"Odd, isn't it, George, old boy?"
"More than odd, Saul, old man."
"When I first saw you I said to myself, `This fellow's an impostor,' and
I felt savage--there, I can give it no better word."
"And when I clapped eyes on you, I said to myself, `This chap will do
anything he can to rob me of my rights, and is as jealous as a Turk
because that little girl smiled at me.'"
"And I haven't done all I could to keep you out of your rights?"
"Not you, Saul."
"I've done all I could to help you get them, haven't I?"
"That you have, old man."
"And as to being jealous about you and Gertie, why, the thing's absurd."
"Of course it is. Take some more whiskey. Plenty more where that came
from."
"Glad to hear it," said Saul, taking up bottle and glass, as they sat
together in the handsomely furnished old study at The Mynns. "Jealous?
Ridiculous, when the old man had settled beforehand that you were to
marry her. I say, old chap," continued Saul, resting the neck of the
bottle on the rim of the glass, and looking across the table with a
leer, "how are you getting on with her?"
"What's that to you? Take some whiskey and another cigar," said the
other roughly.
"Oh, beg pardon. Didn't know I was touching on dangerous ground," said
Saul. "I'm mum."
They had both been drinking far more than they could bear sensibly, for
Saul had dined there that night, and the wine had been pretty abundant
both during and after the dinner. Then they had adjourned to the study
to smoke, have coffee and brandy, and then the whiskey had become the
order of the night.
"Well," said the host, "why don't you help yourself and pass the
bottle?"
"Because it's empty," said Saul, pushing the bottle from him.
"Oh, we'll soon cure that," said the young man, rising and going to a
cabinet, out of one of whose drawers he took a couple of large keys.
"Been down in the cellar, I suppose?"
"I? Never," said Saul.
"Then you shall come now. It will surprise you."
"Oh, no, it will not," said Saul, rising. "Nothing here surprises me.
You're a lucky dog, George; but there, I don't envy you, old fellow, for
you deserve to have it. You're so generous and true."
"That's right, old chap," cried Saul's host, clapping him on the
shoulder. "I want to be generous; what's the use of having plenty and
keeping it all locked up?"
There was a tap at the door.
"Come in."
The old housekeeper entered timidly.
"I only came to see if you wanted anything, sir, before I go to bed."
"Eh? Why, what time is it?" said her master, pulling out his
magnificent gold watch by its nugget chain. "Half-past ten. All right;
go to bed, Denton, old girl. I don't want anything else. I'll lock the
door when Mr Saul goes. Yes, I do; I want a candle."
"Candle? Yes, sir."
The old woman hurried out, and returned directly with a lighted chamber
candle, which she set down, looked uneasily from one to the other, and
left the room, shaking her head as she crossed the hall.
"I say, George, what a watch!" cried Saul. "You are going it."
"Going it be hanged! That's the watch I had made in New York and sent
over for a present to the old man, and he never used it, but saved it up
for me. I only got it the other day, after all the confounded legal
business was at an end. I seemed to be kept out of my rights till all
that was done. Now come and let's get the whiskey."
He led the way out into the hall, and through a swing door to the top of
a flight of steps, at the bottom of which, in a recess, was an ordinary
door of dark oak.
This he unlocked, and threw back to admit the pair to a square entry,
beyond which was another door, of iron, painted stone colour, and this
rattled and creaked as it was unlocked and pushed back against the wall.
"There! Something like cellars, eh? Hold up the light."
Saul obeyed, and as the damp odour of sawdust fell upon his sense of
smell, he saw that he had, right and left, bin after bin, formed in
brickwork, whitewashed, and all nearly full of bottles, over each bin
being the kind and age of the wine in black letters upon a white
earthenware label.
"Why, I had no conception that you had such a cellar, old fellow."
"S'pose not. It isn't everybody who has. Needn't stint, eh? Cellar
after cellar, all through beneath the house."
"But not all stocked?"
"Every one, and with the best of wine. Here we are."
He stopped before a bin, and took down a bottle of whiskey. "Don't want
to see any more I suppose?"
"Oh yes, I do. Let's see it all."
"See it and taste too if you like. What shall it be?"
"Nothing," said Saul grimly, as he looked intently about him. "I shall
have another drop of that whiskey when we get upstairs, and then go
home."
"Good boy," was the bantering remark. "Capital whiskey, though. Like
milk. You should taste some of the stuff they sell us out in the West.
Paraffin is honey to it!"
"No wish to try it, my dear sir," said Saul, as he followed his host
from cellar to cellar, the feeble light of the candle casting curious
shadows on the damp, whitewashed walls, and glinting from the round
bottle ends which protruded from their sawdust beds.
