"SHE IS A WICKED WOMAN"
Am I cold--
Ungrateful--that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so! not cold, but very poor instead.
--E. BARRETT BROWNING.
To love, is to be made up of faith and service.
--SHAKESPEARE.
It was half-past six when Malcolm reached the well-known station, and
taking a fly bade the man drive him to the "King's Arms," an
old-fashioned inn of good repute about half a mile distant from the
Wood House. Here he secured a room for the night; ordered supper, of
which he partook without appetite; then sallied forth to pay his call.
It was late in October, and the darkness of the country roads surprised
him, accustomed as he was to the well-lighted London streets; he could
scarcely find out his bearings until a welcome light streamed out from
the windows of the Crow's Nest. Malcolm lingered a moment at the little
gate. "It was there I dwelt in my fool's paradise," he muttered, "and
tried to eat of the forbidden fruit. Now I know good and evil, and am a
sadder and wiser man." And then he went on doggedly; but he stopped
again before he reached the gate of the Wood House, for he knew
intuitively that he had stumbled into the little path leading to the
woodlands. He strained his eyes through the darkness, but could see
nothing-only the chill, damp October wind played round him, and the
smell of moist earth and decaying vegetation filled his nostrils.
"Change and decay in all around I see," he thought heavily; but as he
turned away and crossed the road a sudden remembrance came to him and
made him giddy.
It was morning or early afternoon, he forgot which, and the sunshine
was filtering through the firs, and steeping his senses with the warm,
resinous perfume--"spices of Araby," he had called it to himself, for
he loved the scent above all things. He had clambered up the bank to
pick some honeysuckle, and then the little gate had clanged on its
hinges, and he had peeped through the brambles to see who was coming.
And of course he knew who it was--that tall, robust young woman in the
white sun-bonnet who came down the path swinging her arms slightly, but
with the free proud step of an empress. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth!" he had
whispered even then, and all the manhood within him seemed to welcome
her gracious presence. Poor fool--poor blind fool that he was!
Perhaps it was as well that Malcolm stumbled over the root of a tree at
that moment; the rude shock roused him.
"It is a blessing I have not sprained my ankle," he said to himself;
but he had struck his foot rather severely and limped on with
difficulty. The pain sobered him, and he thought how Elizabeth had told
him that they always used lanterns in the grounds; and he made up his
mind to borrow one for his return journey.
"I wonder if Carlyon will be there," he muttered, as he went up to the
front door. He had never seen it closed before, for in summer it was
always open from morning to night. Somehow the sight chilled him: he
was outside in the darkness and the cold, and for him no household
fires would burn warm and bright, and a bitter sigh came to his lips.
He had raised his hand to the bell, when the door opened suddenly, and
the rosy-cheeked housemaid he remembered peered out into the darkness.
She was evidently very much startled when she saw Malcolm.
"Did you ring, sir?" she asked in some confusion, "for no one heard a
bell. The ladies are still in the dining-room, but I will tell Mullins."
"Please do not bring them, I can well wait. I know my way to the
drawing-room." And Malcolm put down his hat and crossed the hall, which
looked warm and cheery with its bright fire.
The lamps had been lighted in the drawing-room, and the fireplace was
heaped with pine logs that spluttered and blazed merrily, and diffused
a sort of aromatic fragrance. There were pleasant tokens of feminine
occupation on the round table: an open book and a knitting basket that
he knew belonged to Dinah, and a piece of embroidery of an
ecclesiastical pattern, over which he had often seen Elizabeth bending.
There were the very gold scissors and thimble that she had once left
down by the Pool, which cost him and Cedric an hour's search before
they could find them. How pleased she had been when he had brought them
back to her! Malcolm felt an irresistible desire to hold them in his
hand a moment--then he turned quickly away.
There was a little side window in the drawing-room that formed a sort
of alcove; it was fitted up very prettily with palms and flowering
plants, and amongst the foliage stood a beautiful marble figure of a
Roman peasant with her pitcher on her shoulder.
