EXPLANATIONS THAT CAME TOO LATE.
“I have many times endeavoured to converse with you alone; you have
studiously prevented this until now,” said Lionel Hammerton, addressing
the Countess, as she sat at the piano the morning after their meeting
by the lake.
Lord Verner was in the library, indulging in his morning’s devotion at
the shrine of his favourite author.
“I feared you until yesterday; I fear you no longer, because your
sympathies have at last been awakened in my favour,” said Amy.
“I thought you mercenary--let me confess it--I thought you worldly and
selfish; that you had married not only for revenge, but for riches.”
“You are pleased to be candid,” said Amy, a little indignantly.
“Not to wound you, any more than myself; for I loved you with all my
soul----”
“I must not listen to you if you talk of love,” said Amy, interrupting
him.
“You must, you shall,” said Lionel, firmly. “It will be the last time.”
“Have I deserved your reproaches?” said Amy, looking straight into his
eyes. “You, who deserted and neglected the woman whom you professed
to love,--deserted her because of her lowly birth,--did you think
there was no pride as well as humility in love? How did you mention my
name to your artist friend when you left England without even saying
farewell to me?”
“What did I say to Phillips?”
“Yes, I asked him. It was the last straw to which I clung.”
Lionel remembered his parting conversation with Arthur.
“What did he say?”
“He would not tell me how you had spoken of me. This was when I was
rich, Lionel, an heiress, possessed of fortune--aye, and of modest rank
too. I pressed him. He confessed you had spoken of me. ‘Did he speak
of me as you would wish to have heard your sister spoken of by the man
whom she loved?’ I asked him.”
“And what was his reply?”
“He said ‘No;’ and from that moment I renounced you and your false
love. I had only been in a whirl of jealousy and pride before.”
“He said truly--Arthur Phillips said truly; but O, I loved you then,
Amy, loved you still in my heart; and when I returned to England,
ignorant of all the changes which had taken place, I came to throw
myself at your feet.”
Amy trembled as he spoke, trembled at the thoughts of the happiness
there would have been in this; but respect for herself, gratitude to
her lord, womanly, wifely pride stepped in and restored her former
self-command.
“And what _did_ you say then to Arthur Phillips?” asked the Countess.
“I thought you cared more for my position, for my presumed wealth
and prospects, than for myself alone,” said Lionel. “Why did you
interfere in my private affairs? why make those inquiries concerning my
relationship with Richard Tallant, or my doings at the Ashford Club?”
“It brooks little now how much I loved you, Lionel; and an explanation
of my motives can do no good, seeing that neither of us can restore the
past; but Heaven knows I grieved that your station was so much higher
than that of the girl who loved you so well. And still I could not
bear to see you fall, to hear of your noble nature lowering itself to
the level of the base and the mean, to have it sullied by contact with
gamblers, and----”
“There was no thought of self in this? no jealous watching over my
expenditure? no worldly speculations of the future?” said Lionel,
hurriedly interrupting her.
“For shame!” exclaimed the Countess, rising; “for shame! If this is
how you interpreted my weak conduct--if this is how you estimated the
homage of my poor girlish heart--thank God, Lionel Hammerton, you and I
_are_ parted for ever! Had my love been blessed with your acceptance,
this discovery would have been like a curse upon it--it would have
broken my heart.”
Lionel bowed his head before this storm of womanly indignation.
“Never talk of love again, Lionel, unless you can believe that
woman’s love has nothing of self in it; that it is above the world
almost as much as the angels are; that it is self-sacrificing, meek,
lowly--content to be trodden upon by the living idol which it sets up
for worship. _This_ is _true_ woman’s love: in my love for you there
was, indeed, the worldly leaven of pride; the inborn spirit of my race,
I suppose. But for this I should have sunk under your neglect and
withered and died. With pride came the desire for revenge; and the love
that was scorned and neglected, I plucked it out of my heart, trampled
upon it as _you_ had done, and in its place, Lionel, I planted
Ambition. As fate would have it, your brother came in my way, and I
am his wife. I have sworn to honour, love and obey him, and I _will_
to the end. His kindness, his devotion, have already made me deeply
grateful to him; and love, the love of devoted friendship--not that
passionate love of past days, but constant considerate love--will come
with time. And now you know all my secret.”
“You can never forgive me,” said Lionel; “I can never forgive myself.”
