"Proper for whom?"
"For both!"
"Would it not be better that _she_ should decide what is proper for
her?"
"Proper for me, then."
"Based on your peculiar notion of relative wealth between husband and
wife--without regard to what she may think on the subject. In other
words, have you any right to decline the risk, if she is willing to
undertake it?"
"The risk is mine, not hers. She has the money. Her income, for three
months, about equals my entire fortune."
"Can't you forget her fortune?"
"And live at the rate of pretty near two hundred thousand dollars a
year?" Croyden laughed. "Could you?"
"I think I could, if I loved the girl."
"And suffer in your self-respect forever after?"
"There is where we differ. You're inclined to be hyper-critical. If you
play _your_ part, you won't lose your self-respect."
"It is a trifle difficult to do--to play my part, when all the world is
saying, 'he married her for her money,' and shows me scant regard in
consequence."
"Why the devil need you care what the world says!"
"I don't!"
"What?" Macloud exclaimed.
"I don't--the world may go hang. But the question is, how long can the
man retain the woman's esteem, with such a handicap."
"Ah! that is easy! so long as he retains her love."
"Rather an uncertain quantity."
"It depends entirely on yourself.--If you start with it, you can hold
it, if you take the trouble to try."
"You're a strong partisan!" Croyden laughed, as they entered
Clarendon.
"And what are you?" Macloud returned.
"Just what I should like to know----"
"Well, I'll tell you what you are if you don't marry Elaine Cavendish,"
Macloud interrupted--"You're an unmitigated fool!"
"Assuming that Miss Cavendish would marry me."
"You're not likely to marry her, otherwise," retorted Macloud, as he
went up the stairs. On the landing he halted and looked down at Croyden
in the hall below. "And if you don't take your chance, the chance she
has deliberately offered you by coming to Hampton, you are worse
than----" and, with an expressive gesture, he resumed the ascent.
"How do you know she came down here just for that purpose?" Croyden
called.
But all that came back in answer, as Macloud went down the hall and
into his room, was the whistled air from a popular opera, then running
in the Metropolis.
"Ev'ry little movement has a meaning all its own,
Ev'ry thought and action----"
The door slammed--the music ceased.
"I won't believe it," Croyden reflected, "that Elaine would do anything
so utterly unconventional as to seek me out deliberately.... I might
have had a chance if--Oh, damn it all! why didn't we find the old
pirate's box--it would have clarified the whole situation."
As he changed into his evening clothes, he went over the matter,
carefully, and laid out the line of conduct that he intended to
follow.
He would that Elaine had stayed away from Hampton. It was putting him
to too severe a test--to be with her, to be subject to her alluring
loveliness, and, yet, to be unmoved. It is hard to see the luscious
fruit within one's reach and to refrain from even touching it. It grew
harder the more he contemplated it....
"It's no use fighting against it, here!" he exclaimed, going into
Macloud's room, and throwing himself on a chair. "I'm going to cut the
whole thing."
"What the devil are you talking about?" Macloud inquired, pausing with
his waistcoat half on.
"What the devil do you think I'm talking about?" Croyden demanded.
"Not being a success at solving riddles, I give it up."
"Oh, very well!" said Croyden. "Can you comprehend this:--I'm going to
leave town?"
"Certainly--that's plain English. When are you going?"
"To-morrow morning."
"Why this suddenness?"
"To get away quickly--to escape."
"From Elaine?"
Croyden nodded.
Macloud smiled.
"He is coming to it, at last," he thought. What he said was:--"You're
not going to be put to flight by a woman?"
"I am.--If I stay here I shall lose."
"You mean?"
"I shall propose."
"And be refused?"
"Be accepted."
"Most people would not call that _losing_," said Macloud.
"I have nothing to do with most people--only, with myself."
"It seems so!--even Elaine isn't to be considered."
"Haven't we gone over all that?"
"I don't know--but, if we have, go over it again."
"You assume she came down here solely on my account--because I'm
here?"
"I assume nothing," Macloud answered, with a quiet chuckle. "I said you
have a chance, and urged you not to let it slip. I should not have
offered any suggestion--I admit that----"
"Oh, bosh!" Croyden interrupted. "Don't be so humble--you're rather
proud of your interference."
