was too expert a swordsman to let his passion master him a second time,
and as the two faced each other there was not a pin to choose betwixt
'em: nay, if anything, Sir Harry would almost seem the better man, what
with his superior height and length of limb. There was, too, a certain
gleam in his eye, and a confident smile on his lips that I remembered to
have seen there the day he killed poor Richards.
He opened his attack with a thrust in _tierce_, followed by a _longe_ so
swift and well timed that it came nigh ending the matter there and then,
but it was parried--heaven knows how--and I heard Jack sigh behind me.
Indeed, on this occasion Sir Harry fought with all that impetuosity
which, seconded by his incredible quickness of recovery, had rendered
him famous. A very dangerous opponent he looked, with his great length
of arm; and his face, with its menacing brow and gritted teeth, spoke
his purpose more plainly than any words. Mr. Tawnish, on the other hand,
preserved his usual serene composure, fencing with a certain airy grace
that seemed habitual with him in all things.
Momentarily, the fighting grew but the fiercer, Sir Harry sending in
thrust after thrust, with now and then a sudden, vicious _longe_ which,
it seemed, Mr. Tawnish had much ado to put aside; twice, in as many
moments, Sir Harry's point flashed over his shoulder, missing his throat
by a hair, and once it rent the cambric of his sleeve from the elbow up;
yet the pale serenity of his face remained unchanged, his placid calm
unbroken, save, perhaps, that his eyes were a trifle wider and brighter,
and his chin more than usually prominent. And still they fought, fast
and furious as ever, and though Raikes came dangerously near time and
time again, his point was always met and parried.
Minutes passed that seemed hours--there were sudden pauses when we could
detect the thud of feet and the hiss of breath drawn sharply between
shut teeth. And now, to my amazement, I saw that Mr. Tawnish was
pressing the attack, answering thrust with thrust, and _longe_ with
_longe_. The fighting grew to a positive frenzy; the shivering blades
rang with their swift changes from _quarte_ to _tierce_.
"Such a pace cannot last," says I, to no one in particular, "the end
must come soon!"
Almost with the words, I saw Mr. Tawnish's blade waver aimlessly; Raikes
saw it too, and drove in a lightning thrust. There was a sharp clash of
meeting steel, a flurry of blades, and Sir Harry Raikes staggered back,
his eyes wide and staring, threw up his arms, and pitching forward,
rolled over with a groan.
CHAPTER EIGHT
_Wherein the Truth of the old Adage is made
manifest--to wit: All's well that
ends well_
So swift and altogether unexpected had been the end, that for a long
minute there was a strange, tense stillness, a silence wherein all eyes
were turned from the motionless form on the floor, with the
ever-widening stain upon the snow of his shirt, to where Mr. Tawnish
stood, leaning upon his small-sword. Then all at once pandemonium seemed
to break loose--some running to lift the wounded man, some wandering
round aimlessly, but all talking excitedly, and at the same time.
"Dick and Bentley," says Jack, mopping at his face with his
handkerchief, "it's in my mind that we have made a cursed mistake for
once--the fellow is a man."
"I've known that this month and more," says I.
"I say a man," repeated Jack, "and devil anoint me, I mean a man!"
"Who writes verses!" added Bentley.
"And what of that, sir?" cries Jack, indignantly. "I did the same myself
once--we all did."
"A patched and powdered puppy-dog!" sneers Bentley; "look at him."
Now at this, glancing across at Mr. Tawnish, I saw that he still stood
as before, only that the point of his sword was buried deep in the floor
beneath his weight, while his pale face seemed paler even than its
wont. As we watched, his hand slipped suddenly from the hilt, and he
tottered slightly; then I noticed for the first time that blood was
running down his right arm, and trickling from his finger-tips.
With an exclamation, I started forward, but Bentley's grasp was on my
shoulder, and his voice whispered in my ear: "Leave him to Jack--'tis
better so." And indeed Jack was already beside him, had flung one arm
about the swaying figure, and half led, half carried him to a chair.
"Ah!" says Purdy, laying bare a great gash in the upper arm--"a little
blood, but simple--simple!" and he fell to work a-sponging and
bandaging, with a running exordium upon the humanity of the sword as
opposed to the more deadly bullet--until at length, the dressing in
place, Mr. Tawnish sighed and opened his eyes.
"Sir John," says he, sitting up, "give me leave to tell you that my
third and last task was accomplished this morning."
"Eh?" cries Jack, "but first, let me get you out of this."
"What of Sir Harry Raikes?" says Tawnish, rising.
"Serious," says Purdy, shaking his head, "serious, but not altogether
dangerous."
"Good!" says Jack, giving his arm to Mr. Tawnish, "I'm glad of that."
"Though," pursued Purdy, "he will be an invalid for months to come, the
right lung--as I pointed out to my colleague, Prothero--a man of very
excellent sense, by the way--"
At this juncture, at a sign from Prothero, Purdy left us with a bow.
Hereupon we saluted the others, and turning into an adjacent room,
called for wine and filled our glasses to Mr. Tawnish, with all the
honours.
As he rose to make his acknowledgment, for the first time in my
recollection he seemed ill at ease.
"Sir John, and gentlemen," says he, slowly, "I had scarce looked for
this kindness at your hands--it makes what I have to say harder than I
had thought. Gentlemen," he continued, after a brief pause, "you each in
turn set me an undertaking, little thinking at the time that there was
any likelihood of my fulfilling them. As you know, however, the first
two I accomplished some time since, and this morning I succeeded in the
last, namely, in taking all three of you, together and at the same time,
at a disadvantage. Sir John, gentlemen--scarce an hour ago the Lady
Penelope Chester became my wife."
