TONY PALLISER walked home to Northrop, and was glad when he reached it,
for he found even the slight physical effort difficult. He felt half-
dazed, and brushed past two of his tenants who greeted him on the road
without recognizing them. He did not remember whether he offered any
explanation as to why he had not remained at Low Wood, as he had
purposed, but by and by he found himself sitting in Godfrey Palliser's
chair at the head of the great dinner-table. The big candles were
lighted, for the evenings were drawing in, and as he vacantly noticed
the glitter of the light on the glass and silver he remembered the
opportunity that had been given him there. He had let it pass, and now
another had spoken.
Still, as he strove to eat because he felt the servants' eyes upon him
it was the loneliness of the shadowy hall that most troubled him. He had
noticed it often since Godfrey Palliser died, for Tony was not fond of
his own company; but he had pictured Violet Wayne sitting opposite him
then, and now it was borne in upon him that she would never smile at him
across his table. As yet he scarcely realized the depth of his
humiliation, for it was the result of it which must be faced, and not
the thing itself that filled him with horror.
It was a relief when somebody took his plate away, and he went out with
a cigar he did not remember lighting into the cool night air and flung
himself down in a seat on the terrace. There was no moon in the sky, but
the stars were clear, and--for the night was still--a chilly dampness
settled on everything. He felt it pleasantly cold upon his skin, and lay
still huddled limply in the garden chair, trying to realize the
position, but found the attempt almost useless, for his thoughts had no
cohesion. It was, however, evident that the love of the woman he desired
could never be his. She had given him her promise, and he fancied that
if he insisted she would redeem it, for he vaguely understood her sense
of responsibility; but it was evident that he could not insist, and with
the courage of desperation he nerved himself to face the fact that he
must let her go. He could think of nothing else, for he was still
bewildered by the blow, and could only realize what had been taken from
him.
He did not know how long he lay there, but it was very late when he rose
with a little shiver and went back into the hall, where he wrote a note.
"Tell John to ride over with that early to-morrow morning, and ask Miss
Wayne for an answer," he said to the servant, who wondered at his face,
and then walked slowly with hopelessness in his very pose towards his
room, where, as it happened, he slept heavily until late next morning.
The next day, however, brought him further misery, for his perceptions
were clearer now, and the difficulties he must meet more apparent, while
he had also a horrible suspense to struggle with when the man he had
sent with the note brought him an answer. It was very brief: "I will try
to see you this evening."
Somehow the day dragged through, and Tony was glad when at last he left
Northrop as darkness came, for the uncertainty was growing
insupportable. It was, however, Mrs. Wayne who greeted him when he
reached her house, and she looked at him gravely without shaking hands.
"Yes," she said, answering his unspoken question, "Violet has told me,
and it is she who must decide. She will come down in a minute or two."
Tony was weak, but he had now the courage of hopelessness, and he met
the lady's eyes.
"I will not try to influence her, madam, and can only thank you for
allowing me to speak to her," he said.
Mrs. Wayne made no answer, but opened the door of a lighted room, and
Tony, who sat down, waited for what seemed an interminable time until
Violet came in. There was a curious hardness in her eyes, and her face
was pale, so pale that it had an ivory gleam in the soft light, which
the bronzy clusters of warm-tinted hair emphasized, but she was dressed
with more than her accustomed taste, and held herself very straight.
Tony rose when he saw her.
"I was almost afraid you would not see me," he said.
The girl sank into the chair he drew out, and he stood in front of her,
with the hand he rested on the table trembling a little.
"I am not sure that it was wise," she said. "In a case like this one can
only say nothing--or too much."
"I could bear the latter more easily," said Tony. "You know what I have
done. We must have an understanding now."
His voice was hoarse, but it was even, and Violet Wayne regarded him
with dispassionate interest. Tony, it seemed, had risen in his
desperation, and his face was, as she had never seen it, set and almost
grim.
"Then," she said quietly, "you have no excuse to make--nothing to urge in
extenuation?"
"No. It is all true. There was only my love for you--and you must feel
that a humiliation now."
