If any one will take the trouble to refer to _Bradshaw's Guide_--that
fine piece of exercise for the brain--for the month in the year in which
the events being recorded took place, he will find, in connection with
the Great Western Railway service, that whereas the down express left
Paddington at 4:50 p.m., there was an up train due at the platform at
4:55.
It was to meet this latter train that Mr Bray's barouche was being
rattled over the newly macadamised roads, with Charley Vining and Laura
therein.
No one could have sat by Laura's side for an instant without remarking
her extreme agitation; and as Charley turned to gaze in her pleading
face, he felt something like pity warming his breast towards her--her
agitation was so genuine, and she had shown him the night before how
earnest and passionate was her love.
Pity is said to be very nearly akin to love, and Charley's pity was
growing stronger. Why should he not take the good the gods provided
him? She asked no more. But no; there was that one great proof wanted;
and his words were quite cold and commonplace as he said to her, "You
seem unwell. Do you not think it would be better to return home? Why,
this poor little hand is quite chilly, and you shiver. You must have
taken cold last night."
"Cold? Last night? No, no," she said hoarsely; and he felt the
pressure upon his hand tighten. "We must meet Nelly, and I am quite
well, Charley. I never felt more happy."
He encountered her glance, but it awoke no response in his breast; and
as he read her countenance, he saw there the tokens of a terrible
agitation, and surely he may be excused for imagining himself the cause.
"At last!" said Charley impatiently, as he handed Laura out, trembling
violently; but the next moment, though she was deathly pale, the
agitation seemed to have passed away, and taking his arm, she held to it
tightly.
"Ten minutes too soon," said Charley. "Shall we go round to the
waiting-room?"
"Yes, please," cried Laura eagerly; and walking round, he stopped to
read a waybill.
"Let me see," he said; "this train leaves first. Ours comes in five
minutes after."
"Take me into the waiting-room," said Laura anxiously. "It is cold out
here."
"I fear that you are going to be unwell," he said, attending to her
request.
"No; indeed, indeed I am quite well, dearest Charley," she whispered,
and an impatient frown crossed his brow; but he said no more, only half
led, half followed her to a window looking out upon the platform, where
there was the customary hurry previous to the departure of a train, when
the first bell has rung. Porters running here and there with luggage,
cool passengers, excited passengers, box- and wrapper-laden
ladies'-maids seeking second-class carriages; footmen bearing fasces of
umbrellas and walking-sticks; heavy swells seeking smoking-compartments;
Smith's boys shouting the evening papers; and as they gazed through the
great plate-glass window of the waiting-room, the hurry and bustle
seemed to have an interest for Charley he had never known before.
"We shall be in plenty of time when this train has gone," said Laura;
and she clung very tightly to his arm. "I long to see Nelly again.
Don't you think she improves?"
"Very much. I quite love that child!" said Charley with some animation.
"She is so piquante, and fresh, and genuine!"
A sort of gasping sigh escaped from Laura's breast, but he would not
heed it.
And now the bustle was nearly over; the last bell had rung, the
inspector had taken his last glance, the doors were banging, and the
guard's whistle was at his lips, when the inspector held up his hand, as
there came the pattering of hastening feet on the platform.
"Bai Jove, portare, make haste, or we shall miss it!" cried a familiar
voice.
"This way, sir," was the reply; and an official trotted by with a black
portmanteau on his shoulder and a bag in his hand; and Charley started
as if he had received a fatal stab, for directly following, clinging to
Max Bray's arm, shawled and muffled, and pale as ashes, Ella Bedford
passed the window.
"Max!" exclaimed Laura excitedly, while, as Charley made a movement to
reach the door, she clung to his arm. "Dearest Charley," she whispered
in low impassioned tones, "my own love, my dear life, do not leave me!
pray, pray do not leave! I love you dearly, more dearly than ever, and
my heart bleeds for you--truly--faithfully!" She could say no more, for
her emotion choked her utterance; but she clung to him wildly, as he
stood, now pale and motionless as a statue, gazing through the window.
And in those brief moments what had he seen?
Ella handed into a first-class compartment, Max following her, while her
pale face was directly opposite to Charley, and only a couple of
carriage-lengths distant. Then came the bang of the door, the piping
whistle, the shriek of the engine, then the rapidly increasing panting
snorts as of impatience to be off; the carriages glided by; and where
Ella Bedford's face had been the moment before, was first one and then
another, strangers all; then the guards own, then blankness--a blankness
that seemed to have made its way to his soul, till looking down he
became aware of the stony face gazing up into his, the wild eyes, the
parted lips, and the arms clinging to him so tightly.
His face softened as he gazed down at her, and then a sigh tore its way
from his breast; a sigh that seemed to bear with it the image of a pale
sweet face; and from that moment it was to Charley Vining as if he had
been transformed into another man.
"My poor girl!" he said softly, more than pityingly, as he drew her arm
closer to his breast.
"Charley!" she sighed gently; but there were volumes in that one word;
and had they been alone, she would have thrown herself upon his breast,
where she felt now she might cling. Then her eyes closed, a faint
hysterical sob passed her lips, and she smiled, as if from a sense of
ineffable satisfaction, as she felt his strong arms supporting her--that
he was bearing her towards the inner room; and then all was blank.
Ten minutes after, Laura unclosed her eyes, to find herself upon a
couch, with Nelly and Charley at her side; and starting up, she rested
upon one elbow. Then she fixed her eyes upon the latter, and caught at
his hand.
"You will not leave me?" she gasped hoarsely.
"No!" he whispered almost tenderly. "I feared that you were unwell."
