Lady Carruthers.
My lady rose from her seat with an air of almost tragical dignity.
"My son in prison!" she cried; "I cannot believe it. What has come over
him? Can you explain the mystery to me, Mr. Forster?"
"I cannot--the only thing that occurs to me is that he has gone to this
count's room for some purpose that he will confide to no one, and that
he has taken the watch in his hands and was discovered with it. He asked
me to tell you that the honor of the Carruthers sealed his lips."
"Did he say that--my Basil, Mr. Forster? If that be the case, rest
assured--although I blush to say it--there is a woman in it. I can
imagine Basil capable of suffering anything from a mistaken motive of
chivalry. Do you know with whom Mr. Carruthers has chiefly associated
since he has been in town?"
"I do not. I know that he has been in a very fast and fashionable set;
he told me as much; also that he has spent a good deal of money. One
check for three thousand pounds vanished in a day, and he gave no
account of it."
"Three thousand pounds!" cried Lady Carruthers; "yet he neither drank,
betted nor gambled."
"No," said the lawyer; "Mr. Carruthers told me he had never touched a
card and never would. I know he did not care for betting."
The proud, anxious mother raised her eyes to the lawyer's face. "How,
then, do you think he has got through it?"
"I cannot tell. You must pardon me, my lady, if I remind you that
although I am family solicitor, agent and manager of the property, I am
not the guardian of your son."
"I know," she said, clasping her hands. "I little thought he would ever
need a guardian; he seemed all that was honorable and upright. I cannot
imagine what has changed him. I regret so bitterly that I let him go to
London alone."
"It is a terrible position," said the lawyer; "the only thing is to
clear him as much as we can. The moment I read this I wrote an answer
and sent it to the 'Times' to the effect that Mr. Carruthers had gone
abroad."
A slight frown came over the delicate face.
"I implored Mr. Carruthers to write an indignant denial, and to let me
go to Paris to post it, but he would not hear of such a thing; the very
idea seemed offensive to him. I hope, Lady Carruthers, to induce you to
write such a letter."
"What kind of a letter?" she asked.
"One to the editor of the 'Times' denying the report, and saying that
your son has gone abroad."
"But that would be grossly untrue," she said.
"Yes, yes! I know that, still if we can save him, we should."
"I will try any honorable means you choose to suggest," she replied;
"but not even to save my son from death could I consent to write or
publish a lie."
"Of course you know best, Lady Carruthers," said the lawyer, with a
shrug of the shoulders. "Words are but words, and very few of them might
have saved your son from public shame."
"I have never yet believed in the success of a lie," said her ladyship.
"Pardon me," said Mr. Forster, grimly, "then you have forgotten the
pages of history. I came down purposely to persuade your ladyship to do
this. I am well aware that at first sight it seems contrary to all one's
notions of truth and honor, but there is so much at stake. My denial,
couched in strong terms, will appear tomorrow. If it were succeeded by a
letter from your ladyship, written in the same strain, people would
laugh and believe that it was a great mistake. I had so many inquiries
this morning before I left London, and I gave the same answer to all,
that it was the sorry jest of an evil-disposed person. If your ladyship
would but second my efforts, all would be well; we could get him through
in safety."
But Lady Carruthers had risen from her seat and stood with her proud
figure drawn to its utmost height.
"I will do anything you propose, save tell a lie. If my son can be
rescued by no other means, he must bear his punishment."
"Then my journey is in vain," said Mr. Forster. "I may return to London
at once."
"No," said Lady Carruthers; "I cannot allow you to return after that
long journey--you must stay and dine with us. Pardon me," she said,
seeing that he looked hurt and uncomfortable. "I have spoken strongly,
but truth has always been far dearer to me than life. I do full justice
to your motives. I appreciate your kindness, but in this manner I cannot
help you. Stay and take dinner with us; then we can consult as to what
is best to be done."
"May I give your ladyship one piece of advice?" said the lawyer. "Have
the papers--yesterday's and today's--destroyed, so that no rumor of
anything amiss can reach your servants; also say nothing of it--it may
possibly die away, as some rumors do. Your visitors and friends will not
broach such a subject to you, I am sure."
"I shall not mention it," she replied; "although Marion will be sure to
suspect something wrong." At that moment the last dressing-bell rang.
"You will join us in a few minutes," said Lady Carruthers; "never mind
your traveling-dress; Miss Hautville and I are quite alone."
No one who saw Lady Carruthers leave the library with stately step and
dignified air, would have believed that she had received a blow which
laid her life and all her hopes in ruins--as the lightning smites the
lofty oak. She went back to her sumptuous bedroom that she had left half
an hour ago, so calm and serene, so unconscious of coming evil. Looking
in the mirror, she saw her face was deadly pale--there was no trace of
color left on it, and deep lines had come on her brow that had been so
calm.
"It will not do to look so pale," said Lady Carruthers; and from one of
the mysterious little drawers she took a small powder puff that soon
remedied the evil.
Then she went to the dining-room. Miss Hautville and Mr. Forster were
talking together like old acquaintances, and the three sat down to
dinner together.
Mr. Forster was, as he himself often said, a grim old lawyer, without
any poetry or romance, but even he could not sit opposite the pale, pure
loveliness of Marion Hautville unmoved; there was something about her
that reminded one irresistibly of starlight, delicate, graceful, holy
veiled loveliness. She was slender and graceful, with a figure that was
charming now, but that promised, in years to come, to be superb; the
same promise of magnificent womanhood was in the lovely delicate face.
The pure profile, the delicate brows, the shining hair, braided Madonna
fashion, were all beautiful, but looking at her, one realized there was
greater beauty to come.
She looked across the table with a smile.
"And now, Mr. Forster, you have told me how London looks; tell me
something about my cousin, Mr. Carruthers."
He made some indifferent answer, and as he did so, he thought to
himself:
"Can it be possible, that with a chance of winning this lovely girl--one
of the richest heiresses in London--that Basil Carruthers has given his
heart to some worthless creature, who has spent his money and helped him
to prison?"
A question that, if our readers will kindly follow us, we will answer in
the succeeding chapters.