Malcolm had often admired it. It was the work of a young German
sculptor, whom the sisters found in somewhat distressing circumstances
in Rome, with a sick wife and hampered with debt. Arnim Freiligrath
always regarded the dear ladies, as he called them, as his
benefactresses, for, strange to say, from that time orders flowed in
upon him, and he was soon looked upon as a rising and successful
sculptor.
Dinah had once told Malcolm that the woman's features reminded her of
Elizabeth, and Malcolm had agreed with her.
"I think it is the figure that most resembles your sister," he had
said; "but you were wise to buy it, it is very beautiful, and Arnim
Freiligrath is becoming quite the fashion."
Malcolm stepped up to the alcove; he would look at his favourite
water-carrier again. He put aside the heavy plush curtains that
half-veiled the recess, but the next moment he recoiled--for Elizabeth
herself was standing there, almost as motionless as the marble woman
beside her.
She was lost in thought, and had evidently not heard his footfall on
the soft carpet, and she was gazing out into the darkness. Something in
her expression arrested Malcolm's attention: he had never seen her look
like that before, her lips were pressed tightly together, and her eyes
were full of sadness. One hand was resting lightly on the statue, and
Malcolm could see the gleam of the opal ring on her finger.
He feared to startle her, and yet it was impossible for him to stand
there any longer. He pronounced her name almost timidly; and as
Elizabeth started violently and turned round, he could see the tears
glistening in the large gray eyes. "Mr. Herrick," in an astonished
tone, as she gave him her hand--it was very cold, and trembled a little
in his grasp--"what makes you steal upon us like a ghost in the
darkness? Why did you not tell us you were coming?"
"I thought it would be better not," he returned quietly. "I wanted to
speak to you and your sister about something that seemed to me
important." Then Elizabeth gave him one of her quick, searching glances.
"It is about Cedric," she said abruptly--"that boy has got into trouble
again?" Then Malcolm bowed his head. They were standing on the rug
before the fire now, and at Malcolm's mute answer Elizabeth shivered
slightly and held out her hands to the blaze as though she were
physically cold. Malcolm leant for support against the mantel-piece,
and watched her for a moment under his shading hand--if she had only
seen that hungry, eloquent look! But Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on the
fire. Poor Malcolm! never had she looked more beautiful to him: the
black velvet gown suited her to perfection, and the antique Roman
necklace she wore just fitted the full white throat. This was not the
rustic owner of the white sun-bonnet, but a grand, imperial-looking
Elizabeth. Malcolm felt as though he were fast losing self-control: his
forehead grew clammy, and though he tried to speak--to break the
embarrassing silence--no words would come; but Elizabeth, lost in her
own sad thoughts, was oblivious of his emotion.
"Dinah will be here directly," she observed presently; "she is engaged
just now with a woman from the village, but she will not be long, I
hope. I trust"--and here she looked at him anxiously--"that you have no
bad news for us."
"I am afraid it is not good," he replied evasively.
"It has something to do with those odious Jacobis?" Again Malcolm bowed
his head.
"Cedric seems infatuated about them," she returned, with something of
her old impetuosity, the words tripping each other up in the usual
Elizabethan way. "We thought the man detestable--even Dinah could not
tolerate him. Oh," interrupting herself, "what am I thinking about? you
have come all this distance on our account, and I have never thought of
your comfort--you have not dined, of course;" and Elizabeth's hand was
on the bell, but he stopped her.
"I have just had supper at the 'King's Arms,' where I have taken a bed;
I want nothing, I assure you."
"At the King's Arms'!" exclaimed Elizabeth. Then she suddenly flushed
and bit her lip. She had forgotten--how could she suppose that anything
would induce him to sleep under their roof again! Malcolm's manner, his
painful air of consciousness, the deep melancholy in his eyes, told her
plainly that his trouble was as fresh as ever.
Elizabeth began to feel nervous; it was a relief to both of them when
Mullins entered the room with the coffee. "At least, you will have a
cup of coffee," she said with a little effort. "Mullins, will you put
the tray down, and tell my sister that Mr. Herrick has come down to
speak to us on business, and ask her not to keep him waiting."
Malcolm did not refuse the coffee. As he took the cup in his hand he
said in a low voice, "I hope Mr. Carlyon is well."
