From the night of that dinner-party Murchison noted a subtle difference
in his young friend's demeanour. Pomfret had always been a harum-scarum
sort of young fellow, accustomed to follow erratic and injudicious
impulses, not absolutely devoid of brains of a certain order, but of
imperfect and ill-balanced mentality.
But in his wildest escapades he had always been frank and above-board.
And he was ever the first, when he had overstepped the border-line, to
admit that he was in the wrong. And on such occasions, far from
justifying his exploits, he had been ready to deplore them.
But his frankness seemed to have departed from that night. He seemed
rather to avoid than seek the society of his old friend and mentor.
When Hugh brought up the subject of the Burtons, Pomfret seemed anxious
to avoid it, to say as little as possible. He seemed to shut himself up
within his own soul.
Hugh, of course, was profoundly uneasy. Such a transparent creature as
Pomfret would not be likely to retire within his own shell unless there
were cogent reasons for the withdrawal. And the reasons were inspired
by the attractive personality of the fascinating siren at Rosemount, the
charming young woman who explained the presence of an undesirable
brother by the narrative of her father's first unfortunate marriage.
Pomfret had invited the brother and sister to a dinner at the principal
hotel in the place, and Hugh had been his friend's guest. Ladies, of
course, could not be asked to the Mess. It had been a happy solution of
a somewhat awkward position. Mr Burton no doubt understood, but he
accepted the situation with alacrity.
From the dinner they had adjourned to Rosemount. Here they had played
cards as before, but they left off fairly even. Hugh's suspicions about
card-sharping were dissipated as before. At the same time, he was still
resolved to keep a watchful eye upon the pair. It was firmly engrained
upon his mind, and only, of course, from the purest instinct, that he
did not trust either of them.
Much to his surprise, they left without having been asked to a return
dinner. It was the turn of the Burtons. And judging from the haste
with which Burton had jumped at them on the first visit, the omission
was a little noticeable. It could not be that these new isolated
dwellers in Blankfield wanted to shelve an acquaintance which must have
brightened their dull and unvisited existence.
Another fact presented itself to Murchison's rather acute intelligence.
There seemed already established between Pomfret and the attractive
Norah a certain kind of freemasonry, a certain sort of easy relations.
And once in the course of the evening he was sure that he heard the
young man, in the course of a whispered conversation, address her by her
Christian name. They had been sitting together on the Chesterfield, and
their remarks to each other had been addressed in a very low tone. But
Hugh's hearing was wonderfully acute, and he had surprised a sudden
expression of rebuke in Miss Burton's eyes when Pomfret made the slip.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
And here, for a moment, this story must leave Hugh Murchison with his
honest doubts and suspicions, while it follows the fortunes of his young
friend and the attractive Norah Burton.
For, truth to tell, at this particular juncture, young Pomfret, for all
his apparent guilelessness, was pursuing a double game. Madly,
overwhelmingly, in love with Norah, he was meeting her clandestinely,
sometimes at her own house, sometimes in sequestered spots in the
surrounding neighbourhood. And of these visits and meetings Hugh knew
nothing.
Pomfret was not free from a few pangs of self-reproach, from the fact
that he was not running quite straight with good old Hugh, to whom he
had always, hitherto, confessed all his difficulties and troubles.
But then Hugh, although one of the best, was such a practical old stick.
And if he told him the whole truth, there was no knowing what course
Hugh might not think it was his duty to take. He might write to his
family and bring them down in an avalanche on him, or even to the
octogenarian aunt.
Love taught him deep cunning, and what he lacked in this subtle quality
was ably supplemented by Miss Burton, this young girl with the rather
sad expression, and the candid eyes that always met your gaze
unfalteringly.
From the first clandestine meeting, arranged in whispers on the night of
the dinner at Rosemount, Pomfret had made the running very fast. He had
given Norah to understand that he thought her the most desirable girl he
had ever met, that no other woman had appealed, would or could appeal,
to him as she did. There was a good drop of Irish blood in his own
veins, and he certainly made a most fervent lover.
Norah listened with a modest bashfulness that enchanted him. He was
sure from her demeanour that she had never been made love to before.
She seemed so overwhelmed that she could hardly say a word. If one were
not so much in love, one might almost have thought she was stupid.
She was not so stupid, however, as not to preserve her wits sufficiently
to make another appointment, this time at Rosemount. Pomfret consented
gladly, but he made a certain stipulation, which his companion was more
than pleased to agree to.
"We mustn't let old Hugh know about this, though, or he'll think he's
left out in the cold. You see, it was really through him I knew you.
You must tell your brother not to let it out."
Miss Burton promised that, so far as she and her brother were concerned,
Captain Murchison would be none the wiser. It only remained for Mr
Pomfret--although entreated to do so, she could not at this early stage
address him as "Jack"--to surround his movements with a proper degree of
mystery.
