Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Man’s erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth deny’d,
She gives in large recruits of needless Pride!
For, as in bodies thus in souls, we find
What wants in blood and spirits, swell’d with wind.
--Pope.
If Nathan Gomer had constructed a plan for the accomplishment of the
matrimonial hopes of Flora and Mark Wilton, the reading a homily to Mr.
Wilton, upon the cruelty of forcing the hand to be given without the
heart, formed no portion of it. He was content with having produced a
striking effect; and he suddenly--as abruptly as he had spoken--rose up
and quitted the room.
He did not, however, remain away long; but returned to the library,
accompanied by Mr. Wilton’s solicitor and old Josh Maybee.
During the interval of his absence, Mr. Wilton, shocked by the
disclosures made by him respecting the fate of the Grahame family, had
certainly had some grave reflections pass through his mind upon the
mutability of human affairs, as well as upon the vanity of human pride;
but these newly-awakened sentiments were quickly put to flight by an
inspection of law papers placed before him by his solicitor, and by some
revelations made by old Maybee, who also produced those documents which
were needful to identify Wilton as the actual legal claimant to the
Eglinton estates. He put in, as well, his own proofs of a title to a
portion of the property in question, which Wilton directed his solicitor
to examine with scrupulous closeness.
Deeds, plans, statements of accounts, registers, &c., were spread
over the library table; and an abstract was handed to Wilton, which he
devoured with avidity, for it gave him a more clear and definite notion
of the value and extent of the property to which he was about to succeed
than he had before been able to obtain.
The vastness of the possessions and the largeness of the revenues were
made clear in this paper, and the contemplation of it fascinated him. He
closed his eyes, and lo! a fair vision of a highly cultivated district
was spread out before him. The woods and vales, the sloping hills, the
park, the plantations, the pastures and farm-lands, the villages, and
a numerous tenantry bowing to him as sole owner of this lordly domain,
successively presented themselves to him.
When he opened his eyes again, the reflections inspired by Nathan
Gomer’s observations were no more remembered. Once more he was inflated
with vain glory; elated by his accession of wealth; unmindful of
past services received; oppressed with a torrent of schemes of future
grandeur; and more than ever unprepared to accept high moral principles
and genuine personal worth in lieu of birth and rank, in whatever
prospective matrimonial contract might be formed with any member of his
family.
The perusal of that document was too much for his strength of mind.
Evidences of its effects upon him were to be seen on his flushed cheek,
in the excited, restless expression of his eye, and the dignified tone
he gradually assumed to his “man of business.” Then, too, Josh Maybee,
received by him in a frank, familiar manner, suddenly perceived that
he was being patronised with the loftiest air imaginable, a style and
manner which Wilton continued, when addressing him, with such unvaried
uniformity, that the poor old fellow began to imagine and ultimately to
believe that through a long course of years he must have been under the
deepest obligations to him--barred windows, prison walls, and an age of
griping penury, nevertheless--that he was now only too much honoured in
being permitted to be the actual instrument of establishing the Wilton
claim. He certainly felt mystified; but the imperial manner of Wilton
towards him assured him that it must be all right.
Then, too, he was so graciously condescending to Nathan Gomer--waved his
hand to him, and smiled as a sovereign, receiving homage while seated
upon his throne. This last ebullition rather disconcerted Nathan; he
grinned not pleasantly--more as a hyena preparing to spring upon a
victim.
“Ho! ho!” screeched the little man, as he retired to a window, and
looked out. “Ho! ho! he condescends to me--me, who have done so little
for him. Ho! ho! so good of him--ho! ho! so beneficent of him. How
prostrated with thankfulness I ought to be. I ain’t, not a bit of it,
not a morsel; I must be a fiend of ingratitude. His heart, once as soft
as pudding, is becoming steel; I’ll steep it in vinegar, and see whether
that will dissolve it.”