"I am! Certainly, I am! I'm only sorry it is so unavailing."
"Who said it was unavailing!"
"You did!--or, at least, I inferred as much."
"I'm not responsible for your inferences."
"What are you responsible for?" asked Macloud.
"Nothing! Nothing!--not even for my resolution--I haven't any--I can't
make any that holds. I'm worse than a weather-cock. Common sense bids
me go. Desire clamors for me to stay--to hasten over to Ashburton--to
put it to the test. When I get to Ashburton, common sense will be in
control. When I come away, desire will tug me back, again--and so on,
and so on--and so on."
"You're in a bad way!" laughed Macloud. "You need a cock-tail, instead
of a weather-cock. Come on! if we are to dine at the Carringtons' at
seven, we would better be moving. Having thrown the blue funk, usual to
a man in your position, you'll now settle down to business."
"To be or not to be?"
"Let future events determine--take it as it comes," Macloud urged.
"Sage advice!" returned Croyden mockingly. "If I let future events
decide for me, the end's already fixed."
The big clock on the landing was chiming seven when they rang the bell
at Ashburton and the maid ushered them into the drawing-room. Mrs.
Carrington was out of town, visiting in an adjoining county, and the
Captain had not appeared. He came down stairs a moment later, and took
Macloud and Croyden over to the library.
After about a quarter of an hour, he glanced at his watch a trifle
impatiently.--Another fifteen minutes, and he glanced at it again.
"Caroline!" he called, as the maid passed the door. "Go up to Miss
Davila's room and tell her it's half-after-seven."
Then he continued with the story he was relating.
Presently, the maid returned; the Captain looked at her,
interrogatingly.
"Mis' Davila, she ain' deah, no seh," said the girl.
"She is probably in Miss Cavendish's room,--look, there, for her," the
Captain directed.
"No, seh! I looks dyar--she ain' no place up stairs, and neither is
Mis' Cav'dish, seh. Hit's all dark, in dey rooms, seh, all dark."
"Very singular," said the Captain. "Half-after-seven, and not here?"
"They were here, two hours ago," said Croyden. "We had tea with them."
"Find out from the other servants whether they left any word."
"Dey didn', seh! no, seh! I ax'd dem, seh!"
"Very singular, indeed! excuse me, sirs, I'll try to locate them."
He went to the telephone, and called up the Lashiels, the Tilghmans,
the Tayloes, and all their neighbors and intimates, only to receive the
same answer: "They were not there, and hadn't been there that
afternoon."
"This is amazing, sirs!" he exclaimed. "I will go up myself and see."
"We are at your service, Captain Carrington," said Macloud
instantly.--"At your service for anything we can do."
"They knew, of course, you were expected for dinner?" he asked, as he
led the way upstairs.--"I can't account for it."
The Captain inspected his granddaughter's and Miss Cavendish's rooms,
Macloud and Croyden, being discreet, the rooms on the other side of the
house. They discovered nothing which would explain.
"We will have dinner," said the Captain. "They will surely turn up
before we have finished."
The dinner ended, however, and the missing ones had not returned.
"Might they have gone for a drive?" Macloud suggested.
The Captain shook his head. "The keys of the stable are on my desk,
which shows that the horses are in for the night. I admit I am at a
loss--however, I reckon they will be in presently, with an explanation
and a good laugh at us for being anxious."
But when nine o'clock came, and then half-after-nine, and still they
did not appear, the men grew seriously alarmed.
The Captain had recourse to the telephone again, getting residence
after residence, without result. At last he hung up the receiver.
"I don't know what to make of it," he said, bewildered. "I've called
every place I can think of, and I can't locate them. What can have
happened?"
"Let us see how the matter stands," said Macloud. "We left them here
about half-after-five, and, so far as can be ascertained, no one has
seen them since. Consequently, they must have gone out for a walk or a
drive. A drive is most unlikely, at this time of the day--it is dark
and cold. Furthermore, your horses are in the stable, so, if they went,
they didn't go alone--some one drove them. The alternative--a walk--is
the probable explanation; and that remits us to an accident as the
cause of delay. Which, it seems to me, is the likely explanation."
