HAGAR AND CORA.
Meanwhile, Lucian Davlin had hastened to Bellair in response to Cora's
summons, full of conjectures as to what had "turned up."
When the noon train from the city puffed up to the little platform,
Lucian Davlin was among the arrivals, and at the end of the depot
platform stood the dainty phaeton of Mrs. John Arthur. That lady
herself reined in her prancing ponies, and the whole formed an object
of admiration for the few depot loungers.
As Lucian Davlin crossed the platform and took his seat beside the
lady, an old woman hobbled across the track. Casting a furtive glance
in the direction the ponies were taking, she hobbled away toward the
wood.
Miss Arthur's maid had surmised aright. It was no part of Cora's plan
to permit the inmates of Oakley a view of Mr. Davlin on this occasion.
So the ponies were driven briskly away from the town, and when that
was left behind, permitted to walk through the almost leafless woods,
while Cora revealed to Lucian the extent of the fresh calamity that
had befallen them in the advent of Mr. Percy.
"Well, what have you to say to all this?" demanded the lady,
pettishly, after she had disburdened herself of the story, with its
most minute particulars. "This is a pretty state of affairs, is it
not? I am worn out. I wish Oakley and the whole tribe were at the
bottom of the sea!"
"Stuff!" with much coolness; then taking a flask containing some amber
liquid from a breast pocket he held it between his eyes and the light
for critical examination.
"Stuff? where? In that flask?"
"No, in your words. This," shaking the amber liquid, "is simon pure;
best French. Have some? I felt as if I needed a 'bracer' this
morning."
"Up all night, I presume," eyeing him askant.
"Pretty much;" indifferently. "Won't take any? Then, here's confusion
to Percy," and he took a long draught. "Now, then," pocketing the
brandy and turning toward her, briskly, "I'm ready for business. How
the deuce did we let this fellow pounce down upon us like this? I
thought he was safe in Cuba?"
"He will never be safe anywhere, until he gets to--"
"Heaven," suggested he.
"I suppose it was stupid," she went on, gloomily. "But when Ellen
Arthur raved of her dear friend Mr. Percy, how was I to imagine that
among all the Percys on earth, this especial and particular one should
be _the_ Percy. I wrote you that she had a lover of that name; did it
occur to you that it might be he?" maliciously.
"Well, candidly, it did not."
"We were a pair of stupid fools, and we are finely caught for our
pains."
"First statement correct," composedly; "don't agree with the last,
however."
"Why not?"
"Does he know I am on deck?"
"No."
"Didn't inquire after me, or say anything about the documents?"
"No special inquiries."
"Well, then, where is the great danger?"
"Where?" much astonished.
"Yes, where? If you told me all the truth concerning yourself ten
years ago, we can make him play into our hands."
"How?"
"Don't go too fast. When you told me that he believed you to have left
home because of an unkind step-mother, was that true?"
"It was true. I did leave home and come to the city when I was but
sixteen, because my father was a drunkard, and my step-mother abusive,
and we were poor and I was proud."
"Don't doubt that fact;" with an outward gesture of the supple hand.
"But you told him that you had two big step-brothers!"
Cora laughed. "A big brother is an excellent weapon to hold over the
heads of some men," she suggested.
"True," with an amused look. "Why didn't you brandish one over me?"
"Over you?" laughing again. "You and Percy were two different men."
"Much obliged," lifting his hat with mock gravity. "Well, we are 'two
different men,' still; just let your pretty little head rest, and
leave Percy to me."
"I wish to Heaven you had made an end--"
"'Ah-h-h. I have sighed to rest me,'" warbled Davlin. "Cora, my love,
never put your foot on too dangerous ground."
"Well, I do wish so, all the same," said she, with feminine
pertinacity.
"Now, tell me what your plan is. We want to understand each other, and
have no more bungling."
"All you will have to do will be to keep quiet and follow my cue. When
I come down, we must manage it that I meet Percy in Miss Arthur's
absence. The rest is easy; this Mr. Percy will not find his path free
from obstacles, I think."
"What game will you play?"
"Precisely what I am playing now. I am your brother. That will explain
some things that puzzled him some time ago," dryly. "I am your sole
protector, saving the old chap, don't you see."