He turned back to where Wilton was seated erect, listening to
expositions made by his solicitor, and regarding with an attentive
scrutiny some of the documents before him, especially those which had
reference to the rent-roll.
Nathan’s features had assumed an expression such as they seldom
wore--one hard, disagreeable, and unfriendly. He addressed the
solicitor, suggesting that, in Mr. Wilton’s weak condition, it would
be prudent to defer until the following day further proceedings.
Such signatures as were immediately required he had obtained, “and
altogether,” he said, looking hard at Wilton, “he thought a very
satisfactory progress had been made.”
Wilton loftily assented, and as loftily begged Nathan Gomer to do the
honours of the table for him to his man of business, and “that good
creature Maybee,” as he did not then feel that he possessed the strength
necessary for such proper courtesy--such very proper courtesy. Nathan
displayed his teeth, and accepted the post of honour. He conducted the
pair to the dining-room, where he introduced them to Mark Wilton and
Flora. He whispered a few words into Mark’s ear, and then returned to
the library.
Old Josh Maybee gazed after him as he disappeared, and said to Mark--
“An awfully singular, elderly little gentleman. Pray do you know who he
really is?”
“Ay!” added the solicitor, musingly, “a singularly peculiar personage,
indeed. I never could make out who he was, or is, or will turn out to
be.”
“Strange little fellow enough,” responded Mark, “but you pose me when
you ask me who he is. I often ask myself that question.”
“He appears to be very kind-hearted, and to have a generous spirit,”
said Flora. “I should like to know who he really is. He comes and
departs so mysteriously; he seems to be acquainted with everything
that has happened or is about to take place; papa says he is very
wealthy----”
“E--nor--mously wealthy,” chimed in the solicitor, speaking
emphatically.
“He possesses great influence over individuals,” continued Flora, “and,
seemingly, over circumstances. I have great faith in anything he may
predict, and--and I really should like to know who he is.”
The object of their speculations was at this moment alone with Wilton;
on entering the library, he strode rather than walked up to where Wilton
was seated, still poring over the abstract. He threw himself into a seat
with a sudden violence which made Wilton start, then to elevate his
eyebrows, then to frown.
This person--this Mr. Gomer, was assuming a familiarity, which he now
thought it would be proper to check. He screwed up his eyes and affected
a distant manner.
“You have something to communicate to me, Gomer, I apprehend, by your
speedy return,” he observed, with his eyes fixed upon the paper he held
in his hand.
“I have, Wilton,” he said curtly; “a very good time too, I think, to say
it, now that you are all but installed owner of your large property.”
Mr. Wilton coldly inclined his head.
“Proceed!” he exclaimed.
Nathan made a grimace.
“Hem!” he coughed, “the gap is wide which separates the Queen’s Bench
from Eglinton Park, Mr. Wilton.”
Mr. Wilton’s cheek flushed at the suggestion. He coughed too.
“Um--a--Gomer,” he said, “those are contrasts which only vulgar minds
draw. Wonder is the offspring of ignorance--um--a--don’t repeat, I pray,
such observations.”
“And Pride is the parent of evil,” chuckled Gomer. “Ah, I used to write
that in a copy-book. However, I have not come here to make reflections,
or to bring disagreeable reminiscences before you. I came to inform
you that, the day after to-morrow, you will have to appear against our
cunning friend, Mr. Chewkle, who very nearly rendered the possession of
the Eglinton estates a matter of no importance to you.”
“The atrocious assassin,” exclaimed Wilton. “I wonder how I escaped the
villain’s bullet upon such favourable terms.”
“Do you not know?” asked Gomer, eyeing him keenly. “Um--a--well, by the
providence of Heaven, his aim was bad, and my gamekeepers were at hand,”
said Wilton, reflectively. “Truly it was a fortunate circumstance
that they were near, or the wretch would have slain me. I have a faint
remembrance of his kneeling upon my chest----”
“And of him whose hand clutched the scoundrel by the throat and dragged
him off at the moment his hand was raised to terminate your existence?”
