THE TABLES TURNED
Three days later Ralph paused for a moment in front of a trim
boarding-house or pension on the outskirts of Boulogne. It was here Sir
John Hamblyn was "vegetating," as he told his friends--practising the
strictest economy, and making a desperate and praiseworthy effort to
recover somewhat his lost financial position.
Ralph told no one what he intended to do. Ruth supposed that he had gone
no farther than London, and that it was business connected with Great
St. Goram Mine that called him there. Dorothy, having for a moment
capitulated, had been making a brave but futile effort to forget, and
trying to persuade herself that she had done a weak and foolish thing in
admitting to Ralph Penlogan that she cared for him.
Love and logic, however, were never meant to harmonise, and heart and
head are often in hopeless antagonism. Dorothy pretended to herself that
she was sorry, and yet all the time deep down in her heart there was a
feeling of exultation. It was delightful to be loved, and it was no less
delightful to love in return.
Almost unconsciously she found herself meditating on Ralph's many
excellences. He was so genuine, so courageous, so unspoiled by the
world. She was sure also that she liked him all the better for being a
man of the people. He owed nothing to favour or patronage. He had fought
his own way and made his own mark. He was not like Archie Temple, who
had been pushed into a situation purely through favour, and who, if
thrown upon the open market, would not earn thirty shillings a week.
It was an honour and a distinction to be loved by a man like Ralph
Penlogan. He was one of Nature's aristocracy, clear-visioned,
brave-hearted, fearless, indomitable. His handsome face was the index of
his character. How he had developed since that day he refused to open
the gate for her! Suffering had made him strong. Trial and persecution
had called into play the best that was in him. The fearless, defiant
youth had become a strong and resolute man. How could she help loving
him when he offered her all the love of his own great heart?
Then she would come to herself with a little gasp, and tell herself that
it was her duty to forget him, to tear his image out of her heart; that
an attachment such as hers was hopeless and quixotic; that the sooner
she mastered herself the better it would be; that her father would never
approve, and that the society in which she moved would be aghast.
For two days she fought a fitful and unequal battle, and then she
discovered that the more she fought the more helpless she seemed to
become. She had kept in the house lest she should discover him straying
in the plantation.
On the third day she went out again. She said to herself that she would
suffocate if she remained any longer indoors. Her heart was aching for a
sight of Ralph Penlogan's face. She told herself it was fresh air she
was pining for, and a sight of the hills and the distant sea. She
loitered through the plantation until she reached the far end. Then she
sighed and pushed open the gate. She walked as far as the stile, and
leaned against it. How long she remained there she did not know; but she
turned away at length, and strolled out across the common and down into
the high road, and so home by way of the south lodge.
The air had been fresh and sweet, and the blue of the sea peeped between
the hills in the direction of Perranpool, and the woods and plantations
looked their best in their summer attire, and the birds sang cheerily on
every hand. But she heard nothing, and saw nothing. The footfall she had
listened for all the time failed to come, and the face she was hungering
to see kept out of sight.
He had evidently taken her at her word. She had told him that their
parting must be for ever, that it would be worse than madness for them
to meet, and she had meant it all at the time; and yet, three days
later, she would have given all she possessed for one more glimpse of
his face.
The following day her duties were more irksome than she had ever known
them. The dowager wanted so many letters written, and so many articles
read to her. Dorothy was impatient to get out of doors, and the more
rapidly she tried to get through her work the more mistakes she made,
with the result that it had to be done over again.
It was getting quite late in the afternoon when at length she hurried
away through the plantation. Would he come to meet her? She need not let
him make love to her, but they might at least be friends. Love and logic
were in opposition again.
She lingered by the stile until the sun went down behind the hill, then,
with a sigh, she turned away, and began to retrace her steps through the
plantation.
"I ought to be thankful to him for taking me at my word," she said to
herself, with a pathetic look in her eyes. "Oh, why did he ever love me?
Why was I ever born?"
Meanwhile Ralph Penlogan and Sir John Hamblyn had come face to face.
Ralph had refused to send up his name, hence, when he was ushered into
the squire's presence, the latter simply stared at him for several
moments in speechless rage and astonishment.
Ralph was the first to break the silence.
"I must apologise for this intrusion," he said quietly, "but----"
"I should think so, indeed," interrupted Sir John scornfully. "Will you
state your business as quickly as possible?"
"I will certainly occupy no more of your time than I can help," Ralph
replied, "though I fear you are not in the humour to consider any
proposal from me."
