"WEAVE THE WARP, AND WEAVE THE WOOF."
On the following day Victor Carrington presented himself at Hilton
House, and was received by Miss Brewer alone. She was pale, chilly, and
ungracious, as usual, and the understanding which had been arrived at
between Carrington and herself did not move her to the manifestation of
the smallest additional cordiality in her reception of him.
"I have to thank you for your prompt compliance with my request, Miss
Brewer," said Victor.
She made no sound nor sign of encouragement, and he continued. "Since I
saw you, another complication has arisen in this matter, which makes
our game doubly safe and secure. In order to explain this complication
thoroughly, I must ask you to let me put you through a kind of
catechism. Have I your permission, Miss Brewer?"
"You may ask me any questions you please," returned Miss Brewer, in a
hard, cold, even voice; "and I will answer them as truthfully as I can."
"Do you know anything of Douglas Dale's family connections and
antecedents?"
"I know that his mother was Sir Oswald Eversleigh's sister, and that he
and Lionel Dale, who was drowned on St. Stephen's day, were left large
incomes by their uncle, in addition to some inconsiderable family
property which they inherited from their father, Mr. Melville Dale, who
was a lawyer, and, I believe, a not very successful one."
"Did you ever hear anything of the family history of this Mr. Melville
Dale, the father of Lionel and Douglas?"
"I never heard more than his name, and the circumstance I have already
mentioned."
"Listen, then. Melville Dale had a sister, towards whom their father
conceived undue and unjust partiality (according to the popular
version) from their earliest childhood. This sister, Henrietta Dale,
married, when very young, a country baronet of good fortune, one Sir
George Verner, and thereby still further pleased her father, and
secured his favour. Melville Dale, on the contrary, opposed the old
gentleman in everything, and ultimately crowned the edifice of his
offences by publishing a deistical treatise, which made a considerable
sensation at the time of its appearance, and caused the author's
expulsion from Balliol, where he had already attained a bad eminence by
numerous escapades of the Shelley order. This proceeding so incensed
his father that he made a will, in the heat of his anger, by which he
disinherited Melville Dale, and left the whole of his fortune to his
daughter, Lady Verner. If he repented this summary and vindictive
proceeding, neither I nor any one else can tell. The disinherited son
reformed his life very soon after the breach between himself and his
father, and was lucky enough to win the affections of Sir Oswald
Eversleigh's sister. But he was too proud to ask for his father's
forgiveness, and the father died a year after Douglas Dale's
birth--never having seen Mrs. Dale or his grandchildren. At the time of
her father's death, Lady Verner had no children, and she was, I
believe, disposed to treat her brother very generously; but he was an
obstinate, headstrong man, and persisted in believing that she had
purposely done him injury with his father. He would not see her. He
refused to accept any favour at her hands, and a complete estrangement
took place. The brother and sister never met again; and it was only
through the medium of the newspapers that Lionel and Douglas Dale
learned, some time after their father's death (Melville Dale died
young), that severe affliction had befallen their aunt, Lady Verner.
The bitter and deadly breach between father and son, and between
brother and sister, was destined never to be healed. Lionel and Douglas
grew up knowing nothing of their father's family, but treated always
with persistent kindness by their uncle, Sir Oswald Eversleigh, who
insisted upon their making Raynham Castle a second home."
"Their cousin Reginald must have liked _that_, I fancy," remarked Miss
Brewer, in her coldest tone.
"He _did_, as you suppose," said Carrington; "he hated the Dales, and I
fancy they had but little intimacy with him. He was early taken up by
Sir Oswald, and acknowledged and treated as his heir. You know, of
course, how all that came to grief, and how Sir Oswald married a
nobody, and left her the bulk of his fortune?"
"Yes, I have heard all that," said Miss Brewer. "Sir Reginald did not
spare us the details of the injustice Sir Oswald had done him, or the
expression of his feelings regarding it. Sir Reginald is the most
egotistical man I know."
