MR. PARMALEE SWEARS VENGEANCE.
Sir Everard strode straight to the picture-gallery, his face pale, his
eyes flashing, his hands clinched.
His step rang like steel along the polished oaken floor, and there was
an ominous compression of his thin lips that might have warned Mr.
Parmalee of the storm to come. But Mr. Parmalee was squinting through
his apparatus at a grim, old warrior on the wall, and only just glanced
up to nod recognition.
"Morning, Sir Everard!" said the artist, pursuing his work. "Fine day
for our business--uncommon spring-like. You've got a gay old lot of
ancestors here, and ancestresses; and stunningly handsome some of 'em
is, too."
"Spare your compliments, sir," said the baronet, in tones of suppressed
rage, "and spare me your presence here for the future altogether! The
sooner you pack your traps and leave this, the surer you will be of
finding yourself with a sound skin."
"Hey?" cried Mr. Parmalee, astounded. "What in thunder do you mean?"
"I mean that I order you out of my house this instant, and that I'll
break every bone in your villainous carcass if ever I catch you inside
my gates again!"
The artist dropped his tools and stood blankly staring.
"By ginger! Why, Sir Everard Kingsland, I don't understand this here!
You told me yourself I might come here and take the pictures. I call
this doosed unhandsome treatment--I do, going back on a feller like
this!"
"You audacious scoundrel!" roared the enraged young lord of Kingsland,
"how dare you presume to answer me? How dare you stand there and look
me in the face? If I called my servants and made them lash you outside
the gates, I would only serve you right! You low-bred, impertinent
ruffian, how dare you write to my wife?"
"Whew!" he whistled, long and shrill, "that's it, is it? Look here,
Sir Everard, don't you get so tearin' mad all for nothing. I didn't
write no disrespect to her ladyship--I didn't, by Jupiter! I jest had
a little request to make, and if I could have seen her ladyship I
wouldn't have writ at all, but she kept out of my way, and--"
"You scoundrel!" cried the passionate young baronet, white with fury,
"do you mean to say my wife kept out of your way--was afraid of you?"
"Exactly so, squire," replied the imperturbable foreigner. "She must
'a' known I had something to say to her yesterday when I---- Well, she
knowed it, and she kept out of my way--I say it again."
"And you dare tell me there is a secret between my wife and you? Are
you not afraid I will throw you out of yonder window?"
Mr. Parmalee drew himself stiffly up.
"Not if I know myself! That is a game two can play at. As for the
secret," with a sudden sneer, "I ain't no desire to keep it a secret if
your wife ain't. Ask her, Sir Everard, and if she's willing to tell
you, I'm sartin I am. But I don't think she will, by gosh!"
The sneering mockery of the last taunt was too much for the fiery young
prince of Kingsland. With the yell of an enraged tiger he sprung upon
Mr. Parmalee, hurled him to the ground in a twinkling, and twisted his
left hand into Mr. Parmalee's blue cotton neckerchief, showering blows
with his right fast and furious.
The attack was so swift and savage that Mr. Parmalee lay perfectly
stunned and helpless, turning unpleasantly black in the face, his eyes
staring, the blood gushing.
Kneeling on his fallen foe, with fiery face and distended eyes, Sir
Everard looked for the moment an incarnate young demon. It flashed
upon him, swift as lightning, in his sudden madness, what he was about.
"I'll murder him if I stay here," he thought; and as the thought
crossed his mind, with a shriek and a swish of silk, in rushed Miss
Silver and flung herself between them.
"Good Heaven! Sir Everard, have you gone mad? In mercy's name, stop
before you have quite murdered him!"
"Dog--cur!" he cried. "Get up and quit my house, or, by the living
light above us, I'll blow your brains out as I would a mad hound's!"
He swung round and strode out of the picture-gallery, and slowly,
slowly arose the prostrate hero, with bloody face and blackened eyes.
