Blind Love

by

Wilkie Collins (completed by Walter Besant)

CONTENTS

PREFACE

FIRST PERIOD

 I THE SOUR FRENCH WINE II THE MAN SHE REFUSED III THE REGISTERED PACKET IV THE GAME: MOUNTJOY LOSES V THE GAME: MOUNTJOY PLAYS A NEW CARD VI THE GAME: MOUNTJOY WINS VII DOCTORING THE DOCTOR VIII HER FATHER'S MESSAGE IX MR. VIMPANY ON INTOXICATION X THE MOCKERY OF DECEIT XI MRS. VIMPANY'S FAREWELL XII LORD HARRY's DEFENCE

THE SECOND PERIOD

 XIII IRIS AT HOME XIV THE LADY'S MAID XV MR. HENLEY'S TEMPER XVI THE DOCTOR IN FULL DRESS XVII ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH XVIII PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE XIX MR. HENLEY AT HOME XX FIRST SUSPICIONS OF IRIS XXI THE PARTING SCENE XXII THE FATAL WORDS

THE THIRD PERIOD

 XXIII NEWS OF IRIS XXIV LORD HARRY'S HONEYMOON XXV THE DOCTOR IN DIFFICULTIES XXVI LONDON AND PARIS XXVII THE BRIDE AT HOME XXVIII THE MAID AND THE KEYHOLE XXIX THE CONQUEST OF MR. VIMPANY XXX SAXON AND CELT XXXI THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS XXXII GOOD-BYE TO IRIS XXXIII THE DECREE OF FATE XXXIV MY LORD'S MIND XXXV MY LADY'S MIND XXXVI THE DOCTOR MEANS MISCHIEF XXXVII THE FIRST QUARREL XXXVIII ICI ON PARLE FRANCAIS XXXIX THE MYSTERY OF THE HOSPITAL XL DIRE NECESSITY XLI THE MAN IS FOUND. XLII THE METTLESOME MAID XLIII FICTION: ATTEMPTED BY MY LORD XLIV FICTION: IMPROVED BY THE DOCTOR XLV FACT: RELATED BY FANNY XLVI MAN AND WIFE XLVII THE PATIENT AND MY LORD XLVIII "THE MISTRESS AND THE MAID" XLIX THE NURSE IS SENT AWAY L IN THE ALCOVE LI WHAT NEXT? LII THE DEAD MAN'S PHOTOGRAPH LIII THE WIFE'S RETURN LIV ANOTHER STEP LV THE ADVENTURES OF A FAITHFUL MAID LVI FANNY'S NARRATIVE LVII AT LOUVAIN LVIII OF COURSE THEY WILL PAY LIX THE CONSEQUENCES OF AN ADVERTISEMENT LX ON THE EVE OF A CHANGE LXI THE LAST DISCOVERY LXII THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS LXIII A REFUGE LXIV THE INVINCIBLES

PREFACE

IN the month of August 1889, and in the middle of the seaside holiday, a message came to me from Wilkie Collins, then, though we hopedotherwise, on his death-bed. 

It was conveyed to me by Mr. A. P. Watt. He told me that his son hadjust come from Wilkie Collins: that they had been speaking of hisnovel, "Blind Love, " then running in the _Illustrated London News_:that the novel was, unfortunately, unfinished: that he himself couldnot possibly finish it: and that he would be very glad, if I wouldfinish it if I could find the time. And that if I could undertake thiswork he would send me his notes of the remainder. Wilkie Collins addedthese words: "If he has the time I think he will do it: we are both oldhands at this work, and understand it, and he knows that I would do thesame for him if he were in my place. "

Under the circumstances of the case, it was impossible to decline thisrequest. I wrote to say that time should be made, and the notes wereforwarded to me at Robin Hood's Bay. I began by reading carefully andtwice over, so as to get a grip of the story and the novelist'sintention, the part that had already appeared, and the proofs so far asthe author had gone. I then turned to the notes. I found that thesewere not merely notes such as I expected--simple indications of theplot and the development of events, but an actual detailed scenario, inwhich every incident, however trivial, was carefully laid down: therewere also fragments of dialogue inserted at those places where dialoguewas wanted to emphasise the situation and make it real. I was muchstruck with the writer's perception of the vast importance of dialoguein making the reader seize the scene. Description requires attention:dialogue rivets attention. 

It is not an easy task, nor is it pleasant, to carry on another man'swork: but the possession of this scenario lightened the workenormously. I have been careful to adhere faithfully and exactly to theplot, scene by scene, down to the smallest detail as it was laid downby the author in this book. I have altered nothing. I have preservedand incorporated every fragment of dialogue. I have used the verylanguage wherever that was written so carefully as to show that it wasmeant to be used. I think that there is only one trivial detail where Ihad to choose because it was not clear from the notes what the authorhad intended. The plot of the novel, every scene, every situation, frombeginning to end, is the work of Wilkie Collins. The actual writing isentirely his up to a certain point: from that point to the end it ispartly his, but mainly mine. Where his writing ends and mine begins, Ineed not point out. The practised critic will, no doubt, at once layhis finger on the spot. 

I have therefore carried out the author's wishes to the best of myability. I would that he were living still, if only to regret that hehad not been allowed to finish his last work with his own hand!

WALTER BESANT. 

BLIND LOVE

THE PROLOGUE

I

SOON after sunrise, on a cloudy morning in the year 1881, a specialmessenger disturbed the repose of Dennis Howmore, at his place ofresidence in the pleasant Irish town of Ardoon. 

Well acquainted apparently with the way upstairs, the man thumped on abed-room door, and shouted his message through it: "The master wantsyou, and mind you don't keep him waiting. "

The person sending this peremptory message was Sir Giles Mountjoy ofArdoon, knight and banker. The person receiving the message was SirGiles's head clerk. As a matter of course, Dennis Howmore dressedhimself at full speed, and hastened to his employer's private house onthe outskirts of the town. 

He found Sir Giles in an irritable and anxious state of mind. A letterlay open on the banker's bed, his night-cap was crumpled crookedly onhis head, he was in too great a hurry to remember the claims ofpoliteness, when the clerk said "Good morning. "

"Dennis, I have got something for you to do. It must be kept a secret, and it allows of no delay. "

"Is it anything connected with business, sir?"

The banker lost his temper. "How can you be such an infernal fool as tosuppose that anything connected with business could happen at this timein the morning? Do you know the first milestone on the road to Garvan?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very well. Go to the milestone, and take care that nobody sees youwhen you get there. Look at the back of the stone. If you discover anObject which appears to have been left in that situation on the ground, bring it to me; and don't forget that the most impatient man in allIreland is waiting for you. "

Not a word of explanation followed these extraordinary instructions. 

The head clerk set forth on his errand, with his mind dwelling on thenational tendencies to conspiracy and assassination. His employer wasnot a popular person. Sir Giles had paid rent when he owed it; and, worse still, was disposed to remember in a friendly spirit what Englandhad done for Ireland, in the course of the last fifty years. Ifanything appeared to justify distrust of the mysterious Object of whichhe was in search, Dennis resolved to be vigilantly on the look-out fora gun-barrel, whenever he passed a hedge on his return journey to thetown. 

Arrived at the milestone, he discovered on the ground behind it oneObject only--a fragment of a broken tea-cup. 

Naturally enough, Dennis hesitated. It seemed to be impossible that theearnest and careful instructions which he had received could relate tosuch a trifle as this. At the same time, he was acting under orderswhich were as positive as tone, manner, and language could make them. Passive obedience appeared to be the one safe course to take--at therisk of a reception, irritating to any man's self-respect, when hereturned to his employer with a broken teacup in his hand. 

The event entirely failed to justify his misgivings. There could be nodoubt that Sir Giles attached serious importance to the contemptiblediscovery made at the milestone. After having examined and re-examinedthe fragment, he announced his intention of sending the clerk on asecond errand--still without troubling himself to explain what hisincomprehensible instructions meant. 

"If I am not mistaken, " he began, "the Reading Rooms, in our town, openas early as nine. Very well. Go to the Rooms this morning, on thestroke of the clock. " He stopped, and consulted the letter which layopen on his bed. "Ask the librarian, " he continued, "for the thirdvolume of Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. ' Open thebook at pages seventy-eight and seventy-nine. If you find a piece ofpaper between those two leaves, take possession of it when nobody islooking at you, and bring it to me. That's all, Dennis. And bear inmind that I shall not recover the use of my patience till I see youagain. "

On ordinary occasions, the head clerk was not a man accustomed toinsist on what was due to his dignity. At the same time he was asensible human being, conscious of the consideration to which hisresponsible place in the office entitled him. Sir Giles's irritatingreserve, not even excused by a word of apology, reached the limits ofhis endurance. He respectfully protested. 

"I regret to find, sir, " he said, "that I have lost my place in myemployer's estimation. The man to whom you confide the superintendenceof your clerks and the transaction of your business has, I venture tothink, some claim (under the present circumstances) to be trusted. "

The banker was now offended on his side. 

"I readily admit your claim, " he answered, "when you are sitting atyour desk in my office. But, even in these days of strikes, co-operations, and bank holidays, an employer has one privilegeleft--he has not ceased to be a Man, and he has not forfeited a man'sright to keep his own secrets. I fail to see anything in my conductwhich has given you just reason to complain. "

Dennis, rebuked, made his bow in silence, and withdrew. 

Did these acts of humility mean that he submitted? They meant exactlythe contrary. He had made up his mind that Sir Giles Mountjoy's motivesshould, sooner or later, cease to be mysteries to Sir Giles Mountjoy'sclerk. 

II

CAREFULLY following his instructions, he consulted the third volume ofGibbon's great History, and found, between the seventy-eighth andseventy-ninth pages, something remarkable this time. 

It was a sheet of delicately-made paper, pierced with a number oflittle holes, infinitely varied in size, and cut with the smoothestprecision. Having secured this curious object, while the librarian'sback was turned, Dennis Howmore reflected. 

A page of paper, unintelligibly perforated for some purpose unknown, was in itself a suspicious thing. And what did suspicion suggest to theinquiring mind in South-Western Ireland, before the suppression of theLand League? Unquestionably---Police!

On the way back to his employer, the banker's clerk paid a visit to anold friend--a journalist by profession, and a man of varied learningand experience as well. Invited to inspect the remarkable morsel ofpaper, and to discover the object with which the perforations had beenmade, the authority consulted proved to be worthy of the trust reposedin him. Dennis left the newspaper office an enlightened man--withinformation at the disposal of Sir Giles, and with a sense of reliefwhich expressed itself irreverently in these words: "Now I have gothim!"

The bewildered banker looked backwards and forwards from the paper tothe clerk, and from the clerk to the paper. "I don't understand it, " hesaid. "Do you?"

Still preserving the appearance of humility, Dennis asked leave toventure on a guess. The perforated paper looked, as he thought, like aPuzzle. "If we wait for a day or two, " he suggested, "the Key to it maypossibly reach us. "

On the next day, nothing happened. On the day after, a second lettermade another audacious demand on the fast failing patience of Sir GilesMountjoy. 

Even the envelope proved to be a Puzzle on this occasion; the postmarkwas "Ardoon. " In other words, the writer had used the postman as amessenger, while he or his accomplice was actually in the town, postingthe letter within half-a-minute's walk of the bank! The contentspresented an impenetrable mystery, the writing looked worthy of amadman. Sentences appeared in the wildest state of confusion, and wordswere so mutilated as to be unintelligible. This time the force ofcircumstances was more than Sir Giles could resist. He took the clerkinto his confidence at last. 

"Let us begin at the beginning, " he said. "There is the letter you sawon my bed, when I first sent for you. I found it waiting on my tablewhen I woke; and I don't know who put it there. Read it. "

Dennis read as follows:

"Sir Giles Mountjoy, --I have a disclosure to make, in which one of themembers of your family is seriously interested. Before I can venture toexplain myself, I must be assured that I can trust to your good faith. As a test of this, I require you to fulfil the two conditions thatfollow--and to do it without the slightest loss of time. I dare nottrust you yet with my address, or my signature. Any act ofcarelessness, on my part, might end fatally for the true friend whowrites these lines. If you neglect this warning, you will regret it tothe end of your life. "

To the conditions on which the letter insisted there is no need toallude. They had been complied with when the discoveries were made atthe back of the milestone, and between the pages of Gibson's history. Sir Giles had already arrived at the conclusion that a conspiracy wasin progress to assassinate him, and perhaps to rob the bank. The wiserhead clerk pointed to the perforated paper and the incomprehensiblewriting received that morning. "If we can find out what these mean, " hesaid, "you may be better able, sir, to form a correct opinion. "

"And who is to do that?" the banker asked. 

"I can but try, sir, " was the modest reply, "if you see no objection tomy making the attempt. "

Sir Giles approved of the proposed experiment, silently andsatirically, by a bend of his head. 

Too discreet a man to make a suspiciously ready use of the informationwhich he had privately obtained, Dennis took care that his firstattempt should not be successful. After modestly asking permission totry again, he ventured on the second occasion to arrive at a happydiscovery. Lifting the perforated paper, he placed it delicately overthe page which contained the unintelligible writing. Words andsentences now appeared (through the holes in the paper) in their rightspelling and arrangement, and addressed Sir Giles in these terms:

"I beg to thank you, sir, for complying with my conditions. You havesatisfied me of your good faith. At the same time, it is possible thatyou may hesitate to trust a man who is not yet able to admit you to hisconfidence. The perilous position in which I stand obliges me to askfor two or three days more of delay, before I can safely make anappointment with you. Pray be patient--and on no account apply foradvice or protection to the police. "

"Those last words, " Sir Giles declared, "are conclusive! The sooner Iam under the care of the law the better. Take my card to thepolice-office. "

"May I say a word first, sir?"

"Do you mean that you don't agree with me?"

"I mean that. "

"You were always an obstinate man Dennis; and it grows on you as youget older. Never mind! Let's have it out. Who do _you_ say is theperson pointed at in these rascally letters?"

The head clerk took up the first letter of the two and pointed to theopening sentence: "Sir Giles Mountjoy, I have a disclosure to make inwhich one of the members of your family is seriously interested. "Dennis emphatically repeated the words: "one of the members of yourfamily. " His employer regarded him with a broad stare of astonishment. 

"One of the members of my family?" Sir Giles repeated, on his side. "Why, man alive, what are you thinking of? I'm an old bachelor, and Ihaven't got a family. "

"There is your brother, sir. "

"My brother is in France--out of the way of the wretches who arethreatening me. I wish I was with him!"

"There are your brother's two sons, Sir Giles. "

"Well? And what is there to be afraid of? My nephew, Hugh, is inLondon--and, mind! not on a political errand. I hope, before long, tohear that he is going to be married--if the strangest and nicest girlin England will have him. What's wrong now?"

Dennis explained. "I only wished to say, sir, that I was thinking ofyour other nephew. "

Sir Giles laughed. "Arthur in danger!" he exclaimed. "As harmless ayoung man as ever lived. The worst one can say of him is that he isthrowing away his money--farming in Kerry. "

"Excuse me, Sir Giles; there's not much chance of his throwing away hismoney, where he is now. Nobody will venture to take his money. I metwith one of Mr. Arthur's neighbours at the market yesterday. Yournephew is boycotted. "

"So much the better, " the obstinate banker declared. "He will be curedof his craze for farming; and he will come back to the place I amkeeping for him in the office. "

"God grant it!" the clerk said fervently. 

For the moment, Sir Giles was staggered. "Have you heard something thatyou haven't told me yet?" he asked. 

"No, sir. I am only bearing in mind something which--with allrespect--I think you have forgotten. The last tenant on that bit ofland in Kerry refused to pay his rent. Mr. Arthur has taken what theycall an evicted farm. It's my firm belief, " said the head clerk, risingand speaking earnestly, "that the person who has addressed thoseletters to you knows Mr. Arthur, and knows he is in danger--and istrying to save your nephew (by means of your influence), at the risk ofhis own life. "

Sir Giles shook his head. "I call that a far-fetched interpretation, Dennis. If what you say is true, why didn't the writer of thoseanonymous letters address himself to Arthur, instead of to me?"

"I gave it as my opinion just now, sir, that the writer of the letterknew Mr. Arthur. "

"So you did. And what of that?"

Dennis stood to his guns. 

"Anybody who is acquainted with Mr. Arthur, " he persisted, "knows that(with all sorts of good qualities) the young gentleman is headstrongand rash. If a friend told him he was in danger on the farm, that wouldbe enough of itself to make him stop where he is, and brave it out. Whereas you, sir, are known to be cautious and careful, and farseeingand discreet. " He might have added: And cowardly and obstinate, andnarrow-minded and inflated by stupid self-esteem. But respect for hisemployer had blindfolded the clerk's observation for many a long yearpast. If one man may be born with the heart of a lion, another man maybe born with the mind of a mule. Dennis's master was one of the othermen. 

"Very well put, " Sir Giles answered indulgently. "Time will show, ifsuch an entirely unimportant person as my nephew Arthur is likely to beassassinated. That allusion to one of the members of my family is amere equivocation, designed to throw me off my guard. Rank, money, social influence, unswerving principles, mark ME out as a publiccharacter. Go to the police-office, and let the best man who happens tobe off duty come here directly. "

Good Dennis Howmore approached the door very unwillingly. It wasopened, from the outer side, before he had reached that end of theroom. One of the bank porters announced a visitor. 

"Miss Henley wishes to know, sir, if you can see her. "

Sir Giles looked agreeably surprised. He rose with alacrity to receivethe lady. 

III

WHEN Iris Henley dies there will, in all probability, be friends leftwho remember her and talk of her--and there may be strangers present atthe time (women for the most part), whose curiosity will put questionsrelating to her personal appearance. No replies will reward them withtrustworthy information. Miss Henley's chief claim to admiration lay ina remarkable mobility of expression, which reflected every change offeeling peculiar to the nature of a sweet and sensitive woman. For thisreason, probably, no descriptions of her will agree with each other. Noexisting likenesses will represent her. The one portrait that waspainted of Iris is only recognisable by partial friends of the artist. In and out of London, photographic likenesses were taken of her. Theyhave the honour of resembling the portraits of Shakespeare in thisrespect--compared with one another, it is not possible to discover thatthey present the same person. As for the evidence offered by the lovingmemory of her friends, it is sure to be contradictory in the lastdegree. She had a charming face, a commonplace face, an intelligentface--a poor complexion, a delicate complexion, no complexion atall--eyes that were expressive of a hot temper, of a bright intellect, of a firm character, of an affectionate disposition, of a truthfulnature, of hysterical sensibility, of inveterate obstinacy--a figuretoo short; no, just the right height; no, neither one thing nor theother; elegant, if you like--dress shabby: oh, surely not; dress quietand simple; no, something more than that; ostentatiously quiet, theatrically simple, worn with the object of looking unlike otherpeople. In one last word, was this mass of contradictions generallypopular, in the time when it was a living creature? Yes--among the men. No--not invariably. The man of all others who ought to have beenfondest of her was the man who behaved cruelly to Iris--her own father. And, when the poor creature married (if she did marry), how many of youattended the wedding? Not one of us! And when she died, how many of youwere sorry for her? All of us! What? no difference of opinion in thatone particular? On the contrary, perfect concord, thank God. 

Let the years roll back, and let Iris speak for herself, at thememorable time when she was in the prime of her life, and when a stormycareer was before her. 

IV

BEING Miss Henley's godfather, Sir Giles was a privileged person. Helaid his hairy hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on either cheek. After that prefatory act of endearment, he made his inquiries. Whatextraordinary combination of events had led Iris to leave London, andhad brought her to visit him in his banking-house at Ardoon?

"I wanted to get away from home, " she answered; "and having nobody togo to but my godfather, I thought I should like to see You. "

"Alone!" cried Sir Giles. 

"No--with my maid to keep me company. "

"Only your maid, Iris? Surely you have acquaintances among young ladieslike yourself?"

"Acquaintances--yes. No friends. "

"Does your father approve of what you have done?"

"Will you grant me a favour, godpapa?"

"Yes--if I can. "

"Don't insist on my answering your last question. "

The faint colour that had risen in her face, when she entered the room, left it. At the same time, the expression of her mouth altered. Thelips closed firmly; revealing that strongest of all resolutions whichis founded on a keen sense of wrong. She looked older than her age:what she might be ten years hence, she was now. Sir Giles understoodher. He got up, and took a turn in the room. An old habit, of which hehad cured himself with infinite difficulty when he was made a Knight, showed itself again. He put his hands in his pockets. 

"You and your father have had another quarrel, " he said, stoppingopposite Iris. 

"I don't deny it, " she replied. 

"Who is to blame?"

She smiled bitterly. "The woman is always to blame. "

"Did your father tell you that?"

"My father reminded me that I was twenty-one years old, lastbirthday--and told me that I could do as I liked. I understood him, andI left the house. "

"You will go back again, I suppose?"

"I don't know. "

Sir Giles began pacing the room once more. His rugged face, telling itsstory of disaster and struggle in early life, showed signs ofdisappointment and distress. 

"Hugh promised to write to me, " he said, "and he has not written. Iknow what that means; I know what you have done to offend your father. My nephew has asked you to marry him for the second time. And for thesecond time you have refused. "

Her face softened; its better and younger aspect revived. "Yes, " shesaid, sadly and submissively; "I have refused him again. "

Sir Giles lost his temper. "What the devil is your objection to Hugh?"he burst out. 

"My father said the same thing to me, " she replied, "almost in the samewords. I made him angry when I tried to give my reason. I don't want tomake you angry, too. "

He took no notice of this. "Isn't Hugh a good fellow?" he went on. "Isn't he affectionate? and kindhearted? and honourable?--aye, and ahandsome man too, if you come to that. "

"Hugh is all that you say. I like him; I admire him; I owe to hiskindness some of the happiest days of my sad life, and I amgrateful--oh, with all my heart, I am grateful to Hugh!"

"If that's true, Iris----"

"Every word of it is true. "

"I say, if that's true--there's no excuse for you. I hate perversity ina young woman! Why don't you marry him?"

"Try to feel for me, " she said gently; "I can't love him. "

Her tone said more to the banker than her words had expressed. Thesecret sorrow of her life, which was known to her father, was knownalso to Sir Giles. 

"Now we have come to it at last!" he said. "You can't love my nephewHugh. And you won't tell me the reason why, because your sweet tempershrinks from making me angry. Shall I mention the reason for you, mydear? I can do it in two words--Lord Harry. "

She made no reply; she showed no sign of feeling at what he had justsaid. Her head sank a little; her hands clasped themselves on her lap;the obstinate resignation which can submit to anything hardened herface, stiffened her figure--and that was all. 

The banker was determined not to spare her. 

"It's easy to see, " he resumed, "that you have not got over yourinfatuation for that vagabond yet. Go where he may, into the vilestplaces and among the lowest people, he carries your heart along withhim. I wonder you are not ashamed of such an attachment as that. "

He had stung her at last. She roused herself, and answered him. 

