THE END OF IT ALL
THE villa owned by Lord Charvington at Nice was beautifully situated,
beautifully furnished, and beautifully built. Endless money had been
spent upon it to make it as perfect as any human habitation could be.
Lady Charvington was particularly fond of it, and her extravagance was
evident both in the house and in the lovely gardens. Great was her
rage when she heard that her husband had invited George and his young
wife and her arch-enemy Mrs. Walker to stay there with him. But she
was even more angry when she learned that Charvington had made a free
gift of the villa to his daughter.
"His conduct has always been atrocious," said Lady Charvington to
Jabez, who was the sole person to whom she could speak of such things,
since for her own sake she was forced to hold her tongue to the world
at large, "but this is the worst thing he has ever done. How dare he
give my villa to that horrid girl?"
"He has every right to," said Jabez drily, "as the villa is Lord
Charvington's own property. And I beg leave to state that I do not
consider young Mrs. Walker a horrid girl. She is very sweet, and is
bearing her good fortune as modestly as she bore her bad luck
bravely."
"I hate her," said Lady Charvington fervently.
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because I hated her mother. I always loved Charvington, and she took
him from me."
"But you got him in the end," Jabez reminded her.
"Got him. Yes, I got the rags and tatters of the passion he had for
that detestable Kate Morse. I never forgave her while she lived, and I
certainly shall not forgive her now she is dead."
"Very good; but you needn't hate her daughter," expostulated Jabez
earnestly; "consider how unhappy the poor girl has been, and through
no fault of her own. Even now--in deference to her own wish, I
admit--she is not acknowledged by her father, publicly at least."
"I don't care," cried Lady Charvington, with all the venom of an angry
woman. "I hate the girl, and I shall always hate her. But I didn't
come here to listen to your views, Mr. Jabez. What I wish to know is
if I can insist that my villa shall be given back to me."
"No," said Jabez, and very glad he was to be able to reply in the
negative, "the villa was never settled on you, and Lord Charvington
has a perfect right to deal as he pleases with his own property."
"It is my property, and Charvington's a brute. I wonder that I ever
loved him--indeed I do," cried the lady vehemently, "and to think of
that horrid girl getting the husband she wanted and the fifty thousand
pounds, and my villa, and--oh!" she stamped, "it makes one doubt if
there is a Providence."
"I fear," said Jabez gravely, as she rose to depart, "that some day,
if you bear such ill-will towards one who has never injured you, that
you will find there _is_ a Providence."
"Pooh! pooh! That's all goody-goody talk," said Lady Charvington
contemptuously, "but that I have to think of Agatha and Lena I should
get a separation from my husband. As it is, I shall spend as much
money as I can, and enjoy myself in my own way. I don't want to see
him."
"I fancy you'll see very little of him," said Jabez drily, as he
accompanied her to the door. "Lord Charvington is fond of a quiet
life. All you have to do is to enjoy your position and the ample
income which he allows you, and hold your tongue about these family
troubles."
"Oh, of course you are on his side," cried Lady Charvington in a rage.
"I really believe that you suggested he should give that nasty girl my
villa."
"Pardon me," said the solicitor, skilfully dodging the question, "it
never was your villa."
"It was, and she has stolen it. I only hope she'll be as thoroughly
unhappy as she well can be, with the fool she's married and her
disagreeable mother-in-law. Judith was always horrid."
"I fear you will be disappointed. Young Mrs. Walker adores her
mother-in-law, and is adored in turn. They are, as you know, all at
the villa with Lord Charvington and, as I gather, perfectly happy."
"How disgusting," cried Lady Charvington vindictively, "but I shall
wait for the interference of an overruling Providence. Some day the
sins of the lot of them will come home to them, and they will be
thoroughly miserable."
"And your ladyship's sins?" inquired Jabez very gravely.
"Sins," she stared, "I have none." After which speech, which
completely silenced the lawyer, so taken aback was he by its amazing
impudence, she took her departure. All the same she also took his
advice and said nothing of what had happened in connection with the
affairs of the amethyst cross. And in time--as she could not keep up a
hostile attitude for ever--she found it politic to smooth over things
with her worried husband. But she never forgave Lesbia to her dying
day.
Not that Lesbia cared. She was absolutely happy with her husband and
mother-in-law and father at the villa. The income derived from her
mother yielded over two thousand a year, and this had been
supplemented by Lord Charvington, anxious to make amends. What with a
large income and a lovely villa, and a handsome, affectionate husband,
Lesbia was very fortunate indeed, and felt quite glad that she had
gone through so much trouble, to get to such a goal. Something of this
sort she said to her father one evening after dinner.
The party were seated on the terrace which overlooked the deeply blue
waters of the Mediterranean. At the moment, these were dyed with rosy
hues from the setting sun. Mrs. Walker, looking much less stern and
much more composed, was seated in a deep arm-chair near Lesbia, whom
she could scarcely bear out of her sight. Lord Charvington, now
looking wonderfully hale and hearty--for it was six months since his
attack of apoplexy--sat near a small round table upon which stood
coffee and liqueurs. George lounged about with a cigar, casting looks
of affection on Lesbia. The quartette, arrayed in evening dress amidst
beautiful surroundings, looked thoroughly happy and well-to-do. After
the storm had come the calm, and when recalling the storm, as
sometimes she could not help doing, Lesbia always spoke cheerfully.
"The trouble was worth going through, to come to this," she said,
smiling in a happy manner.
"I think so too, dear," observed George, who was always hovering in
her vicinity. "And I think we have learned the lesson which those very
troubles were sent to teach."
