To Jardine's infinite relief these two of his fellow-travellers did
not reappear. Lloyd evidently had had the grace not to resist to the
extreme of coercion, and thus had spared the ladies, and indeed Mr.
Jardine's own delicate sensibilities, the indignity of being even
remotely concerned in so sordid a scene. He hardly wondered whither
they had gone, when the hack, with Frank and himself once more seated
within with the ladies, rattled up to the door of the hotel at the New
Helvetia Springs, for the officer would naturally be expected to hurry
his prisoner to some wayside log cabin, and there await transportation
to Colbury. It would have been a needless expense, as well as a
gratuitous affront to the ladies and gentlemen at New Helvetia, to
introduce amongst them so offensive a personality as a Federal prisoner.
The wide piazzas surrounding the hotel and overlooking a craggy
precipice and a vast expanse of mountain landscape seemed spacious,
rather than deserted. A group of ladies, mostly elderly, handsomely
gowned, though accoutred with little knitted shawls, and here and there
a "fascinator," against the chill, rare air of the evening, sat in
rocking-chairs, surveyed the majestic prospect, and talked of many
things, contentedly awaiting the white frost which should set them free
and fleeing from the mountains. Many doors, already illumined with
lamplight, stood open, casting great parallelograms of golden radiance
on the shadowy floor without. No sign of the habitation of man, not a
spark betokening a lamp-lit window or a glowing hearth, showed in all
the stretches of wooded ranges, with dark and sombre valleys between,
barely distinguishable now, with a river here, and a silent presence
of mist there, and a sense of awful solemnity and infinite loneliness
brooding over all. Perhaps the impressive and austere aspect of nature
without rendered the fire of hickory logs, burning on the broad hearth
of the large office, of so genial and friendly a suggestion. Before
it a number of great rocking-chairs stood ranged in a semicircle, and
here, too, sat guests, much at their ease. It was a coign of vantage
from which one could observe all that went on in the great deserted
hotel--the clerk at the desk was on the remote side of the spacious
apartment and the fireside group need not be hampered by the very
inconsiderable business that he was called upon to transact in these
dull days, out of season. But the main staircase, a large pretentious
structure of double flights, was in full view, and everyone coming
and going paused for a word. The two intersecting hallways met in the
office; the great bay-window, formed by the ground floor of the tower,
was contrived at one corner of this apartment, and, overlooking the
finest prospect to be seen for many a mile, was always occupied--by
loiterers at gaze in the mornings with some trifling work of crochet
or battenberg, and by a table of bridge at night. A pleasant place, a
peaceful haven--and Jardine looked unwontedly benign and condescending
as he received his key at the counter from the clerk, and responded
affably to that functionary's "Glad to see you back, Mr. Jardine."
The hotel at New Helvetia had an effect of palatial dimensions in
its wide, unpeopled, vacant expanses in the shrunken state of its
patronage. The immense logs, flying long, broad pennants of red
and yellow flames, and supported by glittering old-fashioned brass
andirons, sent a rich illumination far down the spaces of the big
dining-room. The glossy hard-wood floor glistening in the sheen gave
a suggestion of expense quite spurious, for there was little other
timber available in the building of New Helvetia. A few round tables
were set near the genial glow and the high white-painted mantelpiece.
The other tables had been removed, and there was a most comfortable
sense of absolute monarchical possession in having such vast apartments
at one's own disposal. There was a pervasive atmosphere of privacy,
of seclusion. The place was difficult of access, and the usual
touring population had never found it out. Year after year the same
high-grade patrons came and went; their fathers, and in some instances
their grand-fathers, in days agone, had likewise flitted to and
fro, and drank the waters, and danced in the ballroom, and flirted
on the piazzas, and played at the lawn sports and the games of cards
fashionable in their time. There were white-haired couples in the
dining-room this evening who had turned each other's heads, blonde or
auburn then, on the moon-lit verandah there, or beside the spring of
magic beneficence, or strolling beneath the trees of the grove that
could have shown many rings of added girth and many feet of lengthened
growth since those enchanted hours.
It was a decorous, pleasant scene, almost home-like, yet with an
agreeable community geniality and informality, as now and again groups
at table exchanged comments with other groups half across the room.
