A CRISIS.
Hew returned suddenly from Bickerton--Hew of the shifty eyes and
cold, fish-like hands--more indignant than ever with 'Old Pipeclay,'
as he irreverently called Sir Piers.
Old Mr. John Balderstone, the family factor, who had been enjoying
some shooting at the Bickerton covers, had incidentally and
laughingly mentioned having seen Cecil Falconer and Mary Montgomerie
twice in her pony-carriage at a considerable distance from home; and
thus Hew had returned full of ire at the folly of Sir Piers in having
'invited that fellow to Eaglescraig,' at the presumption of the
latter, and with his heart full of secret rage, jealousy, and no
little rancour for the result of the last game at écarté.
Before this time, Cecil perhaps cared little what Hew said or thought
of his manner with Mary Montgomerie, so far as friendly intercourse
went. Thus Hew had more than once seen him bending caressingly over
Mary as he addressed her, bending till his dark-brown moustache
almost touched her darker glossy hair. But then, his whole manner to
her might be described as one long caress, though he was ever
courteous to all women, even the old and plain-looking; while Mary
thought it new and charming, and something that even in society she
was unused to.
But now there was a sudden change. The result of Mrs. Garth's
friendly advice was, that doubt, reserve, and smothered
irritation--born of a suspicion that he had been trifled with, or
played with--tinged the manner of Cecil Falconer, infusing therein a
peculiar strangeness that piqued Mary Montgomerie, and made their
intercourse more perilous, for, being somewhat of a little coquette,
it was one of her idiosyncrasies, when so piqued, to avoid a
reconciliation that was too openly affected, and shyly, or slyly, to
take refuge in those which were merely, and silently, implied.
The communications of the old lady had forced upon him the necessity
for sedulously seeking to forget, as soon as possible, the existence
of Mary; and how far such an effort was consistent with spending the
hours of every day in her society, may be imagined.
In the first fever of his spirit he felt inclined to quit Eaglescraig
at once, ere his leave was up, and to get Fotheringhame to telegraph
for him; but anon he resolved to linger till the last moment, and sun
himself in the eyes of Mary; and in the midst of all this Hew now
returned, like the shadow of evil, to Eaglescraig, suddenly, and not
finding either Mary or Cecil in the house, had his spleen further
roused on being told by the watchful Mrs. Garth, that they were
rambling somewhere in the grounds together.
'In the grounds,' said Hew, viciously; 'where?'
'I know not,' replied Mrs. Garth; 'but if you will absent yourself
shooting here and there, Mary must avail herself of the courtesy of
others.'
'Of course--to help her to water her ferns, which she does
indefatigably, although a staff of gardeners are kept here at
Eaglescraig.'
'And to feed her favourite pigeons at the dovecot.'
'How touchingly domestic; how d----d Arcadian!' said Hew, more
viciously than ever. 'Are they on the lawn?'
'No; I think they took the path that leads to the grotto,' replied
Mrs. Garth, not unwilling to pique the jealousy of Hew, who muttered
an ugly word, and at once left the house to seek them in their ramble.
For this circumstance Sir Piers was in some measure to blame, as he
had desired Mary to show Falconer a curious grotto, or cavern, partly
natural and partly artificial, under the old tower of Eaglescraig, in
which tradition said some centuries ago, when the wall which had
concealed it fell, a so-called magic lamp had been discovered hanging
from a chain in the rocky roof. The flame, when first seen, was
thought to be a Jack-o'-lantern, but was found to proceed from what
was supposed to be an ancient sepulchral lamp, prepared with matter
spontaneously combustible on the accession of air, and which, instead
of burning for centuries, had only taken light when the grotto was
opened.
Be all that as it may, neither Cecil nor Mary troubled themselves
much about the archæology of the place, though they certainly
lingered there, they scarcely knew why, and she clung to his arm, for
the mouth of the grotto opened inwards from the rock on which the
mansion stood, and overlooked the Firth of Clyde, three hundred feet
below.
Alone with Mary there, Cecil felt that he was becoming more devoted
and _empressé_ every moment, in spite of his recent resolutions and
the warnings of Mrs. Garth.
