If anything could have raised Mordaunt's spirits that night it would
have been his supper with the joyous Bohemians--listening to their
banjos and bright choruses, and hearing the tales of the "high jinks"
they hold in the neighboring forests in spring-time. Many members of
that genial club were charming enough to make him forget that they were
fellow-townsmen of vulgarians like Bloxsome, but nothing could disperse
the cloud that overshadowed him.
The girl had grown dearer to him every day, and yet she seemed further
from him than ever. He would not blame her, still less would he have
allowed any one else to do so. Had she not said, only six weeks ago,
that she did not like him well enough to marry? Except during those
three days in the train together--those three unforgettable days--they
had never been alone, as they then virtually were, and nothing had
passed to justify him in the belief that her heart had softened. On
the contrary, she seemed to have taken special pains to prevent his
forming such an erroneous idea. She treated him only a little better
than the other young men round her--just so much as to rouse their
jealous animosity--not enough to distinguish him as the one she had
chosen from all the world. Though he had defended her against his
aunt's insinuations, as regarded the "braying chorus," he did not
feel the less secretly hurt. Therefore it was that he was here at
the Bohemian Club to-night, instead of gliding round the Planters'
sitting-room, with his arm round Clare's waist.
He did not see the Planters the following morning. Mrs. Frampton and
Grace had wished them good-by the previous evening, and they were off
early with a large party to San Rafael. Before the Ballingers left
San Francisco that day the English mail had arrived, bringing nearly
a week's budget of letters and papers. There was food enough for the
mind, and to spare, to last them that short journey.
Mordaunt and his aunt sat together at the end of the car, Grace by
herself a little distance off. Her letters were not very interesting,
but she had several papers which Mordy had handed to her; only the last
issues he and his aunt were reading. The debates naturally claimed the
young member's first attention; the society journals and _Pall Mall
Gazette_ gossip as naturally claimed Mrs. Frampton's.
"Look! Look here!" she whispered, suddenly, turning to her nephew, and
pointing to a paragraph. "Do you see this? Have you looked at the law
reports?"
Then he read the following:
"The termination of the great will case yesterday is a triumph not
only to Mr. Ivor Lawrence's personal friends, but to all lovers
of fair play who have declined to prejudge the case, and who have
viewed with grave reprehension the disposition in society to
believe the allegations recklessly brought against a gentleman who
had always enjoyed an unblemished reputation. Mr. Ivor Lawrence
has suffered most cruelly during the past eight months, and it is
but just that the false accusations he has labored under should
recoil upon the head of Mr. Giles Tracy, who, without the smallest
evidence, dared to bring these charges against his cousin. That
the course of the trial brought to light certain facts not wholly
creditable to the accuser was the penalty he paid for his rashness."
Mordaunt turned to the law report in the _Times_, and there read, at
large, the collapse of the first day. It had been expected it would
extend over several, but Mr. Eagles's testimony was so complete and
crushing that Giles Tracy's counsel had no choice but to withdraw.
Unfortunately for him, this withdrawal was not before certain indelible
stains had been left on the young man's character by the solicitor's
evidence as to the cause which led to the estrangement between the
testator and his favorite nephew, an estrangement which hardened
into virulent aversion as time revealed, more and more, Giles's true
character. At the period of Eagles's last interview with his client,
he had no idea Mr. Tracy could ever be persuaded to add a codicil
to his will leaving Giles twenty thousand pounds. He felt sure that
nothing but Mr. Lawrence's strong representations could have brought
him to do this. Mr. Eagles had made no less than four wills for Mr.
Tracy. He believed all had been destroyed but this last one, in which
he left everything to Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Tracy did not wish this to be
known--least of all by the nephew he resolved to make his heir--hence
his fiction about the hospital.
When Mordaunt had read rapidly the half-column which contained this
report, and had handed it to Mrs. Frampton, he sat brooding until she
had finished. The silence was broken by her saying,
"H'm! It is most unfortunate! I mean unfortunate _just now_, when
one wants to distract her mind from the subject. The man has behaved
disgracefully to _her_, at all events, and the sooner she forgets him
the better."
"Yes, of course; that's all right. But I must show her the paper."
