A CRISIS AT ECCLESTON SQUARE.
His father's encouraging words had given Ezra Girdlestone fresh heart,
and he had renewed his importunities with greater energy than ever.
Never surely did any man devote every moment of his time more completely
to the winning of a woman's heart. From morning until night the one
idea was ever before his mind and every little want of Kate's was
forestalled with a care and foresight which astonished her. The richest
fruit and flowers found their way unexpectedly into her room; her table
was littered with the latest books from Mudie's, and the newest pieces
lay upon her music-stand. Nothing which attention and thoughtfulness
could do was left undone either by the father or the son.
In spite of these attentions, however, and the frequent solicitations of
her guardian, Kate stood firmly to her colours. If the Tom of the
present were false, she at least would be true to the memory of the Tom
of other days, the lad who had first whispered words of love into her
ears. Her ideal should remain with her whatever might befall. No other
man could ever take the place of that.
That Tom was from some unexplained and unaccountable reason false to her
appeared to be beyond all question. Her trusting and innocent heart
could not dream of the subtle network which was being wound round her.
Her secluded life had left her very ignorant of the ways of the world,
and the possibility of an elaborate deceit being practised upon her had
never occurred to her. From the day that she heard the extract of the
letter read by her guardian she never doubted but that such letters were
received at the office by the man who professed to love her. How could
she hesitate to believe it when it was confirmed by his avoidance of
Eccleston Square and of herself? The cause of it all was a mystery
which no amount of speculation could clear up. Sometimes the poor girl
would blame herself, as is the way of women in such cases. "I have not
seen enough of the world," she would say to herself. "I have none of
the charms of these women whom I read of in the novels. No doubt I
seemed dull and insipid in his eyes. And yet--and yet--" There always
remained at the end of her cogitations the same vague sense of
bewilderment and mystery.
She endeavoured as far as possible to avoid Ezra Girdlestone, and stay
in her room for the most part on the days when he was at home. He had,
however, on the advice of his father, ceased pressing his suit except in
the silent manner aforementioned, so that she gradually took courage,
and ended by resuming her old habits. In her heart she pitied the young
merchant very sincerely, for he was looking haggard and pale.
"Poor fellow," she thought as she watched him, "he certainly loves me.
Ah, Tom, Tom! had you only been as constant, how happy we should be!"
She was even prompted sometimes to cheer Ezra up by some kind word or
look. This he naturally took to be an encouragement to renew his
advances. Perhaps he was not far wrong, for if love be wanting pity is
occasionally an excellent substitute.
One morning after breakfast the elder Girdlestone called his son aside
into the library. "I've had a notice," he said, "as to paying up
dividends. Our time is short, Ezra. You must bring matters to a head.
If you don't it will be too late."
"You mustn't pick fruit before it is ripe," the other answered moodily.
"You can try if it is ripe, though. If not, you can try again. I think
that your chance is a good one. She is alone in the breakfast-room, and
the table has been cleared. You cannot have a better opening. Go, my
son, and may Heaven prosper you!"
"Very well. Do you wait in here, and I shall let you know how things
go."
The young man buttoned up his coat, pulled down his cuffs, and walked
back into the breakfast-room with a sullen look of resolution upon his
dark face.
Kate was sitting in a wicker chair by the window, arranging flowers in a
vase. The morning sunlight streaming in upon her gave a colour to her
pale face and glittered in her heavy coils of chestnut hair. She wore a
light pink morning dress which added to the ethereal effect of her lithe
beautiful figure. As Ezra entered she looked round and started at sight
of his face. Instinctively she knew on what errand he had come.
"You will be late at Fenchurch Street," she said, with a constrained
smile. "It is nearly eleven now."
"I am not going to the office to-day," he answered gravely. "I am come
in here, Kate, to know my fate. You know very well, and must have known
for some time back, that I love you. If you'll marry me you'll make me
a happy man, and I'll make you a happy woman. I'm not very eloquent and
that sort of thing, but what I say I mean. What have you to say in
answer?" He leaned his broad hands on the back of a chair as he spoke,
and drummed nervously with his fingers.
Kate had drooped her head over the flowers, but she looked up at him now
with frank, pitying eyes.
"Put this idea out of your head, Ezra," she said, in a low but firm
voice. "Believe me, I shall always be grateful to you for the kindness
which you have shown me of late. I will be a sister to you, if you will
let me, but I can never be more."
"And why not?" asked Ezra, still leaning over the chair, with an angry
light beginning to sparkle in his dark eyes. "Why can you never be my
wife?"
"It is so, Ezra. You must not think of it. I am so sorry to grieve
you."