"But if there were an accident, they would have been discovered, long
since; the walks are not deserted," the Captain objected.
"Possibly, they went out of the town."
"A young woman never goes out of town, unescorted," was the decisive
answer. "This is a Southern town, you know."
"I suppose you don't care to telephone the police?" asked Croyden.
"No--not yet," the Captain replied. "Davila would never forgive me, if
nothing really were wrong--besides, I couldn't. The Mayor's office is
closed for the night--we're not supposed to need the police after six
o'clock."
"Then Croyden and I will patrol the roads, hereabout," said Macloud.
"Good! I will go out the Queen Street pike a mile or two," the Captain
said. "You and Mr. Croyden can take the King Street pike, North and
South. We'll meet here not later than eleven o'clock. Excuse me a
moment----"
"What do you make of it?" said Macloud.
"It is either very serious or else it's nothing at all. I mean, if
anything _has_ happened, it's far out of the ordinary," Croyden
answered.
"Exactly my idea--though, I confess, I haven't a notion what the
serious side could be. It's safe to assume that they didn't go into the
country--the hour, alone, would have deterred them, even if the danger
from the negro were not present, constantly, in Miss Carrington's mind.
On the other hand, how could anything have happened in the town which
would prevent one of them from telephoning, or sending a message, or
getting some sort of word to the Captain."
"It's all very mysterious--yet, I dare say, easy of solution and
explanation. There isn't any danger of the one thing that is really
terrifying, so I'm not inclined to be alarmed, unduly--just
disquieted."
At this moment Captain Carrington returned.
"Here! take these," he said, giving each a revolver. "Let us hope there
won't be any occasion to use them, but it is well to be prepared."
They went out together--at the intersection of Queen and King Streets,
they parted.
"Remember! eleven o'clock at my house," said the Captain. "If any one
of us isn't there, the other two will know he needs assistance."
Croyden went north on King Street. It was a chilly November night, with
frost in the air. The moon, in its second quarter and about to sink
into the waters of the Bay, gave light sufficient to make walking easy,
where the useless street lamps did not kill it with their timid
brilliancy. He passed the limits of the town, and struck out into the
country. It had just struck ten, when they parted--he would walk for
half an hour, and then return. He could do three miles--a mile and a
half each way--and still be at the Carrington house by eleven. He
proceeded along the east side of the road, his eyes busy lest, in the
uncertain light, he miss anything which might serve as a clue. For the
allotted time, he searched but found nothing--he must return. He
crossed to the west side of the road, and faced homeward.
A mile passed--a quarter more was added--the feeble lights of the town
were gleaming dimly in the fore, when, beside the track, he noticed a
small white object.
It was a woman's handkerchief, and, as he picked it up, a faint odor of
violets was clinging to it still. Here might be a clue--there was a
monogram on the corner, but he could not distinguish it, in the
darkness. He put it in his pocket and hastened on. A hundred feet
farther, and his foot hit something soft. He groped about, with his
hands, and found--a woman's glove. It, also, bore the odor of violets.
At the first lamp-post, he stopped and examined the handkerchief--the
monogram was plain: E. C.--and violets, he remembered, were her
favorite perfume. He took out the glove--a soft, undressed kid
affair--but there was no mark on it to help him. He glanced at his
watch. His time had almost expired. He pushed the feminine trifles back
into his pocket, and hurried on.
He was late, and when he arrived at Ashburton, Captain Carrington and
Macloud were just about to start in pursuit.
"I found these!" he said, tossing the glove and the handkerchief on the
table--"on the west side of the road, about half a mile from town."
Macloud picked them up.
"The violets are familiar--and the handkerchief is Elaine's," said he.
"I recognize the monogram as hers."
"What do you make of it?" Captain Carrington demanded.
"Nothing--it passes me."
His glance sought Croyden's.
A shake of the head was his answer.
The Captain strode to the telephone.
"I'm going to call in our friends," he said. "I think we shall need
them."