave you been doin'?"
"Mourning for my uncle," retorted Gerald with a discordant laugh. "Having lost my benefactor, Mrs. Perks, you can't expect me to be very sprightly, eh? Is Miss Crane in?"
"Yes, sir, she is—you'll find
'er first door on the right there. I wonder what 'e wants with 'er," she mumbled, as Gerald made his way along the passage. "No good, I'll be bound. You've been drinkin' 'ard, young man, and wot's more, you'll come to no 'appy end, unless I'm much mistaken."
A knock at the door of the room in which Miriam was occupied at her morning's work caused her to bid her visitor to enter. She did not raise her eyes from her work. She was accustomed to be thus disturbed for some trivial matter or other in the morning. For half a minute Gerald stood there looking at her. How beautiful and composed her expression was! He faltered out her name. She paled at the sound of his voice, and rose slowly to her feet, repeating his name in a tone hardly less faltering. In silence their eyes met.
"You are surprised to see me?" said Gerald, throwing his hat on a chair and sitting down. "I got your address from Dundas. I thought you would not mind if I came and saw you."
A more serious expression came over her face as she looked at him.
"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Arkel," she said; "but you look to me terribly ill. Is anything the matter? I am afraid——" She hesitated.
"That I've been making a fool of myself?" he finished bitterly. "Well, you're right as usual—I have. And what's more, I'm afraid I shall go on making a fool of myself until I can find someone to give me a helping hand."
"But is not Hilda——?"
"Hilda!" His face crimsoned, and he bit his lip. "Hilda has given me up. That's all over now!"
"Given you up?" She did not know whether she felt glad or sorry.
"Yes; given me up. When through the theft of that will I lost everything, she flatly declined to marry me. Her father forbade her to. I saw him—I saw her—and the whole thing was too much for me. I had a kind of fit, I believe."
"Poor Mr. Arkel!"
"Still Mr. Arkel?—you used to take an interest in me. You used to be my friend."
"That I am still; but surely Major Dundas is your friend. Surely he——?"
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