"I don't know what to say to that. She looks so much brighter lately. I
hope she is beginning to forget. I watch her when she little thinks I
am doing so, and I see a great change for the better. I am afraid this
news will undo it all, by turning her thoughts again entirely upon this
wretch, whom I hate and abominate--for he has been the only cause of
real dissension between Gracey and me."
"Can't help that, aunty. She _must_ know. There's no help for it. It's
an awful bore. Confound it! everything seems to go wrong since we came
to California!"
Then, with a sigh which appeared to have its birth in his boots, and
went quivering up his frame, he rose and walked down the car to where
his sister sat.
"Look here, Gracey. Here's something you'll be glad to read. I don't
like the fellow. I think he behaved like a cad, though I stuck up for
him that night at Mrs. Reid's, just to please you. But, of course, I'm
glad to know he is not a scoundrel."
Her eyes sparkling, her face a-flush with excitement, she had seized
the paper from his hand, even while he spoke, and her eyes ran rapidly
down the column to which he pointed. When she had done, a sweet smile
played upon her lips. She leaned her head upon her brother's shoulder,
and whispered,
"I never doubted him about this, or--or anything else, dear. You must
never abuse him again--never--_never_, Mordy. He is the soul of honor,
and of all that is noble and high-minded. His very faults are grand
faults. You will learn to see that soon, dear--you will, indeed. And so
will aunty, when--when it all comes right."
The branching of wide-armed cypress-trees, and the incense of sweet
flowers was all they knew in the young moonlight, as they drove
from the depot--surely the most poetical railway-station in the
world--through the pleasure-grounds of the wonderful hotel at Monterey.
They alighted at the terrace of a huge, irregular building, and the
next minute found themselves in a big hall, crowded with ladies, some
in evening dress, some with hats and jackets ready to sally out into
the moonlight, and men smoking, drinking coffee, reading telegrams,
or gathered in knots round two or three of the most favored ladies
in rocking-chairs. Some of these were pretty, some, according to
British ideas, very much over-dressed for the occasion; all seemed to
be enjoying themselves thoroughly, and not to be afraid of showing
that they were. Small children were running in and out between
elderly gentlemen's legs. Young men were strolling in the corridors,
looking at the billiard-players through the open door, and stopping
to chaff the knots of young girls, clinging to each other with the
effusive affection born of twenty-four hours' acquaintance. Aged
ladies had bezique-boards between them, but were interchanging remarks
in high-pitched voices, none the less. Aged men were discussing Mr.
Blaine's projects, the World's Fair, and canned fruits with equal
vehemence. The babel of tongues, from the piercing falsetto of
childhood downwards, was deafening to the travellers as they entered,
but the scene was so gay, so pervaded with _bonhomie_, that even Mrs.
Frampton declared later that it was amusing--"amusing to _watch_. It
would be a delightful place for deaf persons to come to. So lively. And
the drum of _their_ ears would run no risk, you know."
In the morning, Grace looked out on the most lovely garden of its kind
she had ever seen, with glimpses of a sapphire-colored sea between the
red-lilac stems of pines and the gnarled boles of ilex. On the other
side a little lake, surrounded by palms and bamboos; in the foreground
beds of cineraria and sweet-smelling stock, with bunches of arums and
lilies raising their white crests above the masses of rich color. The
fresh morning air came up laden with the first breath of the flowers.
As soon as she was dressed she went out and watched the Chinese
gardeners at work on their borders of floral embroidery, and wandered
through the winding groves, across the railway and over the sand-hills
that slope to the beach, where she sat down awhile, and felt tranquilly
happy. It was good that her happiness had come to her here, where there
were no jarring elements; where no constant social effort was needed;
where nature was so rich, so fragrant, so untroubled. She could not
have nursed the peace at her heart so securely in those great cities;
even the wild crags and snowy fastnesses of beautiful Colorado, much as
she loved them, would have harmonized less with her present mood than
did the white-lipped sea curling on the yellow sand, and the tranquil
spaces of lofty shadow in the garden, upheld by the mighty columns of
the Californian pines.
The only cloud in the sky that day--and she could not feel that it
was one impenetrable to the sun--was her brother's gloom. He thought
that he need make no exertion with his aunt and his sister to assume
a cheerfulness he did not feel, and he looked as miserable as a man
who has not lost his appetite can look. Mrs. Frampton was much
concerned. She tried to talk of investments, but failed to rouse his
interest. He was clearly in a bad way, in a worse way even than she
had suspected. She was thankful to have got him from San Francisco.
