The Case of Richard Meynell Part 50

"I could go away with her," she said, imploringly. "I could watch over her day and night. But let me put this thing straight now publicly.

Indeed--indeed, it is time."

"You mean you wish to bring an action? In that case you would have to return to give evidence."

"Yes--for a short time. But that could be managed. She should never see the English papers--I could promise that."

"And what is to prevent Philip Meryon telling her? At present he is entirely ignorant of her parentage. I have convinced myself of that this morning. He has no dealings with the people here, nor they with him.

What has been happening here has not reached him. And he is really off to-night. We must, of course, always take the risk of his knowing, and of his telling her. A libel action would convert that risk into a certainty.

Would it not simply forward whatever designs he may have on her--for I do not believe for a moment he will abandon them--it will be a duel, rather, between him and us--would it not actually forward his designs--to tell her?"

Alice did not reply. She sat wringing her delicate hands in a silent desperation; while Catharine opposite was lost in the bewilderment of the situation--the insistence of the woman, the refusal of the man.

"My advice is this"--continued Meynell, still addressing Alice--"that you should take her to Paris tomorrow in my stead, and should stay near her for some months. Lady Fox-Wilton--whom I have just seen--she overtook me driving on the Markborough road half an hour ago, and we had some conversation--talks of taking a house at Tours for a year--an excellent thing--for them all. We don't want her on the spot any longer--we don't want any of them!" said the Rector, dismissing the Fox-Wilton family with an emphatic gesture which probably represented what he had gone through in the interview with Edith. ... "In that way the thing will soon die down. There will be n.o.body here--n.o.body within reach--for the scoundrel who is writing these letters to attack--except, of course, myself--and I shall know how to deal with it. He will probably tire of the amus.e.m.e.nt.

Other people will be ashamed of having read the letters and believed them. I even dare to hope that Mr. Barron--in time--may be ashamed."

Alice looked at him in tremulous despair.

"n.o.body to attack!" she said--"n.o.body to attack! And you, Richard--_you_?"

A dry smile flickered on his face.

"Leave that to me--I a.s.sure you you may leave it to me."

"Richard!" said Alice imploringly--"just think. I know what you say is very important--very true. But for me personally"--she looked round the room with wandering eyes; then found a sudden pa.s.sionate gesture, pressing back the hair from her brow with both hands--"for me personally--to tell the truth--to face the truth--would be relief--infinite relief! It would kill the fear in which I have lived all these years--kill it forever. It would be better for all of us if we had told the truth--from the beginning. And as for Hester--she must know--you say yourself she must know before long--when she is of age--when she marries--"

Meynell's face took an unconscious hardness.

"Forgive me!--the matter must be left to me. The only person who could reasonably take legal action would be myself--and I shall not take it. I beg you, be advised by me." He bent forward again. "My dear friend!"--and now he spoke with emotion--"in your generous consideration for me you do not know what you are proposing--what an action in the courts would mean, especially at this moment. Think of the party spirit that would be brought into it--the venom--the prejudice--the base insinuations.

No!--believe me--that is out of the question--for your sake--and Hester's."

"And your work--your influence?"

"If they suffer--they must suffer. But do not imagine that I shall not defend myself--and you--you above all--from calumny and lies. Of course I shall--in my own way."

There was silence--a dismal silence. At the end of it Meynell stretched out his hand to Alice with a smile. She placed her own in it, slowly, with a look which filled Catharine's eyes once more with tears.

"Trust me!" said Meynell, as he pressed the hand. "Indeed you may." Then he turned to Catharine Elsmere--

"I think Mrs. Elsmere is with me--that she approves?"

"With one reservation." The words came gravely, after a moment's doubt.

His eyes asked her to be frank.

"I think it would be possible--I think it would be just--if Miss Puttenham were to empower you to go to your Bishop. He too has rights!"

said Catharine, her clear skin reddening.

Meynell paused: then spoke with hesitation.

"Yes--that I possibly might do--if you permit me?" He turned again to Alice.

"Go to him--go to him at once!" she said with a sob she could not repress.

Another silence. Then Meynell walked to the window and looked at the weather.

"It is not raining so fast," he said in his cheerful voice. "Oughtn't you to be going home--getting ready and arranging with Hester? It's an awful business going abroad."

Alice rose silently. Catharine went into the kitchen to fetch the waterproof which had been drying.

Alice and Meynell were left alone.

She looked up.

"It is so hard to be hated!" she said pa.s.sionately--"to see you hated. It seems to burn one's heart--the coa.r.s.e and horrible things that are being said--"

He frowned and fidgeted--till the thought within forced its way:

"Christ was hated. Yet directly the least touch of it comes to us, we rebel--we cry out against G.o.d."

"It is because we are so weak--we are not Christ!" She covered her face with her hands.

"No--but we are his followers--if the Life that was in him is in us too.

'_Life that in me has rest_--_as I_--_Undying Life_--_have power in Thee_!'" He fell--murmuring--into lines that had evidently been in his thoughts, smiling upon her.

Then Catharine returned. Alice was warmly wrapped up, and Catharine took her to the door, leaving Meynell in the sitting-room.

"We will come and help you this evening--Mary and I," she said tenderly, as they stood together in the little pa.s.sage.

"Mary?" Alice looked at her in a trembling uncertainty.

"Mary--of course."

Alice thought a moment, and then said with a low intensity, a force to which Catharine had no clue--"I want you--to tell her--the whole story.

Will you?"

Catharine kissed her cheek in silence, and they parted.

Catharine went slowly back to the little sitting-room. Meynell was standing abstracted before the fire, his hands clasped in front of him, his head bent. Catharine approached him--drawing quick breath.

"Mr. Meynell--what shall I do--what do you wish me to do or say--with regard to my daughter?"

He turned--pale with amazement.

And so began what one may call--perhaps--the most romantic action of a n.o.ble life!