And he passed his hand across her damp brow, smoothing back the raven
hair; and Laura sank back, her eyes closed and a smile upon her lip,
drawing with her his hand, which she held tightly in both hers; for,
saving Nelly, they were now alone.
A quarter of an hour passed in silence, and then Charley Vining said
gently:
"Do you think you can bear to be moved?"
"Yes," she said, rising eagerly and fixing her eyes upon his, "if you
are with me. But," she said, leaning towards him and whispering, "do
not be angry; only tell me, to set me at rest--tell me that you will
not--Max--dear Charley, you know what I mean."
"Follow Max--your brother?" said Charley sternly; "no!"
The next minute Laura was leaning upon his arm, and they sought the
carriage, Nelly taking Charley's other arm, and whispering to him as he
turned towards her with a sad smile on his lip, "I'm so sorry, Charley,
and yet so glad, and I don't know how I feel; but tell me, is it to be
_brother_ Charley?"
"Hush!" said the other sternly, as they reached the carriage.
Had he not been so preoccupied, Charley Vining would have seen that a
strange man, rather shabbily-dressed, was close beside him, vainly
attempting to gain his attention; for, after handing Laura and her
sister into the barouche, he was about to leave them to return alone;
but the imploring look of dread in Laura's eyes stayed him, and yielding
to her outstretched hand, he leaped in and took his place opposite.
Upon reaching Harley-street the strange man seemed to be there before
them, and Charley would again have left, but Laura begged him to go with
her upstairs; and seeing how pale and disturbed she was, he accompanied
her to the drawing-room.
"There!--need I tell you on my honour," he said, taking her hand gently,
"you need be under no fear."
"And--and, Charley," she said appealingly, "you will not judge me
harshly?"
"Judge you harshly?" he said; "no." And as she held out her hands to
him, he took her gently to his breast and kissed her.
"Do you know how happy you have made me?" she whispered, clinging to him
and gazing up in his pale honest face.
"No," he said in the same tone; "but I fear I have pained you sorely."
"Charley!"
"Laura!"
There was no other sound heard in that room but those softly uttered
words; and when, a minute or two after, Mrs Bray quietly opened the
door unobserved, she stepped back again on the points of her toes
smiling with a satisfied air, and posted herself as a sentinel upon the
stairs.
And all this while that strange man was impatiently watching the windows
from the other side of the street.
"Couldn't get to see you before, sir," said a voice, as Charley Vining
left Mr Bray's house in Harley-street. "Perhaps you'll run over that
while I follow you and wait for farther orders."
Charley started, and looked up to see that a rather shabbily-dressed man
was walking away from him, after placing a note in his hands.
"Mr M.B. went to Crescent Villas at nine this morning, stayed ten
minutes, returned to Bury-street, left Bury-street at three in a cab
with a black portmanteau, and was driven to the front of the
Colosseum. Waited an hour, and was then joined by Miss E.B. carrying
a small black bag--very pale, and evidently been crying. Mr M.B.
said aloud, `At last!' as he handed her into the cab. Driven rapidly
to Paddington-station. Took first-class tickets to Penzance, and left
by 4:50 express. Are we to follow?"
So read Charley Vining, the letters at times swimming before his eyes.
He glanced round, and the bearer was a dozen yards in his rear. But he
waved him back. A quarter of an hour ago, and he had told himself that
he was free; but the suggestion at the end of the letter whispered him
that some links of his old chains still clung around. But no; he would
not have them followed. Why should he? What was it to him? But for
his infatuation, he might have known to what all was tending. It was
nothing to him now; but a sigh that was almost a sob escaped from his
breast, as, once more turning, he waited till the man was alongside.
"Tell Mr Whittrick he need take no farther steps," said Charley in a
voice that he hardly knew for his own; and touching his hat, without
another word, the man glided off, disappearing round the corner of the
next street so rapidly, that when, upon second thoughts, Charley would
have set him another task, and hurried after him with that intention, he
was out of sight.
Five minutes after, Charley was in a cab and on his way to Crescent
Villas; where, after a little parley, he was now admitted to the
presence of Mrs Marter, red-eyed, furious, and ready, apparently, to
make an onslaught upon the first person who offended her.
Before he had been there long, the rapid flow of the angry woman's words
told of how, by cunning, flattering, and attention, Max Bray had gained
a footing in the house; the weak vain woman believing that his visits
were all upon her account, and willingly accepting the presence of Ella
as a blind. Her only sin was a love of flattery, attention, and Max
Bray's escorts to the various places of amusement; but now the veil had
dropped from her eyes, and she spoke.
"It has all been planned for long enough," she exclaimed passionately,
"and they have gone off together." And then she burst forth into a
furious tirade against deceit, forgetful entirely of how she was hoist
with her own petard.
Charley could hear no more, but hurried away, confused, doubting,
heart-sick. What faith could he place in any one again? He had gone to
Crescent Villas in the hope that he was, after all, wrong; that there
was some mistake which might be cleared up; and according to this woman
the idol of his heart had been a monster of treachery and deceit.
He was ready to make any allowance for the mad passion of a woman who
found that she had been made the tool of the designing; but, after all,
what could he say to his wounded heart after the scenes he had
witnessed? What right had he now to trouble himself, though--what was
it to him? There was nothing to palliate what he had seen; and now he
must begin life afresh. What he had to do was to draw a line across the
mental diary of his life--a thick black mark between the present and the
bygone--and at that line he told himself his thoughts must always stay;
for upon that past he could not bear to dwell.
Forgive her? He had nothing to forgive. She had always told him, from
the first, that it could not be; while he had blindly and impetuously
rushed on to his heart's destruction.
Volume 3, Chapter III.