"GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART."
Beside the Wishing Well stood Anthony Trevithick, pale
and moody. His eyes were on the ground, and an old childish habit of
biting his nails when he was perplexed or in trouble had come back
to him.
"I beg your pardon," said Lord Glengall at his elbow. "I have
returned for some things Miss Graydon left behind her."
"These?" asked the young fellow, pointing with his foot to the
little heap of trinkets on the moss. But even in his anger he
blushed for the unhappiness of the position.
Lord Glengall stooped and picked up the things, and stuffed them
into one of the pockets of his rough coat. He turned as if to go
away. Then he hesitated an instant and came back.
"There is no reason why we should be enemies," he said, advancing a
step nearer.
"No?" replied Anthony Trevithick, lifting his moody eyes. "That
depends."
"On what, sir?"
"On--a great many things," stammered the young man.
"You mean on whether I am prepared to stand aside and to sacrifice
everything that you may have your will. I know the state of affairs,
you see."
"I meant to seek you out and tell you, Lord Glengall. I ought to
say, perhaps, that Miss Graydon is without reproach in this matter."
"Neither of us is likely to wrong her in our thoughts, I hope," said
Lord Glengall. "The question is, whether _you_ are without reproach."
"By what right----" began the younger man.
"Hush!" said the other, with a dignity that was more compelling than
his words. "We are speaking as man to man. Miss Graydon has told
me something of how affairs lay between you and her, but not all.
Why did you leave her in the first instance in the position of a
half-engaged girl?"
"Are you her ambassador?"
"She is dearer to me, I dare swear, than she is to you, though you
will not believe it. There is no use in beating about the bush. If I
think you can make her happier than I can, I am prepared to give her
back her promise."
"Lord Glengall!"
A gesture silenced the words on his lips.
"Don't say anything, please. If I do it, I do it for her. And I
shall only give her up to you if I am sure you are worthy."
"I don't say I am worthy, but I have a fairly clean record. As for
that matter, I will explain. I was unwise, but I was not altogether
to blame. My mother has a greatly loved young cousin. She has been
in the house with us since her mother died some years ago. It was a
scheme of my mother's that we should marry, though it was not openly
expressed. I did not oppose it. I had no idea what love meant till I
saw Pamela; but I had fetched and carried for Lady Kitty. Probably
a great number of people thought we were engaged; and it seemed to
me that I ought to set the matter straight before I was formally
engaged to Pamela."
"It would have been better to have let Pamela alone till you were
quite free."
"Yes, I know, but----"
"There; you are young. You can't be expected to be as deliberate as
an older man. You meant to act straight by her?"
"I meant to come back in a week a free man. When I was called away
to my uncle's sick bed, my mother made me promise not to speak, not
to try to clear up things with Lady Kitty, till I returned. I did
write to Mr. Graydon, but the letter never reached him." He blushed
hotly and paused.
"Yes, I know," interrupted Lord Glengall. "When you came back?"
"When I came back, I found--Pamela engaged to you, and my cousin
engaged to a great friend of mine. As it proved, she had never
thought of me in that way; but her affection for my mother prevented
her from speaking out."
"You should have written again to Mr. Graydon. You made Pamela
unhappy."
"I thought he had not written because I said I would come as soon as
I could. Then I was kept week after week, till the time turned into
months. I am deeply sorry that I caused her unhappiness."
"This is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
"It is absolutely the truth, and nothing else."
"Very well, Sir Anthony, I believe you. If you had not been
straight, I should have held her to the letter of her bond against
you and the world, even against herself. Now--in her heart she has
chosen you, and you are a fitter mate for her than I--I resign her
to you."
"Lord Glengall!"
"I do not ask your thanks, sir. Make her happy--that is all. For the
rest, I have one word of advice for you."
"Whatever it is, I shall act upon it."
"Go back to-night to England."
"Without a word to Pamela?"
"Let her be. I will say what is necessary. You will have to win her
again, young sir. She is not the girl to change her lovers like her
frocks."
"Perhaps you are right, sir," with hesitation.
"Go," said Lord Glengall, waving him away, "go! If you speak to her
in her present mood, you will be sorry. Let her be free of both of
us for a while."
"You, too, will leave her?"
"I shall leave her till all this is forgotten. It will be nothing
new for me to set out for the ends of the earth at an hour's notice."
"You are, as Pamela says, the best man living."
"Stop!" said Lord Glengall, with a gesture as if he could not endure
the praise. "Good-bye!"
"Good-bye," repeated Sir Anthony, turning away.
Several times as he went homeward Lord Glengall stooped to pat the
shaggy coat of the terrier who still trotted by him.
[Illustration: Pointing with his foot to the little heap of
trinkets.]
"You don't know poetry, old fellow," he said once aloud, "but there
was a poet named Shakespeare who wrote something about people coming
back 'to push us from our stools.' I am not good at remembering
poetry; but that young gentleman we have just left has come back to
push us from our stools--to push us from our stools."
