Lady Dillworth's reverie is doomed to be a short one. She feels a soft
caressing touch on her arm, and looks up to see Miss Delmere close by
her chair. Her long light hair is streaming over her shoulders, and an
embroidered Indian dressing-gown covers her antique dress.
'Liddy, you quite frightened me! Why do you come creeping in like a
mouse? You ought to be in bed.'
'I have something to tell you, Katie; something you will be _so_ glad
to hear, and something that makes me _so_ happy. I cannot sleep till I
tell you all about it.'
Miss Delmere flings herself on a low stool at Katie's feet, and looks
up through her mass of sunny hair with flushed cheeks, glowing eyes,
and lips that _will_ form themselves into smiles. She cannot hide her
joy.
'Walter Reeves has asked me to be his wife. Are you surprised, Katie?'
'Not exactly; I thought there must be some outcome from all that
flirting. Do you know, Liddy, if he had not made you an offer, and if
you had not accepted him, I should have been very angry, and should
have given you a lecture.'
Liddy looks up at her friend with surprise, the words are so cold, the
tone of voice so hard and unsympathising.
'Are you not glad about it, Katie?'
'Of course I am; and I hope you will both be happy.'
'I owe it all to _you_, darling Katie! Had it not been for this dear
delightful charade party, I should never have found out that Walter
really cared for me. How sudden it has all been! And what good news
I shall have to carry home to-morrow! Little did I think when I
came to stay with you, that my wedding was so near!' The words came
out in joyous gasps between hugs and kisses, for Miss Delmere is
demonstrative, and shews it.
Then Liddy flits away, radiant in her delight, never dreaming of the
anguish in Katie's heart that constrains her again to bury her face in
her hands, and utter short, eager, impassioned prayers for the poor
sailors whom she believes are at that very hour in dire and mortal
conflict with the winds and waves.
But we must take a glimpse at Sir Herbert's proceedings. He never
even glances at the order after his wife's fingers have altered it
to her will; he merely folds it up, puts it in the envelope, and
despatches it to its destination. Though he decides the _Leo_ shall
proceed on the dangerous enterprise, no thought of malice towards
Captain Reeves actuates him. It never enters his thought that it is
a good way of getting rid of him for a while, and thus stopping the
constant visits to Government House. The idea is altogether too paltry
and despicable--it is beneath a man of Sir Herbert's tone of mind. He
fixes on that particular ship simply because she is best fitted for
the duty. Weighing anchor in such a storm near the Short Reefs on an
iron-bound coast, and rendering assistance to a vessel in danger, is
an undertaking that requires a good ship, a steady crew, and an able
captain.
All these qualifications the _Leo_ possesses to perfection. She
is a well-built handsome craft; her hardy tars are smart and well
disciplined; and there is no braver officer in the British navy
than Walter Reeves. True, when on shore he seems rather too fond of
amusement, and has been called 'conceited,' 'trifling,' 'frivolous,'
'dandified,' and what not, by men who are jealous of him; but let his
foot once touch the quarter-deck, and even his enemies can never charge
him with these questionable qualities. There all his frippery and
nonsense vanish away like dew in the sunshine; and he becomes the true
sailor, with courage to plan and carry out deeds of daring; he becomes
the gallant officer fired with vigour and ambition. Never would he
shirk a duty or hesitate to undertake any lawful enterprise even though
it led to danger or death. Sir Herbert knows all this, and therefore he
is right in selecting the _Leo_.
Hardly has he sent away the order when he is called off to Hillview;
and when his duties there are over, he determines to pay a farewell
visit to Lady Ribson. He thinks of Katie all the way he is going to
Belton Park. But when is he _not_ thinking of her? His love has not
lessened, though he has begun to see her faults. He is sorry she is
not with him, and that she has never paid the needful respect to
his god-mother. He has often and often urged her to call, but his
persuasions have failed. Whenever he has made the suggestion, Katie has
been so overwhelmed with engagements that she has hardly given him a
hearing, and of late he has dropped the subject. He goes towards Belton
Park in rather a gloomy mood after all. Lady Ribson quite expects Katie
on this last evening, and while she welcomes the Admiral, she looks
over his shoulder inquiringly.
'Ah! I knew you would come to say "good-bye," Herbert. But where is the
"gudewife," the bonnie Katie?'
'Miss Delmere is staying with her, and she has many engagements;
besides, you could hardly expect her out in this storm.'
'Ah no, certainly not. There are many reasons for Lady Dillworth's
staying at home, and but few inducements for her to come out to see an
old woman like me.'
'Katie has often said how anxious she is to know you.'
'True, true, Herbert; so you must bring her to Scotland with you in
the bright summer-time--that is, if I'm spared to see it; but life is
uncertain, my friend, life is uncertain.'
Lady Ribson, who is the brightest, kindest, dearest old woman in the
world, smiles on her god-son, and does not let him see how much she
is hurt by Katie's neglect of her; but in her heart she is sorry for
him, more sorry than she would like him to know. Bessie his first wife
was in her opinion perfection; and Katie she suspects is very much the
reverse.
To her old eyes, the Admiral is still young, and she thinks there is
hardly a woman in the world good enough to mate with him. 'I can see
Herbert is not happy; and Laura Best was right when she foretold the
risk her father ran in marrying a mere frivolous girl,' she decides
in her own mind; but none of her suspicions float to the surface, so
gay, so kindly, so warm is her manner. The Admiral sets out early on
his homeward journey; his thoughts still turn to Katie, but they have
grown softer, more tender. The gloom has passed from his spirit; the
interview with Lady Ribson has calmed his ruffled thoughts; his reserve
and pride have altogether melted down, and he longs to press his
darling wife to his heart and forgive all her follies. He feels, even
with all her failings, he loves her more completely, more passionately
than he has ever loved the dead Bessie.
