A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Like a man in a dream, I walked with unsteady footsteps down the
avenue, through the shrubbery, and across the park to the cottage. I
had forgotten my latch-key, and the servant who answered my ring
welcomed me with a little cry of relief.
"John was just a-coming up to the house for you, sir," she exclaimed,
shutting the door again. "There's a strange woman wants to see you
most particular. She's been here more than an hour, a-fretting ever so
because you wasn't here."
"Where is she?" I asked.
"In your study, sir. I see'd as there was nothink about as she could
lay 'er 'ands on before I let her in."
I had no doubt but that it was the wife of one of the tenants on the
estate, though why she should choose such a strange time for her visit
I could not imagine. But when I walked into the study I saw at once
that she was a stranger to me. And yet, no. I had seen her face
before somewhere.
She rose nervously when I entered, and pulled her shawl closer around
her.
"You'll excuse the liberty I've taken in coming, sir," she began,
hurriedly. "I 'a come to do yer a service. You doan't seem to
recollect me. I'm John Hilton's wife; him as you comed to see t'other
week."
I recognised her at once, and became more interested.
"You see, sir, it's like this," she went on. "My Jack, he's had one o'
his drinking fits on, and he's always mortal mischievous after one of
'em. He seems to 'a got a powerful sort o' a grudge agin' you, and
there's that piece o' paper as you wrote out, and he put 'is name to.
He says as 'ow he might get lagged for that if you showed it."
"Well, has he sent you to try and get it away again?" I asked.
"Not he! If he know'd as I'd come 'ere at all he'd half kill me."
"Well, what is it, then?" I asked.
"Well, it's just like this," she answered, slowly; "he's a-coming
himself to try and get it back agin."
"Indeed! And when may I expect him?" I inquired, becoming suddenly
interested.
"To-night."
I leaned back in my chair, and laughed dryly. The woman must be mad.
"'Tain't no laughing matter, master," she said, sullenly. "You'd 'a
laughed t'other side o' your mouth, I can tell 'e, if I hadn' 'a chosen
ter come and tell 'e. He ain't a-coming to ask you for it. He's
a-coming to take it, and to pay yer back something as yer gave 'im at
our cottage--him and a mate."
I began to see what it all meant now, and to understand why the woman
had come.
"And you've come here to put me on my guard, is that it?" I remarked.
"Yes. Yer gave me money when I was starving, and I felt sort 'er
grateful. And when I 'eard them two blackguards a-planning how they'd
settle you I thought as they just shouldn't. If you puts a bullet in
that 'long Jem,' which is my man's pal, I shall thank yer for it.
Jack's bad enough, specially when he's just getting round from a spell
o' drinking, which he is now; but he's a sight worse. Cuss him. He's
always a-leading my Jack into something."
"What time are they coming?" I asked, thoughtfully.
"I 'eerd 'em say as they'd meet at Cop't Oak, which is a mile from
here, as soon as it were dark, and hide until you was all a-gone to
bed. I'm mortal afeard of their seeing me, although I shall go 'ome
t'other way."
I pressed her to stay at the cottage for the night, but she stubbornly
refused. Her Jack would kill her if he found out that she had been
here, she declared. But before she went I made her drink a glass of
wine, and fill her pockets with the bread and food which I had ordered
in.
This promised to be an exciting night for me altogether, I thought, as
I drew out my revolver from the cupboard and carefully loaded it. I
was not inclined altogether to believe or altogether to disbelieve this
woman's story, but at any rate there was no harm in being prepared. If
I had gone to bed, there would have been little sleep for me with my
head still throbbing with the vivid recollection of that terrible scene
in the picture gallery. I dared not think of it, I dared not let my
thoughts dwell for an instant on the inevitable consequences of what
had happened. The excitement of what might shortly take place kept me
from the full sickening realisation of the change which that evening's
events must make in my life, but underneath it all there was a dull
aching pain in my heart, for had I not lost Maud?
Presently Marian and Mr. Holdern arrived. I had forgotten their very
existence, and directly the latter had taken his leave, Marian was full
of eager, agitated questions. Why had I left so suddenly? Had I
quarrelled with Sir Francis Devereux? What did it all mean? Maud had
gone to her room with white face and looking like a ghost, and Lady
Olive had not again entered the dancing-room. Sir Francis had
apologised to his guests with the agitation of one who had received a
great shock, and Rupert Devereux none of them had seen again; and I was
mixed up in it. What did it all mean?
She threw herself into my arms, and when I saw the gathering tears in
her soft grey eyes, and her anxious, troubled look, I shrunk from the
task before me.
"Not now, Marian; I will tell you to-morrow; wait until then," I
begged. But she would not wait.
Then, with a great effort, I braced myself up, and told her everything.
She listened with ever-growing astonishment, and when I had finished
she slipped down from my knee and sank upon the hearthrug.
"Poor papa!" she sobbed. "No wonder you hate that Rupert! Beast! Oh,
Hugh, Hugh, why could you not tell me before? I ought to have known,"
she added, reproachfully.
"It could have done no good," I answered.
A wave of sudden anxiety passed across her face.
"Oh, Hugh!" she sobbed. "Char---- Mr. Hold----"
"Mr. Holdern knows all about it," I interrupted. "I thought it right
to tell him when he asked me for you."
A great relief brightened her face, and she smiled through her tears.
Even a woman is selfish when she is in love.
