Hartley Salis was not the only watcher. Mary lay with her eyes burning
and brain throbbing with contending emotions. She was in agony, for she
had to combat, in addition to the horror of the discovery that her
sister could be so shameless in her acts, a sensation of gratification
that would force itself to the front.
It was terrible, but it was true; and she knew that she could not help a
feeling of exultation that Horace North had discovered something of her
sister's character before it was too late. She felt ashamed of this
feeling, but it was utterly unselfish, and born of the love she felt for
North. He could never be more than a friend to her, but she would like
to see him happy, and that he could never be with Leo for his wife.
She wept bitterly as she lay helplessly there, for it seemed like
rejoicing that her sister was found out; but the thoughts would come,
and they mastered her.
And there to share the watch of Hartley Salis was Dally Watlock, as she
sat behind her curtained window with the casement just ajar. She could
see nothing below, but she made sure that "Master" would not go to bed
till "Miss Leo" returned.
"Bless her!" she said, with a little laugh that was like a baby born of
old Moredock's chuckle. "How she will catch it! Serve her right:
trying to come between us. But she may try after this. She'll get out
to see him no more, and he'll soon forget her."
All was very still without, and Dally strained her ears to catch a
sound, her eyes to make out some dark figure pacing the garden.
"I wonder where he is?" she said to herself. "He'd wait for her if it
was for a month, and then my fine lady will catch it nicely.
"I wish I knew where he was," she muttered, and her wish was gratified,
for all at once, as she was pressing the casement open another quarter
of an inch, there was a low cough from down to her left, as Salis
altered his position in his chair.
"He's watching just inside the drawing-room window," Dally said to
herself, as she clasped her little hands together; "and when my lady
comes home--"
Dally paused.
"My lady! No, she shan't never be my lady," she hissed fiercely. "I'd
kill her, and gran'fa should bury her first."
"When she comes home," continued Dally with another malicious little
laugh, "she'll wish she had never gone. I'll hear some of the row if I
have to leave.
"Ah! It'll pay me for her getting a few kisses, and having his arm
round her waist a bit. Ugh! how I hate the nasty, good-looking minx. I
wish she was dead!"
Daily's teeth gritted together in the darkness, and she uttered a low,
hissing noise, as she writhed in her jealousy, and pictured to herself
the scene that was probably going on at the Hall.
"I don't care," she muttered recklessly. "What are a few kisses? I
shan't miss 'em, and he's obliged to keep it up for a bit before he
quite breaks it off. Says it will kill her when he does. I hope it
will.
"Wonder how long she'll be?" continued Dally. "I don't mind. I can
easily get a nap to-morrow after dinner, but I don't think she'll care
to go to sleep after master's had his say."
She settled herself in her place to watch if it were till doomsday, so
determined did she seem; and meanwhile Hartley sat just inside the
drawing-room, shrouded in complete darkness which accorded well with the
blackness of spirit which was upon him.
Leo could not reach her window without passing close to him, and he
thought bitterly now of his simplicity in not grasping the meaning of
torn-down growth and broken trellis by the summer-house. It was all
plain enough now. Thought succeeded thought. He could grasp clearly
enough the meaning of North's actions when he had attended Tom
Candlish--how bitter he had seemed against him, and then the full light
came.
"Why, it must have been North who had surprised Tom Candlish, and beaten
him within an inch of his life, and, oh! shame--the woman must have been
Leo!
"And every one must have known this but poor, weak, blind mole, Hartley
Salis," he groaned.
"Scoundrel! Base hound! Why, if I had been North!--but I'm forgetting
myself," he said, as he pressed his hands to his throbbing brows, and
felt that the veins in his temples were full and turgid.
"Not a word to me! Well, how could he speak, and complain to me? Oh,
shame, shame, shame!"
The hot tears of indignation started to his eyes; the first that had
been there for many years, and they seemed to scald him till he dashed
them fiercely away.
"I stand to her in the place of father," he muttered sternly; "and I'll
do my duty by her, even if I have to keep her under lock and key."