"You can't love me, then," cried the young merchant hoarsely.
"Other women before now would have given their eyes to have had me.
Do you know that?"
"For goodness' sake, then go back to the others," said Kate, half amused
and half angry.
That suspicion of a smile upon her face was the one thing needed to set
Ezra's temper in a blaze. "You won't have me," he cried savagely.
"I haven't got the airs and graces of that fellow, I suppose.
You haven't got him out of your head, though he is off with another
girl."
"How dare you speak to me so?" Kate cried, springing to her feet in
honest anger.
"It's the truth, and you know it," returned Ezra, with a sneer.
"Aren't you too proud to be hanging on to a man who doesn't want you--
a man that is a smooth-tongued sneak, with the heart of a rabbit?"
"If he were here you would not dare to say so!" Kate retorted hotly.
"Wouldn't I?" he snarled fiercely.
"No, you wouldn't. I don't believe that he has ever been untrue to me.
I believe that you and your father have planned to make me believe it
and to keep us apart."
Heaven knows what it was that suddenly brought this idea most clearly
before Kate's mind. Perhaps it was that Ezra's face, distorted with
passion, gave her some dim perception of the wickedness of which such a
nature might be capable. The dark face turned so much darker at her
words that she felt a great throb of joy at her heart, and knew that
this strange new thought which had flashed upon her was the truth.
"You can't deny it," she cried, with shining eyes and clenched hands.
"You know that it is true. I shall see him and hear from his own lips
what he has to say. He loves me still, and I love him, and have never
ceased to love him."
"Oh, you do, do you?" snarled Ezra, taking a step forward, with a
devilish gleam in his eyes. "Your love may do him very little good.
We shall see which of us gets the best of it in the long run. We'll--"
His passion was so furious that he stopped, fairly unable to articulate
another word.
With a threatening motion of his hands he turned upon his heel and
rushed from the room. As he passed it chanced that Flo, Kate's little
Skye terrier, ran across his path. All the brutality of the man's soul
rose up in the instant. He raised his heavy boot, and sent the poor
little creature howling and writhing under the sofa, whence it piteously
emerged upon three legs, trailing the fourth one behind it.
"The brute!" Kate cried, as she fondled the injured animal and poured
indignant tears over it. Her gentle soul was so stirred by the cowardly
deed that she felt that she could have flown at her late suitor were he
still in the room. "Poor little Flo! That kick was meant for me in
reality, my little pet. Never mind, dear, there are bright days coming,
and he has not forgotten me, Flo. I know it! I know it!" The little
dog whined sympathetically, and licked its mistress's hand as though it
were looking into its canine future, and could also discern better days
ahead.
Ezra Girdlestone, fierce and lowering, tramped into the library, and
told his father brusquely of the result of his wooing. What occurred in
that interview was never known to any third person. The servants, who
had some idea that something was afoot, have recorded that at the
beginning of the conversation the bass voice of the son and the high
raucous tones of the father were heard in loud recrimination and
reproach. Then they suddenly sunk into tones so low that there might
have been complete silence in the room for all that any one could tell
from the passage outside. This whispered conversation may have lasted
the greater part of an hour. At the end of it the young merchant
departed for the City. It has been remarked that from that time there
came a change over both the father and the son--a change so subtle that
It could hardly be described, though it left its mark upon them both.
It was not that the grey, wolfish face of the old man looked even greyer
and fiercer, or that the hard, arrogant expression of Ezra deepened into
something even more sinister. It was that a shadow hung over both their
brows--a vague indefinable shadow--as of men who carry a thought in
their minds on which it is not good to dwell.
During that long hour Kate had remained in the breakfast-room, still
nursing her injured companion, and very busy with her own thoughts.
She was as convinced now that Tom had been true to her as if she had had
the assurance from his own lips. Still there was much that was
unaccountable--much which she was unable to fathom. A vague sense of
the wickedness around her depressed and weighed her down. What deep
scheme could these men have invented to keep him away from her during
these long weeks? Was he, too, under some delusion, or the victim of
some conspiracy? Whatever had been done was certainly connived at by
her guardian. For the first time a true estimate of the character of
the elder Girdlestone broke upon her, and she dimly realized that the
pious, soft-spoken merchant was more to be dreaded than his brutal son.
A shudder ran through her whole frame as, looking up, she saw him
standing before her.
His appearance was far from reassuring. His hands were clasped behind
his back, his head bent forward, and he surveyed her with a most
malignant expression upon his face.
