FIRE AND FLAME.
It is difficult, nay impossible, to alter in one day the habit of
years. Meg had been accustomed to repair daily to Farbis Court from
her early girlhood, and, now that Miss Linisfarne had so pointedly
requested her to stay away, found her life disorganized. She still
roamed the moor, in the company of Dan, and was to all appearance
satisfied to see nothing of Miss Linisfarne; but in her heart she
regretted the breach between them, and missed greatly her daily visit.
Miss Linisfarne had behaved kindly for many years to the girl, and it
was not in the nature of Meg to cherish animosity towards one to whom
she owed much. Regarding her benefactress as a second mother, she was
disposed to overlook the past, and make the first advance towards a
reconciliation. This project she unfolded to Dan.
"I cannot bear to think of her all alone in that great house," said
Meg, "and, as I owe her more than I can ever repay, it is only right
that I should see her."
"I am afraid your visit will not be welcome," said Dan, dubiously.
"She no longer looks on you as her _protégée_, remember, but as a
woman who has thwarted her desires."
"Still, I shall call," insisted Meg; "if she refuses to see me, or to
be reconciled, I can come away again. But at least I shall have done
my duty. Indeed, she has been like a mother to me. All I know is due
to her and to Mr. Jarner."
"What does he say, Meg?"
"He thinks I ought to seek a reconciliation."
"In that case, I approve of your visit. What the vicar says must be
right. Go and see Miss Linisfarne, my darling. It is like your kind
heart to overlook her behaviour."
"Don't speak so harshly of her, Lord Ardleigh."
"For your sake, I won't," said Dan, promptly; "let us say no more
about her, Meg. Call when you please; but I fancy your embassy will be
unsuccessful."
"Oh, I hope not! I trust not! In spite of all that has passed I love
her still, Lord Ardleigh."
"Meg! You have called me Lord Ardleigh twice."
"Oh, I forgot! Frank, then."
"I don't like Frank either. Call me Dan."
"But I cannot go on calling you Dan all your life."
"Why not? It is the name I like best, for under it I won your love.
And, indeed, Meg, I have been called Dan for so many months, that I no
longer know myself as Francis Breel, or as Lord Ardleigh."
"Very well," said Meg, coquettishly, "I shall call you Dan in private,
when you are very, very good. Oh, Dan."
The reason of this exclamation can be easily imagined. He who fails to
guess it, is no true lover. Under the able tuition of Dan, the girl
soon learned to know what love was. They were ideal lovers, and no
quarrel occurred to mar the tranquillity of those golden days. Cupid
was king then, and they his humble worshippers and obedient subjects.
Having thus obtained the consent and approbation of Dan and the vicar,
Meg repaired to Farbis Court. It was rather late, and the dusk was
closing in, for she had been all the afternoon at the gipsy camp in
the company of her lover. He left her on the brow of the hill at her
own request, as she wished to see Miss Linisfarne that evening. Dan
wished her to postpone her visit until next day; but Meg was resolute.
She had already put off the call too long, and was determined to see
and comfort the lonely woman that very evening.
"It is only six o'clock, Dan," she said, in answer to his entreaties,
"and I can easily be home before seven. It is three weeks since I saw
her, so I must go at once."
"To-morrow morning----"
"Then I shall be with you. You keep me by your side all day. If I do
not call in the evening, I shall not see her at all."
"At least let me accompany you to the park gates."
"No. There is no necessity. I can go myself, as I have always done. No
one will touch me in Farbis. Good night, Dan. No. Only one kiss."
Thus they parted, and Meg ran down the hill in the twilight. Dan
watched her with some anxiety, and felt an unaccountable presentiment
of evil. He did not think for a moment that Miss Linisfarne would harm
the girl, else he would not have consented to her going to the Court.
But there was a sense of uneasiness in his breast, for which he could
not account. He looked towards Farbis Court, dark and forbidding under
the hill. The sight did not lighten his spirits.
"I hope I am wise in letting her go," he said aloud. "Pshaw! Miss
Linisfarne is foolish, but not wicked. Meg is all right. But I'll call
at the house after supper, and see if she is back, and also ask the
result of her mission. She will fail, I fear; Miss Linisfarne is not
the woman to forgive easily."
