A Double Knot Part 71

"There!" cried Ruth excitedly; "and he is right. Lord Henry is so wise and good, and he must know."

"He is one of the best and n.o.blest of gentlemen," said Marie, throwing back her head and speaking proudly, "and I'll try to make him the truest and best of wives."

"But, oh, Marie! don't be angry with me, dear," cried Ruth, clinging to her; "think a moment. Suppose--suppose you should find out afterwards that you had misjudged Captain Glen."

"Hus.h.!.+" cried Marie; and her face looked so fierce and stern that Ruth shrank from her. "Never speak to me again like that. I tell you, it is dead now--my love for him is dead. You insult me by mentioning his name to Lord Henry's affianced wife."

Ruth crept back to her to place her arms tenderly round her neck, and nestle in the proud woman's breast.

"I do love you, Marie," she said tenderly; "and I pray for your future.

May you, dear, be very, very happy!"

"I shall be," said Marie proudly; "for I am to marry one whom I can esteem, and whom I shall try to love."

Ruth wept softly upon her cousin's breast for a few minutes, and then started from her and wiped away her tears, for there were footsteps on the stairs.

The reign of coldness was at an end, and the honourable sisters had their hearts set at rest by the announcement Lord Henry had been making to them below.

He had sat for some time in silence, and the subject was too delicate for the ladies to approach. They had been about to summon Marie to return, but he had smiled, and suggested that she should be left to herself.

Then the Honourable Philippa's heart had sunk, so had the heart of the Honourable Isabella, whose mind was in a paradoxical state, for she longed to see and hear that Captain Glen was happy; and to have added to his happiness she would have given him Marie's hand at any moment, but at the same time it made her tremble, and the tears rose to her dim eyes whenever she dwelt upon the possibility of another becoming his wife.

A pause had followed, during which Lord Henry had rested his elbow upon the table and his head upon his hand, and there, with the tears hanging on the lashes of his half-closed eyes, and as if in ignorance of the presence of the sisters, he sat thinking dreamily, and smiling softly at the vacancy before him in the gloomy room.

The Honourable Philippa felt that her hopes had been once more dashed, and that Lord Henry had that night proposed and been refused.

"May I send you some tea, Lord Henry?" she said faintly.

"I beg your pardon, dear Miss Philippa, dear Miss Isabella," he cried, starting up with a sweet smile upon his face and the weak tears in his eyes. "I was so overpowered by the enjoyment of my own selfish happiness that I could think of nothing else."

"Happiness?" faltered the Honourable Philippa; and her sister's hand trembled about her waist as if she were busily trying to unpick the gathers of her antique poplin gown.

"Yes, my dear ladies," he said, "happiness!" and he took and kissed in turn their trembling hands. "Our dear Marie has accepted me, and with your consent, as I am growing an old man fast, and time is short, we will be married quietly almost at once."

The Honourable Philippa sank back agitated _a la mode_. The Honourable Isabella sank back feeling really faint and with a strange fluttering at her heart, for, like some mad dream, the idea would come that, now his suit with Marie was perfectly hopeless, Captain Glen might yet say sweet words to her.

It was a mad dream, but it lasted for some hours. It lasted till after Lord Henry had bade them affectionately farewell, and they had gone up to the young girls' room, and Marie had been kissed and blessed with prayers for her happiness.

It lasted, too, until the honourable sisters had retired for the night; and somehow the joyous feeling of hope that had been deferred so long would keep rising brighter and brighter in the Honourable Isabella's breast. By the light of that hope she saw the manly, handsome face of Marcus Glen smiling upon her, as he came and told her that it was not too late even now, and that Ninon de l'Enclos was quite venerable when she loved.

It was very pleasant, and an unwonted flush burned in her face--just such a flush as appeared there when she tried some of that peculiar white paste belonging to Lady Anna Maria Morton, which, applied to the cheeks, turned them of a peachy red.

"It is very foolish of me," she murmured, in quite a cooing voice; "but I don't know: Lady Anna Maria is going to be married to a young and handsome husband, so why should not I?"

Poor little lady! She was finis.h.i.+ng her night toilet as she thought all this, and then it was time to put out the lights.

There were two--an unwonted extravagance--burning, one on either side of the little old-fas.h.i.+oned toilet-gla.s.s, and with a smile of satisfaction she paused to look at herself before extinguis.h.i.+ng the candles.

