THE SERPENT'S STING.
It is not to be supposed that Captain Howard Murpoint had deserted his
post of observation at this critical time on a matter of no moment. The
captain had commenced to play his game in earnest, and that he might be
able to throw down one of his trump cards he had declared his intention
of riding on the chestnut to the market town of Tenby.
Had he even been aware that Mr. Leicester would carry out his yachting
intentions on that day it is probable that he would still have kept to
his plan, for the captain was a firm believer in the proverb, "Delays
are dangerous," and once assured that a step was necessary never
hesitated about taking it.
Consequently after breakfast, he mounted the chestnut and rode off,
waving his white, well-gloved hand to the ladies, and smiling with the
serenity of a mind at ease and a heart innocent of guile.
When he had got beyond the village, the smile disappeared, and the
chestnut felt the whip, in which the captain tied three good hard
knots, across its sleek sides.
He was in a hurry, and he soon impressed it upon the horse, who tore
into Tenby all on fire with surprise and anger at its novel treatment.
The captain stabled his steed, drank a glass of ale at the "Royal
George", and then strolled through the town.
It was an old-fashioned place, but there were some good shops, among
them an apparently well-stocked stationer's.
To this the captain directed his steps, and, sauntering in, purchased
some paper and envelopes, also some ink and pens and pencils, and
seemed inclined to purchase anything to which the shopman--an obliging
fellow--called his attention.
"Have you any parchment? I am going to make a list of
goods--curiosities, and such like--to send over seas, and I am afraid
that paper might be destroyed," he explained.
"Oh, parchment is the thing, sair," said the man, and he took a roll of
the same from a drawer.
"There is some, sir," said he, "but it is rather faded. The fact is we
are not often asked for it, and this has been in the house for some
time. If it is of any use to you I will charge you less than the usual
price for it."
The captain turned it over indifferently, and separated the sheets with
his finger.
"No," he said, "I think paper will do." Then he raised his eyes to a
shelf behind the shopkeeper's head and said, suddenly: "Is that sealing
wax up there? I think I'll have some."
The man reached a ladder and climbed up for it.
While his back was turned Captain Murpoint skillfully abstracted a
sheet of parchment from the heap and slid it into his pocket, coughing
the while to cover the sound of the crisp rustle, and flinging his
umbrella down upon the remainder so as to account for the sound if his
cough had not covered it.
The shopman descended quite unsuspiciously, however, and the captain,
having added the sealing wax and some red tape to his purchases, took
his leave, refusing all the obliging stationer's offers to send the
parcel home, and carrying it in his hand.
From the High Street he then made a slight divergence to one of the
smaller thoroughfares, and paused before a small general shop which
displayed in its little window a sample of some of its varied stock.
He purchased several small articles and then inquired in the most
natural manner for a flour dredger.
"I do not know what it is," he added, with a smile, as the good woman
looked rather surprised; "but I have been commissioned to purchase one
for a lady."
"Certainly, sir," said the woman; and she produced a flour dredger.
The captain examined it with a smile.
"I suppose it is all right," he said, and he had it packed up with his
other purchases.
With a sigh of absolute relief, for, though the incident was seemingly
trivial, he had effected a good deal in obtaining a sheet of parchment
and a flour dredger without attracting attention, he returned to the
"Royal George", and sat down to a nice light luncheon.
Then ordering his horse, he mounted again.
On his way home, a very little distance from his route, lay Coombe
Lodge. The captain was a gallant gentleman, and he thought it would
only be a delicate piece of attention if he called to inquire after
Lady Lackland's health.
After earnest inquiries after her ladyship's headache the captain gave
an amusing and highly colored account of his trip to Tenby, introducing
and inventing half a dozen little serio-comic incidents, which, though
they did not occur, highly amused the countess.
"I am sorry Ethel and Fitz are out," she said as the captain rose to
go. "I suppose, however, you did not expect to find them at home?"
She smiled interrogatively.
"No," he said, "I was not aware----"
"Indeed!" said the countess. "Did you not know that they were going
yachting with Mr. Leicester Dodson and Mrs. Mildmay?"
The captain certainly did not know it, and shrugged his shoulders with
a smile.
"No, indeed," he said. "Ah, my dear Lady Lackland, these very young
people are so impulsive! They arranged their little pleasure trip after
I had started this morning, seeing that the weather was fine--though,"
he added, glancing at the window, "I think we may have a storm."
Lady Lackland looked at him thoughtfully.
She thought him a man worth conciliation, and perhaps of confidence.
"Mrs. Mildmay has gone," she said. "Mr. Dodson rode over this morning
and fetched Fitz and Ethel."
