MRS. BEAUCHAMP'S STORY
(MR. HALL CAINE _takes up the tale_)
I have always had a wonderful memory, and my earliest recollection is of
hearing my father ask, on the day when I was born, whether it was a boy
or a girl. When they told him "a girl," he let fall a rough expression
which sent the blood coursing over my mother's pale cheeks like
lobster-sauce coursing over a turbot. My father, John Boomster, was a
great advertising agent, perhaps the greatest in the island, though he
always said that there was one man who could beat him. He wanted a son
to succeed him in the business, and in the years to come he never
forgave me for being a girl. He would often glare at me in silence for
three-quarters of an hour, and then, letting fall the same rough
expression, throw a boot at me and stride from the room. A hard, cruel
man, my father, and yet, in his fashion, he was fond of me.
It was not until I was eighteen that he first spoke to me. To my dying
day I shall never forget that evening; nor his words, which bit
themselves into my mind as a red-hot iron bites its way into cheese.
"Nell," he said, for that was my name, though he had never used it
before, "I've arranged that you are to marry Lord Wurzel two months from
to-day."
At these terrible words the blood ebbed slowly from my ears and my hands
grew hot.
"I do not know him," I said in a stifled voice.
"You will to-morrow," he laughed brutally, and with another rough word
he strode from the room.
Lord Wurzel! I ran upstairs to my room and flung myself face downwards
on the bed. In my agony I bit a large piece out of my pillow. The blood
flowed forward and backward over me in waves, and I burst every now and
then into a passion of weeping.
By and by I began to feel more serene. I decided that it was my duty to
obey my father. My heart leapt within me at the thought of doing my
duty, and to calm myself I put on my hat and wandered into the glen. It
was very silent in the glen. There was no sound but the rustling of the
leaves overhead, the popping of the insects underfoot, the sneezing of
the cattle, the whistling of the pigs, the coughing of the field-mice,
the roaring of the rabbits, and the deep organ-song of the sea.
But suddenly, above all these noises, I heard a voice which sent the
blood ebbing and flowing in my heart and caused the back of my neck to
quiver with ecstasy.
"Nell!" it said.
It was the voice of my old comrade, Andrew Spinnaker, who had played
with me in our childhood's days, and whom I had not seen now for eight
years.
"Andrew!" I cried, as I turned round. "What are you doing here?"
"I am just off to discover the South Pole," he said. "My shipmates are
waiting for me to command the expedition."
I noticed then for the first time that he was dressed in a seal-skin cap
and a pair of sleeping-bags.
"Nell," he went on, "before I go, tell me you love me."
My heart fluttered like a captured bird; my knees trembled like a
drunken spider's; my throat was stifled like a stifled throat. A huge
wave of something or other surged over me and told me that the great
mystery of the world had happened to me.
I was in love.
I was in love with Andrew Spinnaker.
"Andrew," I cried, falling on his startled chin, "I love you." All the
back of my neck thrilled with joy.
But my joy was shortlived. No sooner had I become aware that I loved
Andrew Spinnaker than my conscience told me I had no right to do so. I
was going to marry Lord Wurzel, and to love another than my husband was
sin. I shook Andrew off my lips.
"I love you," I said, "but I cannot marry you. I am marrying Lord
Wurzel."
"That beast?" cried Andrew, in the impetuous sailor fashion which so
endeared him to his shipmates. "When I come back I will thrash him as I
would thrash a vicious ape."
"When will that be?"
"In about two months," said my darling boy. "This is going to be a very
quick expedition."
"Alas, that will be my wedding day," I said with a low sob like that of
a buffalo yearning for its mate. "It will be too late."
Andrew took me in his strong arms. I should not have let him, but I
could not help it.
"Listen," he said, "I will start back from the Pole a day before my
shipmates, and save you from that d-sh-d beast. And then I will marry
you, Nell."
There was a roaring in my ears like the roaring of the bath when the tap
is left on; many waters seemed to rush upon me; my hat fell off, and
then deep oblivion came over me and I swooned.
. . . . .
To go through my emotions in detail during the next two months would be
but to harrow you needlessly. Suffice it to say that seventeen times I
flung myself face downwards on my bed and bit a piece out of the pillow,
on twenty-nine occasions the blood ebbed slowly from my face, and my
heart fluttered like a captured bird, while in a hundred and forty
instances a wave of emotion surged slowly over my whole body, leaving
me trembling like an aspen leaf. Otherwise my health remained good.
It was the night before the wedding. The bad Lord Wurzel had just left
me with words of love upon his lying lips. To-morrow, unless Andrew
Spinnaker saved me, I should be Lady Wurzel.
"A marconigram for you, miss," said our faithful old gardener, William,
entering the drawing-room noiselessly by the chimney. "I brought it
myself to be sure you got it."
With trembling fingers I tore it open. How my heart leapt and the hot
colour flooded my neck and brow when I recognised the dear schoolboy
writing of my beloved Andrew! I have the message still. It went like
this:
"_Wireless--South Pole._
Arrived safe. Found Pole. Weather charming. Blue sky. Not a breath
of wind. Am wearing my thick socks. Sun never going down.
Constellations revolving without dipping. Moon going sideways. Am
starting for England to-morrow. Arrive Victoria twelve o'clock,
Wednesday.--ANDREW."
Back on Wednesday! And to-morrow was Tuesday--my wedding day! There was
no hope. I felt like a shipwrecked voyager. For the thirty-fifth time
since the beginning of the month deep oblivion came over me, and I
swooned.
[_Hall Caine. I think you might go on now. I have put a little life into
the story. It is, perhaps, not quite so vivid as my last work, "The
Woman Thou Gavest Me," of which more than a million copies----_
_Mrs. Barclay. In the two hundredth edition of "The Broken Halo"----_
_Hall Caine_ (annoyed). _Tut!_]