Thus reassuring himself, he returned to his dell to prepare supper.
Nevertheless the presentiment of evil still lurked in his mind, and he
did not make so cheery a meal as usual. Had he only known what was
taking place at the Court at that moment, he would no longer have
wondered at his expectation of coming evil. It would have been wiser
to trust a sparrow to a cat, than Meg to the clutches of Miss
Linisfarne on that evening. A woman scorned is dangerous.
She was pacing up and down the long drawing-room, with clasped hands,
and a look of baffled rage on her face. Innumerable candles lighted
the room brilliantly, and were reflected in the dusty mirrors. Miss
Linisfarne, with dishevelled hair, looked at herself in the glass, and
laughed bitterly at the wreck of her beauty.
"No wonder he would not look at me," she said despairingly. "Old and
haggard and wrinkled before my time. Had ever woman so miserable an
existence as mine? Will that unhappy episode of my life ever haunt me?
That man knows it, and knows Mallard. Then there is the other. Ah,
where is he? I was a fool to leave him; but I have been punished for
my folly--bitterly punished. Fierce as he was, surely the spectacle of
this wreck would satiate his hatred. But he is dead--dead. I have not
seen nor heard of him for twenty years. He is dead, with my dead
past."
She paused and walked rapidly up and down the dusty room. In her loose
white robe she looked like a phantom. With her flashing eyes and
restless gestures, she seemed like a mad woman. In truth her brain was
not quite sane. Long seclusion and incessant fretting had rendered her
irresponsible, and she frequently gave way to fits of rage which were
scarcely to be distinguished from insanity. Ordinarily languid and
weak, she possessed at these times the strength of a man. She was
dangerous, and knew she was dangerous. She was mad, but did not know
it. Nor did any one else. Only when she was alone did she give way to
these paroxysms--as on the present occasion.
"If I only had that girl here, I would kill her!" she panted. "I would
crush her life out, and stamp out the beauty of her face! He loves her
beauty as once the other loved mine. Oh, that I could mar and spoil
it! I hate her! I hate her!"
Leaning against the wall, exhausted with her passions, she looked as
though in a dying condition. The fit was ended for the moment, and,
weak with her late exertion, she threw herself on her couch by the
oriel.
At that moment, Meg entered the room. She was astonished at the blaze
of light, and wondered where her friend could be.
"Miss Linisfarne! Miss Linisfarne!"
The woman on the couch heard and recognized the voice. A fierce thrill
of joy shot through her; but she did not move. She did not even raise
her face from the couch, but mentally repeated to herself--
"She is here! She is in my power!"
Unaware of the wrath which possessed her hostess, Meg came forward and
knelt by the couch. She was deeply sorry to find Miss Linisfarne in so
prostrate a condition, and strove to comfort her.
"Miss Linisfarne, it is I. It is Meg. I have come to see you, and tell
you how sorry I am that we quarrelled. Won't you speak to me?"
By this time Miss Linisfarne was more composed, and, with the cunning
of a mad woman, concealed the hatred she felt for her visitor. Yet,
when she looked at Meg with glittering eyes, the girl started back
in horror. The invalid appeared dangerous; but of her Meg felt no
fear--as yet.
"Miss Linisfarne! Are you ill?"
"Ill, child? I am very ill," replied Miss Linisfarne, in a hurried
voice. "See how bright my eyes are; feel how hot my hands are. Fever,
child--fever."
"Lie down again, and let me get you a cooling drink--your medicine."
"No medicine will do me any good, child. I am dying."
"You must not talk like that, Miss Linisfarne," said Meg, soothingly;
"you are only excited and feverish. Lie down again. Please do."
"Why are you here?" asked Miss Linisfarne, taking no notice of the
gentle request.
"I came to say how sorry I am that----"
"There, there, child--say no more about it."
"You forgive me?"
"Yes. I forgive you. See, I kiss you. Of course I forgive you."
She pressed a Judas kiss on Meg's brow, where her lips seared like
fire. Glancing hurriedly round the room, she wondered how she could
harm the girl. Here, it was useless; the servants were within call,
they would hear here. She must get the girl to some other part of the
house, and there---- Yes. In that moment she formed a plan, and
proceeded to carry it out. No fox was so cunning as she, at that
moment.
