Two people went away from Lady Chesterton's ball with anything but
happiness at their hearts--Ida Raughton and Walter Cundall. The
feelings with which the former had heard the latter's declaration of
love had been of a very mixed nature; pity and sympathy for him being
combined with an idea that she had not altogether been loyal to the
man to whom she was now pledged. She was able to tell herself, as she
sat in her dressing-room after her maid had left her, that she had,
after all, become engaged to the man whom she really loved; but she
had also to acknowledge that, for that other one, her compassion was
very great. She had never loved him, nor did she until this night
believe the rumours of society that reached her ears, to the effect
that he loved her; but she had liked him very much, and his society
had always been agreeable to her. His conversation, his stories of a
varied life in other lands, had had a charm for her that the
invertebrate gossip of an ordinary London salon could never possess;
but there her liking for him had stopped. And, for she was always
frank even to herself, she acknowledged that he was a man whom she
regarded with some kind of awe; a man whose knowledge of the world was
as much above hers as his wealth was above her father's wealth. She
remembered, that when any question had ever perplexed her, any
question of politics, science, or art, to which she could find no
answer, he would instantly solve the knotty subject for her, and throw
a light upon it that had never come to her mind. Yes, she reflected,
he was so much above her that she did not think, in any circumstances,
love could have come into her heart for him.
But, if there was no love there was intense sympathy. She could not
forget, at least not so soon after the occurrence, his earnest appeal
to her to speak, his certainty that she knew of his love, and then the
deep misery apparent in his voice when he forced himself into
restraint, and could even go so far as to congratulate her. Her
knowledge of the world was small, but she thought that from his tone
this must have been almost the first, as she was sure it was the
greatest, disappointment he had ever had. "He wanted to have a wife to
make his home welcome to him," he had said, "and she was the woman
whom he wanted for that wife." Surely, she reflected, he was entitled
to her pity, though she could not give him her love. And then she
wondered what she ought to do with regard to telling her father and
her future husband. She did not quite know, but she thought she would
tell her father first, and then, if he considered it right that
Gervase should know, he should also be told. Perhaps he, too, would
feel inclined to pity Mr. Cundall.
As for him, he hardly knew what to do on that night. He walked back to
his house in Grosvenor Place (he was too uneasy to sit in his
carriage), and, letting himself in went to his library, where he
passed some hours pacing up and down it. Once he muttered a quotation
from the Old Testament, and once he flung himself into a chair and
buried his head in his hands, and wept as strong men only weep in
their darkest hour. Afterwards, when he was calmer, he went to a large
_écritoire_, and, unlocking it, took out a bundle of papers and read
them. They were a collection of several old letters, a tress of hair
in an envelope, which he kissed softly, and two slips of paper which
he seemed to read particularly carefully. Then he put them away and
said to himself: "It must be done, there is no help for it. My
happiness is gone for ever, and, God knows, I would not wreck the
happiness of others! but, in this case, my sin would be beyond recall
if I hesitated." And, again, after a pause, he said to himself: "It
must be done."
He rose in the morning at his usual time, though it was nearly six
before he flung himself wearily on his bed to snatch some troubled
rest, and when he went downstairs to his breakfast he found his
secretary, Mr. Stuart, waiting for him. The young fellow had been
telegraphed for on his employer's return, and had torn himself away
from the charms of Brighton to come back to his duties. After they had
exchanged greetings, the secretary said:
"West told me that I should find you looking better than ever, Mr.
Cundall, but I cannot honestly say that I do. You look pale and worn."
"I am perfectly well, nevertheless. But I went to a bail last night,
and, what with that and travelling all day, I am rather knocked up.
But it is nothing. Now, let us get to work on the correspondence, and
then we must go into the City."
They began on the different piles of letters, Mr. Cundall throwing
over to Stuart all those the handwriting of which he did not
recognise, and opening those which he did know himself.
Presently he came to one with a crest on the envelope that he was well
acquainted with--the Raughton crest, and he could scarcely resist a
start as he saw it. But he controlled himself and tore the letter
open. It was from Sir Paul, and simply contained an invitation from
him to Cundall to make one of his Ascot party at Belmont, the name of
his place near there. The writer said he had heard it rumoured about
that he was on his way home from Honduras, and hence the invitation,
as if he got back in time, he hoped he would come. This letter had
been written some day or two ago, and had been passed over by Cundall
on the previous one. Had he not so passed it over, he would have known
his fate before he went to Lady Chesterton's ball, for the Baronet
went on to say: "You may have learned from some of your numerous
correspondents that Ida and Lord Penlyn are engaged. The marriage is
fixed for the 1st September, and will, I hope and believe, be a
suitable one in every way. At least, I myself can see nothing to
prevent its being so; and I shall hope to receive your congratulations,
amongst others, when we meet."
