At noon the following day there was a large meeting at Gloucester
House. There gathered the Beltons, Baron Wirsch, Griffenberg, and the
titled and untitled folk who had been concerned in Sir Stephen Orme's
big scheme. And they were all gloomy and in a bad temper; for all of
them had lost money and some of them were well-nigh ruined by the
collapse of the company which was to have made their fortunes. They
came before noon, the appointed hour, and talked, sometimes in
undertones, but not seldom in loud and complaining voices. By one and
all the dead man was blamed for the ruin in which he had involved them.
They had left the whole thing in his hands: he ought to have foreseen,
ought to have taken proper precautions. They had been--well, if not
duped and deceived, the victims of his criminal sanguineness and
carelessness.
Griffenberg, being one of the heaviest losers, was elected to the
chair, but beyond making a statement which told them nothing, he could
do little. When he informed them that Lord Highcliffe had died
practically insolvent, a murmur arose, a deep guttural murmur which was
something between a hiss and a groan, and it was while this unpleasant
sound was filling the room that Stafford entered.
The groan, if groan it can be called, died away, and they all turned
and looked at his pale and careworn face. The tall figure in its deep
mourning dress silenced them for the moment.
Griffenberg signed Stafford to a seat beside him.
"I am sure we can tell Lord Highcliffe that we are glad to see him,
that we are much obliged for his attendance."
Some few said "Hear! hear!" but the rest were silent and watchful. As
Griffenberg spoke the door opened again and Ralph Falconer entered. He
glanced at Stafford and knit his brows, but dropped heavily into a
chair, and sat with stony face and half-lowered lids. He had scarcely
taken his seat when Howard entered in his quiet fashion, and he went
and stood just behind Stafford.
"I was just telling the meeting, Lord Highcliffe, that I was afraid we
were in a bad way." said Griffenberg. "We all relied so completely on
Sir Stephen--I beg pardon, Lord Highcliffe, your father--that we feel
ourselves helpless now--er--left in the lurch. The company is in great
peril; there has already been heavy loss, and we fear that our property
will be swallowed up--"
"Ask him what Sir Stephen did with all his money!" cried an excited
shareholder.
"Order!" said Mr. Griffenberg. "Lord Highcliffe is not here to answer
questions."
"Then what's he here for?" retorted another man whose loss amounted to
a few hundreds, but who was more excited and venomous than those who
had many thousands at stake. "He's all right. He's a lord--a pretty
lord!--and I'm told the gentleman he's next to is his future
father-in-law, and is rolling in money--"
"Order! order!" called Griffenberg.
But the man declined to be silenced.
"Oh, it's all very well to call 'Order!' But I've a question to ask. I
want to know whether it's true that Sir Stephen--blow 'Lord
Highcliffe,' Sir Stephen's good enough for me!--made over a hundred
thousand pounds to his son, the young gentleman sitting there. Some of
us is ruined by this company, and we don't see why we should be sheared
while Lord Highcliffe gets off with a cool hundred thousand. I ask the
question and I wait for an answer."
Stafford rose, his pale, handsome face looking almost white above his
black frock-coat and black tie.
"Sit down! Don't answer him," said Griffenberg.
"It is quite true," he said. "The money--a hundred thousand pounds--was
given to me. It was given to me when my father"--his voice broke for a
moment--"was in a position to give it, was solvent--"
"I said so, didn't I?" yelled the man who had put the question.
"Order! order!" said Griffenberg.
"And I am informed that the gift was legal, that it cannot be
touched--"
"Of course it can't! Trust Sir Stephen to look after his own!" wailed
the man.
"But I yield it, give it up," said Stafford in the same level voice.
Falconer started from his seat and laid a hand on Stafford's arm.
"Don't be a fool!", he whispered in his thick voice.
But Stafford did not heed him.
"I give it up, relinquish it," he said in the same low, clear tones.
"When my father"--his voice again shook for a moment, but he mastered
his emotion--"made the deed, he thought himself a rich man. If he were
alive to-day"--there was a pause, and the meeting hung on his
words--"he would entirely agree with what I am doing. I give up the
deed of gift, I relinquish it. My lawyers have made me the proper
document, and I now give it to your chairman. It is all I possess; if I
had more, I would give it to you. My father was an honourable man, if
he were here now--"
He placed the deed before Griffenberg, and sank into his seat.
There was a moment of intense silence, then a cheer arose, led by the
very man who had put the question.
Griffenberg sprang to his feet.
