reason."
"I'll try the next page," said Arnold. "I can't have read that
before--for I haven't turned over yet."
Blanche threw herself back in her chair, and flung her
handkerchief resignedly over her face. "The flies," she
explained. "I'm not going to sleep. Try the next page. Oh, dear
me, try the next page!"
Arnold proceeded:
"Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view.
Nor the deep tract of hell say first what cause.
Moved our grand parents in that happy state--"
Blanche suddenly threw the handkerchief off again, and sat bolt
upright in her chair. "Shut it up," she cried. "I can't bear any
more. Leave off, Arnold--leave off!"
"What's, the matter now?"
" 'That happy state,' " said Blanche. "What does 'that happy
state' mean? Marriage, of course! And marriage reminds me of
Anne. I won't have any more. Paradise Lost is painful. Shut it
up. Well, my next question to Sir Patrick was, of course, to know
what he thought Anne's husband had done. The wretch had behaved
infamously to her in some way. In what way? Was it any thing to
do with her marriage? My uncle considered again. He thought it
quite possible. Private marriages were dangerous things (he
said)--especially in Scotland. He asked me if they had been
married in Scotland. I couldn't tell him--I only said, 'Suppose
they were? What then?' 'It's barely possible, in that case,' says
Sir Patrick, 'that Miss Silvester may be feeling uneasy about her
marriage. She may even have reason--or may think she has
reason--to doubt whether it is a marriage at all.' "
Arnold started, and looked round at Geoffrey still sitting at the
writing-table with his back turned on them. Utterly as Blanche
and Sir Patrick were mistaken in their estimate of Anne's
position at Craig Fernie, they had drifted, nevertheless, into
discussing the very question in which Geoffrey and Miss Silvester
were interested--the question of marriage in Scotland. It was
impossible in Blanche's presence to tell Geoffrey that he might
do well to listen to Sir Patrick's opinion, even at second-hand.
Perhaps the words had found their way to him? perhaps he was
listening already, of his own accord?
(He _was_ listening. Blanche's last words had found their way to
him, while he was pondering over his half-finished letter to his
brother. He waited to hear more--without moving, and with the pen
suspended in his hand.)
Blanche proceeded, absently winding her fingers in and out of
Arnold's hair as he sat at her feet:
"It flashed on me instantly that Sir Patrick had discovered the
truth. Of course I told him so. He laughed, and said I mustn't
jump at conclusions We were guessing quite in the dark; and all
the distressing things I had noticed at the inn might admit of
some totally different explanation. He would have gone on
splitting straws in that provoking way the whole morning if I
hadn't stopped him. I was strictly logical. I said _I_ had seen
Anne, and _he_ hadn't--and that made all the difference. I said,
'Every thing that puzzled and frightened me in the poor darling
is accounted for now. The law must, and shall, reach that man,
uncle--and I'll pay for it!' I was so much in earnest that I
believe I cried a little. What do you think the dear old man did?
He took me on his knee and gave me a kiss; and he said, in the
nicest way, that he would adopt my view, for the present, if I
would promise not to cry any more; and--wait! the cream of it is
to come!--that he would put the view in quite a new light to me
as soon as I was composed again. You may imagine how soon I dried
my eyes, and what a picture of composure I presented in the
course of half a minute. 'Let us take it for granted,' says Sir
Patrick, 'that this man unknown has really tried to deceive Miss
Silvester, as you and I suppose. I can tell you one thing: it's
as likely as not that, in trying to overreach _her,_ he may
(without in the least suspecting it) have ended in overreaching
himself.' "
(Geoffrey held his breath. The pen dropped unheeded from his
fingers. It was coming. The light that his brother couldn't throw
on the subject was dawning on it at last!)
Blanche resumed:
"I was so interested, and it made such a tremendous impression on
me, that I haven't forgotten a word. 'I mustn't make that poor
little head of yours ache with Scotch law,' my uncle said; 'I
must put it plainly. There are marriages allowed in Scotland,
Blanche, which are called Irregular Marriages--and very
abominable things they are. But they have this accidental merit
in the present case. It is extremely difficult for a man to
pretend to marry in Scotland, and not really to do it. And it is,
on the other hand, extremely easy for a man to drift into
marrying in Scotland without feeling the slightest suspicion of
having done it himself.' That was exactly what he said, Arnold.
When _we_ are married, it sha'n't be in Scotland!"
(Geoffrey's ruddy color paled. If this was true he might be
caught himself in the trap which he had schemed to set for Anne!
Blanche went on with her narrative. He waited and listened.)
"My uncle asked me if I understood him so far. It was as plain as
the sun at noonday, of course I understood him! 'Very well,
then--now for the application!' says Sir Patrick. 'Once more
supposing our guess to be the right one, Miss Silvester may be
making herself very unhappy without any real cause. If this
invisible man at Craig Fernie has actually meddled, I won't say
with marrying her, but only with pretending to make her his wife,
and if he has attempted it in Scotland, the chances are nine to
one (though _he_ may not believe it, and though _she_ may not
believe it) that he has really married her, after all.' My
uncle's own words again! Quite needless to say that, half an hour
after they were out of his lips, I had sent them to Craig Fernie
in a letter to Anne!"