“Just now I thought I could not, but I can forgive you, Lionel: I do
with all my heart. Do you forgive me? I ought to have waited--I know
all that meek and lowly love should have done--but my soul was on fire
with my wrongs, my hopes were all cast to the winds; my mother, or
rather Mrs. Somerton, taunted me with my folly, and I scarcely knew
what I did.”
“God bless you, Amy!--if there be aught to forgive, I forgive you
freely. I was anxious that we should both understand each other;
that there should be a mutual explanation, a reconciliation, Amy--a
restoration of some little of that old love in which we may pray for
each other as brother and as sister.”
Amy gave Lionel her hand, as the tears coursed down her cheeks: he took
the fair white fingers and pressed them to his lips; and just at that
moment a face peered in at the window. It was Richard Tallant; he had
come down to Brazencrook, left his luggage at the hotel, and walked
over to Montem Castle, smoking a cigar, and revolving his position
and prospects in his mind. He had come over to see the Countess on
business; he wanted a large advance of money, or some security which
would enable him to raise funds. He was in what commercial men call
a “cleft stick,” and he would speedily be what they call, in equally
significant language, “up a tree.” Not content with a moderate fortune,
he had continued his course of speculation, and the tide had turned
against him. The bills which he had unwarrantably kept afloat in
connection with the Meter Works had been mostly “done” by a discount
house which had suddenly failed, and there were large payments to meet
without delay. A bank, of which he was a director, grew suspicious
of his transactions, and he was called upon by his colleagues to
put his accounts straight. Another bank, where he had deposited his
Meter shares, suffered from so great a pressure that the manager was
compelled to threaten that in two days those shares would be sent into
the market for sale. Therefore, without some immediate and extraneous
aid, he was a ruined man.
In this fix he determined to seek the assistance of his sister. He
had compelled her to help him before, and, what was more, to invite
his co-operation in that famous marriage ceremony. He had paid a
formal visit to Montem since then, and had not received any further
encouragement for keeping up the family connection. But he felt that he
had a hold upon the Countess; if she would pay for her secret once, she
would pay twice--and she should.
“The ill-mannerly fellow,” said Lionel, as he caught a glimpse of the
face in the window.
“It is my brother Richard,” said Amy; “what can he possibly have
come here for, without announcement, and evidently on foot, from
Brazencrook?”
Lionel left her, and the next moment Richard Tallant sent in his card.
Her ladyship’s reply was, that she was indisposed, and would not be
able to see Mr. Tallant at present. He would find Lord Verner in the
library.
“Thank you,” was Richard’s reply. “I will take a little walk, and
return shortly. I will not disturb his lordship.”
Meanwhile the Countess sought her room, and Lionel called old Morris to
pack his trunks that he might leave for London by the morning mail. He
felt that it was now really time he should leave Montem Castle for good.
The Countess did not put in an appearance until dinner-time, and she
was surprised to find her brother dressed and waiting to conduct her to
her seat.
“Lionel has ridden Hector into Brazencrook,” said his lordship; “he
fancies that he must make certain inquiries himself concerning the
trains; he finds that it will be necessary for him to be in London
to-morrow. It has suddenly occurred to him that he must really get back
to India. Queer fellow, Mr. Tallant, my brother.”
“So it would appear,” Mr. Tallant replied.
“And you are a queer fellow too! Imagine, my love, he had left his
luggage at the Verner Arms in Brazencrook, and declined my invitation
to dinner. Of course I ordered his luggage to be sent for immediately.”
His lordship had done this, not because he had any particular regard
for Mr. Tallant, but simply in the hope of pleasing his wife; for,
truth to tell, the Earl disliked this fellow, who had been a source of
so much sorrow to that poor old man, his father.
The dinner was a dull affair, despite Lord Verner’s efforts to make it
cheerful. The Countess complained of headache. Mr. Richard Tallant
would talk of nothing but money and finance, of foreign bonds and
national liabilities, and great houses which were at that moment
experiencing the pressure of the panic more than they had felt it when
the storm was at its height.
Lord Verner thought politics almost as dull a theme as finance; but
he was more at home when Mr. Tallant spoke of the probability of a
Government crisis, and Lady Verner found that she, too, could say
something about Whigs and Tories, Liberals and Radicals; and so by the
time the last course was removed a conversation had been started and
maintained in which Mr. Tallant did not monopolise all the talking.
