"'Tis a very ill-convenient thing for my future wife to wish she was
dead," I told her; "and why for has Tom gone to see your father? Mr. Owlet
ain't the sort of man to find a gay young spark like Tom much to his
taste."
"You must listen," she said, "and God forgive me for saying what I'm going
to say, but I can't live a lie no more, William, and Tom can't live a lie
no more. He loves me and I love him. I thought I loved you, and do love
you most sure and true and never better than now; but I don't love you
like I love him."
Then she poured it all out--how they'd found their real selves in each
other and so on--and I couldn't make up my mind on the instant whether she
spoke true, or whether she only thought she did. Being a proud sort of
man, I very well knew that there'd be no great fuss and splutter on my
side in any case, nor yet no silly attempts to keep her if her heart was
gone; but she appeared so excited and so properly frantic and so torn in
half between what she felt for Tom Bond and what she felt for me, that I
perceived how I must go steady and larn a lot more about the facts before
I stood down. There was my self-respect, of course, but there was also my
deep affection for the girl. What did amaze me was that I'd never seen the
thing unfolding under my eyes, and that none of the staff had called my
attention to it. But none had--man or woman--and when, afterwards, I asked
one or two of the elder ones if they'd marked any improprieties I ought to
know about, all said they had not. So that was another feather in Tom
Bond's cap in a manner of speaking, for he'd made amazing sure of his
ground and got himself safe planted in Jenny's affections without giving
one sign, even to my eyes, that he was up to any wickedness.
I knew he was clever, but shouldn't have thought anybody could be so
clever as that with the woman of my choice. And I knew, only too well,
that Jenny must have been amazing clever also. I calmed her down and
showed no spark of anger and didn't say a hard word against Bond; but that
night, after dinner, I bade him come in my pantry and tell me what he'd
been doing. Because a lot turned in my mind on the way he was going to
state the case, and I weren't in no yielding mood to him. Words flowed
from the man, like feathers off a goose, and under his regrets and shame,
and all the rest of it, was a sort of a hidden note of triumph, which I
didn't like at all, because it showed he was contemptuous of me at heart
and knew he'd got the whip-hand.
"It's this way, Mr. Morris," he said. "I have nothing much to tell you
that will excuse what's happened. I knew you were engaged to her and all
that; and God's my judge, I never dreamed to come between; but nature's
stronger than the strongest, and I hadn't been here six months before I
knew it was life or death between me and Jenny. I fought it down and so
did she, and we suffered a terrible lot more than you'll ever know or
guess; but such things happen every day and true love never did run
smooth. But the truth of what has happened you can see on her face, and
nought will ever change her again. And I'm the sun to your moon if you'll
excuse my saying so. And the triumph to have won such a woman is all lost
for me, because I know a man like you--so straight and honest--will never
understand such a thing and find it hard to pardon. It will darken our
lives, no doubt, that she made such a fatal mistake and thought she loved
you and made you think the same; but you're old enough to know that girls
make that mistake every day of their lives, and think love's come to 'em
before it has, and only know the difference when the true and only man
appears afore 'em."
He ran on like that, and I marked that his old, straight glance was gone.
There was a new expression in his eyes and a sort of suggestion that he
was tired of the subject and only concerned to save his face and let me
out so quick as might be. He spoke like a conqueror, in fact, and I well
knew he didn't care a farthing for my feelings under his pretence that he
did.
But I weren't going to let him out quite so easy. I'd seen war, which Tom
Bond had not, for I'd been my master's batman at the front and was known
for a brave man, though not a warrior like Sir Walter. So I weren't going
to be swept aside as a thing of no account in the matter, and I meant to
know a lot more about Bond himself before I went out of the game and
handed Jenny over.
When he had done I spoke and went on polishing while I did so:
"A man who would have run into this bad work open-eyed is a man who'll
need a power of thinking about," I said to him. "On your own showing
you've played a very dirty and devious trick to win this woman, or try to
do so, and it lets light on a side of your character I'd overlooked
because, no doubt, you was parlous quick to hide it. You knew Jenny Owlet
had ordained to marry me at her own wish and desire, and, knowing that,
you made love to her and was sloking her affection away, while all the
time I befriended you and praised you and set store upon you. And that's
both ends and the middle of it. And no call to bleat about nature, because
nature's a heathen thing, and you well knew it was no time to yield to any
temptations that would make you a knave if you did yield to 'em. And I'm
still minded to think the woman would be a lot happier and safer with me
than ever she'd find herself with a man that could do what you've done.
And that I say though I may be 'the moon to your sun.'
"So for the present, till I've had more truck with her and got to the
bottom of her feelings and put reason and decency afore her, I'll ask you
to behave and keep off her. She's engaged to marry me at this minute,
whatever the pair of you think to the contrary, and I hold her to that
undertaking until I am well satisfied it would be better for her if I
broke it. So now you watch out, or you'll find yourself in a tighter place
than you ever was before."
I threatened on purpose, to see how he'd take it; and I found he took it
ugly.
He showed his beautiful teeth and his brow came down and his eyes flashed.
"You'll fire me, I suppose?" he said. "That's the reward of being honest
and straight; and much good that will do you. You won't win her back,
because she's gone, and well you know it; and now you're going to bully me
and rob me of my job."