“Um--a--no, I do not recollect that. My senses left me: but I shall
reward that individual liberally--in short I will place that matter in
your hands, Gomer, to give to him whatever you may think will satisfy
him--um--a--with my thanks.”
“Are you serious, Wilton?” asked Gomer, almost jeeringly.
“Sir!---a--um-Mr. Gomer, pray inform me what there is in my manner
or tone which implies that I have descended to jest on this subject?”
exclaimed Mr. Wilton, with hauteur.
Nathan Gomer laughed and rubbed his hands.
“I asked the question because I suspect that you would not endorse my
award,” he replied.
“I do not comprehend you, Mr. Gomer!” responded Wilton, still in the
same distant tone. “If I appoint you to manage an affair for me, giving
you a _carte blanche_ to act in the matter, I consider it a reflection
upon my honour to assume that I should be dissatisfied with your award.”
“Listen, Wilton!” exclaimed Gomer, striking the table a sharp, angry
blow. “The individual who saved your life at the most critical instant
of its jeopardy would spurn a money compensation.”
Mr. Wilton opened his half-closed eyes.
“I suspect that, although it was at the risk of his own life he saved
yours, he attaches but little credit to his deed,” continued Gomer, “for
he would have acted precisely in the same way to save the meanest wretch
in existence.”
“Oh!--a--well, if he attaches no importance to the act,” said Wilton,
shrugging his shoulders with the air of one who considered his dignity
reflected on, “why of course, I----”
“Must!” suggested Gomer, with emphatic shrillness, “for his gallant
rescue was everything in the world to you--children, Harleydale,
Eglinton, all--all. Therefore, though he may view his conduct with
disinterested eyes, you cannot, and you should reward him fittingly.”
“But--a--I must suggest that there is a wide distinction between the
meanest wretch in existence and a--a--the owner of----”
“Yourself, you mean,” interrupted Gomer, bluntly; “that is exactly why
you should reward him as becomes your position.”
“I empower you to do so,” said Wilton, with a most dignified gesture.
“Softly,” said Gomer. “You are also indebted to him, not only for the
life, but the preservation of your daughter’s honour.”
Wilton started, and fixed upon him an incredulous stare.
“Your condition, after you received your wound, prevented your being
told what really occasioned the illness of your daughter Flora,” said
Gomer, impressively; “let me briefly explain. The details you shall
be made acquainted with hereafter, Your late guest, Colonel Mires, who
began life by plunging from gambling into forgery, and whom you saved
from destruction by timely repairing the consequences of his crime,
who, in turn, obtained Harleydale for you, conceived a passion for your
daughter Flora----”
“I had some such suspicion,” ejaculated Wilton, looking aghast, as if he
feared what was about to follow.
“He, sir, finding that the field was occupied,” continued Gomer--“that
he should never gain your consent to marry her, nor her consent to have
him, acted independently of both, and carried her off.”
“Carried her off?”
“Precisely. In accordance with a most skilfully devised plot he bore her
off on the morning on which that knave Chewkle fired at you. The same
active spirit that interfered so opportunely in your favour discovered
the abduction, and pursued the ravisher. He succeeded in overtaking, in
rescuing, and restoring your daughter safely to her home again.”
There was a pause for a minute.
Then Nathan Gomer said, drily--
“Not a fellow this to receive a money compensation.”
Mr. Wilton made two or three efforts to speak; at length, by a desperate
exertion, he said--
“The name of this person--a--um--is----”
“Mr. Henry Vivian,” replied Nathan Gomer, in a clear, sonorous voice.
Mr. Wilton sank back in his chair.
Was it possible to be afflicted with more vexatious or annoying
intelligence than this? Had it been anyone else, his liberality would
have known no bounds; but to be indebted to this _parvenu_, who aspired
to an alliance with his house, for the lives of himself and daughter was
intolerable.
What to say--what to do, he could not conceive, his brain was in a
whirl. He remained silent.
