Miss Lawson kept to her word and departed on the following day for
Hurstley, despite all Margery’s pleading and wishes. The short visit
had been a great pleasure to them both. To Margery the very sight of
her governess had brought back a wave of her brief past happiness, and
unconsciously soothed her; and Miss Lawson had felt her heart thrill
with pride and gladness to see her pupil grown so fair and lovely a
woman, and surrounded by all that she could desire. Yet the strange
sadness in Margery’s eyes would haunt her. What could be the secret
that had destroyed her girlishness and brought such an expression to
the young face? Miss Lawson pondered this deeply, but could arrive
at no solution of the mystery, and indeed would have been no little
astonished had she learned what link it was that bound Margery’s heart
to Hurstley. She knew the girl had been acquainted with Stuart Crosbie;
but that fact was not strange, for Stuart had a kind word and smile for
every one in the village, and Margery, of course, shared this general
friendship with the rest.
Lord Court had welcomed Miss Lawson warmly and courteously, and even
in their brief meeting a mutual liking sprung up between them. The
earl was delighted to see the flush of pleasure, called up by her
presence, on Margery’s face, and he added his entreaties to his wife’s
to urge the governess to stay longer; but their pleadings were vain,
and Margery could only kiss her true friend and let her depart, having
first extracted from her a promise of an early visit to Court Manor.
The afternoon on which Miss Lawson left was gloomy and wet, and Margery
felt sad and a little lonely as she sat with her books and work. Her
husband had gone to the club before luncheon, and she had decided to
make the best of a long afternoon when the door opened and he appeared.
“Do you feel inclined to go out, my darling?” he asked, tenderly,
bending to imprint a kiss on her brow.
Margery looked up inquiringly.
“Because,” he explained, “I should like to take you with me to call on
an old friend who is ill. I had no idea he was in England. As a rule,
he is wandering round the world in a most extraordinary fashion. But
I saw Notteway at the club, and he told me Gerant has been down with
rheumatic fever for the last six weeks and was quite alone. So I looked
in on him for a few minutes, and, having mentioned my young wife, he
pressed me to bring you around to see him, if you had nothing better to
do.”
“I will go with pleasure,” replied Margery, rising. “Who is he, Nugent?”
“Sir Douglas Gerant. I knew him years ago in England; but we met abroad
principally, and I liked him very much. He is a peculiar, almost
uncouth, man, but so kind and good--as tender as a woman and most
unselfish. For these weeks past he has been very ill; but he would not
let his people know, and has been attended only by his servant, who has
been his companion in all his travels.”
“And he would really like to see me?” queried Lady Court, putting her
dainty work into its basket.
“He seemed to wish it. I happened to mention that I was married; and,
when I spoke of my happiness, he said, in his old abrupt manner: ‘Bring
her to see me, Court, if she will not be frightened by such an old
savage;’ so I came at once. But if you would rather not go----”
“Oh, I should like to see him!” broke in Margery. “Poor man, all alone!
And I have nothing to do this afternoon. I will not be long, Nugent.”
With a tender smile the earl watched her graceful figure flit through
the doorway; then he walked to the fireplace, and, leaning his back
against it, gave himself up to pleasant thoughts. The careworn look,
the expression of trouble and pain was gone from his face; hope seemed
written on every manly feature, and the handsome, dark eyes flashed
with a light of gladness that spoke plainly of his altered life.
Margery was soon back. She had put on her sables, a round cap of the
same rich fur surmounting her red-gold curls, and for once she wore no
veil. She had determined to hide herself no longer. She had nothing
to fear; it was she who had been wronged and insulted. Pride lent her
strength, and she felt that her eyes could meet Vane’s clearly and
coldly now, even though her heart still ached with the pain Stuart
Crosbie had caused.
The earl settled her comfortably in the carriage, and then stepped in
himself.
“This weather is terrible,” he said, as they started. “Once this law
business is settled, Margery, I think I shall take you to a warmer
climate, to see the sunshine and breathe the scent of flowers.”
“There is one pilgrimage I must make before we do that,” returned
Margery, in a low voice. “I cannot rest till I have visited Enid’s
grave.”
The earl raised her little black-gloved hand to his lips.
“You speak only of my heart’s thoughts, my own; but I hesitated to take
you to the manor in this wet, gloomy weather. I thought the sunshine
would----”
“Sunshine is beautiful; but the manor is home, and is near her.”
Margery smiled faintly; she was compelled to speak these words, for she
felt almost overpowered by this tender devotion, and suffered miserably
as she thought how poorly she could return it. Henceforth it mattered
little to her where she lived; but, if her choice of the manor brought
him pleasure, she was glad.
“Home!” repeated Lord Court, tenderly. “Ah, Margery, you cannot know
what a wealth of happiness there is in that word! Thank you, dear, for
uttering it. Yes, we will go home.”
They were silent after this till they reached a quiet street in an
unfashionable quarter, and presently the earl handed Margery into the
doorway of a tall, gloomy-looking house.
“Gerant always stays here,” he said, as they went upstairs. “Will you
remain here, my dearest, till I see if he is ready to receive you?”