"I should think not, indeed. Why should I be? Do you wish me to tell you
what I think of you?"
"I am not anxious on that score, though I am not aware that I have given
you any reason for thinking ill of me."
"You are not, eh? When you cheated me out of the most valuable bit of
property I possessed?"
"Did we not pay the price you asked?"
"But you knew there was a valuable tin lode in it."
"What of that? The property was in the market. We did not induce you to
sell it. We heard by accident that you wanted to dispose of it. If there
had been no lode we should have made no effort to get it."
"It was a mean, dishonest trick, all the same."
"I do not see it. By every moral right the farm was more mine than
yours. I helped my father to reclaim it. You spent nothing on it, never
raised your finger to bring it under cultivation. Moreover, it was
common land at the start. In league with a dishonest Parliament, you
filched it from the people, and then, by the operation of an iniquitous
law, you filched it a second time from my father."
Sir John listened to this speech with blazing eyes and clenched hands.
"By Heaven," he said, "if I were a younger man I would kick you down
these stairs. Have you forced your way in here to insult me?"
"On the contrary, it was my desire rather to conciliate you; but you
charged me with dishonesty at the outset."
"Conciliate me, indeed!" And Sir John turned away with a sneer upon his
face.
"We neither of us gain anything by losing our tempers," Ralph said,
after a pause. "Had we not better let bygones be bygones?"
Sir John faced him again and stared.
"It is no pleasure to me to rake up the past," Ralph went on. "Probably
we should both be happier if we could forget. I don't deny that I vowed
eternal enmity against you and yours."
"I am glad to hear it," Sir John snorted.
"Time, however, has taken the sting out of many things, and to-day I
love one whom I would have hated."
"You love----?"
"It is of no use beating about the bush," Ralph went on. "I love your
daughter, and I have come to ask your permission----"
He did not finish the sentence, however. With blazing eyes and clenched
fist Sir John shrieked at the top of his voice--
"Silence! Silence! How dare you? You----"
"No, do not use hard words," Ralph interrupted. "You may regret it
later."
"Regret calling you--a--a----" But no suitable or sufficiently
expressive epithet would come to his lips, and he sank into a chair
almost livid with anger and excitement.
Ralph kept himself well in hand. He had expected a scene, and so was
prepared for it. Seizing his opportunity, he spoke again.
"Had we not better discuss the matter without feeling or passion?" he
said, in quiet, even tones. "Surely I am not making an unreasonable
request. Even you know of nothing against my character."
"You are a vulgar upstart," Sir John hissed. "Good heavens,
you!--you!--aspiring to the hand of my daughter."
"I am not an upstart, and I hope I am not vulgar," Ralph replied
quietly. "At any rate, I am an Englishman. You are no more than that.
The accidents of birth count for nothing."
"Indeed!"
"In your heart you know it is so. In what do you excel? Wherein lies
your superiority?"
For a moment Sir John stared at him; then he said, with intense
bitterness of tone--
"Will you have the good manners to take yourself out of my sight?"
"I will do so, certainly, though you have not answered my questions."
"If I were only a younger man I would answer you in a way you would not
quickly forget."
"Then you refuse to give your permission?"
"Absolutely. I would rather see my child in her coffin."
"If you loved your child you would think more of her happiness than of
your own pride. I am sorry to find you are a tyrant still."
"Thank you. Have you any further remarks to make?"
"No!" And he turned away and moved toward the door. Then he turned
suddenly round with his hand on the door knob.
"By-the-bye, you may be interested to know that I have discovered a very
rich vein that runs through your estate," he said quietly, and he pulled
the door slowly open.
Sir John was on his feet in a moment.
"A very rich vein?" he questioned eagerly.
"Extraordinarily rich," was the indifferent reply. "Good-afternoon."
"Wait a moment--wait a moment!" Sir John cried excitedly.
"Thank you, but I have no further remarks to make." And Ralph passed out
to the landing.
Sir John rushed past him and planted himself at the head of the stairs.
"You are not fooling me?" he questioned eagerly. "Say honestly, are you
speaking the truth?"
"Do you wish to insult me?" Ralph asked scornfully. "Am I in the habit
of lying? Please let me pass."
"No, no! Please forgive me. But if what you say is true, it means so
much to me. You see, I am practically in exile here."
"So I understand. And you are likely to remain in exile, by all
accounts."
