THE PASSING OF THE VENGEANCE.
It was well into the following afternoon when the trained nurse came
quietly down the stairs, and announced to Lord Ravenspur that her task
was finished. Silva had died in his sleep. The troubled spirit was at
rest, the tardy confession had been made, and Lord Ravenspur had no
longer any occasion to fear the vengeance that had followed him so
long. There would have to be an inquest, of course--as there was. But
there was nothing much here to arouse public curiosity. A servant at
the house on the common had been severely mauled by a savage dog
prowling about, and he had succumbed to the shock. The newspapers had
a few paragraphs, but in a day or two the incident was forgotten, nor
was there any occasion to worry the owner of the house, seeing that
the place had been taken by Silva in the proper name of his mistress.
The servants had seen nothing either, so that scandal was entirely
checked. It would, perhaps, be a difficult matter later on to explain
the unexpected reappearance of Vera's mother, but it seemed to
Ravenspur that he could see a way to solve that problem. And after the
lapse of eighteen years, nobody would identify the Countess Flavio
with the Italian scandal that had been a sensation in Europe back in
the 'eighties. Ravenspur and the Countess were good enough friends
now, and Mrs. Delahay was beginning to recover her health and strength
again. Already the Fitzjohn Square murder had ceased to occupy public
attention now that the tragedy had been solved, and there was no
chance of the culprit being brought before an earthly tribunal. As to
Cooney, he got off quite as lightly as he deserved. And there are
always new sensations to follow the old.
"I think, on the whole, you had better remain here for the present,"
Ravenspur suggested. "You have the house on your hands for two months,
and, really, it is a very pleasant place. Everybody is out of town for
the present, and very few of my friends will be back in London again
before the autumn. This will give us time to invent some plausible
story to account for your reappearance. I don't like that kind of
thing as a rule, but is is quite essential in this case."
"What are you going to do yourself?" the Countess asked.
"I am going to have a couple of quiet months on the continent. As you
can imagine, my nerves are considerably shaken, and I am not so young
as I used to be. I shall miss Vera, of course, but I think it is far
better for her to stay here with you, so that you can get to know one
another properly. But has it ever occurred to you, Countess, that
before long Vera will have another and a closer guardian than either
of our two selves?"
"I suppose that is inevitable," the Countess said as she looked
thoughtfully across the flower-beds. "Still, the fault is my own. I
deliberately wasted eighteen years, and it is hardly to be expected
that Vera--but don't let us anticipate."
"I am afraid the mischief is done," Ravenspur smiled. "From a remark
that Vera let slip the other night, I learnt a great deal that has
been going on in her mind. Goodness knows how she got the impression,
but she honestly believed that I was something more than her guardian,
and that, between between you and myselfyou and myself--but I mustn't pain you by being
more definite. Anyway, I now know why Vera appeared to be so unhappy
and miserable a few weeks ago, and why she conceived the idea of
leaving my house, and going out into the world to get her own living.
To make matters quite plain, she and my nephew have fallen in love
with one another and she thought that I should oppose the match. As a
matter of fact, I did. But not for the reasons that Vera supposed.
What I was afraid of was that the vengeance intended for me might have
been transferred to Walter, had he married Vera then. Of course,
matters are on a totally different footing now, and nobody is more
delighted than myself. Walter is a fine fellow. He will be rich some
of these days. He will succeed to the title at my death. If I were
you, Countess, I would not interfere with that arrangement."
"I am afraid it would be too late in any case," the Countess said,
sadly. "I have no right to say a word. And, from what I have seen of
your nephew, I should say that he will make a good husband for any
girl. Still, it is rather a disappointment to find that I have been
supplanted in this way, though I am bound to admit that the fault is
entirely my own."
Ravenspur was quite content to leave it discreetly at that, and all
the more so because Vera herself was at that moment coming down the
garden path. The girl's face was bright and happy now. The look of
trouble had vanished from her eyes. The sun was shining full in her
face, and as the Countess regarded her daughter critically she could
see no suggestion of her father in her face. As Lord Ravenspur moved
away, Vera took her place by her mother's side.
"What have you two been plotting?" she asked gaily.
"We have been discussing your future," the Countess replied. "Lord
Ravenspur has been telling me something which, apparently, I ought to
have guessed before. I was looking forward to a year or two in your
company, but I am told that that is more than I can expect. There is a
certain young man----"
"You are speaking of Walter," Vera murmured. A little colour crept
into her cheeks. Her eyes were bright and smiling. "Positively there
has been no time to tell you about Walter. Do you know, mother, that
Walter and myself have been lovers ever since I was fourteen? There
has never been anybody like Walter in my eyes. And then, a few months
ago, it seemed to come to me in a different way altogether. I suppose
when I came to years of discretion I could see things more plainly.