(Geoffrey's stolidly-staring eyes suddenly brightened. A light of
the devil's own striking illuminated him. An idea of the devil's
own bringing entered his mind. He looked stealthily round at the
man whose life he had saved--at the man who had devotedly served
him in return. A hideous cunning leered at his mouth and peeped
out of his eyes. "Arnold Brinkworth pretended to be married to
her at the inn. By the lord Harry! that's a way out of it that
never struck me before!" With that thought in his heart he turned
back again to his half-finished letter to Julius. For once in his
life he was strongly, fiercely agitated. For once in his life he
was daunted--and that by his Own Thought! He had written to
Julius under a strong sense of the necessity of gaining time to
delude Anne into leaving Scotland before he ventured on paying
his addresses to Mrs. Glenarm. His letter contained a string of
clumsy excuses, intended to delay his return to his brother's
hou
se. "No," he said to himself, as he read it again. "Whatever
else may do--_this_ won't! " He looked round once more at Arnold,
and slowly tore the letter into fragments as he looked.)
In the mean time Blanche had not done yet. "No," she said, when
Arnold proposed an adjournment to the garden; "I have something
more to say, and you are interested in it, this time." Arnold
resigned himself to listen, and worse still to answer, if there
was no help for it, in the character of an innocent stranger who
had never been near the Craig Fernie inn.
"Well," Blanche resumed, "and what do you think has come of my
letter to Anne?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Nothing has come of it!"
"Indeed?"
"Absolutely nothing! I know she received the letter yesterday
morning. I ought to have had the answer to-day at breakfast."
"Perhaps she thought it didn't require an answer."
"She couldn't have thought that, for reasons that I know of.
Besides, in my letter yesterday I implored her to tell me (if it
was one line only) whether, in guessing at what her trouble was,
Sir Patrick and I had not guessed right. And here is the day
getting on, and no answer! What am I to conclude?"
"I really can't say!"
"Is it possible, Arnold, that we have _not_ guessed right, after
all? Is the wickedness of that man who blew the candles out
wickedness beyond our discovering? The doubt is so dreadful that
I have made up my mind not to bear it after to-day. I count on
your sympathy and assistance when to-morrow comes!"
Arnold's heart sank. Some new complication was evidently
gathering round him. He waited in silence to hear the worst.
Blanche bent forward, and whispered to him.
"This is a secret," she said. "If that creature at the
writing-table has ears for any thing but rowing and racing, he
mustn't hear this! Anne may come to me privately to-day while you
are all at luncheon. If she doesn't come and if I don't hear from
her, then the mystery of her silence must be cleared up; and You
must do it!"
"I!"
"Don't make difficulties! If you can't find your way to Craig
Fernie, I can help you. As for Anne, you know what a charming
person she is, and you know she will receive you perfectly, for
my sake. I must and will have some news of her. I can't break the
laws of the household a second time. Sir Patrick sympathizes, but
he won't stir. Lady Lundie is a bitter enemy. The servants are
threatened with the loss of their places if any one of them goes
near Anne. There is nobody but you. And to Anne you go to-morrow,
if I don't see her or hear from her to-day!"
This to the man who had passed as Anne's husband at the inn, and
who had been forced into the most intimate knowledge of Anne's
miserable secret! Arnold rose to put Milton away, with the
composure of sheer despair. Any other secret he might, in the
last resort, have confided to the discretion of a third person.
But a woman's secret--with a woman's reputation depending on his
keeping it--was not to be confided to any body, under any stress
of circumstances whatever. "If Geoffrey doesn't get me out of
_this,_," he thought, "I shall have no choice but to leave
Windygates to-morrow."
As he replaced the book on the shelf, Lady Lundie entered the
library from the garden.
"What are you doing here?" she said to her step-daughter.
"Improving my mind," replied Blanche. "Mr. Brinkworth and I have
been reading Milton."
"Can you condescend so far, after reading Milton all the morning,
as to help me with the invitations for the dinner next week?"
"If _you_ can condescend, Lady Lundie, after feeding the poultry
all the morning, I must be humility itself after only reading
Milton!"
With that little interchange of the acid amenities of feminine
intercourse, step-mother and step-daughter withdrew to a
writing-table, to put the virtue of hospitality in practice
together.
Arnold joined his friend at the other end of the library.
Geoffrey was sitting with his elbows on the desk, and his
clenched fists dug into his cheeks. Great drops of perspiration
stood on his forehead, and the fragments of a torn letter lay
scattered all round him. He exhibited symptoms of nervous
sensibility for the first time in his life--he started when
Arnold spoke to him.
"What's the matter, Geoffrey?"
"A letter to answer. And I don't know how."
"From Miss Silvester?" asked Arnold, dropping his voice so as to
prevent the ladies at the other end of the room from hearing him.
"No," answered Geoffrey, in a lower voice still.
"Have you heard what Blanche has been saying to me about Miss
Silvester?"
"Some of it."
"Did you hear Blanche say that she meant to send me to Craig
Fernie to-morrow, if she failed to get news from Miss Silvester
to-day?"