But now that they had brought him away, what were they to do with him,
without companions, without purpose or occupation? As she watched him
at breakfast, slowly consuming an egg, with the air of an early martyr,
she felt at her wit's end what to do. However, they must not all three
sit still; movement was better than inactivity. She wisely insisted on
their going the famous "seventeen-mile drive," and taking luncheon with
them. She gave him a French novel, and bade him supply himself with an
unlimited amount of tobacco. She took for herself an eider-down cushion
and a sketch-book. And thus armed against _ennui_, if the drive should
prove disappointing, they started.
Though they drove along those shores repeatedly during the weeks they
remained at Monterey, it never, perhaps, looked quite as beautiful as
it did that morning. The sea was a wonderful color, more like the iris
with which the pine wood they first drove through was carpeted than
anything else in nature. Above the pine-needles and these purple-blue
irises rose bushes of pink _berberis_, until the road opened out upon
a wide down, fringed with rocks overhanging the sea. To-day there was
a west wind, which lashed it into white foam, not only against the
cliffs, but far as the eye could reach. Presently they gained a group
of island-rocks, two of which were literally covered with seals, whose
roaring and strange plaintive cries were heard more than a mile off.
On the summit of their home they lay dark and inert, sun-dried, and
probably asleep. Lower down they were sprawling and floundering about,
of a pale dun color, ever and anon plunging into the foaming waves,
such a picture of innocent enjoyment that it was pleasant to know
they were never molested. They only frequent certain portions of the
coast, and considering that they deprive the fishermen there of a large
portion of their spoil, it is creditable that the law which forbids
them to be destroyed or disturbed is so rigidly respected.
Soon after leaving this interesting colony, our friends came upon
that unique feature of this coast, the great cypress forest, which
affronts the winds and waves, stretching out into the very sea itself,
a sentinel now and again thrust forward upon some prominent crag,
its strong gray arms lifted defiantly against the foam that breaks
impotently over it. The "cypresses," as they are here called, closely
resemble the cedars of Lebanon, and have no apparent relation to the
columns of solid foliage usually associated with the name. Here and
there the bleached skeletons of these mighty trees, silver-lighted
in the sun, some still erect in death, some prone upon the sweet,
warm grass that crowns the pink-gray rock, tell with magic brilliancy
against the broad sovereignty of impenetrable green that dominates
the sea. As Grace beheld these gnarled trunks and twisted branches,
bearing their solemn crowns aloft, and immovable above the assaults
of lightning and of wind till death uncrowns and unrobes them, she
felt that this was the realm of epic poetry, the ocean-forest of
imagination, a kingdom unrivalled upon earth for its majesty of color
and richness of suggestion.
And now they rounded point after point, and she cried aloud to her
companions in her glee, and they responded after their kind. The same
elements formed fresh combinations at each turn--the rocks standing
out like castles in the sea, the cypresses, a beleaguering army, now
advancing, now retreating, their dead lying round them unmourned, slain
in the mighty battle with the winds of heaven, where, after centuries
of strife, they had fallen, and others had stepped forward from the
ranks to take their place.
In one of these little bays they stopped the carriage, and unpacked
their basket. And when they had all eaten Mrs. Frampton sharpened her
pencil, and attacked the scene with characteristic vigor. She was
not going to be beaten by the convolutions of a few trees--and those
American trees, too. Mordy smoked his pipe in silence, and fell asleep.
Grace rose, and wandered down among the rocks.
Just after this another carriage drew up a little distance off, from
which a man alighted. If not an Englishman, he was very like one. In
age he appeared to be near forty; strong, somewhat broad, and not very
tall. He could not be said to be handsome, his upper lip, from which
the hair was ruthlessly cut, being too long and straight. But he had
fine, fearless eyes, and his brow was broad and massive. His walk was
full of decision, and in his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers he had
the look of a man who would never waver, never turn back, nor give in,
under any ordinary strain, physical or mental. He stood still for a
moment, taking in the scene--in the foreground Sir Mordaunt Ballinger,
Bart. and M.P., asleep, with his head on an eider-down cushion; not far
off Mrs. Frampton, spectacles on nose, her attention riveted on that
group of hoary cypresses; the coachman beyond, devouring the remains
of the luncheon. Was there no one else? No. His eye scoured the scene;
then, making up his mind that the person he sought must be hidden from
him by the underwood and rocks, he strode down, unobserved by Mrs.
