GUY MAKES A RESOLUTION
The dog days had come and the season was almost moribund when Captain
and Mrs. Marven and Miss Challys left town for their country house in
Essex, where Guy was to join them a week later, for he had definitely
accepted the invitation which had been pressed upon him.
London seemed empty to Guy with their departure. He had made it his
business in life to meet Meriel, and latterly not a day had passed
without his seeing something of her. If he had not met her with Mrs.
Marven at Raneleigh or Hurlingham or in the Park, he had been certain
to run against Captain Marven in the club, and he had never refused the
Captain's invitation to walk home with him for a cup of tea. At the
opera, at dances, there had always been the chance of meeting the girl
again, and chance had rarely proved unkind.
But he was not at all easy in his mind. The thought that he had been
accepting the hospitality and the friendship of the man whom he had
robbed of his trust, the man whose hand was given him in honest
friendship, ever haunted him. Yet the desire to be with Meriel at
all hazards overpowered his scruples. He made excuses for himself at
first, and, when he perceived that he was trying to cheat himself,
the half-formed resolution arose in his mind to so order his life
in future as to square it with Meriel's ideals. He realised that it
would not be difficult for him to do so, that a life of conventional
morality meant a life of ease, as compared with an existence ordered
on the lines of Hora's criminal philosophy. He told himself that his
father would appreciate his motives, and, though he might sneer at
his decision, yet would accept it. He even persuaded himself that
the Commandatore must have intended to suggest that he should break
away from the old life when he had persuaded him to take chambers of
his own. Yet, though he thus argued with himself, he did not go to
Westminster Mansions.
There was another reason for remaining away. The last sentence in the
note which Cornelius Jessel had brought him and which had resulted in
the immediate establishment of the shadow now under his own roof, had
suggested a new idea to him.
"Myra is crying her eyes out at your absence," the Commandatore had
written, and the written words had made him think of Myra in a new
light. Myra was not his sister. Sisters did not cry their eyes out
at their brothers' absence. Could it be that she cared for him in
anything but sisterly fashion? The train of thought once started made
him reflect. He could see now that Myra's demeanour had been different
to him in a hundred little particulars during the past few months.
The frank sisterly attitude of her early years had been replaced by
something entirely different. When they had been boy and girl together
she had been free as the day with him. A girl of moods, subject to
hurtling gusts of passion which would pass as swiftly as they came,
she had been prone to quarrel with him on the slightest pretext, and
as easily to forget the cause of her grievance. But of late--for quite
a year past--the attitude of the woman had materially altered from that
of the girl. Guy remembered, when he came to reflect, that he had quite
ceased to be the objective of any of her explosions of passion, that
she had been almost humbly solicitous of his welfare, his comfort, his
safety. He remembered her distress when Hora had broached the question
of his residing in chambers, her troubled demeanour when any new
adventure was projected. He had thought little of these things at the
time, but in the clearer vision which was vouchsafed to him through the
medium of his own feeling towards Meriel, he began to suspect something
of the truth. He had never thought of Myra in the light of anything but
a sister. Hardly that even, for Hora had not left him in ignorance of
her parentage, and of later years his thought of her had been rather as
of a good comrade, trained like himself to wage war with the world. But
if she should have learned to care for him, as he had learned to care
for Meriel! No, that would be impossible. He put the thought from him.
But it recurred. It was the second good reason which kept him away from
Westminster Mansions.
He was glad when his week of solitude was over, for a London
which did not contain Meriel was an absolute wilderness, peopled
only with meaningless shadows. The week had seemed a month,
more, a year. But it passed, and the day dawned at last which
was to bring them together again under the same roof. The mere
contemplation of sleeping beneath the same roof set Guy's
blood tingling in his veins. He awoke gay and bright. For a while he
would put away all harassing thoughts of the future, and drink of the
cup of happiness held to his lips.
Even as he lifted the cup, Hora, though absent, dropped a leaf of rue
therein which destroyed its sweetness.
Amongst his letters that morning was one from the Commandatore. "You
have not been to see us," he wrote, "and Myra is almost in despair. I
tell her that youth has its distractions which momentarily make one
forgetful of old ties and obligations. She seems to have some sort
of fancy that a feminine distraction may be the explanation of your
long absence, and is jealous of the unknown, an unphilosophic attitude
of mind with which the mere male cannot possibly cope. She cannot be
made to understand that pleasure is evanescent, and that satiety is
_avant courier_ to philosophy. I am not surprised that you find
your hands full; indeed, I am glad to think that you must be acquiring
a rich store of information which will be of the greatest service
in our future operations. _En passant_, if you see anything of
mine old enemy, do your best to cultivate the acquaintance. I have
a scheme in my mind which I think may enable me to pay my debt in
full. But more of that when we meet. I am in no hurry. Revenge is so
sweet a morsel that one rolls it on the tongue, instead of bolting
it whole, so I'll tell you about my idea when we return to town,
for I am going to take Myra away for a few days. She seems a little
pale, and sea breezes with companionship (of the other sex) is almost
invariably a specific for a sentimental malady. We go to
Scarborough to-day, but we shall be back in a fortnight. Let us see you
immediately we return."
When Guy laid down the letter the sparkle had gone out of the cup
of his enjoyment. He did not conceive that the writer of the letter
had been fully conversant with all his plans. He credited Hora
with trusting him as fully as he trusted Hora. To imagine that the
Commandatore had set a spy upon his movements never entered into
his calculations. He had no suspicions that the obsequious Jessel
who waited upon him so attentively was other than he seemed. So,
in following the dictates of his heart, he felt that he was acting
treacherously to his father, while if he were to fulfil his father's
desires he would sink unutterably in his own estimation. Between what
he considered his duty and his inclination, his mind was in turmoil.