It might well have been a shock to Mr. Jardine strolling in to tea,
freshly attired, thankful to be once more in his accustomed niche,
surrounded by "nobility, and tranquillity, burgomasters, and great
one-yers," even if the sight had involved no other associations,
to perceive at one of the tables, sitting in this bland glamour of
firelight and mellow lamplight, and the radiance of the moon which
poured in through one of the long uncurtained windows, the two
strangers, erst his fellow-travellers, whom he fancied he had quitted
forever in the ascent of the mountain. Both were freshly groomed,
quiet, and gentlemanly of demeanour, sustaining without show of
consciousness the covert observation of the other occupants of the
room, who were all mutually acquainted, even to the earliest sprout and
the latest twig of their respective family trees. It was naturally a
point of speculation what could have brought these two strangers, thus
out of season, to the remote resort of the New Helvetia Springs.
One glance at Lloyd's face and Jardine's keen perceptions were
satisfied that he had experienced some great excitement, some nervous
shock, an agitation from which he had hardly yet recovered. His
companion's aspect was unchanged, placid, powerful, but otherwise null
of facial expression.
Jardine hesitated, his hand still on the knob of the door. The head
waiter had briskly crossed the shining floor, with a flourish drew out
Jardine's accustomed chair at a table near the fire, and stood blandly
awaiting his patron. Jardine hardly heeded. He was formulating in his
mind such an explanation of his suspicions as it might be consistent
with prudence to detail to young Laniston--a warning, lest he continue
even for an evening, an hour, this derogatory association--or would it
not be better to remonstrate plainly with the officer on the indecorum
of his course in bringing such an association upon respectable,
unsuspicious people?
The choice did not long remain possible to him. A side door opened
suddenly and Frank Laniston, fresh, roseate, all handsomely bedight,
for he was of the type that loves and beseems fine clothes, entered
with an elastic step, and a gay greeting as he passed the table of the
strangers.
"Got here, eh--all in one piece, I see--lost you on the road," and then
he took his seat at his own table, bowing and smiling rosily to the
greetings he encountered, and, with a half audible sigh of pleasant
anticipation, he unfolded his napkin.
"Fi-i-ne." He exclaimed presently, in the interval, while his order
was filled, replying to an inquiry from across the fireplace as to the
outing to Colbury.
Jardine, once again coerced by circumstances, could only traverse
the room to his waiting chair, and respond with his usual sedate and
appropriate urbanity to the questions as to his enjoyment of the
excursion. He kept a furtive, but stern, eye on the strangers, with
little result, save that he observed that the portly man ate a somewhat
elaborate and well-selected meal almost in absolute silence, giving
his whole attention to the matter in hand. Lloyd, on the contrary, ate
little, and was as silent. He seemed distrait, perturbed, preoccupied;
now gazing drearily into the flashing flames, and once, for a long
interval, with lifted face watching the beams from the unseen moon,
falling through the window, the rays all differentiated like the fibres
of a glittering skein, the more distinct because of the background of
the dark foliage of a great oak without.
When a sudden alert attentiveness usurped this apathy of reverie,
Jardine, too, looked up sharply. Lucia Laniston was entering the room.
The unique character of her beautiful face, the poetic, indescribable
charm of her eyes, the high intelligence and nobility of sentiment that
her presence expressed, despite her extreme youth, all seemed curiously
independent of fashion and superior to its behests. She might have
been appropriately garbed in some severely simple and classic design,
apart from the modiste's creation, exclusively her own. But naught was
further from her desire--naught could more definitely accord with the
prevailing mode than the costumes she affected. As she came forward
the long, straight folds of her chiffon gown, worn over a shining
silk of the same tint, accented her height and her slenderness; the
gauzy material was of a sage green, embroidered here and there with
a pattern of a Persian design in terra-cotta, and darker green and a
thread of gold; it had sleeves to the elbow, but was cut low and square
over a beautifully modelled, but somewhat thin, neck, and, in what she
called "the region of the bones," was a delicate little necklace of
five emeralds placed at intervals on an almost invisible chain whereon
glimmered here and there a very small and very white diamond. Her soft
light-brown hair was dressed high in fluffy puffs, and as she paused,
waiting a moment and glancing over her shoulder, her cousin Ruth came
in, her dress duplicating this costume in lilac.