"Harry has led a wild life, " she said; "he has committed seriousfaults, and he may live to do worse than he has done yet. To whatdegradation, bad company, and a bad bringing-up may yet lead him, Ileave his enemies to foresee. But I tell you this, he has redeemingqualities which you, and people like you, are not good Christiansenough to discover. He has friends who can still appreciate him--yournephew, Arthur Mountjoy, is one of them. Oh, I know it by Arthur'sletters to me! Blame Lord Harry as you may, I tell you he has thecapacity for repentance in him, and one day--when it is too late, Idare say--he will show it. I can never be his wife. We are parted, never in all likelihood to meet again. Well, he is the only man whom Ihave ever loved; and he is the only man whom I ever shall love. If youthink this state of mind proves that I am as bad as he is, I won'tcontradict you. Do we any of us know how bad we are----? Have you heardof Harry lately?"

The sudden transition, from an earnest and devoted defence of the man, to an easy and familiar inquiry about him, startled Sir Giles. 

For the moment, he had nothing to say; Iris had made him think. She hadshown a capacity for mastering her strongest feelings, at the momentwhen they threatened to overcome her, which is very rarely found in ayoung woman. How to manage her was a problem for patient resolution tosolve. The banker's obstinacy, rather than his conviction, hadencouraged him to hold to the hope of Hugh's marriage, even after hisnephew had been refused for the second time. His headstrong goddaughterhad come to visit him of her own accord. She had not forgotten the daysof her childhood, when he had some influence over her--when she hadfound him kinder to her than her father had ever been. Sir Giles sawthat he had taken the wrong tone with Iris. His anger had not alarmedher; his opinion had not influenced her. In Hugh's interests, hedetermined to try what consideration and indulgence would do towardscultivating the growth of her regard for him. Finding that she had lefther maid and her luggage at the hotel, he hospitably insisted on theirremoval to his own house. 

"While you are in Ardoon, Iris, you are my guest, " he said. 

She pleased him by readily accepting the invitation--and then annoyedhim by asking again if he had heard anything of Lord Harry. 

He answered shortly and sharply: "I have heard nothing. What is _your_last news of him?"

"News, " she said, "which I sincerely hope is not true. An Irish paperhas been sent to me, which reports that he has joined the secretsociety--nothing better than a society of assassins, I am afraid--whichis known by the name of the Invincibles. "

As she mentioned that formidable brotherhood, Dennis Howmore returnedfrom the police-office. He announced that a Sergeant was then waitingto receive instructions from Sir Giles. 

V

IRIS rose to go. Her godfather courteously stopped her. 

"Wait here, " he said, "until I have spoken to the Sergeant, and I willescort you to my house. My clerk will do what is necessary at thehotel. You don't look quite satisfied. Is the arrangement that I haveproposed not agreeable to you?"

Iris assured him that she gratefully acceded to the arrangement. At thesame time, she confessed to having been a little startled, ondiscovering that he was in consultation with the police. "I rememberthat we are in Ireland, " she explained, "and I am foolish enough tofear that you may be in some danger. May I hope that it is only atrifle?"

Only a trifle! Among ether deficient sensibilities in the strangenature of Iris, Sir Giles had observed an imperfect appreciation of thedignity of his social position. Here was a new proof of it! Thetemptation to inspire sentiments of alarm--not unmingled withadmiration--in the mind of his insensible goddaughter, by exhibitinghimself as a public character threatened by a conspiracy, was more thanthe banker's vanity could resist. Before he left the room, heinstructed Dennis to tell Miss Henley what had happened, and to let herjudge for herself whether he had been needlessly alarmed by, what shewas pleased to call, "a mere trifle. "

Dennis Howmore must have been more than mortal, if he could haverelated his narrative of events without being influenced by his ownpoint of view. On the first occasion when he mentioned ArthurMountjoy's name, Iris showed a sudden interest in his strange storywhich took him by surprise. 

"You know Mr. Arthur?" he said. 

"Knew him!" Iris repeated. "He was my playfellow when we were bothchildren. He is as dear to me as if he was my brother. Tell me atonce--is he really in danger?"

Dennis honestly repeated what he had already said, on that subject, tohis master. Miss Henley, entirely agreeing with him, was eager to warnArthur of his position. There was no telegraphic communication with thevillage which was near his farm. She could only write to him, and shedid write to him, by that day's post--having reasons of her own foranxiety, which forbade her to show her letter to Dennis. Well aware ofthe devoted friendship which united Lord Harry and Arthur Mountjoy--andbearing in mind the newspaper report of the Irish lord's rashassociation with the Invincibles--her fears now identified the noblevagabond as the writer of the anonymous letters, which had so seriouslyexcited her godfather's doubts of his own safety. 

When Sir Giles returned, and took her with him to his house, he spokeof his consultation with the Sergeant in terms which increased herdread of what might happen in the future. She was a dull and silentguest, during the interval that elapsed before it would be possible toreceive Arthur's reply. The day arrived--and the post brought no reliefto her anxieties. The next day passed without a letter. On the morningof the fourth day, Sir Giles rose later than usual. His correspondencewas sent to him from the office, at breakfast-time. After opening oneof the letters, he dispatched a messenger in hot haste to the police. 

"Look at that, " he said, handing the letter to Iris. "Does the assassintake me for a fool?"

She read the lines that follow:

"Unforeseen events force me, Sir Giles, to run a serious risk. I mustspeak to you, and it must not be by daylight. My one hope of safety isin darkness. Meet me at the first milestone, on the road to Garvan, when the moon sets at ten o'clock to-night. No need to mention yourname. The password is: _Fidelity. "_

"Do you mean to go?" Iris asked. 

"Do I mean to be murdered!" Sir Giles broke out. "My dear child, dopray try to think before you speak. The Sergeant will represent me, ofcourse. "

"And take the man prisoner?" Iris added. 

"Certainly!"

With that startling reply, the banker hurried away to receive thepolice in another room. Iris dropped into the nearest chair. The turnthat the affair had now taken filled her with unutterable dismay. 

Sir Giles came back, after no very long absence, composed and smiling. The course of proceeding had been settled to his complete satisfaction. 

Dressed in private clothes, the Sergeant was to go to the milestone atthe appointed time, representing the banker in the darkness, and givingthe password. He was to be followed by two of his men who would wait inconcealment, within hearing of his whistle, if their services wererequired. "I want to see the ruffian when he is safely handcuffed, " SirGiles explained; "and I have arranged to wait for the police, to-night, at my office. "

There was but one desperate way that Iris could now discern of savingthe man who had confided in her godfather's honour, and whose trust hadalready been betrayed. Never had she loved the outlawed Irish lord--theman whom she was forbidden, and rightly forbidden, to marry--as sheloved him at that moment. Let the risk be what it might, this resolutewoman had determined that the Sergeant should not be the only personwho arrived at the milestone, and gave the password. There was onedevoted friend to Lord Harry, whom she could always trust--and thatfriend was herself. 

Sir Giles withdrew, to look after his business at the bank. She waiteduntil the clock had struck the servants' dinner hour, and then ascendedthe stairs to her godfather's dressing-room. Opening his wardrobe, shediscovered in one part of it a large Spanish cloak, and, in anotherpart, a high-crowned felt hat which he wore on his country excursions. In the dark, here was disguise enough for her purpose. 

As she left the dressing-room, a measure of precaution occurred to her, which she put in action at once. Telling her maid that she had somepurchases to make in the town, she went out, and asked her way toGarvan of the first respectable stranger whom she met in the street. Her object was to walk as far as the first milestone, in daylight, soas to be sure of finding it again by night. She had made herselffamiliar with the different objects on the road, when she returned tothe banker's house. 

As the time for the arrest drew nearer, Sir Giles became too restlessto wait patiently at home. He went away to the police-office, eager tohear if any new counter-conspiracy had occurred to the authorities. 

It was dark soon after eight o'clock, at that time of the year. At ninethe servants assembled at the supper-table. They were all downstairstogether, talking, and waiting for their meal. 

Feeling the necessity of arriving at the place of meeting, in time tokeep out of the Sergeant's way, Iris assumed her disguise as the clockstruck nine. She left the house without a living creature to noticeher, indoors or out. Clouds were gathering over the sky. The waningmoon was only to be seen at intervals, as she set forth on her way tothe milestone. 

VI

THE wind rose a little, and the rifts in the clouds began to growbroader as Iris gained the high road. 

For a while, the glimmer of the misty moonlight lit the way before her. As well as she could guess, she had passed over more than half of thedistance between the town and the milestone before the sky darkenedagain. Objects by the wayside grew shadowy and dim. A few drops of rainbegan to fall. The milestone, as she knew--thanks to the discovery ofit made by daylight--was on the right-hand side of the road. But thedull-grey colour of the stone was not easy to see in the dark. 

A doubt troubled her whether she might not have passed the milestone. She stopped and looked at the sky. 

The threatening of rain had passed away: signs showed themselves whichseemed to promise another break in the clouds. She waited. Low andfaint, the sinking moonlight looked its last at the dull earth. Infront of her, there was nothing to be seen but the road. She lookedback--and discovered the milestone. 

A rough stone wall protected the land on either side of the road. Nearly behind the milestone there was a gap in this fence, partiallyclosed by a hurdle. A half-ruined culvert, arching a ditch that had rundry, formed a bridge leading from the road to the field. Had the fieldbeen already chosen as a place of concealment by the police? Nothingwas to be seen but a footpath, and the dusky line of a plantationbeyond it. As she made these discoveries, the rain began to fall again;the clouds gathered once more; the moonlight vanished. 

At the same moment an obstacle presented itself to her mind, which Irishad thus far failed to foresee. 

Lord Harry might approach the milestone by three different ways: thatis to say--by the road from the town, or by the road from the opencountry, or by way of the field and the culvert. How could she so placeherself as to be sure of warning him, before he fell into the hands ofthe police? To watch the three means of approach in the obscurity ofthe night, and at one and the same time, was impossible. 

A man in this position, guided by reason, would in all probability havewasted precious time in trying to arrive at the right decision. Awoman, aided by love, conquered the difficulty that confronted her in amoment. 

Iris decided on returning to the milestone, and on waiting there to bediscovered and taken prisoner by the police. Supposing Lord Harry to bepunctual to his appointment, he would hear voices and movements, as anecessary consequence of the arrest, in time to make his escape. Supposing him on the other hand to be late, the police would be on theway back to the town with their prisoner: he would find no one at themilestone, and would leave it again in safety. 

She was on the point of turning, to get back to the road, whensomething on the dark surface of the field, which looked like a darkershadow, became dimly visible. In another moment it seemed to be ashadow that moved. She ran towards it. It looked like a man as she drewnearer. The man stopped. 

"The password, " he said, in tones cautiously lowered. 

"Fidelity, " she answered in a whisper. 

It was too dark for a recognition of his features; but Iris knew him byhis tall stature--knew him by the accent in which he had asked for thepassword. Erroneously judging of her, on his side, as a man, he drewback again. Sir Giles Mountjoy was above the middle height; thestranger in a cloak, who had whispered to him, was below it. "You arenot the person I expected to meet, " he said. "Who are you?"

Her faithful heart was longing to tell him the truth. The temptation toreveal herself, and to make the sweet confession of her happiness athaving saved him, would have overpowered her discretion, but for asound that was audible on the road behind them. In the deep silence ofthe time and place mistake was impossible. It was the sound offootsteps. 

There was just time to whisper to him: "Sir Giles has betrayed you. Save yourself. "

"Thank you, whoever you are!"

With that reply, he suddenly and swiftly disappeared. Iris rememberedthe culvert, and turned towards it. There was a hiding-place under thearch, if she could only get down into the dry ditch in time. She wasfeeling her way to the slope of it with her feet, when a heavy handseized her by the arm; and a resolute voice said: "You are myprisoner. "

She was led back into the road. The man who had got her blew a whistle. Two other men joined him. 

"Show a light, " he said; "and let's see who the fellow is. "

The shade was slipped aside from a lantern: the light fell full on theprisoner's face. Amazement petrified the two attendant policemen. Thepious Catholic Sergeant burst into speech: "Holy Mary! it's a woman!"

Did the secret societies of Ireland enrol women? Was this a modernJudith, expressing herself by anonymous letters, and bent onassassinating a financial Holofernes who kept a bank? What account hadshe to give of herself? How came she to be alone in a desolate field ona rainy night? Instead of answering these questions, the inscrutablestranger preferred a bold and brief request. "Take me to SirGiles"--was all she said to the police. 

The Sergeant had the handcuffs ready. After looking at the prisoner'sdelicate wrists by the lantern-light, he put his fetters back in hispocket. "A lady--and no doubt about it, " he said to one of hisassistants. 

The two men waited, with a mischievous interest in seeing what he woulddo next. The list of their pious officer's virtues included aconstitutional partiality for women, which exhibited the merciful sideof justice when a criminal wore a petticoat. "We will take you to SirGiles, Miss, " he said--and offered his arm, instead of offering hishandcuffs. Iris understood him, and took his arm. 

She was silent--unaccountably silent as the men thought--on the way tothe town. They heard her sigh: and, once, the sigh sounded more like asob; little did they suspect what was in that silent woman's mind atthe time. 

The one object which had absorbed the attention of Iris had been thesaving of Lord Harry. This accomplished, the free exercise of hermemory had now reminded her of Arthur Mountjoy. 

It was impossible to doubt that the object of the proposed meeting atthe milestone had been to take measures for the preservation of theyoung man's life. A coward is always more or less cruel. Theproceedings (equally treacherous and merciless) by which Sir Giles hadprovided for his own safety, had delayed--perhaps actuallyprevented--the execution of Lord Harry's humane design. It waspossible, horribly possible, that a prompt employment of time mighthave been necessary to the rescue of Arthur from impending death bymurder. In the agitation that overpowered her, Iris actually hurriedthe police on their return to the town. 

Sir Giles had arranged to wait for news in his private room at theoffice--and there he was, with Dennis Howmore in attendance to receivevisitors. 

The Sergeant went into the banker's room alone, to make his report. Heleft the door ajar; Iris could hear what passed. 

"Have you got your prisoner?" Sir Giles began. 

"Yes, your honour. "

"Is the wretch securely handcuffed?"

"I beg your pardon, sir, it isn't a man. "

"Nonsense, Sergeant; it can't be a boy. "

The Sergeant confessed that it was not a boy. "It's a woman, " he said. 

"What!!!"

"A woman, " the patient officer repeated--"and a young one. She askedfor You. "

"Bring her in. "

Iris was not the sort of person who waits to be brought in. She walkedin, of her own accord. 

VII

"GOOD Heavens!" cried Sir Giles. "Iris! With my cloak on!! With my hatin her hand!!! Sergeant, there has been some dreadful mistake. This ismy god-daughter--Miss Henley. "

"We found her at the milestone, your honour. The young lady and nobodyelse. "

Sir Giles appealed helplessly to his god-daughter. "What does thismean?" Instead of answering, she looked at the Sergeant. The Sergeant, conscious of responsibility, stood his ground and looked at Sir Giles. His face confessed that the Irish sense of humour was tickled: but heshowed no intention of leaving the room. Sir Giles saw that Iris wouldenter into no explanation in the man's presence. "You needn't wait anylonger, " he said. 

"What am I to do, if you please, with the prisoner?" the Sergeantinquired. 

Sir Giles waived that unnecessary question away with his hand. He wastrebly responsible--as knight, banker, and magistrate into the bargain. "I will be answerable, " he replied, "for producing Miss Henley, ifcalled upon. Good night. "

The Sergeant's sense of duty was satisfied. He made the militarysalute. His gallantry added homage to the young lady under the form ofa bow. Then, and then only, he walked with dignity out of the room. 

"Now, " Sir Giles resumed, "I presume I may expect to receive anexplanation. What does this impropriety mean? What were you doing atthe milestone?"

"I was saving the person who made the appointment with you, " Iris said;"the poor fellow had no ill-will towards you--who had risked everythingto save your nephew's life. Oh, sir, you committed a terrible mistakewhen you refused to trust that man!"

Sir Giles had anticipated the appearance of fear, and the reality ofhumble apologies. She had answered him indignantly, with a heightenedcolour, and with tears in her eyes. His sense of his own socialimportance was wounded to the quick. "Who is the man you are speakingof?" he asked loftily. "And what is your excuse for having gone to themilestone to save him--hidden under my cloak, disguised in my hat?"

"Don't waste precious time in asking questions!" was the desperatereply. "Undo the harm that you have done already. Your help--oh, I meanwhat I say!--may yet preserve Arthur's life. Go to the farm, and savehim. "

Sir Giles's anger assumed a new form, it indulged in an elaboratemockery of respect. He took his watch from his pocket, and consulted itsatirically. "Must I make an excuse?" he asked with a clumsy assumptionof humility. 

"No! you must go. "

"Permit me to inform you, Miss Henley, that the last train started morethan two hours since. "

"What does that matter? You are rich enough to hire a train. "

Sir Giles, the actor, could endure it no longer; he dropped the mask, and revealed Sir Giles, the man. His clerk was summoned by a peremptoryring of the bell. "Attend Miss Henley to the house, " he said. "You maycome to your senses after a night's rest, " he continued, turningsternly to Iris. "I will receive your excuses in the morning. "

In the morning, the breakfast was ready as usual at nine o'clock. SirGiles found himself alone at the table. 

He sent an order to one of the women-servants to knock at Miss Henley'sdoor. There was a long delay. The housekeeper presented herself in astate of alarm; she had gone upstairs to make the necessaryinvestigation in her own person. Miss Henley was not in her room; themaid was not in her room; the beds had not been slept in; the heavyluggage was labelled--"To be called for from the hotel. " And there wasan end of the evidence which the absent Iris had left behind her. 

Inquiries were made at the hotel. The young lady had called there, withher maid, early on that morning. They had their travelling-bags withthem; and Miss Henley had left directions that the luggage was to beplaced under care of the landlord until her return. To what destinationshe had betaken herself nobody knew. 

Sir Giles was too angry to remember what she had said to him on theprevious night, or he might have guessed at the motive which had led toher departure. "Her father has done with her already, " he said; "and Ihave done with her now. " The servants received orders not to admit MissHenley, if her audacity contemplated a return to her godfather's house. 

VIII

ON the afternoon of the same day, Iris arrived at the village situatedin the near neighbourhood of Arthur Mountjoy's farm. 

The infection of political excitement (otherwise the hatred of England)had spread even to this remote place. On the steps of his littlechapel, the priest, a peasant himself, was haranguing his brethren ofthe soil. An Irishman who paid his landlord was a traitor to hiscountry; an Irishman who asserted his free birthright in the land thathe walked on was an enlightened patriot. Such was the new law which thereverend gentleman expounded to his attentive audience. If his brethrenthere would like him to tell them how they might apply the law, thisexemplary Christian would point to the faithless Irishman, ArthurMountjoy. "Buy not of him, sell not to him; avoid him if he approachesyou; starve him out of the place. I might say more, boys--you know whatI mean. "

To hear the latter part of this effort of oratory, without uttering aword of protest, was a trial of endurance under which Iris trembled. The secondary effect of the priest's address was to root the convictionof Arthur's danger with tenfold tenacity in her mind. After what shehad just heard, even the slightest delay in securing his safety mightbe productive of deplorable results. She astonished a barefooted boy, on the outskirts of the crowd, by a gift of sixpence, and asked her wayto the farm. The little Irishman ran on before her, eager to show thegenerous lady how useful he could be. In less than half an hour, Irisand her maid were at the door of the farm-house. No such civilisedinventions appeared as a knocker or a bell. The boy used his knucklesinstead--and ran away when he heard the lock of the door turned on theinner side. He was afraid to be seen speaking to any living creaturewho inhabited the "evicted farm. "

A decent old woman appeared, and inquired suspiciously "what the ladieswanted. " The accent in which she spoke was unmistakably English. WhenIris asked for Mr. Arthur Mountjoy the reply was: "Not at home. " Thehousekeeper inhospitably attempted to close the door. "Wait onemoment, " Iris said. "Years have changed you; but there is something inyour face which is not quite strange to me. Are you Mrs. Lewson?"

The woman admitted that this was her name. "But how is it that you area stranger to me?" she asked distrustfully. 

"If you have been long in Mr. Mountjoy's service, " Iris replied, "youmay perhaps have heard him speak of Miss Henley?"

Mrs. Lewson's face brightened in an instant; she threw the door wideopen with a glad cry of recognition. 

"Come in, Miss, come in! Who would have thought of seeing you in thishorrible place? Yes; I was the nurse who looked after you allthree--when you and Mr. Arthur and Mr. Hugh were playfellows together. "Her eyes rested longingly on her favourite of bygone days. Thesensitive sympathies of Iris interpreted that look. She prettilytouched her cheek, inviting the nurse to kiss her. At this act ofkindness the poor old woman broke down; she apologised quaintly for hertears: "Think, Miss, how _I_ must remember that happy time--when _you_have not forgotten it. "

Shown into the parlour, the first object which the visitor noticed wasthe letter that she had written to Arthur lying unopened on the table. 

"Then he is really out of the house?" she said with a feeling ofrelief. 

He had been away from the farm for a week or more. Had he received awarning from some other quarter? and had he wisely sought refuge inflight? The amazement in the housekeeper's face, when she heard thesequestions, pleaded for a word of explanation. Iris acknowledged withoutreserve the motives which had suggested her journey, and asked eagerlyif she had been mistaken in assuming that Arthur was in danger ofassassination. 

Mrs. Lewson shook her head. Beyond all doubt the young master was indanger. But Miss Iris ought to have known his nature better than tosuppose that he would beat a retreat, if all the land-leaguers inIreland threatened him together. No! It was his bold way to laugh atdanger. He had left his farm to visit a friend in the next county; andit was shrewdly guessed that a young lady who was staying in the housewas the attraction which had kept him so long away. "Anyhow, he meansto come back to-morrow, " Mrs. Lewson said. "I wish he would thinkbetter of it, and make his escape to England while he has the chance. If the savages in these parts must shoot somebody, I'm here--an oldwoman that can't last much longer. Let them shoot me. "

Iris asked if Arthur's safety was assured in the next county, and inthe house of his friend. 

"I can't say, Miss; I have never been to the house. He is in danger ifhe persists in coming back to the farm. There are chances of shootinghim all along his road home. Oh, yes; he knows it, poor dear, as wellas I do. But, there!--men like him are such perverse creatures. Hetakes his rides just as usual. No; he won't listen to an old woman likeme; and, as for friends to advise him, the only one of them that hasdarkened our doors is a scamp who had better have kept away. You mayhave heard tell of him. The old Earl, his wicked father, used to becalled by a bad name. And the wild young lord is his father's trueson. "

"Not Lord Harry?" Iris exclaimed. 