Nathan Gomer fixed his bright, dancing eyes upon him.
“My award, Wilton, to Mr. Vivian, for his earnest services to you and
your daughter, would have been to bestow the hand of the damsel upon
him, in accordance with the maxim, that the ‘brave deserve the fair.’
But I presume, as I said before, that you would not endorse my award,
though I more than half suspect the young lady would herself do so with
a ready pen.”
Wilton quitted his chair, and paced his room, a movement he usually
resorted to when his mind was agitated; suddenly he paused and stood
before Gomer, and said, in an excited manner--
“You were correct, Gomer, in supposing that I should not endorse any
such award--perfectly correct; such a notion is preposterous,
wild, romantic,--a--a--foolery. I--a--I am--a--on a ship with my
daughter---a--we both fall into the sea--a--a--a brave sailor jumps in
and saves us both; am I--am I to give my daughter’s hand to that sailor.
I admire him, I honour his bravery, and would reward it--a--but with
my daughter’s hand--a--never. I never heard of anything so
astoundingly--why--a--Gomer, you do not look much like a susceptible
romantic personage, you can hardly feel it your business----”
“To make two young hearts beat in happy unison,” interrupted Gomer,
sharply. “Yes, I do. Why not? Why should I not, eh? Permit me to ask why
I should not? I can’t help my looks. A diamond, you know, has an ugly
crust; but because I am a dwarf, and look as if I performed ablutions
in turmeric, it does not necessarily follow that I should have a lump of
granite for a heart.”
“But, Gomer, you are--a--rich--and a--a--man of the world--a--”
responded Wilton.
“I am both,” answered Gomer, emphatically. “I am a man of the world, and
I see that, like boys after butterflies, the majority of my kind pursue
objects as gaudy and as useless when caught. I see the hollowness of
most human purposes, the eagerness with which they are pursued, and the
wretched, vexed vanities they prove to be when possessed. I am rich,
Wilton; but I apprehend the true purpose of riches to be something
different to self-deifying aggrandisement. The world is full of woe--the
mission of wealth is to alleviate it: also, to assist and to elevate
human worth, and to plant happiness where it has not been wont to bloom.
Such have been the objects of my life-labours; and such, I trust, they
will continue to be. I do not, however, pretend to attempt to control
your actions, or guide you in the performance of your duties. That must
be your own task. I simply reiterate what my award to Mr. Vivian would
have been; and now I expect you will take upon yourself the office
of acknowledging the debt of gratitude you owe to him--rather a heavy
obligation to my thinking--and the consideration of the meet reward you
will bestow upon him.”
Wilton, after a little reflection, said--
“It appears to me, in looking back on the past, Gomer, that--a--that you
have exercised a considerable, I might say a very considerable
influence over my actions, and have directed generally the course of my
inclinations, a--a--and my intentions. Even now, a--though disclaiming
such purpose, it seems to me that you are occupied--I--a--should say,
actively occupied in forcing me to swallow a potion most repugnant
to--a--to--to my nature, seeking to impel me by honeyed words concerning
the good which a--a--must result from my acquiescence--a. Stay, don’t
interrupt me now. I would fain acknowledge that you have hitherto shown
the greatest interest in my personal affairs; that, I say, I think
is undoubtedly clear. It is also plain and undeniable that
your--a--um--your interference hitherto has been attended with the best
possible result; that I admit. It might in the present instance--I say
it might--I am by no means supposed to think it would, but it might
operate beneficially if it succeeded in making me believe that it would
be at least proper to bestow the hand of my daughter upon Mr. Vivian.
But before I consent to re-open the case, and listen to a repetition of
your arguments, be good enough to tell me who you are, and explain to me
why you, a comparative stranger--merely the landlord of a house I once
inhabited--should have mixed yourself up with my affairs, and now take
upon yourself to direct me in the disposal of my children in marriage.”
