STELLA ASSERTS HERSELF.
Two days after Father Benwell had posted his letter to Rome, Lady Loring
entered her husband’s study, and asked eagerly if he had heard any news
of Romayne.
Lord Loring shook his head. “As I told you yesterday,” he said, “the
proprietor of the hotel can give me no information. I went myself this
morning to the bankers, and saw the head partner. He offered to
forward letters, but he could do no more. Until further notice, he was
positively enjoined not to disclose Romayne’s address to anybody. How
does Stella bear it?”
“In the worst possible way,” Lady Loring answered. “In silence.”
“Not a word even to you?”
“Not a word.”
At that reply, the servant interrupted them by announcing the arrival of
a visitor, and presenting his card. Lord Loring started, and handed it
to his wife. The card bore the name of “Major Hynd,” and this line was
added in pencil: “On business connected with Mr. Romayne.”
“Show him in directly!” cried Lady Loring.
Lord Loring remonstrated. “My dear! perhaps I had better see this
gentleman alone?”
“Certainly not--unless you wish to drive me into committing an act of
the most revolting meanness! If you send me away I shall listen at the
door.”
Major Hynd was shown in, and was duly presented to Lady Loring. After
making the customary apologies, he said: “I returned to London last
night, expressly to see Romayne on a matter of importance. Failing to
discover his present address at the hotel, I had the hope that your
lordship might be able to direct me to our friend.”
“I am sorry to say I know no more than you do,” Lord Loring replied.
“Romayne’s present address is a secret confided to his bankers, and to
no one else. I will give you their names, if you wish to write to him.”
Major Hynd hesitated. “I am not quite sure that it would be discreet to
write to him, under the circumstances.”
Lady Loring could no longer keep silence. “Is it possible, Major Hynd,
to tell us what the circumstances are?” she asked. “I am almost as old a
friend of Romayne as my husband--and I am very anxious about him.”
The Major looked embarrassed. “I can hardly answer your ladyship,” he
said, “without reviving painful recollections--”
Lady Loring’s impatience interrupted the Major’s apologies. “Do you mean
the duel?” she inquired.
Lord Loring interposed. “I should tell you, Major Hynd, that Lady Loring
is as well informed as I am of what happened at Boulogne, and of the
deplorable result, so far as Romayne is concerned. If you still wish
to speak to me privately, I will ask you to accompany me into the next
room.”
Major Hynd’s embarrassment vanished. “After what you tell me,” he said,
“I hope to be favored with Lady Loring’s advice. You both know that
Romayne fought the fatal duel with a son of the French General who had
challenged him. When we returned to England, we heard that the
General and his family had been driven away from Boulogne by pecuniary
difficulties. Romayne, against my advice, wrote to the surgeon who had
been present at the duel, desiring that the General’s place of retreat
might be discovered, and expressing his wish to assist the family
anonymously, as their Unknown Friend. The motive, of course, was, in his
own words, ‘to make some little atonement to the poor people whom he had
wronged.’ I thought it a rash proceeding at the time; and I am confirmed
in my opinion by a letter from the surgeon, received yesterday. Will you
kindly read it to Lady Loring?”
He handed the letter to Lord Loring. Translated from the French, it ran
as follows:
“SIR--I am at last able to answer Mr. Romayne’s letter definitely,
with the courteous assistance of the French Consul in London, to whom I
applied when other means of investigation had produced no result.
“A week since the General died, circumstances connected with the
burial expenses informed the Consul that he had taken refuge from his
creditors, not in Paris as we supposed, but in London. The address is,
Number 10, Camp’s Hill, Islington. I should also add that the General,
for obvious reasons, lived in London under the assumed name of Marillac.
It will be necessary, therefore, to inquire for his widow by the name of
Madame Marillac.
“You will perhaps be surprised to find that I address these lines to
you, instead of to Mr. Romayne. The reason is soon told.
“I was acquainted with the late General--as you know--at a time when I
was not aware of the company that he kept, or of the deplorable errors
into which his love of gambling had betrayed him. Of his widow and
his children I know absolutely nothing. Whether they have resisted the
contaminating influence of the head of the household--or whether poverty
and bad example combined have hopelessly degraded them--I cannot say.
There is at least a doubt whether they are worthy of Mr. Romayne’s
benevolent intentions toward them. As an honest man, I cannot feel
this doubt, and reconcile it to my conscience to be the means, however
indirectly, of introducing them to Mr. Romayne. To your discretion I
leave it to act for the best, after this warning.”