Their conversation was somewhat disjointed and desultory, especially
so far as Cecil was concerned; for the eve of his departure was
drawing near; he knew not when, or if ever, he might see Mary
Montgomerie again, and the great secret of his heart loaded his
tongue. But the faltering accents and broken language of love are
generally expressions of the fullest eloquence to her who hears them;
and now, filled by all the charm her presence inspired, while gazing
into her face which had all the soul-like beauty that radiates from
_within_, Cecil Falconer felt his heart flying to his head, and while
pressing to his side the little hand that leant upon his arm, he said:
'Another day--only one short day more--and this time of joy, so sweet
to me, will have become a thing of the past--a dream--but a past
never to be forgotten!'
'I am glad that you have been happy with us--we live so quietly here
at Eaglescraig,' she replied, affecting to misunderstand what he so
evidently referred to.
'Happy indeed! But who could fail to be happy here? I am much of a
day-dreamer, Miss Montgomerie, and often it has seemed to me, in my
solitary moments and thoughtful moods, that some mysterious sympathy
or bond was linking my existence with that of another, but who that
other was I knew not.'
'A strange idea!'
'You will smile at my folly, as you no doubt deem it. So, too, have
I thought there was something singularly sweet in the idea, but
sweeter still now that I know, the soul that I dreamed of was you.'
Mary's hand trembled on his arm, but she made no reply, and stood
with half-averted face.
'My lips have been silent,' he resumed, bending over her, as she
still further averted her face and looked down; 'yet you must have
guessed the cherished hope of my heart, and learned, even from my
glance--that I--that--that I love you!'
So Mrs. Garth's friendly warnings all came to nothing, and even Hew's
existence was forgotten!
'I saw from the first,' said Mary, in a low and agitated voice, 'from
the first, that you admired me, but--but, I never thought that----'
'That I loved you?'
'I know not what I thought.'
'Oh, Mary--may I call you so?--I have no words to tell you, Mary,
darling, how fondly, how deeply and tenderly I love you!'
Her hands were in his now, and her long lashes were cast down, during
a little pause that ensued, and he could see her soft bosom heaving
under her dress.
Then she looked up with a coy, shy smile of great brightness, as she
asked:
'Am I the first you have loved--the very first?'
'Fancies I have had--as what lad has not--but I never loved till now,
Mary,' he replied, with great tenderness, 'unless it was the love I
bore my poor mother, who is now in her grave.'
'I am so confused--so startled, Mr. Falconer.'
'Do say "Cecil," I implore you!'
'Well, then--Cecil.'
No need to say more just then, as their lips met, passionately for an
instant, and Cecil felt that she was his own. Then Mary shrank back
a little, and blushing deeply, said:
'Oh, what would Sir Piers say if he knew of this?'
There was something of terror in her tone--alarm, at least, as Cecil
thought.
'When I tell him of my love for you----' he began.
'Oh, that you must not--must not do--yet awhile, at least!' she
exclaimed earnestly.
'Why, my darling?'
'Don't ask me--do not ask me! Be content that--that----'
'You love me?'
'Oh, Cecil--yes. But your love for me--when did it first begin?' she
asked, looking up with the same fond yet shy smile again on her soft
face.
'Heaven only knows--when I first saw you, without a doubt,' replied
Falconer, drawing her towards him. 'But now tell me, darling----'
Ere he could say more, she shrank from him. A step was heard on the
gravelled path, Snarley growled and showed his teeth, and Hew
appeared close by them, at the mouth of the grotto--Hew, with a very
dubious and mingled expression on his face.
'Have you not heard the gong sound for luncheon?' he asked, curtly
and sulkily.
'Hew--returned already!' said Mary, blushing deeply.
'So soon--yes,' said he.
'Had good shooting at Bickerton?' asked Cecil Falconer, feeling that
it required a double effort to be complaisant to Hew just then, and
to slide into the commonplaces required by society.
'Pretty fairish--knocked over a few rocketters or so. There were ten
guns out. But how do you two come to be here?' he asked bluntly and
almost rudely.
'Sir Piers requested Miss Montgomerie to show me where an ancient
lamp had been found,' replied Cecil, with some annoyance of manner.
Hew muttered something unpleasant under his moustache, as he thought
that the 'ancient lamp' had thrown more light on their proceedings
than he anticipated, and drawing Mary's arm through his own, he said
sharply and curtly:
'Let us go back to the house, or we shall be late.'
Cecil's handsome mouth was compressed with sternness at the
abruptness of Hew's bearing, tone, and words. His small and well-cut
nostrils quivered, and his eyes flashed with the anger which, despite
his recent joy, he felt a difficulty in restraining.