"Well, then, as you are in possession of the family relations so far,
let me return to Lady Verner, of whom her nephews knew nothing during
their father's lifetime. She had lost her husband shortly after the
birth of her only child, and continued to live at Naples, whither Sir
George had been taken, in the vain hope of prolonging his life. A short
time after Sir George Verner's death, and while his child was almost an
infant, Lady Verner's villa was robbed, and the little girl, with her
nurse, disappeared. The general theory was, that the nurse had connived
at the robbery, and gone off with the thieves; and being, after the
fashion of Italian nurses, extraordinarily fond of the child, had
refused to be parted from her. Be that as it may, the nurse and child
were never heard of again, and though the case was put into the hands
of the cleverest of the police, in Paris and London, no discovery has
ever been made. Lady Verner fell into a state of hopeless melancholy,
in which she continued for many years, and during that period, of
course, her wealth accumulated, and is now very great indeed. I see by
your face, Miss Brewer, that you are growing impatient, and are
disposed to wonder what the family history of the Dales, and the
troubles of Lady Verner, have to do with Paulina Durski and our designs
for her future. Bear with my explanation a little longer, and you will
perceive the importance of the connection between them."
Miss Brewer gave her shoulders a slight shrug, expressive of supreme
resignation, and Victor continued.
"Lady Verner has now recovered, under the influence of time and medical
skill, and has come to London with the avowed purpose of arranging the
affairs of her large property. She has heard of Lionel Dale's death,
and, therefore, knows that there is a candidate the less in the field.
Sir Reginald Eversleigh has obtained access to this lady, and he has
carefully nipped in the bud certain symptoms of interest which she
betrayed in the fate of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's widow and orphan
daughter. Lady Verner is an exceedingly proud woman, and you may
suppose her maternal instincts are powerful, when the loss of her child
caused her years of melancholy madness. My gifted friend speedily
discovered these characteristics, and practised on them. Lady Verner
was made aware that the widow of Sir Oswald Eversleigh was a person of
low origin, and dubious reputation, and cared so little for her child
that she had gone abroad, for an indefinite time, leaving the little
girl at Raynham, in the care of servants. The result of this
representation was, that Lady Verner felt and expressed extreme
disgust, and considerable satisfaction that she had not committed
herself to a course from which she must have receded, by opening any
communication with Lady Eversleigh. One danger thus disposed of--and I
must say I think Reginald did it well--he was very enthusiastic, he
tells me, on the virtues of his uncle, and his inextinguishable regret
for that benefactor of his youth."
Miss Brewer's cold smile, and glittering, baleful eye, attracted
Carrington's attention at this point.
"That shocks you, does it, Miss Brewer?" he asked.
"Shock me? Oh no! It rather interests me; there's an eminence of
baseness in it."
"So there is," said Carrington, with pleased assent, "especially to one
who knows, as I do, how Reginald hated his uncle, living-how he hates
his memory, dead. However, he did this, and did it well; but it was
only half his task. Lady Verner would keep herself clear of Lady
Eversleigh, but she must be kept clear of Douglas Dale."
"Ha!" said Miss Brewer, with a slight change of attitude and
expression, "I see now; she must be turned against him by means of
Paulina--poor Paulina! She says she is fatal to him; she says he ought
to fly from her. This looks still more like her being right."
"It does, indeed, Miss Brewer," said Carrington, gravely. "You are
right. It was by means of Madame Durski that the trick was done; but
neither you nor I--and I assure you I like your friend immensely--can
afford to take objection to the manner of doing it. Lady Verner was
made to understand that by extending her countenance to, or enriching
Douglas Dale, she would only be giving additional security and _eclât_
to a marriage scarcely less disgraceful than that which Sir Oswald
Eversleigh had contracted. The device has been successful, so far. And
now comes the third portion of Sir Reginald's game--the substitution of
himself in Lady Verner's good graces for the nephew he has ousted. This
is only fair, after all. Dale cut him out with his uncle--he means to
cut Dale out with his aunt. You understand our programme now, Miss
Brewer, don't you?"
"Yes," she replied, slowly, "but I don't see why I should lend him any
assistance. It would be more to my interest that Douglas Dale should
inherit this lady's fortune; the richer Paulina's husband is, the
better for me."