Violet Wayne made a little gesture of weariness. "Tony," she said, "I
don't quite catch your meaning, and we must speak plainly to-night."
"Well," said the man, in a voice that was curiously expressionless, "you
heard Miss Harding's story. She was very fair--about Lucy Davidson--but
you can realize how difficult it is for me to go into that?"
A trace of color crept into Violet Wayne's face, but her eyes were fixed
upon her companion as she said slowly, "Still, I think it is necessary."
"Then I gave the girl a brooch--and once or twice talked nonsense with
her--but it went no further. I can only give you my word for that--and
nobody would blame you if you could not credit it. Her father did not,
and I could not let you hear the story he built up."
Violet's face was faintly flushed with anger now. "That," she said, "is
the one thing I could never forgive you, Tony. I know it is a trifle by
comparison, but it hurts the most, and would have killed the confidence
that would have drawn us together. You were afraid I would not believe
you?"
"Yes, I was afraid."
The girl's anger seemed to melt away, and left her face pale again,
while it was with a curious wistfulness she answered him.
"I evidently expected too much, but if you had told me I would have
believed you had everybody testified your guilt," she said. "Can't you
understand that love without confidence is a worthless thing--and that
had you trusted me I would have borne any suspicion or obloquy with
you?"
Her voice broke, but there was once more a faintly scornful ring in it
when after a few moments' silence she spoke again. "But you were afraid--
afraid to trust me! Oh, it is almost unendurable!"
Tony stood still looking at her, with his heart throbbing painfully and
vague wonder in his eyes. Then he moved forward with swift impulsiveness
as though he would have flung himself upon his knees beside her chair,
but she checked him with a gesture. Still, he stooped and laid a
quivering hand upon her shoulder.
"I might have known," he said. "If I had had the courage you would have
saved me from everything, but is it too late now? I did it because I
loved you, Violet--and you will give me the chance to redeem myself. You
can't destroy my last hope by casting me off?"
The girl looked up at him wearily. "A little more restraint, Tony. What
has been done can never be undone--and I want to face the position
quietly. Last night I struggled with the horror and bitterness of it,
and one needs calmness now. We can never reopen the subject again."
Tony moved away from her, and once more leaned upon the table. His
susceptibilities were curiously dulled, but still her coldness stung him
like the lash of a whip, for he could see the contempt beneath it and
could more easily have borne scathing reproaches.
"Well," he said very slowly, "nothing can happen to me that I have not
deserved. I make no defence."
He saw the little gleam in the girl's eyes, and there was something in
her face which suggested faint approbation.
"I promised to marry you--and that carries an obligation, but you
destroyed the love I had for you," she said.
"It would be a very hard thing, but I can give you that promise back. I
haven't fallen quite so far that I would take you when you have only
contempt for me. I have done wrong, but there may be a faint chance left
me, in spite of my worthlessness. Is it quite out of the question that I
should redeem the past?"
Violet sat motionless for the space of several minutes, and Tony felt
the throbbing of his heart as he watched her. Then she said very slowly,
"I cannot see my duty--and so it would be presumption to show you yours,
but I am not the person you have wronged most grievously."
"No. You mean Bernard Appleby? Well, it would be almost too much to
expect you to believe in me again; but I can, at least, show you I am
sorry for what I have done--and if I brought him back--"
The girl slowly shook her head. "I can make no promise now," she said.
"Still, you would wish me to make it right with him?" and Tony stood
still looking at her with a faint gleam of hope in his eyes.
"Not because I wish it, Tony. Can't you realize that you must make him
reparation?"
Tony slowly straightened himself, but his face was quietly resolute.
"Yes," he said. "I wonder if Miss Harding will tell me where he is? I am
going to Cuba. Of course, it can never give me back your esteem. That I
threw away--but perhaps as the days go by you will not think of me so
bitterly. You will try? That is all I can ask for in the meanwhile."
Violet rose, outwardly very calm and cold, though her heart was
throbbing painfully. There was something in the man's face she had never
seen there before, and though he spoke very quietly the little thrill in
his voice was not without its effect on her.