There was but little vanity in her composition, and it left room for a great deal of latent affection. As she gazed into the old gla.s.s the extinguisher dropped from her hand; she uttered a pitiful cry, and sank into a chair sobbing and bewailing her lost youth.

"No, no, no!" she sobbed; "he could never love such a dreadful thing as that!" And as she sat there the candles burned down, one to drop out at once, the other to flicker and dance in a ghostly way, but the Honourable Isabella heeded it not, for she was a.s.sisting at the interment of her love.

"He could never love such a one as I," she said to herself; and as she sat there in the cold and darkness, her thin hands pressed one upon the other, her heart seemed to ask her who there was for Captain Glen to love; and as she asked herself the question the soft, innocent face of Ruth rose before her, and seemed to be looking gently and kindly in her eyes as she dropped asleep.

Volume 3, Chapter VI.

THE DOUBLE KNOT.

As Gertrude Huish, wild with horror and half mad as she realised that there was something which she could not comprehend about the man who had clasped her in his arms, raised her voice in a loud appeal for help, steps were heard upon the stairs, and there was loud knocking.

"Go in there!" was whispered hoa.r.s.ely, and trembling with the great dread which had come upon her she escaped from the hands which held her, rushed through an open door and shut it to and locked it before she stood alone in the darkness, ready to swoon away.

It was horrible! Those rumours about John Huish which she had proudly refused to believe--were they, then, all true? That woman had claimed him for her husband, and what, then, was she? And then his manner--the coming of the police--his conduct to her!

"G.o.d help me!" she half cried. "It is not he--it cannot be! What is to become of me? What shall I do?"

Yes; that was it. That explained the feeling of loathing she had felt when he clasped her in his arms. At other times her arms had stolen round his neck, her lips had clung to his; while now this man seemed half mad, his breath reeked of spirits, and he horrified her. Was it really, then, all true--that her husband had a double life, or was this some horror in his place?

Her position was maddening, and she felt at times that her reason must give way as, with hands extended, she felt her way in the intense darkness about the little bedroom till her hands rested upon the second door, which, like the first, was fast.

She remembered now that he had entered the room, locked the door, and removed the key, so that she was a prisoner in the utter darkness, where at last she threw herself upon her knees and prayed for help and guidance in her sore strait.

She rose up at last strengthened and calmer, feeling that she must escape and get back home at any cost. No, to Uncle Robert, who would help her; for she dared not, after leaving home as she did, face Lady Millet now.

Then, as she pressed her head with her hands, she felt confused and strange. Her brain swam, and she told herself that she must not go.

One o'clock--two o'clock had struck, and still she sat there in the darkness, with her brain growing more and more bewildered; and then she started to her feet and a cry rose to her lips, for there were footsteps without, and they pa.s.sed the door and entered the next room.

Then as she stood listening to the heavy beating of her heart there was the harsh scratching noise made by a match, and a gleam of light shone beneath the door.

What should she do? He was coming again, and an insane desire came upon her to seek for the window and cast herself out--anything to avoid meeting him now.

At last, when the mental agony of suspense was more than she could bear longer, the door was suddenly opened, the light shone in, and a low hoa.r.s.e cry of horror subsided into a wail of relief, for there stood the same woman, pale, even ghastly, holding a candle above her head, and with a dull, angry look upon her countenance as she entered the room.

"Well," she said harshly, "are you satisfied?"

"I don't understand you," said Gertrude eagerly, as she crept towards her; "but you are a woman. Pray, pray help me to get away from this dreadful place. For indeed it is dreadful to me," continued Gertrude, catching at the woman's hand, but only for her to s.n.a.t.c.h it angrily away.

"You don't know it as I do," she said, "or you would call it a dreadful place. Don't touch me: I hate you!"

"No, no, I never injured you!" cried Gertrude piteously. "Oh, as you are a woman, help me! Here, look, I will reward you. Take this."

She hastily detached her watch and chain, and held them out.

"Pah!" exclaimed the woman, "what are they to me? I've seen him and them bring scores of them, and rich jewels, diamonds and pearls--I'm sick of them; and do you think I would take that from you?"

"Why not?" cried Gertrude. "Oh, have you no pity for me?"