"Get up, Mr. Parmalee," she said, "and go away at once. The woman at
the lodge will give you soap and water and a towel, and you can make
yourself decent before entering the village. If you don't hurry you'll
need a guide. Your eyes are as large as bishop pippins, and closing
fast now."
She nearly laughed again, as she assisted her slaughtered betrothed to
his feet Mr. Parmalee wiped the blood out of his eyes and looked
dizzily about him.
"Where is he?" he gasped.
"Sir Everard? He has gone, I believe he would have killed you outright
only I came in and tore him off. What on earth did you say to
infuriate him so?"
"I say?" exclaimed the artist, fiercely. "I said nothing, and you know
it. It was you, you confounded Delilah, you mischief-making deceiver,
who showed him that air note!"
"I protest I did nothing of the sort!" cried Sybilla, indignantly. "He
was in my lady's room when I entered, and he saw the note in my hand.
She was asleep, and I tried to escape and take the note with me, but he
ordered me to leave it and go. Of course I had to obey. If he read
it, it was no fault of mine; but I don't believe he did. You have no
right to blame me, Mr. Parmalee."
"I'll be even with him for this, the insulting young aristocrat! I'll
not spare him now! I'll spread the news far and wide; the very birds
in the trees shall sing it, the story of his wife's shame! I'll lower
that cursed pride of his before another month is over his head, and
I'll have his handsome wife on her knees to me, as sure as my name's
Parmalee! He knocked me down, and he beat me to a jelly, did he? and
he ordered me out of his house; and he'll shoot me like a mad dog, will
he? But I'll be even with him; I'll fix him off! I'll make him repent
the day he ever lifted his hand to G. W. Parmalee!"
"So you shall. I like to hear you talk like that. You're a glorious
fellow, George, and Sybilla will help you; for, listen"--she came close
and hissed the words in a venomous whisper--"I hate Sir Everard
Kingsland and all his race, and I hate his upstart wife, with her high
and mighty airs, and I would see them both dead at my feet with all the
pleasure in life!"
"You get out!" rejoined Mr. Parmalee, recoiling and clapping his hand
to his ear. "I told you before, Sybilla, not to whistle in a fellow's
ear like that. It goes through a chap like cold steel. As to your
hating them, I believe in my soul you hate most people; and women like
you, with big, flashing black eyes, are apt to be uncommon good haters,
too. But what have they done to you? I always took 'em to be good
friends to you, my girl."
"You have read the fable, Mr. Parmalee, of the man who found the frozen
adder, and who warmed and cherished it in his bosom, until he restored
it to life? Well, Sir Everard found me, homeless, friendless,
penniless, and he took me with him, and fed me, clothed me, protected
me, and treated me like a sister. The adder in the fable stung its
preserver to death. I, Mr. Parmalee, if you ever feel inclined to
poison Sir Everard, will mix the potion and hold the bowl, and watch
his death-throes!"
"Go along with you!" said the American, beginning to collect his traps.
"You're a bad one, you are. I don't like such lingo--I don't, by
George! I never took you for an angel, but I vow I didn't think you
were the cantankerous little toad you are! I don't set up to be a
saint myself, and if a man knocks me down and pummels my innards out
for nothin', I calculate to fix his flint, if I can; but you--shoo!
you're a little devil on airth, and that's my opinion of you."
"With such a complimentary opinion of me, then, Mr. Parmalee, I presume
our late partnership is dissolved?"
"Nothing of the sort! I like grit, and if you've got rayther more than
your share, why, when you're Mrs. Parmalee it will be amusing to take
it out of you. And now I'm off, and by all that's great and glorious,
there'll be howling and gnashing of teeth in this here old shop before
I return."
"You go without seeing my lady, then?" said Sybilla.
"My lady's got to come to me!" retorted the artist, sullenly. "It's
her turn to eat humble pie now, and she'll finish the dish, by George,
before I've done with her! I'm going back to the tavern, down the
village, and so you can tell her; and if she wants me, she can put her
pride in her pocket and come there and find me."
