As a rule, repeated knockings at a bedroom door when there is no
response create alarm; thoughts of accident, illness, murder, teeming to
the brain of the one who summons, and the alarm soon spreads through the
house.
But in this case Hartley Salis took steps to prevent the alarm
spreading, as he thought, in happy ignorance of the fact that Dally was
down on her knees breathing hard with her ear to the keyhole.
He tapped softly, and uttered Leo's name again and again before trying
the door and satisfying himself that it was locked on the inside.
He uttered a low, hissing sound as he stood there thinking, his brow
knit, and an angry glare in his eye. He felt no dread of an accident or
of illness, for the note he had received was a warning of what he might
expect. He only wanted one proof of its truth.
He went back to where Mary was waiting, full of anxiety.
"I know nothing yet," he said abruptly. "Wait!"
With his countenance growing more stern-looking and old, Salis went
downstairs and into the drawing-room, which was the easiest way out on
to the little lawn at the back.
The window fastening was removed without sound, the door opened, and he
stepped out on to the short grass, with the stars overhead glimmering
brightly enough for him to make out the dark patches of leafage trained
against the house and the dim panes of the different casements.
He did not look in the direction of Dally Watlock's room, or he might
have made out a fat little hand holding the blind sufficiently on one
side for a pair of dark eyes to watch keenly what was going on. He
stepped straight at once for the summer-house, with his heart beating in
a low, heavy throb, as he mentally prayed that the words written in that
note might be a cruel lie.
Only a few moments, and then, feeling as if stricken by some mental
blow--angry, jealous of the man who had stolen from him the love of his
sister; enraged against the carefully-bred girl, whose life had been
passed in the pure atmosphere of a country rectory, and to whose welfare
he had devoted himself, to the exclusion of what might be dear to the
heart of man. All contended in his heart for mastery, and seemed to
suffocate him, as he dimly saw that it was true, and that the girl of
refinement, to whom he and Mary had rendered up everything that her life
might be smooth and pleasant, was behaving like some miserable drab who
had the excuse of knowing no better, of looking at reputation as an
intangible something, worthless for such as she.
The casement was wide open, pressing back the creepers; and the interior
of Leo's room showed like a black, oblong patch.
"She may have gone to bed, and left the window open," Hartley whispered.
He shook his head, and a terrible sensation of despair beat down upon
him.
"Poor Horace!" he muttered. "He must know more than I give him credit
for. This explains his absence, and the strangeness of his ways."
He walked back into the drawing-room, and, without closing the window,
went up to where Mary sat, waiting in an agony of suspense.
"Oh, Hartley!" she said, as she saw the look of agony in his eyes.
"It would be cruel to keep anything from you, Mary, in your helpless
state."
"Yes, dear; pray--pray, speak!"
"It is quite true," he said laconically.
Mary's breath, as she drew it hard, sounded like the inspiring of one in
agony; and she clasped her brother's hands tightly in hers.
"This can't be the first time by many," said Salis wearily. "Mary,
dear, I've tried to do all that a brother could for you both, and I've
been too weak and indulgent, I'm afraid."
"Oh, Hartley, don't talk like that!" cried Mary, with a sob. "My own
dear, noble, self-denying brother."
"Hush, hush! Mary!" he said sadly; "it has all been wrong, and here is
the result!"
"What are you going to do, dear?"
"I know what I should like to do," he said hoarsely; "go and half kill
that scoundrel at the Hall."
"Oh, Hartley!"
"This explains why North has not been. He knows too much. Heaven! how
is it that a woman can be lost to all that is due to herself, leave
alone to those she is supposed to love!"
There was an inexpressible bitterness in his tone as he spoke.
"But what are you going to do?"
"Do!" he said fiercely, but with a tinge of despair in his words; "I'm
going to thank Heaven that the man whom I believe to be the soul of
honour and manliness has been saved from linking his fate with that of
such a woman as Leo Salis."
"Oh, Hartley!" cried Mary, "she is our sister."
"Yes," he said bitterly; "she is our sister. I shall not forget that."
"But what are you going to do, dear?"
"What am I going to do?" said Salis, bending down and kissing Mary;
"send you to bed to rest and be ready to bear the troubles of another
day."
"But Leo?"
"I am going down to wait till she comes."
"And then?"
"And then? Ah, what then? What can I do, Mary?" he said despairingly.
"You know Leo as well as I do. To speak to her would be waste of
breath. There is only one thing I can do."
"Yes, dear," said Mary piteously.
"Strive hard to preserve your dignity and honour, and mine, in the eyes
of the world."
"But that letter, Hartley!"
"Yes," he said bitterly; "it is too late for that. Well, I must strive.
Good heavens! she is only fit to be treated like a wilful child."
"Oh, Hartley!"
"There, hush! little one," he said tenderly; "we must bear it
patiently."
"You will wait up till she returns?"
"Yes, of course."
"And you will not be violent?"
"Violent! _Cui bono_? No, Mary; I shall say very little; but she will
have to go from here."
There was a desolate sound in his voice--a look of misery in his eyes,
which brought a sigh from Mary.
"Perhaps I ought to go raging up to the Hall, and try and find Tom
Candlish," said the curate; "but I don't wish to repeat my last
encounter with the scoundrel. It might be worse. There, you are
suffering. Go to bed."
"But I could not sleep!"
"Never mind--lie down. There, I shall say very little to Leo. What I
do say to the point shall be in your presence, dear. Good night."
"Good night," he repeated, as he walked softly downstairs, and out
through the drawing-room into the garden, to see that Leo's window
remained open, when he sighed deeply, went back, and sat down to watch
for his sister's return.
Volume 3, Chapter V.