He read the letter and put it in his pocket, and then he said to
Stuart:
"I have had a letter from Sir Paul Raughton, in which he tells me his
daughter is engaged to Lord Penlyn. You go out a good deal, when did
you first hear of it?"
The secretary looked up, and seemed rather confused for the moment.
He, too, like every one else, even to West the butler, knew that it
was supposed that Cundall was in love with Ida, and had wondered what
he would say when he heard it. And now he was sitting opposite to him,
asking him in the most calm tone when he first knew of her engagement,
and the calmness staggered him. Had the world, after all, been
mistaken?
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Not so very long ago. About a month, I
should say."
"About a month since it was announced?"
"Yes, about that."
"I wonder you did not think of telling me in your last letter, since
you knew how intimate I was with the Raughtons."
"I forgot it. It--it slipped my memory. And there were so many
business matters to write about."
"Well! it is of no importance."
"Of no importance!" Stuart thought to himself. "Of no importance!" Then
they must all have been indeed mistaken! Why, it was only two or three
days before Mr. Cundall's return that he had, when up in town for the
day, consulted West, and told him that he had better not say anything
on that subject to his master, but let him find it out for himself.
And now he sat there calmly reading his letters, and saying that "it
was of no importance!" Well, he was glad to hear it! Cundall was a
good, upright man, and, when he heard of Ida Raughton's engagement,
his first thought had been that it would be a blow to his employer. He
was very glad that his fears were ungrounded.
They went to the City together later on, and then they separated; but
before they did so, Cundall asked Stuart if he knew what club Lord
Penlyn belonged to.
"'Black's,' I fancy, and the 'Voyagers,' but we can see in the
Directory." And he turned to the Court department of that useful work,
and found that he was right.
In the evening of two days later Cundall called at "Black's," and
learned that Lord Penlyn was in that institution.
"Will you tell him, if you please," he said, "that Mr. Cundall wishes
to see him?"
All through those two days he had been nerving himself for the
interview that was now about to take place, and had at last strung
himself up for it. He had prayed that there might be no cruelty in
what he was about to do; but he was afraid! The lad--for he was little
better--whom he was now summoning, was about to be dealt a blow at his
hand that would prostrate him to the earth; he hoped that he would be
man enough to bear it well.
"How are you, Cundall?" Lord Penlyn said, coming down the stairs
behind the porter, and greeting him with cordiality. "I have never had
the pleasure of seeing you here before."
Then he looked at his visitor and saw that he was ghastly pale, and he
noticed that his hand was cold and damp.
"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, "aren't you well? Come upstairs and have
something."
"I am well, but I have something very serious to say to you, and----"
"Ida is not ill?" the other asked apprehensively, his first thoughts
flying to the woman he loved. And the familiar name upon his lips
struck to the other's heart.
"She is well, as far as I know. But it is of her that I have come to
speak. This club seems full of members, will you come for a stroll in
the Park? It is close at hand."
"Yes, yes!" Penlyn said, calling to the porter for his hat and stick.
"But what can you have to say to me about her?"
Then, as they went down St. James' Street and past Marlborough House
into the Park, there did come back suddenly to his memory some words
he had once overheard about Cundall being in love with the woman who
was now his affianced wife. Good God! he thought, suppose he had come
to tell him that he held a prior promise from her, that she belonged
to him! But no; that was absurd! He had seen her that very day, and,
though he remembered that she had been particularly quiet and
meditative, she had again acknowledged her love. There could be
nothing this man might have to say about her that should be
disagreeable for him to hear. Yet, still, the remembrance of that
whisper about his love for her disquieted him.
"Now tell me, Mr. Cundall," he said, "what you have to say to me about
my future wife."
They had passed through the railings into St. James' Park, and were in
one of the walks. The summer sun was setting, and the loiterers and
nursemaids were strolling about; but, nevertheless, in this walk it
was comparatively quiet.