"Unquestionably, my dear Miss Brewer," said Carrington. "But Dale will
not marry Paulina if Sir Reginald Eversleigh chooses to prevent it; and
Douglas Dale will not give you five hundred pounds for any services
whatever, because there are none which you can render him. I think you
can see that pretty plainly, Miss Brewer. And you can also see, I
presume, that, provided _I_ get _my_ money from Eversleigh, it is a
manner of total indifference to me whether he gets _Lady Verner's_
money, or whether Dale gets it. The only means by which I can get my
money is by detaching Sir Reginald from Paulina, and making him marry
the ironmonger's heiress. When that is done, and the money is paid, I
am perfectly satisfied that Dale should get the fortune, and I think it
very likely he will; but you must perceive that I cannot play my own
game except by appearing to play Reginald's."
"Is Lady Verner likely to think the ironmonger's heiress a good match
for Sir Reginald Eversleigh?" Miss Brewer asked, in a coldly sarcastic
tone.
"How is she to know anything of her origin?" returned Carrington, who
was, however, disconcerted by the question. "She lives a most retired
life; no one but Reginald has any access to her, and he can make her
believe anything he likes."
"That's fortunate," said Miss Brewer, drily; "pray proceed."
"Well, then, you see these points as clearly as I do--the next thing to
be done is to secure Paulina's marriage with Douglas Dale."
"I don't think that needs much securing," said Miss Brewer. "Judging
from his manner before he left town, and from the tone of his letter, I
should think very little encouragement from her would ensure a proposal
of marriage from him."
"And will she give him that encouragement?"
"Undoubtedly--I fully believe she will marry Douglas Dale. She has
certainly learned to despise Sir Reginald Eversleigh, and I think Mr.
Dale has caught her heart in the rebound."
"Have you attended to my instructions about impressing her money
difficulties on her mind--have you made things as bad as possible?"
"Certainly," answered Miss Brewer. "Only this morning I have sent into
her room several pressing and impertinent letters from her
tradespeople, and I put some accounts of the most dispiriting character
before her last night. She is in dreadfully low spirits."
"So much the better! If we can but induce her to borrow money from
Dale, all will be well; he will take that as a convincing proof of
regard and confidence, and will propose to her at once. I am sure of
it. So sure, that I will pass that matter by, and take it for granted.
And now--if this comes to pass, and Douglas Dale is here as the
accepted lover of Paulina, I must have constant access to the house,
and he must not know me as Victor Carrington. He has never seen me,
though I am familiar with his appearance."
"Why?" asked Miss Brewer, in a tone of suspicious surprise.
"I will tell you, by-and-by. Suffice it for the present that it must be
so. Then again, it would not do to have a man, who is not a relative,
established _l'ami de la maison_. That it is not the sort of thing that
an affianced lover could be expected to like. You must introduce me to
Douglas Dale as your cousin, and by the name of Carton. It is
sufficiently like my real name to prevent the servants knowing my name
is changed, since they always bungle over the 'Carrington.' As Victor
Carrington, Dale might refuse to know me, and certainly would not form
any intimacy with me, and that he should form an intimacy with me is
essential to my purpose."
"Why?" said Miss Brewer, in exactly the same tone as before.
"I will tell you by-and-by," said Carrington. "You consent, do you not?"
"I am not sure," she answered. "But, even supposing I do consent, there
is Paulina to be consulted. How is she to be induced to call you Mr.
Carton and my cousin?"
"I will undertake to persuade Madame Durski that it will be for her
best interests to consent," said Carrington. "And now to my
explanation. Reginald Eversleigh is a man who is not to be trusted for
a moment, even where his own interests are closely concerned. He cares
nothing for Paulina; he knows the best thing that can happen to him
would be her marriage with Dale, for he calculates upon his hold over
the wife giving him the chance of a good share of the husband's money
in some way. Yet, such is his vanity, so unmanageable is his temper,
that if he were not too much afraid of me, too much in my power, he
would indulge them both at the cost of destroying our plan. If he knew
me to be absent, or unable to present myself freely here, he would
persecute Paulina--she would never be free from him. He would
compromise his own chance with the heiress, which is, naturally, my
chief consideration, and compromise her with Douglas Dale. Again, I do
not mind admitting to you, Miss Brewer, that I am of a cautious and
suspicious temperament; and when I pay an agent liberally, as I intend
to pay you, I always like to see for myself how the work is done."