The time did not seem long, though he sat there for hours, so active was
his brain, and so flooded with memories of Leo's early life--her wilful
disobedience, her determined opposition even in childish things, and
Salis felt that the woman was the same in spirit as the child had been,
and that if Leo was to be reclaimed he must pursue a very different
course in the future.
All at once he started, for there was the faint chirp of a bird; then
the loud _chink! chink_! of a blackbird, and he became on the alert, for
it was the note uttered when the bird was alarmed.
Day was close at hand, for there was a faint line of light in the east,
and sure enough directly after there was a faint, rustling sound, as of
a dress brushing against some bush; directly after--_ruff, ruff; ruff,
ruff_--the rustling of the dress as its wearer walked quickly up the
green path, as if in fear of being overtaken by the coming day.
Then it seemed a little darker just in front of the drawing-room window;
a shrub was blotted out by something black, which seemed to glide
by--_ruff, ruff; ruff ruff_--and then there was a hard breathing, and
the creak of a piece of lattice.
For the moment, now that the time had arrived, Salis sat there quite
overcome, and ready to let the opportunity pass.
But it was only momentary. Stung into action by the feeling that this
woman was cruelly wronging and disgracing brother and sister, he rose
from his place, took half-a-dozen quick strides, and was over the grass
and at Leo's elbow as she clung to the side of the summer-house, and was
about to raise herself higher.
The sound of his approach was covered by the noise Leo made in rustling
the growth pressed against her breast, and the first hint she had of
discovery was a strong, firm hand grasping her delicate shoulder with
almost painful violence.
She could not turn her head so as to confront Salis, for she was above
the ground, clinging with outstretched arms to the strong trellis-work
of the summer-house, but she uttered a low, hoarse cry, and a shiver ran
through her as she felt the touch.
"Horace North!" she hissed, with her chin pressed down upon her breast.
"You are a mean coward and spy. Oh, if I were a man!" Salis could not
speak for a moment or two as he heard this confirmation of his belief,
but he tightened his grasp till Leo uttered a cry of pain.
"You coward!" she hissed again. "It is not Horace North," said Salis,
in a deep voice. "Thank Heaven he does not know of this."
"Hartley!"
"Yes, Hartley!"
"And North has told you?"
"Nothing!"
He half dragged her down, and kept his grasp upon her shoulder till she
was inside the drawing-room and he had closed the window.
"You can go up to your bedroom by the stairs," he said sternly, "without
stealing in like a thief. Had some one told me of this to my face I
should have said he lied."
"There, say what you have to say, and end this scene," cried Leo,
defiantly now.
"I have nothing to say--now," said Salis sternly.
"Oh, say it! I am not a child."
"I am under a promise to Mary that I will say nothing now."
Salis knew that she turned upon him very sharply, but he could not see
her face.
"Under a promise to Mary? There, if anything is to be said, say it."
Salis drew in his breath sharply, and the words came rushing to his
lips, but he mastered the passion within him, and walked to the door to
open it.
A dim twilight now faintly filled the hall, showing the curate's figure
framed in the doorway. Then he stood aside, holding the way open.
"Go!" he said.
"Sent to bed like a naughty child," she cried, in a harsh, mocking
voice, which feebly hid the anger and defiance by which she was nerved.
Salis made no reply, nor did he speak again for some moments.
"Go to your room," he said again, more sternly.
Leo made an angry gesture as if she would resist. Then, giving a
childish, petulant stamp upon the floor, she walked quickly by him and
ascended the stairs, Salis following closely behind.
As they reached the landing, it was to find Mary's door open, and that
the half-helpless invalid had dragged herself there, to stand clinging
to the side.
"Leo--Hartley," she said, in a low, pained voice: "come here."
"I am sent to bed," said Leo mockingly; and she was passing on, but
Salis caught her by the arm and checked her. Then he led her to the far
end of the room before returning to close the door and help Mary to her
couch.
"I can speak now," he said, in a low voice full of passion, but at the
same time well under control. "Where have you been?"
"Hartley!" said Mary appealingly.
