"I SHALL HAVE TO GO."
A year passed rapidly away, during which time Guest's visits were pretty
constant to Benchers' Inn, or to that institution where the new curator
seemed to have thrown himself with so much spirit into his work that
Guest often came to the conclusion that he must have treated his past
after the fashion suggested by the admiral's sister. For there were no
friendly confidences, and it was only a supposition that Stratton might
be well informed as to the doings of the family abroad.
At last one morning, after being expectant and on thorns for weeks,
Guest made his way to Bayswater, sending the cabman by a circuitous
route, so as to pass through Bourne Square.
The family had not returned, but there were painters at work; and
excited by this, he rang at Miss Jerrold's, was shown up, and as soon as
he had shaken hands the old lady tightened her lips and shook her head
at him.
"All my good advice thrown away, boy," she said. "Now no deceit; you've
heard news?"
"Indeed, no," he cried. "I only came through the square."
"On purpose?"
"Well, yes, and saw that there were men at work painting."
"Pooh!" ejaculated Miss Jerrold. "That may mean my brother is going to
let the house."
"But Sir Mark is not going to let the house, Miss Jerrold?"
"Of course not. Yes; you are right: they will be back in about a week."
"In a week?" cried Guest joyously.
"Yes. I wanted to see you, though. How about your friend, Mr
Stratton: he has forgotten all that mad nonsense, I suppose?"
Guest was silent for a few moments while the old lady looked at him
inquiringly.
"You do not know Malcolm Stratton as I do," he said sadly. "He has
never mentioned Miss Myra Jerrold's name--"
"Mrs Dale's or Barron's," said the lady sternly, but Guest shook his
head.
"Since the wedding day, but if I know anything of my friend she has
never since been out of his thoughts."
The tears started to Miss Jerrold's eyes.
"Poor boy," she said sadly. "But he must not think of her. My brother
had certain thoughts about getting the marriage cancelled, but Myra will
not hear of it."
"Surely she does not care for this man?"
"I don't know, my dear boy. She is a mystery to me. I tried to talk to
her several times when I was near, but she closed my lips at once. I am
nobody now. I can pretty well manage her father, but--who in the world
can this be?" she cried hastily. "I'm not at home."
She rose to ring the bell, but there were steps already on the stairs,
and the servant, looking a little startled, opened the door.
"Mr Stratton, ma'am. He says--"
Stratton was already at the door, looking pale, but with a red spot
burning in each cheek.
"You here, Guest!" he said excitedly. "Miss Jerrold, pray ask your
niece to see me, if only for a minute."
"My niece, Mr Stratton," said the old lady coldly, "is in Paris."
"No, no," he cried. "They reached Charing Cross not half an hour ago."
"Stratton, old man," whispered Guest, "for goodness sake, contain
yourself. Indeed they are not here."
"Hah!" cried Stratton excitedly as a cab drew up to the door; and he
grasped how he had, in his excitement, outstripped with a fast hansom
the slow four-wheeled cab; and without giving aunt or friend another
thought he dashed downstairs and out to the cab door.
Myra was looking eagerly up at the house as the front door opened, and
Edie heard her give a hoarse gasp as she shrank back into the corner of
the seat with her face convulsed by a spasm at the unexpected sight of
Stratton.
It was only momentary. By the time he reached the cab door, flung it
open, and held out his hand, she had drawn herself up, and it was a
calm, dignified, graceful woman of the world who gave the trembling man
her hand to help her to alight.
"Ah, Mr Stratton," she said, and her voice thrilled him, "I did not
expect to see you here. I hope you have quite recovered from your
illness. Thanks. Mr Guest too. Yes, you may take my wrappers. Ah,
there is aunt. Aunt dear, we have taken you quite by storm. Papa had
letters yesterday which he said must be attended to personally at once.
Can you take us in, or must we go to an hotel?"
This last in the hall, to which, trembling at the meeting, Aunt Rebecca
had come down to embrace her nieces.
"Yes, yes, my dear; come in. So glad--so very glad. Mr Guest, would
you mind--the cabman?"
She handed the young man her purse, but Myra checked her.
"No, no, aunt dear; papa did see to that. So kind of you to have old
friends here as a surprise."
"No, no, my dear, an accident; and--and--they were just going away."
"Yes," said Stratton in a strange voice as he held out his hand and
gazed with agonised eyes wistfully in those which looked so calmly in
his; "we were just going--Miss Jerrold."
"Mrs Barron, Mr Stratton," said Myra quietly, with just a suspicion of
reproach in her voice, as she gave him her hand. "Papa was talking
about you the other day. I am sure he will be glad to see old friends
again."
She turned from him and shook hands with Guest, while Edie, with tears
in her eyes, approached Stratton.
"So--to see you again, Mr Stratton," she whispered, with the "glad"
inaudible, but it was of no consequence, being quite out of place.
He shook hands with her mechanically, but he did not seem to see her or
hear her words, and she caught Guest's arm.
"Get him away," she whispered. "It was madness. Pray go, for
everyone's sake."
Guest nodded, took his friend's arm, and the pair walked slowly away in
silence till Stratton uttered a low, strange laugh, and as Guest met his
wild eyes:
"No, old fellow," he said quietly. "I am not going mad--unless it was
madness to obey the promptings of my poor, weak nature. Better come
with me to my rooms, for something seems to keep on asking me if life is
not all one great mistake."
Meanwhile at Miss Jerrold's house, the moment the door was closed, Myra
had caught wildly at her cousin's hand.
"Quick!" she cried in a hoarse whisper, "take me to our room," and with
wild energy she hurried her cousin upstairs to close and lock the door
before she gave vent to the wild, hysterical burst of agony that was
struggling for exit.
"So cruel--so heartless," she sobbed as she paced the floor, wringing
her hands and rejecting every attempt at consolation on her cousin's
part. "He must have known. Oh, it's maddening."
"Myra, be calm, be calm."
"Calm!" cried Myra wildly, "it is not possible. Do you think me made of
stone instead of flesh and blood like yourself? You--my father--my
aunt--all treat me as if I were a child whom a word or two will set
free. I tell you again I am that man's wife. In my weakness and folly,
blind to what I called my duty, I went headlong into that gulf of
despair. I swore before the altar to be his wife till death should us
part. It is my fate, and there can be no change."
"But Myra--dear cousin!"
"I tell you, Edie, there is not an hour passes without my seeing him
once more before me holding my hand, with his eyes telling me that I am
his wife, and," she cried passionately as a low tapping was heard at the
door, "I am waiting for the day when he will be released and come,
wherever I may be, to claim me and bid me follow him, whatever may be
his future. And I shall have to go--I shall have to go."
"Myra," whispered Edie, throwing her arms about her cousin's neck,
"hush, pray! Pray hush! Auntie is at the door; she must not hear you
talk like this. These terrible fits are only for me to hear; my own
sister, pray, pray be calm."
Her touch, her kisses, had the desired effect; and as the tapping at the
door was resumed, Myra sank down sobbing on a chair, and buried her
flushed face in Edie's breast.