"Oh!" said the captain, significantly. "Very impulsive young man, my
dear lady; very excellent, clever young man, but impulsive. He has been
badly brought up, in a selfish circle, and I am afraid has acquired a
considerable amount of willfulness, and--shall I add, fickleness?"
"What do you mean?" asked Lady Lackland, with soft abruptness. "Do you
think Mr. Leicester is obstinate and a flirt?"
"The very word, my dear lady," said the captain, softly, as he sank
into the seat beside her. "I am very interested in Mr. Leicester," he
continued, swinging his hat gently and looking up into the countess'
face under his deeply penciled eyebrows. "Very. I could tell you
why--perhaps you can guess. To be candid, my dear Lady Lackland, as I
told you the other evening, I am poor John Mildmay's oldest friend. I
was to have been his daughter's legal guardian; and though his sudden
death prevented him bequeathing her welfare to my care I still feel for
her the affection and anxiety of a father. Ah, how can I do otherwise
when by her every look and gesture, by her every smile and tone she
reminds me of my dear lost friend?"
Lady Lackland, whose eyes had been averted, sought his face with a mild
but astute look of inquiry.
"One cannot suppose for one minute," continued the captain, "that a man
of the world like Leicester Dodson can entertain any serious intention
of making a proposal to Violet. No, my dear lady; men of his class
strike at higher game." He paused, and did not fail to notice the
sudden drooping of the wily countess' eyelids. "They, or their fathers,
have made money by trade, and with that money they desire--nay, they
look to purchase rank. It is their ambition. They have it instilled
into them with the food of their infancy; they look forward to it as
the final goal of their endeavors. Yes, Leicester Dodson intends to
marry rank, and," he continued, in a lower voice and with a subtle
significance, "and will do so if some foolish flirtation does not act
as a stumbling-block."
The countess raised her face languidly.
She understood the captain, and she began to see that he was on her
side.
He meant by his delicate confidence to warn her that if the flirtation
between Leicester Dodson, the millionaire's son, and Violet Mildmay,
the merchant's daughter, were not stopped, the countess would lose the
aforesaid Leicester and his money bags for her daughter, Lady Ethel.
The captain continued:
"I may describe the position of Violet as very similar, yet with a
difference. She, my dear lady, though I, so biased and partial, should
not give it utterance perhaps, is a most charming and lovable girl;
but she is simple--simple in the extreme, unsophisticated. She would
be the first to be led away and deceived into thinking a foolish
flirtation, a midsummer day's flirtation, a serious love affair and a
binding engagement. Now I am sure that must not be. No, she is reserved
and intended for a different and may I say a happier and more suitable
fate? By the way, did you say that Mr. Leicester Dodson came over
himself this morning?"
"Yes," said the countess.
The captain smoothed his hat.
"I hope you will not think the less of him for what I have said, my
dear lady."
"Oh, no!" said Lady Lackland, "not in any way. Besides, you have not
said much," she added, "only that he is somewhat of a flirt."
"And that you have noticed yourself?" said the captain, with
ill-concealed eagerness--"you who have so many better opportunities of
observing him in the society which you so much adorn."
"Yes," said Lady Lackland, "I think perhaps that he is a flirt. He
would be a very eligible young man if he were a little more steadfast;
but one cannot put old heads on young shoulders, Captain Murpoint."
"No, no," said the captain. And with a delicate emphasis he shook hands
and took his leave, repeating to himself Lady Lackland's reply as he
went. It was not a very important one; but we shall see how by deftly
twisting and turning it Captain Murpoint effected a great deal with it.
As the captain rode home the storm gathered and broke upon him.
The wind nearly blew him from his horse and the rain saturated him.
At the Park he found the servants in a state of confusion and alarm,
and learned that the ladies had not yet come home.
Without dismounting he galloped down the steep hill to the beach, which
presented a picturesque scene enough, but a sufficiently significant
one.
Just within reach of the spray stood a small crowd composed of the
fishermen and their wives and children and the principal part of the
village.
Lower down, and seemingly in the foremost waves themselves, were Willie
Sanderson and two or three of his mates, vainly endeavoring to launch
one of the boats.
By their side, in close and agitated conversation with Mr. Starling,
was Jemmie, Sanderson's lame brother.
The captain spurred his horse across the stones and shouted, loud
enough to be heard above the roar of the waves:
"Has the yacht come in?"
Willie Sanderson shook his head, and significantly pointed seaward.
Jem Starling came up and touched his hat and, bellowing hoarsely in the
captain's ear, said:
"No, she ain't come in, sir, and these chaps be all in a regular state
about her. They say----"
But the captain was too anxious as to the situation to receive anything
second-hand, and beckoned imperiously to Willie Sanderson, who came up
to him.