Lady Verner rose to leave the room much earlier than usual at dessert,
and tea was announced before the two gentlemen had well tasted the
Earl’s choice old port.
“Her ladyship is early to-night,” said Lord Verner. “I suppose she is
anxious that we shall come into her dominions as soon as possible.”
“Perhaps her ladyship fears you may become a financier, if I am
honoured with your society too long over wine,” said Mr. Tallant.
“No fear of that,” replied Lord Verner. “Hammerton induced me to invest
in some new companies, and I don’t think it at all likely that I shall
make such another mistake.”
“There are peers of the realm, and cabinet ministers too, bishops also,
who have thought it quite legitimate to do a little in finance lately,”
said Mr. Tallant; “your lordship might do worse than be at the head of
some gigantic company.”
“You think so?” said Lord Verner.
“I do indeed; rank and fortune, the highest aristocracy in the land,
have not thought it _infra dig._ to take part in promoting the
commercial prosperity of their country.”
“Gigantic companies seem to be gigantic humbugs just now, Mr. Tallant,
and I assure you that is not in my line; and so we will in to tea--Lady
Verner does not like to be kept waiting.”
From the grand old oak dining-room, with its black polished
wainscoting, its great black elaborate sideboard and antique chairs,
into an adjacent drawing-room, was quite a little walk over Turkey
carpets and soft fluffy mats. The tall flunkeys in attendance were a
splendid match both in manner and matter; and, however much Mr. Richard
Tallant might ape this sort of thing at Kensington Palace Gardens, he
could not help feeling that he was in presence of the real thing here.
There was no veneering at Montem Castle, no attempt at display, none
of that demonstrative show with which Plebeian Upstartism impresses
you. Whatever there was at Montem Castle struck you with its reality,
even to the form and ceremony. It was not put on for special occasions.
The inmates were used to it. The best of everything was for my lord
and lady, and the guests came in for their share of the best. There
were certainly in the castle grand plate services for state occasions,
when numbers were the chief consideration of cook and butler; but the
grandeur of Montem Castle one day was the same as the next, and Mr.
Tallant felt that this was the great difference between his place at
Kensington Palace Gardens and the magnificent realities of Montem.
The drawing-room in which the Countess awaited her husband and brother
was the smallest of the two drawing-rooms--an exquisitely furnished
room in which pale green and pale gold predominated in colour. The
walls were enriched with delicate water-colour sketches, and there were
dainty vases and statuettes here and there. Pale green curtains hung in
massive folds beside each window, and the cornices above were floral
designs in white and gold. Mirrors between each window reflected the
pictures and the vases and the cabinets over and over again, and the
great chimney-glass carried facsimiles of the chandeliers far away as
though you were looking down a long vista, until the hundreds of wax
candles flickered like stars in the distance.
The blinds were not drawn, and one of the windows looking out upon
the terrace was open; for it was twilight and unusually hot, and the
harvest moon was just rising.
The Countess, in a low evening dress, and wearing the diamond necklace
which his lordship gave her on her marriage, was sitting near a tray of
silver service, and one of those said matched servitors handed to the
Earl and Mr. Tallant tea and coffee, whichever they desired.
In a short time Mr. Tallant said he should be compelled to return to
town in the morning, and he would like to have a little conversation
with her ladyship on some family matters that would not interest Lord
Verner. As it was such a charming evening, might he suggest a walk on
the terrace.
“By all means, if Amy would like it; I think it would do you good, my
love. Lionel will be here presently, and he and I can chat whilst Mr.
Tallant is engaged with you.”
“I hope her ladyship will pardon the liberty I have taken,” said Mr.
Tallant, “and your lordship too.”
“Certainly,” said Amy, “kindly ring the bell, my love.”
One of the matched ones came presently and brought her ladyship an
Indian shawl, followed by her ladyship’s maid, who brought a light
Tuscan hat; and then the Countess and her brother went out upon the
terrace, whilst the moon was beginning to show itself through the
evening clouds and in the lake beneath.
Whilst they were on the terrace the vicar of Brazencrook, who had been
visiting in the neighbourhood, made his appearance, and he and the Earl
becoming interested in an abstruse topic upon which the parson desired
reference, they adjourned to the library, leaving the Countess and her
brother alone.