As soon as the mail-boat, which was carrying Katherine and Madame
Bernstein to the East, was out of sight, Browne turned to his man, who
was waiting beside him, and said: "Now, Davis, a cab, and quickly too.
We must not miss that train for London whatever happens."
As it was, they were only just in time. He had scarcely taken his seat
before the train began to move out of the station. Placing himself in
a corner of the carriage, he endeavoured to interest himself in a book;
but it was of no use. Though his material body was seated in the
carriage being whirled away across the green plains of Southern France,
his actual self was on board the great mail-boat, which was cutting its
way through the blue waters, carrying Katherine mile by mile farther
out of his reach. Dreary indeed did Europe seem to him now. It was a
little before twelve o'clock when the train left Marseilles; it was
nearly four next afternoon when he sighted the waters of the Channel at
Calais. Much to his astonishment and delight, Jimmy Foote met him at
Dover, and travelled back to town with him. During his absence Browne
had entrusted their arrangements to his care; and in consequence Jimmy
carried about with him an air of business, which at other times was
quite unusual to him.
"I have been down to Southampton," he reported, "and have seen Mason.
He was hard at work getting the stores aboard, and asked me to tell you
he will be able to sail without fail early on Monday morning. When do
you think we had better go down?"
"On Sunday," said Browne. "We may as well get on board as soon as we
can."
Though he spoke in this casual way, he knew that in his heart he was
waiting the hour of departure with an impatience, that bordered almost
on desperation. He longed to see the yacht's head pointed down
Channel, and to know that at last she was really in pursuit of the
other boat, which had been granted such a lengthy start. On reaching
London they drove together to Browne's house. It was Saturday evening,
and there were still a hundred and one things to be settled. Upon his
study table Browne discovered upwards of fifty invitations from all
sorts and conditions of people. He smiled cynically as he opened them,
and, when the last one had been examined, turned to Jimmy.
"Thank Heaven, I can decline these with a clear conscience," he said.
"By the time the dates come round we shall be on the high seas, far
beyond the reach of dinners, dances, and kettledrums. I wonder how
many of these folk," he continued, picking up one from the heap and
flicking it across the table to his friend, "would have me in their
houses again if they knew what I am about to do?"
"Every one of them, my boy," the other replied; "from the Duchess of
Matlock downwards. You might help a thousand Russian convicts to
escape from Saghalien, and they will pardon you; but you are doing one
other thing for which you must never hope to be forgiven."
"And what may that be?" Browne inquired.
"Why, you are marrying Miss Petrovitch," answered Jimmy. "If she were
a famous beauty, a great heiress, or even the daughter of a peer, all
would be well; but you must remember that no one knows her; that,
however much you may love her, and however worthy she may be, she is
nevertheless not chronicled in the _Court Guide_. To marry out of your
own circle is a sin seldom forgiven, particularly when a man is a
millionaire, and has been the desire of every match-making mother for
as long as you have."
"They had better treat my wife as I wish them to, or beware of me,"
said Browne angrily. "If they treat her badly they'll find I've got
claws."
"But, my dear fellow, you are running your head against the wall," said
Jimmy. "I never said they _would_ treat her badly. On the contrary,
they will treat her wonderfully well; for, remember, she is your wife.
They will accept all her invitations for dances in London, will stay
with her in the country; they will yacht, hunt, fish, and shoot with
you; but the mothers, who, after all is said and done, are the leaders
of society, will never forget or forgive you. My dear fellow," he
continued, with the air of a man who knew his world thoroughly, which,
to do him justice, he certainly did, "you surely do not imagine for an
instant that Miss Verney has forgotten that----"
"We'll leave Miss Verney out of the question, Jimmy, if you don't
mind," replied Browne, with rather a different intonation.
"I thought that would make him wince," murmured Jimmy to himself; and
then added aloud, "Never mind, old man; we won't pursue the subject any
further. It's not a nice one, and we've plenty else to think about,
have we not? Let me tell you, I am looking forward to this little
business more than I have ever done to anything. The only regret I
have about it is that there does not appear to be any probability of
our having some fighting. I must confess I should like to have a brush
with the enemy, if possible."
"In that case we should be lost men," Browne replied. "No; whatever we
do, we must avoid coming into actual conflict with the Authorities. By
the way, what about Maas?"
"I saw him this morning," Foote replied. "I told him what arrangements
we had made, and he will meet us whenever and wherever we wish. He
seemed quite elated over the prospect of the voyage, and told me he
thought it awfully good of you to take him. After all, he's not a bad
sort of fellow. There is only one thing I don't like about him, and
that is his predilection for wishing people to think he is in a
delicate state of health."