"I hope you are satisfied, gentlemen," he said, with as much emotion as
a city man can permit himself. "Lord Highcliffe has behaved like a
gentleman, like a nobleman. I can assure you that his sacrifice is a
real one. The deed of gift which he has surrendered is a perfectly
sound one, and could not have been touched. All honour to him for his
surrender, for his generosity."
Another cheer arose--again it was started by the very man who had
attacked poor Stafford, and before it had ceased to ring through the
crowded room, Stafford had made his way out.
Mr. Falconer caught him by the arm as he was going down the stairs.
"Do you know what you have done?" he demanded in his dry, harsh voice.
"You have made yourself a pauper."
Stafford stopped and looked at him with a dull, vacant gaze.
"A pauper!" repeated Falconer, huskily.
"I daresay," said Stafford, wearily.
"And you an earl!" said Falconer, his face a brick-dust red. "Do you
think they will have any pity? Not they. They'll take you at your word.
They'll have every penny! How do you mean to live? You, the Earl of
Highcliffe!"
Stafford passed his hand across his brow; and a smile, a grim smile,
curved his lips.
"I don't know," he said. "The money was theirs, not mine."
"Stuff and rubbish!" said Falconer. "You thought only of yourself, of
your father's good name. I need scarcely tell you that Maude..."
Stafford waited, his pale face set like a statue's.
--"That Maude--well, you don't expect her to consider the engagement
binding after--after this?" The blood rushed to Stafford's face.
"I understand," he said. "Miss Falconer is free. I resign all claim to
her."
At this moment Howard came out. He had almost fought his way from the
crowded room.
"Stafford!" he cried. "It is not too late! You can take it back! They
are friendly!"
Stafford smiled.
"I've nothing to take back!" he said.
Howard linked his arm in his friend's.
"Good Lord! But it was splendid! But all the same--Stafford, have you
considered? It will leave you practically penniless!"
"I know," said Stafford. "I have considered. Let us go home."
They went home to Stafford's room. Howard was hot with the enthusiasm
of admiration, and with the effort to suppress it; for nowadays men do
not tolerate praise even from their dearest friend. It seemed to Howard
as if Stafford's act of renunciation had brought him a certain sense of
relief, as if some portion of the heavy weight had been lifted from his
heart.
"Of course now we have to go into a committee of ways and means, my
dear Staff; you won't mind my asking you what you're going to do? I
need not say that there is no need for any precipitate action.
I--er--the fact is, Staff, I have a sum of money lying at the bank
which absolutely annoys me by its uselessness. The bank manager has
been bothering me about it for some time past, and it was such a
nuisance that I thought of tossing him whether he should take or I. It
isn't much--a man doesn't amass a large fortune by writing leaders for
the newspapers and articles for reviews--but of course you wouldn't be
so mean as to refuse to borrow what there is. I'm very much afraid that
you'll suffer by this absurdly quixotic action of yours, which, mind
you! though I admire it, as I admire the siege of Troy, or the battle
of Waterloo, is a piece of darned foolishness. However, let that go!
What do you mean to do?"
"I don't know yet," said Stafford. He didn't thank Howard for the
offer; no thanks were necessary. "The thing is so sudden that I have
not made any plans. I suppose there's something I can do to earn my
living. I've no brains, but I'm pretty strong. I might drive a hansom
cab or an omnibus, better men than I have done worse. Leave me alone,
old man, to have a pipe and think of it." Howard lingered for an hour
or two, for he felt that though Stafford had dismissed him, he had need
of him; and when he had gone Stafford took his hat and went out. He did
not call a hansom, but walked on regardless of his route, and lost in
thought. Something of the weight that had crushed him had been lifted
from his heart: he was penniless, the future stretched darkly before
him with a darkness through which there appeared no road or sign of
light; but he was free. He would not be compelled to go to the altar,
there to perjure himself with an oath to love and cherish one woman
while he loved another. I am afraid he did not feel much pity for
Maude, simply because he did not realise how much she cared for him.
He walked on for some time and at last found himself somewhere down by
the Minories, in that mysterious East End, of which we hear so much and
of which we know so little. A little farther on he came upon the river
and he stood for a moment or two watching some sheep and cattle being
driven on board an ocean tramp. The sight of them recalled Herondale
and Ida; and he was turning away, with a sigh, when a burly man with a
large slouch hat stuck on the back of his head came lurching out of one
of the little wooden offices on the quay. He was apparently the owner
of the sheep, or in some way concerned with them, for he harangued the
drovers in a flow of language which though rich in profanity, was
poured forth in a pleasant and jovial voice. He had been drinking
unwisely and too well, and as he wobbled richly about the small quay he
happened to lurch against Stafford, who was attempting to avoid him. He
begged Stafford's pardon profusely and with such good-natured penitence
that Stafford in addition to granting him the forgiveness he requested,
asked him where the sheep and cattle were going.