But how could I marry Walter when I had no name of my own? I felt sure
that Lord Ravenspur would be sternly opposed to anything of the kind.
And that is why I wanted to leave his house and earn my own living.
But now that I am a Flavio, that is a different matter. We are quite
as well born as the Ravenspurs, and so far as my guardian is
concerned----"
"The path is smooth enough now," the Countess smiled. "Lord Ravenspur
told me just now that he was delighted with the turn of events. There
is no girl he knows he would rather have for a niece than yourself.
But I wasn't going to say that, Vera. What I want to impress upon you
is this--I am not going to stand between you and your happiness for a
moment. If your lover wants you now, go to him and don't consider me.
Take your happiness when you get the opportunity. Let me before I die
see one Descarti, at least, who has her heart's desire. And now we
won't say any more about it, my child. After all, I am better treated
than I deserve."
The dusk was beginning to fall at length. The garden was fragrant with
the scent of flowers, holding their heads high to reach the dropping
dew. It was a warm evening, and the French windows in the dining-room
were widely open. Dinner was almost over. The table was littered with
fruit. There was just the suggestion of scented tobacco smoke hanging
on the air. Ravenspur sat chatting almost gaily with the Countess and
her sister. The gloom had lifted from his face now. He appeared to be
years younger during the last few days. Vera rose from her chair and
stood by the window, drinking in the subtle delights of the evening.
Walter crossed over to her side, and placed his arm under hers.
"Come outside," he said. "It is a shame to stay indoors a night like
this. Besides, I have something important to say to you."
Vera turned and smiled into her lover's face. She had never felt the
least shy or awkward with him--they were too good friends for that.
They walked in silence together down the path, with the roses rioting
on either side. They came at length to a little secluded terrace
looking over the common. Behind the bracken and the heather the sun
was sinking in a track of golden glory. The after-light shone in
Vera's eyes, and rendered them glorious. Walter turned to her eagerly.
He had his arm about her waist now, her head bent towards his
shoulder. It all seemed the most natural thing in the world, the
fitting crown to their romance.
"How long is it," Walter asked, "since you wanted to run away and
leave us? I won't ask you why you wanted to go, because my uncle has
told me that. My dearest girl, there is no occasion for you to blush
and look uncomfortable. I am sure that your motives did you every
credit. But we will pass over that. We need never allude to it again.
I have spoken to your mother, and what my uncle's feelings are you
know for yourself. All the dangers and troubles have gone now.
Everything lies fair and smooth between us. And now, little Vera, when
are we to be married?"
Vera turned slowly and thoughtfully. She laid her hands upon Walter's
shoulders, and looked steadily and lovingly into his smiling eyes. Her
words were low and sweet.
"Dear old boy," she said, "we have always been friends, and more than
friends, and in my heart of hearts I have ever felt that it must come
to this, whatever obstacles stood in the way. I am not so brave as I
thought I was, Walter, and I don't believe I could have left you when
it came to the pinch. Oh, I'll marry you, dear; I'll marry you gladly
and willingly, and be the happiest girl in all the world. But not yet;
not till our time is up here; not till I have spent the next two
months with my mother. And you won't love me any the less because I
have thought of her as well as you?"
Walter kissed the sweet, serious lips.
"It shall be as you say, sweetheart. And now let us go back, and tell
the others all about it."
"There is only one thing that remains," Walter said, as he and Lord
Ravenspur walked up and down after dinner, with their cigars. "That
photo, uncle. The one that you were so worried about, in the studio on
the night when Sir James was attacked by Silva in mistake for you.
Where did it come from, and why did it agitate you so?"
"I had almost forgotten that," Ravenspur smiled. "Well, that photo was
tied, with a small packet of jewels, round Vera's neck when I carried
her away from Italy. I did not know till lately that it was a photo of
her mother. She must have been a lovely woman then. Being an artist, I
rather idealised that photograph--indeed, I painted the picture that
Silva stole from it. It was only when the picture was finished that I
discovered I had made a very strong likeness to Vera; and then I had
my doubts. Here was Vera's mother in the flesh again. Had I done
wrong? Had Flavio deceived me? The thing has troubled my conscience
ever since. A woman with a face like that to be a fiend! Never. And
yet----
"Still, it is all over now. There have been faults on all sides, so
that we can all afford to forget and forgive. And that, my dear boy,
is all I have to say."
THE END.