Hew was sharp enough to see this; but feeling himself somewhat master
of the situation, and a species of marplot, he gave one of his
strange smiles, and said something that might mean anything or
nothing, as he appropriated Mary and marched off with her towards the
house.
How long he might have been eavesdropping, and how much or how little
of their conversation he might have overheard, or what he might have
overseen, it was impossible for them to conjecture; but extreme
annoyance clouded the fair face of Mary, and bitter chagrin was but
ill concealed in that of Falconer.
'Pray do not quarrel with Hew,' Mary found opportunity to say in a
rapid whisper; 'you know not his power in the art of scheming,
manœuvring, and mischief.'
Cecil felt his heart beat lightly again at the interest in him
implied by her words, and the secret understanding they suggested and
created.
Though we doubt very much if Mr. Hew Caddish Montgomerie ever heard
of the Bard of Twickenhem, yet we are certain that he believed with
him, that 'every woman is at heart a rake;' and thus he was the more
irate with Mary, as he was prone to take the worst view of every one
and everything.
As they pursued the circuitous path that led from the grotto to the
house, Hew maintained a somewhat sulky silence, as he had neither the
good feeling nor the good taste to conceal his annoyance. He,
perhaps, loved Mary; but if so, it was after a selfish fashion of his
own, and as much as it was in him to love anyone. He knew her
fortune to a shilling; he had a passionate, an inherited, and
avaricious love of wealth, and he knew right well the vast importance
that attached to the possession of it; thus he took Mary to task, the
moment Falconer left them--with a glance, which Mary read, though to
Hew it was all unseen, or misunderstood.
'Were you and that fellow long in the grounds to-day?' he asked
bluntly, and with anger in his eyes.
'What if we were?' was the defiant reply.
'I asked you a question, cousin.'
'One you have no right to ask.'
'No right?'
'None!' said she, with decision.
'Come, I like that! I am your cousin.'
'Nothing more, thank goodness!--and scarcely even that, save by name;
and you are not my mentor.'
'If I were so----'
'Well, sir; if you were?'
'I should say that I was extremely sorry to meet you and Falconer
together, as I met you just now. I consider it most unseemly!'
'Are you my guardian, Hew?' asked the little beauty, with growing
irritation.
'Would that I were so, legally!'
'I cannot agree with you,' responded Mary, with a merry laugh.
'I regret to see how this intimacy has grown between you and an utter
stranger.'
'Pray what can it matter to you who my gentlemen friends are?'
'How can you adopt this tone to me, knowing what you do of Sir Piers'
intentions, Mary? As for this fellow----'
'Fellow? What has he done to offend you, Hew Montgomerie, that you
speak of him in this style?'
'I was only about to remark that, like Oliver Twist, I have no doubt
that he can trace his genealogy all the way back to his parents--to
his mother, at least, for I suppose he has, or had, such a relative,'
was the coarse and bitter sneer of Hew; 'but that measure of ancestry
will scarcely suit the standard of Sir Piers Montgomerie.'
Mary remembered the little episode of the 'Birthday Book,' and her
heart for a moment sank, and her countenance fell.
'What _do_ you mean?' she asked.
'I know--what I know--that is all,' replied Hew, malevolently.
'And I know that you are extremely rude and ill-bred,' said Mary, as
she swept away from him, and with difficulty restrained her tears,
while Hew looked after her with a scowl that was strangely mingled
with a triumphant smile.
He did not knit his eyebrows, for he had little or nothing in that
way to knit; but his closely-set eyes twinkled viciously and
furtively, as he began to feel that the power he once possessed, or
hoped to possess, over Mary, and more especially over her fortune,
was slipping away; and the emotions of wounded pride, disappointment,
avarice, and an odious passion for her that was not love, grew keenly
and stingingly in his heart.
Next day Cecil's leave would be up, and in the interval, so
sedulously did Hew keep guard, that never again had Cecil a chance of
addressing Mary alone; but the rival, while thus employed, could see
with growing rancour that they looked suspiciously amiable and happy,
and could talk confidentially enough with their eyes, if prevented
from doing so with their tongues; and now, to preclude any fresh
invitations on the general's part, or any further extension of the
hospitality of Eaglescraig, Hew resolved, ere their guest departed,
to do him all the mischief he could with his host.