To Jardine's consternation, as they took their seats, Lloyd gravely
and circumspectly bowed to both. After they had ceremoniously returned
the salutation, Jardine observed that each cast a swift, searching
glance at Lloyd. They, too, saw that which had not been in his face
before. Mrs. Laniston now joined the party, deceptively arrayed in
what she called her "old black Chantilly," which seemed a very fine
lace dress as long as its wear and tear were obliterated by the black
satin beneath, but a sorry sight it might have been over white silk,
which it had been designed to cover in its palmy days. It was quite
good enough for New Helvetia, out of season, and, with the twinkle of
a diamond lace-pin, and the flutter of a fan of inlaid pearl, not even
her nearest neighbours knew how they had been cozened of a toilette of
distinction. For it was rather a point at New Helvetia to maintain all
the flattering delusions of a sojourn of pleasure and free will, rather
than an enforced detention, and all the formalities of dressing, and
dancing, and playing tenpins, and cards, and tennis were continued as
long as the covey of summer birds could muster the numbers to sustain
the diversion. Jardine suddenly bethought himself of this, and not to
be forestalled anew he leaned backward and touched Frank Laniston, as
he sat at the next table. Frank turned instantly, and leaned slightly
to one side to hear the communication, made in a very low tone under
Mrs. Laniston's voluble description of her experiences addressed
to the occupants of the neighbouring table on the left--charming
ride--somewhat fatigued--quaint little town--enjoyed the fair--how
the storm must have frightened you, lightning terrific at such an
altitude--must have been terrible--glad to escape it----
"Frank," said Jardine seriously, "for God's sake let's have no dancing
this evening, no german----"
Frank's patience had worn well, but it had now waxed thin. He was no
longer tucked up under Jardine's arm, so to speak, and off on their
travels. New Helvetia, familiar to him since infancy, was like home,
and he felt independent. He was not "looking for a row" with anybody,
but, if one were forced upon him, there was no longer an obligatory
association--there was elbow-room here--Jardine and he could move
apart, each going his own way without embarrassment, or an open
esclandre.
"You needn't adjure me," he said with spirit. "I am too tired to put
one foot before the other. _I_ don't want to dance."
"But don't let the others----" Jardine began.
Frank Laniston had his own theories of the becoming. He had thought
it well enough that Jardine, in escorting the young ladies under
circumstances so unusual, should have special solicitude touching
the decorous and the appropriate. But he felt, if he might venture
to criticise anyone so assertively _au fait_, that Jardine was not
infallible in his management, as the swing episode intimated, that
he was prone to magnify any awkward little contretemps, and by much
pother make something out of nothing. A man with feminine relatives
is susceptible to a certain sensitiveness in their behalf, impossible
for a man not so connected to appreciate. In Mr. Jardine's persuasions
concerning these matters of propriety he overlooked one point--that
he, himself, committed a solecism in mentioning them to Frank in this
connection. The mere discussion was an offence in young Laniston's
estimation. He would not longer suffer it.
"You are afraid that Lloyd, my coach, might get into the german--say as
a rover?" he asked, with the infinitely exasperating, callow sarcasm,
his big white strong teeth gleaming in his rosy square-jawed face.
"Why, I don't know whether _he_ can dance the german at all. I should
say that a tight-rope fandango was more in his line."
Jardine turned without another word, and at all the white-draped tables
the amicable plying of knife and fork continued, unaware of this
provocation to a breach of the peace.
After tea Jardine lighted his cigar at the counter in the office and
strolled out on the side piazza, puffing at it in a very ill frame of
mind. He needed its solace, and the sedative influence to his nerves,
after the vexatious incidents of the evening, and the perplexity that
beset him as to how he should proceed--or indeed, with no seconding
from this young cub, whose position as a near relative of the ladies
authorised interference, what could he do? Of course Jardine realised
that his solicitude in these troublous complications was entirely
on Lucia's account, but he said to himself that any ladies of his
acquaintance placed in a position so menacing to their dignity, with
such inadequate protection as the shallow-pated Frank Laniston could
afford, had a claim on his good offices to spare them a discreditable
episode.
He paced to and fro in the chill air, pulling hard at his cigar and
glancing now at its light wreaths of smoke, and now at the illuminated
disk of the moon, riding high above the infinite solitudes of the
mountains. He heard the wind stir in the leaves far below on the slope;
he marked how the great ranges against the horizon fended off the
world; he listened to the impetuous dash of the mountain torrent in the
ravine leaping down the rocky abysses on its way to the valley. But as
yet there was no flicker of light from the windows of the ballroom, a
long, low building in the extremity of the west wing, remote from the
more inhabited portion of the hotel that the sound of revelry should
not reach the old, the invalids, the slumberers in the bedrooms. There
was no vibration of the tuning of the fiddles or banjos, for the
regular band had gone, and the music of an humble sort was furnished
by several of the negro waiters, musically endowed and hired for the
occasion. It seemed really as if the guests might not intend to dance
to-night, their limited number being so reduced by the defection of
the exhausted excursionists. From the front piazza, which extended
along the whole façade of the building, came the sound of joyous young
voices, and it occurred to Jardine that perhaps the youthful element
might content themselves with promenading to and fro in the moonlight
till the increasing chill of the air should drive them within to the
fire blazing so ruddily on the broad hearth of the office.
