The Vicar's People Part 87

Chynoweth hesitated for a moment, and then softly withdrew, nodding his head.

"So the devil is going to get his due, eh?" he said to himself. "I'd give something if I could go down to listening at key-holes, but I can't do it--I can't do it--I can't do it!" and he went back to his desk.

"You here, Miss Mullion?" exclaimed Tregenna, making an effort to recover his composure.

"Yes, I am here," she said, very sternly; and Tregenna noticed that it seemed to be no longer the weak, vain, flattery-loving girl who was speaking, but a woman made worldly and strong by trouble.

"And what can I do for you, Miss Mullion?" he said, coolly. "Will you take a seat?"

She stood gazing at him without speaking--without moving, while his dark, handsome face grew calmer and more composed.

"I came--to ask you--a question," she said at last, in measured tones; and, as she spoke, she pressed one hand upon her breast, as if to aid her in speaking coolly.

"Certainly," he said politely; "but this is not my office, Miss Mullion, and I have no right to transact legal business here."

As he spoke he took a sheet of foolscap paper, and a fresh dip of ink, as if to make notes of her business.

"I came to ask you, John Tregenna," she said at last, in answer to his inquiring look, "whether the report that I have heard is true."

"Report? True?" he said. "Really, Miss Mullion--"

"I have heard," she continued, speaking in a slow, painful way, every word sounding harsh and metallic, while her face was fixed and stony in its immobility--"I have heard a report that you are--to be married--to Rhoda Penwynn."

"Well, really, Miss Mullion," he said, smiling, "this is a strange question;" and he looked at her with an amused, perfectly unruffled expression.

"Is it true?" she said, in a louder voice, which Tregenna knew must reach the outer office.

"Well, really--it is somewhat strange that you should come and ask me such a question, Miss Mullion; but, since you have asked it--yes, I am."

Madge raised her veil as he made this avowal, but it seemed to give her no shock; there was no trace of emotion in her face, as she gazed straight in his eyes.

"And what of me?" she said at last.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What of your child?" she said, in the same harsh ringing voice.

"Really, Miss Mullion, my poor girl," he said, rising, "I fear you are ill."

"Ill!" she said sharply; "very ill, but not so ill but that I can come to you now and ask for reparation for my wrongs."

"Ask me, Miss Mullion? Poor soul!" he muttered; "she takes me for Trethick."

Madge heard his words, and if any spark of love or pa.s.sion remained for him in her breast, those words crushed it out. The weak girl had indeed become a woman now--a woman and a mother; and if John Tregenna, in a fit of remorse, had asked her then to be his wife, she would have refused, and gone on bearing the burthen of her shame.

"You pitiful, contemptible snake!" she said, speaking now in a low voice that thrilled him through and through. "I am mad, am I, John Tregenna?

No, not now. I was mad to listen to and trust you--mad to believe that you would keep your word--mad, if you will, to take upon my poor weak shoulders the sin that was yours more than mine."

"Miss Mullion!" exclaimed Tregenna, rising. "I must put an end to this painful interview;" and he laid his hand upon the bell.

"Do you wish Mr Chynoweth to hear what I am saying to you--what I intend to say to Rhoda Penwynn to-night when she returns from Truro-- what I should have said to her to-day, after I had left you, had she been at home? If so, ring."

Tregenna showed the first sign of weakness; his hand dropped from the bell, and he started as he heard poor Madge's bitter laugh, realising more fully now than ever that the enemy in his path, instead of being a weak, helpless girl, had grown into a dangerous woman.

He had made a false step in his defence; but it was too late to retreat, and he kept boldly on.

"My poor girl," he said kindly, "it would be affectation to pretend that I did not know your troubles, but pray be calm. Let me send some one with you home."

"You pitiful coward!" she said again, and there was an intensity of scorn in her words that thrilled him through; "do you think if I had known you as I know you now that I would have kept your wretched secret?"

"Miss Mullion--"

"Have let insult, misery, and injury fall upon others' heads, till I have been heart-broken over their sorrows, and yet in faith to you I would not speak. But it is over now. Mr Trethick knows the truth.

To-night Rhoda Penwynn will know the truth. I came to you now more in sorrow than anger, believing that when you saw me, even if the report was true, that the sight of my poor thin face, and what you could read there of my sufferings, would move you to some show of pity for your miserable victim; but instead--Oh, G.o.d of heaven!" she exclaimed pa.s.sionately, "how could I ever love this man?"

"Is any thing the matter, sir?" said Mr Chynoweth, opening the door.

"Did you call?"

"No. Yes, Mr Chynoweth," exclaimed Tregenna, excitedly. "This poor girl. She ought not to be away from home alone. I don't think,"--(he touched his forehead).

"That I am in my senses, Mr Chynoweth," said Madge sharply, as she drew down her veil; "but I am. John Tregenna, I shall keep my word."

She went slowly out of the inner room and across the office, Chynoweth hastening after her to open the door, John Tregenna coming close behind, as if to see that Madge did not speak again; but she went away without a word.

"Poor creature!" exclaimed Tregenna. "I suppose I must not heed a word she said. Of course you did not hear, Mr Chynoweth?"

"No, sir, not a word hardly; only when she spoke very loud."

"Ah, poor thing, her brain is touched, no doubt," he said, as he returned to the inner room, where his countenance seemed to change in a way that, had she seen it, would have made Madge Mullion shrink from him in dread, and, perhaps, hesitate in her intention to go up and see Rhoda Penwynn some time that night.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

BY THE SOLEMN Sh.o.r.e.

Geoffrey started off along the cliff with a strange feeling of dread in his breast, and as he hurried along it was with his eyes gazing down upon the sh.o.r.e, so that he pa.s.sed without seeing that some one was seated on one of the blocks of stone by the old mine shaft, enjoying the suns.h.i.+ne and gazing apparently sadly out to sea.

He noted the two descending paths that were connected in his mind with poor Madge's attempt to commit self-destruction, and hesitated as to whether he should descend; but he decided upon going on straight, first, to the town, and as he strode on he could not help sighing as he glanced at the buildings about Wheal Carnac.

"I wonder who bought it," he said; and for a moment or two he mused upon old Prawle's sulky indifference now that his _coup_ had failed, and wondered whether it would be of any use to try for a post with the new proprietors.

"A nice character mine to go with," he muttered. "Poor Madge! Where can she be? Has she gone up to Tregenna?"

The more he thought of this the stronger the idea became, and with a curious feeling of hope, that he vainly tried to crush down, rising in his breast, he went quickly on, to utter an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n the next moment, for there was Madge walking towards him along the cliff.

"Why, Madge!" he exclaimed. "You quite frightened me. Where have you been?"

"Don't touch me--don't speak to me, Mr Trethick," she said, in a sharp, harsh voice.