"And I, too?" said Sybilla, anxiously. "Remember your promise to
reveal all to me, George. Am I to seek you out at the inn, too, and
await your sovereign pleasure?"
She laid her hands on his shoulders and looked up in his face with eyes
few men could resist. They were quite alone in the vast hall--no
prying eyes to see that tender caress. Mr. Parmalee was a good deal of
a stoic and a little of a cynic; but he was flesh and blood, as even
stoics and cynics are, and the man under sixty was not born who could
have resisted that dark, bewitching, wheedling, beautiful face.
The American artist took her in his long arms with a vigorous hug, and
favored her with a sounding kiss.
"I'll tell you, Sybilla. Hanged if I don't believe you can twist me
round your little finger if you choose! You're as pretty as a
picture--you are, I swear and I love you like all creation; and I'll
marry you just as soon as this little business is settled, and I'll
take you to Maine, and keep you in the tallest sort of clover. I never
calk'lated on having a British gal for a wife; but you're handsome
enough and spunky enough for a president's lady, and I don't care a
darn what the folks round our section say about it. I'll tell you,
Sybilla; but you mustn't split to a living soul, or my cake's dough.
They say a woman can't keep a secret; but you must try, if you should
burst for it. I reckon my lady will come down handsomely before I've
done with her, and you and me, Sybilla, can go to housekeeping across
the three thousand miles of everlasting wet in tip-top style. Come
to-night; you've got to come to me now."
"I suppose I will find you at the inn?"
"I suppose so. 'Tain't likely," said Mr. Parmalee, with a sulky sense
of injury, "you'll find me prancing up and down the village with this
here face. I'll get the old woman to do it up in brown paper and
vinegar when I go home, and I'll stay abed and smoke until dark. You
won't come afore dark, wilt you?"
"No; I don't want to be recognized; and you must be prepared to come
out with me when I do. I'll disguise myself. Ah! suppose I disguise
myself in men's clothes? You won't mind, will you?"
"By gosh! no, if you don't. Men's clothes! What a rum one you are,
Miss Silver? Doosed good-looking little feller you'll make. But why
are you so skeery about it?"
"Why? Need you ask? Would Sir Everard permit me to remain in his
house one hour if he suspected I was his enemy's friend? Have you any
message to deliver to my lady before we part?"
"No. She'll send a message to me during the day, or I'm mistaken. If
she don't, why, I'll send one back with you to-night. By-bye, Mrs.
Parmalee that is to be. Take care of yourself until to-night."
The gentleman walked down the stair-way alone toward a side entrance.
The lady stood on the landing above, looking after him with a bitter,
sneering smile.
"Mrs. Parmalee, indeed! You blind, conceited fool! Twist you round my
little finger, can I? Yes, you great, hulking simpleton, and ten times
better men! Let me worm your secret out of you--let me squeeze my
sponge dry, and then see how I'll fling you into your native gutter!"
Mr. Parmalee, on his way out, stopped at the pretty rustic lodge and
bathed his swollen and discolored visage. The lodge-keeper's wife was
all sympathy and questions. How on earth did it happen?
"Run up against the 'lectric telegraph, ma'am," replied Mr. Parmalee,
sulkily; "and there was a message coming full speed, and it knocked me
over. Morning. Much obliged."
He walked away. Outside the gates he paused and shook his clinched
fist menacingly at the noble old house.
"I'll pay you out, my fine feller, if ever I get a chance! You're a
very great man, and a very proud man, Sir Everard Kingsland, and you
own a fine fortune and a haughty, handsome wife, and G. W. Parmalee's
no more than the mud under your feet. Very well--we'll see! 'Every
dog has his day,' and 'the longest lane has its turning,' and you're
near about the end of your tether, and George Parmalee has you and your
fine lady under his thumb--under his thumb--and he'll crush you,
sir--yes, by Heaven, he'll crush you, and strike you back blow for
blow!"
