Immediately on her return to the castle, Vane Charteris sought her
aunt, and whispered to her the success of her mission. Mrs. Crosbie
willingly agreed to drive over early the next morning, and see what
could be done with respect to dispatching Margery from the village;
and Vane went up to her room, both satisfied and triumphant. Stuart’s
eagerness was fed by fictitious tender messages from Margery, which
Vane uttered glibly and without the slightest effort; and so the first
part of her plot proved most successful. She learned from her aunt
that the mother and son had met, and that Mrs. Crosbie had carried out
her part to the letter, thereby causing Stuart no little surprise and
pleasure.
The news of Margery’s disappearance came like a thunderclap to Vane.
She had never contemplated this _dénouement_, and was a little puzzled
how next to act, until Mrs. Crosbie, in recounting the occurrences
of her morning’s drive, incidentally mentioned that she had met Mrs.
Bright, who was in great distress about her son.
“What has happened to him, Aunt Constance?” asked Vane, with assumed
indifference.
“I thought I said that he was in love with this girl--wished to marry
her, in fact--and is so troubled at her refusal that he has determined
to leave England.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Vane, looking up suddenly, her cold, blue eyes shining
like stars. “Reuben Morris has gone to Australia, you say?”
“He starts at the end of the week; he left Hurstley for London this
morning.”
“And the girl is with him?” next queried Miss Charteris.
“She must be. The cottage is shut up, the key has been sent to the
Weald, and the neighbors tell me they saw both the man and the girl
leave early this morning.”
“Could Mrs. Bright give you no clew as to where her son has gone, or
intends to go?”
“None. She gave me his note to read, in which he merely says he shall
leave England for a while. This girl has bewitched him. A marriage with
him would have been the best she could expect--indeed, much too good
for her,” remarked Mrs. Crosbie, coldly. “What do you propose to do
now, Vane?” she added, rising.
“Nothing. I have finished. Aunt Constance, the game is ours. Do you not
see that this young man has gone to Australia with them?”
Mrs. Crosbie removed her driving-gloves slowly.
“I scarcely think that Vane,” she replied, “for Margery Daw has refused
to become his wife. His mother is highly incensed and greatly troubled,
poor creature, about it. No, I cannot think that, Vane.”
“It will prove to be the truth, nevertheless,” Miss Charteris said,
quietly; adding, “and, as such, it is welcome as a full and complete
solution to a difficult and disagreeable question. Poor Stuart--I am
sorry for him!”
Mrs. Crosbie glanced at her niece, leaning languidly against the open
window, almost frail-looking in her delicate white gown, and could
scarcely reconcile the strong, cold, relentless spirit with so lovely
an exterior. For an instant a feeling of disgust at this girl’s calm
trickery and deceit, and at her own share in the matter, passed over
her. Then her pride came to the rescue, and she consoled herself with
the thought that Stuart had been saved from dishonor and trouble, and
that Vane had done well. She bent and kissed her niece’s delicate cheek.
“Yes, you are right,” she said, thoughtfully. “The problem is solved,
and you have done it. I cannot thank you enough, Vane.”
“Do not thank me at all,” the girl whispered. “You know why I did
it--it was my love for Stuart that prompted me. Some day he will thank
me, perhaps. But for the present I fear he will suffer.”
“With you near, Vane, that will not last,” and, with an affectionate
glance, Mrs. Crosbie left the room.
The next day came, and Stuart still lived in his blissful dreams. Then,
with a rough hand, they were ruthlessly shattered. Vane was reading in
the colonnade that afternoon, when she saw hurried steps approaching,
and, on looking up, saw Stuart, his face as white as his tennis coat,
beside her.
“What is it, Stuart?” she asked, hurriedly.
“Vane, something has happened so strange, and yet so absurd, that,
were I not so confoundedly weak, I should laugh at it. My man Andrews
has just told me that Morris has left Hurstley--left early yesterday
morning--for Australia, and Margery has gone with him. He declares that
it is true.”
“True!” repeated Vane. “It is too absurd to credit for one instant.
Stuart, how can you believe it?”
“The man is so positive,” Stuart went on, with a sigh, resting his left
hand on a chair for support, “that it quite staggered me. Of course,
there is some mistake; but it haunts me, nevertheless. Vane, will you
drive me to the village?” he asked, abruptly. “I must make inquiries.”