"What lesson?" asked Lord Charvington lazily.
"To trust in God."
"Yes," said Mrs. Walker, who was knitting, "you and Lesbia have
learned that, and I have learned a lesson also. I have learned to be
more sympathetic and more liberal-minded. We are all mortal, and no
one has any right to judge another person not knowing that person's
temptations."
"Do you allude to Walter?" asked Charvington.
"Yes. He behaved badly, I allow; but then his will was not strong
enough to struggle against the evil that was in him. And after all,"
Mrs. Walker laid down her knitting, "he was terribly punished. He was
snatched out of life unprepared. I hope he has found mercy. But the
evil that he did lived after him. Alas! Alas!"
"I think Tait and his gang found that was so," said George grimly.
"From what was said at the trial, it seemed that Hale was the soul of
the gang, even though Tait posed as the head. Canning, of course,
escaped because he turned king's evidence and is now in Italy; but
Tait got a long sentence."
"Mrs. Petty and the rest of the gang also," observed Charvington, "but
Maud Ellis and Alfred Sargent escaped."
"They were very lucky," said George reflectively. "The police, advised
by Tim, were on their track almost at once, but they never caught
them. As they were not disguised I wonder that they ever escaped."
"Hale was not disguised either, I heard you say," remarked
Charvington. "It seems to me that audacity favoured the lot of them.
Hale would have escaped also, I doubt not, had he not been shot by
that wretched woman."
"Why do you shudder, George?" asked Mrs. Walker, at this point.
"I am thinking how easily she could have shot Lesbia," said George
reluctantly. "She had two or three shots left after she polished off
Hale. But she flung the revolver ashore and made a sentimental speech
wishing myself and Lesbia good luck. I should have thought--but
there," George sighed, "no man can understand a woman."
"No woman can understand a man," said Lesbia, laughing. "But I am glad
Maud did not shoot me. Where is she now?"
Charvington removed his cigar. "I have reason to believe, from some
facts which came to Jabez's ears, that she has married Alfred Sargent
and is engaged in making trouble in a South American Republic."
"Sargent is not strong enough to do much," objected George.
Mrs. Walker shook her head. "I believe Alfred Sargent was a much
cleverer man than his appearance warranted," she said sharply. "He
looked like a fool, but he acted like a wise man. Not only did he
escape, but he managed to carry off his thievish earnings. Then look
how cleverly he behaved in society in never being suspected. Yet he
stole--as we learned at the trial of Tait and the rest--at balls, at
weddings, from private houses, and blackmailed any number of people. A
dangerously clever man, I call him."
"Well, don't let us talk any more about him," said Charvington
impatiently, "Maud is clever if you like, and probably will end in
imposing him on some second-rate republic, as its President, even
though he is a foreigner. I believe that there is no end to that
woman's ambition. But he and she are both out of our lives. Also Hale
is dead, and as Lesbia has now changed her name, she will not be
connected with the sordid past in any way. Let us talk of something
more agreeable."
"The amethyst cross for instance," said Lesbia pointedly.
Charvington wriggled. "Why? That belongs to the disagreeable past."
"It taught George and me a lesson," said Lesbia seriously, "and I am
sorry that it has been lost sight of."
"It has not been lost sight of," said Charvington, after a pause.
"Jabez got it from Hale and restored it to me. But I did not show it
to you, Lesbia child, because I thought that the sight of it would be
painful."
"Not now, that I have learned its lesson. Where is it, father?"
"Call Tim."
Lesbia rang a silver bell which was on the table and shortly Tim,
looking more grotesque and more like a gnome than ever, appeared. He
was with the young couple as the majordomo of their small household,
and enjoyed himself hugely. "Tim," ordered Lord Charvington, giving
him a key, "go to my study and open my dispatch box. Bring me the
morocco case you will find in it. A red morocco case."
"Yes, yer lardship," said the majordomo gravely, as he departed.
"Are you sure you want the cross, Lesbia?" asked Mrs. Walker
seriously.
"Yes. Whenever I forget to be kind and thoughtful, whenever I am
inclined to judge others harshly, the cross will remind me of my own
shortcomings."
"You have none, dear," said George fondly.
"George," Mrs. Walker smiled, "you are spoiling her."
"I know someone else who spoils me more," whispered Lesbia roguishly,
and Mrs. Walker smoothed the girl's hair.
At this moment Tim returned with the case. Lord Charvington opened it
and took out the ornament which glittered in the rosy hues of sunset.
"Presarve us!" whispered Tim crossing himself. "The unlucky crass!"
"Lucky now, Tim," said Charvington, slipping a slender watch-chain he
wore from his waistcoat. "It found me my daughter. Here, Lesbia," he
threaded the loop at the top of the cross, "you can wear it now."
Lesbia bent her head and her father threw the chain on her neck. The
amethyst cross gleamed with purple fire on her white bosom, a symbol
of all that had passed and a symbol also of a brighter future. "I
shall always wear it," said Lesbia with serious lovely eyes.
"'Refuse and lose,'" said George meditatively, "well we have not
refused the cross although I daresay had it been in our powers to do
so we should have shirked the burden."
"Thank Heaven you were not allowed to, for the bearing of the burden
has taught you much," said Mrs. Walker devoutly.
"It has earned me the crown of perfect love," said George, drawing
Lesbia to his breast.
"And that is worth everything," Lesbia replied, kissing him.
THE END
COLSTON AND CO. LTD. PRINTERS, EDINBURGH,