"And you don't think he is?" said Browne.
"Of course I don't," Jimmy replied. "Why, only this morning I was with
him more than an hour, and he didn't cough once; and yet he was
continually pointing out to me that it was so necessary for his
health--for his lungs, in fact---that he should go out of England at
once. It is my idea that he is hypochondriacal."
"Whatever he is, I wish to goodness he had chosen any other time for
wanting to accompany us. I have a sort of notion that his presence on
board will bring us bad luck."
"Nonsense," said his matter-of-fact friend. "Why should it? Maas
could do us no harm, even supposing he wanted to. And he's certain not
to have any desire that way."
"Well," answered Browne, "that is what I feel, and yet I can't make out
why I should do so." As he said this he pressed the ring Katharine had
given him, and remembered that that was his talisman, and that she had
told him that, while he wore it, he could come to no harm. With that
on his finger, and his love for her in his heart, it would be wonderful
indeed if he could not fulfil the task he had set himself to do.
It is strange how ignorant we are of the doings, and indeed of the very
lives, of our fellow-men. I do not mean the actions which, in the
broad light of day, lie in the ordinary routine of life, but those more
important circumstances which are not seen, but make up, and help to
weave the skein of each man's destiny. For instance, had a certain
well-known official in the office of the Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs, who stood upon the platform of Waterloo station, waiting for
the train that was to carry him to the residence of a friend at Woking,
dreamt for an instant that the three gentlemen he nodded so affably to,
and who were standing at the door of a saloon carriage in the same
train, were leaving England next day, in order to cause considerable
trouble to a Power that, at the moment had shown signs of being
friendly, what would his feelings have been? He did not know it,
however; so he seated himself in his comfortable smoking-carriage, lit
a cigar, and read his Sunday paper, quite unconscious of the
circumstances.
It was nearly eight o'clock before they readied Southampton. When they
did they made their way to the harbour, where a steam-launch from the
yacht was awaiting them. The _Lotus Blossom_ herself lay off the Royal
Pier; and when they reached her, Captain Mason received them at the
gangway.
"Well, Mason," said Browne, "is everything ready for the start
to-morrow?"
"Everything is ready, sir," Mason replied. "You have only to say when
you desire to get off, and we'll up anchor."
Browne thought that he would like to get under way at once; but it
could not be. He looked along the snow-white decks and upon the
polished brasswork, and thought of the day that he had left the boat
when she was anchored in the harbour of Merok, to accompany his guests
on their walk to the falls, and of the wonderful things that had
happened since then. Before many weeks had passed over their heads he
hoped that Katherine herself would be standing on these self-same
decks. He pictured the delight he would feel in showing her over his
trim and beautiful vessel, and thought of the long conversations they
would have on deck at night, and of the happiness they would feel when
they were speeding towards safety once more, with the rescued man on
board. What they were to do with her father, when they had got him,
was one thing he wanted to leave to Katherine to decide. He was
awakened from these dreams by Foote, who inquired whether he intended
to allow his guests to remain on deck all night, or whether he was
going to take them below.
"I beg your pardon," said Browne. "It's awfully rude of me to keep you
standing here like this. Come along."
They accordingly made their way down the companion-ladder to the saloon
below. Everything had been prepared for their reception, and the
stewards were already laying dinner as they entered. Having finished
that important meal, and drunk the toast of a pleasant voyage, they
ascended to the deck once more, when Foote and Maas made their way to
the smoking-room, while Browne went up to the bridge to have a talk
with the captain. When he descended again, he announced to his guests
that the yacht would be got under way as soon as it was light in the
morning, and that the first coaling-place would be Gibraltar.
"Bravo!" said Jimmy, rapping the table with his pipe. "Thank goodness,
by midday we shall be well out in the Channel."
At the same moment Maas's cigar slipped from between his fingers and
dropped on the floor. He bent down to pick it up, but at first could
not find it. By the time he had done so the conversation had changed,
and Browne had drawn his watch from his pocket. A cry of astonishment
escaped him: "Have you any idea what the time is?"
They confessed that they had not.
"Well, it's nearly twelve o'clock," he said. "If you won't either of
you take anything else, I think the best thing we can do is to get to
bed as soon as possible."
So tired was Browne that night that he slept without waking until well
on in the following morning. Indeed, it was past nine o'clock when
Davis, his man-servant, entered and woke him; he sat up, and rubbed his
eyes, as if he could very well have gone on sleeping for another hour
or two.