"To my little place, Salisbury Plain." Seeing the astonishment which
Stafford could not keep out of his face, the man laughed and explained.
"Not your Salisbury Plain, not the place here in England, but in the
Burra-Burra country, Australia," he pointed with his fat hand
downwards. "Right underneath. They're prize rams and bulls. I like to
have the best, and I paid a devil of a long price for them; but I've
got enough left for a drink if you'll come and have one."
Stafford declined, but the man clung on to his arm, and thinking it the
easiest way of getting rid of him, and to avoid a scene, Stafford
accompanied him to the clean and inviting little public at the corner
of the quay, and permitted the man to order a glass of ale for him; the
bar-maid, without receiving any intimation, placed a large joram of rum
before the man, who remarked, after raising his glass to Stafford's
health:
"Yes, sir, and I'm going with those beasts. I've nothing to say against
Old England so long as you don't ask me to live here. I've been here
six weeks, and there's only one thing that I feel I want and can't
get--no, miss, it ain't rum, there's plenty of that, thank God!--it's
air, air. I suppose the city gents are used to living without it,
though some of you look pale enough. _You_ don't look quite the thing
yourself, sir; rather white about the gills, and not enough meat on
you. Ah! I'd soon alter that if I had you at Salisbury Plain. Lord! I
should like to take out a whole shipload of you; and mind, I could do
with a few, and pay you better wages than you get in the City of
London. And the life! Why, you'd think yourselves kings, with a horse
to ride and plenty to eat, and plenty of fun. But there! you can't tell
what it's like unless you've seen it, and if ever you should have a
fancy to see it, you come out to Salisbury Plain, to my little place on
the Burra-Burra; for I like the look of you, young man; you're a
gentleman, though I've an idea you're down on your luck--I ain't so
drunk that I can't see through a man's eyes, and there's trouble in
yours; been outrunning the constable, eh? And you're not too proud to
take a drink with an honest man--honest, though rough, maybe."
"Not at all," said Stafford, "and now you will take a drink with me, or
shall we make it a cigar?" for he did not want to lead the man any
further on the road of inebriety.
"A cigar? Right you are," the settler replied, promptly. He took out an
envelope, intending to screw it up for a light, but suddenly caught
sight of the address, and with genial gravity handed the envelope to
Stafford. "There's my name--Henery Joffler, and there's my address, and
anybody at Melbourne will tell you the best way of getting there. Come
when you like, winter or summer, and you'll find Henery Joffler ready
to receive you with a welcome. _Now_ I will have a drink," he remarked,
as if he had not partaken of one for a calendar month.
When Stafford left the little public house, he held the envelope in his
hand and was about to tear it up, when he checked himself and
mechanically put it into his pocket. The incident, if it had not
actually amused him, had diverted his mind in a wholesome manner for a
short space; but he had almost forgotten it when has reached his rooms.
The time had slipped by him and it was now twilight and as he was
crossing the room in the dusk to ring the bell for a light, a woman
rose from his chair and came towards him with out-stretched hands and
his name on her lips.
"Maude!" he exclaimed, startled out of his self-possession. Then it
flashed upon him that she should not be there, in his rooms, alone; and
he looked at her gravely.
"Why have you come, Maude?" he said. "Wait but one moment and I will
call a cab--go home with you."
"No," she said, presently. "Did you think I should not come, Stafford?
I have been here for hours." She drew nearer to him, her eyes, so cold
to others, burning like sapphires as they were raised to his. "Did you
think when I had heard what you had done that I should keep away? No!
I--I am proud of you--can you not guess how proud?--my heart is aching
with it. Ah, but it was like you, Stafford!"
As she put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him with a smile of
pride, and of adoration, Stafford's eyes fell before hers.
"I could do nothing else," he said. "But I am sorry you came, Maude.
Didn't Mr. Falconer tell you?"
She laughed and threw back her head with a defiant gesture.
"Yes--as if it mattered! As if anyone--even he--could separate us!
Besides, what he said was in a fit of temper, he was annoyed by your
surrendering the money. And he could not speak for me--could not
control me."
"Let me get a light," said Stafford.
"No matter," she said, as if she could not bear him to leave her side,
even for a moment. "Stafford, dearest, you will not think of, you will
forget, what he said? It was spoken in a moment of irritation. Oh, my
dearest, let me look at you--it is so long since I saw you, so long, so
long! How pale you are, and how weary looking!"