"But if there is a rich vein of mineral that I can tap. Why, don't you
see, it will release me at once?"
"But, as it happens, you cannot tap it, for you don't know where it is.
I am the only individual who knows anything about it."
"Exactly, exactly! Don't go just yet. I want to hear more about it."
"I fear I have wasted too much of your time already," Ralph said
ironically. "You asked me just now to take myself out of your sight."
"I know I did. I know I did. But I was very much upset. Besides, this
lode is a horse of quite another colour. Now come back into my room and
tell me all about it."
"There is really not very much to tell," Ralph answered, in a tone of
indifference. "How I discovered its existence is a mere detail. You may
be aware, perhaps, that I occupy most of my time in making experiments?"
"Yes, yes. I know you are wonderfully clever in your own particular
line. But tell me, whereabouts is it?"
"You flatter me too much," Ralph said, with a laugh. "To tell you the
truth, it was largely by accident that I discovered the lode I am
speaking of. Unfortunately, it is outside the Great St. Goram boundary,
so that it is of no use to our shareholders."
The squire laughed and rubbed his hands.
"But it will be of use to me," he said. "Really, this is a remarkable
bit of luck. You are quite sure that it is a very valuable discovery?"
"As sure as one can be of anything in this world. The Hillside lode is
rich, but this----"
"No, no," Sir John interrupted eagerly. "You don't mean to say that it
is richer than your mine?"
"I shall be greatly surprised if--if----" Then he paused suddenly.
"Go on, go on," cried Sir John excitedly. "This bit of news is like new
life to me. Think of it. I shall be able to shake off those Jewish
sharks and hold up my head once more."
"I don't think it is at all necessary that you should hold your head any
higher," Ralph replied deliberately and meaningly. "You think far too
much of yourself already. Now I will say good-afternoon for the second
time."
"You mean that you will tell me nothing more?"
"Why should I? If your justice had been equal to your greed, I might
have been disposed to help you; but I feel no such disposition at
present."
"You want to bargain with me?" Sir John cried angrily.
"Indeed, no. What I came about is too sacred a matter for bargaining."
And, slipping quickly past Sir John, he hurried down the stairs and into
the street.
The squire stared after him for several minutes, then went back into the
room and fetched his hat, and was soon following.
When he got into the open air, however, Ralph was nowhere visible. He
ran a few steps, first in one direction, then in another. Finally, he
made his way down into the town. He did not go to the wharf, for no boat
was sailing for several hours; but he loitered in the principal streets
till he was hungry, and then reluctantly made his way toward his
temporary home. He was in a state of almost feverish excitement, and
hardly knew at times whether he was awake or dreaming.
What his exile in France meant to him, no one knew but himself. But his
financial affairs were in such a tangle, that it was exile or disgrace,
and his pride turned the scale in favour of exile. Now, suddenly, there
had been opened up before him the prospect of release--but release upon
terms.
He tried, over his lonely dinner, to review the situation; tried to put
himself in the place of Ralph Penlogan. It was a profitable exercise.
The lack of imagination is often the parent of wrong. He was bound to
admit to himself that Ralph was under no obligation--moral or
otherwise--to reveal his secret, or even to sell his knowledge.
"No doubt I have behaved badly to him," Sir John said to himself, "and
badly to his father. He has good reason for hating me and thwarting me.
By Jove! but we have changed places. He is the strong man now, and if he
pays me back in my own coin, it is no more than I deserve."
Sir John did not make a good dinner that evening. His reflections
interfered with his appetite.
"Should I tell if I were in his place?" he said to himself. And he
answered his own question with a groan.
Under the influence of a cigar and a cup of black coffee, visions of
prosperity floated before him. He saw himself back again in Hamblyn
Manor, and in more than his old splendour. He saw himself free from the
clutches of the money-lenders, and a better man for the experiences
through which he had passed.
But his visions were constantly broken in upon by the reflection that
his future lay in the hands of Ralph Penlogan, the young man he had so
cruelly wronged. It was a hard battle he had to fight, for his pride
seemed to pull him in opposite directions at the same time.
Half an hour before the boat started for Folkestone he was on the wharf,
eagerly scanning the faces of all the passengers. He had made up his
mind to try to persuade Ralph to go back with him and stay the night.
His pride was rapidly breaking down under the pressure of unusual
circumstances.
He remained till the boat cast off her moorings and the paddle-wheels
began to churn the water in the narrow slip, then he turned away with a
sigh. Ralph was not among the passengers.