A DETERMINED PURSUIT.
In a certain house, in a certain street, in the town of Lina, Mrs.
Dollman, a very pretty widow, of small attainments as far as time goes,
for she was but 22, was talking to her sister, who had come to take tea
with her. Said sister’s name was Mrs. Twiley, and she lived at Gibraltar
when at home, her husband being a sergeant-major there. The late Mr.
Dollman had been a lieutenant stationed at the fortress. He had risen
from the ranks by merit alone, and had nothing to live upon but his pay.
When he died, with startling suddenness, his young wife found herself
rather badly off, her widow’s pension not leaving much margin for
luxuries, after a certain number of necessities had been purchased.
Of relatives she had none left but the sister who lived in Gibraltar,
and to whom she was much attached. She, therefore, resolved upon
remaining in the vicinity, instead of going to England, where she knew
very few people. A little kindly co-operation on the part of her late
husband’s friends enabled her to start a boarding-house on a small
scale, with a view to supplementing her meagre income, and she was
considered to be doing very well. Among her boarders was Hugh Stavanger,
who was known here as Gregory Staines, and who was supposed to be a
commission agent of some sort. Mr. Staines had been rather profuse in
his attentions to his pretty landlady, and Mrs. Twiley, having heard
something about a whispered possible engagement, deemed it compatible
with her position as sole and serious relative to warn her sister
against want of caution.
“You see, Phœbe,” she said gravely, “you really know next to nothing
about this Mr. Staines. Certainly, he seems to have plenty of money to
go on with, and pays you regularly. But you want more than that. You
want to feel that his past life will bear investigation, and that he is
really actuated by no mercenary motives in seeking to marry you.”
“Why, good gracious, Millie! I haven’t a penny saved up, as you know;
and, as for my pension, I shall forfeit that if I marry again. So how
can anybody possibly want to marry me through mercenary motives?”
“Will often says that with all your native shrewdness, there are some
points on which you are awfully slow, and I am inclined to agree with
him. Do you forget that you have a very well-furnished house, with every
article in it paid for; that you have a comfortable little business
nicely established; and that you are such a capital little manager that
many an adventurer would jump at the chance of being kept by you? Now,
don’t lose yourself in a temper, for I don’t mean to insinuate that you
couldn’t be loved for yourself, apart from the material advantages you
have to offer. In fact, I know different, for Archer Pallister thinks
and dreams of nothing but your looks and ways, and I am sure that if he
isn’t downright genuine, there isn’t a genuine man on earth. Indeed, the
woman who marries him may thank her lucky stars. But there are all sorts
of people knocking around, and Will says that we ought to be on our
guard against Englishmen dodging about in Spain, unless they can give a
very satisfactory account of themselves. For anything we know, this
Gregory Staines is either an absconding building society secretary, or a
fraudulent poor-rate collector.”
“I think it’s real mean of you to talk like that, Millie. You ought to
know me better than to think I would take up with an adventurer.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, my dear. Will, too, will be highly
pleased to be told that you are going to give Mr. Staines the cold
shoulder.”
“You are rather premature. I never said so.”
“Not in so many words, perhaps. But you implied it. You said that you
wouldn’t take up with an adventurer.”
“Your conclusion does not follow.”
“Indeed it does, dear, for I firmly believe the man to be a worthless
adventurer.”
“He is a jeweller’s agent, doing a good business.”
“So he says. But haven’t you noticed that he transacts his business at
very unbusiness-like times? He’s out to-day, but the circumstance is
exceptional. He generally goes to bed about two o’clock, rises late,
loafs about the house for hours, and goes out upon this ostensible
business of his towards evening, when work of his sort is, or ought to
be, over. Besides, how could an agent live by doing business in Lina
alone? Will and I are not the only two people who have talked him over,
and the consensus of opinion is that he is not to be trusted, and is a
man against whom you ought to be warned.”
“It is very kind of you to talk about my private affairs to all sorts of
people. Be good enough to tell Will that I’m exceedingly obliged to
him.”
“Now, don’t be rusty! You know that Will is as fond of you as I am, and
that nothing would grieve him more than to think you were unhappy. Oh,
look what a pretty girl is getting out of that conveyance! Why, she is
coming here. I wonder what she wants.”
Phœbe Dollman also forgot her slight illhumour, and looked with interest
upon the tall golden-haired beauty approaching the door. Presently a
card was brought in to Mrs. Dollman, and the Spanish servant informed
her that a lady wished to speak to her. The name on the card was Una
Stratton, and very speedily Mrs. Dollman was conversing with the owner
of it.
Miss Stratton, it appeared, was a lady artist, who wished to enrich her
portfolio by sketching some Spanish scenes and people. She had been
recommended to Mrs. Dollman’s boarding-house by a Mr. Smith, who had
obtained the address for her from a friend who had spent a few weeks at
Lina in the early summer.
Mrs. Dollman did not know who could be the especial gentleman who had
been good enough to recommend her lodgings. But she had had several
boarders who were little more than birds of passage, being en route for
other places, and the gentleman through whom Miss Stratton had obtained
her address might be one of those. Anyhow, things seemed to be
straightforward enough. The young lady offered to pay for her board in
advance, and Mrs. Dollman, who was quite charmed with the new arrival,
promptly closed with her. Nor did she raise any objections when Miss
Stratton announced that she wished to bring another boarder with her in
the shape of a big Newfoundland dog, who was even now waiting outside
for her.