"Well done!" he said, with a bitter smile. "Well done! This is a good
morning's work, Miss Harston. You have repaid your father's friend for
the care he has bestowed upon you."
"My only wish is to leave your house," cried Kate, with an angry flash
in her deep blue eyes. "You are a cruel, wicked, hypocritical old man.
You have deceived me about Mr. Dimsdale. I read it in your son's face,
and now I read it in your own. How could you do it--oh, how could you
have the heart?"
John Girdlestone was fairly staggered by this blaze of feminine anger in
his demure and obedient ward. "God knows," he said, "whatever my faults
may have been, neglect of you has not been among them. I am not
immaculate. Even the just man falleth. If I have endeavoured to wean
you from this foolish love affair of yours, it has been entirely because
I saw that it was against your own interests."
"You have told lies in order to turn me away from the only man who ever
loved me. You and your odious son have conspired to ruin my happiness
and break my heart. What have you told him that keeps him away?
I shall see him and learn the truth." Kate's face was unnaturally calm
and rigid as she faced her guardian's angry gaze.
"Silence!" the old man cried hoarsely. "You forget your position in
this house. You are presuming too much upon my kindness. As to this
girl's fancy of yours, you may put all thought of it out of your head.
I am still your guardian, and I should be culpably remiss if I ever
allowed you to see this man again. This afternoon you shall come with
me to Hampshire."
"To Hampshire?"
"Yes. I have taken a small country seat there, where we intend to spend
some months of the winter. You shall leave it when you have reconciled
yourself to forget these romantic ideas of yours--but not till then."
"Then I shall never leave it," said Kate, with a sigh.
"That will depend upon yourself. You shall at least be guarded there
from the advances of designing persons. When you come of age you may
follow your own fancies. Until then my conscience demands, and the law
allows, that I should spare no pains to protect you from your own folly.
We start from Waterloo at four." Girdlestone turned for the door, but
looked round as he was leaving the room. "May God forgive you," he said
solemnly, raising his lean hands towards the ceiling, "for what you have
done this day!"
Poor Kate, left to herself, was much concerned by this fresh misfortune.
She knew that her guardian had power to carry out his plan, and that
there was no appeal from his decision. What could she do? She had not
a friend in the wide world to whom she could turn for advice or
assistance. It occurred to her to fly to the Dimsdales at Kensington,
and throw herself upon their compassion. It was only the thought of Tom
which prevented her. In her heart she had fully exonerated him, yet
there was much to be explained before they could be to each other as of
old. She might write to Mrs. Dimsdale, but then her guardian had not
told her what part of Hampshire they were going to. She finally came to
the conclusion that it would be better to wait, and to write when she
had reached her destination. In the meantime, she went drearily to her
room and began packing, aided by the ruddy-cheeked maid, Rebecca.
At half-past three a cab drove up to the door, and the old merchant
stepped out of it. The boxes were thrown upon the top, and the young
lady curtly ordered to get in. Girdlestone took his seat beside her,
and gave a sign to the cabman to drive on. As they rattled out of the
square, Kate looked back at the great gloomy mansion in which she had
spent the last three years of her life. Had she known what the future
was to bring, it is possible that she would have clung even to that
sombre and melancholy old house as to an ark of safety.
Another cab passed through Eccleston Square that evening--a cab which
bore a pale-faced and wild-eyed young man, who looked ever and anon
impatiently out of the window to see if he were nearing his destination.
Long before reaching No. 69 he had opened the door, and was standing
upon the step. The instant that the cab pulled up he sprang off, and
rang loudly at the great brass bell which flanked the heavy door.
"Is Mr. Girdlestone in?" he asked, as Rebecca appeared at the door.
"No, sir."
"Miss Harston, is she at home?" he said excitedly.
"No, sir. They have both gone away."
"Gone away!"
"Yes. Gone into the country, sir. And Mr. Ezra, too, sir."
"And when are they coming back?" he asked, in bewilderment.
"They are not coming back."
"Impossible!" Tom cried in despair. "What is their address, then?"
"They have left no address. I am sorry I can't help you. Good night,
sir." Rebecca closed the door, laughing maliciously at the visitor's
bewildered looks. She knew the facts of the case well, and having long
been jealous of her young mistress, she was not sorry to find things
going wrong with her.
Tom Dimsdale stood upon the doorstep looking blankly into the night.
He felt dazed and bewildered. What fresh villainy was this? Was it a
confirmation of the German's report, or was it a contradiction of it?
Cold beads stood upon his forehead as he thought of the possibility of
such a thing. "I must find her," he cried, with clenched hands, and
turned away heartsick into the turmoil and bustle of the London streets.