"So you are to marry Lord Ardleigh, child?"
"Yes. You know him, then."
"I was told--I was told. Ha! ha! No wonder he was like the picture of
Sir Alurde."
"Sir Alurde is his ancestor," said Meg, wondering at the strange
manner of her hostess.
"Yes, yes! And you are to be Lady Ardleigh! I am glad he means well,
child. Yes, I thought his doings were evil. Poor man! Ha, ha!"
"Dear Miss Linisfarne, lie down, and let me call the housekeeper."
"No, no! I shall be better presently. Let me get up! I am quite
strong. Hush, child; not a word! Let me whisper in your ear! I have a
wedding present for you."
"A present for me!"
"Yes, I am going to give you the portrait of Sir Alurde. I asked Lord
Ardleigh, and he said I could do so."
"Have you seen him?" asked Meg, rather astonished that Dan had said
nothing to her about it.
"Yes, yes! The other day! Did he not tell you? I have had the portrait
taken from the gallery and placed in a room. It looks splendid, child!
Sir Alurde is a king among men. Come and see him."
She sprang up from the couch, and seized a candle from one of the
sconces. Meg tried to restrain her; but Miss Linisfarne insisted in
going. In order to humour her, and in the hope that she might
afterwards be more amenable to reason, Meg agreed to accompany her;
and, with Miss Linisfarne leading the way, and bearing the candle,
they left the drawing-room. Meg had no idea that the woman was mad, as
she had no experience of lunacy. She certainly thought her conduct
strange, but felt no fear, and humoured her as she would a child. Had
she only guessed the truth, what horrors might have been averted!
Up the stairs went Miss Linisfarne, chuckling over the success of her
strategy. She led Meg far away from the inhabited portion of the house
to the west wing, which was shut up and barred. Evidently she had been
there lately, for a bunch of keys hung at her girdle, and with one of
these she unlocked the doors. In the darkness only made more profound
by the glimmer of that one candle, Meg began to feel a little afraid.
"Where are you taking me to, Miss Linisfarne?" she said, shrinking
back.
"To see Sir Alurde's portrait! It is only a little way now! Come,
child! Come, I say!" she added, savagely seizing the girl's wrist.
"You must see my wedding present. Ah, my dear, a bonny bride you will
make!"
Now, thoroughly terrified, Meg strove to release herself from the
clutch of her hostess, as she felt certain that something was wrong.
But Miss Linisfarne now had the strength of madness in her, and
hurried the girl along recklessly. The walls of the passage were hung
with faded arras, that bellied out with the wind. In the dim light of
the one candle the figures of huntsman and hawk and hound and tree
started out grotesquely. Meg would have fled, but could not get away.
Still retaining her presence of mind, she did not scream, but waited
for the first opportunity to escape.
Miss Linisfarne asked Meg to hold the candle, and, still clutching the
girl's wrist, unlocked a door on the right. When it opened a breath of
chill air swept out. Pushing Meg in, she followed, and they found
themselves in a chamber of no great size, with one barred window.
Against the wall rested a picture in its gold frame.
"See, see! Sir Alurde's portrait! Your lover's portrait! My wedding
present," cried Miss Linisfarne, snatching the candle from the girl.
"Look, child--look at him now!"
Meg uttered a cry of alarm! The picture was cut to pieces in the most
savage manner. She turned to fly, but Miss Linisfarne was before her.
With a jeering laugh she hurried out, and shut the door. Meg heard the
key turn in the lock, and then the voice of the woman, whom she now
knew was mad.
"Stay there! Stay there! You wretch! You robber! You took him from me!
Stay there in the dark, and look at his face now. Starve! starve and
die in your cell! Shout, no one will hear you--no one will know! Ha,
ha! How like you my wedding present?"
As Miss Linisfarne uttered these words she waved the candle wildly. It
touched the tapestry, and in a moment the moth-eaten stuff, dry as
tinder, was in a blaze. She saluted the fire with cries of joy. Meg
smelt the burning, and saw the vivid line of light under the door of
her cell. With a cry of alarm she hurried to the window and found it
barred, while outside in the passage the flames roared, and Miss
Linisfarne shrieked like the mad woman she was.