PROOF POSITIVE.
"About a hoop of gold—a paltry ring that she did give me."
_Merchant of Venice._
"Is this a prologue—or the poesy of a ring?
'Tis brief, my lord—as woman's love."
_Hamlet._
IT will not surprise any one to hear, that there was rather a stormy
meeting between Mr. Lisle and his fellow inmate. Mr. Quentin did not
return home till nearly four o'clock, and when he did, he found his
friend sitting up for him, and this of itself constitutes an injury,
especially when the last-comer has had rather too much champagne!
Apollo arrived tired and sleepy, with tumbled locks and tie, and in a
quarrelsome, captious mood, swearing roundly as he came up the steps,
at his unhappy servants—who had spent the night in packing.
"Hullo!" he cried, seeing the other writing at the table, "not gone to
roost yet, my early bird?"
"No," looking at him gravely, "I wanted to speak to you first," rising
as he spoke and shutting the door.
"I say!" with a forced laugh, "you are not going to shoot me, eh?"
"No, I merely want to ask you why you told me that you were engaged to
Miss Denis?"
"Who says I'm not?" throwing himself into a chair, and extending his
long legs.
"She does," replied his companion laconically.
"And how dare _you_ ask her or meddle in my affairs?" blustered Mr.
Quentin in a loud voice.
"'Dare' is a foolish word to use to me, Quentin. I do not want to
quarrel with you," feeling that his adversary was not quite himself.
"But I wish to know why you deceived me in this way. What was your
motive?"
Mr. Quentin was as much sobered by the stern eyes of his _vis-à-vis_,
as if he had had his head immersed in a bucket of iced water.
He reviewed the circumstances with lightning speed; to tide over
to-morrow, nay, this very day, was all he wanted. In a few hours they
would be off; the _Scotia_ sailed at nine, and the chances were ten to
one that Lisle and Helen Denis would never meet in this world again.
Lisle would probably go home from the Nicobars. He could not afford to
get into his black books (for various reasons, chiefly connected with
cheque books), and he would brazen it out now. As well be hanged for a
sheep as a lamb!
"I _am_ engaged to her," he said at last.
"She says you are not; it's merely your word against hers."
"And which do you believe?"
"Well, this is no time for mincing matters. I believe Miss Denis," said
the other bluntly.
"Believe her against me? A girl you have not spoken to ten times in
your life; and you and I have lived here under the same roof like
_brothers_ for months. Oh, Gilbert Lisle!" and his beautiful blue
eyes looked quite misty, as he apostrophized his companion in a tone
as mournful as the renowned "_Et tu, Brute_."—But, as I have already
stated, Jim Quentin was a consummate actor.
Mr. Lisle was rather staggered for a moment, and the other went on,—
"Don't you know—but how should you? for you don't know woman's ways,"
with a melancholy shake of the head, "that they _all_, even the
youngest and simplest of them, think it no harm to tell fibs about
their sweethearts? I give you my solemn word of honour that I've heard
an engaged girl swear she was not going to be married to a fellow up
to a week before the wedding-day. They think that being known to be
engaged, spoils their fun with other men; the more proposals they can
boast of the better. If you have been such a fool, as to believe Helen
Denis's little joke, all I can say is, that I am sorry for you!"
This was hard swearing, certainly, but it was in for a penny, in for a
pound, and the _Scotia_ sailed at nine o'clock.
Still Mr. Lisle was not convinced, and he saw it and added,—
"You think very little of my bare word, I see. No doubt you would like
to see some tangible proof of what I say. There is no time now ('thank
goodness,' to himself) to bring us face to face, but if I promise to
show you some token before we sail, will that content you?"
Mr. Lisle made no reply.
"And," he continued, "I'm going to turn in now, for it's four o'clock,
and I'm dead beat. Don't let us fall out, old fellow—no woman is worth
it. They are all the same, they can't help their nature," and with this
parting declaration, Mr. Quentin, finished actor and finished flirt,
sorrowfully nodded his head and took his departure.
Once in his own apartment he tore off his coat, called his body-servant
to pull off his boots, threw himself into an arm-chair, and composed
himself with a cheroot, yea, at four o'clock in the morning! He had
shown a bold front, and had impressed Lisle—that he could see plainly.
But how about this little token? He did not possess a glove, a ribbon,
a flower, much less a photograph or a lock of hair. What was he to do?
For fully a quarter of an hour the query found no answer in his brain,
till his sleepy servant, asking some trivial question, gave him a clue;
he saw it all, as it were, in a lightning flash.
Abdul was married to Miss Denis's ayah (a handsome, good-for-nothing
virago, who, it was rumoured, occasionally inflicted corporal
punishment upon her lord and master, and was avaricious to the last
degree).
Abdul was a dark, oily-looking, sly person, who was generally to be
trusted—when his own interests did not clash with his employer's.
"Abdul, look here," said Mr. Quentin suddenly, "I want you to do
something for me at once."
"Yes, saar," said Abdul in a drowsy voice.
"Go off, now, this moment, and get the boat, go across to Ross"—here
Abdul's face became very blank indeed,—"go to Colonel Denis's
bungalow, and speak to Fatima, and tell her." Mr. Quentin was, for once
in his life, a little ashamed of what he was about to do; but do it he
would, all the same—he _must_—he had burnt his boats. "Tell her to
give you that queer gold ring Missy wears—no stones, a pattern like
this," talking the jargon of the East, and showing an ancient seal. "I
want it as 'muster' for another, just to look at; for a present for
Missy, and will give it back to-day. Mind you, Abdul, never letting
Missy know: if you do, or if Fatima says one word, you get nothing; if
you and she manage the job well, you shall have twenty rupees!"