The outbreak of agitation in her tone and manner was silently noticedby her maid. The housekeeper did not attempt to conceal the impressionthat had been produced upon her. "I hope you don't know such a vagabondas that?" she said very seriously. "Perhaps you are thinking of hisbrother--the eldest son--a respectable man, as I have been told?"

Miss Henley passed over these questions without notice. Urged by theinterest in her lover, which was now more than ever an interest beyondher control, she said: "Is Lord Harry in danger, on account of hisfriend?"

"He has nothing to fear from the wretches who infest our part of thecountry, " Mrs. Lewson replied. "Report says he's one of themselves. Thepolice--there's what his young lordship has to be afraid of, if all'strue that is said about him. Anyhow, when he paid his visit to mymaster, he came secretly like a thief in the night. And I heard Mr. Arthur, while they were together here in the parlour, loud in blaminghim for something that he had done. No more, Miss, of Lord Harry! Ihave something particular to say to you. Suppose I promise to make youcomfortable--will you please wait here till to-morrow, and see Mr. Arthur and speak to him? If there's a person living who can persuadehim to take better care of himself, I do believe it will be you. "

Iris readily consented to wait for Arthur Mountjoy's return. Lefttogether, while Mrs. Lewson was attending to her domestic duties, themistress noticed an appearance of pre-occupation in the maid's face. 

"Are you beginning to wish, Rhoda, " she said, "that I had not broughtyou to this strange place, among these wild people?"

The maid was a quiet amiable girl, evidently in delicate health. Shesmiled faintly. "I was thinking, Miss, of another nobleman besides theone Mrs. Lewson mentioned just now, who seems to have led a recklesslife. It was printed in a newspaper that I read before we left London. "

"Was his name mentioned?" Iris asked. 

"No, Miss; I suppose they were afraid of giving offence. He tried somany strange ways of getting a living--it was almost like reading astory-book. "

The suppression of the name suggested a suspicion from which Irisrecoiled. Was it possible that her maid could be ignorantly alluding toLord Harry?

"Do you remember this hero's adventures?" she said. 

"I can try, Miss, if you wish to hear about him. "

The newspaper narrative appeared to have produced a vivid impression onRhoda's mind. Making allowance for natural hesitations and mistakes, and difficulties in expressing herself correctly, she repeated with asingularly clear recollection the substance of what she had read. 

IX

THE principal characters in the story were an old Irish nobleman, whowas called the Earl, and the youngest of his two sons, mysteriouslydistinguished as "the wild lord. "

It was said of the Earl that he had not been a good father; he hadcruelly neglected both his sons. The younger one, badly treated atschool, and left to himself in the holidays, began his adventurouscareer by running away. He got employment (under an assumed name) as aship's boy. At the outset, he did well; learning his work, and beingliked by the Captain and the crew. But the chief mate was a brutal man, and the young runaway's quick temper resented the disgracefulinfliction of blows. He made up his mind to try his luck on shore, andattached himself to a company of strolling players. Being a handsomelad, with a good figure and a fine clear voice, he did very well for awhile on the country stage. Hard times came; salaries were reduced; theadventurer wearied of the society of actors and actresses. His nextchange of life presented him in North Britain as a journalist, employedon a Scotch newspaper. An unfortunate love affair was the means ofdepriving him of this new occupation. He was recognised, soonafterwards, serving as assistant steward in one of the passengersteamers voyaging between Liverpool and New York. Arrived in this lastcity, he obtained notoriety, of no very respectable kind, as a "medium"claiming powers of supernatural communication with the world ofspirits. When the imposture was ultimately discovered, he had gainedmoney by his unworthy appeal to the meanly prosaic superstition ofmodern times. A long interval had then elapsed, and nothing had beenheard of him, when a starving man was discovered by a traveller, loston a Western prairie. The ill-fated Irish lord had associated himselfwith an Indian tribe--had committed some offence against theirlaws--and had been deliberately deserted and left to die. On hisrecovery, he wrote to his elder brother (who had inherited the titleand estates on the death of the old Earl) to say that he was ashamed ofthe life that he had led, and eager to make amendment by accepting anyhonest employment that could be offered to him. The traveller who hadsaved his life, and whose opinion was to be trusted, declared that theletter represented a sincerely penitent state of mind. There were goodqualities in the vagabond, which only wanted a little mercifulencouragement to assert themselves. The reply that he received fromEngland came from the lawyers employed by the new Earl. They hadarranged with their agents in New York to pay to the younger brother alegacy of a thousand pounds, which represented all that had been leftto him by his father's will. If he wrote again his letters would not beanswered; his brother had done with him. Treated in this inhumanmanner, the wild lord became once more worthy of his name. He tried anew life as a betting man at races and trotting-matches. Fortunefavoured him at the outset, and he considerably increased his legacy. With the customary infatuation of men who gain money by risking theloss of it, he presumed on his good luck. One pecuniary disasterfollowed another, and left him literally penniless. He was found again, in England, exhibiting an open boat in which he and a companion hadmade one of those foolhardy voyages across the Atlantic, which have nowhappily ceased to interest the public. To a friend who remonstratedwith him, he answered that he reckoned on being lost at sea, and on socommitting a suicide worthy of the desperate life that he had led. Thelast accounts of him, after this, were too vague and too contradictoryto be depended on. At one time it was reported that he had returned tothe United States. Not long afterwards unaccountable paragraphsappeared in newspapers declaring, at one and the same time, that he wasliving among bad company in Paris, and that he was hiding disreputablyin an ill famed quarter of the city of Dublin, called "the Liberties. "In any case there was good reason to fear that Irish-Americandesperadoes had entangled the wild lord in the network of politicalconspiracy. 

The maid noticed a change in the mistress which surprised her, when shehad reached the end of the newspaper story. Of Miss Henley's customarygood spirits not a trace remained. "Few people, Rhoda, remember whatthey read as well as you do. " She said it kindly and sadly--and shesaid no more. 

There was a reason for this. 

Now at one time, and now at another, Iris had heard of Lord Harry'sfaults and failings in fragments of family history. The complete recordof his degraded life, presented in an uninterrupted succession ofevents, had now forced itself on her attention for the first time. Itnaturally shocked her. She felt, as she had never felt before, howentirely right her father had been in insisting on her resistance to anattachment which was unworthy of her. So far, but no farther, herconscience yielded to its own conviction of what was just. But the oneunassailable vital force in this world is the force of love. It maysubmit to the hard necessities of life; it may acknowledge theimperative claims of duty; it may be silent under reproach, andsubmissive to privation--but, suffer what it may, it is themaster-passion still; subject to no artificial influences, owning nosupremacy but the law of its own being. Iris was above the reach ofself-reproach, when her memory recalled the daring action which hadsaved Lord Harry at the milestone. Her better sense acknowledged HughMountjoy's superiority over the other man--but her heart, her perverseheart, remained true to its first choice in spite of her. She made animpatient excuse and went out alone to recover her composure in thefarm-house garden. 

The hours of the evening passed slowly. 

There was a pack of cards in the house; the women tried to amusethemselves, and failed. Anxiety about Arthur preyed on the spirits ofMiss Henley and Mrs. Lewson. Even the maid, who had only seen himduring his last visit to London, said she wished to-morrow had come andgone. His sweet temper, his handsome face, his lively talk had madeArthur a favourite everywhere. Mrs. Lewson had left her comfortableEnglish home to be his housekeeper, when he tried his rash experimentof farming in Ireland. And, more wonderful still, even wearisome SirGiles became an agreeable person in his nephew's company. 

Iris set the example of retiring at an early hour to her room. 

There was something terrible in the pastoral silence of the place. Itassociated itself mysteriously with her fears for Arthur; it suggestedarmed treachery on tiptoe, taking its murderous stand in hiding; thewhistling passage of bullets through the air; the piercing cry of a manmortally wounded, and that man, perhaps----? Iris shrank from her ownhorrid thought. A momentary faintness overcame her; she opened thewindow. As she put her head out to breathe the cool night-air, a man onhorseback rode up to the house. Was it Arthur? No: the light-colouredgroom's livery that he wore was just visible. 

Before he could dismount to knock at the door, a tall man walked up tohim out of the darkness. 

"Is that Miles?" the tall man asked. 

The groom knew the voice. Iris was even better acquainted with it. She, too, recognised Lord Harry. 

X

THERE was the Irish lord at the very time when Iris was most patientlyresigned never to see him more, never to think of him as her husbandagain--reminding her of the first days of their love, and of theirmutual confession of it! Fear of herself kept her behind the curtain;while interest in Lord Harry detained her at the window in hiding. 

"All well at Rathco?" he asked--mentioning the name of the house inwhich Arthur was one of the guests. 

"Yes, my lord. Mr. Mountjoy leaves us to-morrow. "

"Does he mean to return to the farm?"

"Sorry I am to say it; he does mean that. "

"Has he fixed any time, Miles, for starting on his journey?"

Miles instituted a search through his pockets, and accompanied it by anexplanation. Yes, indeed, Master Arthur had fixed a time; he hadwritten a note to say so to Mistress Lewson, the housekeeper; he hadsaid, "Drop the note at the farm, on your way to the village. " And whatmight Miles want at the village, in the dark? Medicine, in a hurry, forone of his master's horses that was sick and sinking. And, speaking ofthat, here, thank God, was the note!

Iris, listening and watching alternately, saw to her surprise the noteintended for Mrs. Lewson handed to Lord Harry. "Am I expected, " heasked jocosely, "to read writing without a light?" Miles produced asmall lantern which was strapped to his groom's belt. "There's parts ofthe road not over safe in the dark, " he said as he raised the shadewhich guarded the light. The wild lord coolly opened the letter, andread the few careless words which it contained. "To Mrs. Lewson:--Dearold girl, expect me back to-morrow to dinner at three o'clock. Yours, ARTHUR. "

There was a pause. 

"Are there any strangers at Rathco?" Lord Harry asked. 

"Two new men, " Miles replied, "at work in the grounds. "

There was another pause. "How can I protect him?" the young lord said, partly to himself, partly to Miles. He suspected the two newmen---spies probably who knew of Arthur's proposed journey home, andwho had already reported to their employers the hour at which he wouldset out. 

Miles ventured to say a word: "I hope you won't be angry with me, mylord"----

"Stuff and nonsense! Was I ever angry with you, when I was rich enoughto keep a servant, and when you were the man?"

The Irish groom answered in a voice that trembled with strong feeling. "You were the best and kindest master that ever lived on this earth. Ican't see you putting your precious life in peril"----

"My precious life?" Lord Harry repeated lightly. "You're thinking ofMr. Mountjoy, when you say that. _His_ life is worth saving. As for mylife"---- He ended the sentence by a whistle, as the best way he couldhit on of expressing his contempt for his own existence. 

"My lord! my lord!" Miles persisted; "the Invincibles are beginning todoubt you. If any of them find you hanging about Mr. Mountjoy's farm, they'll try a shot at you first, and ask afterwards whether it wasright to kill you or not. "

To hear this said--and said seriously--after the saving of him at themilestone, was a trial of her firmness which Iris was unable to resist. Love got the better of prudence. She drew back the window-curtain. Inanother moment, she would have added her persuasion to the servant'swarning, if Lord Harry himself had not accidentally checked her by aproceeding, on his part, for which she was not prepared. 

"Show the light, " he said; "I'll write a line to Mr. Mountjoy. "

He tore off the blank page from the note to the housekeeper, and wroteto Arthur, entreating him to change the time of his departure fromRathco, and to tell no creature in the house, or out of the house, atwhat new hour he had arranged to go. "Saddle your horse yourself, " theletter concluded. It was written in a feigned hand, without asignature. 

"Give that to Mr. Mountjoy, " Lord Harry said. "If he asks who wrote it, don't frighten him about me by telling the truth. Lie, Miles! Say youdon't know. " He next returned the note for Mrs. Lewson. "If she noticesthat it has been opened, " he resumed, "and asks who has done it, lieagain. Good-night, Miles--and mind those dangerous places on your roadhome. "

The groom darkened his lantern; and the wild lord was lost to view, round the side of the house. 

Left by himself, Miles rapped at the door with the handle of his whip. "A letter from Mr. Arthur, " he called out. Mrs. Lewson at once took thenote, and examined it by the light of the candle on the hall-table. "Somebody has been reading this!" she exclaimed, stepping out to thegroom, and showing him the torn envelope. Miles, promptly obeying hisinstructions, declared that he knew nothing about it, and rode away. 

Iris descended the stairs, and joined Mrs. Lewson in the hall beforeshe had closed the door. The housekeeper at once produced Arthur'sletter. 

"It's on my mind, Miss, " she said, "to write an answer, and saysomething to Mr. Arthur which will persuade him to take care ofhimself, on his way back to the farm. The difficulty is, how am I toexpress it? You would be doing a kind thing if you would give me a wordof advice. "

Iris willingly complied. A second note, from the anxious housekeeper, might help the effect of the few lines which Lord Harry had written. 

Arthur's letter informed Iris that he had arranged to return at threeo'clock. Lord Harry's question to the groom, and the man's reply, instantly recurred to her memory: "Are there any strangers atRathco?"--"Two new men at work in the grounds. " Arriving at the sameconclusion which had already occurred to Lord Harry, Iris advised thehousekeeper, in writing to Arthur, to entreat him to change the hour, secretly, at which he left his friend's house on the next day. Warmlyapproving of this idea, Mrs. Lewson hurried into the parlour to writeher letter. "Don't go to bed yet, Miss, " she said; "I want you to readit before I send it away the first thing to-morrow morning. "

Left alone in the hall, with the door open before her, Iris looked outon the night, thinking. 

The lives of the two men in whom she was interested--in widelydifferent ways--were now both threatened; and the imminent danger, atthat moment, was the danger of Lord Harry. He was an outlaw whosecharacter would not bear investigation; but, to give him his due, therewas no risk which he was not ready to confront for Arthur's sake. If hewas still recklessly lingering, on the watch for assassins in thedangerous neighbourhood of the farm, who but herself possessed theinfluence which would prevail on him to leave the place? She had joinedMrs. Lewson at the door with that conviction in her mind. In anotherinstant, she was out of the house, and beginning her search in thedark. 

Iris made the round of the building; sometimes feeling her way inobscure places; sometimes calling to Lord Harry cautiously by his name. No living creature appeared; no sound of a movement disturbed thestillness of the night. The discovery of his absence, which she had notdared to hope for, was the cheering discovery which she had now made. 

On her way back to the house, she became conscious of the rashness ofthe act into which her own generous impulse had betrayed her. 

If she and Lord Harry had met, could she have denied the tenderinterest in him which her own conduct would then have revealed? Wouldhe not have been justified in concluding that she had pardoned theerrors and the vices of his life, and that he might without improprietyremind her of their engagement, and claim her hand in marriage? Shetrembled as she thought of the concessions which he might have wrungfrom her. "Never more, " she determined, "shall my own folly beanswerable for it, if he and I meet again. "

She had returned to Mrs. Lewson, and had read over the letter toArthur, when the farm clock, striking the hour, reminded them that itwas time to retire. They slept badly that night. 

At six in the morning, one of the two labourers who had remainedfaithful to Arthur was sent away on horseback with the housekeeper'sreply, and with orders to wait for an answer. Allowing time for givingthe horse a rest, the man might be expected to return before noon. 

IX

IT was a fine sunshiny day; Mrs. Lewson's spirits began to improve. "Ihave always held the belief, " the worthy old woman confessed, "thatbright weather brings good luck--of course provided the day is not aFriday. This is Wednesday. Cheer up, Miss. "

The messenger returned with good news. Mr. Arthur had been as merry asusual. He had made fun of another letter of good advice, receivedwithout a signature. "But Mrs. Lewson must have her way, " he said. "Mylove to the old dear--I'll start two hours later, and be back to dinnerat five. "

"Where did Mr. Arthur give you that message?" Iris inquired. 

"At the stables, Miss, while I was putting up the horse. The men aboutwere all on the broad grin when they heard Mr. Arthur's message. "

Still in a morbid state of mind, Iris silently regretted that themessage had not been written, instead of being delivered by word ofmouth. Here, again, she (like the wild lord) had been afraid oflisteners. 

The hours wore slowly on until it was past four o'clock. Iris couldendure the suspense no longer. "It's a lovely afternoon, " she said toMrs. Lewson. "Let us take a walk along the road, and meet Arthur. " Tothis proposal the housekeeper readily agreed. 

It was nearly five o'clock when they reached a place at which a by-roadbranched off, through a wood, from the highway which they had hithertofollowed. Mrs. Lewson found a seat on a felled tree. "We had better notgo any farther, " she said. 

Iris asked if there was any reason for this. 

There was an excellent reason. A few yards farther on, the high roadhad been diverted from the straight line (in the interest of a largeagricultural village), and was then directed again into its formercourse. The by-road through the wood served as a short cut, forhorsemen and pedestrians, from one divergent point to the other. It wasnext to a certainty that Arthur would return by the short cut. But ifaccident or caprice led to his preferring the highway, it was clearlynecessary to wait for him within view of both the roads. 

Too restless to submit to a state of passive expectation, Iris proposedto follow the bridle path through the wood for a little way, and toreturn if she failed to see anything of Arthur. "You are tired, " shesaid kindly to her companion: "pray don't move. "

Mrs. Lewson looked needlessly uneasy: "You might lose yourself, Miss. Mind you keep to the path!"

Iris followed the pleasant windings of the woodland track. In the hopeof meeting Arthur she considerably extended the length of her walk. Thewhite line of the high road, as it passed the farther end of the wood, showed itself through the trees. She turned at once to rejoin Mrs. Lewson. 

On her way back she made a discovery. A ruin which she had notpreviously noticed showed itself among the trees on her left hand. Hercuriosity was excited; she strayed aside to examine it more closely. The crumbling walls, as she approached them, looked like the remains ofan ordinary dwelling-house. Age is essential to the picturesque effectof decay: a modern ruin is an unnatural and depressing object--and herethe horrid thing was. 

As she turned to retrace her steps to the road, a man walked out of theinner space enclosed by all that was left of the dismantled house. Acry of alarm escaped her. Was she the victim of destiny, or the sportof chance? There was the wild lord whom she had vowed never to seeagain: the master of her heart--perhaps the master of her fate!

Any other man would have been amazed to see her, and would have askedhow it had happened that the English lady presented herself to him inan Irish wood. This man enjoyed the delight of seeing her, and acceptedit as a blessing that was not to be questioned. "My angel has droppedfrom Heaven, " he said. "May Heaven be praised!"

He approached her; his arms closed round her. She struggled to freeherself from his embrace. At that moment they both heard the crackle ofbreaking underwood among the trees behind them. Lord Harry lookedround. "This is a dangerous place, " he whispered; "I'm waiting to seeArthur pass safely. Submit to be kissed, or I am a dead man. " His eyestold her that he was truly and fearfully in earnest. Her head sank onhis bosom. As he bent down and kissed her, three men approached fromtheir hiding-place among the trees. They had no doubt been watchinghim, under orders from the murderous brotherhood to which theybelonged. Their pistols were ready in their hands--and what discoveryhad they made? There was the brother who had been denounced as havingbetrayed them, guilty of no worse treason than meeting his sweetheartin a wood! "We beg your pardon, my lord, " they cried, with a thoroughlyIrish enjoyment of their own discomfiture--and burst into a roar oflaughter--and left the lovers together. For the second time, Iris hadsaved Lord Harry at a crisis in his life. 

"Let me go!" she pleaded faintly, trembling with superstitious fear forthe first time in her experience of herself. 

He held her to him as if he would never let her go again. "Oh, mySweet, give me a last chance. Help me to be a better man! You have onlyto will it, Iris, and to make me worthy of you. "

His arms suddenly trembled round her, and dropped. The silence wasbroken by a distant sound, like the report of a shot. He looked towardsthe farther end of the wood. In a minute more, the thump of a horse'shoofs at a gallop was audible, where the bridlepath was hidden amongthe trees. It came nearer--nearer---the creature burst into view, wildwith fright, and carrying an empty saddle. Lord Harry rushed into thepath and seized the horse as it swerved at the sight of him. There wasa leather pocket attached to the front of the saddle. "Search it!" hecried to Iris, forcing the terrified animal back on its haunches. Shedrew out a silver travelling-flask. One glance at the name engraved onit told him the terrible truth. His trembling hands lost their hold. The horse escaped; the words burst from his lips:

"Oh, God, they've killed him!"

THE END OF THE PROLOGUE

THE STORY

FIRST PERIOD

CHAPTER I

THE SOUR FRENCH WINE

WHILE the line to be taken by the new railway between Culm and Everillwas still under discussion, the engineer caused some difference ofopinion among the moneyed men who were the first Directors of theCompany, by asking if they proposed to include among their Stations thelittle old town of Honeybuzzard. 

For years past, commerce had declined, and population had decreased inthis ancient and curious place. Painters knew it well, and prized itsmediaeval houses as a mine of valuable material for their art. Personsof cultivated tastes, who were interested in church architecture of thefourteenth century, sometimes pleased and flattered the Rector bysubscribing to his fund for the restoration of the tower, and theremoval of the accumulated rubbish of hundreds of years from the crypt. Small speculators, not otherwise in a state of insanity, settledthemselves in the town, and tried the desperate experiment of opening ashop; spent their little capital, put up the shutters, and disappeared. The old market-place still showed its list of market-law's, issued bythe Mayor and Corporation in the prosperous bygone times; and everyweek there were fewer and fewer people to obey the laws. The greatempty enclosure looked more cheerful, when there was no market held, and when the boys of the town played in the deserted place. In the lastwarehouse left in a state of repair, the crane was generally idle; thewindows were mostly shut up; and a solitary man represented languishingtrade, idling at a half-opened door. The muddy river rose and fell withthe distant tide. At rare intervals a collier discharged its cargo onthe mouldering quay, or an empty barge took in a load of hay. One boldhouse advertised, in a dirty window, apartments to let. There was alawyer in the town, who had no occasion to keep a clerk; and there wasa doctor who hoped to sell his practice for anything that it wouldfetch. The directors of the new railway, after a stormy meeting, decided on offering (by means of a Station) a last chance of revival tothe dying town. The town had not vitality enough left to be grateful;the railway stimulant produced no effect. Of all his colleagues inGreat Britain and Ireland, the station-master at Honeybuzzard was theidlest man--and this, as he said to the unemployed porter, through nowant of energy on his own part. 

Late on a rainy autumn afternoon, the slow train left one traveller atthe Station. He got out of a first-class carriage; he carried anumbrella and a travelling-bag; and he asked his way to the best inn. The station-master and the porter compared notes. One of them said:"Evidently a gentleman. " The other added: "What can he possibly wanthere?"

The stranger twice lost his way in the tortuous old streets of the townbefore he reached the inn. On giving his orders, it appeared that hewanted three things: a private room, something to eat, and, while thedinner was being cooked, materials for writing a letter. 