"Hush, my child," he replied. "I know what I am saying. I wish to
avoid the scandal of this being known to the servants, but your position
and mine demand an explanation. Leo Salis, where have you been?"
She turned her handsome, defiant face towards where he stood, and now it
was beginning; to be visible in the soft dawn, pale, fierce, and
implacable as that of one who has recklessly set every law at defiance
and is ready to dare all.
"Where have I been?" she said. "Out!"
"I insist upon a proper reply to my question. I say, where have you
been?"
"There!" she cried; "there is no need to fence. You know where I have
been?"
"To meet that man Candlish, after promising me that your intercourse
with him should be at an end; and, to make things worse, you have stolen
from the house in this disgraceful, clandestine way."
"Is there any need for this?" said Leo sharply. "There, if you wish to
know, I have been to Candlish Hall. Sir Thomas is forbidden this house,
so you force me to go to him. You knew where I had been."
"Yes, I knew where you had been," assented Salis, as Mary looked from
one to the other, not knowing what to say.
"Now, answer me a question," cried Leo fiercely. "Was it Horace North,
in his mean, contemptible, jealous spite, who set you to watch me?"
"Leo!" cried Mary, stung to words by her sister's accusation.
"Silence! What is it to you, you miserable worm?" cried Leo furiously.
"My home has been made a purgatory for months past by you and dear
Hartley here. Plotting together both of you to make me miserable, to
treat me as a little girl, and to check me at every turn. What Hartley
did not try, you thought, and suggested to him till my very soul
recoiled against you both and your miserable tyranny. I say it was
North--the mean wretch--who set you to watch me."
"Horace North is too true a man to give you a second thought; too stern
and upright to speak of you after your cruel treachery to him."
"It is not true. I was neither cruel nor treacherous to him," cried
Leo.
"He told me nothing. Your acts are growing public, or I should not have
known what I know now; and this must have an end."
"What end?" said Leo shrewishly. "Am I to be confined to my room? Bah!
I have had enough of all this. Yes, I have been to see the man I love,
and will go again and again."
"To your disgrace."
"To my disgrace, or to my death, if I like," cried Leo fiercely. "I'll
have no more of this humdrum, miserable life, where I must neither move
nor stir save as my brother and sister ordain."
"Have you thought what this means?" said Salis sternly.
"Thought? No. I have no time for thinking. I know."
The day was dawning fast, and the pale, soft light slanting into Mary's
bedroom at the sides of the curtain, giving to each face a ghastly,
livid look.
Salis strode to the window, and snatched the curtain aside before
turning to pour out upon his sister's head the hot vial of his wrath.
But as he turned and faced her his anger was swept away by a great flood
of pity, and he approached her gently, for he read in the handsome face
before him, flushed with defiant, reckless passion, that she had reached
a point in her life when a word might turn her to a future of good or
one of misery and despair. She gazed at him as if he were her greatest
enemy, and then at Mary, to see her hands extended, and a look of
tenderness and love in her pitying eyes.
But the time was unpropitious; there had been a scene with her lover an
hour before, which had stirred her angry passions to their deepest
depth, and then, as she encountered her brother with his stern words of
reproach, it seemed to her that the time had come when she must strive
for her freedom. Tom Candlish had reproached her for her cowardice, and
laughed her obedience to those at home to scorn. He had brutally told
her to go and trouble him no more with letter or message, for she was a
poor puling thing, and she had returned heartbroken and in misery, for,
defiant to all else, she was this man's slave.
The encounter then had unloosed her angry passions, and flogging herself
again and again with her lover's words, she turned recklessly upon those
who were ready to forgive and take her to their breasts.
"Leo, dear Leo, for pity's sake!" cried Mary wildly. "Come to me,
sister. I cannot even crawl to you."
"And you ask me, worse than worm that you are, to go down on my knees to
you; and for what, pray? For the heinous sin of being true to the man I
love. There, do you hear me, to the man I love?"
"Leo! sister!" said Salis, trying to take her hand, but she struck his
away with an angry gesture which he did not resent.