“Willingly;” and Vane at once put down her book.
“How good you are!” exclaimed Stuart, trying to force a smile. “You are
indeed a friend.”
With a little laugh Vane put her hand on his lips and flitted away,
while Stuart called to a gardener and ordered the pony carriage to be
brought round.
Vane was down again almost immediately, her face nearly as pale as her
cousin’s. It was but a few minutes before the carriage appeared, yet
to Stuart they seemed hours. He tried to laugh at the absurdity of the
report, yet a presentiment of trouble possessed him.
“It cannot be, it cannot be!” Vane heard him mutter again and again;
and then he approached her.
“Tell me once more the messages she sent,” he said, hurriedly; and
Vane breathed the tender falsehoods in his ear, touching his agitated,
troubled spirit with their healing balm.
Sir Douglas Gerant passed through the hall just as they were starting.
“Whither away, wounded knight?” he asked, lightly.
“To the village. I shall be back soon, Douglas.” Then, turning to his
cousin, he said, “Drive fast, Vane.”
With a puzzled brow Sir Douglas watched them disappear--he could not
understand Stuart’s apparent attachment to this selfish, worldly
girl--then, with a sigh, turned wearily indoors. The next day was that
fixed for his lawyer to come down from London, and he had much to
occupy his thoughts. He sought the squire’s room, and, in a chat over
bygone years, lost for a while his anxious, restless expression.
Stuart sat silent beside his cousin as they bowled along the lane to
the village; and Vane glanced now and again at his pale, pained face,
wondering, when he knew the truth, what his opinion would be of her.
The village reached, he broke the silence by asking Vane to drive
straight to the little cottage by the Weald; and, without a word,
she complied. She drew up the ponies on the brow of the hill; and
Stuart, heedless of his aching arm and weakness, alighted, and walked
down to the gate he knew so well. It was just such an afternoon as
that on which he had parted from Margery, and the memory of her
beauty and sweetness lent strength to his faltering steps and fed the
eagerness and desire in his heart. He pushed open the gate and entered.
The window-blinds were drawn; the door--pushed with his one able
hand--defied every effort. He grew faint and cold, and leaned against
the doorpost for a moment, while the roses, nodding in the breeze,
seemed to whisper to him a sense of his loss in all its bitterness.
Margery was gone! But why--and whither? He turned and walked down the
garden, his head drooping dejectedly on his breast. Margery gone! What
could it mean? Why had she left him, without a word or sign, in the
very moment of their joy and happiness? The truth did not come to him
even then. There must be some mistake, he tried to convince himself.
A hundred different answers to the strange question came to him. He
closed the gate behind him and turned away. There was a man standing at
the gate of the next cottage, and at first Stuart determined to pass
him; but a sudden impulse seized him, and he stopped and spoke with
forced lightness.
“Ah, Carter--lovely weather for the crops! Is this true that I hear
about Morris?”
“Good-arternoon, squire. Hope I see you better. It were a stiffish
fall as you had. Morris, sir? What? That he’s gone to Australia? Ay,
sir--that’s true enough.”
Stuart’s left hand grasped the gate.
“Rather sudden, isn’t it?” he questioned, trying to clear his voice.
“Well, sir, it were rather; but, you see, the death of his missus fair
knocked him over, and he made up his mind in a minute.”
“And he has gone alone?” asked Stuart, every nerve in his body
quivering.
“Oh, no, sir! He’s took Margery with him; and right sorry are we
to part with her, I can tell you. She were just a sweet lass. Have
you heard that Sir Hubert and my lady ain’t coming home, after all,
sir? Perhaps that’s why Margery went, ’cos she belongs like to her
ladyship--don’t she, sir?”
Stuart murmured a few vague words in reply, and then passed on.
“Good-arternoon,” said Carter; and then, as he watched the young man
mount the hill, he muttered: “That there fall ain’t done the young
squire no good; he looks the ghost of hisself.”
Vane sat silent as Stuart came toward her; even her cold, calculating
heart was touched at the sight of his distress. He took his seat and
sunk back against the cushions, looking deathly pale and worn. Vane
gathered the reins together, and prepared to turn back to the castle;
but Stuart stopped her.
“Drive to Chesterham,” he said, in a quiet tone. “I must find out if
they went to London.”
