THE DOWER HOUSE WATCHED.
Mr. Gerton, Kenelm Eyrle’s steward, land agent and general manager,
smiled to himself to think how his patron and employer was gradually
falling into a snare.
“He will marry the widow as sure as fate,” he thought to himself, “and
we shall have something like old times at ‘The Towers.’ Mourning all
his life for a dead woman who did not care for him is too ridiculous.”
Often when business required his presence at the Dower House, Mr.
Gerton would plead most pressing engagements, and ask Kenelm to go
in his place, then smile to himself as though he had done something
very clever, for which he ought to be rewarded. He had all a business
man’s contempt for sentiment and romance. He could understand marrying
a handsome woman with a suitable fortune, who would be likely to do
honor to the name she bore, but he could not understand wasting a
life in lamenting and mourning over a dead love. Kenelm fell very
unconsciously into the plot. Whenever Mr. Gerton asked him to go either
to arrange one thing or another, he went. He went, too, very often when
no business called him, for the purpose of talking to Mrs. Payton. One
thing always amused him: Miss Hanson always received him with such a
welcome, and with such a beaming, kindly smile.
“I am so glad to see you, Mr. Eyrle. Dear me! how pleasant a little
sociability is. I wish my dear young lady could see a little more of
the world, she is so completely alone.”
Kenelm had a shrewd suspicion that if he chose to ask the bright-eyed
little spinster any question, he could hear all she knew of the other
lady’s history. There were times when Miss Hanson seemed about to
confide in him, but he shrank with the delicacy of a true gentleman
from knowing anything of her history until she chose to confide in him
herself. It was not long before he knew more.
One day while reading that fashionable and veracious paper, _The Daily
Intelligencer_, he saw a paragraph that struck him.
“We are informed,” said that most edifying of journals, “that the
young and beautiful Lady P----, whose trial lately caused so great a
sensation in the fashionable world, has sought and found refuge in one
of the most picturesque parts of the county of B----.”
Kenelm Eyrle smiled to himself, thinking how contemptible was the
custom of seeking out every detail of the life of a woman, supposed to
be public property because she had been forced to appear before the
public.
He remembered Lady P----’s trial; it had been the great sensation of
the day. People had gloated over it, every detail of her life had been
greedily devoured; every word she had spoken had been reported, the
details of her appearance, her dress, her behavior during the trial had
almost made the fortune of the daily papers. He had read but little of
it, though he could not avoid hearing it continually spoken of. He had
even laid the papers down in deep disgust, thinking to himself that
they would not be worth the reading until all that nonsense was over.
That even he himself would be ever so distantly connected with it did
not occur to him.
He was going one bright May morning with some choice flowers to the
Dower House, and when he came to the field he saw a strange man sitting
where he could command a full view of the entrance. The man raised
his head as Kenelm Eyrle passed him; he gave one keen glance into the
handsome, patrician face, then turned aside.
Mr. Eyrle thought nothing of it; any casual stranger might have been
sitting there; he would never have remembered the occurrence, but when
he came somewhat quickly from the house he saw the same man hurrying
quickly away. And that happened not once, but several times; it was not
always the same man, but, strange to say, whenever he went to the Dower
House there was always one of these suspicious strangers about. Once
when he was walking by Mrs. Payton’s side in the pretty rose garden,
he felt sure that among the trees in the shrubbery he saw a dark face
peering. He gave a little cry, jumped over the hedge and was just in
time to see a man hastening away through the woods. He would have
followed, but a low cry from Mrs. Payton called him back. In one moment
he was by her side.
“What is it?” she asked. “What made you run away so?”
“I saw some one watching us from behind those trees,” he replied.
“Watching us,” she repeated, and then, to his surprise, he saw her face
grow deadly pale, and a light not pleasant to see flashed from her dark
eyes.
“Watching us?” she repeated. “Oh, my God! has my foe followed me even
here? Has my enemy found me out? I thought no one knew.”
She had clasped her hands and stood in the midst of the garden path,
like one who is despairing and distraught.
Her wild appearance startled him.
“You must go,” she cried, “and you must never come here again! I did
wrong to let you come; but you were kind, you spoke kindly to me, you
looked kindly at me, and I forgot that I am doomed to be hunted even to
my death. You must go, and leave me, Mr. Eyrle, never to return.”
“Nay,” he said, “calm yourself. I shall not leave you. I do not
understand, but most certainly I shall not go away. I will tell you,
Mrs. Payton, what I will do: follow that man, whoever he was, and
thrash him within an inch of his life. I am quite willing to do that,
but nothing else.”
She wrung her hands, with a cry of pain he never forgot.
“You do not understand,” she repeated, “and I forgot. I have only
remembered that you were kind to me, and it was a pleasure to see you.
My doom is on me, Mr. Eyrle, and you cannot save me but by going away
and never coming near me again.”
“I should think myself unworthy of the name of man to leave any woman
in such distress,” he said. “I refuse to leave you--I refuse to go
away, unless, indeed, it be your own personal wish.”
“No, it is not that,” she replied. “I should have been more prudent,
but I did not think; I believed myself so safe here.”
“You are safe,” he repeated, indignantly.
“No, I shall know no safety, no peace, no rest, until I am in my
grave,” she said, mournfully. “My doom is on me--I cannot evade it.”
“Mrs. Payton,” said Kenelm, “I am not what the world calls a lady’s
man, but will you trust me? Will you tell me your story, and let me see
if I can find some means of helping you?”
She looked at him long and mournfully; her dark eyes grew soft and
tender, her beautiful lips quivered.
“No, I will not tell you,” she replied, sadly, “not because I cannot
trust you, but because I will not bring you into conflict with a coward
and villain.”
“I am equal to it,” he said.
“Yes, you are a hero, but you shall risk nothing for me, neither
character, peace nor life.”
“I would risk all for you, Mrs. Payton.”
She had ceased to tremble, and stood before him in all the dignity of
despair. Her voice was like the saddest, sweetest music of an æolian
harp. She held out her hand with a gesture of farewell.
“No,” she said, “the temptation is strong. I have never had a strong
arm to lean on, or a strong heart to trust. I have been alone all my
life. No, you shall risk nothing for me.”
The tears that had filled her dark eyes rained down her face then, and
the sight determined him.
“You may do as you like, Mrs. Payton, but I refuse to leave you, trust
me or not, as you will. I cannot see a lady in distress and leave her
so.”
“Then I must trust you,” she said. “I must tell you my story, and, when
it is told, perhaps you will turn from me in loathing and disgust.”
“Never while I live. I believe in you. If there is wrong, it is not of
your doing, and I shall say so before the whole world.”
“How I should have thanked God for a champion like you years ago,” she
said. “Mr. Eyrle, come with me to the house. First let me ask you, have
you never wondered who I am, and why I am here?”
“Yes,” he replied, frankly.
“Then promise me not to hate me when I tell you my real name.”