The dog, as if he understood, thrust a sympathetic nose into his
companion's hand.
When Lord Glengall reached Carrickmoyle, he went straight to Mr.
Graydon's room. Mary was sitting by her father, stitching a piece of
fine white stuff in the twilight.
"Ah! Glengall," said the invalid briskly. "Have you come in to smoke
a last pipe with me? Come and tell me what prices were like at the
fair to-day. Run away, Molly child, and rest your eyes, and let
Glengall have your seat."
The two men lit up soberly, and smoked away for a while, discussing
prices and cattle and crops in a desultory fashion.
At last Lord Glengall knocked out the ashes from his stumpy clay
against the top bar of the grate, and stuffed the pipe into his
pocket.
"I wanted to talk to you about Pam, Graydon," he said.
"What about Pam?"
"Only that I did the child an injustice in wanting to marry her. I
am too old."
"Does Pam say this? Are you speaking for her?"
"Poor little Pam! There were some love-passages, Graydon, between
her and your pupil Trevithick."
"I guessed as much, but how far the thing went I have no idea. I
don't believe in probing into those things, Glengall. It is better
to let them die."
"Had you any idea that the young fellow might possibly ask for her?"
"I hoped so once, not because it would be a good marriage for Pam,
or anything of that sort, but because I thought him a good lad, and
I believed in his father's son. I was disappointed that he turned
out so different from my expectations."
"Would you be surprised to hear that he wrote to you about Pam
immediately after he left, and that his mother intercepted the
letter?"
"His mother!"
"Yes; she had other views for him."
"I wonder why she came here, why she troubled our peace, and forced
her hospitality on Pam, who didn't want it?" said Mr. Graydon
musingly.
"To make a parting between the lad and Pam more certain. She told
Pam he was engaged to his cousin; and in other ways made the child's
visit miserable."
"My poor Pam! I remember she hated to go."
"I am sorry the boy has such a mother."
"Yet I remember her a very noble-looking girl. I don't think she
was made for mean things."
"Ah! well, we can let her be. She is sufficiently punished, poor
woman, by her son's scorn. That must be a terrible thing to endure."
"And she is a proud woman."
"However, Graydon, we are not concerned with her. The state of the
case is this: The young people were in love with each other, and
were parted by a fraud. Under a total misapprehension, Pamela has
engaged herself to me. Now that the misapprehension is removed, what
is the clear course for me to take?"
"I should ask Pamela, Glengall."
"Pamela is at this moment in a mood in which it would not be safe to
take her at her word. The only thing for me to do is to step down
and out."
"Glengall!" said Mr. Graydon, laying a hand on his.
"Don't pity me just now, Graydon. Frankly, I'm not equal to it."
"Have you told Pam?"
"I shall tell her. Afterwards I shall go away till the nine days'
wonder is forgotten."
"Glengall, I wish this had not happened."
"There is one way in which you can atone to me for its bitterness--I
don't mind confessing to you that it is bitter."
"And that way?"
"You must borrow from me what will take you abroad. You must; it is
for their sakes."
"Very well; if there is no other way. I shall repay you, I hope."
"You have plenty of time before you to grow rich in. When you come
back next spring, you must finish your _magnum opus_."
Mr. Graydon rubbed his hands in boyish cheerfulness.
"I shall feel equal to tackling it after a change. I'm afraid I've
been vegetating, and the mosses and mildew have grown upon me. You
have lived, Glengall, while I was growing into a worthless old
block."
"It is you who have lived," said Lord Glengall. "You have lived
naturally. When I die, it is the end of my line, and I shall have no
one to close my eyes."
When he found Pam in the drawing-room alone, a little later, he drew
her to him, and kissed her hair where it clustered over the white
forehead.
"I have brought your pretty things, Pam," he said, fumbling in his
pocket.
"And you have forgiven me?"
"I have forgiven you, dear."
He fastened the little chain about her neck and the bracelet on her
wrist.
"You will wear them for me, Pam?" he said. "I should not know what
to do with them."
"And my ring?" said Pam, wondering.
"I have taken back the ring. You are free, Pam; free as air."
[Illustration: "You are free, Pam; free as air."]
"But I don't want to be free."
"You did yesterday, Pam, and you will to-morrow. I have seen Sir
Anthony, Pam. He is guiltless, and will come again."
"I do not want him to come," cried Pam with a great sob.
"I sent him away because I was afraid if he came to you now you
would make him and yourself unhappy. He hated to go, but he went. He
will come again. You will be good to him, Pam, because you love him.
Now, good-bye, my dear. I shall come back when you are married."
Pamela's hands were over her eyes, and she was crying quietly.
"Another thing, Pam," he said. "I have arranged with your father. He
is to winter abroad."
"Sylvia will see to that," she answered. "Miss Spencer has made it
easy for her. At least, we need not take that from you."
"You have given me great happiness," he repeated. "And now,
good-bye, my dear, good-bye."
A day or two later Carrickmoyle was startled by the news that Lord
Glengall had sailed for Australia.