WAITING AT THE LAKE HOUSE.
During the time that his mother was so kindly persuading Ruth to
accept a home with her, Richard Storms was pacing the Lake House to
and fro, like a caged animal waiting for its feeder.
The triumph of his revenge and his love seemed near at hand now.
Before Jessup's death his power was insufficient, his influence
feeble, for no one was in haste to take up a wrong which the sufferer
was the first to ignore. But now the wound had done its work. A man
had been shot to death, and any subject of Her Majesty had the right
to call for a full investigation before a magistrate. This
investigation the young man had resolved to demand.
All that the man wanted now, to complete his power of ruin, was the
letter which Judith Hart had found drifting through the shrubbery on
the day she had visited "Norston's Rest," at his own suggestion, in
order to get a foothold in the establishment and become his willing or
unconscious spy, as he might be compelled to use her.
That letter was so important to him now that he was ready to do
anything, promise anything, in order to get possession of it, and
prowling around and around the old Lake House, he racked his brain for
some power of inducement by which he could win it from her, and
perhaps other proofs that she might find in the cottage.
Thus urged to the verge of desperation, by a thirst for revenge on
young Hurst, and the craving love which Ruth Jessup had rejected with
so much scorn, the young man awaited with burning impatience the
coming of his dupe; for up to this time he had failed in making her
entirely an accomplice.
Judith came down to the lake in great excitement. Storms saw that, as
she turned from the path and waded through the long, thick rushes on
the shore, without seeming to heed them.
"You have found something! I see that in your face," he said, as the
girl darkened the Lake House door. "Give it to me, for I never was so
eager to be at work. Why don't you speak? Why don't you tell me what
it is?"
Judith pushed her way into the house and seated herself on the bench,
where she sat looking at him with an expression in her eyes that
seemed to forbode revolt.
"Tell me," he said, sitting down by her, "tell me what you have
discovered. I hope it is something that will clear the way to our
wedding, for I am getting impatient for it. Nothing but the want of
that paper has kept me back so long."
The strange expression on Judith's face softened a little. Some good
was in the girl. The firm hold she had kept on Jessup's dangerous
letter had been maintained as much from reluctance to bring ruin on an
innocent man as for her own security. On her way from the gardener's
cottage, she had taken a rapid survey of the situation, and for the
first time felt the courage of possessed power.
"You are in terrible haste," she said, "as if the paper I have was
not enough to win anything you want from Sir Noel."
"But you will not trust me with it. You do not love me well enough for
that."
"I loved you well enough to give up my home, my poor old father, my
good name with the neighbors, and become the meanest of servants, only
to be near you," answered the girl, with deep feeling; "and I love you
now, oh God, forgive me! better, better than my own wicked soul, or
you never would have seen me again."
"Still you refuse to give me the one scrap of paper that can bring us
together," said Storms, reproachfully.
"If I did give it up what would you do with it?"
"Do with it! I will take it to Sir Noel, break down his pride,
threaten him with the exposure of his son's crime, and wring the lease
I want from him, with enough money beside to keep my wife a lady."
"But what if I take the paper to Sir Noel, and get all these things
for myself?"
For an instant Storms was startled, but a single thought restored his
self-poise.
"There is one thing Sir Noel could not give you."
"What is that?"
"A husband that loves the very ground you walk on."
"Oh, if I could be sure that you loved me like that."
"I do--I do; but how can I wed you without some chance of a living?
The old man wouldn't take us in without the new lease, and without
more land I can do nothing."
"Dick! Oh, tell me the truth now. Is that all the use you mean to make
of this paper?"
"Yes, all! I will swear to it if that will pacify you. The lease, and
money, down at the time; for a handsome wife must have something to
dash her neighbors with. That is all I want, and that the paper in
your bosom will bring me."
Judith lifted a hand to her bosom, and kept it there, still
hesitating.
"You do not mean to harm the young gentleman? Oh, Richard, you could
not be so bad as that."