True to his word, ho ordered unlimited supplies of brown paper and
vinegar, rum and water, pipes and tobacco, swore at his questioners,
and adjourned to his bedroom to await the coming of nightfall and
Sybilla Silver.
The short winter day wore on. A good conscience, a sound digestion,
rum and smoke _ad libitum_, enabled our wounded artist to sleep
comfortably through it, and he was still snoring when Mrs. Wedge, the
landlady, came to his bedside with a flaring tallow candle, and woke
him up.
"Which I've been a-knockin' and a-knockin'," Mrs. Wedge cried, shrilly,
"fit to knock the skin off my blessed knuckles, Mr. Parmalee, and
couldn't wake you no more'n the dead. And he's a-waitin' down-stairs,
which he won't come up, but says it's most particular, and must see you
at once."
"Hold your noise!" growled the artist, tumbling out of bed. "What's
o'clock? Leave that candle and clear out, and tell the young feller
I'll be down in a brace of shakes."
"I couldn't see him," replied Mrs. Wedge, "which he's that muffled up
in a long cloak and a cap drawed down that his own mother herself
couldn't tell him hout there in the dark. Was you a-expectin' of him,
sir?"
"That's no business of yours, Mrs. Wedge," the American answered,
grimly. "You can go."
Mrs. Wedge departed in displeasure, and tried again to see the muffled
stranger. But he was looking out into the darkness, and the good
landlady was completely baffled.
She saw her lodger join him; she saw the hero of the cloak take his
arm, and both walk briskly away.
"By George! this is a disguise!" exclaimed Mr. Parmalee. "I wouldn't
recognize you at noonday in this trim. Do you know who I took you for
until you spoke?"
"Whom?"
"Sir Everard himself. You're as like him as two peas in that rig, only
not so tall."
"The cloak and cap are his," Miss Silver answered, "which perhaps
accounts--"
"No," he said, "there's more than that. I might put on that cap and
cloak, but I wouldn't look like the baronet. Your voices sound alike,
and there's a general air--I can't describe it, but you know what I
mean. You're no relation of his, are you, Sybilla?"
"A relation of the Prince of Kingsland--poor little Sybilla Silver! My
good Mr. Parmalee, what an absurd idea! You do me proud even to hint
that, the blue blood of all the Kingslands could by any chance flow in
these plebeian veins! Oh, no, indeed! I am only an upper servant in
that great house, and would lose my place within the hour if its lordly
master dreamed I was here talking to the man he hates."
"And my lady, any news from her?"
"Not a word. She came down to dinner beautifully dressed, but white as
the snow lying yonder. She and Sir Everard dined _tête-à-tête_. I
take my meals with the housekeeper, now," smiling bitterly. "My Lady
Harriet doesn't like me. The butler told me they did not speak six
words during the whole time of dinner."
"Both in the sulks," said Mr. Parmalee. "Well, it's natural. He's
dying to know, and she'll be torn to pieces afore she breathes a word.
She's that sort. But this shyin' and holding off won't do with me.
I'm getting tired of waiting, and--and so's another party up to London.
Tell her so, Sybilla, with G. W. P.'s compliments, and say that I give
her just two more days, and if she doesn't come to book before the end
of that time, I'll sell her secret to the highest bidder."
"Yes!" Sybilla said, breathlessly; "and now for that secret, George!"
"You won't tell?" cried Mr. Parmalee, a little alarmed at this
precipitation. "Say you won't--never--so help you!"
"Never--I swear it. Now go on!"
* * * * *
An hour later, Sybilla Silver, in her impenetrable disguise, re-entered
Kingsland Court. No one had seen her go--no one saw her return. She
gained her own room and took off her disguise unobserved.
Once only on her way to it she had paused--before my lady's door--and
the dark, beautiful face, wreathed with a deadly smile of hate and
exultation, was horribly transformed to the face of a malignant,
merciless demon.