"That argument, at least, is unanswerable," she replied. "You shall, so
far as I can answer for it, pass as my cousin and Mr. Carton, and have
a free _entré_ here."
"Good," said Carrington, rising. "And now there is nothing more to be
said just at present."
"Pardon me; you have not told me why an intimacy with Mr. Dale is
essential to your purpose."
"Because I must watch his proceedings and intentions--in fact, know all
about him--in order to discover whether it will suit my interests best
to forward Eversleigh's plans with respect to Lady Verner, or to betray
them to Dale."
Miss Brewer looked at him with something like admiration. She thought
she understood him so perfectly now, that she need ask nothing farther.
So they parted with the understanding that she was to report fully on
Douglas Dale's visit, and Carrington was to call on Paulina on the day
succeeding it. When she was alone, Miss Brewer remembered that
Carrington had not explained why it was he felt certain Dale would not
form any intimacy with him as Victor Carrington. As he walked
homewards, Victor muttered to himself--
"Heavens, what a clever fool that woman is. Once more I have won, and
by boldness."
* * * * *
The feelings with which Douglas Dale prepared for his visit to Hilton
House on the day following that on which Victor Carrington had made his
full and candid explanation to Miss Brewer, were such as any woman--the
purest, the noblest, the best--might have been proud of inspiring. They
were full of love, trust, pity, and hope. Douglas Dale had by no means
ceased to feel his brother's loss. No, the death of Lionel, and, even
more, the terrible manner of that death, still pursued him in every
waking hour--still haunted him in his dreams; but sorrow, and
especially its isolating tendency, does but quicken and intensify
feelings of tenderness in true and noble hearts.
He drove up to Hilton House with glad expectancy, and his eyes were dim
as he was ushered into the drawing-room in which Paulina sat.
Madame Durski's emotions on this occasion were unspeakably painful. So
well had Miss Brewer played her part, that she had persuaded Paulina
her only chance of escape from immediate arrest lay in borrowing money,
that very day, from Douglas Dale. Paulina's pride revolted; but the
need was pressing, and the unhappy woman yielded.
As she rose to return her visitor's greeting, and stood before him in
the cold January sunset, she was indeed, in all outward seeming, worthy
of any man's admiration.
Remorse and suffering had paled her cheeks; but they had left no
disfiguring traces on her perfect face.
The ivory whiteness of her complexion was, perhaps, her greatest charm,
and her beauty would scarcely have been enhanced by those rosy tints so
necessary to some faces.
To-day she had dressed herself to perfection, fully conscious of the
influence which a woman's costume is apt to exercise over the heart of
the man who loves her.
Half an hour passed in conversation of a general nature, and then
luncheon was announced. When Paulina and her visitor returned to the
dreary room, they were alone; Miss Brewer had discreetly retired.
"My dear Madame Durski!" exclaimed Douglas, when the widow had seated
herself and he had placed himself opposite to her, "I cannot tell you
what intense pleasure it gives me to see you again, and most of all
because it leads me to believe that I can in some manner serve you. I
know how secluded your habits have been of late, and I fancy you would
scarcely so depart from them in my favour if you had not some real need
of my service."
This speech was peculiarly adapted to smoothe away the difficulties of
Paulina's position. Douglas had long guessed the secret of her poverty,
and had more than half divined the motive of her letter. He was eager
to save her, as far as possible, from the painfulness of the request
which he felt almost sure she was about to make to him.
"Your cordial kindness affects me deeply, Mr. Dale," said Paulina, with
a blush that was the glow of real shame. "You are right; I should be
the last woman in the world to appeal to you thus if I had not need of
your help--bitter need. I appeal to you, because I know the goodness
and generosity of your nature. I appeal to you as a beggar."
"Madame Durski, for pity's sake, do not speak thus," cried Douglas,
interrupting her. "Every penny that I possess in the world is at your
command. I am ready to begin life again, a worker for my daily bread,
rather than that you should suffer one hour's pain, one moment's
humiliation, that money can prevent."