Margery smiled, and waited in a room that looked cozy and picturesque
in the fireglow. The walls were hung with weapons of all nations; a
heterogeneous mass of quaint, curious things were grouped in corners;
carved and painted gourds were placed here and there, with ivory
ornaments and rare bits of china. It represented a strange contrast to
the dull, ordinary exterior of the house, and Margery found much to
attract her till her husband returned.
“Now, my darling, come with me. Loose that heavy cloak, or you will be
too warm; and, if the old man asks you to sing, will you gratify him?”
“With all my heart.”
Lord Court led his wife across a passage, and pushed open a door hung
with curtains. The room that she entered was almost dark, but Margery
saw a low, flat couch pulled near the fire, with a gray head resting on
the pillow. She could not see the invalid’s face properly, but a faint
something in the dark eyes struck her as familiar.
“I have brought my wife to see you, as I promised, Gerant,” said the
earl, cheerfully, leading Margery to the couch.
“It is kind of you to come, Lady Court,” the sick man answered, in a
faint, weak voice. “I have known your husband a long, long time--years,
eh, Court?”
Where had Margery heard that voice before? It sounded familiar, faint
and husky as it was.
“I am very glad to come,” she responded, simply, and took the chair the
servant pushed forward.
“And Margery will sing for you, if you like.”
“Margery!” whispered the sick man; and then he tried to raise his head
from the pillow. “Margery!” he repeated.
“I think Sir Douglas is ill,” said Margery, rather frightened, turning
to the servant.
“It is weakness, my lady,” returned the man.
“Let me raise him a little,” said the earl. “I think he wants to
speak.” In a lower tone he added to the servant: “He’s much weaker than
he was this morning; what is it?”
“Spasms at the heart, my lord; his heart is very weak.”
“Don’t be alarmed, my darling,” whispered the earl to Margery. Then he
put his arm round the sick man, and raised him easily into a sitting
posture.
Sir Douglas tried to murmur thanks, but for a few seconds his weakness
was too great. Then, as his strength came back, he stretched out a
thin, white hand to the girl sitting in the shadow.
“Come into the light,” he whispered, “that I might see your face.”
Margery slipped her hand into the speaker’s weak, trembling one, and
bent toward him as the earl stirred the fire into a blaze.
The girl’s eyes met the sick man’s hollow, dark ones, which were full
of strange eagerness and excitement, and again she seemed to remember
them.
Sir Douglas closed his long fingers over hers, and drew her nearer and
nearer, till she bent over him.
“Closer,” he murmured. “Yes--I--can see--it is! Heaven is--good! You
are----”
His strength seemed to fail entirely. Margery bent still nearer as he
sunk back upon the cushion, and her heart-shaped locket escaped and
dangled against his withered hand.
“He is fainting!” she said, hurriedly. “Look how pale he is!”
His eyes opened as he spoke, and wandered from her face to the little
gold locket. A spasm of pain caused his mouth to twitch; his breath
came in gasps; he tried to open the locket, and his eyes spoke words
that his lips refused to utter. Then, as the earl drew Margery back,
the lids closed over them, and the face became calm.
“It is only a faint. Come away, my darling! I wish I had not brought
you; but he was almost well this morning.”
Margery suffered her husband to lead her into the other room and place
her in a chair. Her nerves were unstrung, and she was full of vague,
incomprehensible excitement.
“Go back to him,” she murmured. “I am quite well. I cannot leave till I
know that he is better. Poor man! How strange he looked!”
The earl obeyed her; and, when she was alone, Margery put her hands
over her eyes and tried to think what the memory was the sick man had
brought back to her.
“Is he better?” asked Lord Court, on his return to Sir Douglas’ side.
“It was only a faint, Murray?”
The man looked up from his prostrate master, and shook his head sadly.
“It is the end, I fear. May I make so bold as to ask you, my lord, to
ring that bell? I shall send to his cousin immediately. Mr. Stuart
should come at once. I hope her ladyship is not frightened? Sir
Douglas always seemed strange when he heard the name of Margery.”
“She is anxious to know how he is. I will take her home, and return as
soon as possible. Yes, send for his relatives, Murray. The Crosbies,
you say? Well, they ought to come. Poor old Gerant!”
“Thank you kindly, my lord; I will. He will be glad to see you, I know,
if he recovers; but I never saw him so bad as this before.”
The earl waited till he saw the heavy eyelids raised, then he returned
to Margery.
“Yes, he is better, darling,” he said, in answer to her eager inquiry.
“Come--I will take you home, and then I will return to learn how he is
progressing. Murray is going to send to his people, the Crosbies, of
Crosbie Castle, and they will look after him.”
“The Crosbies, of Crosbie Castle!” The words rung in Margery’s ears. In
an instant she remembered where she had met this man before. She saw
once again the hot, dusty lane, the lodgekeeper’s wife, the strange man
who had questioned her so curiously and spoken the terrible words that
blighted her young heart, and she knew that Sir Douglas Gerant and that
man were one and the same. She stood silent, almost overcome by the
conflicting feelings within her breast, and was scarcely conscious that
the earl led her downstairs, and she was driving home.