Answering her daughter's questions downstairs, the landlady describedher guest as a nice-looking man dressed in deep mourning. "Young, mydear, with beautiful dark brown hair, and a grand beard, and a sweetsorrowful look. Ah, his eyes would tell anybody that his black clothesare not a mere sham. Whether married or single, of course I can't say. But I noticed the name on his travelling-bag. A distinguished name inmy opinion--Hugh Mountjoy. I wonder what he'll order to drink when hehas his dinner? What a mercy it will be if we can get rid of anotherbottle of the sour French wine!"

The bell in the private room rang at that moment; and the landlady'sdaughter, it is needless to say, took the opportunity of forming herown opinion of Mr. Hugh Mountjoy. 

She returned with a letter in her hand, consumed by a vain longing forthe advantages of gentle birth. "Ah, mother, if I was a young lady ofthe higher classes, I know whose wife I should like to be!" Notparticularly interested in sentimental aspirations, the landlady askedto see Mr. Mountjoy's letter. The messenger who delivered it was towait for an answer. It was addressed to: "Miss Henley, care of ClarenceVimpany, Esquire, Honeybuzzard. " Urged by an excited imagination, thedaughter longed to see Miss Henley. The mother was at a loss tounderstand why Mr. Mountjoy should have troubled himself to write theletter at all. "If he knows the young lady who is staying at thedoctor's house, " she said, "why doesn't he call on Miss Henley?" Shehanded the letter back to her daughter. "There! let the ostler take it;he's got nothing to do. "

"No, mother. The ostler's dirty hands mustn't touch it--I'll take theletter myself. Perhaps I may see Miss Henley. " Such was the impressionwhich Mr. Hugh Mountjoy had innocently produced on a sensitive youngperson, condemned by destiny to the barren sphere of action afforded bya country inn!

The landlady herself took the dinner upstairs--a first course of muttonchops and potatoes, cooked to a degree of imperfection only attained inan English kitchen. The sour French wine was still on the good woman'smind. "What would you choose to drink, sir?" she asked. Mr. Mountjoyseemed to feel no interest in what he might have to drink. "We havesome French wine, sir. "

"Thank you, ma'am; that will do. "

When the bell rang again, and the time came to produce the secondcourse of cheese and celery, the landlady allowed the waiter to takeher place. Her experience of the farmers who frequented the inn, andwho had in some few cases been induced to taste the wine, warned her toanticipate an outbreak of just anger from Mr. Mountjoy. He, like theothers, would probably ask what she "meant by poisoning him with suchstuff as that. " On the return of the waiter, she put the question: "Didthe gentleman complain of the French wine?"

"He wants to see you about it, ma'am. "

The landlady turned pale. The expression of Mr. Mountjoy's indignationwas evidently reserved for the mistress of the house. "Did he swear, "she asked, "when he tasted it?"

"Lord bless you, ma'am, no! Drank it out of a tumbler, and--if you willbelieve me--actually seemed to like it. "

The landlady recovered her colour. Gratitude to Providence for havingsent a customer to the inn, who could drink sour wine withoutdiscovering it, was the uppermost feeling in her ample bosom as sheentered the private room. Mr. Mountjoy justified her anticipations. Hewas simple enough--with his tumbler before him, and the wine as it wereunder his nose--to begin with an apology. 

"I am sorry to trouble you, ma'am. May I ask where you got this wine?"

"The wine, sir, was one of my late husband's bad debts. It was all hecould get from a Frenchman who owed him money. "

"It's worth money, ma'am. "

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes, indeed. This is some of the finest and purest claret that I havetasted for many a long day past. "

An alarming suspicion disturbed the serenity of the landlady's mind. Was his extraordinary opinion of the wine sincere? Or was it Mr. Mountjoy's wicked design to entrap her into praising her claret andthen to imply that she was a cheat by declaring what he really thoughtof it? She took refuge in a cautious reply:

"You are the first gentleman, sir, who has not found fault with it. "

"In that case, perhaps you would like to get rid of the wine?" Mr. Mountjoy suggested. 

The landlady was still cautious. "Who will buy it of me, sir?"

"I will. How much do you charge for it by the bottle?"

It was, by this time, clear that he was not mischievous--only a littlecrazy. The worldly-wise hostess took advantage of that circumstance todouble the price. Without hesitation, she said: "Five shillings abottle, sir. "

Often, too often, the irony of circumstances brings together, on thisearthly scene, the opposite types of vice and virtue. A lying landladyand a guest incapable of deceit were looking at each other across anarrow table; equally unconscious of the immeasurable moral gulf thatlay between them, Influenced by honourable feeling, innocent HughMountjoy lashed the landlady's greed for money to the full-gallop ofhuman cupidity. 

"I don't think you are aware of the value of your wine, " he said. "Ihave claret in my cellar which is not so good as this, and which costsmore than you have asked. It is only fair to offer you seven-and-sixpencea bottle. "

When an eccentric traveller is asked to pay a price, and deliberatelyraises that price against himself, where is the sensiblewoman--especially if she happens to be a widow conducting anunprofitable business--who would hesitate to improve the opportunity?The greedy landlady raised her terms. 

"On reflection, sir, I think I ought to have ten shillings a bottle, ifyou please. "

"The wine may be worth it, " Mountjoy answered quietly; "but it is morethan I can afford to pay. No, ma'am; I will leave you to find somelover of good claret with a longer purse than mine. "

It was in this man's character, when he said No, to mean No. Mr. Mountjoy's hostess perceived that her crazy customer was not to betrifled with. She lowered her terms again with the headlong hurry ofterror. "You shall have it, Sir, at your own price, " said this entirelyshameless and perfectly respectable woman. 

The bargain having been closed under these circumstances, thelandlady's daughter knocked at the door. "I took your letter myself, sir, " she said modestly; "and here is the answer. " (She had seen MissHenley, and did not think much of her. ) Mountjoy offered the expressionof his thanks, in words never to be forgotten by a sensitive youngperson, and opened his letter. It was short enough to be read in amoment; but it was evidently a favourable reply. He took his hat in ahurry, and asked to be shown the way to Mr. Vimpany's house. 

CHAPTER II

THE MAN SHE REFUSED

MOUNTJOY had decided on travelling to Honeybuzzard, as soon as he heardthat Miss Henley was staying with strangers in that town. Having had noearlier opportunity of preparing her to see him, he had consideratelywritten to her from the inn, in preference to presenting himselfunexpectedly at the doctor's house. How would she receive the devotedfriend, whose proposal of marriage she had refused for the second time, when they had last met in London?

The doctor's place of residence, situated in a solitary by-street, commanded a view, not perhaps encouraging to a gentleman who followedthe medical profession: it was a view of the churchyard. The door wasopened by a woman-servant, who looked suspiciously at the stranger. Without waiting to be questioned, she said her master was out. Mountjoymentioned his name, and asked for Miss Henley. 

The servant's manner altered at once for the better; she showed himinto a small drawing-room, scantily and cheaply furnished. Somepoorly-framed prints on the walls (a little out of place perhaps in adoctor's house) represented portraits of famous actresses, who had beenqueens of the stage in the early part of the present century. The fewbooks, too, collected on a little shelf above the chimney-piece, werein every case specimens of dramatic literature. "Who reads theseplays?" Mountjoy asked himself. "And how did Iris find her way intothis house?"

While he was thinking of her, Miss Henley entered the room. 

Her face was pale and careworn; tears dimmed her eyes when Mountjoyadvanced to meet her. In his presence, the horror of his brother'sdeath by assassination shook Iris as it had not shaken her yet. Impulsively, she drew his head down to her, with the fond familiarityof a sister, and kissed his forehead. "Oh, Hugh, I know how you andArthur loved each other! No words of mine can say how I feel for you. "

"No words are wanted, my dear, " he answered tenderly. "Your sympathyspeaks for itself. "

He led her to the sofa and seated himself by her side. "Your father hasshown me what you have written to him, " he resumed; "your letter fromDublin and your second letter from this place. I know what you have sonobly risked and suffered in poor Arthur's interests. It will be someconsolation to me if I can make a return--a very poor return, Iris--forall that Arthur's brother owes to the truest friend that ever man had. No, " he continued, gently interrupting the expression of her gratitude. "Your father has not sent me here--but he knows that I have left Londonfor the express purpose of seeing you, and he knows why. You havewritten to him dutifully and affectionately; you have pleaded forpardon and reconciliation, when he is to blame. Shall I venture to tellyou how he answered me, when I asked if he had no faith left in his ownchild? 'Hugh, ' he said, 'you are wasting words on a man whose mind ismade up. I will trust my daughter when that Irish lord is laid in hisgrave--not before. ' That is a reflection on you, Iris, which I cannotpermit, even when your father casts it. He is hard, he is unforgiving;but he must, and shall, be conquered yet. I mean to make him do youjustice; I have come here with that purpose, and that purpose only, inview. May I speak to you of Lord Harry?"

"How can you doubt it!"

"My dear, this is a delicate subject for me to enter on. "

"And a shameful subject for me!" Iris broke out bitterly. "Hugh! youare an angel, by comparison with that man--how debased I must be tolove him--how unworthy of your good opinion! Ask me anything you like;have no mercy on me. Oh, " she cried, with reckless contempt forherself, "why don't you beat me? I deserve it!"

Mountjoy was well enough acquainted with the natures of women to passover that passionate outbreak, instead of fanning the flame in her byreasoning and remonstrance. 

"Your father will not listen to the expression of feeling, " hecontinued; "but it is possible to rouse his sense of justice by theexpression of facts. Help me to speak to him more plainly of Lord Harrythan you could speak in your letters. I want to know what has happened, from the time when events at Ardoon brought you and the young lordtogether again, to the time when you left him in Ireland after mybrother's death. If I seem to expect too much of you, Iris, prayremember that I am speaking with a true regard for your interests. "

In those words, he made his generous appeal to her. She proved herselfto be worthy of it. 

Stated briefly, the retrospect began with the mysterious anonymousletters which had been addressed to Sir Giles. 

Lord Harry's explanation had been offered to Iris gratefully, but withsome reserve, after she had told him who the stranger at the milestonereally was. "I entreat you to pardon me, if I shrink from entering intoparticulars, " he had said. "Circumstances, at the time, amply justifiedme in the attempt to use the banker's political influence as a means ofsecuring Arthur's safety. I knew enough of Sir Giles's mean nature tobe careful in trusting him; but I did hope to try what my personalinfluence might do. If he had possessed a tenth part of your courage, Arthur might have been alive, and safe in England, at this moment. Ican't say any more; I daren't say any more; it maddens me when I thinkof it!" He abruptly changed the subject, and interested Iris byspeaking of other and later events. His association with theInvincibles--inexcusably rash and wicked as he himself confessed it tobe--had enabled him to penetrate, and for a time to defeat secretly, the murderous designs of the brotherhood. His appearances, first at thefarmhouse and afterwards at the ruin in the wood were referable tochanges in the plans of the assassins which had come to his knowledge. When Iris had met with him he was on the watch, believing that hisfriend would take the short way back through the wood, and well awarethat his own life might pay the penalty if he succeeded in warningArthur. After the terrible discovery of the murder (committed on thehigh road), and the escape of the miscreant who had been guilty of thecrime, the parting of Lord Harry and Miss Henley had been the nextevent. She had left him, on her return to England, and had refused toconsent to any of the future meetings between them which he besoughther to grant. 

At this stage in the narrative, Mountjoy felt compelled to askquestions more searching than he had put to Iris yet. It was possiblethat she might be trusting her own impressions of Lord Harry, with theill-placed confidence of a woman innocently self-deceived. 

"Did he submit willingly to your leaving him?" Mountjoy said. 

"Not at first, " she replied. 

"Has he released you from that rash engagement, of some years since, which pledged you to marry him?"

"No. "

"Did he allude to the engagement, on this occasion?"

"He said he held to it as the one hope of his life. "

"And what did you say?"

"I implored him not to distress me. "

"Did you say nothing more positive than that?"

"I couldn't help thinking, Hugh, of all that he had tried to do to saveArthur. But I insisted on leaving him--and I have left him. "

"Do you remember what he said at parting?"

"He said, 'While I live, I love you. '"

As she repeated the words, there was an involuntary change totenderness in her voice which was not lost on Mountjoy. 

"I must be sure, " he said to her gravely, "of what I tell your fatherwhen I go back to him. Can I declare, with a safe conscience, that youwill never see Lord Harry again?"

"My mind is made up never to see him again. " She had answered firmly sofar. Her next words were spoken with hesitation, in tones thatfaltered. "But I am sometimes afraid, " she said, "that the decision maynot rest with me. "

"What do you mean?"

"I would rather not tell you. "

"That is a strange answer, Iris. "

"I value your good opinion, Hugh, and I am afraid of losing it. "

"Nothing has ever altered my opinion of you, " he replied, "and nothingever will. "

She looked at him anxiously, with the closest attention. Little bylittle, the expression of doubt in her face disappeared; she knew howhe loved her--she resolved to trust him. 

"My friend, " she began abruptly, "education has done nothing for me. Since I left Ireland, I have sunk (I don't know how or why) into astate of superstitious fear. Yes! I believe in a fatality which isleading me back to Lord Harry, in spite of myself. Twice already, sinceI left home, I have met with him; and each time I have been the meansof saving him--once at the milestone, and once at the ruin in the wood. If my father still accuses me of being in love with an adventurer, youcan say with perfect truth that I am afraid of him. I _am_ afraid ofthe third meeting. I have done my best to escape from that man; and, step by step, as I think I am getting away, Destiny is taking me backto him. I may be on my way to him here, hidden in this wretched littletown. Oh, don't despise me! Don't be ashamed of me!"

"My dear, I am interested--deeply interested in you. That there may besome such influence as Destiny in our poor mortal lives, I dare notdeny. But I don't agree with your conclusion. What Destiny has to dowith you and with me, neither you nor I can pretend to know beforehand. In the presence of that great mystery, humanity must submit to beignorant. Wait, Iris--wait!"

She answered him with the simplicity of a docile child: "I will doanything you tell me. "

Mountjoy was too fond of her to say more of Lord Harry, for that day. He was careful to lead the talk to a topic which might be trusted toprovoke no agitating thoughts. Finding Iris to all appearanceestablished in the doctor's house, he was naturally anxious to knowsomething of the person who must have invited her--the doctor's wife. 

CHAPTER III

THE REGISTERED PACKET

MOUNTJOY began by alluding to the second of Miss Henley's letters toher father, and to a passage in it which mentioned Mrs. Vimpany withexpressions of the sincerest gratitude. 

"I should like to know more, " he said, "of a lady whose hospitality athome seems to equal her kindness as a fellow-traveller. Did you firstmeet with her on the railway?"

"She travelled by the same train to Dublin, with me and my maid, butnot in the same carriage, " Iris answered; "I was so fortunate as tomeet with her on the voyage from Dublin to Holyhead. We had a roughcrossing; and Rhoda suffered so dreadfully from sea-sickness that shefrightened me. The stewardess was attending to ladies who were callingfor her in all directions; I really don't know what misfortune mightnot have happened, if Mrs. Vimpany had not come forward in the kindestmanner, and offered help. She knew so wonderfully well what was to bedone, that she astonished me. 'I am the wife of a doctor, ' she said;'and I am only imitating what I have seen my husband do, when hisassistance has been required, at sea, in weather like this. ' In herpoor state of health, Rhoda was too much exhausted to go on by thetrain, when we got to Holyhead. She is the best of good girls, and I amfond of her, as you know. If I had been by myself, I daresay I shouldhave sent for medical help. What do you think dear Mrs. Vimpany offeredto do? 'Your maid is only faint, ' she said. 'Give her rest and someiced wine, and she will be well enough to go on by the slow train. Don't be frightened about her; I will wait with you. ' And she did wait. Are there many strangers, Hugh, who are as unselfishly good to othersas my chance-acquaintance in the steamboat?"

"Very few, I am afraid. "

Mountjoy made that reply with some little embarrassment; conscious of adoubt of Mrs. Vimpany's disinterested kindness, which seemed to beunworthy of a just man. 

Iris went on. 

"Rhoda was sufficiently recovered, " she said, "to travel by the nexttrain, and there seemed to be no reason for feeling any more anxiety. But, after a time, the fatigue of the journey proved to be too much forher. The poor girl turned pale--and fainted. Mrs. Vimpany revived her, but as it turned out, only for a while. She fell into another faintingfit; and my travelling-companion began to look anxious. There was somedifficulty in restoring Rhoda to her senses. In dread of anotherattack, I determined to stop at the next station. It looked such a poorplace, when we got to it, that I hesitated. Mrs. Vimpany persuaded meto go on. The next station, she said, was _her_ station. 'Stop there, 'she suggested, 'and let my husband look at the girl. I ought notperhaps to say it, but you will find no better medical man out ofLondon. ' I took the good creature's advice gratefully. What else couldI do?"

"What would you have done, " Mountjoy inquired, "if Rhoda had beenstrong enough to get to the end of the journey?"

"I should have gone on to London, and taken refuge in a lodging--youwere in town, as I believed, and my father might relent in time. As itwas, I felt my lonely position keenly. To meet with kind people, likeMr. Vimpany and his wife, was a real blessing to such a friendlesscreature as I am--to say nothing of the advantage to Rhoda, who isgetting better every day. I should like you to see Mrs. Vimpany, if sheis at home. She is a little formal and old fashioned in her manner--butI am sure you will be pleased with her. Ah! you look round the room!They are poor, miserably poor for persons in their position, theseworthy friends of mine. I have had the greatest difficulty inpersuading them to let me contribute my share towards the householdexpenses. They only yielded when I threatened to go to the inn. You arelooking very serious, Hugh. Is it possible that you see some objectionto my staying in this house?"

The drawing-room door was softly opened, at the moment when Iris putthat question. A lady appeared on the threshold. Seeing the stranger, she turned to Iris. 

"I didn't know, dear Miss Henley, that you had a visitor. Pray pardonmy intrusion. "

The voice was deep; the articulation was clear; the smile presented acertain modest dignity which gave it a value of its own. This was awoman who could make such a commonplace thing as an apology worthlistening to. Iris stopped her as she was about to leave the room. "Iwas just wishing for you, " she said. "Let me introduce my old friend, Mr. Mountjoy. Hugh, this is the lady who has been so kind to me--Mrs. Vimpany. "

Hugh's impulse, under the circumstances, was to dispense with theformality of a bow, and to shake hands. Mrs. Vimpany met this friendlyadvance with a suavity of action, not often seen in these days ofmovement without ceremony. She was a tall slim woman, of a certain age. Art had so cleverly improved her complexion that it almost looked likenature. Her cheeks had lost the plumpness of youth, but her hair(thanks again perhaps to Art) showed no signs of turning grey. Theexpression of her large dark eyes--placed perhaps a little too near herhigh aquiline nose--claimed admiration from any person who was sofortunate as to come within their range of view. Her hands, long, yellow, and pitiably thin, were used with a grace which checked to someextent their cruel betrayal of her age. Her dress had seen better days, but it was worn with an air which forbade it to look actually shabby. The faded lace that encircled her neck fell in scanty folds over herbosom. She sank into a chair by Hugh's side. "It was a great pleasureto me, Mr. Mountjoy, to offer my poor services to Miss Henley; I can'ttell you how happy her presence makes me in our little house. " Thecompliment was addressed to Iris with every advantage that smiles andtones could offer. Oddly artificial as it undoubtedly was, Mrs. Vimpany's manner produced nevertheless an agreeable impression. Disposed to doubt her at first, Mountjoy found that she was winning herway to a favourable change in his opinion. She so far interested him, that he began to wonder what her early life might have been, when shewas young and handsome. He looked again at the portraits of actresseson the walls, and the plays on the bookshelf--and then (when she wasspeaking to Iris) he stole a sly glance at the doctor's wife. Was itpossible that this remarkable woman had once been an actress? Heattempted to put the value of that guess to the test by means of acomplimentary allusion to the prints. 

"My memory as a playgoer doesn't extend over many years, " he began;"but I can appreciate the historical interest of your beautifulprints. " Mrs. Vimpany bowed gracefully--and dumbly. Mountjoy triedagain. "One doesn't often see the famous actresses of past days, " heproceeded, "so well represented on the walls of an English house. "

This time, he had spoken to better purpose. Mrs. Vimpany answered himin words. 

"I have many pleasant associations with the theatre, " she said, "firstformed in the time of my girlhood. "

Mountjoy waited to hear something more. Nothing more was said. Perhapsthis reticent lady disliked looking back through a long interval ofyears, or perhaps she had her reasons for leaving Mountjoy's guess atthe truth still lost in doubt. In either case, she deliberately droppedthe subject. Iris took it up. Sitting by the only table in the room, she was in a position which placed her exactly opposite to one of theprints--the magnificent portrait of Mrs. Siddons as The Tragic Muse. 

"I wonder if Mrs. Siddons was really as beautiful as that?" she said, pointing to the print. "Sir Joshua Reynolds is reported to havesometimes flattered his sitters. "

Mrs. Vimpany's solemn self-possessed eyes suddenly brightened; the nameof the great actress seemed to interest her. On the point, apparently, of speaking, she dropped the subject of Mrs. Siddons as she had droppedthe subject of the theatre. Mountjoy was left to answer Iris. 

"We are none of us old enough, " he reminded her, "to decide whether SirJoshua's brush has been guilty of flattery or not. " He turned to Mrs. Vimpany, and attempted to look into her life from a new point of view. "When Miss Henley was so fortunate as to make your acquaintance, " hesaid, "you were travelling in Ireland. Was it your first visit to thatunhappy country?"

"I have been more than once in Ireland. "

Having again deliberately disappointed Mountjoy, she was assisted inkeeping clear of the subject of Ireland by a fortunate interruption. Itwas the hour of delivery by the afternoon-post. The servant came inwith a small sealed packet, and a slip of printed paper in her hand. 

"It's registered, ma'am, " the woman announced. "The postman says youare to please sign this. And he seems to be in a hurry. "

She placed the packet and the slip of paper on the table, near theinkstand. Having signed the receipt, Mrs. Vimpany took up the packet, and examined the address. She instantly looked at Iris, and looked awayagain. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" saying this she left theroom, without opening the packet. 

The moment the door closed on her, Iris started up, and hurried toMountjoy. 

"Oh, Hugh, " she said, "I saw the address on that packet when theservant put it on the table!"

"My dear, what is there to excite you in the address?"

"Don't speak so loud! She may be listening outside the door. "

Not only the words, but the tone in which they were spoken, amazedMountjoy. "Your friend, Mrs. Vimpany!" he exclaimed. 

"Mrs. Vimpany was afraid to open the packet in our presence, " Iris wenton: "you must have seen that. The handwriting is familiar to me; I amcertain of the person who wrote the address. "

"Well? And who is the person?"