When the two parted, and the meeting had been rather a brief one, for it
was always a little dangerous lingering long about the environs of
Blankfield, in case of unexpected intruders, Miss Burton made a
significant remark.
"I am quite sure your friend Captain Murchison does not like me. In
fact, I think his real feeling is one of dislike."
Mr Pomfret was young enough to blush; he did so upon this occasion. He
guessed the real truth, that Murchison did not dislike her at all, on
the contrary, he rather admired her--but he had a certain distrust of
her.
"Fancy on your part, fancy, I'm quite sure," he answered glibly. "I
expect he is a little bit sore, you know, about the whole thing, thinks
I have cut him out with you."
"Perhaps," assented Norah, easily. But in her own heart she knew it was
nothing of the kind. She recognised at once the difference between the
two men. Murchison was a thorough gentleman, kind and chivalrous, but
he was a man of the world, with a certain hard strain in him, a man who
would submit everything to the test of cold, practical reasoning, not to
be hoodwinked or led astray.
This poor babbling boy, with his unrestrained impulses, that Celtic
leaven in his blood, would fall an easy prey to any woman who was clever
enough to cast her spells over him. He would never reason, he would
only feel.
After that first meeting, the precursor of many others, the affair
progressed briskly. Pomfret made love with great ardour, Norah received
his advances with a shy sort of acquiescence that inflamed him the more.
He was sure, oh very sure, he was the first who had touched that
innocent heart.
From these delightful confidences Murchison was shut out. It would not
be wise to ignore him altogether, for such a course of action would have
intensified his suspicions. But the invitations to Rosemount from
either host or hostess were few and far between.
He was not, however, so easily gulled as the three conspirators thought.
Pomfret's preoccupied mood, the air of a man who had much on his mind,
his frequent and unexplained absences, gave to his friend much food for
thought. He felt certain that the easy-going, irresponsible young man
was entangling himself. But in such a state of affairs he felt
powerless. Short of invoking the influence of the Colonel, or writing
to the elderly aunt, he could do nothing.
It cannot be said that the course of true love was running very
smoothly, even from the point of view of the ardent and enamoured suitor
himself. In spite of his impulsive temperament, his disinclination to
look hard facts squarely in the face, there was in him a slight leaven
of common-sense.
Save for the bounty and goodwill of this generous, if somewhat
narrow-minded, aunt he was an absolute pauper. There was no hope of
marrying without her consent. And he was quite sure that in a case like
this her consent would never be given. A _fiancee_, to be received by
her with approval, must present some sort of credentials.
And there was the difficulty. Poor Jack had exhausted all his simple
cunning to extract from them some convincing details of their
antecedents. But even he, infatuated as he was, had to admit that they
had parried inquiries with great adroitness. They maintained a
persistent reticence as to names and places. Even he was forced to
conclude that, for some reason or another, they did not choose to be
frank about their past.
These obvious facts, however, did not lessen his infatuation. To marry
her was the one dominating object of his life, in spite of all that his
few remaining remnants of common-sense could urge against such a step.
More than once the rash idea occurred to him that he would marry her in
secret, and when the marriage was an accomplished fact, throw himself
upon his aunt's forgiveness.
He mooted the idea to Norah, to whom, of course, he had already made a
frank statement of his position, as befitted the honourable gentleman he
was. But she did not receive the suggestion with enthusiasm, although
she professed to fully reciprocate his ardent affection.
"If I were a selfish girl, and only thought of my immediate happiness, I
should say `Yes,'" she said with a little tremulous smile, that made her
look more desirable than ever in her lover's eyes. "But I could not
allow _you_ to run such a terrible risk. Old people are very strange
and very touchy when they think they have been slighted. Suppose she
cast you off."
"I suppose I could work, as thousands have to do," replied Jack, with a
touch of his old doggedness.
She shook her head. "My poor Jack! It is easy to talk of working, but
you have got to find an employer. And you have been brought up to an
idle life. What could you turn your hand to?" She paused a moment, and
then added as an after-thought: "And besides, my brother would never
sanction it."
Even to Pomfret's slow revolving mind, the worldly taint in her just
peeped forth in those sensible remarks.
"If I am prepared to risk my aunt's displeasure, you can surely afford
to risk your brother's?" he queried angrily.
But Norah disarmed him with one of her sweetest smiles.
"Be reasonable, dearest; we must not behave like a pair of silly
children. And besides, there is a certain moral obligation on both
sides. You owe everything to your aunt. I owe everything to my
brother. It would be very base to ignore them."
Jack was touched by the nobility of these last sentiments. "You are
much better than I am, Norah, much less selfish."