Abdul stared, and then salaamed and stolidly replied,—
"I never telling master's business, master knows."
"Then be off at once, and let me see you back by seven o'clock; and
don't attempt to show your face without _that_, or no rupees—you
understand?"
"Master pleases," ejaculated Abdul, and vanished on his errand, an
errand that was much to his taste. A little mystery or intrigue, and
the prospects of a good many rupees, appeals to the native mind in a
very direct fashion.
At seven o'clock he had returned, having accomplished his mission.
Breathless and radiant he appeared, and roused his sleeping master,
saying,—
"I've come back, saar, and here"—unfolding a bit of his turban, and
holding out his hand—"I've brought the pattern master wanted."
"By Jove!" leaning up on his elbow, and now wide awake, "so you have,"
taking Helen's ring, and surveying it critically. Yes! nothing could be
better; she always wore it on the third finger of her right hand, and
there was surely some history about it, or he was much mistaken. "We
will see what Lisle will say to _this_," he muttered to himself as he
squeezed it on his own somewhat plump little finger. Then to Abdul,—
"Very well. All right; I'll give it back, you know. Meanwhile go to my
box over there, and bring the money-bag, and count yourself out the
dibs I promised you."
Abdul obeyed this order with great alacrity, salaamed, and then waited
for his next instructions.
"You can go now; call me in half an hour," said his master, dismissing
him with a wave of his newly-decorated hand.
"A first-class idea! and, by Jove, Miss Helen, I owed you this. The
idea of a little chit like you, the penniless daughter of an old
Hindoo colonel, giving yourself such airs as you did last night,"
alluding to a scene when Helen, wearied by his compliment, and
indignant at his presumption, had plucked up courage to rebuke him in a
manner that penetrated even the triple armour of his self-conceit. Such
a thing was a novel experience, the recollection of it stung him still,
and to such a man as Jim Quentin, the affront was unpardonable. It
awoke a slumbering flame of resentment in his rather stolid breast, and
a burning desire to pay her out! And he would take right good care that
she did not catch Lisle—Lisle, who was certainly inclined to make an
ass of himself about her. With this determination in his mind, he rose,
dressed, and languidly lounged into their mutual sitting-room, where
his companion had been impatiently awaiting him for an hour, intending
subsequently to sail across to Ross, and take one more parting with his
fair lady-love, and, if possible, obtain a word with her father.
"So you have appeared at last?" he exclaimed; "I've been expecting you
for ages."
"Have you? but we need not leave this till half-past eight," looking at
his watch. "They know we are going,—and Hall is never in time."
"I'm not thinking of the _Scotia_," returned the other, scarcely able
to restrain his impatience; "but of what you promised to show me last
night—that proof you spoke of, you know."
"Oh! yes; by-the-bye, so I did," as if it were a matter of the most
complete indifference. "I daresay I have something that will convince
you. Will this do?" tendering his hand as he spoke, in quite an airy,
nonchalant fashion.
Mr. Lisle glanced at it, and beheld his ring, the wreck ring, adorning
Jim Quentin's little finger! He started as if he had been struck—his
own gift, that she declared she would never part with! And she had
bestowed it already,—given it to Quentin: this was enough, was too
much—he asked no more.
"Well, will that do?" demanded Apollo, removing and tendering the
token. "Are you satisfied _now_?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Lisle, who had regained his self-command. But the
other had noted the sudden pallor of his face, the almost incredulous
expression of his eyes, and felt that this borrowed bit of jewellery
was indeed a trump card, boldly played.
Jim was immensely relieved as this one syllable fell from his
companion's lips. The whole matter was now settled. Lisle was choked
off: his own credit was unimpeached, but it had had a narrow squeak,
and last night he had undoubtedly spent a very unpleasant quarter of an
hour.
Of course Mr. Lisle did not return to Ross, although the white boat lay
waiting for him for an hour, by the landing steps. Helen had more than
half expected him, with trembling, delightful anticipations; how many
times did she run to look in the glass? how many times re-arrange the
flowers in her dress? how many times did she dart to the verandah as a
manly step came up the road? But, alas! after an hour's expectation,
her hopes were dashed to the ground by Miss Lizzie Caggett.
"The _Scotia_ has sailed!" she screamed out from the pathway. "Come up
to the flagstaff, and see the last of her."
It was the custom for the ladies on Ross to take constitutionals
before breakfast, and Helen, on her way to the top of the hill with
Miss Lizzie, was joined by Mrs. Creery, Mrs. Home, and Mrs. Durand,
all discussing the previous evening's dissipation. Helen was (they all
remarked) unusually silent: generally she was full of fun and spirits.
She stood aloof, looking after the receding steamer, and said to
herself, "What if he should never come back!"
But this was a merely passing thought that she silenced immediately.
Mr. Lisle was, as every one knew, a man of his word, and never broke a
promise.
The little group of ladies stood watching the smoke of the steamer
become smaller and smaller till it vanished altogether, and Helen, as
she turned her face away from the sea at last, had a suspicion of tears
in her eyes,—tears which her companions attributed to Mr. Quentin.
As she walked down the hill with Mrs. Home, that warm-hearted little
lady, who was leaning on her, pressed her arm in token of sympathy, and
whispered in a significant tone,—
"He will come back, dear."
"So he will," agreed Helen, also in a whisper, blushing scarlet as she
spoke. But she and Mrs. Home were not thinking of the same person!