She whispered in his ear:

"Lord Harry. "

CHAPTER IV

THE GAME: MOUNTJOY LOSES

SURPRISE silenced Hugh for the moment. Iris understood the look that hefixed on her, and answered it. "I am quite sure, " she told him, "ofwhat I say. "

Mountjoy's well-balanced mind hesitated at rushing to a conclusion. 

"I am sure you are convinced of what you tell me, " he said. "Butmistakes do sometimes happen in forming a judgment of handwriting. "

In the state of excitement that now possessed her, Iris was easilyirritated; she was angry with Hugh for only supposing that she mighthave made a mistake. He had himself, as she reminded him, seen LordHarry's handwriting in past days. Was it possible to be mistaken inthose bold thickly-written characters, with some of the letters soquaintly formed? "Oh, Hugh, I am miserable enough as it is, " she brokeout; "don't distract me by disputing what I know! Think of a woman sokind, so disinterested, so charming--the very opposite of a falsecreature--think of Mrs. Vimpany having deceived me!"

There was not the slightest reason, thus far, for placing thatinterpretation on what had happened. Mountjoy gently, very gently, remonstrated. 

"My dear, we really don't know yet that Mrs. Vimpany has been actingunder Lord Harry's instructions. Wait a little before you suspect yourfellow-traveller of offering her services for the purpose of deceivingyou. "

Iris was angry with him again: "Why did Mrs. Vimpany never tell me sheknew Lord Harry? Isn't that suspicious?"

Mountjoy smiled. "Let me put a question on my side, " he said. "Did_you_ tell Mrs. Vimpany you knew Lord Harry?" Iris made no reply; herface spoke for her. "Well, then, " he urged, "is _your_ silencesuspicious? I am far, mind, from saying that this may not be a veryunpleasant discovery. Only let us be sure first that we are right. "

With most of a woman's merits, Miss Henley had many of a woman'sfaults. Still holding to her own conclusion, she asked how they couldexpect to be sure of anything if they addressed their inquiries to aperson who had already deceived them. 

Mountjoy's inexhaustible indulgence still made allowances for her. "When Mrs. Vimpany comes back, " he said, "I will find an opportunity ofmentioning Lord Harry's name. If she tells us that she knows him, therewill be good reason in that one circumstance, as it seems to me, forcontinuing to trust her. "

"Suppose she shams ignorance, " Iris persisted, "and looks as if she hadnever heard of his name before?"

"In that case, I shall own that I was wrong, and shall ask you toforgive me. "

The finer and better nature of Iris recovered its influence at thesewords. "It is I who ought to beg pardon, " she said. "Oh, I wish I couldthink before I speak: how insolent and ill-tempered I have been! Butsuppose I turn out to be right, Hugh, what will you do then?"

"Then, my dear, it will be my duty to take you and your maid away fromthis house, and to tell your father what serious reasons there are"----He abruptly checked himself. Mrs. Vimpany had returned; she was inperfect possession of her lofty courtesy, sweetened by the modestdignity of her smile. 

"I have left you, Miss Henley, in such good company, " she said, with agracious inclination of her head in the direction of Mountjoy, "that Ineed hardly repeat my apologies--unless, indeed, I am interrupting aconfidential conversation. "

It was possible that Iris might have betrayed herself, when thedoctor's wife had looked at her after examining the address on thepacket. In this case Mrs. Vimpany's allusion to "a confidentialconversation" would have operated as a warning to a person ofexperience in the by-ways of deceit. Mountjoy's utmost exertion ofcunning was not capable of protecting him on such conditions as these. The opportunity of trying his proposed experiment with Lord Harry'sname seemed to have presented itself already. He rashly seized on it. 

"You have interrupted nothing that was confidential, " he hastened toassure Mrs. Vimpany. "We have been speaking of a reckless younggentleman, who is an acquaintance of ours. If what I hear is true, hehas already become public property; his adventures have found their wayinto some of the newspapers. "

Here, if Mrs. Vimpany had answered Hugh's expectations, she ought tohave asked who the young gentleman was. She merely listened in politesilence. 

With a woman's quickness of perception, Iris saw that Mountjoy had notonly pounced on his opportunity prematurely, but had spoken with adownright directness of allusion which must at once have put such aready-witted person as Mrs. Vimpany on her guard. In trying to preventhim from pursuing his unfortunate experiment in social diplomacy, Irisinnocently repeated Mountjoy's own mistake. She, too, seized heropportunity prematurely. That is to say, she was rash enough to changethe subject. 

"You were talking just now, Hugh, of our friend's adventures, " shesaid; "I am afraid you will find yourself involved in an adventure ofno very agreeable kind, if you engage a bed at the inn. I never saw amore wretched-looking place. "

It was one of Mrs. Vimpany's many merits that she seldom neglected anopportunity of setting her friends at their ease. 

"No, no, dear Miss Henley, " she hastened to say; "the inn is really amore clean and comfortable place than you suppose. A hard bed and ascarcity of furniture are the worst evils which your friend has tofear. Do you know, " she continued, addressing herself to Mountjoy, "that I was reminded of a friend of mine, when you spoke just now ofthe young gentleman whose adventures are in the newspapers. Is itpossible that you referred to the brother of the present Earl ofNorland? A handsome young Irishman--with whom I first became acquaintedmany years since. Am I right in supposing that you and Miss Henley knowLord Harry?" she asked. 

What more than this could an unprejudiced mind require? Mrs. Vimpanyhad set herself right with a simplicity that defied suspicion. Irislooked at Mountjoy. He appeared to know when he was beaten. Havingacknowledged that Lord Harry was the young gentleman of whom he andMiss Henley had been speaking, he rose to take leave. 

After what had passed, Iris felt the necessity of speaking privately toHugh. The necessary excuse presented itself in the remote situation ofthe inn. "You will never find your way back, " she said, "through thelabyrinth of crooked streets in this old town. Wait for me a minute, and I will be your guide. "

Mrs. Vimpany protested. "My dear! let the servant show the way. "

Iris held gaily to her resolution, and ran away to her room. Mrs. Vimpany yielded with her best grace. Miss Henley's motive could hardlyhave been plainer to her, if Miss Henley had confessed it herself. "What a charming girl!" the doctor's amiable wife said to Mountjoy, when they were alone. "If I were a man, Miss Iris is just the younglady that I should fall in love with. " She looked significantly atMountjoy. Nothing came of it. She went on: "Miss Henley must have hadmany opportunities of being married; but the right man has, I fear, notyet presented himself. " Once more her eloquent eyes consulted Mountjoy, and once more nothing came of it. Some women are easily discouraged. Impenetrable Mrs. Vimpany was one of the other women; she had not donewith Mountjoy yet--she invited him to dinner on the next day. 

"Our early hour is three o'clock, " she said modestly. "Pray join us. Ihope to have the pleasure of introducing my husband. "

Mountjoy had his reasons for wishing to see the husband. As he acceptedthe invitation, Miss Henley returned to accompany him to the inn. 

Iris put the inevitable question to Hugh as soon as they were out ofthe doctor's house--"What do you say of Mrs. Vimpany now?"

"I say that she must have been once an actress, " Mountjoy answered;"and that she carries her experience of the stage into private life. "

"What do you propose to do next?"

"I propose to wait, and see Mrs. Vimpany's husband to-morrow. "

"Why?"

"Mrs. Vimpany, my dear, is too clever for me. If--observe, please, thatI do her the justice of putting it in that way--if she is really LordHarry's creature, employed to keep watch on you, and to inform him ofyour next place of residence in England, I own that she has completelydeceived me. In that case, it is just possible that the husband is notsuch a finished and perfect humbug as the wife. I may be able to seethrough him. I can but try. "

Iris sighed. "I almost hope you may not succeed, " she said. 

Mountjoy was puzzled, and made no attempt to conceal it. "I thought youonly wanted to get at the truth, " he answered. 

"My mind might be easier, perhaps, if I was left in doubt, " shesuggested. "A perverse way of thinking has set up my poor opinionagainst yours. But I am getting back to my better sense. I believe youwere entirely right when you tried to prevent me from rushing toconclusions; it is more than likely that I have done Mrs. Vimpany aninjustice. Oh, Hugh, I ought to keep a friend--I who have so fewfriends--when I have got one! And there is another feeling in me whichI must not conceal from you. When I remember Lord Harry's noble conductin trying to save poor Arthur, I cannot believe him capable of suchhateful deceit as consenting to our separation, and then having mesecretly watched by a spy. What monstrous inconsistency! Can anybodybelieve it? Can anybody account for it?"

"I think I can account for it, Iris, if you will let me make theattempt. You are mistaken to begin with. "

"How am I mistaken?"

"You shall see. There is no such creature as a perfectly consistenthuman being on the face of the earth--and, strange as it may seem toyou, the human beings themselves are not aware of it. The reason forthis curious state of things is not far to seek. How can people who areignorant--as we see every day--of their own characters be capable ofcorrectly estimating the characters of others? Even the influence oftheir religion fails to open their eyes to the truth. In the Prayerwhich is the most precious possession of Christendom, their lips repeatthe entreaty that they may not be led into temptation--but their mindsfail to draw the inference. If that pathetic petition means anything, it means that virtuous men and women are capable of becoming viciousmen and women, if a powerful temptation puts them to the test. EverySunday, devout members of the congregation in church--models ofexcellence in their own estimation, and in the estimation of theirneighbours--declare that they have done those things which they oughtnot to have done, and that there is no health in them. Will you believethat they are encouraged by their Prayer-books to present this sadexposure of the frailty of their own admirable characters? Howinconsistent--and yet how entirely true! Lord Harry, as you rightlysay, behaved nobly in trying to save my dear lost brother. He ought, asyou think, and as other people think, to be consistently noble, afterthat, in all his thoughts and actions, to the end of his life. Supposethat temptation does try him--such temptation, Iris, as you innocentlypresent--why doesn't he offer a superhuman resistance? You might aswell ask, Why is he a mortal man? How inconsistent, how improbable, that he should have tendencies to evil in him, as well as tendencies togood! Ah, I see you don't like this. It would be infinitely moreagreeable (wouldn't it?) if Lord Harry was one of the entirelyconsistent characters which are sometimes presented in works offiction. Our good English readers are charmed with the man, the woman, or the child, who is introduced to them by the kind novelist as a beingwithout faults. Do they stop to consider whether this is a true pictureof humanity? It would be a terrible day for the book if they ever didthat. But the book is in no danger. The readers would even fail todiscover the falseness of the picture, if they were presented tothemselves as perfect characters. 'We mustn't say so, but howwonderfully like us!' There would be the only impression produced. I amnot trying to dishearten you; I want to encourage you to look athumanity from a wider and truer point of view. Do not be too readilydepressed, if you find your faith shaken in a person whom you havehitherto believed to be good. That person has been led into temptation. Wait till time shows you that the evil influence is not everlasting, and that the good influence will inconsistently renew your faith out ofthe very depths of your despair. Humanity, in general, is neitherperfectly good nor perfectly wicked: take it as you find it. Is this ahard lesson to learn? Well! it's easy to do what other people do, undersimilar circumstances. Listen to the unwelcome truth to-day, my dear;and forget it to-morrow. "

They parted at the door of the inn. 

CHAPTER V

THE GAME: MOUNTJOY PLAYS A NEW CARD

MR. VIMPANY (of the College of Surgeons) was a burly man, heavily builtfrom head to foot. His bold round eyes looked straight at hisfellow-creatures with an expression of impudent good humour; hiswhiskers were bushy, his hands were big, his lips were thick, his legswere solid. Add to this a broad sunburnt face, and a grey coat withwide tails, a waistcoat with a check pattern, and leatherriding-gaiters--and no stranger could have failed to mistake Mr. Vimpany for a farmer of the old school. He was proud of the falseimpression that he created. "Nature built me to be a farmer, " he usedto say. "But my poor foolish old mother was a lady by birth, and sheinsisted on her son being a professional man. I hadn't brains for theLaw, or money for the Army, or morals for the Church. And here I am acountry doctor--the one representative of slavery left in thenineteenth century. You may not believe me, but I never see a labourerat the plough that I don't envy him. "

This was the husband of the elegant lady with the elaborate manners. This was the man who received Mountjoy with a "Glad to see you, sir, "and a shake of the hand that hurt him. 

"Coarse fare, " said Mr. Vimpany, carving a big joint of beef; "but Ican't afford anything better. Only a pudding to follow, and a glass ofglorious old sherry. Miss Henley is good enough to excuse it--and mywife's used to it--and you will put up with it, Mr. Mountjoy, if youare half as amiable as you look. I'm an old-fashioned man. The pleasureof a glass of wine with you, sir. "

Hugh's first experience of the "glorious old sherry" led him to adiscovery, which proved to be more important than he was disposed toconsider it at the moment. He merely observed, with some amusement, that Mr. Vimpany smacked his lips in hearty approval of the worstsherry that his guest had ever tasted. Here, plainly self-betrayed, wasa medical man who was an exception to a general rule in theprofession--here was a doctor ignorant of the difference between goodwine and bad!

Both the ladies were anxious to know how Mountjoy had passed the nightat the inn. He had only time to say that there was nothing to complainof, when Mr. Vimpany burst into an explosion of laughter. 

"Oh, but you must have had something to complain of!" said the bigdoctor. "I would bet a hundred, if I could afford it, that the landladytried to poison you with her sour French wine. "

"Do you speak of the claret at the inn, after having tasted it?"Mountjoy asked. 

"What do you take me for?" cried Mr. Vimpany. "After all I have heardof that claret, I am not fool enough to try it myself, I can tell you. "Mountjoy received this answer in silence. The doctor's ignorance andthe doctor's prejudice, in the matter of wine, had started a new trainof thought in Hugh's mind, which threatened serious consequences to Mr. Vimpany himself. There was a pause at the table; nobody spoke. Thedoctor saw condemnation of his rudeness expressed in his wife's face. He made a rough apology to Mountjoy, who was still preoccupied. "Nooffence, I hope? It's in the nature of me, sir, to speak my mind. If Icould fawn and flatter, I should have got on better in my profession. I'm what they call a rough diamond. No, offence, I say?"

"None whatever, Mr. Vimpany. "

"That's right! Try another glass of sherry. "

Mountjoy took the sherry. 

Iris looked at him, lost in surprise. It was unlike Hugh to beinterested in a stranger's opinion of wine. It was unlike him to drinkwine which was evidently not to his taste. And it was especially unlikehis customary courtesy to let himself fall into thought at dinner-time, when there were other persons at the table. Was he ill? Impossible tolook at him, and not see that he was in perfect health. What did itmean?

Finding Mountjoy inattentive, Mr. Vimpany addressed himself to Iris. 

"I had to ride hard, Miss Henley, to get home in time for dinner. Thereare patients, I must tell you, who send for the doctor, and then seemto think they know more about it than the very man whom they havecalled in to cure them. It isn't he who tells them what their illnessis; it's they who tell him. They dispute about the medical treatmentthat's best for them, and the one thing they are never tired of doingis talking about their symptoms. It was an old man's gabble that keptme late to-day. However, the Squire, as they call him in these parts, is a patient with a long purse; I am obliged to submit. "

"A gentleman of the old school, dear Miss Henley, " Mrs. Vimpanyexplained. "Immensely rich. Is he better?" she asked, turning to herhusband. 

"Better?" cried the outspoken doctor. "Pooh! there's nothing the matterwith him but gluttony. He went to London, and consulted a great man, ahumbug with a handle to his name. The famous physician got rid of himin no time--sent him abroad to boil himself in foreign baths. He camehome again worse than ever, and consulted poor Me. I found him atdinner--a perfect feast, I give you my word of honour!--and the oldfool gorging himself till he was black in the face. His wine, I shouldhave said, was not up to the mark; wanted body and flavour, you know. Ah, Mr. Mountjoy, this seems to interest you; reminds you of thelandlady's wine--eh? Well, sir, how do you think I treated the Squire?Emptied his infirm old inside with an emetic--and there he was on hislegs again. Whenever he overeats himself he sends for me; and paysliberally. I ought to be grateful to him, and I am. Upon my soul, Ibelieve I should be in the bankruptcy court but for the Squire'sstomach. Look at my wife! She's shocked at me. We ought to keep upappearances, my dear? Not I! When I am poor, I say I am poor. When Icure a patient, I make no mystery of it; everybody's welcome to knowhow it's done. Don't be down-hearted, Arabella; nature never meant yourhusband for a doctor, and there's the long and the short of it. Anotherglass of sherry, Mr. Mountjoy?"

All social ceremonies--including the curious English custom which sendsthe ladies upstairs, after dinner, and leaves the gentlemen at thetable--found a devoted adherent in Mrs. Vimpany. She rose as if she hadbeen presiding at a banquet, and led Miss Henley affectionately to thedrawing-room. Iris glanced at Hugh. No; his mind was not at ease yet;the preoccupied look had not left his face. 

Jovial Mr. Vimpany pushed the bottle across the table to his guest, andheld out a handful of big black cigars. 

"Now for the juice of the grape, " he cried, "and the best cigar in allEngland!"

He had just filled his glass, and struck a light for his cigar, whenthe servant came in with a note. Some men relieve their sense ofindignation in one way, and some in another. The doctor's form ofrelief was an oath. "Talk about slavery!" he shouted. "Find me such aslave in all Africa as a man in my profession. There isn't an hour ofthe day or night that he can call his own. Here's a stupid old womanwith an asthma, who has got another spasmodic attack--and I must leavemy dinner-table and my friend, just as we are enjoying ourselves. Ihave half a mind not to go. "

The inattentive guest suddenly set himself right in his host'sestimation. Hugh remonstrated with an appearance of interest in thecase, which the doctor interpreted as a compliment to himself: "Oh, Mr. Vimpany, humanity! humanity!"

"Oh, Mr. Mountjoy, money! money!" the facetious doctor answered. "Theold lady is our Mayor's mother, sir. You don't seem to be quick attaking a joke. Make your mind easy; I shall pocket my fee. "

As soon as he had closed the door, Hugh Mountjoy uttered a devoutejaculation. "Thank God!" he said--and walked up and down the room, free to think without interruption at last. 

The subject of his meditations was the influence of intoxication indisclosing the hidden weaknesses and vices of a man's character byexhibiting them just as they are, released from the restraint which heexercises over himself when he is sober. That there was a weak side, and probably a vicious side, in Mr. Vimpany's nature it was hardlypossible to doubt. His blustering good humour, his audaciousself-conceit, the tones of his voice, the expression in his eyes, allrevealed him (to use one expressive word) as a humbug. Let drink subtlydeprive him of his capacity for self-concealment! and the true natureof his wife's association with Lord Harry might sooner or later showitself--say, in after-dinner talk, under skilful management. The rightmethod of entrapping him into a state of intoxication (which might havepresented serious difficulties under other circumstances) wassuggested, partly by his ignorance of the difference between good wineand bad, and partly by Mountjoy's knowledge of the excellent quality ofthe landlady's claret. He had recognised, as soon as he tasted it, thatfinest vintage of Bordeaux, which conceals its true strength--to agross and ignorant taste--under the exquisite delicacy of its flavour. Encourage Mr. Vimpany by means of a dinner at the inn, to give hisopinion as a man whose judgment in claret was to be seriouslyconsulted--and permit him also to discover that Hugh was rich enough tohave been able to buy the wine--and the attainment of the end in viewwould be simply a question of time. There was certainly the chance tobe reckoned with, that his thick head might prove to be too strong forthe success of the experiment. Mountjoy determined to try it, and didtry it nevertheless. 

Mr. Vimpany returned from his medical errand, thoroughly well satisfiedwith himself. 

"The Mayor's mother has reason to thank you, sir, " he announced. "Ifyou hadn't hurried me away, the wretched old creature would have beenchoked. A regular stand-up fight, by Jupiter, between death and thedoctor!--and the doctor has won! Give me the reward of merit. Pass thebottle. "

He took up the decanter, and looked at it. 

"Why, what have you been about?" he asked. "I made up my mind that Ishould want the key of the cellar when I came back, and I don't believeyou have drunk a drop in my absence. What does it mean?"

"It means that I am not worthy of your sherry, " Mountjoy answered. "TheSpanish wines are too strong for my weak digestion. "

Mr. Vimpany burst into one of his explosions of laughter. "You miss thelandlady's vinegar--eh?"

"Yes, I do! Wait a minute, doctor; I have a word to say on myside--and, like you, I mean what I say. The landlady's vinegar is someof the finest Chateau Margaux I have ever met with--thrown away onignorant people who are quite unworthy of it. "

The doctor's natural insolence showed itself. "You have bought thiswonderful wine, of course?" he said satirically. 

"That, " Mountjoy answered, "is just what I have done. "

For once in his life, Mr. Vimpany's self-sufficient readiness of speechfailed him. He stared at his guest in dumb amazement. On this occasion, Mountjoy improved the opportunity to good purpose. Mr. Vimpany acceptedwith the utmost readiness an invitation to dine on the next day at theinn. But he made a condition. "In case I don't agree with you aboutthat Chateau--what-you-call-it, " he said, "you won't mind my sendinghome for a bottle of sherry?"

The next event of the day was a visit to the most interesting monumentof antiquity in the town. In the absence of the doctor, caused byprofessional engagements, Miss Henley took Mountjoy to see the oldchurch--and Mrs. Vimpany accompanied them, as a mark of respect to MissHenley's friend. 

When there was a chance of being able to speak confidentially, Iris waseager in praising the doctor's wife. "You can't imagine, Hugh, howagreeable she has been, and how entirely she has convinced me that Iwas wrong, shamefully wrong, in thinking of her as I did. She sees thatyou dislike her, and yet she speaks so nicely of you. 'Your cleverfriend enjoys your society, ' she said; 'pray accompany me when I takehim to see the church. ' How unselfish!"

Mountjoy kept his own counsel. The generous impulses which sometimesled Iris astray were, as he well knew, beyond the reach ofremonstrance. His own opinion of Mrs. Vimpany still pronounced steadilyagainst her. Prepared for discoveries, on the next day, which mightprove too serious to be trifled with, he now did his best to providefor future emergencies. 

After first satisfying himself that there was nothing in the presentstate of the maid's health which need detain her mistress atHoneybuzzard, he next completed his preparations by returning to theinn, and writing to Mr. Henley. With strict regard to truth, his letterpresented the daughter's claim on the father under a new point of view. Whatever the end of it might be, Mr. Henley was requested tocommunicate his intentions by telegraph. Will you receive Iris? was thequestion submitted. The answer expected was: Yes or No. 

CHAPTER VI

THE GAME: MOUNTJOY WINS

MR. HENLEY's telegram arrived at the inn the next morning. 