She caressed his curly head with her hand. "We must have patience,
Jack. You have told me as plainly as your dear, kind heart would allow
you to tell me that, for reasons which I don't want you to explain, your
aunt would never give her consent to your marriage with me. Well, we
must wait."
In plain English her meaning was that they must possess their souls in
patience till such time as this excellent old lady had departed this
life. The suggestion was certainly a coldblooded one, but in his
present infatuated mood Jack did not take any notice of that. Norah
made a feeble attempt to gloss over the callousness of her remarks by
adding that, although it was a very horrible thing to have to wait for
the shoes of dead people, a person of Miss Harding's great age must
expect to very shortly pay the debt of nature.
Two days later, Jack received a telegram which seemed to give a certain
air of prophecy to the young woman's forebodings. It was dispatched to
him from his aunt's home in Cheshire by the local doctor, who had
attended her for years. It informed him that she was seriously ill and
requested his immediate attendance.
He sought the Colonel at once and obtained leave. There was no time to
call at Rosemount, but he scribbled a hasty note to Miss Burton
explaining matters. On his arrival, he found his aged relative very bad
indeed. She had had a severe stroke, the second in two years, and
Doctor Jephson was very doubtful as to whether her vitality would enable
her to recover. He added that she had a marvellous constitution, and in
such a case one could not absolutely say there was no hope. Of a
feebler woman he would have said at once a few hours would see the end.
Pomfret stayed there as long as the result was in doubt. At the end of
three days the brave old lady rallied in the most wonderful way, and was
able to hold a little conversation with her beloved nephew. He did not
leave till the doctor assured him that she was out of danger.
"It's a wonderful recovery," said Doctor Jephson as he shook hands at
parting with the young man. "But it's the beginning of the end. I
don't give her very long now, a few months at the most. Well, she has
had a wonderful life, hardly an ache or a pain till the last few years,
and then nothing very severe. But, of course, the machinery is worn
out."
All the way back to Blankfield those words kept repeating themselves in
his ears: "I don't give her very long now, a few months at the most."
And then an idea began to form in his mind. He was not so callous that
he wanted his poor old aunt to die quickly, but it was obvious the time
could not be long delayed when he would find himself possessed of her
fortune, the master of his own destinies. Was there any reason why he
should not forestall that period by the rather daring expedient of a
secret marriage? They were both young. Even if the doctor was wrong,
and they had to wait four or five years, it was not a great sacrifice of
their youth. At least that was his way of looking at it. Of course he
did not know how she would take the suggestion.
She appeared to listen to him with deep interest and attention when he
unfolded his plans.
He explained that he had a very handsome allowance, which up to the
present he had generally exceeded. Now that could all be altered. He
would declare that he was sick of the army, and send in his papers.
Through his family influence, he would get some Government appointment
which necessitated his living in London. He would take inexpensive
chambers for himself, rent a small house for her in some pleasant and
not too remote suburb, and spend as much of his time as possible with
her.
"You don't think your aunt would reduce your allowance if you left the
army?" was the one pertinent question she put to him when he had
finished.
"On the contrary, she would be more likely to increase it," was the
confident rejoinder. "She would always have preferred that I should go
in for something that meant real work. She thinks the army is an idle
life."
Miss Burton, no doubt, rapidly calculated the pros and cons of such a
daring step. Jack had named a very handsome sum for her maintenance.
If she could put up with the clandestine nature of the connection, till
such time as a certain event happened, she would be better off than at
Rosemount. She begged for time to think it over, and of course she
would have to consult her brother before taking such an unusual step.
That was only natural; it was impossible for Jack to insist that she
should settle the matter herself without reference to the one person
who, whatever his social defects, had behaved to her with unexampled
kindness and generosity.
Brother and sister no doubt talked it over very thoroughly, for it was
three days before she told her lover that, although George would have
preferred a longer period of waiting, he trusted him sufficiently to
entrust Norah to his keeping, on the terms proposed.
She did suggest that they should wait till Jack had left the army and
settled himself in London. But he fought this idea stubbornly. He was
mad to tie her to himself, for fear that somebody else with more
immediate prospects might step in and carry her off. A little
common-sense, of course, might have told him that if she was as fatally
attractive to others as to himself, she would have been carried off
before this.
He was so terribly jealous of her, that he had never made the slightest
effort to bring any of his brother officers round to Rosemount. He even
kept Hugh away as much as he could.
The lovers worked out their little plot very nicely. Miss Burton would
leave Blankfield for a couple of weeks, ostensibly to pay a visit to a
relative. Her destination would be London. Jack would take a few days'
leave of absence in due course, and procure a special licence. They
would return on separate days and resume their normal life, until such
time as they perfected their after arrangements.