In a very short time everything was satisfactorily arranged, and the new
boarder installed in comfortable quarters.
“This is my sister, Mrs. Twiley,” said Mrs. Dollman some time later.
“She and her husband are my only relatives, and whoever knows me,
speedily knows them, for they are good enough to spend a great deal of
time with me.”
“Your sister! You make me feel quite envious. I have neither sister nor
brother, and have often felt rather lonely in consequence.”
“But you have other relatives?”
“Oh, yes! I have the best father in the world. And my aunt--God bless
her!--has been the most tender and affectionate of mothers to me.”
“Then, after all, you ought to be happy, in our opinion, for it has
always seemed to us that young people without a parental home are the
most to be commiserated.”
“And yet, with every possible advantage of home and family, one may be
overtaken by troubles beside which the mere death of a loved one is
comparative happiness.”
As the beautiful stranger uttered the last words, her eyes darkened
with grief, and her whole appearance betokened the most bitter sorrow.
Both Millie and Phœbe were stricken with sudden awe before this brief
glimpse of an anguish which evidently surpassed anything they had ever
dreamed of, and their hearts went out tenderly towards Miss Stratton.
Very quickly, however, the latter regained control of herself, and five
minutes later the sisters were ready to doubt whether she was not one of
the happiest of mortals.
“Have you any boarders in the house, Mrs. Dollman?” she inquired
presently, while occupied in despatching the refreshing meal which had
been promptly ordered for her. As she waited for a reply she toyed with
her teaspoon, patted her big dog on the head, and altogether looked so
carelessly unconcerned, that much more suspicious people than those she
had to deal with would have been slow to fancy that her question was one
of vital import to her, or that she was listening for the reply with
every nerve tingling with anxiety.
“Only four,” was Phœbe’s answer. “We have a Mr. Everton and his wife.
They have been here six months, and are likely to remain here. Then
there are two single gentlemen, Mr. Grice and Mr. Staines.”
Miss Stratton’s heart leapt at this answer, yet she received it with
apparent indifference, although it relieved her of a great anxiety.
Suppose Mr. Gregory Staines, whose presence here was really her sole
reason for coming to Lina, had suddenly taken it into his head to seek
fresh quarters! She did not doubt her ability to trace him again. But
each delay that occurred before running the man to earth prolonged the
sufferings of the man whose liberty she had sworn to secure, and she was
thankful to have found him at last.
Contrary to Phœbe’s expectation, she betrayed not the slightest further
interest in the other lodgers, but conversed for awhile pleasantly on
other topics, inquiring carefully about the neighbouring scenery under
the pretence of being anxious to take some local views.
“My artistic work is not necessarily bread and butter to me,” she
observed. “But I naturally wish to do as well as possible while I am
here, as they may not be willing to spare me from home long.”
“I would like to see your sketches, if you don’t mind showing them to
us,” said Millie.
“And you shall see them,” was the answer. “But not this evening. I
suppose my box will be here soon, but by the time I have unpacked what
is necessary, I shall be ready to go to bed, for I am very tired with
travelling.”
And this excuse, although not quite in accordance with Una Stratton’s
ultimate intentions, served to secure her the privacy she desired for
the rest of the evening. She had casually learned that the other
boarders were out, and that they were not likely to put in an appearance
until sometime later.
“Mr. and Mrs. Everton are spending the day with some friends in
Gibraltar. Mr. Grice never comes in until eight o’clock, and Mr.
Staines’ movements are so uncertain that we never know whether he will
be in to supper or not. We generally have it soon after eight, and spend
the rest of the evening at cards or music. We shall be very glad of your
company. But are you quite sure that you will like the room you have
chosen? As a rule, ladies do not feel so safe in a bedroom on the ground
floor, and I have a chamber on the third floor, quite as pretty, if you
would prefer it.”
But to this suggestion Una, as we will at present call the girl in whom
the reader has already recognised Annie Cory, returned a negative
answer, saying that she preferred not to take her dog up and down the
stairs. “He always sleeps in my room,” she added, “and is such a
splendid protector that I could not possibly feel nervous with him near
me. I could not answer for his carefulness with the stair carpets, and
always prefer to keep him to the ground floor.”
This sounded plausible enough, and Millie remarked with a laugh that it
would be a bold burglar who would dare to invade a room guarded by so
powerful an animal.
“I think so too,” said Una. “But he is as gentle as a lamb, unless
bidden to be otherwise, and I am sure you will like him. Eh, Briny? You
are a dear old thing, aren’t you?”
Briny acknowledged the compliment by a stately wave of his tail, and by
gently inserting his nose in the hand of his mistress, knowing that she
always had a caress to spare for him.
Soon after Miss Stratton had retired with her dog to her own room,
Millie’s husband came to see his sister-in-law, and to escort his wife
home to their quarters. The new arrival was liberally discussed and
enthusiastically praised. But Sergeant-Major Twiley was disposed to
receive all praises of the beautiful stranger _cum grano salis_, and
rather hurt the feelings of his women-folks by offering to go round to a
certain English hotelkeeper to have a look at the London directory,
which served as a sort of guarantee to the _bona fides_ of would-be
creditors. He found nothing, however, but a substantiation of the new
lodger’s statements. The name and address she had given both tallied
with those in the directory. So Sergeant-Major Twiley was reassured, and
the ladies found their convictions confirmed.
But what would the three of them have thought if they could have seen
what was now going on in the room to which the supposed Miss Stratton
had retired, avowedly with the object of securing a good night’s rest?