He walked to the corner and stood for a moment, his cigar in his
hand, casting his eye along the length of the piazza. It was much as
he had expected. In the white sheen of the moon a young couple here
and there slowly strolled, idly chatting. The columns supporting the
roof were duplicated in shadowy pilasters that extended the effect of
the colonnade. The bare boughs of a locust tree, always the earliest
denuded by the autumnal blasts, were drawn on a clear space on the
floor with the distinctness of a line engraving, and the dense foliage
of a great oak close by cast a deeper gloom within the railing because
of the clear lustre that elsewhere suffused mountain and valley, and
sward and pillared portico. The parallelograms of light earlier cast on
the floor from the lamp-lit windows and doors were now annulled by the
lunar brilliancy, obliterated. Indeed he might scarcely have discerned
from where he stood the position of the office door had not the light,
elegant form of Lucia Laniston with its lily-like suggestions, suddenly
issued from it, one hand holding up the sheer draperies of her dress,
the other furling her fan of dark green ostrich tips. His heart
throbbed at the sight of her; then he stood as one petrified.
For a man, who was leaning smoking against one of the pillars, suddenly
threw his cigar over the balustrade into the lawn, and with perfect
assurance approached and accosted her as she stood glancing about in
loitering doubt.
"Miss Laniston," Jardine heard the words, for Lloyd's enunciation was
very distinct and his voice carried well, "you spoke to me very kindly
last evening--and I should like to tell you about something, sad and
wrong and irrevocable in the past, and a very strange thing that has
befallen me to-day and changed all my prospects."
Jardine woke to sudden life. He strode along the piazza and joined the
two before the young lady had framed her reply.
"Good-evening, Miss Laniston," he said imperiously, taking no notice
of the presence of Lloyd; "I hope that you are not too fatigued for
a stroll on the piazza to enjoy this balmy air. Let me show you a
charming view of the moonlight on the cascade. The stream has risen so
since the storm that you can see the falls from the end of the piazza
at the west wing."
He could not believe his ears. "Later, perhaps--thank you very
much--but just now I am engaged."
She summoned Lloyd with a glance, and catching up the fleecy overdress
with one jewelled hand, while the silken skirt below shimmered blue
and shoaled green in the moonlight as it trailed, she paced slowly
along with him in the opposite direction, and Jardine noted the
sympathetic cadence in her voice as she invited the colloquy with a
question.
Jardine was furious, on fire, not from jealousy, for he could not stoop
to recognise rivalry from this quarter, but with the sense of the
subjection of the highly placed and finely endowed woman whom he loved
to ignoble association, which because of her youth and inexperience
she knew not how to discern and repel, and from which by reason of
the incompetence of her guardians and his own lack of authority she
was altogether unprotected. He would not be still--he would no longer
supinely submit. He turned into the office of the hotel animated with
an intention that would brook neither denial nor delay.
In the summer this large apartment was almost entirely relinquished
to business and to the masculine guests who were wont to wait here
for the distribution of the mail, to read the in-coming newspapers,
to discuss the phases of politics and public events they suggested,
and pending all to smoke interminably. Though the number of habitués
was so wofully decreased the autumn wrought an added cheer in the
presence of great, alluring, genial fires and the change of feminine
intrusion. Now it was almost given over to the ladies, but neither
politics nor tobacco had been tabooed. Games of hazard for stakes had
always sought more secluded quarters, and naught could better comport
with the sentiment of the refining influences of woman's presence than
the game of chess at which two elderly worthies sat, their eyes fixed
on the board, as motionless as if they had been stricken into stone.
A group of four ladies and gentlemen were deep in the allurements
of bridge at the table in the bay-window. Several guests languidly
swayed in rocking-chairs before the fire, aimlessly chatting. Among
these was Mrs. Laniston cutting the leaves of a new magazine and
theorising ably on the perishable impression of periodical literature.
Frank Laniston was hooked on by the elbows to the counter, while he
gazed up the staircase ever and anon, expecting the descent of a
very young lady whose mamma had required her to procure her long red
cloth coat before she ventured out with a party bound for the spring.
The elderly stranger, fraternising with no one, had deliberately
lighted a cigar after observing that the practice of smoking here
was permitted, and sat in the chimney corner, very much at home,
composed, observant, evidently enjoying the luxury of the fire and
satisfied with his surroundings. He took his cigar from his lips and
fixed his great, shiny, hazel eyes on Jardine with very much the air
of being interrupted, before the stare of surprise effaced every other
expression of his large, handsome florid face.