Frampton, to the edge of the cliff.
She was sitting on a rock, sheltered by the trees from the west wind,
her eyes fixed on the purple sea, with its green stains and white lips
curled in anger against the pebbles on the shore below her, when she
heard a rustle in the grass, the crackling of a twig, and, looking up,
saw Ivor Lawrence before her.
He had been present so vividly to her mind's eye the moment before that
she was scarcely startled. She caught her breath, her cheek turned
pale, before the blood rushed violently back there; that was all, as
she stammered out,
"Mr. Lawrence! How wonderful!"
He took her hand in both his, and held it for a moment or two before he
sat down beside her.
"Yes, it is wonderful to meet you in such a spot after our long
separation. I started immediately the trial was over. I had made all my
preparations beforehand, and vowed that nothing should keep me a day."
"We only received the papers with the result of the trial yesterday."
"I came over in the ship that brought the mails. Had I known your
address I should probably have been here before them. But I had to wait
in New York, to learn from your bankers where you were." Then he leaned
forward and looked yet more intently into her face. "You _knew_ that I
should come--and come at once, did you not?"
"I--thought you would--if you could--but, of course, I couldn't feel
sure." Then she added, with that burst of sunshine in her face, and
that rare naturalness which belonged to her, "But, oh, how glad I am!
How wonderful it is to see you here, after all these months--here, in
this lovely spot, when I have been thinking of you in London fogs! Oh!
that horrid trial! How thankful you must be it is over!"
"Yes--not that I had, latterly, any anxiety as to the result. From the
moment I knew Eagles was alive I knew I was safe. If Eagles had not
turned up, some good-natured people might still have doubted me."
She looked at him with her quickly-flashing eye, and the color mounted
again to her cheek.
"No one who knew you--who _really_ knew you--could ever have doubted,
though the trial had gone against you over and over again!"
"I like to hear you say that. You can't repeat it too often; it is
worth all the fortunes--all the triumphs in the world to me; it means
my whole happiness in life. You have never doubted, through my silence,
that I loved you better than anything in the world? You understood how
it was that I kept silent till I could face your brother, your aunt,
every one, without the suspicion of a stain upon my name?"
"No; I have never doubted, in my inmost heart, though I blamed you,"
she said, and the tears now rained down over her cheeks. He threw his
arms round her, and kissed the tears away.
"My darling! it was my great love for you--my desire that your name
should not be bandied about in connection with mine as long as this
accusation hung over my head."
She smiled up at him through her tears, while her head lay upon his
breast, and said, with a little gesture of negation,
"'Perfect love casteth out fear.'"
* * * * *
Nearly an hour later, Mrs. Frampton, having finished her sketch, went
in search of Grace. The sight which met her when, after hunting about
for some time, she reached the little cove of rocks where her niece and
a man were seated, their heads very close together, nearly caused the
good lady a fit. Grace--Grace, of all the girls in the world! She was
thunderstruck. She could hardly believe her eyes. The man's back was
turned to her. She uttered a loud exclamation and dropped her parasol.
Grace sprang up, ran towards her aunt, and embraced her. At the same
moment her companion turned, and Mrs. Frampton recognized in him the
man she had been abusing for the last eight months.
It was an awkward moment for her, but she was equal to the emergency.
She seized the situation at a glance; congratulated him on the result
of the trial; reproached him roundly for his silence; and, if I may
paraphrase the poet, "saying she would ne'er forgive, forgave him."
How could she do otherwise? She was too clever a woman to stick to her
small field-pieces, when she found they were only loaded with blank
cartridge.
Mordaunt joined them soon afterwards, and behaved like a good fellow
as he was, first of all, and a man of the world as he was, afterwards.
He grasped with heartiness the hand of the man whom he knew now was to
be his brother. And in the ruddy gold of waning day, behind the dark
columns of the trees, the four drove back to Monterey.