When he reaches Government House, it is brilliantly lighted up. The
guests are assembled, and fragments of song and melody are floating
out on the rough night-wind. Sir Herbert makes his way at once to
the scene of festivity, and pauses at the door, astonished at the
unwonted appearance of the rooms. As he has not been initiated into
the arrangements, nor witnessed the preparations, the merest stranger
present is not more ignorant than he is of all that has been going
on. So he looks on the scene with curiosity. The music-room has been
turned into a raised stage, with painted wings and festoons of scarlet
curtains. A crescent-shaped row of gas jets serves as foot-lights, and
throws a soft clear brilliance on the performers. Wreaths of flowers,
clusters of trailing evergreens, pots of rich exotics, groups of
banners, add to the display. Nothing that taste, art, fancy, or money
can accomplish is wanting. The Admiral looks at all this; then at the
rows of spectators; then at his wife, who comes forward on the stage
at that moment leaning on Liddy's arm. Presently their voices ring out
through the rooms; then a solo falls to Katie's share, and her husband
listens spell-bound to her singing. Her voice is tuned to the deepest
pathos, and her face is sad as her song.
Never has he seen Katie look like that before. The curiously cut
costume suits her wonderfully well; the dress of azure silk falls in
rich bright folds; her bodice glitters with gold and gems; and her hair
turned back in its own luxuriant wealth of tresses, has no ornament
but a diamond cluster. The mellowed rays from gas jets, hidden by
the curtains, fall full on her head, and she shines out as though
surrounded by a strange unearthly glory.
She seems altered, spiritualised, refined, incorporealised in her
marvellously weird-like beauty, and her husband cannot remove his rapt
gaze from her. But presently a single turn of his head changes his
glance of admiration into one of surprise and anger. In the shade of a
gigantic azalea he spies Captain Walter Reeves, standing in an attitude
of calm listening enjoyment. Instantly the Admiral's eye flashes
with indignation. How dares Walter Reeves to be here, in his wife's
drawing-room, when he ought to be miles away out on the stormy seas?
In an instant the offender is called out of the room, and Sir Herbert
demands to know why he has disobeyed orders by staying on shore.
'I have had no orders to weigh anchor, Sir Herbert.'
'Perhaps the order is still lying on your cabin table; it was issued at
ten o'clock this morning.'
'No despatch has reached the _Leo_, for I've been on board all day, Sir
Herbert, and came direct to Government House.'
'Very strange, very! There must be some terrible mistake in the matter.
Is Mr Grey here to-night?'
'No, Sir Herbert.'
'I must see him at once. The subject admits of no delay.'
'Shall _I_ go to North Street, and fetch him here?'
The Admiral pauses for a moment, and takes a survey of Walter from
head to foot. He notes the velvet suit, the delicate lace ruffles,
the Montero cap, the large plume of feathers, the dark cloak set
so jauntily on his shoulder, the thin shining shoes, and the huge
glittering buckles; and a _soupçon_ of contempt glances from his eyes,
a slight sneer trembles on his lip. 'I think I am more fitted to brave
the storm than you are to-night, so I'll go to Mr Grey myself.' Then
without another word, he walks down the stairs, and passes out into the
wind and rain. The house in North Street is closed for the night, and
Mrs Grey and Helen are sleeping the sleep of the quiet-minded. Only the
master of the house is still up, and he is finishing a cigar in his
library. He starts up in alarm when he hears the authoritative knock
at the door, and visions of fire and thieves start up before him. His
alarm is in no whit lessened when he sees his august son-in-law on the
steps.
'Sir Herbert! Who would have thought of seeing you so late! Is anything
wrong? Is Katie ill?'
'No; your daughter is quite well. I left her just now dressed up like
some medieval heroine, and lamenting her woes in song.'
'True; I recollect this is the night of Katie's charade party.'
They have both gone into the library now; Mr Grey has flung the stump
of his cigar aside, and the Admiral speedily explains the cause of his
late visit.
'I acted as your note directed, Sir Herbert, and at once sent off the
_Leoni_ to assist the _Daring_.'
'The _Leoni_! Were you mad, Grey?'
'I confess your order amazed me. I did all I could to consult with you
about it, but you were gone to Hillview. Here is the order; you will
see the _Leoni's_ name written plainly.'
The Admiral takes the paper in his hand, holds it near his gaze,
scrutinises it afar off, glances at it through his eye-glass; but the
fact is indisputable--there is the word _Leoni_, apparently in his own
writing.
'This is a vile forgery, Grey! I never wrote that, never dreamt
of giving such a mad order. Heaven alone knows what results, what
complications may arise from it! I shudder to think of the _Daring_
still aground on the Short Reefs, or perhaps altogether broken up long
ere this.'
'The _Leoni_ couldn't help her much, I fear.'
'Help her! She'll never reach her. I should not be surprised if she
were a wreck herself by this time; a hideous, top-heavy, unmanageable
craft like that couldn't take care even of herself in such a storm.'
'What had better be done now, Sir Herbert?'
'Despatch the _Leo_ at once; though I fear her services will come too
late.'
Practical discussions follow, that keep the Admiral and his secretary
employed for some time longer. When Sir Herbert returns home, it is
no vain excuse that makes him retire to his room in very weariness of
spirit, very fatigue of body. He finds Walter Reeves is already gone
away; but some of the guests are still lingering in the rooms, trying
to prolong their amusements to the last minute.