"Thank you, he is far from well," she returned gravely. "Mr.
Charrington has been away for the last six weeks, and he has had far
too much to do; he has taken a bad cold, and his cough is troublesome.
I have been speaking to Dr. Randolph to-day, and he thinks the vicar
ought to come back." Then she stopped as Dinah came hurriedly into the
room. Malcolm's unexpected visit had evidently alarmed her.
"Oh, Mr. Herrick, what is it?" she said in such a troubled voice that
Malcolm felt almost afraid to tell his news. Evidently Elizabeth read
his thoughts.
"You must tell us everything," she said rather abruptly; "it will be
wrong to keep anything back." And thus admonished, Malcolm began his
long story--his summons to the Manor House, and Hugh Rossiter's
revelation concerning the Jacobi family. The sisters listened in
breathless silence, only when Malcolm mentioned the words
billiard-marker and valet Elizabeth uttered a quick exclamation, and
threw up her head with a proud gesture, while poor Dinah grew white
when she heard that her boy was actually engaged. "It is
impossible--there must be some mistake," she whispered, as though to
herself--"our dear boy would never keep such a thing from his sisters.
Cedric is so frank and open, he would never have secrets from us."
"Cedric is under a bad influence," replied Malcolm; "these people have
got hold of him and will not let him go." And then he went on to tell
of his interview with Cedric, and his total want of success. "I could
do nothing," he went on despondently; "I seem to have lost my influence
with him. I did my best, Miss Templeton," with an appealing look at
Dinah's sad, sweet face; but it was Elizabeth who answered him.
"Do you think we do not know that," she returned impulsively--"that
Dinah and I are not grateful to you! You have taken all this trouble
for us--you have been to Cookham and Oxford, and now you have come
here, and you are quite tired and worn out with the worry of it all,
and we can do nothing for you in return!" and Elizabeth quivered with
emotion. But Malcolm, suppressing his own agitation, tried to turn off
her speech with a laugh. She was grateful to him--good heavens! she
might as well have offered a cupful of earth to a man dying of thirst!
"Let him finish, Betty dear," observed Dinah faintly; "he has more to
tell us." And then Malcolm produced the telegram and laid it before
them. The sisters glanced at each other with dismay, and Dinah's
forehead was furrowed like an old woman's.
"What is to be done, Mr. Herrick, to save my poor boy from this
iniquitous marriage?" she inquired in a tremulous tone, and Elizabeth's
eyes were asking him the same question.
"That is just the difficulty, my dear lady," he replied slowly. "If I
can only see my way clear--Mr. Rossiter advised me to speak to Miss
Jacobi; he seems to think she is more amenable to reason than her
brother, and probably he is right." But to Malcolm's surprise Dinah's
mild eyes began to flush angrily.
"I have a worse opinion of her than I have of her brother," she said
hurriedly; "she is a wicked woman--she let men make love to her when
she knew her husband was alive! If she marries Cedric, I will never see
her or him either;" and here Dinah trembled from head to foot.
Elizabeth, startled by the excitement of one generally so gentle, knelt
down by her sister and put her arms round her. "Dear Die," she
implored, "don't make it worse for us all. Mr. Herrick is trying to
help us, and we must not make things more difficult for him. What do
you advise?" she continued, turning to Malcolm. "You have seen this
Leah--would it be better to bribe or frighten her?"
"That is impossible for me to say," returned Malcolm, averting his eyes
quickly from the earnest, troubled face. "I have only exchanged a few
words with Miss Jacobi, and know little about her."
"You mean the Contessa Ferrari," interrupted Dinah almost harshly; "for
heaven's sake let the woman be called by her right name!"
"It is a name she refuses to own," he returned quietly. "Will you let
me say what I really think?--you know I have only seen her twice. I
think she is a wronged and unhappy woman, and that her troubles have
hardened her nature and made her reckless. Her brother tyrannises over
her, and she has never been free to lead her own life or follow her own
better impulses, and her beauty and wonderful fascination have only
been used to further Saul Jacobi's ambitious aims. In my opinion Cedric
was right when he declared to me that she was more sinned against than
sinning."