Lord Loring returned the letter to Major Hynd. “I agree with you,” he
said. “It is more than doubtful whether you ought to communicate this
information to Romayne.”
Lady Loring was not quite of her husband’s opinion. “While there is a
doubt about these people,” she said, “it seems only just to find out
what sort of character they bear in the neighborhood. In your place,
Major Hynd, I should apply to the person in whose house they live, or to
the tradespeople whom they have employed.”
“I am obliged to leave London again to-day,” the Major replied; “but on
my return I will certainly follow your ladyship’s advice.”
“And you will let us know the result?”
“With the greatest pleasure.”
Major Hynd took his leave. “I think you will be responsible for wasting
the Major’s time,” said Lord Loring, when the visitor had retired.
“I think not,” said Lady Loring.
She rose to leave the room. “Are you going out?” her husband asked.
“No. I am going upstairs to Stella.”
Lady Loring found Miss Eyrecourt in her own room. The little portrait
of Romayne which she had drawn from recollection lay on the table before
her. She was examining it with the closest attention.
“Well, Stella, and what does the portrait tell you?”
“What I knew before, Adelaide. There is nothing false and nothing cruel
in that face.”
“And does the discovery satisfy you? For my part, I despise Romayne for
hiding himself from us. Can you excuse him?”
Stella locked up the portrait in her writing-case. “I can wait,” she
said quietly.
This assertion of patience seemed to irritate Lady Loring “What is the
matter with you this morning?” she asked. “You are more reserved than
ever.”
“No; I am only out of spirits, Adelaide. I can’t help thinking of that
meeting with Winterfield. I feel as if some misfortune was hanging over
my head.”
“Don’t speak of that hateful man!” her ladyship exclaimed. “I have
something to tell you about Romayne. Are you completely absorbed in your
presentiments of evil? or do you think you can listen to me?”
Stella’s face answered for her. Lady Loring described the interview with
Major Hynd in the minutest detail--including, by way of illustration,
the Major’s manners and personal appearance. “He and Lord Loring,” she
added, “both think that Romayne will never hear the last of it if he
allows these foreigners to look to him for money. Until something more
is known about them, the letter is not to be forwarded.”
“I wish I had the letter,” cried Stella.
“Would you forward it to Romayne?”
“Instantly! Does it matter whether these poor French people are worthy
of his generosity? If it restores his tranquillity to help them, who
cares whether they deserve the help? They are not even to know who it is
that assists them--Romayne is to be their unknown friend. It is he, not
they, whom we have to think of--his peace of mind is everything; their
merit is nothing. I say it’s cruel to _him_ to keep him in ignorance of
what has happened. Why didn’t you take the letter away from Major Hynd?”
“Gently, Stella! The Major is going to make inquiries about the widow
and children when he returns to London.”
“When he returns!” Stella repeated indignantly. “Who knows what the poor
wretches may be suffering in the interval, and what Romayne may feel
if he ever hears of it? Tell me the address again--it was somewhere in
Islington, you said.”
“Why do you want to know it?” Lady Loring asked. “You are not going to
write to Romayne yourself?”
“I am going to think, before I do anything. If you can’t trust my
discretion, Adelaide, you have only to say so!”
It was spoken sharply. Lady Loring’s reply betrayed a certain loss
of temper on her side. “Manage your own affairs, Stella--I have done
meddling with them.” Her unlucky visit to Romayne at the hotel had been
a subject of dispute between the two friends--and this referred to it.
“You shall have the address,” my lady added in her grandest manner. She
wrote it on a piece of paper, and left the room.
Easily irritated, Lady Loring had the merit of being easily appeased.
That meanest of all vices, the vice of sulkiness, had no existence
in her nature. In five minutes she regretted her little outburst of
irritability. For five minutes more she waited, on the chance that
Stella might be the first to seek a reconciliation. The interval passed,
and nothing happened. “Have I really offended her?” Lady Loring asked
herself. The next moment she was on her way back to Stella. The room was
empty. She rang the bell for the maid.
“Where is Miss Eyrecourt?”
“Gone out, my lady.”
“Did she leave no message?”
“No, my lady. She went away in a great hurry.”
Lady Loring at once drew the conclusion that Stella had rashly taken the
affair of the General’s family into her own hands. Was it possible to
say how this most imprudent proceeding might end? After hesitating and
reflecting, and hesitating again, Lady Loring’s anxiety got beyond her
control. She not only decided on following Stella, but, in the excess of
her nervous apprehension, she took one of the men-servants with her, in
case of emergency!