A SUDDEN CHANGE.
May and Sister Margaret stayed another fortnight at Hastings after
this sea excursion, and Webster went twice down to see them during
this time, and Sister Margaret was satisfied in her own mind that
everything was progressing as she could wish. Then the weather broke
up, and storms and gales swept around the coast, and the sea-foam
flew into the town. And it was only when this happened that Webster
yielded to May's repeated requests for them to return to London. She
wished now most earnestly to commence working to earn her own living,
and had had some correspondence with Doctor Brentwood on the subject.
He had arranged that she should join the staff of nurses at St.
Phillip's, as probationer, and Sister Margaret had already given her
some instructions. But twice during this time a strong temptation rose
in Ralph Webster's heart; a temptation, however, which he checked, and
this was to ask May to be his wife, and so shelter her all her future
life.
"It would but frighten her, and make her uneasy," he told himself; "no,
it is too soon."
So May went back to St. Phillip's with Sister Margaret, and when
Webster saw her again she was dressed in the black gown and white cap
and apron of a nurse. She looked, however, so charming in this costume
that he could not conceal his admiration.
"You look like--well, what shall I say?" he said, smiling. "A sister of
light."
"Do you mean an angel?" answered May, smiling also. "Ah, I wish I felt
like one."
"And how do you really like the life?" went on Webster, with his dark
eyes still fixed on her fair face.
"There are painful things, of course," hesitated May, "but still you
always feel that you are helping someone, and that is something."
"But I hope they do not give you any hard work; any disagreeable work?"
"They are very good to me," answered May, softly; "everyone has been
very good, and as for you, Mr. Webster--"
"Being good is not in my way," answered Webster, hastily turning away
his head.
"I do not know what you call good then; I can not tell you what I
think."
May's voice faltered a little when she said this, and Webster's
self-imposed reserve perhaps might have broken down, but just at this
moment Doctor Brentwood entered the room, as it was in his sitting-room
that the interview between May and Webster was taking place. Indeed, it
must be admitted that "Mrs. Church" was treated with some favoritism
by the house surgeon; and there were some plain nurses and some plain
probationers who made their private comments and remarks on this fact.
But May was so gentle and unassuming that as a rule she disarmed
criticism.
"It's her pretty face," they said, shrugging their shoulders; "well,
men are all alike."
And her pretty face had no doubt a great deal to do with it, and her
pretty manner, and her sad, sweet smile. Doctor Brentwood openly said
to Webster she was too handsome for a nurse, but he knew, as all men
who looked at her knew, that she never sought or desired attention or
admiration of any kind.
And so the quiet, dreary months drifted away, and May stayed on at
St. Phillip's Hospital, and only Ralph Webster knew that she lived
there. Of John Temple, Webster heard nothing, except that one day,
when Christmas was past and gone, he accidentally met Mr. Harrison,
the solicitor, who told him smilingly that he had had a visit from the
actress, Miss Kathleen Weir.
"She had heard somehow," he said, "that Mr. John Temple is now heir to
his uncle's estates, and she therefore wished her allowance increased.
But I put her off, my dear sir, I put her off; quite time enough when
Mr. John Temple does succeed."
"And where is Mr. John Temple now?" asked Webster.
"He is abroad; he went abroad shortly after I had the visit from Miss
Kathleen Weir, and he looks shockingly ill; really shockingly. I wish,
I am sure, he may live to come into his inheritance."
"What sort of man is he?"
"He used to be a remarkably nice fellow; pleasant, and rather
philosophical in fact. But when I saw him last he had a most shattered
appearance, like a man who had gone through some great mental strain,
or bodily illness. I fancy, you know, Mr. Webster," added the little
man, shaking his head, "that that early and unfortunate marriage of his
has been a most tremendous worry to him. At least when I mentioned Miss
Weir having called at my offices he scowled, and muttered something
about wishing he had never seen her face. He may, you see, now want
to form a more reasonable marriage, but there is this millstone--a
handsome enough millstone though, ha, ha, ha! hanging about his neck."
"He should not forget that he hung it himself though," answered
Webster, grimly; and then he left Mr. Harrison. But when he next saw
Kathleen Weir, in reply to her eager inquiries, he was able to tell her
that he had heard that Mr. John Temple had gone abroad.
"But where and when?" asked the actress quickly.
"That I can not tell you."
"But, Mr. Webster, I am anxious to know. That old rogue, Mr. Harrison,
the solicitor, of course knows very well. But if I went to him he would
not tell me. How am I to find out?"
"But what good would it do you to find out?"
"Because I am convinced John Temple has something to hide! I want to be
divorced from him, that's the truth, and if I knew where he was I could
set detectives to watch his movements. Don't you see?"
"Unfortunately I can not tell you where he is."
"I wonder if old Harrison would tell you? Oh! do be a good soul and
help me if you can," and she laid her pretty, white, be-ringed hand
on his arm and looked into his face. "It's so stupid to be bound like
this to a man who is perfectly indifferent to you, and, moreover, who
actually detests you! I swear to you he looked as if he really hated me
that day on Westminster bridge. And why should I waste all my youth and
my life? His money is not worth it."
"It is a very hard case, certainly."
"I have felt this lately," said Kathleen Weir, in rather a marked
manner; "before, I think I did not care."
Again she looked in Webster's face, and with a sort of discomfort his
keen dark eyes fell before her large, restless, gray ones. He was not
a vain man, but a vague consciousness smote into his heart that this
handsome woman had begun to regard him with different feelings to his
own. This idea made him more chary of his visits and colder in his
manner. And Kathleen Weir, quick to perceive this, also drew back.
Thus some weeks passed without him seeing her, when one morning an
announcement in the _Times_ brought her affairs more prominently before
his mind.
