His lawyer went over to the table at which Sir Patrick sat. Sir
Patrick handed him the sheet of note-paper.
He read the two letters contained in it with absorbed and
deliberate attention. The moments that passed before he lifted
his head from his reading seemed like hours. "Can you prove the
handwritings?" he asked. "And prove the residence?"
Sir Patrick took up a second morsel of paper lying ready under
his hand.
"There are the names of persons who can prove the writing, and
prove the residence," he replied. "One of your two witnesses
below stairs (otherwise useless) can speak to the hour at which
Mr. Brinkworth arrived at the inn, and so can prove that the lady
for whom he asked was, at that moment, Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn.
The indorsement on the back of the note-paper, also referring to
the question of time, is in the handwriting of the same
witness--to whom I refer you, when it suits your convenience to
question him."
"I will verify the references, Sir Patrick, as matter of form. In
the mean time, not to interpose needless and vexatious delay, I
am bound to say that I can not resist the evidence of the
marriage."
Having replied in those terms he addressed himself, with marked
respect and sympathy, to Anne.
"On the faith of the written promise of marriage exchanged
between you in Scotland," he said, "you claim Mr. Geoffrey
Delamayn as your husband?"
She steadily repented the words after him.
"I claim Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn as my husband."
Mr. Moy appealed to his client. Geoffrey broke silence at last.
"Is it settled?" he asked.
"To all practical purposes, it is settled."
He went on, still looking at nobody but Anne.
"Has the law of Scotland made her my wife?"
"The law of Scotland has made her your wife."
He asked a third and last question.
"Does the law tell her to go where her husband goes?"
"Yes."
He laughed softly to himself, and beckoned to her to cross the
room to the place at which he was standing.
She obeyed. At the moment when she took the first step to
approach him, Sir Patrick caught her hand, and whispered to her,
"Rely on me!" She gently pressed his hand in token that she
understood him, and advanced to Geoffrey. At the same moment,
Blanche rushed between them, and flung her arms around Anne's
neck.
"Oh, Anne! Anne!"
An hysterical passion of tears choked her utterance. Anne gently
unwound the arms that clung round her--gently lifted the head
that lay helpless on her bosom.
"Happier days are coming, my love," she said. "Don't think of
_me._"
She kissed her--looked at her--kissed her again--and placed her
in her husband's arms. Arnold remembered her parting words at
Craig Fernie, when they had wished each other good-night. "You
have not befriended an ungrateful woman. The day may yet come
when I shall prove it." Gratitude and admiration struggled in him
which should utter itself first, and held him speechless.
She bent her head gently in token that she understood him. Then
she went on, and stood before Geoffrey.
"I am here," she said to him. "What do you wish me to do?"
A hideous smile parted his heavy lips. He offered her his arm.
"Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn," he said. "Come home."
The picture of the lonely house, isolated amidst its high walls;
the ill-omened figure of the dumb woman with the stony eyes and
the savage ways--the whole scene, as Anne had pictured it to him
but two days since, rose vivid as reality before Sir Patrick's
mind. "No!" he cried out, carried away by the generous impulse of
the moment. "It shall _not_ be!"
Geoffrey stood impenetrable--waiting with his offered arm. Pale
and resolute, she lifted her noble head--called back the courage
which had faltered for a moment--and took his arm. He led her to
the door. "Don't let Blanche fret about me," she said, simply, to
Arnold as they went by. They passed Sir Patrick next. Once more
his sympathy for her set every other consideration at defiance.
He started up to bar the way to Geoffrey. Geoffrey paused, and
looked at Sir Patrick for the first time.
"The law tells her to go with her husband," he said. "The law
forbids you to part Man and Wife."
True. Absolutely, undeniably true. The law sanctioned the
sacrifice of her as unanswerably as it had sanctioned the
sacrifice of her mother before her. In the name of Morality, let
him take her! In the interests of Virtue, let her get out of it
if she can!
Her husband opened the door. Mr. Moy laid his hand on Sir
Patrick's arm. Lady Lundie, Captain Newenden, the London lawyer,
all left their places, influenced, for once, by the same
interest; feeling, for once, the same suspense. Arnold followed
them, supporting his wife. For one memorable instant Anne looked
back at them all. Then she and her husband crossed the threshold.
They descended the stairs together. The opening and closing of
the house door was heard. They were gone.
Done, in the name of Morality. Done, in the interests of Virtue.
Done, in an age of progress, and under the most perfect
government on the face of the earth.
FIFTEENTH SCENE.--HOLCHESTER HOUSE.
CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH.
THE LAST CHANCE.
"HIS lordship is dangerously ill, Sir. Her ladyship can receive
no visitors."
"Be so good as to take that card to Lady Holchester. It is
absolutely necessary that your mistress should be made
acquainted--in the interests of her younger son--with something
which I can only mention to her ladyship herself."
The two persons speaking were Lord Holchester's head servant and
Sir Patrick Lundie. At that time barely half an hour had passed
since the close of the proceedings at Portland Place.