The woman pondered a moment. "I think it will answer," she said, at
last. "At any rate, it is the best we can do now."
A little more conversation, and Cora was quite satisfied with that and
other arrangements. Then the ponies were headed toward the village,
and driven at a brisk pace, thus enabling Mr. Davlin to catch the
afternoon train back to the city. No one at Oakley was any the wiser
for his visit. It was no uncommon thing for Cora to drive out
unattended, and she returned to the manor in a very good humor,
considering the situation.
Cora's drive had given her an appetite, and she had partaken of no
luncheon. She therefore ordered a very bounteous one to be served in
the red parlor. Mr. Arthur was enjoying his usual afternoon siesta;
Miss Arthur was invisible, for which Cora felt duly thankful; and so
she settled herself down to solitude, cold chicken and other edibles,
and her own thoughts.
Ever and anon she gazed listlessly from the window, letting her eyes
rove from the terrace to the hedgerow walk, the woods beyond, and back
again to the terrace. Suddenly she bent forward, and looked earnestly
at some object, moving toward the stile from the grove beyond. A
moment later, it appeared in the gap of the hedge.
Cora leaned back in her chair, still observant, muttering:
"I thought so! It is that ugly old woman. Now, what in the world does
she want here, for--yes, she is entering the grounds, coming up the
terrace."
True enough, old Hagar was coming slowly along the terrace, taking a
leisurely survey of the window facing that walk, as she did so.
Casting her eyes upward, they met the gaze of Mrs. Arthur. Then, much
to the surprise of that lady, she paused and executed a brief
pantomime, as grotesque as it was mysterious.
Cora drew back in some astonishment, pondering as to whether or no the
old woman might not be partially insane, when Susan, the maid of the
romantic mind, appeared before her, and announced that the object of
her thoughts was in the kitchen, and begged that Mrs. Arthur would
permit her an interview.
Cora was still more surprised. "What can she possibly want with me?"
she asked herself, quite audibly.
"If you please, ma'am," volunteered Susan, "she said that it was
something important; and that she never would have put her foot inside
this house, begging your pardon, only for you."
Flattering though this statement might be, it did not enlighten her
much. So, after a moment's reflection, Mrs. Arthur bade the girl,
"show the old person up."
Accordingly, in another moment almost, old Hagar was bowing very
humbly before the lady with the silken flounces. Susan retired
reluctantly, deeply regretting that she could find no time to stop up
the key-hole with her ear, thus rendering it impossible for prying
eyes to peep through that orifice.
"Well, old woman," began Cora, rather inelegantly, it must be
confessed, "what on earth were you making such a fuss about, down on
the terrace? And what do you want with me?"
A close observer of the human countenance divine would never have
judged, from the small amount of expression that was manifest in the
face of Hagar, that her reply would have been such a very humble one.
"I want to serve you, dear lady."
The "dear lady" pursed up her lips in surprise. "You--want--"
"To warn you, madame."
Cora was dumb with astonishment, not unmingled with apprehension. What
had broken loose now?
"I am only a poor old woman, lady, and nobody thinks that old Hagar
has a heart for the wrongs of others. I said that I would never cross
John Arthur's threshold again; but I have seen your pretty face, going
to and fro through the village streets, and I knew there was no one to
warn you but me."
"Oh, you did," remarked Cora, not knowing whether to be alarmed or
amused, at the old woman's earnestness. "Well, old--what's your name?"
"Hagar, lady."
"Well, old Hagar, do you mean to tell me that I am in any particular
danger just at present?"
"Is the dove in danger when it is in the nest of the hawk?" said
Hagar, closing her eyes tight as she uttered the words, but looking
otherwise very tragical.
Cora laughed musically. "Good gracious, old lady!" She was modifying
her titles somewhat, probably under the influence of Hagar's
flatteries. "You mean to compare me to a dove," laughing afresh,
"in--a hawk's nest? Oh, dear! oh, dear!" wiping her eyes. "Now, then,
please introduce me to the wicked hawk."
Hagar was getting tired of her part, and she made a direct rush at the
point of the business, and with very good dramatic effect. "I mean
your husband," she said, vehemently. "I mean John Arthur. He is a bad
man. If he has not done it already, he will make you miserable
by-and-by."