Without a word she did as he wished, and in silence they sped along the
lanes to the town. Vane was by no means comfortable during the drive,
for she was beset by disagreeable thoughts. What if the girl, after
all, had gone to London only to bid farewell to her adopted father?
What more likely? Would she not have taken leave of the neighbors and
villagers had she started for so long a journey? What if, on their
arrival at Chesterham, they came face to face with her? Vane grew cold
and faint at the thought not only of the humiliation, but of such a
termination to all her scheming. She set her teeth, and her face grew
paler as she pictured his disgust when he learned the truth. It was
so hasty, so strange a flight, that Vane, as she sat absorbed in deep
thought, could not but feel the chances were very much against her.
Stuart did not notice his cousin; he realized only that Margery was
gone, his sweet love vanished. The joy of life for him was dead, and
his heart was heavy with its pain. Hope now and then revived, but the
vague presentiment that had hung over him since first he had learned
the news crushed it as it was born.
As they approached Chesterham, Vane began to tremble, and the hands
grasping the reins shook with fear.
“Draw up for a few minutes, Vane,” Stuart said; “here is
Bright--perhaps he can tell us something. Andrews said it was through
his instrumentality that Morris had gone.”
Vane checked the ponies and leaned back, feeling quite unnerved from
the sudden reaction.
“Ah, Bright, you are the very man that I want to see,” exclaimed
Stuart, as the farmer rode up, “for you can tell me better than any one
what I want to know.”
“I shall be glad to oblige you, Mr. Stuart,” returned Bright, turning
an anxious face to the young man.
“Perhaps you’ve heard about my boy Robert?” he added, full of his own
troubles.
“No, I have not. Is anything the matter with him?” asked Stuart, his
sympathy at once enlisted.
“It’s nigh broke his mother’s heart, sir; but he’s gone off to
Australia with Reuben Morris all of a sudden, without a word of
warning.”
Vane felt a thrill of joy pass through her, and her spirits at once
began to revive.
“Australia? Why? But they can not have gone yet--they must be in
London. It is one thing to say you will start on such a voyage, and
another thing to do it. It takes two or three days, Bright, you know,
to make the necessary arrangements.”
The farmer looked at the young squire’s flushed, eager face with a
little surprise and much gratitude.
“Thank you, sir. It’s like you, Mr. Stuart, always to be kind; but it’s
no use now, sir. Robert started last night; by this time they’re out of
the Channel. It’s a hard thing to see one’s only son took from us, Mr.
Stuart, and all along of a bit of a girl.”
“A girl!” echoed Stuart, shivering, he scarcely knew why.
“Ay, sir--that lass of Morris’, that nameless thing! She just bewitched
him, has played the fool with him, said him ‘No,’ when he’d have made
her his wife, and now has took him on again, for they’ve all gone out
together.”
“Margery!” exclaimed Stuart, in a dull, startled way. “She--they have
gone together?”
“Ay, sir--she’ve took him from us all with her fooling, and I make
no doubt but they’ll be married afore they reach the other side. The
mother would have welcomed her gladly to keep Robert at home; but she
weren’t honest enough to do that--she must needs give herself airs like
a fine lady, and drag my boy after her.”
Vane saw Stuart’s jaw set, his face flush, the veins on his forehead
swell. After a pause, he said, in a low tone:
“And you are sure of this, Bright?”
“I’m just back from London, sir. I’ve been down to the docks, and
there’s no mistake; they all remembered the girl--her pretty face, they
called it. Ah, it will be weary work for us, sir, waiting till Robert
comes back! My wife’s most distraught.”
“Good-by, Bright.” Stuart put out his hand, which the farmer grasped.
“This is indeed bad news! I am sorry, very sorry for you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stuart.”
Bright loosened Stuart’s hand, and, with a respectful salute to Vane,
passed on, something like a tear twinkling in his eye.
Vane looked straight ahead, pretending not to see the quick, hurried
way in which Stuart bent his head for a moment. Victory was hers, she
told herself--victory! Suddenly Stuart looked up.
“Turn around, Vane, and drive home; it is all over now--so much the
better!”
The recklessness of his tone pleased her; it showed her that anger
rankled as well as pain, that mortification filled his breast with
despair. If this mood lasted, her work would not be difficult.