Nathan Gomer rubbed his hands briskly over his chin and mouth, and
champed with his teeth, as though his tongue and lips were parched.
Presently he spoke; his voice grated harshly at first.
“Ha! ha! very true,” he said, with a grim chuckle; “I never reflected
upon that very grave consideration---my title to interfere in your
affairs; it did not occur to me, I grant you I have been impertinent,
officious. I ought to have left you to--no no”--he checked himself
with a sudden dignity--“I must not permit myself to be betrayed into a
weakness. Mr. Wilton, you have smitten me on one cheek; before I permit
you to smite the other, I will inform you who I am, not at this moment,
but at the proper time. It will come to your ears with sufficient speed
when it does come. Farewell.”
“Hem--a--Gomer--stay!” cried Wilton, hurriedly. But Gomer was gone.
The old man would have followed him, but a servant entered the library,
followed by the Honorable Lester Vane.
Vane was dressed with studied elegance; his garb was in the highest
style of fashion, and fitted him to perfection. Having quite recovered
his health, of which, recently, he had purposely taken the greatest
possible care, he looked, as he walked with an elevated gait--affected,
and acquired by practice--a very handsome and polished specimen of the
aristocracy.
Wilton was immediately struck by his appearance and manner. The words
“Honorable Mr. Lester” rang in his ears, too, as the servant announced
him. He had before noticed the superiority of mien and attire displayed
by Vane, but, under existing circumstances, they now made a stronger
impression than ever upon him.
Here evidently was the son-in-law proper to his own and his daughter’s
condition in life. Nathan Gomer might preach as much as he pleased about
two young hearts beating in happy unison, but was it possible that such
would be the result of an unequal match? It was far more likely that
Flora, wedded to a young, elegant fellow like Lester, and moving, after
her marriage with him, in a high circle, would be much gayer and happier
than if mated with one who had been accustomed only to the atmosphere
of a workshop, and to mix with very moderate people. Wilton felt
decided upon the point, and accordingly greeted Lester Vane with evident
pleasure, which that astute personage responded to with consummate
artifice. By his observations and his inquiries, he led Wilton to the
conclusion that he possessed a noble spirit and unaffected kindness
of heart. He even offered to give back to Wilton the promise he had
received from him of Flora’s hand, and assured him, with well-simulated
earnestness, that however deeply painful, and even heart-breaking, it
might be to him to forego the honour of Miss Wilton’s alliance, he
would rather sacrifice his eternal happiness than be the occasion of
one moment’s grief to her. He had come down, he said, with the object of
either being able to disabuse Flora’s mind of its false idea in respect
to Vivian, and to win her love, or to resign her hand and retire from
the field altogether--an alternative which old Wilton rather vehemently
“pooh-poohed.”
The measured manner in which Vane expressed himself, and the earnestness
which led old Wilton to be explicit in his views and wishes,
occasioned some time to be consumed before the latter could fulfil his
intention--floating through his mind all the while he was talking with
his new guest--not to suffer Gomer abruptly to depart, and in anger,
too. So, as soon as he could conveniently take the opportunity, he rang
his bell, and bade his servant acquaint Mr. Gomer that he should be glad
of a few words with him.
“He’s gone, sir, and taken t’other old gentleman with him,” replied the
man.
“The other old gentleman?” repeated Mr. Wilton, with surprise.
“Yes, sir, one of they two that came with him, sir,” replied the man.
“Which?” asked Wilton, startled.
“I don’t know which,” replied the man, with a stupid expression of
countenance; “but Mr. Mark, he do, sir; because Mr. Gomer spoke to him
before he left the hall, sir.”
“Send Mr. Mark to me!” exclaimed Mr. Wilton, sharply.
The man disappeared, and, in a few minutes, Mark Wilton made
his appearance. He greeted Lester Vane with stern and haughty
coldness--conduct his father viewed with irritation, though he made no
remark then in reference to it, but confined himself to the matter upon
which he had sent for him.