Her other arm went round his neck, and she would have drawn his face
down to her lips, but Stafford checked her.
"You should not be here," he stammered.
She laughed.
"How proud you are! Yes, and I love you for it! You think that I should
desert you, as most women would do!" She laughed again. "If you were a
pauper--"
"It is what your father called me," he said, gravely
She smiled up into his gloomy eyes defiantly, temptingly.
"What does it matter? I am rich--my father is rich--"
Stafford winced and his face flamed, but she had turned aside for a
moment and did not see the effect of her words.
--"And you have more than wealth," she laughed. "I reminded him of
that, and it sobered him. Oh, believe me! for all his pretended
stoicism, my father values a title as keenly as most men, and at heart
is anxious to see his daughter a countess."
Stafford bit his lip.
"I will take you home now," he said. Something in his voice told her
that she had made a wrong step, that she had failed. With a cry she
clung to him more tightly, and drawing back her head, scanned his face.
"Stafford! You--you don't mean to leave me--to throw me off! Say
it--promise me!" She laughed hysterically and would have slipped to her
knees at his feet; but he held her firmly. "See, dearest, I would plead
to you, pray to you! I am--so afraid. But you won't do that--you won't
let anything separate us? Hush! there is my father. Stafford, you will
listen, you will agree!"
As Falconer knocked at the door, she released Stafford, but stood near
him, with her hand resting on his arm.
Falconer came in and regarded them from under his lowered lids.
"I might have expected to find you here," he said harshly to Maude.
"Yes; I came to him," she said, with a little gesture. "Why should I
not? Why should I care--"
Falconer shrugged his shoulders, and turned from her to Stafford.
"I've come to take back what I said this morning," he said, in his dry
voice. "I was hasty, and your--insensate folly in giving up the money
upset me. I have been talking the matter over with Maude, and we have
agreed to--to--continue the engagement."
Stafford lit a couple of candles and the scant light fell upon the
faces of the three, the white one of the woman, the stern and set one
of Stafford, and the hard and impassive one of Mr. Falconer.
"Of course a large sum of money will have to be found; and I must find
it. It will be settled upon Maude--with, of course, a suitable
allowance for a nobleman of your rank--"
"One moment," said Stafford, very quietly. "Before you go any further,
I have to correct a misapprehension, Mr. Falconer. I do not intend to
use my title."
"What!" exclaimed Falconer, his face growing darker.
"I intend dropping the earldom," said Stafford.
"But I don't intend you should," retorted Falconer, brutally. "If I
consent to my daughter's marrying a pauper--"
"A pauper is one who begs," said poor Stafford, his face white as
marble. "I have not yet begged--"
"Stafford!" cried Maude. Then she swung on her father. "Why do you
speak to him--to _him_--like this?--Stafford, you will yield--"
"In everything, in every way, but this," he said, with the same ominous
quietude. "If you are content to drop the title, to share the life of a
poor and an ordinary working-man--as I hope to be--"
He held out his hand, and she would have taken it, clung to it, but her
father strode between them, and with a harsh laugh, exclaimed:
"You fool! Don't you see that he is wanting to get rid of you, that he
is only too glad of the excuse? Great God! have you no touch of
womanliness in you, no sense of shame--"
She swept him aside with a gesture, and advancing to Stafford, looked
straight into his eyes.
"Is--is it true?" she asked hoarsely. "Tell me! Is what he says true?
That--that rather than marry me you would go out into the world
penniless, to earn your living--you? Answer! Do--do you love me?"
His eyes dropped, his teeth clenched, and the moment of silence hung
heavy in the room. She turned from him, her hand going to her brow with
a gesture of weariness and despair.
"Let us go," she said to her father. "He does not love me--he never
did. I thought that perhaps in time--in time--"
The sight of her humiliation was more than Stafford could bear. He
strode to her and laid his hand on hers.
"Wait--Maude," he said, hoarsely. "I must lay the title aside; I cannot
accept your father's money. I must work, as other and better men have
done, are doing. If you will wait until I have a home to offer you--"
She turned to him, her face glowing, her eyes flashing.
"I will go with you now, now--this moment, to poverty--to peril,
anywhere. Oh, Stafford, can't you see, can't you value the love I offer
you?"
When her father had led her away, Stafford sank into a chair and hid
his face in his hands. He was no longer free, the shackles were upon
him. And he was practically penniless. What should he do?
He got his pipe and felt in his pocket for his matches. As he did so he
came upon Mr. "Henery" Joffler's envelope. He looked at it vacantly for
a moment or two; then he laughed, a laugh that was not altogether one
of derision or amusement.