Mr Hampton was quite right; Gertrude had nerved herself to the
sacrifice, and looked forward to the wedding-day, although with
apprehension, still with something akin to eagerness.
"But you don't love him, my dear," said Mrs Hampton, "and is it right
for you to go to the altar like that?"
Gertrude was silent and thoughtful for some minutes before she raised
her large clear eyes, and gazed full in the old lady's face.
"Yes," she said, "I think it is right. I shall have influence over him
which will grow, and I shall then have the right to speak with
authority--as his wife."
Mrs Hampton sighed and shook her head.
"You have no faith," said Gertrude, smiling, "I have. The real nature
of which my dear guardian spoke is only hidden away, crusted over by the
rough life George has led. Once we are married, he will think of his
duties toward me, and he will change back to what he was."
"Well, I hope so, my dear, for your sake, and you must forgive me
because I am not so sanguine as I was at your age. I tell you what I
would do first, though, if I were you."
"Yes?"
"Get rid of Saul Harrington."
"Yes, I should be glad to do that, and I shall try it," said Gertrude,
with a dreamy look in her eyes which changed to one of dislike and dread
as a step was heard outside upon the gravel walk, and the two women
looked at each other curiously.
"Talk of some one--" said Mrs Hampton at last.
At that moment the door was opened, and Saul Harrington ushered in.
"Ah, ladies," he said cheerily, "both indoors upon a day like this.
Well, I'm glad to find you at home. Come to say good-bye."
"Good-bye?" said Gertrude.
"Yes. I am going to the Continent for a month, and I have come down to
try and persuade George to go with me. Do him no end of good. Where is
he?"
"I think he is in the study," said Gertrude.
"What do you say to my scheme? Can you spare him for a fortnight?"
"Spare who for a fortnight?" said the object of their debate, entering.
"You, old fellow. I'm going to Paris, and then on to Switzerland, and
back by the Rhine and Amsterdam. Come with me."
"What, and do all the paying?"
Saul flushed up, snatched his pocket-book from his breast and tore it
open.
"Well, I shan't ask you to pay for my circular ticket anyhow," he said,
taking out a tiny book; "and here are my hotel coupons. Hang it all!
how fond you men with coin are of insulting those without."
"Well, we're cousins," said the other, with a sneering laugh. "All
right, little one; I'll apologise before he goes," he continued, as
Gertrude looked at him appealingly; and Saul winced as if it was painful
to him to have Gertrude interfere on his behalf.
"Then you will not come?" said Saul, leaning forward to show Gertrude
the tickets.
"No, thanks; I'm going to spend my last bachelor fortnight here."
"Just as you like. Better have spent it with me. I'm sure Gertie does
not want you with all her dresses to see to--what do you call it, Mrs
Hampton--a _trousseau_?"
"I believe so, Mr Saul," said the old lady dryly; "but when I was
married, I had to do without."
"You will not come, then," said Saul, at last, rising.
"No, thanks; but you'll stop to dinner."
"No; too many little preparations to make; letters to write, and that
sort of thing. If I stay, will you alter your mind?"
"No, no. In me behold a converted reprobate. I'm in training for a
married man."
"Oh, very well, then; I must be off. I'll write to you from Paris and
let you know how I'm getting on, and where I stay in case you would like
to join me."
"No fear."
"You may alter your mind, my lad. Good-bye, Gertie. Be an obedient
girl. Good-bye, Mrs Hampton. Hang it all, George! you might ask a
fellow to have a drink."
"Oh, of course. Beg pardon. I'm such a teetotaller now, that I forget
other people's wants. Eh, Gertie?"
"I am sure you have been much better lately."
"Oh, certainly! I shall not dispute it. Come along, Saul; you are
case-hardened."
He led the way to the study, and opened the closet where he kept
spirit-stand and a syphon. These and glasses he placed upon the table,
while Saul watched him keenly.
"There, poison yourself, my lad," he said laughingly.
"Oh, thanks! Pleasant way of poisoning oneself though. You'll have a
drop?"
"I? No. I'll stick to my faith now, for Gertie's sake."
"Just as you like," said Saul, pouring out a portion of whiskey, and
holding the glass beneath the syphon tap, to press the handle and send a
bubbling stream of mineral water into the spirit.
"Your health, old fellow!" cried Saul.
"Thanks."
Then there was a long draught, and, as he drank, Saul stood with his
right hand in his pocket.
"Splendid drink. Hah! Feel all the better for it. I say, you might
give me a cigar."
"To be sure."
Saul watched his host as he turned toward the cabinet, and quick as
thought his hand was drawn from his pocket, and what seemed to be a tiny
white lozenge was dropped into the whiskey decanter.
"Ah, that looks a good weed," said Saul, taking the cigar offered to
him.
"Have any more whiskey?"
"Thanks, no," said Saul; and he proceeded to cut off the end of the
cigar, while his companion took up and replaced the decanter stopper.
"Smell gets into my nose," he said. "Tempts one."
Saul laughed, lit his cigar, shook hands very warmly, as he raised his
eyes from the decanter, after seeing that the lozenge had melted. Then
looking his companion full in the eyes, he bade him "good-bye" and was
gone.
The party at dinner that night was quiet and pleasant, for the host was
in his best form. Doctor Lawrence came down and exchanged glances with
Hampton consequent upon the alteration they perceived; and when at last
the ladies left the table there was very little drinking, the host
turning from the table as if in disgust.
"A good sign, Hampton," Doctor Lawrence whispered, as he took his leave
about ten. "Patience, and all may be right yet."
"Doubt it," muttered the lawyer, as he returned to the drawing-room, to
stand chattering till the ladies said "good-night" to him, and Gertrude
crossed to where her betrothed stood with his back to the fireplace.
"Going?" he said. "Good-night, little woman--good-night."
He bent down smiling and kissed her, and this time she did not dash
upstairs to her bedroom to bathe her cheek, but walked up slowly and
thoughtfully, oppressed as it were by a strange sadness which made her
look hurriedly round as if in search of some trouble or danger hovering
near, and in place of sobbing wildly with horror and disgust, she sank
upon her knees at her bedside to pray that strength might be given her
to carry out her desires, and in that attitude she unwittingly dropped
asleep.