"I'm astounded," said Saul, as they went on and on. "I'd no idea the
old man had such a cellar of wine. He scarcely ever touched anything
but a liqueur of brandy."
"Saving it all up for me, I suppose," said the other laughingly.
"Bring many people down here?"
"Here? Nobody. You're the first who has been down. Place had been
sealed up for years. Look at that?"
They were in the farthest cellar now, a small, low-arched, and groined
place, with bins on two sides, the other being blank brick wall,
whitewashed.
"Well, what is there to look at?"
"Wait till we get upstairs and I'll show you. Had enough of it?"
"Yes," said Saul, as he curiously scanned the liquid wealth about him,
and noticed the various catacomb-like openings in which the rich amber,
topaz, and ruby wine was stored.
"Come along, then. Can always give a friend a good glass of wine when
he comes."
Saul followed, noting how silent and tomb-like the place was, and how
his footsteps made not the slightest sound in the thick coating of
sawdust on the stone floor. Then he remarked how grotesque and strange
his companion looked in the darkness, with the light sending his shadow
here and there, and a strange sensation attacked Saul Harrington,--the
blood flew to his head, and he saw dimly, as through a mist in which
various scenes were being enacted, and all connected with the man before
him--the man who stood in his way, and without whom he would have been a
rich man, perhaps a happy one.
"I could have made her love me," he muttered. "Eh?"
"I did not speak. Cleared my throat."
"Oh, I say! what's the matter? You look ghastly."
"The darkness and your candle," said Saul, smiling. "I don't know,
though; I do feel a bit giddy. Is it the smell of the wine?"
"Perhaps. Come and have the whiskey. That will soon set you right."
The doors were carefully locked, and Saul Harrington shuddered, his brow
contracted, and he seemed to be looking far away into futurity as he
followed his host upstairs into the study, where the cork was drawn,
fresh cigars lit, and, after placing the keys in the cabinet drawer,
another was opened, and an oblong book taken out.
"Look at that, my lad. Cellar book. There you are--age and quantity of
all the wines, and when laid down."
"Wonderful care he took of all these things."
"The old man was a trump. But look here, Saul, my lad: `Cellar number
seven entered by bricked-up archway from number six.' Remember number
six?"
"No."
"Yes, you do; where I spoke when you were staring at the blank wall.
That's the way into number seven. And read here: `Eight bins, four on
each side. Three on the right, port; four on the left, sherry. The
fourth bin on the right I shall fill with Madeira when I come across a
good vintage. Bricked up, JH.'"
"Yes, my uncle's writing," said Saul, looking eagerly, and greatly
attracted by the book. "That's a bricked-up cellar, then, beyond the
others?"
"Yes, with the bins also bricked-up. We'll break through some day,
Saul, and taste them."
"We will," said the latter, rising hastily, and giving his head a shake,
as if to clear away some mist. "What, going?"
"Yes," said Saul huskily. "I must be off. Good-night, old fellow."
"Good-night, Saul, old chap. I'll let you out and lock up. Quite
early. Only eleven. Better stop and have another glass."
"No, no," said Saul hurriedly. "Not to-night."
"Won't you come up and say good-night to Gertie and Mrs Hampton?"
"No. Say good-night for me."
Saul caught up his hat and hurried away out into the gloomy suburban
road.
"If you miss your train, come back," shouted the young man.
"Yes, yes, all right," came back out of the darkness, and then, with
bent head, Saul Harrington hurried on, making his way more by instinct
than sight toward the station, as he kept on muttering to himself:
"It half maddens me to see them together. Him, the wretched, coarse,
drunken savage, wallowing in all that wealth. Will she marry him? I
suppose so. No, no. I dared not stay. I felt as if--"
Saul Harrington looked stealthily round, and then shuddered, as he
thought of the loneliness of the place, the hours they spent together,
and then walked rapidly on to try and chase away the thoughts which
seemed to be hunting him through the darkness of the night.
Meanwhile, George Harrington, Esq, of The Mynns, went back into the
study, poured himself out another glass of the whiskey, tossed it off,
and walked up into the drawing-room, where he met Gertrude, candle in
hand, crossing to the door.
"Ah, Gertie, going to bed?"
"Yes, George. Good-night."
"Good-night, pet."
Before she could avoid the embrace, he had taken her in his arms, and
kissed her, sending the blood flushing to her temples as she ran out and
upstairs, fighting hard to keep back the sobs which struggled for
utterance.
As she reached her own room she ran to the washstand to bathe her lips
and burning cheeks, seeking to get rid of the foul odour of tobacco and
spirits which seemed to cling to them. Then she flung herself upon her
knees by her bedside, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing wildly
for the sweet illusions of her life, in which a brave, frank young hero
from the West had stood out so prominently, seemed to be fading away
slowly, one by one.