This was no less than a notice in the obituary column of the sudden
death of the squire of Woodlea:
"On the 21st inst., at Woodlea Hall, Phillip Temple, Esq., aged 75, of
heart disease."
Webster read the announcement twice over, thinking all the while of the
great changes it might bring. Not to the fair black-robed probationer
at St. Phillip's Hospital, though, he decided; it could not touch her
very nearly now, but to John Temple and Kathleen Weir.
And yet on second thoughts he remembered it would bring Temple back to
England, and would make the friends of the missing girl more eager in
their inquiries to learn her fate. John Temple would probably now be
forced to tell what he knew, and the fact of his first marriage might
be brought home to him. Therefore, the knowledge of the squire's death
disquieted Webster exceedingly, and the day did not pass without his
receiving further news concerning it.
The evening post in fact brought him a letter from Kathleen Weir, and
the notice from the _Times_ of Mr. Temple's death fell out of it when
Webster opened the envelope. The actress had evidently written in a
state of great excitement.
"DEAR MR. WEBSTER," he read. "The inclosed cutting from the newspaper
will tell you what has occurred. This Mr. Temple, whose death it
records, is the uncle of John Temple, who is his heir. John Temple is
now, therefore, a rich man, and as I am unfortunately his wife, he can
not prevent (I suppose) my benefiting by his accession to fortune. But
though money is a great thing, an immense thing, it is not everything!
John Temple, looking like a ghost, with misery stamped on every feature
of his face! There was, I am sure, some strong reason for this, for
as a rule he is an easy-going man, inclined to make the best of
everything, as he used to think it not worth while to strive with fate.
"There I did and do disagree with him. It is worth while at any rate
to try and make the best of one's life, and it is not making the best
of mine, I think, to remain the wife of a man I never see. He is a
rich man now, can afford to pay a long price for his freedom, and his
freedom I am certain he desires. What I mean is this: He will now be
coming to England, and will, of course, go down to the place he has
inherited. I want, therefore, someone to go to him and make him a
proposition; to say in fact, Kathleen Weir, the wife of whom you are
tired, is also tired of you, and wishes to be free from so galling a
tie. I am certain it might be arranged, only it is so difficult to
write on such matters, and one can only do so to someone in whom you
have complete confidence. I have complete confidence in you, though I
have seen so little of you of late, but I think I can understand the
reason of this. At all events, will you come to see me now, and we can
talk the matter over? Will you come to-morrow evening? I shall be
alone, as I have a whole host of things to tell you.
"Ever sincerely yours,
"KATHLEEN WEIR."
Webster read this letter, and at once understood its meaning. Kathleen
Weir wished to be free, and she believed that John Temple had given her
cause to seek a divorce, and that if she were anxious to obtain one,
that he would offer no opposition; nay, gladly aid her in her desire.
She also meant, and Webster smiled a little scornfully as he thought
this, that she intended to make him pay for his freedom. They were to
play into each other's hands in fact, and she wished some confidential
friend or agent to approach him on the subject.
"I wonder if she intends this honor for me," he reflected, bitterly.
And he thought of May Churchill with a quick pang of pain.
If this woman could obtain a divorce, and would accept money to be
divorced, which no doubt John Temple would gladly pay, he would be free
to marry May. Webster bit his lips and frowned angrily at this idea.
This no doubt was Kathleen Weir's design; she would not scruple, she
had said, to invent a charge of cruelty against him, and for the rest
she had a perfectly good case.
Webster began walking restlessly up and down the room after he had
considered the actress' letter, but he determined to do nothing to aid
her.
But if she succeeded, what should he do? What would be best and kindest
to the poor girl whose heart John Temple had nearly broken?
It was a painful question, not easy to answer or to solve, but at all
events Kathleen Weir had not yet obtained her divorce.
"I will go and see her," he decided; "I will learn exactly what she
means to do."
Therefore on the following evening he did go to see her, and she was
very pleased to welcome him. She started up as he entered the room,
and held out her little white hand.
"How good of you to come," she said. "I have been wishing so much to
see you."
"I came to talk over your great news," he answered with a smile.
"It is great news, isn't it? Great and good news, for I hope soon it
will free me of John Temple."
"But--what have you to go upon?"
"I will find something to go upon," said the actress, half
impatiently. "I have his address, at all events, now, for he is sure
to go to Woodlea Hall and look after his property, and I must find
someone--or--" and she paused and thought for a moment, and then
clapped her hands. "I must find someone," she repeated, "to go to him,
or go myself. There, Mr. Webster, what do you think of that? What do
you think of my going to visit my lord in his new state? I would be a
welcome visitor, wouldn't I, and no doubt could make a splendid bargain
with him in his eagerness to get rid of me."
"But--it would expose you to a very painful scene."
"I am accustomed to scenes, you know," answered Kathleen Weir, with
a little laugh. "Do you know I think it is a splendid idea. At all
events, we might mutually agree to meet somewhere, and arrange also
mutually to get rid of each other."
"But what about the Queen's Proctor intervening?"
Kathleen Weir gave an airy shrug of her shoulders.
"We must manage to be too clever for the Queen's Proctor, and John
Temple, I'm certain, will be only too glad to back me up in anything I
say. I shall have some handfuls of hair ready, and swear he tore them
out of my head." And Kathleen Weir laughed.
But Ralph Webster did not laugh. He was thinking of May Churchill, and
how her fate might hang on the false words of this woman's tongue, and
he looked very grave when he rose to go away.
"Going so soon?" cried Kathleen Weir, gaily. She was disappointed at
his leaving so early, but she did not wish to show this.
"I can wait," she thought, after he had quitted the room; "they say
everything comes to those who wait."