As if to show him how long he had been heedlessly wandering through the
streets, Charley found Sir Philip quietly seated at the hotel on his
return; and though his father carefully forbore to make any reference to
the past, Charley fancied that he could detect a sense of elation on the
old gentleman's part--one which seemed to anger him more as his heart
kept reproaching him for the evening's lapse.
But Sir Philip made not the slightest reference to the events of the
evening, not even remarking upon Laura's indisposition; but there was an
impressive way with which Sir Philip parted from his son that night,
that Charley interpreted to mean satisfaction, and he frowned heavily as
he sought his own room.
In spite of his troubled mind, without recourse to narcotics, the young
man slept soundly and long, waking, though, with a strange heavy sense
of oppression troubling him, as the thoughts of the past night's events
came upon him slowly one by one, till he was half maddened, hating
himself for the part he had played, or, rather, for his weakness.
Then he recalled Ella's quiet peaceful face as he saw her turn round to
Max; and he asked himself why he should consider himself as in any way
bound to her who refused to hold him by any ties. Morally he knew that
he was quite free, and that, bitterly as he regretted the last night's
tete-a-tete with Laura Bray, he had shed sunshine upon her heart, and
left her happy and exultant.
Then he remembered his promise to accompany her to the terminus at
Paddington. He could not go--he would not go! But that was some hours
distant yet, and for a while he felt that he need not trouble himself
about it.
But what should he do? Write a long letter to Laura, telling her that
she was to forgive his weakness of the past night, and bid her farewell
for ever, while he made immediate arrangements for going abroad
somewhere? Was it too late in life for him to get a commission? If he
could, he would have to wait months perhaps, and he wanted to leave
England at once. Africa seemed to present the field that would afford
him the most variety and change. He would go there for a few years. He
could soon make arrangements; and in the excitement of hunting, he would
find the diversion he so much required.
But then about Laura? He recalled the scene at Lexville, where she had
hung upon his arm and wept; and then the events of the past night
flashed upon him, and he groaned as he told himself that he had been
cowardly and weak--that as yet he had had no proof that Ella was lost to
him for ever.
What was the last night's scene, then?
He stamped upon the floor with impotent rage, and determined at last to
forswear all ties. He went out directly after lunch to make preliminary
inquiries respecting the means for leaving England. Paddington, Laura,
Max, Miss Bedford, were driven from his mind, and he hurried along, but
only to hear his name uttered as he passed an open carriage; and
starting and turning round, there was Laura, flushed and happy-looking,
sitting with her hands outstretched to him.
He could not help himself, though he called himself weak and
folly-stricken, as he took her hand in his, watching the bright flush
give way to a deadly pallor.
"How she loves me!" thought Charley, as he leaned on the side of the
barouche; and it was from no vanity or conceit; he was too true-hearted
and genuine, too honest and simple-minded. "Why should I make her
unhappy, perhaps for life, when, by a sacrifice, I can send joy into her
heart--into the heart of that loving old man? What have I to care for,
what to live for, that I should hesitate?"
"Ella!" his conscience whispered; but the whisper was very faint; it was
hardly heard amidst the tumult of contending thoughts. The African
scheme was forgotten, and Charley Vining was in the balance. One
vigorous pressure on either scale would carry the beam down. How was it
to be?
How was it to be? The indicator was pointing directly upwards, each
scale poised and motionless. Coldness, distant behaviour, returned
letters, an evidently favoured rival--a man almost beneath contempt--
misery for those who loved him, and more bitterness: all these in one
scale; and in the other--
A passionate determined love, strong as his own, a woman pleading to him
for what he had so long refused, warmth, tenderness, no rivalry,
gratification to Sir Philip, and, above all, the knowledge that on the
past night he had allowed himself to be betrayed into a warmth for which
he had been blaming himself as though he had committed a grievous sin.
Which was the scale to go down, when Laura was in trembling tones, and,
in a retiring way, asking him to take the seat by her side, for the time
would soon be at hand for the visit to Paddington?
Her voice trembled audibly as she spoke, but the latter scale did not go
fiercely down: the indicator only moved slightly in Laura's favour, as,
remembering his promise of the day before, Charley said he would go, and
took his seat by her side. It was only a slight motion, and the
faintest breath from Ella's lips would have sent that scale up--up--up
rapidly, till it kicked the beam.
But there was no breath there, though Charley's heart still clung to
Ella fondly. Laura's scale wanted a strong impulse in her favour, and
as, half triumphant, half sad, she felt Charley Vining take his place by
her side, she flushed, then paled, and again and again a strange shiver
of dread passed through her frame. Once even her teeth chattered, as if
some fearful illness was attacking her. But the disease was only
mental, and, seeking Charley's hand, her own nestled in it--clung to it
convulsively, as if she dreaded even now that she would lose him, when
so very, very near the goal of her hopes, of her plotting and scheming;
and yet she had not known of his anger against self, and the plans for
going abroad; though had she known them, she could have trembled no
more.
Laura's scale was growing heavier; for Charley did not withdraw his
hand, but let hers rest therein. It only wanted one addition either way
now, for the weighing was just at hand--the scales were no longer evenly
poised. Which was to sink boldly? The striking of the clock at five
would decide it, and it was now four.
Volume 3, Chapter II.