"By Jove! we're under way," he said, as if he were surprised to find
the yacht moving. "Where are we, Davis?"
"Off Swanage, sir," the man replied. "Captain Mason couldn't get away
quite as early as he hoped to do; but he's making up for lost time now,
sir."
"What sort of a day is it?" Browne inquired.
"Beautiful, sir; it couldn't be no better if you'd ordered it special,"
said Davis, who was a bit of a wag in his way, and was privileged as
such. "There's just a nice bit of swell running, but no more. Not
enough to shake the curls of a schoolmistress, in a manner of speaking."
This Browne discovered to be the case, when he ascended to the deck.
The yacht was bathed in sunshine, and she sat as softly as a duck upon
a large green swell, that was as easy as the motion of a rocking-horse.
Far away to starboard the pinewood cliffs of Bournemouth could be
descried; while a point on the starboard-bow was Poole Harbour and
Swanage headland, with Old Harry peering up out of the sunlit waves.
Browne ascended to the bridge, to find Foote and Captain Mason there.
The latter touched his cap, while Foote came forward and held out his
hand.
"Good-morning," said Jimmy. "What do you think of this, my boy? Isn't
it better than London? Doesn't it make you feel it's worth something
to be alive? I wouldn't change places this morning with any man in
England."
"And you may be very sure I would not," said Browne; then, turning to
the skipper, he inquired what the yacht was doing.
"Thirteen knots good, sir," the latter replied. "We shall do better,
however, when we've put Portland Bill behind us."
As he spoke the breakfast-bell sounded, and simultaneously with it Maas
appeared on deck. Browne and Foote descended from the bridge to greet
him, and found him in excellent spirits.
"I feel better already," he said, as they went down the
companion-ladder and took their places at the table. "How beautiful
the air is on deck! Alchemists may say what they please, but this is
the Elixir of Life. What a pity it is we cannot bottle it, and
introduce it into the crowded ballrooms and dining-rooms during the
London season!"
"That's rather an original notion," retorted Jimmy. "Fancy, after a
waltz with a heavy partner, taking her off to a room set apart for the
purpose, seating her in a chair, and, instead of asking her the usual
insipid question, whether she would have an ice, or coffee, or claret
cup, inquiring what brand of air she preferred--whether she would have
a gallon of Bournemouth, which is relaxing, or Margate, which is
bracing, or Folkestone--shall we say?--which is midway between the two.
It could be laid on in town and country houses, and, combined with the
phonograph, which would repeat the nigger minstrel melodies of the
sands, and the biograph, which would show the surrounding scenery,
would be a tremendous attraction. Having purchased one of these
machines, paterfamilias need not trouble his head about taking his
family away for the annual trip to the seaside. Rents would not affect
him; he would be free from landladies' overcharges. All he would have
to do would be to take his wife and bairns into a room, turn on the
various machines, and science would do the rest."
"Perhaps, when you have done talking nonsense," said Browne, "you will
be kind enough to hand me the _pate de foie gras_. I remember so many
of your wonderful schemes, Jimmy, that I begin to think I know them all
by heart."
"In that case you must admit that the majority of them were based upon
very sound principles," replied Jimmy. "I remember there was one that
might have made a fortune for anybody. It was to be a matrimonial
registry for the upper ten, where intending Benedicts could apply for
particulars respecting their future wives. For instance, the Duke of
A----, being very desirous of marrying, and being also notoriously
impecunious, would call at the office and ask for a choice of American
heiresses possessing between five and ten millions. Photographs having
been submitted to him, and a guarantee as to the money given to him,
meetings between the parties could be arranged by the company, and a
small commission charged when the marriage was duly solemnized. Then
there was another scheme for educating the sons of millionaires in the
brands of cigars they should give their friends. For a small
commission, Viscount B----, who has smoked himself into the bankruptcy
court, would call at their residences three times a week, when he would
not only show them how to discriminate between a Trichinopoli and a
Burma Pwe, which is difficult to the uninitiated, but also between La
Intimidad Excelsos of '94 and Henry Clay Soberanos, which is much more
so."
"I remember yet another scheme," said Maas quietly, as he helped
himself to some caviare from a dish before him. "You told me once of a
scheme you were perfecting for forming a company to help long-sentenced
burglars of proved ability to escape from penal servitude, in order
that they should work for the society on the co-operative principle.
If my memory serves me, it was to be a most remunerative speculation.
The only flaw in it that I could see was the difficulty in arranging
the convict's escape, and the danger, that would accrue to those
helping him, in case they were discovered."