“I hear, Mark,” he said “that Gomer has left the Hall for the railway
station, is it so?”
“Surely, sir,” answered Mark, with surprise, “you are aware of that fact.
He informed me that he had parted with you.”
“Parted with me?”
“Yes, sir; he expressed himself, I thought, rather emphatically; but he
appeared to be in a very great hurry, and took that singular companion
of his, Mr. Maybee, with him.”
“Maybee!” echoed Wilton, in a tone of alarm.
He looked hastily over the papers still on the table, but all the
documents which Maybee had produced needful to support Wilton’s claim
to the large estates in Chancery were yet there. What, then, could Gomer
mean by withdrawing him?
“My solicitor is still here,” he exclaimed, addressing Mark.
“I left him in conversation with my sister, sir,” replied Mark.
“He will dine with us--in fact he does not return to London until the
morning,” said his father. “Mr. Vane will also be our guest for
a--for a--for the present. You will conduct him to your sister and Mr.
Charlock, my excellent man of business--quite a gentleman, I assure you,
Mr. Vane.”
The “Honorable” bowed.
“A wealthy man, and of high standing in his profession,” added Mr.
Wilton.
Vane bowed again.
“I have a high esteem for men of the legal profession,” he said;
“they are agreeable company--they are acute men, intelligent, full
of anecdote, and, from the very character of their position and
acquirements, respectable.”
Mr. Wilton rubbed his hands, he was pleased with the reply.
“I am desirous of a little quiet just now,” he observed; “I shall
therefore have an hour or so to myself in my sanctum here alone, but I
will join you at dinner. It was not my intention to have done so, but
I feel equal now to the pleasure I shall enjoy. Mark, I place Mr. Vane
under your charge; I am sure you will pay him every attention.”
Mark made a cold inclination of the head and left the library, followed
by Vane, who perceived his coolness, but he had too great a game at
stake to appear to do so, or to appear to be affected by it. He himself
assumed a proud _nonchalant_ air, and took his way after Mark Wilton,
who walked with a quick step at an easy, leisurely pace.
Mark again wondered where he had seen Vane and under what circumstances.
He felt morally convinced that they had met before, and that the
impressions left behind were not favourable to Lester. In vain he
endeavoured to solve the difficulty; his memory would not serve him in
this.
Again Lester Vane and Flora were face to face, but under different
conditions. She received him--although her heart beat, for she knew
he was her father’s favoured suitor for her hand--with a quiet, firm
manner, as though his arrival was an incident of ordinary character;
and she listened to his well-turned hyperboles, as if they were but
common-places. She replied by a silent inclination of the head, and
resumed her conversation with Mr. Charlock with an unembarrassed ease
which affected Vane more keenly than any studied slight would have done.
He could have supplied a motive for that, and have surmounted, or have
attempted to have surmounted it hopefully, for it would have shown to
him that he was not an object of indifference; but to be received as
Flora had met him was to satisfy him that she was in no doubt as to the
disposal of her preference, or that it would be adhered to.
He felt by her manner that he was accepted by her as a guest of her
father’s, whose coming and going could have no influence or effect upon
her.
He mentally determined to change this state of things at any risk.
“Her uncouth booby of a brother cuts me,” he mused.
“I care nothing for that--but she shall not do so with impunity. I will
have her. No risk shall daunt me, no obstacle deter me, for it is not
alone her wealth I need, but I have conceived a passion for her.”
Such were his thoughts as he gazed upon her while she was speaking to
her father’s solicitor. She was so beautiful, so very, very beautiful,
that the more his eyes perused her fair lineaments, the more deep became
his determination not to be shaken off.
But she never turned her eyes towards him; and when, by her quietly
dropping her share in the conversation, it rested between him and Mr.
Charlock, she silently glided from the room.
Had it not been for the presence of Mr. Charlock, Mark would have
followed her example; as it was, he spoke but seldom to Vane, who
treated him with corresponding carelessness.