"Harm him! No! I only want to frighten Sir Noel out of his land and
money. If I once gave the paper to a magistrate, it would be an end of
that."
"So it would," said Judith, thoughtfully. "Besides--besides--"
"Come, come! Make up your mind, girl!"
"Swear to me, that you will never show the paper to any one but Sir
Noel--never use it against the young gentleman!"
"Swear! I am ready! If there were a Bible here I would do it now."
"Never mind the Bible! With your hand here, and your eyes looking into
mine, swear to your promise."
Storms gave a returning grasp to the hand which had seized his, and
his eyes were lifted for a moment to the bold, black orbs that seemed
searching him to the soul; but they wavered in an instant, and
returned her gaze with furtive side-glances, while he repeated the
oath in language which was profane rather than solemn.
After holding his hand for a minute, in dead silence, Judith dropped
it, and taking the old portemonnaie from her bosom, gave up old
Jessup's first letter, but without a word of the other paper.
"There! Remember, I have trusted you."
Storms fairly snatched the paper from her hand, for the cruel joy of
the moment was too much for his caution.
"Now," he said, with a laugh more repulsive than curses, "I have them
all in the dust."
"But remember your oath," said Judith, uneasily, for the fierce
triumph in that face frightened even her.
"I forget nothing!" was the bitter answer, "and will bate nothing--not
a jot, not a jot."
Storms was half way to the door, as he said this, with the paper
grasped tightly in his hand.
"But where are you going?" pleaded Judith, following him. "Is there
nothing more to say?"
"Only this," answered Storms, struck by a shrewd after-thought; "it is
better that you leave the 'Two Ravens' at once. It is not from the
tap-room of an inn that a gentleman must take his wife."
Judith looked at him searchingly. There seemed to be reason in his
suggestion; still she doubted him.
"Where would you have me go, Richard? Back to the old home?"
Storms reflected a moment before he answered.
"It isn't a palace or a castle, like the one you mean to get out of
that paper," Judith said, impatient of his silence, "but, poor as it
was, you liked to come there, and the old father would be glad and
proud to be standing by when we are wedded."
"Yes, I dare say he would be that," answered Storms, with an uneasy
smile. "Well, as you wish it, the old home is perhaps as safe a place
as you could stay in."
"But it will not be for long--you promise that?" questioned the girl,
anxiously.
"Not if Sir Noel comes down handsomely, but I must not be bothered
while this work is on hand. You will give the landlady warning and go
at once. Say nothing of where you are going; or perhaps, as she is
sure to ask questions, it is better to speak of London. You can even
take the train that way for a short distance, and turn back to the
station nearest your home. The walk will not be much."
"What, from the station?" said Judith, laughing. "Why the old home is
a good twenty miles from here, and I walked it all the way, having no
money."
"Ah, that was when you were fired with jealousy, and I'll be bound you
did not feel the walk. But we must have no more of that. There is
money enough to take you home, and something over."
"No, no. I shall have my wages," said the girl, drawing back.
In her mad love she could leave her home and follow this man on foot
without shame, but something of honest pride withheld her from
receiving his money.
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Storms, wondering at the color that came
into her face, while he dropped the gold back into his pocket. "But
you must give notice at once. We have no time to lose. Now I think of
it, how much did the landlady know about you at the 'Two Ravens?'"
"Nothing. She thinks I came down from London."
"Not the name? I cannot remember ever hearing it."
"No one but the mistress knew it," said Judith. "My father was of the
better sort till misfortune came on him, and I wouldn't drag his name
down in that place. I am only known as Judith among the customers."
"That is fortunate, and makes your going up to London the thing to
say. You can be home to-morrow."
"But you will not be long away? You will come?"
"Surely; three days from this at our old place in the orchard. I do
not care to see your father at first. It will be time enough when we
can tell him everything. There, now, I must go. You will forget
nothing?"
Storms held out his hand. Judith took it reluctantly.
"Are you leaving me now?"
"Yes, I am going yonder," he answered, waving his hand toward
"Norston's Rest."