He was willing to receive his daughter, but not unreservedly. Themessage was characteristic of the man: "Yes--on trial. " Mountjoy wasnot shocked, was not even surprised. He knew that the successfulspeculations, by means of which Mr. Henley had accumulated his wealth, had raised against him enemies, who had spread scandalous reports whichhad never been completely refuted. The silent secession of friends, inwhose fidelity he trusted, had hardened the man's heart and embitteredhis nature. Strangers in distress, who appealed to the rich retiredmerchant for help, found in their excellent references to character theworst form of persuasion that they could have adopted. Paupers withouta rag of reputation left to cover them, were the objects of charitywhom Mr. Henley relieved. When he was asked to justify his conduct, hesaid: "I have a sympathy with bad characters---I am one of themmyself. "

With the arrival of the dinner hour the doctor appeared, in no veryamiable humour, at the inn. 

"Another hard day's work, " he said; "I should sink under it, if Ihadn't a prospect of getting rid of my practice here. London--or theneighbourhood of London--there's the right place for a man like Me. Well? Where's the wonderful wine? Mind! I'm Tom-Tell-Truth; if I don'tlike your French tipple, I shall say so. "

The inn possessed no claret glasses; they drank the grand wine intumblers as if it had been vin ordinaire. 

Mr. Vimpany showed that he was acquainted with the formalities properto the ceremony of tasting. He filled his makeshift glass, he held itup to the light, and looked at the wine severely; he moved the tumblerto and fro under his nose, and smelt at it again and again; he pausedand reflected; he tasted the claret as cautiously as if he feared itmight be poisoned; he smacked his lips, and emptied his glass at adraught; lastly, he showed some consideration for his host's anxiety, and pronounced sentence on the wine. 

"Not so good as you think it, sir. But nice light claret; clean andwholesome. I hope you haven't given too much for it?"

Thus far, Hugh had played a losing game patiently. His reward had comeat last. After what the doctor had just said to him, he saw the winningcard safe in his own hand. 

The bad dinner was soon over. No soup, of course; fish, in the state ofpreservation usually presented by a decayed country town; steak thatrivalled the toughness of india-rubber; potatoes whose aspect said, "stranger, don't eat us"; pudding that would have produced a sense ofdiscouragement, even in the mind of a child; and the famous Englishcheese which comes to us, oddly enough, from the United States, andstings us vindictively when we put it into our mouths. But the wine, the glorious wine, would have made amends to anybody but Mr. Vimpanyfor the woeful deficiencies of the food. Tumbler-full aftertumbler-full of that noble vintage poured down his thirsty and ignorantthroat; and still he persisted in declaring that it was nice lightstuff, and still he unforgivingly bore in mind the badness of thedinner. 

"The feeding here, " said this candid man, "is worse if possible thanthe feeding at sea, when I served as doctor on board a passenger-steamer. Shall I tell you how I lost my place? Oh, say so plainly, ifyou don't think my little anecdote worth listening to!"

"My dear sir, I am waiting to hear it. "

"Very good. No offence, I hope? That's right! Well, sir, the captain ofthe ship complained of me to the owners; I wouldn't go round, everymorning, and knock at the ladies' cabin-doors, and ask how they feltafter a sea-sick night. Who doesn't know what they feel, withoutknocking at their doors? Let them send for the doctor when they wanthim. That was how I understood my duty; and there was the line ofconduct that lost me my place. Pass the wine. Talking of ladies, whatdo you think of my wife? Did you ever see such distinguished mannersbefore? My dear fellow, I have taken a fancy to you. Shake hands. I'lltell you another little anecdote. Where do you think my wife picked upher fashionable airs and graces? Ho! ho! On the stage! The highestbranch of the profession, sir--a tragic actress. If you had seen her inLady Macbeth, Mrs. Vimpany would have made your flesh creep. Look atme, and feast your eyes on a man who is above hypocritical objectionsto the theatre. Haven't I proved it by marrying an actress? But wedon't mention it here. The savages in this beastly place wouldn'temploy me, if they knew I had married a stage-player. Hullo! Thebottle's empty again. Ha! here's another bottle, full. I love a man whohas always got a full bottle to offer his friend. Shake hands. I say, Mountjoy, tell me on your sacred word of honour, can you keep a secret?My wife's secret, sir! Stop! let me look at you again. I thought I sawyou smile. If a man smiles at me, when I am opening my whole heart tohim, by the living jingo, I would knock that man down at his own table!What? you didn't smile? I apologise. Your hand again; I drink yourhealth in your own good wine. Where was I? What was I talking about?"

Mountjoy carefully humoured his interesting guest. 

"You were about to honour me, " he said, "by taking me into yourconfidence. " Mr. Vimpany stared in tipsy bewilderment. Mountjoy triedagain in plainer language: "You were going to tell me a secret. "

This time, the doctor grasped the idea. He looked round cunningly tothe door. "Any eavesdroppers?" he asked. "Hush! Whisper--this isserious--whisper! What was it I was going to tell you? What was thesecret, old boy?"

Mountjoy answered a little too readily: "I think it related to Mrs. Vimpany. "

Mrs. Vimpany's husband threw himself back in his chair, snatched adirty handkerchief out of his pocket, and began to cry. 

"Here's a false friend!" the creature whimpered. "Asks me to dinner, and takes advantage of my dependent situation to insult my wife. Theloveliest of women, the sweetest of women, the innocentest of women. Oh, my wife! my wife!" He suddenly threw his handkerchief to the otherend of the room, and burst out laughing. "Ho! ho! Mountjoy, what aninfernal fool you must be to take me seriously. I can act, too. Do youthink I care about my wife? She was a fine woman once: she's a bundleof old rags now. But she has her merits. Hush! I want to knowsomething. Have you got a lord among your circle of acquaintance?"

Experience made Mountjoy more careful; perhaps a little too careful. Heonly said "Yes. "

The doctor's dignity asserted itself. "That's a short answer, sir, to aman in my position. If you want me to believe you, mention yourfriend's name. "

Here was a chance at last! "His name;" Mountjoy began, "is LordHarry--"

Mr. Vimpany lost his dignity in an instant. He struck his heavy fist onthe table, with a blow that made the tumblers jump. 

"Coincidence!" he cried. "How wonderful--no; that's not theword--providential is the word--how providential are coincidences! Imean, of course, to a rightly constituted mind. Let nobody contradictme! When I say a rightly constituted mind I speak seriously; and ayoung man like you will be all the better for it. Mountjoy! dearMountjoy! jolly Mountjoy! my wife's lord is your lord--Lord Harry. No;none of your nonsense--I won't have any more wine. Yes, I will; itmight hurt your feelings if I didn't drink with you. Pass the bottle. Ha! That's a nice ring you've got on your finger. Perhaps you think itvaluable? It's nothing, sir; it's dross, it's dirt, compared to mywife's diamond pin! There's a jewel, if you like! It will be worth afortune to us when we sell it. A gift, dear sir! I'm afraid I've beentoo familiar with you. Speaking as a born gentleman, I beg to presentmy respects, and I call you 'dear sir. ' Did I tell you the diamond pinwas a gift? It's nothing of the sort; we are under no obligation; mywife, my admirable wife, has earned that diamond pin. By registeredpost; and what I call a manly letter from Lord Harry. He is deeplyobliged (I give you the sense of it) by what my wife has done for him;ready money is scarce with my lord; he sends a family jewel, with hislove. Oh, I'm not jealous. He's welcome to love Mrs. Vimpany, in herold age, if he likes. Did you say that, sir? Did you say that LordHarry, or any man, was welcome to love Mrs. Vimpany? I have a greatmind to throw this bottle at your head. No, I won't; it's wasting goodwine! How kind of you to give me good wine. Who are you? I don't likedining with a stranger. Do you know any friend of mine? Do you know aman named Mountjoy? Do you know two men named Mountjoy? No: you don't. One of them is dead: killed by those murdering scoundrels what do youcall them? Eh, what?" The doctor's voice began to falter, his headdropped; he slumbered suddenly and woke suddenly, and began talkingagain suddenly. "Would you like to be made acquainted with Lord Harry?I'll give you a sketch of his character before I introduce him. Betweenourselves, he's a desperate wretch. Do you know why he employed mywife, my admirable wife? You will agree with me; he ought to havelooked after his young woman himself. We've got his young woman safe inour house. A nice girl. Not my style; my medical knowledge certifiesshe's cold-blooded. Lord Harry has only to come over here and find her. Why the devil doesn't he come? What is it keeps him in Ireland? Do youknow? I seem to have forgotten. My own belief is I've got softening ofthe brain. What's good for softening of the brain? There isn't a doctorliving who won't tell you the right remedy--wine. Pass the wine. Ifthis claret is worth a farthing, it's worth a guinea a bottle. I askyou in confidence; did you ever hear of such a fool as my wife's lord?His name escapes me. No matter; he stops in Ireland--hunting. Huntingwhat? The fox? Nothing so noble; hunting assassins. He's got somegrudge against one of them. Means to kill one of them. A word in yourear; they'll kill him. Do you ever bet? Five to one, he's a dead manbefore the end of the week. When is the end of the week? Tuesday, Wednesday--no, Saturday--that's the beginning of the week--no, itisn't--the beginning of the week isn't the Sabbath--Sunday, ofcourse--we are not Christians, we are Jews--I mean we are Jews, we arenot Christians--I mean--"

The claret got the better of his tongue, at last. He mumbled andmuttered; he sank back in his chair; he chuckled; he hiccupped; he fellasleep. 

All and more than all that Mountjoy feared, he had now discovered. In astate of sobriety, the doctor was probably one of those men who arealways ready to lie. In a state of intoxication the utterances of hisdrunken delirium might unconsciously betray the truth. The reason whichhe had given for Lord Harry's continued absence in Ireland, could notbe wisely rejected as unworthy of belief. It was in the reckless natureof the wild lord to put his own life in peril, in the hope of revengingArthur Mountjoy on the wretch who had killed him. Taking this bad newsfor granted, was there any need to distress Iris by communicating themotive which detained Lord Harry in his own country? Surely not!

And, again, was there any immediate advantage to be gained by revealingthe true character of Mrs. Vimpany, as a spy, and, worse still, a spywho was paid? In her present state of feeling, Iris would, in allprobability, refuse to believe it. 

Arriving at these conclusions, Hugh looked at the doctor snoring andchoking in an easy-chair. He had not wasted the time and patiencedevoted to the stratagem which had now successfully reached its end. After what he had just heard--thanks to the claret--he could nothesitate to accomplish the speedy removal of Iris from Mr. Vimpany'shouse; using her father's telegram as the only means of persuasion onwhich it was possible to rely. Mountjoy left the inn without ceremony, and hurried away to Iris in the hope of inducing her to return toLondon with him that night. 

CHAPTER VII

DOCTORING THE DOCTOR

ASKING for Miss Henley at the doctor's door, Hugh was informed that shehad gone out, with her invalid maid, for a walk. She had left word, ifMr. Mountjoy called in her absence, to beg that he would kindly waitfor her return. 

On his way up to the drawing-room, Mountjoy heard Mrs. Vimpany'ssonorous voice occupied, as he supposed, in reading aloud. The doorbeing opened for him, he surprised her, striding up and down the roomwith a book in her hand; grandly declaiming without anybody to applaudher. After what Hugh had already heard, he could only conclude thatreminiscences of her theatrical career had tempted the solitary actressto make a private appearance, for her own pleasure, in one of thosetragic characters to which her husband had alluded. She recovered herself-possession on Mountjoy's appearance, with the ease of a mistressof her art. "Pardon me, " she said, holding up her book with one hand, and tapping it indicatively with the other: "Shakespeare carries me outof myself. A spark of the poet's fire burns in the poet's humbleservant. May I hope that I have made myself understood? You look as ifyou had a fellow-feeling for me. "

Mountjoy did his best to fill the sympathetic part assigned to him, andonly succeeded in showing what a bad actor he would have been, if hehad gone on the stage. Under the sedative influence thus administered, Mrs. Vimpany put away her book, and descended at once from the highestpoetry to the lowest prose. 

"Let us return to domestic events, " she said indulgently. "Have thepeople at the inn given you a good dinner?"

"The people did their best, " Mountjoy answered cautiously. 

"Has my husband returned with you?" Mrs. Vimpany went on. 

Mountjoy began to regret that he had not waited for Iris in the street. He was obliged to acknowledge that the doctor had not returned withhim. 

"Where is Mr. Vimpany?"

"At the inn. "

"What is he doing there?"

Mountjoy hesitated. Mrs. Vimpany rose again into the regions of tragicpoetry. She stepped up to him, as if he had been Macbeth, and she wasready to use the daggers. "I understand but too well, " she declared interrible tones. "My wretched husband's vices are known to me. Mr. Vimpany is intoxicated. "

Hugh tried to make the best of it. "Only asleep, " he said. Mrs. Vimpanylooked at him once more. This time, it was Queen Katharine looking atCardinal Wolsey. She bowed with lofty courtesy, and opened the door. "Ihave occasion, " she said, "to go out"----and made an exit. 

Five minutes later, Mountjoy (standing at the window, impatiently onthe watch for the return of Iris) saw Mrs. Vimpany in the street. Sheentered a chemist's shop, on the opposite side of the way, and came outagain with a bottle in her hand. It was enclosed in the customarymedical wrapping of white paper. Majestically, she passed out of sight. If Hugh had followed her he would have traced the doctor's wife to thedoor of the inn. 

The unemployed waiter was on the house-steps, looking about him--withnothing to see. He made his bow to Mrs. Vimpany, and informed her thatthe landlady had gone out. 

"You will do as well, " was the reply. "Is Mr. Vimpany here?"

The waiter smiled, and led the way through the passage to the foot ofthe stairs. "You can hear him, ma'am. " It was quite true; Mr. Vimpany'ssnoring answered for Mr. Vimpany. His wife ascended the first two orthree stairs, and stopped to speak again to the waiter. She asked whatthe two gentlemen had taken to drink with their dinner. They had taken"the French wine. "

"And nothing else?"

The waiter ventured on a little joke. "Nothing else, " he said--"andmore than enough of it, too. "

"Not more than enough, I suppose, for the good of the house, " Mrs. Vimpany remarked. 

"I beg your pardon, ma'am; the claret the two gentlemen drank is notcharged for in the bill. "

"What do you mean?"

The waiter explained that Mr. Mountjoy had purchased the whole stock ofthe wine. Suspicion, as well as surprise, appeared in Mrs. Vimpany'sface. She had hitherto thought it likely that Miss Henley'sgentleman-like friend might be secretly in love with the young lady. Her doubts of him, now, took a wider range of distrust. She went on upthe stairs by herself, and banged the door of the private room as theeasiest means of waking the sleeping man. To the utmost noise that shecould make in this way, he was perfectly impenetrable. For a while shewaited, looking at him across the table with unutterable contempt. 

There was the man to whom the religion of the land and the law of theland, acting together in perfect harmony, had fettered her for life!Some women, in her position, might have wasted time in uselessself-reproach. Mrs. Vimpany reviewed her miserable married life withthe finest mockery of her own misfortune. "Virtue, " she said toherself, "is its own reward. "

Glancing with careless curiosity at the disorder of the dinner-table, she noticed some wine still left in the bottom of her husband's glass. Had artificial means been used to reduce him to his present condition?She tasted the claret. No; there was nothing in the flavour of it whichbetrayed that he had been drugged. If the waiter was to be believed, hehad only drunk claret--and there he was, in a state of helplessstupefaction, nevertheless. 

She looked again at the dinner-table, and discovered one, among themany empty bottles, with some wine still left in it. After a moment ofreflection, she took a clean tumbler from the sideboard. 

Here was the wine which had been an object of derision to Mr. Vimpanyand his friends. They were gross feeders and drinkers; and it might notbe amiss to put their opinions to the test. She was not searching forthe taste of a drug now; her present experiment proposed to try thewine on its own merits. 

At the time of her triumphs on the country stage--before the date ofher unlucky marriage--rich admirers had entertained the handsomeactress at suppers, which offered every luxury that the most perfecttable could supply. Experience had made her acquainted with the flavourof the finest claret--and that experience was renewed by the claretwhich she was now tasting. It was easy to understand why Mr. Mountjoyhad purchased the wine; and, after a little thinking, his motive forinviting Mr. Vimpany to dinner seemed to be equally plain. Foiled intheir first attempt at discovery by her own prudence and tact, hissuspicions had set their trap. Her gross husband had been tempted todrink, and to talk at random (for Mr. Mountjoy's benefit) in a state ofintoxication!

What secrets might the helpless wretch not have betrayed before thewine had completely stupefied him?

Urged by rage and fear, she shook him furiously. He woke; he glared ather with bloodshot eyes; he threatened her with his clenched fist. There was but one way of lifting his purblind stupidity to the light. She appealed to his experience of himself, on many a former occasion:"You fool, you have been drinking again--and there's a patient waitingfor you. " To that dilemma he was accustomed; the statement of itpartially roused him. Mrs. Vimpany tore off the paper wrapping, andopened the medicine-bottle which she had brought with her. 

He stared at it; he muttered to himself: "Is she going to poison me?"She seized his head with one hand, and held the open bottle to hisnose. "Your own prescription, " she cried, "for yourself and yourhateful friends. "

His nose told him what words might have tried vainly to say: heswallowed the mixture. "If I lose the patient, " he muttered oracularly, "I lose the money. " His resolute wife dragged him out of his chair. Thesecond door in the dining-room led into an empty bed-chamber. With herhelp, he got into the room, and dropped on the bed. 

Mrs. Vimpany consulted her watch. 

On many a former occasion she had learnt what interval of repose wasrequired, before the sobering influence of the mixture couldsuccessfully assert itself. For the present, she had only to return tothe other room. The waiter presented himself, asking if there wasanything he could do for her. Familiar with the defective side of herhusband's character, he understood what it meant when she pointed tothe bedroom door. "The old story, ma'am, " he said, with an air ofrespectful sympathy. "Can I get you a cup of tea?"

Mrs. Vimpany accepted the tea, and enjoyed it thoughtfully. 

She had two objects in view--to be revenged on Mountjoy, and to find away of forcing him to leave the town before he could communicate hisdiscoveries to Iris. How to reach these separate ends, by one and thesame means, was still the problem which she was trying to solve, whenthe doctor's coarse voice was audible, calling for somebody to come tohim. 

If his head was only clear enough, by this time, to understand thequestions which she meant to put, his answers might suggest the idea ofwhich she was in search. Rising with alacrity, Mrs. Vimpany returned tothe bed-chamber. 

"You miserable creature, " she began, "are you sober now?"

"I'm as sober as you are. "

"Do you know, " she went on, "why Mr. Mountjoy asked you to dine withhim?"

"Because he's my friend. "

"He is your worst enemy. Hold your tongue! I'll explain what I meandirectly. Rouse your memory, if you have got a memory left. I want toknow what you and Mr. Mountjoy talked about after dinner. "

He stared at her helplessly. She tried to find her way to hisrecollection by making suggestive inquiries. It was useless; he onlycomplained of being thirsty. His wife lost her self-control. She wastoo furiously angry with him to be able to remain in the room. Recovering her composure when she was alone, she sent for soda-waterand brandy. Her one chance of making him useful was to humour his viletemper; she waited on him herself. 

In some degree, the drink cleared his muddled head. Mrs. Vimpany triedhis memory once more. Had he said this? Had he said that? Yes: hethought it likely. Had he, or had Mr. Mountjoy, mentioned Lord Harry'sname? A glimmer of intelligence showed itself in his stupid eyes. Yes--and they had quarrelled about it: he rather thought he had throwna bottle at Mr. Mountjoy's head. Had they, either of them, saidanything about Miss Henley? Oh, of course! What was it? He was unableto remember. Had his wife done bothering him, now?

"Not quite, " she replied. "Try to understand what I am going to say toyou. If Lord Harry comes to us while Miss Henley is in our house--"

He interrupted her: "That's your business. "

"Wait a little. It's my business, if I hear beforehand that hislordship is coming. But he is quite reckless enough to take us bysurprise. In that case, I want you to make yourself useful. If youhappen to be at home, keep him from seeing Miss Henley until I haveseen her first. "

"Why?"

"I want an opportunity, my dear, of telling Miss Henley that I havebeen wicked enough to deceive her, before she finds it out for herself. I may hope she will forgive me, if I confess everything. "

The doctor laughed: "What the devil does it matter whether she forgivesyou or not?"

"It matters a great deal. "

"Why, you talk as if you were fond of her!"

"I am. "

The doctor's clouded intelligence was beginning to clear; he made asmart reply: "Fond of her, and deceiving her--aha!"

"Yes, " she said quietly, "that's just what it is. It has grown on me, little by little; I can't help liking Miss Henley. "

"Well, " Mr. Vimpany remarked, "you _are_ a fool!" He looked at hercunningly. "Suppose I do make myself useful, what am I to gain by it?"

"Let us get back, " she suggested, "to the gentleman who invited you todinner, and made you tipsy for his own purposes. "

"I'll break every bone in his skin!"

"Don't talk nonsense! Leave Mr. Mountjoy to me. "

"Do _you_ take his part? I can tell you this. If I drank too much ofthat poisonous French stuff, Mountjoy set me the example. He wastipsy--as you call it--shamefully tipsy, I give you my word of honour. What's the matter now?"

His wife (so impenetrably cool, thus far) had suddenly become excited. There was not the smallest fragment of truth in what he had just saidof Hugh, and Mrs. Vimpany was not for a moment deceived by it. But thelie had, accidentally, one merit--it suggested to her the idea whichshe had vainly tried to find over her cup of tea. "Suppose I show youhow you may be revenged on Mr. Mountjoy, " she said. 

"Well?"

"Will you remember what I asked you to do for me, if Lord Harry takesus by surprise?"

He produced his pocket-diary, and told her to make a memorandum of it. She wrote as briefly as if she had been writing a telegram: "Keep LordHarry from seeing Miss Henley, till I have seen her first. "

"Now, " she said, taking a chair by the bedside, "you shall know what aclever wife you have got. Listen to me. "

CHAPTER VIII

HER FATHER'S MESSAGE

LOOKING out of the drawing-room window, for the tenth time at least, Mountjoy at last saw Iris in the street, returning to the house. 

She brought the maid with her into the drawing-room, in the gayest ofgood spirits, and presented Rhoda to Mountjoy. 

"What a blessing a good long walk is, if we only knew it!" sheexclaimed. "Look at my little maid's colour! Who would suppose that shecame here with heavy eyes and pale cheeks? Except that she loses herway in the town, whenever she goes out alone, we have every reason tocongratulate ourselves on our residence at Honeybuzzard. The doctor isRhoda's good genius, and the doctor's wife is her fairy godmother. "

Mountjoy's courtesy having offered the customary congratulations, themaid was permitted to retire; and Iris was free to express herastonishment at the friendly relations established (by means of thedinner-table) between the two most dissimilar men on the face ofcreation. 