"You are too generous, too noble," exclaimed Paulina, in a broken
voice. "The only way in which I can prove my gratitude for your
delicate goodness is by being perfectly candid. My life has been a
strange one, Mr. Dale--a life of apparent prosperity, but of real
poverty. Before I was old enough to know the value of a fortune, I was
robbed of that which should have been mine, and robbed by the father
who should have protected my interests. From that hour I have known
little except trouble. I was married to a man whom I never
loved--married at the command of the father who had robbed me. If I
have not fallen, as many other women so mated have fallen, I take no
pride in my superior strength of mind. It may be that temptation such
as lures other women to their ruin never approached me. Since my
husband died, my life, as you too well know, has been a degraded one. I
have been the companion and friend of gamesters. It is, indeed, only
since I came to England that I have myself ceased to be a gambler. Can
you remember all this, Mr. Dale, and yet pity me?"
"I can remember it all, and yet love you, Paulina," answered Douglas,
with emotion. "We are not masters of our own affections. From the hour
in which I first saw you I have loved you--loved you in spite of
myself. I will admit that your life has not been that which I would
have chosen for the woman I love; and that to remember your past
history is pain to me. But, in spite of all, I ask you to be my wife;
and it shall be the business of my future life to banish from your
remembrance every sorrow and every humiliation that you have suffered
in the past. Say that you will be my wife, Paulina. I love you as few
women are loved. I am rich, and have the power to remove you far from
every association that is painful to you. Tell me that I may be the
guardian of your future existence."
Paulina contemplated her lover for a few moments with singular
earnestness. She was deeply impressed by his generous devotion, and she
could not but compare this self-sacrificing love with the base
selfishness of Reginald Eversleigh's conduct.
"You do not ask me if I can return your affection," she said, after
that earnest look. "You offer to raise me from degradation and poverty,
and you demand nothing in return."
"No, Paulina," replied Douglas; "I would not make a _bargain_ with the
woman I love. I know that you have not yet learned to love me, and yet
I do not fear for the future, if you consent to become my wife. True
love, such as mine, rarely fails to win its reward, sooner or later. I
am content to wait. It will be sufficient happiness to me to know that
I have rescued you from a miserable and degrading position."
"You are only too generous," murmured Paulina, softly; "only too
generous."
"And now tell me the immediate object of this most welcome summons. I
will not press you for a prompt reply to my suit; I will trust that
time may be my friend. Tell me how I can serve you, and why you sent
for me to-day?"
"I sent for you that I might ask you for the loan of two hundred
pounds, to satisfy the claims of my most urgent creditors, and to
prevent the necessity of an ignominious flight."
"I will write you a cheque immediately for five hundred," said Douglas.
"You can drive to my banker's, and get it cashed there. Or stay; it
would not be so well for my banker to know that I lent you money. Let
me come again to you this evening, and bring ink sum in bank-notes.
That will give me an excuse for coming."
"How can I ever thank you sufficiently?"
"Do not thank me at all. Only let me love you, looking forward
hopefully to the day in-which you may learn to love me." "That day must
surely come ere long," replied Paulina, thoughtfully. "Gratitude so
profound as mine, esteem so sincere, must needs grow into a warmer
feeling."
"Yes, Paulina," said Douglas, "if your heart is free. Forgive me if I
approach a subject painful to you and to me. Reginald Eversleigh--my
cousin--have you seen him often lately?"
"I have not seen him since he left London for Hallgrove. I am not
likely to see him again."
"I am very glad of that. There is but one fear in my mind when I think
of our future, Paulina."
"And that is?"
"The fear that Reginald Eversleigh may come between you and me."
"You need no longer fear that," replied Madame Durski. "You have been
so noble, so devoted in your conduct to me, that I must be indeed a
worthless wretch if I shrink from the painful duty of laying my heart
bare before you. I have loved your cousin Reginald, foolishly, blindly;
but there must come an end to all folly; there must come a day when the
bandage falls from the eyes that have obstinately shunned the light.
That day has come for me; and Sir Reginald Eversleigh is henceforward
nothing more to me than the veriest stranger."
"A thousand thanks, dearest, for that assurance," exclaimed Douglas;
"and now trust in me. Tour future shall be so bright and happy that the
past will seem to you no more than a troubled dream."