"Well, what have you to say?" she cried. "Do you want to preach to me,
to ask me to repent and sorrow with you? For what? Is it a crime to
love?"
"Leo, my child!"
"Leo, my child!" she cried scornfully, as she repeated his words. "I
tell you I am a child no longer, and that I will think and act for
myself. Fool, idiot that I have been!" she cried, as her passion grew
more wild and her voice rose. "I have submitted to you both till it has
become unbearable. From this day, if I stay here, I will be my own
mistress, and suffer your dictation no more. Teach and torture Mary
into her grave, if you like, but I will be free."
"Say nothing, Hartley," said Mary softly. "She will repent all this,
dear, when she is calm. Leo, stay with me. Hartley, dear, pray say no
more; she is not mistress of herself, and to-morrow, perhaps to-day,
this painful scene will be forgiven and forgotten by us all."
"Forgiven? No. Forgotten? Never," cried Leo; "and I tell you both
that if I am driven from the home that I should have shared, and my
future becomes to me a curse, it is your work."
She had lashed herself into a pitch of unreasoning fury, and invective
was flowing fast from her lips, when, in the midst of one of her most
furious bursts, and just as Salis was being driven to despair, there was
a sharp tap at the door, and before it could be answered, another, and
Dally came into the room.
"Is Miss Leo ill, sir?" she cried. "I heard her sobbing in my room.
Can I do anything? Shall I light a fire?"
It was Dally's idea of being of some help, that of lighting a fire.
"No, no. Go away," cried Salis passionately; but he said no more, for
Leo had crossed quickly to the little servant maid, and clung to her.
"Go with me to my room, Dally," she said in a sharp, strained voice;
"and let them follow me if they dare."
"Oh, Leo, my child, for Heaven's sake!" cried Salis.
"For Heaven's sake!" she cried wildly, as she clung to Dally. "What
have you to do with Heaven, who have made my life a curse? Take me,
Dally, take me away, for I am almost blind."
"My poor, darling mistress!" sobbed the little traitress, passing her
hand round Leo's waist, and helping her towards the door, Leo yielding
to the girl's guidance, and keeping her defiant eyes flashing from
sister to brother and back.
The door closed, and as Salis and Mary gazed after the retreating pair,
a wild hysterical sob, followed by a passionate cry, reached their ears,
and it was as if misery and despair were henceforth to be their lot; but
at that moment, from the dewy meadow at the bottom of the garden, a lark
rose to begin circling round and round, scattering his jubilant, silvery
notes of song far and wide on the morning air. And as it proclaimed, as
it were, to every listening ear that a new day had begun, hope and light
flashed into the hearts of those within the room.
"It will be a hard task, Mary," said Salis, going down on one knee
beside Mary, who clung to him with a look of appeal that went to his
heart. "Yes, a hard task, dear," he said again, as he kissed her.
"There, you will not go to bed now, but lie back and have a few hours'
sleep. The darkness of the night has passed, and hope cometh with the
day."
"But Leo--Leo!" moaned Mary, and, unable to contain herself longer, she
burst into a passionate fit of weeping.
"Hush! darling. Come: I want my sister's help. There, fight it down.
Hers were the words of a passionate, hysterical woman. She will be
penitent when the fit is over. What now?"
"Miss Leo, sir--Miss Leo!" cried Dally, running into the room.
"Well, what, girl?" cried Salis, alarmed by the maid's frantic, excited
look.
"She sent me out of the room, sir, to fetch her cloak."
"Hush! Come with me," said Salis, hastily rising to accompany Dally
from the room, but Mary clung spasmodically to his hand.
"No, no; let her speak. I cannot bear the suspense."
Salis nodded his head sharply, and the girl went on:
"I went down, sir, and when I came back she was standing in the middle
of the room with a glass on the table, and something spilled--"
Salis stopped to hear no more, but rushed into Leo's room to find her
clinging to the foot of the bed, her eyes dilated, a look of horror in
her face, and in the same glance he took in that which Dally had
described--a glass upon the table, overturned, and some fluid staining
the cover and slowly sinking down the side towards the floor.
Volume 3, Chapter VI.