It was a relief to Mark when they separated to dress for dinner; and on
reassembling, Flora did not appear. She complained of not being well,
and they had to proceed without her. Mark confined his observations
to Mr. Charlock; and Mr. Wilton, irritated, angry, and feverish, was
compelled to keep Vane in countenance as well as he could.
The task was too much for him; and he found himself compelled from
weakness to retire to his chamber the moment the cloth was cleared. The
solicitor was an abstemious and an early man; and as he was compelled to
quit Harleydale for London at an early hour in the morning, he rose
from the table almost as soon as the wine was circulated; after a short
interview with Mr. Wilton, and obtaining possession of all the valuable
legal papers, he retired to rest.
Mark and Vane were thus left alone. A silence of at least ten minutes
elapsed. Neither spoke. Several times Vane had cast furtive glances at
Mark, and felt convinced he was thinking about him.
Presently, he placed his hand upon the decanter before him, and said--
“A little wine with you would be very agreeable, Mr. Wilton.”
Mark bowed slightly, and sipped his wine.
Again a silence ensued; and soon Mark’s thoughts were far away. Lotte’s
quiet, pale, sad face rose up before him, and her thoughtful eyes seemed
to be turned appealingly upon him for help and aid.
Suddenly a flush of heat passed across his features, his eye kindled
brightly, and his brow lowered.
He turned to Lester Vane, and in a sharp tone said--
“We have met before.”
Vane looked at him, somewhat surprised at the suddenness of his remark
and at its tone. With equal quickness, it occurred to him that Mark
recollected only at this moment the scene in Hyde Park. He was prepared
for what was coming, and replied, quietly--
“Unquestionably, on my last visit here.”
“Before, sir, we encountered each other in this house. Look at my face
well, sir; listen to the tone of my voice; and then tell me if your
memory does not furnish you with the circumstances under which we, on a
former occasion, confronted each other.”
Vane returned calmly his angry gaze; and, with a most collected manner,
replied--
“But for your earnestness, Mr. Wilton, I should imagine you were
jesting. Upon my honour I am unconscious of having had the satisfaction
of meeting you previous to our introduction here.”
“We met, sir, in Hyde Park one evening----” commenced Mark, rather
impetuously.
Vane stayed him.
“Your pardon, Mr. Wilton,” he said; “in what month?”
Mark replied promptly. Vane shook his head coolly, and returned--
“I was not in London; I was in Oxford.”
“In Oxford?” cried Mark, as if he could not believe his ears.
“In Oxford,” repeated Vane, slowly enunciating his words. “I give you my
word such is the fact, and if the occasion to which you may refer be
of importance to you, I will, in order to set you right on the matter,
produce, within a few days, proofs that I am simply stating--what, as a
gentleman, I have a claim my bare word should guarantee--the truth.”
Mark swallowed a glass of wine. He could say no more at present. He felt
convinced that Vane was the man he had seen in companionship with those
who had insulted Lotte, and he determined to pursue the subject until he
had either proved him a liar and a debauchee, or confess that, in this
instance at least, he was mis taken. He took the first opportunity of
excusing himself, and left Vane alone.
Alone to reflect on his position, to examine carefully the opposition
he should have to contend with, from what quarter it would proceed, what
would be its power, and how it was to be crushed.
“I must learn more before I can proceed upon my course,” he muttered.
“One thing is clear: this wilful beauty has given herself, heart and
soul, to that fellow Vivian, and I have no other rival to fear. It will
not be so difficult to dispose of him if I have time; I must have time.
Yet my necessities push me on to a _coup-de-main_. I will wait and see
what to-morrow brings forth. A day may do much. One thing I swear, if I
fail she shall never have him--never, never.”
His face assumed a demoniacal aspect. It was but a moment only that
it was so ruffled; he heard an approaching footstep, and his features
became placid and serene, as though there raged not beneath emotions
of carking anxieties, of dread solicitude, and almost despairing
apprehension.