"No."
"Then you know it now. That is what Blanche has just said to me."
"Well?"
"Well--there's a limit to what a man can expect even from his
best friend. I hope you won't ask me to be Blanche's messenger
to-morrow. I can't, and won't, go back to the inn as things are
now."
"You have had enough of it--eh?"
"I have had enough of distressing Miss Silvester, and more than
enough of deceiving Blanche."
"What do you mean by 'distressing Miss Silvester?' "
"She doesn't take the same easy view that you and I do, Geoffrey,
of my passing her off on the people of the inn as my wife."
Geoffrey absently took up a paper-knife. Still with his head
down, he began shaving off the topmost layer of paper from the
blotting-pad under his hand. Still with his head down, he
abruptly broke the silence in a whisper.
"I say!"
"Yes?"
"How did you manage to pass her off as your wife?"
"I told you how, as we were driving from the station here."
"I was thinking of something else. Tell me again."
Arnold told him once more what had happened at the inn. Geoffrey
listened, without making any remark. He balanced the paper-knife
vacantly on one of his fingers. He was strangely sluggish and
strangely silent.
"All _that_ is done and ended," said Arnold shaking him by the
shoulder. "It rests with you now to get me out of the difficulty
I'm placed in with Blanche. Things must be settled with Miss
Silvester to-day."
"Things _shall_ be settled."
"Shall be? What are you waiting for?"
"I'm waiting to do what you told me."
"What I told you?"
"Didn't you tell me to consult Sir Patrick before I married her?"
"To be sure! so I did."
"Well--I am waiting for a chance with Sir Patrick."
"And then?"
"And then--" He looked at Arnold for the first time. "Then," he
said, "you may consider it settled."
"The marriage?"
He suddenly looked down again at the blotting-pad. "Yes--th
e
marriage."
Arnold offered his hand in congratulation. Geoffrey never noticed
it. His eyes were off the blotting-pad again. He was looking out
of the window near him.
"Don't I hear voices outside?" he asked.
"I believe our friends are in the garden," said Arnold. "Sir
Patrick may be among them. I'll go and see."
The instant his back was turned Geoffrey snatched up a sheet of
note-paper. "Before I forget it!" he said to himself. He wrote
the word "Memorandum" at the top of the page, and added these
lines beneath it:
"He asked for her by the name of his wife at the door. He said,
at dinner, before the landlady and the waiter, 'I take these
rooms for my wife.' He made _her_ say he was her husband at the
same time. After that he stopped all night. What do the lawyers
call this in Scotland?--(Query: a marriage?)"
After folding up the paper he hesitated for a moment. "No!" he
thought, "It won't do to trust to what Miss Lundie said about it.
I can't be certain till I have consulted Sir Patrick himself."
He put the paper away in his pocket, and wiped the heavy
perspiration from his forehead. He was pale--for _him,_
strikingly pale--when Arnold came back.
"Any thing wrong, Geoffrey?--you're as white as ashes."
"It's the heat. Where's Sir Patrick?"
"You may see for yourself."
Arnold pointed to the window. Sir Patrick was crossing the lawn,
on his way to the library with a newspaper in his hand; and the
guests at Windygates were accompanying him. Sir Patrick was
smiling, and saying nothing. The guests were talking excitedly at
the tops of their voices. There had apparently been a collision
of some kind between the old school and the new. Arnold directed
Geoffrey's attention to the state of affairs on the lawn.
"How are you to consult Sir Patrick with all those people about
him?"
"I'll consult Sir Patrick, if I take him by the scruff of the
neck and carry him into the next county!" He rose to his feet as
he spoke those words, and emphasized them under his breath with
an oath.
Sir Patrick entered the library, with the guests at his heels.
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.
CLOSE ON IT.
THE object of the invasion of the library by the party in the
garden appeared to be twofold.
Sir Patrick had entered the room to restore the newspaper to the
place from which he had taken it. The guests, to the number of
five, had followed him, to appeal in a body to Geoffrey Delamayn.
Between these two apparently dissimilar motives there was a
connection, not visible on the surface, which was now to assert
itself.
Of the five guests, two were middle-aged gentlemen belonging to
that large, but indistinct, division of the human family whom the
hand of Nature has painted in unobtrusive neutral tint. They had
absorbed the ideas of their time with such receptive capacity as
they possessed; and they occupied much the same place in society
which the chorus in an opera occupies on the stage. They echoed
the prevalent sentiment of the moment; and they gave the
solo-talker time to fetch his breath.
The three remaining guests were on the right side of thirty. All
profoundly versed in horse-racing, in athletic sports, in pipes,
beer, billiards, and betting. All profoundly ignorant of every
thing else under the sun. All gentlemen by birth, and all marked
as such by the stamp of "a University education." They may be
personally described as faint reflections of Geoffrey; and they
may be numerically distinguished (in the absence of all other
distinction) as One, Two, and Three.
Sir Patrick laid the newspaper on the table and placed himself in
one of the comfortable arm-chairs. He was instantly assailed, in
his domestic capacity, by his irrepressible sister-in-law. Lady
Man and Wife Page 22