Jack started up from the table with an oath, and fell back, staring at
the speaker with knitted brows--while Bentley gazed open-mouthed--as for
me, I could do nothing but think that our Pen was gone from our keeping
at last.
"By Gad, Jack, he's done us," cried Bentley, fetching the table a great
blow with his fist.
Now, as I stood with my back to them, staring out into the yard below,
my eyes encountered a great, four-horsed travelling chariot, and as I
watched it, gloomily enough, the door was flung suddenly open, and ere
the waiting footman could let down the steps a lady leapt lightly out
and stood looking up at the windows. All at once she turned and gazed
straight up at me--then I saw that it was Pen. With a wave of her hand
she darted up the steps, and a moment later was in the room.
"Oh, I could wait no longer!" she cried, looking round with the tears in
her lovely eyes, "we have been wed but an hour, and I have sat there
praying 'twixt hope and fear, until methought I should go mad."
[Illustration: "Father," says she, "this is my husband--and I am proud
to tell you so." _Page 159._]
Here, catching sight of Tawnish with his wounded arm, she uttered a low
cry, and in a moment was kneeling beside him, kissing his uninjured hand,
and fondling it with a thousand endearing terms. And seeing the infinite
tenderness in his eyes and the love-light in her own, I was possessed of
a sudden, great content. In a while, remembering us, she looked up, and,
though her cheeks were red, her glance met ours freely and unashamed.
"Father," says she, "this is my husband--and I am proud to tell you so."
There was a moment's silence, and Jack's frown grew the blacker.
"Father," says she again, "I am not so simple but that I found out your
quarrel with Sir Harry, and knew that you came hither to-day to meet
your death--so--so I sought aid of this noble gentleman. Yet first I
begged of him to marry me, that if--if he had died to-day in your place,
I could have mourned him as a beloved husband. Can you forgive me,
father?"
As Pen ended, she rose and approached Jack with outstretched hands; for
a moment longer he hesitated--then he had her in his embrace.
"And you, Uncle Bentley," says she, looking at us from Jack's arms,
"and, Uncle Dick, dear, tender Uncle Dick, can you forgive your wilful
maid?"
"God knows, my dear, there's naught to forgive," says I, "save that you
are leaving us--"
"Nay, Sir Richard," cries Mr. Tawnish, "Uncle Bentley has seen to
that--"
"Uncle!" says Jack.
"Uncle!" says I.
"Can it be possible," says Mr. Tawnish, rising, "that you are still
unaware of the relationship?"
"Bentley," cries Jack, "explain."
"To be sure," says Bentley, in his heavy way, pointing to Mr. Tawnish,
"this is my sister's only child, Viscount Hazelmere!"
"What!" cries Jack, while I stood dumb with astonishment.
"As you remember, Jack and Dick," says Bentley, getting ponderously to
his feet, "it was ever our wish that these two should marry, but, being
young and hot-headed, the very expression of that wish was but the
signal for them to set themselves to thwart it, even before they had
ever seen each other. Therefore acting upon that very contrariness, I
wrote to my graceless nephew there, telling him that he need have no
fear for his freedom--that we had changed our plans with regard to
him--that our Pen was a thousand times too good and sweet for such as
he--which she is, mark you!--that she was a beauty, and reigning toast
of all the South Country--which she likewise is, mark you--and, in a
word, forbidding him to think any more about her. Whereupon, my young
gentleman comes hot-foot back to England, to learn the why and
wherefore--did the mightily indignant, an' it please you--and ended by
vowing he'd marry her despite all three of us. As for Pen--oh, egad! I
spun her a fine tale, I promise you--spoke of him as a poor young
gentleman, penniless but proud, a man 'twould be folly for any maid to
wed--and oh, Jack and Dick, it worked like a charm--she saw him and
promptly fell in love with him, and he with her. Yet at this juncture,
Jack, you must needs go nigh ruining all by your quarrel with Raikes;
however, knowing my young rascal there plumed himself monstrously upon
his swordsmanship, I offered to put it to the test, and found him mighty
eager. But oh, curse me! as I watched them preparing to murder you,
Jack, a little while since, and this nephew of mine failed to come,
methought I should go mad! And to think that they were marrying each
other all the time! Rat me, Dick and Jack! to-day will be the merriest
Christmas of all--how say you?"
So, laughing and rejoicing together, they presently went out, and I
heard their happy voices below, ringing clear and crisp in the frosty
air of the yard. But I remained, staring into the fire, bethinking me of
my treatment of Bentley. The mystery of his seeming indifference was
cleared up now; where I had failed in my design of averting Jack's duel,
he had succeeded, nay, had even brought together these two, as had been
the wish of our hearts for years past. And now I had insulted him,
wantonly, beyond forgiveness. Yet we had been friends so long--perhaps,
if I told him humbly--
"Dick!" said a voice behind me, and a great hand was laid upon my
shoulder, "Dick!"
"Bentley," says I, hurriedly, "I was wrong--will you--can you forgive--"
"Man, Dick," says he, grasping my hand. "A Merry Christmas to thee!
Come, the others are waiting you, and Pen's a-dying to kiss you, I
swear."
So he took me by the arm, and we went down-stairs together. And when I
paused, and would have spoken further of my fool's mistake, he clapped
me upon the shoulder again, and fell a-whistling of "Lillibuleero."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Honourable Mr. Tawnish, by Jeffery Farnol