"Do you think there is any danger?" asked the captain, in a voice
slightly tremulous.
Willie Sanderson shook his head gravely.
"Can't say exactly, sir. All depends upon where she be. I knows as the
skipper said they were to sail south and tack round. If so be they
have, why then they're close agin' the North Reef by now, and----"
"Well, well?" asked the captain, with feverish eagerness.
"Well, then, may Heaven help 'em!" said Willie, solemnly.
The captain's white, strong hand clutched the reins tightly, and his
thin lips compressed with restrained emotion.
If the yacht were on the North Reef she would be wrecked, and in all
probability Violet, her aunt, and Leicester Dodson, Fitz and Lady Ethel
would be drowned.
All the eventualities, the results, and the personal consequences of
such a fatality rushed through the captain's brain, and Jem, who was
standing by the horse's head, watching his master, saw a gleam of
fiendish joy flash across the pale, masterful face. Perhaps the captain
knew that he had seen it, for the next instant his face had assumed
a look of alarm and anxiety, and, with a burst of excitement not
altogether feigned, he flung himself from the saddle, shouting:
"Launch the boat! We must go to her. Who volunteers?"
The men looked out to sea, then shook their heads.
"No boat could live in this, sir," shouted Willie Sanderson, "and if
she could, by the time we'd got to the North Reef, the storm would be
over. Lookee now, it's clearing off a bit to northward."
The storm abated and passed off as rapidly as it had gathered and
broken, and the wet crowd, about an hour afterward, had the extreme
pleasure of descrying a white speck on the horizon, which soon grew to
be the familiar form of the _Petrel_.
She sailed in, with all her canvas crowded, looking as unconcerned as a
swan on a lake after an April shower, and the crowd burst into a cheer
of mingled excitement and admiration.
But the captain had determined that there should be a little display
of emotion, and therefore when the _Petrel_ ran into the little rude
harbor he hurried forward and sprang on to her deck, his two hands
outstretched to grasp Violet and Mrs. Mildmay with his face pale and
grateful.
With soft but emphatic gratitude and anxiety he went from one to the
other of the ladies, while Leicester, in command of the vessel, was
seeing that all was made secure.
When he was free he turned to where Fitz and Bertie were assisting the
ladies to alight and eyed the captain with a calm, keen scrutiny.
"Alarmed, were you, Captain Murpoint?" he said, in his grand, clear
voice. "What would you have been if you had been fated to be with us?"
and a slight sneer curled his lip.
"Not so much alarmed or so anxious," said the captain, with a smile
that was a finished piece of calm reproach. "For I should at least have
had the satisfaction of sharing in the danger of my friends."
Leicester smiled grimly and stooped to lend Violet his hand over the
gangway.
"A poor satisfaction, captain. There was not much danger, or if there
was it did not last long. The Petrel will see out many a worse summer
gale than this. But I am sorry," he added, addressing Mrs. Mildmay
with a much more eager tone in his voice, "I am so sorry you should
have been so alarmed and made so uncomfortable! And--ah, here is the
carriage," he said. And he ran up the beach as the carriage Jem had
ordered drove up to the parade.
He held the door as Mrs. Mildmay and Violet entered, but though his
dark eyes sought hers Violet's made him no return, and her "good-by"
was as dreamy and indistinct as her gaze.
Leicester returned to the _Petrel_ to assist Lady Ethel, in a state of
mind not enviable.
"I'll drive you home, Lady Ethel, if you are too tired," he said, "but
if you are not my mother will be delighted beyond measure to make you
comfortable. What do you say, Fitz? Will you take refuge with us for
to-night? I'll ride over to Coombe Lodge and set Lady Lackland's fears
at rest."
Now Fitz was very willing to stay so near Violet Mildmay, and Ethel was
not unwilling, though she demurred.
But Leicester's strong will decided for them, and it followed that they
were on their way to the Cedars while he was galloping toward Coombe
Lodge to apprise Lady Lackland of her children's safety and their
whereabouts, also to order a box of clothes, which Ethel declared was
positively necessary.
The captain's attention continued during the journey home and even to
the door of the ladies' rooms, for he insisted that they should take
precautions against colds, and in his quiet, unassuming way saw that
their comforts were attended to.
So it followed that Violet's maid was waiting with hot water, a fire
fit to roast an ox, and an amount of commiseration altogether too much
for Violet's patience.
The first thing she did was to throw up the window and lean out upon
her white, well-rounded arms, the next, after inhaling a long breath of
the storm-freshened air, was to request Marie to suppress the fire as
quickly as possible and throw out the hot water.