Cora drew herself up and tried to look severe. "Old lady," she said,
with supernatural gravity, "don't you know that it is very improper
for you to come and talk to me, like this, about my husband?"
"Just hear her!" sniffed Hagar, rather unnecessarily; "all because I
think she is too young, and too pretty, to be sacrificed like the
others--"
"Like the others? What others?"
"Like his first wife. She was young, like you, and a lovely lady. His
cruelty was her death. And then he must worry and abuse her poor
daughter, until she runs away and comes to an untimely end. And now--"
"Now, you fear he will make an end of me?" briskly. "Sit down, old
lady," becoming still more affable. "So Mr. Arthur ill-used his first
wife, my predecessor?"
"Thank you, dear lady; you are very kind to a poor old woman," seating
herself gingerly on the edge of a chair opposite Cora. "Yes, indeed,
he did ill-use her. She was my mistress, and I shall always hate him
for it."
Cora mused. Here was an old servant who hated the master of Oakley;
might she not prove useful, after a time? At any rate, it would be
well to sound her.
"You were very much attached to the lady, no doubt?" insinuatingly.
"Yes; and who would not be? She was very sweet and good, was my poor
mistress. Oh, he is a bad, bad man, madame, and you surely cannot be
very happy with him."
"And he was unkind to his step-daughter, too?" ignoring the last
supposition.
"Unkind? He was a wretch. Oh, I could almost murder him for his
cruelty to that poor dead lassie!" fiercely.
"Perhaps he was none too kind to you," suggested Cora.
"Oh, he never treated me like a human being. He hated me because I
tried to stand between her and harm. But he could not get rid of the
sight of me. I have a little home where he can't avoid seeing me
sometimes. I believe, if I kept always appearing before him, he would
go raving mad, he hates me to that extent."
"Um-m! Is that so?"
"Yes, indeed. Why, lady, if I were without house or home, and you, out
of the kindness of your heart, were to take me into your employment as
the very humblest of your servants, I believe he would kill us both."
"You think he would?"
Cora actually seemed to encourage the old woman in her garrulity.
"Oh, I know it. It's not much in the way of charity, or kindness, you
will be able to do in _this_ house. If he don't imprison you in one of
these old closed-up musty rooms, you will be lucky. He is very
dangerous. Sometimes I used to think he must be insane."
Cora started. "Well, Hagar," she said, sweetly, "it's very good of you
to take so much interest in me. He is very cross sometimes, but,
perhaps, it won't be so bad as you fear."
"I hope it won't," rising to go and shaking her head dubiously; "but I
am afraid for you."
"Well," laughing, "I'll try and not let him lock me up, at any rate.
Now, is there anything I can do for you?"
[Illustration: If ever you want to make him feel what it is to make
others suffer, Hagar will help you.--page 238.]
"Oh, no, lady. You looked so pretty, and so good, that I wanted to
warn you; that is all. I should be glad if I could serve you, too, but
I could never serve him. I don't want for anything, dear lady. Now the
old woman will go."
"I won't forget you, Hagar, if I ever need a friend."
Hagar turned toward her. "If you ever want to make him feel what it is
to make others suffer, Hagar will help you."
There was a vindictive light in the old woman's eyes, and she hobbled
out of the room, looking as if she meant all she had said.
Cora sat, for a time, pondering over the interview, and trying to
trace out some motive for insincerity on the old woman's part. But she
could see none. She resolved to investigate a little, and all that
evening was the most attentive and agreeable of wives. Abundant and
versatile was her conversation. Deftly she led the talk up to the
proper point, and then said, carelessly:
"Driving through the village, to-day, I passed that queer old
woman--Hagar, do they call her? She glared at me, oh! so savagely."
"She is an old hag!" Mr Arthur answered, with unnecessary fierceness.
"I don't see what Satan has been about, all these years, that he's not
taken her away to her proper atmosphere."
"Why," in pretty surprise, "I thought she used to be one of your
servants?"
"She was a servant to my first wife," moodily. "I got rid of the
baggage quick enough, when Mrs. Arthur died. She is an old viper, and
put more disobedience into that girl Madeline's head, than I ever
could get out."
"What a horrid old wretch she must be!" shuddering.
Then the conversation dropped, and Cora was satisfied.
"The old woman shall be my tool," she thought, triumphantly.