"There is something overwhelming, " she declared, "in the bare idea ofyour having asked him to dine with you--on such a short acquaintance, and being such a man! I should like to have peeped in, and seen youentertaining your guest with the luxuries of the hotel larder. Seriously, Hugh, your social sympathies have taken a range for which Iwas not prepared. After the example that you have set me, I feelashamed of having doubted whether Mr. Vimpany was worthy of hischarming wife. Don't suppose that I am ungrateful to the doctor! He hasfound his way to my regard, after what he has done for Rhoda. I onlyfail to understand how he has possessed himself of _your_ sympathies. "

So she ran on, enjoying the exercise of her own sense of humour ininnocent ignorance of the serious interests which she was deriding. 

Mountjoy tried to stop her, and tried in vain. 

"No, no, " she persisted as mischievously as ever, "the subject is toointeresting to be dismissed. I am dying to know how you and your guestgot through the dinner. Did he take more wine than was good for him?And, when he forgot his good manners, did he set it all right again bysaying, 'No offence, ' and passing the bottle?"

Hugh could endure it no longer. "Pray control your high spirits for amoment, " he said. "I have news for you from home. "

Those words put an end to her outbreak of gaiety, in an instant. 

"News from my father?" she asked. 

"Yes. "

"Is he coming here?"

"No; I have heard from him. "

"A letter?"

"A telegram, " Mountjoy explained, "in answer to a letter from me. I didmy best to press your claims on him, and I am glad to say I have notfailed. "

"Hugh, dear Hugh! have you succeeded in reconciling us?"

Mountjoy produced the telegram. "I asked Mr. Henley, " he said, "to letme know at once whether he would receive you, and to answer plainly Yesor No. The message might have been more kindly expressed--but, at anyrate, it is a favourable reply. "

Iris read the telegram. "Is there another father in the world, " shesaid sadly, "who would tell his daughter, when she asks to come home, that he will receive her on trial?"

"Surely, you are not offended with him, Iris?"

She shook her head. "I am like you, " she said. "I know him too well tobe offended. He shall find me dutiful, he shall find me patient. I amafraid I must not expect you to wait for me in Honeybuzzard. Will youtell my father that I hope to return to him in a week's time?"

"Pardon me, Iris, I see no reason why you should waste a week in thistown. On the contrary, the more eager you show yourself to return toyour father, the more likely you are to recover your place in hisestimation. I had planned to take you home by the next train. "

Iris looked at him in astonishment. "Is it possible that you mean whatyou say?" she asked. 

"My dear, I do most assuredly mean what I say. Why should you hesitate?What possible reason can there be for staying here any longer?"

"Oh, Hugh, how you disappoint me! What has become of your kind feeling, your sense of justice, your consideration for others? Poor Mrs. Vimpany!"

"What has Mrs. Vimpany to do with it?"

Iris was indignant. 

"What has Mrs. Vimpany to do with it?" she repeated. "After all that Iowe to that good creature's kindness; after I have promised toaccompany her--she has so few happy days, poor soul!--on excursions toplaces of interest in the neighbourhood, do you expect me to leaveher--no! it's worse than that--do you expect me to throw her aside likean old dress that I have worn out? And this after I have so unjustly, so ungratefully suspected her in my own thoughts? Shameful! shameful!"

With some difficulty, Mountjoy controlled himself. After what she hadjust said, his lips were sealed on the subject of Mrs. Vimpany's truecharacter. He could only persist in appealing to her duty to herfather. 

"You are allowing your quick temper to carry you to strangeextremities, " he answered. "If I think it of more importance to hastena reconciliation with your father than to encourage you to makeexcursions with a lady whom you have only known for a week or two, whathave I done to deserve such an outbreak of anger? Hush! Not a word morenow! Here is the lady herself. "

As he spoke, Mrs. Vimpany joined them; returning from her interviewwith her husband at the inn. She looked first at Iris, and at onceperceived signs of disturbance in the young lady's face. 

Concealing her anxiety under that wonderful stage smile, which affordsa refuge to so many secrets, Mrs. Vimpany said a few words excusing herabsence. Miss Henley answered, without the slightest change in herfriendly manner to the doctor's wife. The signs of disturbance wereevidently attributable to some entirely unimportant cause, from Mrs. Vimpany's point of view. Mr. Mountjoy's discoveries had not beencommunicated yet. 

In Hugh's state of mind, there was some irritating influence in thepresence of the mistress of the house, which applied the spur to hiswits. He mischievously proposed submitting to her the question indispute between Iris and himself. 

"It is a very simple matter, " he said to Mrs. Vimpany. "Miss Henley'sfather is anxious that she should return to him, after an estrangementbetween them which is happily at an end. Do you think she ought toallow any accidental engagements to prevent her from going home atonce? If she requests your indulgence, under the circumstances, has sheany reason to anticipate a refusal?"

Mrs. Vimpany's expressive eyes looked up, with saintly resignation, atthe dirty ceiling--and asked in dumb show what she had done to deservethe injury implied by a doubt. 

"Mr. Mountjoy, " she said sternly, "you insult me by asking thequestion. "--"Dear Miss Henley, " she continued, turning to Iris, _"you_will do me justice, I am sure. Am I capable of allowing my own feelingsto stand in the way, when your filial duty is concerned? Leave me, mysweet friend. Go! I entreat you, go home!"

She retired up the stage--no, no; she withdrew to the other end of theroom--and burst into the most becoming of all human tears, theatricaltears. Impulsive Iris hastened to comfort the personification ofself-sacrifice, the model of all that was most unselfish in femalesubmission. "For shame! for shame!" she whispered, as she passedMountjoy. 

Beaten again by Mrs. Vimpany--with no ties of relationship to justifyresistance to Miss Henley; with two women against him, entrenchedbehind the privileges of their sex--the one last sacrifice of his ownfeelings, in the interests of Iris, that Hugh could make was to controlthe impulse which naturally urged him to leave the house. In thehelpless position in which he had now placed himself, he could onlywait to see what course Mrs. Vimpany might think it desirable to take. Would she request him, in her most politely malicious way, to bring hisvisit to an end? No: she looked at him--hesitated--directed a furtiveglance towards the view of the street from the window--smiledmysteriously--and completed the sacrifice of her own feelings in thesewords:

"Dear Miss Henley, let me help you to pack up. "

Iris positively refused. 

"No, " she said, "I don't agree with Mr. Mountjoy. My father leaves itto me to name the day when we meet. I hold you, my dear, to ourengagement--I don't leave an affectionate friend as I might leave astranger. "

Even if Mr. Mountjoy communicated his discoveries to Miss Henley, onthe way home, there would be no danger now of her believing him. Mrs. Vimpany put her powerful arm round the generous Iris, and, withinfinite grace, thanked her by a kiss. 

"Your kindness will make my lonely lot in life harder than ever tobear, " she murmured, "when you are gone. "

"But we may hope to meet in London, " Iris reminded her; "unless Mr. Vimpany alters his mind about leaving this place. "

"My husband will not do that, dear. He is determined to try his luck, as he says, in London. In the meantime you will give me your address, won't you? Perhaps you will even promise to write to me?"

Iris instantly gave her promise, and wrote down her address in London. 

Mountjoy made no attempt to interfere: it was needless. 

If the maid had not fallen ill on the journey, and if Mrs. Vimpany hadfollowed Miss Henley to London, there would have been little to fear inthe discovery of her address--and there was little to fear now. Thedanger to Iris was not in what might happen while she was living underher father's roof, but in what might happen if she was detained (byplans for excursions) in Mr. Vimpany's house, until Lord Harry mightjoin her there. 

Rather than permit this to happen, Hugh (in sheer desperation)meditated charging Mrs. Vimpany, to her face, with being the Irishlord's spy, and proving the accusation by challenging her to producethe registered letter and the diamond pin. 

While he was still struggling with his own reluctance to inflict thisdegrading exposure on a woman, the talk between the two ladies came toan end. Mrs. Vimpany returned again to the window. On this occasion, she looked out into the street--with her handkerchief (was it used as asignal?) exhibited in her hand. Iris, on her side, advanced toMountjoy. Easily moved to anger, her nature was incapable of sullenperseverance in a state of enmity. To see Hugh still patientlywaiting--still risking the chances of insult--devoted to her, andforgiving her--was at once a reproach that punished Iris, and a muteappeal that no true woman's heart could resist. 

With tears in her eyes she said to him: "There must be no coolnessbetween you and me. I lost my temper, and spoke shamefully to you. Mydear, I am indeed sorry for it. You are never hard on me--you won't behard on me now?"

She offered her hand to him. He had just raised it to his lips--whenthe drawing-room door was roughly opened. They both looked round. 

The man of all others whom Hugh least desired to see was the man whonow entered the room. The victim of "light claret"--privately directedto lurk in the street, until he saw a handkerchief fluttering at thewindow--had returned to the house; primed with his clever wife'sinstructions; ready and eager to be even with Mountjoy for the dinnerat the inn. 

CHAPTER IX

MR. VIMPANY ON INTOXICATION

THERE was no unsteadiness in the doctor's walk, and no flush on hisface. He certainly did strut when he entered the room; and he held uphis head with dignity, when he discovered Mountjoy. But he seemed topreserve his self-control. Was the man sober again already?

His wife approached him with her set smile; the appearance of her lordand master filled Mrs. Vimpany with perfectly-assumed emotions ofagreeable surprise. 

"This is an unexpected pleasure, " she said. "You seldom favour us withyour company, my dear, so early in the evening! Are there fewerpatients in want of your advice than usual?"

"You are mistaken, Arabella. I am here in the performance of a painfulduty. "

The doctor's language, and the doctor's manner, presented him to Irisin a character that was new to her. What effect had he produced on Mrs. Vimpany? That excellent friend to travellers in distress lowered hereyes to the floor, and modestly preserved silence. Mr. Vimpanyproceeded to the performance of his duty; his painful responsibilityseemed to strike him at first from a medical point of view. 

"If there is a poison which undermines the sources of life, " heremarked, "it is alcohol. If there is a vice that degrades humanity, itis intoxication. Mr. Mountjoy, are you aware that I am looking at you?"

"Impossible not to be aware of that, " Hugh answered. "May I ask why youare looking at me?" It was not easy to listen gravely to Mr. Vimpany'sdenunciation of intemperance, after what had taken place at the dinnerof that day. Hugh smiled. The moral majesty of the doctor entered itsprotest. 

"This is really shameful, " he said. "The least you can do is to take itseriously. "

"What is it?" Mountjoy asked. "And why am I to take it seriously?"

Mr. Vimpany's reply was, to say the least of it, indirect. If such anexpression may be permitted, it smelt of the stage. Viewed inconnection with Mrs. Vimpany's persistent assumption of silenthumility, it suggested to Mountjoy a secret understanding, of somekind, between husband and wife. 

"What has become of your conscience, sir?" Mr. Vimpany demanded. "Isthat silent monitor dead within you? After giving me a bad dinner, doyou demand an explanation? Ha! you shall have it. "

Having delivered himself to this effect, he added action to words. Walking grandly to the door, he threw it open, and saluted Mountjoywith an ironical bow. Iris observed that act of insolence; her colourrose, her eyes glittered. "Do you see what he has just done?" she saidto Mrs. Vimpany. 

The doctor's wife answered softly: "I don't understand it. " After aglance at her husband, she took Iris by the hand: "Dear Miss Henley, shall we retire to my room?"

Iris drew her hand away. "Not unless Mr. Mountjoy wishes it, " she said. 

"Certainly not!" Hugh declared. "Pray remain here; your presence willhelp me to keep my temper. " He stepped up to Mr. Vimpany. "Have you anyparticular reason for opening that door?" he asked. 

The doctor was a rascal; but, to do him justice, he was no coward. "Yes, " he said, "I have a reason. "

"What is it, if you please?"

"Christian forbearance, " Mr. Vimpany answered. 

"Forbearance towards me?" Mountjoy continued. 

The doctor's dignity suddenly deserted him. 

"Aha, my boy, you have got it at last!" he cried. "It's pleasant tounderstand each other, isn't it? You see, I'm a plain-spoken fellow; Idon't wish to give offence. If there's one thing more than another Ipride myself on, it's my indulgence for human frailty. But, in myposition here, I'm obliged to be careful. Upon my soul, I can'tcontinue my acquaintance with a man who--oh, come! come! don't look asif you didn't understand me. The circumstances are against you, sir. You have treated me infamously. "

"Under what circumstances have I treated you infamously?" Hugh asked. 

"Under pretence of giving me a dinner, " Mr. Vimpany shouted--"the worstdinner I ever sat down to!"

His wife signed to him to be silent. He took no notice of her. Sheinsisted on being understood. "Say no more!" she warned him, in a toneof command. 

The brute side of his nature, roused by Mountjoy's contemptuouscomposure, was forcing its way outwards; he set his wife at defiance. 

"Then don't let him look at me as if he thought I was in a state ofintoxication!" cried the furious doctor. "There's the man, Miss, whotried to make me tipsy, " he went on, actually addressing himself toIris. "Thanks to my habits of sobriety, he has been caught in his owntrap. _He's_ intoxicated. Ha, friend Mountjoy, have you got the rightexplanation at last? There's the door, sir!"

Mrs. Vimpany felt that this outrage was beyond endurance. If somethingwas not done to atone for it, Miss Henley would be capable--her face, at that moment, answered for her--of leaving the house with Mr. Mountjoy. Mrs. Vimpany seized her husband indignantly by the arm. 

"You brute, you have spoilt everything!" she said to him. "Apologisedirectly to Mr. Mountjoy. You won't?"

"I won't!"

Experience had taught his wife how to break him to her will. "Do youremember my diamond pin?" she whispered. 

He looked startled. Perhaps he thought she had lost the pin. 

"Where is it?" he asked eagerly. 

"Gone to London to be valued. Beg Mr. Mountjoy's pardon, or I will putthe money in the bank--and not one shilling of it do you get. "

In the meanwhile, Iris had justified Mrs. Vimpany's apprehensions. Herindignation noticed nothing but the insult offered to Hugh. She was tooseriously agitated to be able to speak to him. Still admirably calm, his one anxiety was to compose her. 

"Don't be afraid, " he said; "it is impossible that I can degrade myselfby quarrelling with Mr. Vimpany. I only wait here to know what youpropose to do. You have Mrs. Vimpany to think of. "

"I have nobody to think of but You, " Iris replied. "But for me, youwould never have been in this house. After the insult that has beenoffered to you--oh, Hugh, I feel it too!--let us return to Londontogether. I have only to tell Rhoda we are going away, and to make mypreparations for travelling. Send for me from the inn, and I will beready in time for the next train. "

Mrs. Vimpany approached Mountjoy, leading her husband. 

"Sorry I have offended you, " the doctor said. "Beg your pardon. It'sonly a joke. No offence, I hope?"

His servility was less endurable than his insolence. Telling him thathe need say no more, Mountjoy bowed to Mrs. Vimpany, and left the room. She returned his bow mechanically, in silence. Mr. Vimpany followedHugh out--thinking of the diamond pin, and eager to open the housedoor, as another act of submission which might satisfy his wife. 

Even a clever woman will occasionally make mistakes; especially whenher temper happens to have been roused. Mrs. Vimpany found herself in afalse position, due entirely to her own imprudence. 

She had been guilty of three serious errors. In the first place she hadtaken it for granted that Mr. Vimpany's restorative mixture wouldcompletely revive the sober state of his brains. In the second place, she had trusted him with her vengeance on the man who had found his wayto her secrets through her husband's intemperance. In the third place, she had rashly assumed that the doctor, in carrying out herinstructions for insulting Mountjoy, would keep within the limits whichshe had prescribed to him, when she hit on the audacious idea ofattributing his disgraceful conduct to the temptation offered by hishost's example. As a consequence of these acts of imprudence, she hadexposed herself to a misfortune that she honestly dreaded--the loss ofthe place which she had carefully maintained in Miss Henley'sestimation. In the contradictory confusion of feelings, so often foundin women, this deceitful and dangerous creature had beenconquered--little by little, as she had herself described it--by thatcharm of sweetness and simplicity in Iris, of which her own depravednature presented no trace. She now spoke with hesitation, almost withtimidity, in addressing the woman whom she had so cleverly deceived, atthe time when they first met. 

"Must I give up all, Miss Henley, that I most value?" she asked. 

"I hardly understand you, Mrs. Vimpany. "

"I will try to make it plainer. Do you really mean to leave me thisevening?"

"I do. "

"May I own that I am grieved to hear it? Your departure will deprive meof some happy hours, in your company. "

"Your husband's conduct leaves me no alternative, " Iris replied. 

"Pray do not humiliate me by speaking of my husband! I only want toknow if there is a harder trial of my fortitude still to come. Must Ilose the privilege of being your friend?"

"I hope I am not capable of such injustice as that, " Iris declared. "Itwould be hard indeed to lay the blame of Mr. Vimpany's shamefulbehaviour on you. I don't forget that you made him offer an apology. Some women, married to such a man as that, might have been afraid ofhim. No, no; you have been a good friend to me--and I mean to rememberit. "

Mrs. Vimpany's gratitude was too sincerely felt to be expressed withher customary readiness. She only said what the stupidest woman inexistence could have said: "Thank you. "

In the silence that followed, the rapid movement of carriage wheelsbecame audible in the street. The sound stopped at the door of thedoctor's house. 

CHAPTER X

THE MOCKERY OF DECEIT

HAD Mountjoy arrived to take Iris away, before her preparations fortravelling were complete? Both the ladies hurried to the window, butthey were too late. The rapid visitor, already hidden from them underthe portico, was knocking smartly at the door. In another minute, aman's voice in the hall asked for "Miss Henley. " The tones--clear, mellow, and pleasantly varied here and there by the Irish accent--werenot to be mistaken by any one who had already hear them. The man in thehall was Lord Harry. 

In that serious emergency, Mrs. Vimpany recovered her presence of mind. 

She made for the door, with the object of speaking to Lord Harry beforehe could present himself in the drawing-room. But Iris had heard himask for her in the hall; and that one circumstance instantly strippedof its concealments the character of the woman in whose integrity shehad believed. Her first impression of Mrs. Vimpany--so sincerelyrepented, so eagerly atoned for--had been the right impression afterall! Younger, lighter, and quicker than the doctor's wife, Iris reachedthe door first, and laid her hand on the lock. 

"Wait a minute, " she said. 

Mrs. Vimpany hesitated. For the first time in her life at a loss whatto say, she could only sign to Iris to stand back. Iris refused tomove. She put her terrible question in the plainest words:

"How does Lord Harry know that I am in this house?"

The wretched woman (listening intently for the sound of a step on thestairs) refused to submit to a shameful exposure, even now. To herperverted moral sense, any falsehood was acceptable, as a means ofhiding herself from discovery by Iris. In the very face of detection, the skilled deceiver kept up the mockery of deceit. 

"My dear, " she said, "what has come to you? Why won't you let me go tomy room?"

Iris eyed her with a look of scornful surprise. "What next?" she said. "Are you impudent enough to pretend that I have not found you out, yet?"

Sheer desperation still sustained Mrs. Vimpany's courage. She playedher assumed character against the contemptuous incredulity of Iris, asshe had sometimes played her theatrical characters against the hissingand hooting of a brutal audience. 

"Miss Henley, " she said, "you forget yourself!"

"Do you think I didn't see in your face, " Iris rejoined, "that youheard him, too? Answer my question. "

"What question?"

"You have just heard it. "

"No!"

"You false woman!"

"Don't forget, Miss Henley, that you are speaking to a lady. "

"I am speaking to Lord Harry's spy!"

Their voices rose loud; the excitement on either side had reached itsclimax; neither the one nor the other was composed enough to notice thesound of the carriage-wheels, leaving the house again. In themeanwhile, nobody came to the drawing-room door. Mrs. Vimpany was toowell acquainted with the hot-headed Irish lord not to conclude that hewould have made himself heard, and would have found his way to Iris, but for some obstacle, below stairs, for which he was not prepared. Thedoctor's wife did justice to the doctor at last. Another person had, inall probability, heard Lord Harry's voice--and that person might havebeen her husband. 

Was it possible that he remembered the service which she had asked ofhim; and, even if he had succeeded in calling it to mind, was hisdiscretion to be trusted? As those questions occurred to her, thedesire to obtain some positive information was more than she was ableto resist. Mrs. Vimpany attempted to leave the drawing-room for thesecond time. 

But the same motive had already urged Miss Henley to action. Again, theyounger woman outstripped the older. Iris descended the stairs, resolved to discover the cause of the sudden suspension of events inthe lower part of the house. 

CHAPTER XI

MRS. VIMPANY'S FAREWELL

THE doctor's wife followed Miss Henley out of the room, as far as thelanding--and waited there. 

She had her reasons for placing this restraint on herself. The positionof the landing concealed her from the view of a person in the hall. Ifshe only listened for the sound of voices she might safely discoverwhether Lord Harry was, or was not, still in the house. In the firstevent, it would be easy to interrupt his interview with Iris, beforethe talk could lead to disclosures which Mrs. Vimpany had every reasonto dread. In the second event, there would be no need to show herself. 

Meanwhile, Iris opened the dining-room door and looked in. 

Nobody was there. The one other room on the ground floor, situated atthe back of the building, was the doctor's consulting-room. She knockedat the door. Mr. Vimpany's voice answered: "Come in. " There he wasalone, drinking brandy and water, and smoking his big black cigar. 

"Where is Lord Harry?" she said. 

"In Ireland, I suppose, " Mr. Vimpany answered quietly. 

Iris wasted no time in making useless inquiries. She closed the dooragain, and left him. He, too, was undoubtedly in the conspiracy to keepher deceived. How had it been done? Where was the wild lord, at thatmoment?

Whilst she was pursuing these reflections in the hall, Rhoda came upfrom the servants' tea-table in the kitchen. Her mistress gave her thenecessary instructions for packing, and promised to help her beforelong. Mrs. Vimpany's audacious resolution to dispute the evidence ofher own senses, still dwelt on Miss Henley's mind. Too angry to thinkof the embarrassment which an interview with Lord Harry would produce, after they had said their farewell words in Ireland, she was determinedto prevent the doctor's wife from speaking to him first, and claiminghim as an accomplice in her impudent denial of the truth. If he hadbeen, by any chance, deluded into leaving the house, he would sooner orlater discover the trick that had been played on him, and wouldcertainly return. Iris took a chair in the hall. 

 * * * * * * *

It is due to the doctor to relate that he had indeed justified hiswife's confidence in him. 