Marie picked off the coals daintily and walked away. Directly she had
gone Violet slipped the bolt on the door and dropped down upon the bed
with a long-drawn sigh.
"'My darling! my darling!' Did he say that to me or was I dreaming?
Oh, no, he never could have said it. I must have been dreaming, I did
nearly faint, and so I must have fancied that he said so. He could
not; it is not possible. He has never been anything else but grave and
courteous, he would not forget himself in a moment; his is not the kind
of nature--no, no, it is absurd!" And she sighed and smiled.
"I cannot think what is coming to me lately. I am all fancies and
dreams and nonsensical imaginings. First I fancy I see a villain in my
father's oldest friend, then I fancy I see a ghost in the old tower,
and now, the maddest thing of all, I fancy I hear a grave, well-bred
gentleman like Leicester Dodson address me as 'his darling!' Oh, it is
absurd!"
A dinner--partly fresh and partly a _rechauffé_ of the ruined one--was
served up, and the captain did his best to raise the spirits of the
ladies.
Mrs. Mildmay, whose very ignorance of nautical matters had preserved
her from alarm, was very cheerful and praised the yacht and all
pertaining to it with liberal amiability, and, as for the storm, why,
if Violet did not take cold, which after her warm bath she would not be
likely to, it only added a zest to the trip.
Violet smiled with grave amusement, and did not think fit to enlighten
her aunt as to the fate of the hot water, and the captain chimed in
as usual from his leaning post outside the veranda, where he smoked a
cigar of an evening within speaking distance of the ladies inside.
"I called at Coombe Lodge this morning," he said, with a pause which he
filled up with his cigar.
Violet, who lay on a couch, had closed her eyes, but the captain saw
that she was not asleep.
"And how is Lady Lackland?" asked Mrs. Mildmay.
"Better I found her, I am glad to say, much better. The earl had not
come down yet; parliamentary duties kept him in town I suppose. Pity,
a great pity. The peasant in his cot, beneath the blue sky and on
the heather-covered hill, is to be envied by an earl in London this
weather. By the way," he continued, glancing at Violet and speaking in
a low tone as if he were anxious not to awake her, "I heard of rather a
damaging trait in Leicester's character."
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mildmay, very much interested, and looking up from
her knitting.
"Yes; Lady Lackland knows more of him than we do, of course; she
sees him at balls and concerts, at friends' houses and parties. Mr.
Leicester Dodson, so I hear, is a terrible flirt."
"Oh, dear me, I am sorry to hear that," said Mrs. Mildmay, shaking her
head over her knitting and entirely unconscious of the sudden pallor
which had fallen upon the motionless face opposite her and which the
captain had quickly noted.
"Yes, not very dreadful, is it? It is not fair to accuse the young
fellow--as nice a young fellow as ever lived!--behind his back, but I
do hear two or three stories of broken hearts and scattered vows--but
nothing very tangible. But be sure Lady Lackland would not have
mentioned it if she had not some grounds for regretting it."
"Regretting it?" said Mrs. Mildmay, who could never see through hints
and inuendoes and always required things to be as plain as plate-glass.
"Don't you see, my dear madam," said the captain, lowering his voice
to a musical pitch, which was as distinct as a trumpet call to the
ears of the motionless girl, "don't you see that the young fellow is
really in love with Lady Ethel and that he would win her but for Lady
Lackland's doubt of his steadiness. A flirt, my dear madam, is to be
evaded by every prudent mother and every sensible girl----"
Violet rose, white and statuesque.
"I was nearly asleep," she said, looking round the room with a sad,
stupefied look in her eyes of dumb pain, like some one roused to a
sense of a lifelong misery. "I--I am very tired, aunt, and I think I
shall go to bed."
The captain was by her side, ringing for her candle, in a moment, and
she smiled--yes, smiled at him as he pressed her hand and murmured a
good-night.
Brave Violet! what did that smile cost her?
She had heard every word, and every word rang in her ears and stabbed
at her breast when she laid her head on her pillow.
While Violet was lying awake and burning with mortification and a
wounded heart Jemmie Sanderson was down on his knees beside his straw
pallet in the policeman's cot thanking Heaven for the safe return of
his benefactor and greatly worshiped Leicester. He loved Leicester
with a love that passed all calculation. He had stood unnoticed in
the crowd, close to the ladies and gentlemen, when they had landed
and, unseen by Leicester, he had stood close behind him, weeping his
childish heart out with happy tears of joy and gratitude.
So the two, woman and boy, were at the same time enduring widely
different feelings for the same man.
Life is full of strange contradictions.