The servant still hesitated with the card
in his hand. "I shall forfeit my situation," he said, "if I do
it."
"You will most assuredly forfeit your situation if you _don't_ do
it," returned Sir Patrick. "I warn you plainly, this is too
serious a matter to be trifled with."
The tone in which those words were spoken had its effect. The man
went up stairs with his message.
Sir Patrick waited in the hall. Even the momentary delay of
entering one of the reception-rooms was more than he could endure
at that moment. Anne's happiness was hopelessly sacrificed
already. The preservation of her personal safety--which Sir
Patrick firmly believed to be in danger--was the one service
which it was possible to render to her now. The perilous position
in which she stood toward her husband--as an immovable obstacle,
while she lived, between Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm--was beyond
the reach of remedy. But it was still possible to prevent her
from becoming the innocent cause of Geoffrey's pecuniary ruin, by
standing in the way of a reconciliation between father and son.<
br />
Resolute to leave no means untried of serving Anne's interests,
Sir Patrick had allowed Arnold and Blanche to go to his own
residence in London, alone, and had not even waited to say a
farewell word to any of the persons who had taken part in the
inquiry. "Her life may depend on what I can do for her at
Holchester House!" With that conviction in him, he had left
Portland Place. With that conviction in him, he had sent his
message to Lady Holchester, and was now waiting for the reply.
The servant appeared again on the stairs. Sir Patrick went up to
meet him.
"Her ladyship will see you, Sir, for a few minutes."
The door of an upper room was opened; and Sir Patrick found
himself in the presence of Geoffrey's mother. There was only time
to observe that she possessed the remains of rare personal
beauty, and that she received her visitor with a grace and
courtesy which implied (under the circumstances) a considerate
regard for _his_ position at the expense of her own.
"You have something to say to me, Sir Patrick, on the subject of
my second son. I am in great affliction. If you bring me bad
news, I will do my best to bear it. May I trust to your kindness
not to keep me in suspense?"
"It will help me to make my intrusion as little painful as
possible to your ladyship," replied Sir Patrick, "if I am
permitted to ask a question. Have you heard of any obstacle to
the contemplated marriage of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn and Mrs.
Glenarm?"
Even that distant reference to Anne produced an ominous change
for the worse in Lady Holchester's manner.
"I have heard of the obstacle to which you allude," she said.
"Mrs. Glenarm is an intimate friend of mine. She has informed me
that a person named Silvester, an impudent adventuress--"
"I beg your ladyship's pardon. You are doing a cruel wrong to the
noblest woman I have ever met with."
"I can not undertake, Sir Patrick, to enter into your reasons for
admiring her. Her conduct toward my son has, I repeat, been the
conduct of an impudent adventuress."
Those words showed Sir Patrick the utter hopelessness of shaking
her prejudice against Anne. He decided on proceeding at once to
the disclosure of the truth.
"I entreat you so say no more," he answered. "Your ladyship is
speaking of your son's wife."
"My son has married Miss Silvester?"
"Yes."
She turned deadly pale. It appeared, for an instant, as if the
shock had completely overwhelmed her. But the mother's weakness
was only momentary The virtuous indignation of the great lady had
taken its place before Sir Patrick could speak again. She rose to
terminate the interview.
"I presume," she said, "that your errand here is as an end."
Sir Patrick rose, on his side, resolute to do the duty which had
brought him to the house.
"I am compelled to trespass on your ladyship's attention for a
few minutes more," he answered. "The circumstances attending the
marriage of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn are of no common importance. I
beg permission (in the interests of his family) to state, very
briefly, what they are."
In a few clear sentences he narrated what had happened, that
afternoon, in Portland Place. Lady Holchester listened with the
steadiest and coldest attention. So far as outward appearances
were concerned, no impression was produced upon her.
"Do you expect me," she asked, "to espouse the interests of a
person who has prevented my son from marrying the lady of his
choice, and of mine?"
"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, unhappily, has that reason for resenting
his wife's innocent interference with interests of considerable,
importance to him," returned Sir Patrick. "I request your
ladyship to consider whether it is desirable--in view of your
son's conduct in the future--to allow his wife to stand in the
doubly perilous relation toward him of being also a cause of
estrangement between his father and himself."
He had put it with scrupulous caution. But Lady Holchester
understood what he had refrained from saving as well as what he
had actually said. She had hitherto remained standing--she now
sat down again. There was a visible impression produced on her at
last.
"In Lord Holchester's critical state of health," she answered, "I
decline to take the responsibility of telling him what you have
just told me. My own influence has been uniformly exerted in my
son's favor--as long as my interference could be productive of
any good result. The time for my interference has passed. Lord
Holchester has altered his will this morning. I was not present;
and I have not yet been informed of what has been done. Even if I
knew--"
"Your ladyship would naturally decline," said Sir Patrick, "to
communicate the information to a stranger."
"Certainly. At the same time, after what you have said, I do not
feel justified in deciding on this matter entirely by myself. One
of Lord Holchester's executors is now in the house. There can be
no impropriety in your seeing him--if you wish it. You are at
liberty to say, from me, that I leave it entirely to his
discretion to decide what ought to be done."