"I want to know what you mean by this?" Jardine said without preamble
or disguise. His voice was tense and low, but so obviously freighted
with passion that the bridge players paused in amaze.
"What--what?" sputtered the portly guest, seeming to collect himself
with difficulty, and not till Jardine had repeated the question was he
able to speak coherently. "Mean by what, my good sir?"
"Mean by letting that fellow go at large?" Jardine hissed out. He
stood erect at a little distance leaning on the high back of one of
the vacant rocking-chairs, and as his hands now and again quivered,
responsive to the surge of excitement in his mind, the chair swayed
slightly, and then was still again.
The portly guest stared with unavailing intentness, as if he sought
with the physical eye to discern the mystery. Then he looked around at
the group as if they, knowing Jardine, might be able to explain him.
But they remained silent in blank astonishment; even the automata of
the chess table turned dismayed and startled faces, and the knights and
castles and pawns had surcease of their schemings for the nonce.
"What fellow?" gasped the stranger, seeming to doubt his senses. He
burnt his fingers with the lighted end of his cigar in inadvertent
handling, and he let it fall to the hearth unheeded.
"That fellow Lloyd--what do you mean by letting him go at large?"
Jardine reiterated his question.
"My God, sir--he is perfectly sane--do you suppose that _I_ am his
keeper?"
"No, I do not--I most certainly do not suppose that you are any such
thing," Jardine replied with a significance not to be mistaken.
The portly stranger was recovering his composure. Under other
circumstances he might have thought that Jardine was himself mentally
unbalanced, but he had already noted him on the journey that day with
the keen observation that little escaped, and he was aware that there
must needs be other methods of accounting for his demonstration.
"I will tell you what I suppose that you and he are," Jardine declared.
He had utterly lost his own self-control--he was tingling with the
long-repressed irritation, vented at last and utterly beyond his power
to check.
"Let me warn you, sir," said the newcomer, with a certain menacing
dignity in his look, "how you dare asperse either that gentleman or
myself." Then with a sudden, sinister, chuckling laugh, "He is more
than capable physically of resenting any injury, and I tell you now
that if you slander me I will have the law of you."
This utterance stirred the group.
"Permit me to remind you, Mr. Jardine, that ladies are present, and
that this violence, now and here, is unbecoming," one of the chess
players observed. He was an ancient bachelor and solicitous on the
subject of the claims to delicacy of the fair sex. He thought this
suggestion would induce the feminine members of the group to retire,
when the men could have their difference out as best pleased them.
But every woman sat immovable, absorbed, interested in the outcome.
They had not achieved their enlarged liberties for naught. Not a soul
thought of retiring from the scene--if ever they had known how to faint
they had forgotten the accomplishment.
There was not an appreciable pause and the crisis was acute. One of
the bridge players rose to the occasion, while the others stared
petrified and round-eyed. He was a tall, lank, blond gentleman, bald
and clean-shaven. "I think, Mr. Jardine, you must be under some
mistake." His hand in the game was a dummy, and already lay exposed
upon the board while the other players still clutched their cards
tight. He approached Jardine thinking that by some miracle he might be
intoxicated, and keenly eyed him as he spoke. "This gentleman--both, I
am sure, are strangers to us all. I beg--in fact, I _insist_ that you
say no more."
"Then, let him tell us who he is," Jardine persisted with a vehemence
that amazed the coterie, "and why he has this Lloyd in his custody."
"My good sir, let me recommend you to discipline your tongue," said the
stranger hotly, "or I warn you again that it will get you into trouble."
Jardine's expression of disdainful contempt was so definite that it
constrained a reply.
"I never anticipated such a 'hold up' as this, I am sure," the portly
guest remarked satirically. "We _are_ strangers to all present, and
I can't imagine why anyone here should take such a vital interest in
us--flattering, very, but most uncommon."
"I desire you to observe," said one of the gentlemen who had been
idly swaying in a rocking-chair, aimlessly chatting, till stricken
motionless and dumb with amazement, "I desire you to observe that this
intrusive interest in your personal affairs is manifested by only one
individual. We do not ask nor desire to know anything concerning them."
There was a general civil murmur of unanimity.
"I assure you we have nothing to conceal," the stranger said with a
sort of large, jocular scorn. "I am a lawyer--a member of the Glaston
Bar. My name is George Conway Dalton--here is my professional card," he
handed it to the blond bald bridge player, who received it reluctantly
and civilly avoided looking at it. "I came here to ask Mr. Lloyd to
execute a power of attorney to enable me to act in some property
interests in which I have already been of counsel, and to acquaint him
with the fact that he is a beneficiary under the will of a relative
from whom he expected to receive nothing."