"Then in that case you will be able to influence her," returned Dinah
quickly. "Tell her from me, Mr. Herrick, that if she persists in
marrying my poor boy, she will be marrying a pauper; that on the day
the marriage takes place I shall alter my will, and that my sister
Elizabeth will be my heir. Tell her this, and I will write to Cedric
and let him know what he has to expect."
"Do you really mean this?" asked Malcolm, much impressed by this
unexpected resolution on the part of one usually so yielding and gentle.
"I mean every word," returned Dinah firmly. "Yes, Betty dear," as she
saw her sister's astonished face, "I am perfectly serious. You know
what Cedric is to me"--and here her sweet voice quavered for a
moment--"if it would do him good, I would give him half my fortune at
this moment, and would never grudge it; but no money of mine shall be
used for his undoing. Let him give up this woman and come back to me,
and there is nothing I will not do for him. Am I right, Elizabeth? Do
you agree with me?"
"I agree with you, and you are always right, darling. Mr. Herrick, will
you do as she says, and make this Leah understand that she has nothing
to expect from us. Oh, what trouble we are giving you, and we have no
right!" and here Elizabeth turned her head away in pained confusion.
She had said the wrong thing. Why did not Dinah come to her assistance
and say some word of grateful acknowledgment?
"You have every right to use me as you will," returned Malcolm in a low
voice, "for I have done nothing to forfeit your friendship." And with a
dreary attempt at a smile--"A friend is born for adversity." Then
Elizabeth rose from her kneeling position, but she did not
answer--perhaps she could not, for Malcolm's worn face and sad, kind
eyes seemed to bring a sudden lump to her throat. How good he was--how
generous and forgiving and unselfish! She longed to take his hand and
bid God bless him; but she could not trust herself or him. "It has gone
too deep," she said with inward wonder, for Elizabeth was truly humble
in her estimation of herself. Dinah was too much wrapped up in her own
troubled thoughts to notice Elizabeth's emotion.
"Will you tell me what you mean to do?" she asked anxiously, for
Malcolm had risen too as though he intended to take his leave. He
explained briefly that he intended to act on Hugh Rossiter's
suggestion. He would waylay Leah Jacobi in Kensington Gardens and do
his best to induce her to give Cedric up.
"I shall tell her you have written to him and advise her to talk things
over with her brother. When he knows Cedric Templeton is not his
sister's heir, he will be the first to insist that your projected
marriage should be broken off--I shall say some such words to her."
"And you will come down again, and let us know the result of your
interview?" and Dinah looked at him imploringly. "Your room shall be
ready for you at any time."
"You are very kind," he returned hesitating. "My room at the 'King's
Arms' seems very comfortable." Then Dinah understood and changed colour
slightly.
"It will be giving you trouble," she observed regretfully.
"No--no, it is not that," he returned hurriedly; "but it is impossible
to say how things may be--what circumstances, or what complications may
arise to keep me in town. I will write--you shall not be kept in
suspense an hour longer than I can help; and you may depend on me that
I will do my utmost to break off this wretched engagement."
"I trust you implicitly," returned Dinah gravely. "You will forgive me
if I cannot thank you properly to-night."
"You need not move, Die; I will light Mr. Herrick's lantern for
him"--Elizabeth spoke in her old natural way. Malcolm stood beside her
silently as she performed her hospitable task. Then she placed it in
his hand. "I wonder how you groped your way through the plantation,"
she said smiling; "but this little glimmer will guide you safely.
Good-night, Mr. Herrick; we shall look eagerly for your promised
letter. Poor Dinah will have one of her bad sick headaches
to-morrow--worry always brings them on."
"She looks far from well," replied Malcolm; "I fear this has been a
great shock to her, and to you too;" and then he shook hands and went
out into the darkness. When he was half-way down the drive he turned
round--the door was still open, and the cheerful light streamed out
into the blackness. Elizabeth was standing on the threshold looking
after him. When she saw him stop she waved her hand with a friendly
'good-night;' then the door closed, and there was only the October
darkness, and an eerie, wandering wind moaning through the woodlands.