"I think Miss Harding is here now," she said. "She asked if she might
come, and I fancied I heard her voice a little while ago, but I do not
know if she will tell you. I am glad you are going, Tony."
Tony looked down on her gravely, with a curious wistfulness in his eyes,
and then, before she quite grasped his intentions, laid his hands on her
shoulders and kissed her cheeks.
"My only excuse is that I may never see you again," he said. "If Miss
Harding will not tell me I will find him myself. I leave for London to-
morrow, and go straight to Havana. I will not come back to England
unless Bernard Appleby comes with me."
He turned abruptly, as though he feared his resolution might fail him,
and it was not until Violet heard the door swing to behind him that she
realized she was alone. A minute or two later he was shown into a room
where Hester Earle sat with Nettie Harding, and smiled a little when he
saw the latter's heightened color.
"I have come to ask you a favor, Miss Harding," he said. "I want you to
tell me where to find Bernard Appleby."
"Why?" said the girl chillingly.
Tony made a little deprecatory gesture. "I deserve your suspicions, but
I think you can trust me," he said. "I want to repair the wrong I did
him, and bring him back to England."
Nettie looked at him steadily, though her face was flushed. "I don't
know that he will come," she said. "He has a good deal to do there--and
he has good friends in America."
Tony smiled curiously. "I was not asking you to do Appleby a kindness. I
was thinking of myself."
Nettie appeared to understand him, for she took out a card and scribbled
across it.
"I am sorry--and I think I know what you mean," she said as she handed it
him. "If my father is in Cuba now--and I think he is--he will tell you
just what to do."
Tony thanked her gravely, and with a little formal goodbye, which
included Hester Earle, went out of the room. In another minute they
heard the outer door close behind him, and Nettie's color grew a trifle
deeper as she glanced at her companion.
"I couldn't help it, but I'm sorry I wasn't quite sure of him now," she
said. "There's a great difference in that man since yesterday. He has
had a rough shaking up, but it has brought all that's good in him up on
top."
Hester nodded. "There is a good deal that's very nice at least in Tony,"
she said. "It is Violet I am most sorry for. She believed in him. I
wouldn't worry her just yet, Nettie."
Violet Wayne in the meanwhile lay very still in her chair. The blow had
blunted her susceptibilities, too, and the pain was less intense. She
felt numb and passionless, and only realized that the man she had
striven to believe in had never existed. The actual Tony had been shown
to her, and it was with difficulty she had overcome the sense of disgust
and horror which accompanied the revelation. Still, the evident
sincerity of his desire to make reparation had touched her, and she was
sensible of a curious pity for him. The tenderness was, however, alloyed
with contempt, and she wondered vaguely whether that would pass with
time. In the meanwhile she was glad he was going to Cuba, for she would
be more sure of herself, and where her duty lay, when he came back with
his task accomplished, though she realized with a curious unconcern that
she might never see him again. Then there was a little tapping at the
door, and it was almost a relief to her when Nettie Harding came in.
"I feel horribly mean, and want to ask you to forgive me because I am
going away in a day or two," she said. "Still, I felt I had to tell that
story, and if it was necessary I think I would tell it again. I knew it
would hurt you, but I couldn't help it."
Violet smiled a trifle wearily. "It was a little painful. One can't hide
it. Still, I don't think anybody would blame you."
Nettie came forward and seized her hands impulsively. "My dear," she
said, "it would almost have killed me, and I'm ever so sorry--but what
could I do? And you know you told me when I tried to ask you that it was
better to know the truth. Can't you understand that if it was only
because you didn't know what kind of man he was I had to tell you?"
"And that was your only reason?"
"No. There was the other man who took the blame! I didn't tell you, but
the insurrection has broken out around Santa Marta where he is again,
and he has left all he had and gone back to his comrades because he
promised he would when they wanted him, though he knew my father would
have made him rich if he had stayed with him. When I thought of him,
ragged, hungry, and thirsty, and perhaps wounded, too, while Tony
Palliser had everything, I could not sit still and say nothing."