"Go," I answered the man, "and don't be a fool. If you've lived along with
me for near a year, you well know I bully none. I shan't fire you; but I
order this and no more or less: keep off her till I'm satisfied about you
and satisfied about her. And keep off her father likewise. Joshua Owlet
has got a screw loose where his daughter is concerned and it won't advance
nothing if you go to him. Now be off."
He made no answer, but I pointed to the door and he cleared out.
We were busy at the time and the house full of gentlemen, for it was half
through October and shooting in full swing. So I left it at that for a bit
and avoided Jenny also till her afternoon out; and then I told her we'd
walk together and drink tea at the Wheatsheaf in Little Silver. Which we
did do, and I explained the position and bade her hold off Tom until she
heard me on the subject again. She was a lot cut up about it and poured
scorn on herself and appeared very wishful to please me in the matter; but
there wasn't no more love-making, of course; and to make Jenny understand
the gulf that now separated us, I let her pay for her own tea. I loved her
still most ardent, but I meant for everything to be done decent and in
order; and so far as I am able to see, both of 'em fell in with my wishes
and waited for my future commands.
Then a most amazing thing fell out, and Jenny, who had spent an afternoon
with her father, told me he was very wishful to see me. So I called on the
man and heard news that astonished me a good bit.
Joshua Owlet was changed to the roots! He told me a story that chimed very
close with my own wishes, and for that reason I was tardy to believe it;
but he gave me chapter and verse, and when I heard my own life was got in
danger, I did believe it as the safest course to pursue.
"That Bond is a rogue, William," Joshua began, and he was terrible excited
from the start off.
"I'm inclined to agree with you," I answered, "for he's done a dirty thing
and, so far as I can tell, he's worked very artful to get Jenny away from
me, which no honest man would have set out to do."
"That's nothing," he answered. "The girl has been a fool and still is; but
the point is this. While she was all for him, Bond felt the going good;
but now, along of your high-minded action and the way you've took it, and
the way he's took it, and what I've said, she's in two minds yet. Love him
she did and love him she do and don't deny it; but she begins to see, as
well she may, that for her lifelong salvation, if she must wed, she'd have
a safer and a better time with you than Bond."
Well, I was a good deal surprised to hear Joshua talk so reasonable, and
what he said next astonished me still more.
"That's so far to the good," I answered, "for I care a lot too much for
the maiden to stand between her and her real welfare. But, apart from her,
I've always suspicioned Tom Bond was too good for this world till this
happened. Men ain't so perfect as him, and when I heard he'd got round
Jenny, I began to fear there was more to the young man than meets the
eye."
"A plucky sight more," declared Owlet. "You can leave him for a minute.
I'll come to him--the wicked rascal. But first I want for you to know that
I'd a darned sight sooner see my daughter married to you than him, or any
other man; and though I hate like hell for her to leave me, I ordain,
since it's got to be, that you have her and none other. And none else ever
shall."
I couldn't believe my ears, of course, but he was terribly in earnest. He
tore at his beard as his manner was, and his eyes flashed, and I couldn't
tell for my life whether he was speaking truth or was lying to me.
"So much for that then," I said, "and I'm very glad to hear you take that
view, for it was time you saw sense in the matter. But I don't wed Jenny
if she don't want to wed me--not to please you, or nobody. And that brings
us to Tom Bond. At this moment I'm in a difficulty, because seeking, where
I counted to learn more about him, I've been headed off. His credentials
was all they should be, and Sir Walter didn't trouble to verify 'em; and
asking him for 'em a few days since, I was a good bit put about to hear
that master couldn't find 'em. But he dared me to say there was anything
wrong with Bond, because he thinks the world of the man and wouldn't have
him away on no account whatever."
"I'll lay my life the blackguard stole those credentials poking about
where he didn't ought," said Joshua; but I answered 'twas little likely.
"The master be almost sure to have destroyed 'em, for he's got a mania for
tearing up in a hurry," I explained, "and he'll often do so and lament too
late."
"I hope he did, then, and I'll tell you why," said Owlet to me. "And, come
to think of it, I guess he did, for Bond is terrible anxious and worried
and like a rat in a trap. He knows you are on his track and he knows that
if those credentials exist and you can put hand to 'em you'll mighty soon
find they was forged. So don't you whisper they can't be found."
"And how do you know they was forged?" I asked.
"Because he told me so," answered Joshua. "He came here about Jenny and
pitched a tale and I listened, and presently I found the man was far
different from what he makes out at Oakshotts. I did a bit of play-acting
myself, William, and led him on, and though he was cautious as a rat, I
made him think after a bit I was a wrong 'un myself and got his
confidence."
"And how did you do that?" I asked. "And why?"
"I did it by holding out against you and saying I'd sooner my gal had him
than you; and why I did it was because I had dark suspicions. And you can
thank God I had. When he found I was up against Oakshotts and didn't care
for nobody there and took a lawless view of life, he came across with it.
He's a bad lot and have done time, and he's here for no good whatsoever to
Oakshotts. But he's worse than hot stuff, William. He's a dangerous
criminal, and he's going to put you out of his path pretty soon as if you
was no more than a carrion crow, unless you climb down about my daughter."
"Is he?" I said. "And how does he intend to set about it?"
"I've called you here to tell you," answered Owlet. "Only yesterday he let
out his plans and I pretended to applaud 'em. Nobody's easier to wipe out
than you, owing to your regular habits, and on Wednesday next which is his
afternoon off, he'll lie behind a hedge for you and do you in. That's as
sure as death."