"I am glad he knows," she whispered, looking into the fire. "How
strange it all seems! Why our name is Devereux; you will be Sir Hugh
Devereux. Why, Hugh, Devereux Court will be yours some day!"
"Never!" I answered, firmly; "until Sir Francis asks my father's
pardon, and receives him as a son, I shall never take the name of
Devereux or enter the Court. I have sworn it, Marian."
"And it was noble of you to swear it, Hugh," she whispered, coming over
and kissing me. "They say truth always comes out some time or other.
Perhaps this will all come right some day."
"For our father's sake, pray that it may do, Marian dear," I answered,
gravely. "And now run along to bed, I have some writing to do."
She lingered by my side.
"Hugh, what are you going to do now? You will leave here, I suppose?"
"I must, Marian. Unless Sir Francis desires otherwise, I shall remain
here until he has found some one else to take my place, though it will
be as Hugh Arbuthnot, his agent, only, and into Devereux Court I will
not go again. It will be well for Rupert Devereux, too, that he keeps
out of my way," I added to myself. "When does Mr. Holdern want to
marry you, Marian?" I asked her suddenly, changing the subject.
She blushed up to her eyes, and looked at me half pleased, half
reproachfully.
"Hugh! How could you ask me like that? I--I don't quite know."
"Because you'll have to go away with me, you know," I continued. "I
can't leave you behind."
She looked serious enough now.
"Of course you can't, Hugh. I don't think I ought to leave you at all.
You'll be alone if I do, with no one to look after you."
I pretended to look serious, as though considering the matter, but her
piteous expression and quivering lips were irresistible, and I broke
into a reassuring laugh.
"Not I, Marian! It is the best thing that could possibly have
happened. When I have no longer you to look after I shall go abroad,
wherever our father is, and share his lot. Country life is beginning
to get wearisome to me. I was meant to be a soldier, I think. Now,
Marian, you must really go to bed. I want to be alone."
It was past twelve, and I was beginning to get anxious. But she still
lingered for a moment.
"Hugh, I had almost forgotten, I have something for you, and a message."
I bent over my desk, lest she should see the light which sprung into my
face. I did not wish even Marian to know my secret.
"What is it?" I asked. "Be quick."
"Why, she came to me like I've never seen her before, as lifeless and
sorrowful as anything, and said--'Tell your brother that I think he is
behaving nobly, and that I hope we shall always be friends.'"
"She said that!" I exclaimed, starting round, "Maud said that!"
My sister looked at me amazed.
"Maud! I didn't say anything about Maud! She didn't even speak to me.
It was Lady Olive, and she sent you this."
I stretched out my hand for the gold-topped cut-glass little
smelling-salts, which Marian was holding out for me and laid it down
before me. Disappointed though I was, it was a kindly act of Lady
Olive's, and I was just in that mood when a man appreciates such a one.
For a moment or two I felt very tenderly towards Lady Olive; for,
reckless little flirt though she was, she was generous and
warm-hearted, or she would never have done this.
"It is very kind of her," I said, huskily. "Good-night, Marian!"
"Good-night, Hughie. Don't sit up late, dear, and don't fret. It
makes me feel so selfish, Hugh, to think that I can't help being happy
because--because of Charlie, but I can't help it. I do love him so,
and he is so good to me."
Then at last she went, and I was left alone. First of all I put a
heavy shade upon the lamp and placed it so that no one could possibly
see it from outside. Then I finished loading my revolver, and put a
life-preserver in my breast pocket. Going out on tip-toe into the
hall, I opened the passage door, and also left my own wide open, so
that if any one should attempt to enter the house from any room I must
hear them. This seemed to me to be all that I could do, and drawing my
easy chair into the corner of the room which faced both door and
windows, I sat down and waited patiently with my revolver on my knee.
At first the time did not seem long. I had come to a crisis in my
life, and there was much for me to think about. In the twenties,
however dark and doubtful the future may be, there is always a certain
fascination connected with it--possibilities, however remote, which the
sanguine spirit of youth loves to peer into and investigate. And so I
sat and thought, and considered, and longed, without ever getting
sleepy, or feeling the spell of weariness.
Two o'clock struck, and of a sudden a curious change came over me. I
became so violently restless that I could sit no longer in my chair.
Sober-minded people may scoff at such a statement, but I declare that
some irresistible impulse compelled me to go to the nearest window and
look cautiously out.
The window was not one of the front ones, but was one which looked
sideways over a strip of garden, a thick privet hedge, into a dark
black fir plantation, through which ran a private pathway into the
gardens of the Court. At first I could see nothing; then suddenly the
blood died out from my cheeks, even from my lips, and I stood
transfixed, rooted to the spot--my limbs numbed and helpless as though
under the spell of some hideous nightmare.
What my eyes looked upon my reason refused to credit. Turning from the
hand-gate of the plantation, without a hat, and with a wealth of golden
hair streaming down upon a swan's-down cloak, was--Maud! It was
impossible--it was ridiculous--it was beyond all credence. And yet my
straining, riveted eyes watched her walk slowly, with her usual
stately, even tread, down the grass-grown path between the plantation
and the hedge of the cottage garden, and disappear from sight.
Though an earthquake had yawned at my feet I could not have moved.
Nothing but sound can break up such a spell as this sudden shock had
laid upon me. And the sound came, for suddenly there broke upon the
stillness of the night such a cry as I had never heard before--the
thrilling, agonised shriek of a woman in mortal fear.