"I gladly accept your ladyship's proposal."
Lady Holchester rang the bell at her side.
"Take Sir Patrick Lundie to Mr. Marchwood," she said to the
servant.
Sir Patrick started. The name was familiar to him, as the name of
a friend.
"Mr. Marchwood of Hurlbeck?" he asked.
"The same."
With that brief answer, Lady Holchester dismissed her visitor.
Following the servant to the other end of the corridor, Sir
Patrick was conducted into a small room--the ante-chamber to the
bedroom in which Lord Holchester lay. The door of communication
was closed. A gentleman sat writing at a table near the window.
He rose, and held out his hand, with a look of surprise, when the
servant announced Sir Patrick's name. This was Mr. Marchwood.
After the first explanations had been given, Sir Patrick
patiently reverted to the object of his visit to Holchester
House. On the first occasion when he mentioned Anne's name he
observed that Mr. Marchwood became, from that moment, specially
interested in what he was saying.
"Do you happen to be acquainted with the lady?" he asked
"I only know her as the cause of a very strange proceeding, this
morning, in that room." He pointed to Lord Holchester's bedroom
as he spoke.
"Are you at liberty to mention what the proceeding was?"
"Hardly--even to an old friend like you--unless I felt it a
matter of duty, on my part, to state the circumstances. Pray go
on with what you were saying to me. You were on the point of
telling me what brought you to this house."
Without a word more of preface, Sir Patrick told him the news of
Geoffrey's marriage to Anne.
"Married!" cried Mr. Marchwood. "Are you sure of what you say?"
"I am one of the witnesses of the marriage."
"Good Heavens! And Lord Holchester's lawyer has left the house!"
"Can I replace him? Have I, by any chance justified you in
telling me what happened this morning in the next room?"
"Justified me? You have left me no other alternative. The doctors
are all agreed in dreading apoplexy--his lordship may die at any
moment. In the lawyer's absence, I must take it on myself. Here
are the facts. There is the codicil to Lord
Holchester's Will which is still unsigned."
"Relating to his second son?"
"Relating to Geoffrey Delamayn, and giving him (when it is once
executed) a liberal provision for life."
"What is the object in the way of his executing it?"
"The lady whom you have just mentioned to me."
"Anne Silvester!"
"Anne Silvester--now (as you tell me) Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn. I
can only explain the thing very imperfectly. There are certain
painful circumstances associated in his lordship's memory with
this lady, or with some member of her family. We can only gather
that he did something--in the early part of his professional
career--which was strictly within the limits of his duty, but
which apparently led to very sad results. Some days since he
unfortunately heard (either through Mrs. Glenarm or through Mrs.
Julius Delamayn) of Miss Silvester's appearance at Swanhaven
Lodge. No remark on the subject escaped him at the time. It was
only this morning, when the codicil giving the legacy to Geoffrey
was waiting to be executed, that his real feeling in the matter
came out. To our astonishment, he refused to sign it. 'Find Anne
Silvester' (was the only answer we could get from him); 'and
bring her to my bedside. You all say my son is guiltless of
injuring her. I am lying on my death-bed. I have serious reasons
of my own--I owe it to the memory of the dead--to assure myself
of the truth. If Anne Silvester herself acquits him of having
wronged her, I will provide for Geoffrey. Not otherwise.' We went
the length of reminding him that he might die before Miss
Silvester could be found. Our interference had but one result. He
desired the lawyer to add a second codicil to the Will--which he
executed on the spot. It directs his executors to inquire into
the relations that have actually existed between Anne Silvester
and his younger son. If we find reason to conclude that Geoffrey
has gravely wronged her, we are directed to pay her a
legacy--provided that she is a single woman at the time."
"And her marriage violates the provision!" exclaimed Sir Patrick.
"Yes. The codicil actually executed is now worthless. And the
other codicil remains unsigned until the lawyer can produce Miss
Silvester. He has left the house to apply to Geoffrey at Fulham,
as the only means at our disposal of finding the lady. Some hours
have passed--and he has not yet returned."
"It is useless to wait for him," said Sir Patrick. "While the
lawyer was on his way to Fulham, Lord Holchester's son was on his
way to Portland Place. This is even more serious than you
suppose. Tell me, what under less pressing circumstances I should
have no right to ask. Apart from the unexecuted codicil what is
Geoffrey Delamayn's position in the will?"
"He is not even mentioned in it."
"Have you got the will?"
Mr. Marchwood unlocked a drawer, and took it out.
Sir Patrick instantly rose from his chair. "No waiting for the
lawyer!" he repeated, vehemently. "This is a matter of life and
death. Lady Holchester bitterly resents her son's marriage. She
speaks and feels as a friend of Mrs. Glenarm. Do you think Lord
Holchester would take the same view if he knew of it?"
"It depends entirely on the circumstances."
"Suppose I informed him--as I inform you in confidence--that his
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