The thought of Meriel expecting him proved the dominant factor in his
ultimate decision. While hesitating whether or no to telegraph an
excuse for not keeping his appointment, Jessel announced that he was
going on with the luggage. At that moment Guy formed the resolution
definitely and absolutely that he would have done with the past.
The resolution strengthened on his journey. If Lynton Hora could have
known the effect his letter had produced he might have hesitated
before he posted it. But he had only suspected some weakening of
Guy's enthusiasm, and he had thought that a reminder would be quite
sufficient to recall Guy's errant fancy. Perhaps had he not trained
Guy, for his own protection, to so honest a conception of loyalty
to his friends, the subtle poison of his letter might have produced
the effect he had intended. As it happened, the suggestion Hora had
desired to convey, that Meriel should be a temporary distraction, to
be tossed lightly aside when it suited his purpose, never came home
to Guy. The further suggestion, that Myra was waiting and longing
for him, did, however, affect him unpleasantly, even though he could
truthfully declare that he had never given her reason to imagine that
his affection towards her was more than brotherly.
The final suggestion that he should insinuate himself into the
confidence of the Marvens in order to minister to Hora's scheme of
revenge was, however, the culminating point. His whole nature revolted
at the thought. Though by his early training he saw nothing wrong in
preying upon the world, instinctively his mind rebelled at the idea
of victimising his friends. Though the world might dub him thief--he
would have shrugged his shoulders in amusement at the world's folly
in doing so--yet his sense of honour was far keener than that of the
majority of those who would have thrown the epithet at him, Captain
Marven, henceforward, should be secure, so far as he was concerned.
There was no obligation upon him to take upon himself the burden of
another man's quarrel, even though that other man were his own father.
The philosophic Commandatore himself would necessarily admit the logic
of such a decision.
Busied with such thoughts, it seemed to Guy that he had hardly entered
the cab before it stopped at the railway station. He had no intention
of turning back. Jessel was awaiting him on the platform. He saw his
master into his seat and retired to another compartment, where he had
reserved a corner seat for himself. Guy had given him no instructions
to proceed beyond the railway station, so Cornelius decided that he
might just as well take it for granted that he was to accompany his
master, particularly as Hora had impressed upon him the necessity for
obtaining exact information regarding Guy's relationship with the
members of the Marven household. Still busied with his train of ideas,
Guy did not bestow another thought upon his valet.
The train wandered but slowly onwards to its destination, far too
slowly for Guy's desires, but Whitsea was off the main route to
anywhere, and the railway service was the minimum which a sleepy-headed
management thought would serve the necessities of the situation. But
at last Guy knew that he was nearing his destination. The country
stretched out flat on either side of the railway track, unbroken for
miles. Through the open window of his compartment entered the cool
salt breath of the sea. On his right a gleam of silver shone amidst
the green and crimson carpet of the marsh lands. The silver streak
broadened. Now it bore a red-winged barge on its bosom, and there
came in view the white wings of a flight of small craft skimming upon
the water. Next appeared a cluster of red-tiled, red brick houses
shimmering in the heat. The train drew into a station, a porter roused
himself from his afternoon nap and strolled slowly down the platform
calling "Whitsea! Change here for Whitsea," in a melancholy sing-song.
Guy picked up his stick and alighted. Would Meriel come herself to
meet him? He had asked the question of himself a hundred times on the
journey, and a hundred times had told himself that he expected far too
much.
But Meriel was there, and the delight in his heart showed
in his eyes as he went forward with outstretched hand to welcome her.
Her eyes dropped under his ardent glance, and the colour flushed her
cheek. Guy had seen no one but Meriel. Another voice recalled his
wandering faculties.
"I am just as delighted to welcome you to Whitsea, Mr. Hora, as Meriel
can be."
It was Guy's turn to flush, as he half turned to meet Mrs. Marven's
kindly glance.
"I only saw Miss Challys," he remarked simply.
"That was quite obvious," replied Mrs. Marven, as she took Guy's
hand, "and I am inclined to think that if I had been in your place I
shouldn't have seen anyone else, either. She is a pretty picture, isn't
she?" There was a tender inflection in her voice which put Guy at his
ease.
"There can be no two opinions about that," he answered heartily.
"Auntie would make me vain, if I were not so already," said the girl
demurely, as she thrust her arm in Mrs. Marven's. "If you'll just tell
the porter which is your luggage, he will see that it is sent on. We
are not more than half a mile from the station, and we thought you
would like to walk to the Hall."
"Nothing could suit me better," declared Guy.
They strolled along the platform talking. Guy's kit bag and dressing
case were tossed out on the platform, and Jessel was already mounting
guard over them. Guy did not recognise his servant until he was close
to him. His surprise was apparent in the tone of his voice.
"Hullo, Jessel!" he said. "What on earth are you doing here?"
The man touched his hat. "Beg your pardon, sir," he said. "Didn't you
intend me to come? You said nothing, so of course----"
Guy interrupted him. "I thought I had told you! But it doesn't matter.
Just see that the porter has my luggage all right. You can get the next
train back."
He turned away. Cornelius touched his hat. His face expressed
disappointment. Mrs. Marven observed his fallen countenance and came to
the rescue.
"I ought to have told you to bring your man with you," she remarked to
Guy, "and unless you have something you want him to do for you, you had
better let him come to the Hall. I know that the Captain's man will be
delighted that you have brought him, for I don't mind telling you now,
that he detests valeting anyone but his own master."
With a word of thanks Guy dismissed the subject from his
thoughts. He was supremely indifferent to Jessel's presence.
Meriel was beside him. Nothing else mattered.