Kimberley came to luncheon next day. Lady Ella gave him a hand like
marble, and he kissed it. Her father, anxious to preserve a seeming
satisfaction, put his arm about her waist and kissed her. Her cheek was
like ice and her whole figure trembled.
It was a dull, dreadful meal to all three who sat at table, and the
millionaire's heart was the heaviest and the sorest.
If Ella suffered, she had the consolation, so dear to the nobler sort of
women, that she was a sacrifice. If Windgall suffered, he had a solid
compensation locked in the drawers of his library table. But Kimberley
had no consolation, and knew only that he was expected somehow to be
happy, and was, in spite of his prosperous wooing, more miserable than
he had ever been before.
As time went on, Kimberley grew no happier. The gulf between Lady Ella
and himself had not been bridged by their betrothal. She was always
courteous to him, but always cold. She had accepted him, and yet----
The first inkling that something was wrong came through the altered
demeanour of Alice. The girl was furious at her father for sacrificing
her sister, and furious with her sister for consenting to the sacrifice;
her former half-humourous comradeship for Kimberley was changed into
chilly disdain.
The suspicions that were thus suggested to him were confirmed by a
meeting with Ella outside the castle lodge. As he approached, he caught
sight of her face as she was nodding a smiling good-bye to the old
gate-keeper. She saw Kimberley, and the smile fled from her face with so
swift a change, and left for a mere second something so like terror
there, that he could scarcely fail to notice it.
He returned home possessed with remorse and shame. There was no doubt
what the end should be. Ella must be released.
"She never cared about the money," he said, pacing the room with
tear-blotted face. "She wanted to save her father, and she was ready to
break her heart to do it. But she shall never break her heart through
me. No, no. What a fool I was to think she could ever be happy with a
man like me!"
_IV.--The Renunciation_
Jack Clare, with a heart burning with rage at what he deemed Ella's
treachery, had resigned his commission and bought an estate in New
Zealand with a sum of money that had been left him. He became possessed
of a desire to see Ella once more. He wrote to her that he was about to
start for New Zealand, and wished to say good-bye to her. This letter he
brought to the castle gate-keeper, and caused it to be taken to Ella.
Then he paced up and down the avenue, impatiently awaiting her.
Destiny ordained that Kimberley should come that way just then on his
fateful errand of releasing Ella from her engagement. As he entered the
park his resolve failed him; he wandered unhappily to and fro, until he
became aware of a strange gentleman prowling about the avenue in a
mighty hurry. The stranger caught sight of him.
"Pardon me," said Kimberley nervously, "have you lost your way?"
Jack eyed him from head to foot--the vulgar glories of his attire, the
extraordinary bull-dog pin. This, he guessed, was Kimberley--the man to
whom Ella had sold herself. He smiled bitterly, and turned on his heel.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Kimberley ruffled. "I did myself the
honour to address you."
"You pestilential little cad!" cried Jack, wheeling round and letting
out his wrath; "go home!"
"Cad, sir!" answered Kimberley in indignation.
"I call any man a cad, sir," answered Jack, "who goes about dressed like
that."
Jack walked on and Kimberley stood rooted to the ground. He was crushed
and overwhelmed beneath the sense of his own humiliation. His fineries
had been the one thing on which he had relied to make himself look like
a gentleman, and he knew now what they made him look like.
He retreated to a little arboured seat, and a few minutes later would
have given anything to escape from it. For he was a witness of the
parting of Jack and Ella. He saw the tears streaming from her eyes; he
heard Jack tell her that he had never loved another woman and never
would. As they clasped each other's hands for the final good-bye, Jack
seized her passionately and kissed her. Her head fell back from his
shoulder; she had fainted. He laid her down upon the grass, and looked
upon her in an agony of fear and self-reproach. Then his mood changed.
"Curse the man that broke her heart and mine!" he cried wildly.
"Darling, look up!"
Presently she recovered, and he begged her forgiveness.
"I am better," said Ella feebly. "Leave me now. Good-bye, dear!"
Soon afterwards a little man, with a tear-stained face and enormous
bull-dog scarf-pin, arrived at the castle, and asked in a breaking voice
to see his lordship.
"Did you know, my lord," he began, "that Lady Ella was breaking her
heart because she was to marry me?"
"Really--"
"You didn't know it? I should be glad to think you didn't. Perhaps in
spite of all I said, you thought I had bought those papers to have you
in my grasp. I am not a gentleman, my lord, but I hope I am above that.
I was a fool to think I could ever make Lady Ella happy, and I resign my
claim upon her hand, my lord, and I must leave your roof for ever."
"Stop, sir!" cried the earl, in a rage of embarrassment and despair. He
seemed face to face with the wreck of all his hopes. "Do you know that
this is an insult to my daughter and to me?"
"My lord," returned Kimberley, "I am very sorry, but it was a shame to
ask her to marry a man like me. I won't help to break her heart--I
can't--not if I break my own a million times over."
The earl beat his foot upon the carpet. It was true enough. It _had_
been a shame; and yet the man was a gentleman when all was said and
done.
"By heaven, Kimberley," cried his lordship, in spite of himself, "you
are a noble-hearted fellow!"
"Excuse me the trouble I have caused you. Good-bye, my lord." Kimberley
bowed and left.
That night Kimberley received a package containing the papers and a note
from the earl congratulating him on the magnanimous manner in which he
had acted, but declaring that he felt compelled to return the documents.
This added another drop to the bitterness of Kimberley's cup. He could
well nigh have died for shame; he could well nigh have died for pity of
himself.
_V.--Kimberley's Wedding Gift_
"My lord," said Kimberley, as he met the earl of Windgall outside the
London hotel where the earl was staying, "can you give me a very few
minutes?"
"Certainly," said his lordship. "You are not well?" he added, with
solicitude.
He had brought a dispatch-box with him; he put it on the table and
slowly unlocked it. The earl's heart beat violently as he looked once
more upon the precious documents.
"You sent these back to me," said Kimberley. "Will you take 'em now? My
lord, my lord, marry lady Ella to the man she loves, and take these for
a wedding gift. I helped to torture her. I have a right to help to make
her happy."
Windgall was as wildly agitated as Kimberley himself. He recoiled and
waved his hands.
"I--I do not think, Kimberley," he said with quivering lip, "that I have
ever known so noble an act before."
"If I die," said Kimberley in a loud voice which quavered suddenly down
into a murmur, "everything is to go to Lady Ella, with my dearest love
and worship."
Windgall caught only the first three words; he tugged at the bell-pull,
and sent for a doctor.
An hour afterwards Kimberley was in bed with brain fever.
On the following morning Jack Clare stood in the rain on the deck of the
steamship Patagonia, a travelling-cap pulled moodily over his eyes,
watching the bestowal of his belongings in the hold.
"Honourable Captain Clare aboard?" cried a voice from the quay. A
messenger came and handed Jack a letter. He saw with amazement that it
bore the Windgall crest.
It was a hastily written note from the earl stating that circumstances
had occurred which enabled him to withdraw his opposition to the union
of Clare with Lady Ella.
* * * * *
Kimberley recovered. He can speak now to Clare's wife without
embarrassment and without pain. Has he forgotten his love? No. He will
never love again, never marry; but he is by no means unhappy or solitary
or burdened with regrets. And he knows that those for whom he made his
great sacrifice have given him their profoundest gratitude and sincerest
friendship.
The ways of the world are various and many. And along them travel all
sorts of people. Very dark grey, indeed--almost black some of
them--middling grey, light grey, and here and there a figure that shines
with a pure white radiance.
* * * * *