"I have come to tell you first," Cundall answered, "that, three nights
ago, I asked Ida Raughton to be my wife."
"What!" the other exclaimed, "you asked my future----"
"One moment," Cundall said quietly. "I did not know then that she was
your future wife. If you will remember, I had only returned to London
on that day."
"And you did not know of our engagement?"
"I knew nothing. Let me proceed. In proposing to her and in gaining
her love--for she told me that she had consented to be your wife--you
have deprived me of the only thing in this world I prize, the only
thing I wanted. I came back to England with one fixed idea, the idea
that she loved me, and that, when I asked her, she would accept me for
her husband."
He paused a moment, and Lord Penlyn said:
"While I cannot regret the cause of your disappointment, seeing what
happiness it brings to me, I am still very sorry to see you suffering
so."
Cundall took no notice of this remark, though his soft, dark eyes were
fixed upon the younger man as he uttered it. Then he continued:
"In ordinary cases when two men love the same woman--for I love her
still, Heaven help me and shall always love her; it is my love for her
that impels me to say what I am now about to--when two men love the
same woman, and one of them gets the acknowledgment of her love, the
other stands aside and silently submits to his fate."
Lord Penlyn had been watching him fixedly as the words fell from his
lips, and had noticed the calmness, which seemed like the calmness of
despair, that accompanied those words. But there was not, however, the
calm that accompanies resignation in them, for they implied that, in
this case, he did not intend to follow the usual rule.
"You are right in your idea, Mr. Cundall," he answered. "Surely it is
not your intention to struggle against what is always accepted as the
case?"
"It is not, for since she loves you I must never look upon her face
again. But--there is something else?" He paused again for a moment and
drew a deep breath, and then he proceeded:
"Are you a strong man?" he asked. "Do you think you can bear a sudden
shock?"
"I do not know what you mean, nor what you are driving at!" Lord
Penlyn said, beginning to lose his temper at these strange hints and
questions. "I am sorry for your disappointment, in one way, but it is
not in your power, nor in that of any one else, to come between the
love Miss Raughton and I bear to each other."
"Unfortunately it is in my power and I must do it--temporarily, at
least. At present, you cannot marry Miss Raughton."
"_What!_ Why not, sir? For what reason, pray?"
"Do not excite yourself! Because she and her father imagine that she
is engaged to Lord Penlyn, and----"
"What the devil do you mean, sir?" the other interrupted furiously.
"_And_," Cundall went on, without noticing the interruption, "_you are
not Lord Penlyn!_"
"It is a lie!" the other said, springing at him in the dusk that had
now set in, "and I will kill you for it." But Cundall caught him in a
grasp of iron and pushed him back, as he said hoarsely: "It is the
truth, I swear it before Heaven! Your father had another wife who died
before he married your mother, and he left a son by her. That man is
Lord Penlyn."
Gervase Occleve took a step back and reeled on to a seat in the walk.
In a moment there came back to his mind the inn at Le Vocq, the _Livre
des Étrangers_ there in which he had seen that strange entry, and the
landlord's tale. So that woman was his wife and that son a lawful one,
instead of the outcast and nameless creature he had pictured him in
his mind! But--was this story true?
He rose again and stood before Cundall, and said:
"I do not know how you, who seem to have lived in such out-of-the-way
parts of the world, are capable of substantiating this extraordinary
statement; but you will have to do so, and that before witnesses. You
have brought a charge of the gravest nature against the position I
hold. I suppose you are prepared to produce some proof of what you
say?"
"I am fully prepared," Cundall said.
"Then I would suggest, Mr. Cundall, that you should call at my house
to-morrow, and tell this remarkable tale in full. There will be at
least one witness, my friend, Mr. Smerdon. When we have heard what you
have to say, we shall know what credence to place in your story."
"I will be there at midday, if you will receive me. And believe me, if
it had not been that I could not see Miss Raughton married illegally,
and assuming a title to which she had no right, I would have held my
peace."
Lord Penlyn had turned away before the last words were spoken, but on
hearing them, he turned back again and said:
"Is this secret in your hands only, then, and does it depend upon you
alone for the telling? Pray, may I ask who this mysterious Lord Penlyn
is whom you have so suddenly sprung upon me?"
"_I am he!_" the other answered.
"You!" with an incredulous stare. "You!"
"Yes, I."