The diamond pin, undergoing valuation in London, still represented apresent terror in his mind. The money, the money--he was the mostattentive husband in England when he thought of the money! At the timewhen Lord Harry's carriage stopped at his house-door, he was in thedining-room, taking a bottle of brandy from the cellaret in thesideboard. Looking instantly out of the window, he discovered who thevisitor was, and decided on consulting his instructions in thepocket-diary. The attempt was rendered useless, as soon as he hadopened the book, by the unlucky activity of the servant in answeringthe door. Her master stopped her in the hall. He was pleasantlyconscious of the recovery of his cunning. But his memory (far fromactive under the most favourable circumstances) was slower than ever athelping him now. On the spur of the moment he could only call to mindthat he had been ordered to prevent a meeting between Lord Harry andIris. "Show the gentleman into my consulting-room, " he said. 

Lord Harry found the doctor enthroned on his professional chair, surprised and delighted to see his distinguished friend. The impetuousIrishman at once asked for Miss Henley. 

"Gone, " Mr. Vimpany answered

"Gone--where?" the wild lord wanted to know next. 

"To London. "

"By herself?"

"No; with Mr. Hugh Mountjoy. "

Lord Harry seized the doctor by the shoulders, and shook him: "Youdon't mean to tell me Mountjoy is going to marry her?"

Mr. Vimpany feared nothing but the loss of money. The weaker and theolder man of the two, he nevertheless followed the young lord'sexample, and shook him with right good-will. "Let's see how you like itin your turn, " he said. "As for Mountjoy, I don't know whether he ismarried or single--and don't care. "

"The devil take your obstinacy! When did they start?"

"The devil take your questions! They started not long since. "

"Might I catch them at the station?"

"Yes; if you go at once. "

So the desperate doctor carried out his wife's instructions--withoutremembering the conditions which had accompanied them. 

The way to the station took Lord Harry past the inn. He saw HughMountjoy through the open house door paying his bill at the bar. In aninstant the carriage was stopped, and the two men (never on friendlyterms) were formally bowing to each other. 

"I was told I should find you, " Lord Harry said, "with Miss Henley, atthe station. "

"Who gave you your information?"

"Vimpany--the doctor. "

"He ought to know that the train isn't due at the station for an houryet. "

"Has the blackguard deceived me? One word more, Mr. Mountjoy. Is MissHenley at the inn?"

"No. "

"Are you going with her to London?"

"I must leave Miss Henley to answer that. "

"Where is she, sir?"

"There is an end to everything, my lord, in the world we live in. Youhave reached the end of my readiness to answer questions. " TheEnglishman and the Irishman looked at each other: the Anglo-Saxon wasimpenetrably cool; the Celt was flushed and angry. They might have beenon the brink of a quarrel, but for Lord Harry's native quickness ofperception, and his exercise of it at that moment. When he had calledat Mr. Vimpany's house, and had asked for Iris, the doctor had got ridof him by means of a lie. After this discovery, at what conclusioncould he arrive? The doctor was certainly keeping Iris out of his way. Reasoning in this rapid manner, Lord Harry let one offence pass, in hisheadlong eagerness to resent another. He instantly left Mountjoy. Againthe carriage rattled back along the street; but it was stopped beforeit reached Mr. Vimpany's door. 

Lord Harry knew the people whom he had to deal with, and took measuresto approach the house silently, on foot. The coachman received ordersto look out for a signal, which should tell him when he was wantedagain. 

Mr. Vimpany's ears, vigilantly on the watch for suspicious events, detected no sound of carriage wheels and no noisy use of the knocker. Still on his guard, however, a ring at the house-bell disturbed him inhis consulting-room. Peeping into the hall, he saw Iris opening thedoor, and stole back to his room. "The devil take her!" he said, alluding to Miss Henley, and thinking of the enviable proprietor of thediamond pin. 

At the unexpected appearance of Iris, Lord Harry forgot everyconsideration which ought to have been present to his mind, at thatcritical moment. 

He advanced to her with both hands held out in cordial greeting. Shesigned to him contemptuously to stand back--and spoke in tonescautiously lowered, after a glance at the door of the consulting-room. 

"My only reason for consenting to see you, " she said, "is to protectmyself from further deception. Your disgraceful conduct is known to me. Go now, " she continued, pointing to the stairs, "and consult with yourspy, as soon as you like. " The Irish lord listened--guiltily consciousof having deserved what she had said to him--without attempting toutter a word in excuse. 

Still posted at the head of the stairs, the doctor's wife heard Irisspeaking; but the tone was not loud enough to make the wordsintelligible at that distance; neither was any other voice audible inreply. Vaguely suspicions of some act of domestic treachery, Mrs. Vimpany began to descend the stairs. At the turning which gave her aview of the hall, she stopped; thunderstruck by the discovery of LordHarry and Miss Henley, together. 

The presence of a third person seemed, in some degree, to relieve LordHarry. He ran upstairs to salute Mrs. Vimpany, and was met again by acold reception and a hostile look. 

Strongly and strangely contrasted, the two confronted each other on thestairs. The faded woman, wan and ghastly under cruel stress of mentalsuffering, stood face to face with a fine, tall, lithe man, in theprime of his health and strength. Here were the bright blue eyes, thewinning smile, and the natural grace of movement, which find their ownway to favour in the estimation of the gentler sex. This irreclaimablewanderer among the perilous by-ways of the earth--christened "Irishblackguard, " among respectable members of society, when they spoke ofhim behind his back--attracted attention, even among the men. Lookingat his daring, finely-formed face, they noticed (as an exception to ageneral rule, in these days) the total suppression, by the razor, ofwhiskers, moustache, and beard. Strangers wondered whether Lord Harrywas an actor or a Roman Catholic priest. Among chance acquaintances, those few favourites of Nature who are possessed of active brains, guessed that his life of adventure might well have rendered disguisenecessary to his safety, in more than one part of the world. Sometimesthey boldly put the question to him. The hot temper of an Irishman, inmoments of excitement, is not infrequently a sweet temper in moments ofcalm. What they called Lord Harry's good-nature owned readily that hehad been indebted, on certain occasions, to the protection of a falsebeard, And perhaps a colouring of his face and hair to match. The sameeasy disposition now asserted itself, under the merciless enmity ofMrs. Vimpany's eyes. "If I have done anything to offend you, " he said, with an air of puzzled humility, "I'm sure I am sorry for it. Don't beangry, Arabella, with an old friend. Why won't you shake hands?"

"I have kept your secret, and done your dirty work, " Mrs. Vimpanyreplied. "And what is my reward? Miss Henley can tell you how yourIrish blundering has ruined me in a lady's estimation. Shake hands, indeed! You will never shake hands with Me again as long as you live!"

She said those words without looking at him; her eyes were resting onIris now. From the moment when she had seen the two together, she knewthat it was all over; further denial in the face of plain proofs wouldbe useless indeed! Submission was the one alternative left. 

"Miss Henley, " she said, "if you can feel pity for another woman'ssorrow and shame, let me have a last word with you--out of this man'shearing. "

There was nothing artificial in her tones or her looks; no acting couldhave imitated the sad sincerity with which she spoke. Touched by thatchange, Iris accompanied her as she ascended the stairs. After a littlehesitation, Lord Harry followed them. Mrs. Vimpany turned on him whenthey reached the drawing-room landing. "Must I shut the door in yourface?" she asked. 

He was as pleasantly patient as ever:

"You needn't take the trouble to do that, my dear; I'll only ask yourleave to sit down and wait on the stairs. When you have done with MissHenley, just call me in. And, by the way, don't be alarmed in case of alittle noise--say a heavy man tumbling downstairs. If the blackguardit's your misfortune to be married to happens to show himself, I shallbe under the necessity of kicking him. That's all. "

Mrs. Vimpany closed the door. She spoke to Iris respectfully, as shemight have addressed a stranger occupying a higher rank in life thanherself. 

"There is an end, madam, to one short acquaintance; and, as we bothknow, an end to it for ever. When we first met--let me tell the truthat last!--I felt a malicious pleasure in deceiving you. After thattime, I was surprised to find that you grew on my liking, Can youunderstand the wickedness that tried to resist you? It was useless;your good influence has been too strong for me. Strange, isn't it? Ihave lived a life of deceit, among bad people. What could you expect ofme, after that? I heaped lies on lies--I would have denied that the sunwas in the heavens--rather than find myself degraded in your opinion. Well! that is all over--useless, quite useless now. Pray don't mistakeme. I am not attempting to excuse myself; a confession was due to you;the confession is made. It is too late to hope that you will forgiveme. If you will permit it, I have only one favour to ask. Forget me. "

She turned away with a last hopeless look, who said as plainly as if inwords: "I am not worth a reply. "

Generous Iris insisted on speaking to her. 

"I believe you are truly sorry for what you have done, " she said; "Ican never forget that--I can never forget You. " She held out herpitying hand. Mrs. Vimpany was too bitterly conscious of the past totouch it. Even a spy is not beneath the universal reach of theheartache. There were tears in the miserable woman's eyes when she hadlooked her last at Iris Henley. 

CHAPTER XII

LORD HARRY's DEFENCE

AFTER a short interval, the drawing-room door was opened again. Waitingon the threshold, the Irish lord asked if he might come in. 

Iris replied coldly. "This is not my house, " she said; "I must leaveyou to decide for yourself. "

Lord Harry crossed the room to speak to her and stopped. There was nosign of relenting towards him in that dearly-loved face. "I wonderwhether it would be a relief to you, " he suggested with piteoushumility, "if I went away?"

If she had been true to herself, she would have said, Yes. Where is thewoman to be found, in her place, with a heart hard enough to have sether that example? She pointed to a chair. He felt her indulgencegratefully. Following the impulse of the moment, he attempted to excusehis conduct. 

"There is only one thing I can say for myself, " he confessed, "I didn'tbegin by deceiving you. While you had your eye on me, Iris, I was anhonourable man. "

This extraordinary defence reduced her to silence. Was there anotherman in the world who would have pleaded for pardon in that way? "I'mafraid I have not made myself understood, " he said. "May I try again?"

"If you please. "

The vagabond nobleman made a resolute effort to explain himselfintelligibly, this time:

"See now! We said good-bye, over there, in the poor old island. Well, indeed I meant it, when I owned that I was unworthy of you. _I_ didn'tcontradict you, when you said you could never be my wife, after such alife as I have led. And, do remember, I submitted to your returning toEngland, without presuming to make a complaint. Ah, my sweet girl, itwas easy to submit, while I could look at you, and hear the sound ofyour voice, and beg for that last kiss--and get it. Reverend gentlementalk about the fall of Adam. What was that to the fall of Harry, whenhe was back in his own little cottage, without the hope of ever seeingyou again? To the best of my recollection, the serpent that tempted Evewas up a tree. I found the serpent that tempted Me, sitting waiting inmy own armchair, and bent on nothing worse than borrowing a trifle ofmoney. Need I say who she was? I don't doubt that you think her awicked woman. "

Never ready in speaking of acts of kindness, on her own part, Irisanswered with some little reserve: "I have learnt to think better ofMrs. Vimpany than you suppose. "

Lord Harry began to look like a happy man, for the first time since hehad entered the room. 

"I ought to have known it!" he burst out. "Yours is the well-balancedmind, dear, that tempers justice with mercy. Mother Vimpany has had ahard life of it. Just change places with her for a minute or so--andyou'll understand what she has had to go through. Find yourself, forinstance, in Ireland, without the means to take you back to England. Add to that, a husband who sends you away to make money for him at thetheatre, and a manager (not an Irishman, thank God!) who refuses toengage you--after your acting has filled his dirty pockets in pastdays--because your beauty has faded with time. Doesn't your brightimagination see it all now? My old friend Arabella, ready and anxiousto serve me--and a sinking at this poor fellow's heart when he knew, ifhe once lost the trace of you, he might lose it for ever--there's thesituation, as they call it on the stage. I wish I could say for myselfwhat I may say for Mrs. Vimpany. It's such a pleasure to a clever womanto engage in a little deceit--we can't blame her, can we?"

Iris protested gently against a code of morality which included theright of deceit among the privileges of the sex. Lord Harry slippedthrough her fingers with the admirable Irish readiness; he agreed withMiss Henley that he was entirely wrong. 

"And don't spare me while you're about it, " he suggested. "Lay all theblame of that shameful stratagem on my shoulders. It was a despicablething to do. When I had you watched, I acted in a manner--I won't sayunworthy of a gentleman; have I been a gentleman since I first ran awayfrom home? Why, it's even been said my way of speaking is no longer theway of a gentleman; and small wonder, too, after the company I've kept. Ah, well! I'm off again, darling, on a sea voyage. Will you forgive menow? or will you wait till I come back, if I do come back? God knows!"He dropped on his knees, and kissed her hand. "Anyway, " he said, "whether I live or whether I die, it will be some consolation toremember that I asked your pardon--and perhaps got it. "

"Take it, Harry; I can't help forgiving you!"

She had done her best to resist him, and she had answered in thosemerciful words. 

The effect was visible, perilously visible, as he rose from his knees. Her one chance of keeping the distance between them, on which she hadbeen too weak to insist, was not to encourage him by silence. Abruptly, desperately, she made a commonplace inquiry about his proposed voyage. "Tell me, " she resumed, "where are you going when you leave England?"

"Oh, to find money, dear, if I can--to pick up diamonds, or to hit on amine of gold, and so forth. "

The fine observation of Iris detected something not quite easy in hismanner, as he made that reply. He tried to change the subject: shedeliberately returned to it. "Your account of your travelling plans israther vague, " she told him. "Do you know when you are likely toreturn?"

He took her hand. One of the rings on her fingers happened to be turnedthe wrong way. He set it in the right position, and discovered an opal. "Ah! the unlucky stone!" he cried, and turned it back again out ofsight. She drew away her hand. "I asked you, " she persisted, "when youexpect to return?"

He laughed--not so gaily as usual. 

"How do I know I shall ever get back?" he answered. "Sometimes the seasturn traitor, and sometimes the savages. I have had so many narrowescapes of my life, I can't expect my luck to last for ever. " He made asecond attempt to change the subject. "I wonder whether you're likelyto pay another visit to Ireland? My cottage is entirely at yourdisposal, Iris dear. Oh, when I'm out of the way, of course! The placeseemed to please your fancy, when you saw it. You will find it welltaken care of, I answer for that. "

Iris asked who was taking care of his cottage. 

The wild lord's face saddened. He hesitated; rose from his chairrestlessly, and walked away to the window; returned, and made up hismind to reply. 

"My dear, you know her. She was the old housekeeper at--"

His voice failed him. He was unable, or unwilling, to pronounce thename of Arthur's farm. 

Knowing, it is needless to say, that he had alluded to Mrs. Lewson, Iris warmly commended him for taking care of her old nurse. At the sametime, she remembered the unfriendly terms in which the housekeeper hadalluded to Lord Harry, when they had talked of him. 

"Did you find no difficulty, " she asked, "in persuading Mrs. Lewson toenter your service?"

"Oh, yes, plenty of difficulty; I found my bad character in my way, asusual. " It was a relief to him, at that moment, to talk of Mrs. Lewson;the Irish humour and the Irish accent both asserted themselves in hisreply. "The curious old creature told me to my face I was a scamp. Itook leave to remind her that it was the duty of a respectable person, like herself, to reform scamps; I also mentioned that I was going away, and she would be master and mistress too on my small property. Thatsoftened her heart towards me. You will mostly find old women amenable, if you get at them by way of their dignity. Besides, there was anotherlucky circumstance that helped me. The neighbourhood of my cottage hassome attraction for Mrs. Lewson. She didn't say particularly what itwas--and I never asked her to tell me. "

"Surely you might have guessed it, without being told, " Iris remindedhim. "Mrs. Lewson's faithful heart loves poor Arthur's memory--andArthur's grave is not far from your cottage. "

"Don't speak of him!"

It was said loudly, peremptorily, passionately. He looked at her withangry astonishment in his face. "You loved him too!" he said. "Can youspeak of him quietly? The noblest, truest, sweetest man that ever theHeavens looked on, foully assassinated. And the wretch who murdered himstill living, free--oh, what is God's providence about?--is there noretribution that will follow him? no just hand that will revengeArthur's death?"

As those fierce words escaped him, he was no longer the easy, gentle, joyous creature whom Iris had known and loved. The furious passions ofthe Celtic race glittered savagely in his eyes, and changed to a greyhorrid pallor the healthy colour that was natural to his face. "Oh, mytemper, my temper!" he cried, as Iris shrank from him. "She hates menow, and no wonder. " He staggered away from her, and burst into aconvulsive fit of crying, dreadful to hear. Compassion, divinecompassion, mastered the earthlier emotion of terror in the great heartof the woman who loved him. She followed him, and laid her handcaressingly on his shoulder. "I don't hate you, my dear, " she said. "Iam sorry for Arthur--and, oh, so sorry for You!" He caught her in hisarms. His gratitude, his repentance, his silent farewell were allexpressed in a last kiss. It was a moment, never to be forgotten to theend of their lives. Before she could speak, before she could think, hehad left her. 

She called him back, through the open door. He never returned; he nevereven replied. She ran to the window, and threw it up--and was just intime to see him signal to the carriage and leap into it. Her horror ofthe fatal purpose that was but too plainly rooted in him--herconviction that he was on the track of the assassin, self devoted toexact the terrible penalty of blood for blood--emboldened her to insiston being heard. "Come back, " she cried. "I must, I will, speak withyou. "

He waved his hand to her with a gesture of despair. "Start yourhorses, " he shouted to the coachman. Alarmed by his voice and his look, the man asked where he should drive to. Lord Harry pointed furiously tothe onward road. "Drive, " he answered, "to the Devil!"

THE END OF THE FIRST PERIOD

THE SECOND PERIOD

CHAPTER XIII

IRIS AT HOME

A LITTLE more than four months had passed, since the return of Iris toher father's house. 

Among other events which occurred, during the earlier part of thatinterval, the course adopted by Hugh Mountjoy, when Miss Henley'ssuspicions of the Irish lord were first communicated to him, claims aforemost place. 

It was impossible that the devoted friend of Iris could look at her, when they met again on their way to the station, without perceiving thesigns of serious agitation. Only waiting until they were alone in therailway-carriage, she opened her heart unreservedly to the man in whoseclear intellect and true sympathy she could repose implicit trust. Helistened to what she could repeat of Lord Harry's language with butlittle appearance of surprise. Iris had only reminded him of one, amongthe disclosures which had escaped Mr. Vimpany at the inn. Under theirresistible influence of good wine, the doctor had revealed the Irishlord's motive for remaining in his own country, after the assassinationof Arthur Mountjoy. Hugh met the only difficulty in his way, withoutshrinking from it. He resolved to clear his mind of its naturalprejudice against the rival who had been preferred to him, before heassumed the responsibility of guiding Iris by his advice. 

When he had in some degree recovered confidence in his own unbiasedjudgment, he entered on the question of Lord Harry's purpose in leavingEngland. 

Without attempting to dispute the conclusion at which Iris had arrived, he did his best to alleviate her distress. In his opinion, he wascareful to tell her, a discovery of the destination to which Lord Harryproposed to betake himself, might be achieved. The Irish lord'sallusion to a new adventure, which would occupy him in searching fordiamonds or gold, might indicate a contemplated pursuit of theassassin, as well as a plausible excuse to satisfy Iris. It was atleast possible that the murderer might have been warned of his dangerif he remained in England, and that he might have contemplateddirecting his flight to a distant country, which would not only offer asafe refuge, but also hold out (in its mineral treasures) a hope ofgain. Assuming that these circumstances had really happened, it was inLord Harry's character to make sure of his revenge, by embarking in thesteamship by which the assassin of Arthur Mountjoy was a passenger. 

Wild as this guess at the truth undoubtedly was, it had one merit: itmight easily be put to the test. 

Hugh had bought the day's newspaper at the station. He proposed toconsult the shipping advertisements relating, in the first place, tocommunication with the diamond-mines and the goldfields of SouthAfrica. 

This course of proceeding at once informed him that the first steamer, bound for that destination, would sail from London in two days' time. The obvious precaution to take was to have the Dock watched; andMountjoy's steady old servant, who knew Lord Harry by sight, was theman to employ. 

Iris naturally inquired what good end could be attained, if theanticipated discovery actually took place. 

To this Mountjoy answered, that the one hope--a faint hope, he mustneeds confess--of inducing Lord Harry to reconsider his desperatepurpose, lay in the influence of Iris herself. She must address aletter to him, announcing that his secret had been betrayed by his ownlanguage and conduct, and declaring that she would never again see him, or hold any communication with him, if he persisted in his savageresolution of revenge. Such was the desperate experiment whichMountjoy's generous and unselfish devotion to Iris now proposed to try. 

The servant (duly entrusted with Miss Henley's letter) was placed onthe watch--and the event which had been regarded as little better thana forlorn hope, proved to be the event that really took place. LordHarry was a passenger by the steamship. 

Mountjoy's man presented the letter entrusted to him, and askedrespectfully if there was any answer. The wild lord read it--looked (touse the messenger's own words) like a man cut to the heart--seemed at aloss what to say or do--and only gave a verbal answer: "I sincerelythank Miss Henley, and I promise to write when the ship touches atMadeira. " The servant continued to watch him when he went on board thesteamer; saw him cast a look backwards, as if suspecting that he mighthave been followed; and then lost sight of him in the cabin. The vesselsailed after a long interval of delay, but he never reappeared on thedeck. 

The ambiguous message sent to her aroused the resentment of Iris; shethought it cruel. For some weeks perhaps to come, she was condemned toremain in doubt, and was left to endure the trial of her patience, without having Mountjoy at hand to encourage and console her. He hadbeen called away to the south of France by the illness of his father. 

But the fortunes of Miss Henley, at this period of her life, had theirbrighter side. She found reason to congratulate herself on thereconciliation which had brought her back to her father. Mr. Henley hadreceived her, not perhaps with affection, but certainly with kindness. "If we don't get in each other's way, we shall do very well; I am gladto see you again. " That was all he had said to her, but it meant muchfrom a soured and selfish man. 

Her only domestic anxiety was caused by another failure in the healthof her maid. 

The Doctor declared that medical help would be of no avail, while RhodaBennet remained in London. In the country she had been born and bred, and to the country she must return. Mr. Henley's large landed property, on the north of London, happened to include a farm in the neighbourhoodof Muswell Hill. Wisely waiting for a favourable opportunity, Irisalluded to the good qualities which had made Rhoda almost as much herfriend as her servant, and asked leave to remove the invalid to thehealthy air of the farm. 

Her anxiety about the recovery of a servant so astonished Mr. Henley, that he was hurried (as he afterwards declared) into granting hisdaughter's request. After this concession, the necessary arrangementswere easily made. The influence of Iris won the goodwill of the farmerand his wife; Rhoda, as an expert and willing needlewoman, being sureof a welcome, for her own sake, in a family which included a number ofyoung children. Miss Henley had only to order her carriage, and to bewithin reach of the farm. A week seldom passed without a meetingbetween the mistress and the maid. 

In the meantime, Mountjoy (absent in France) did not forget to write toIris. 

His letters offered little hope of a speedy return. The doctors had notconcealed from him that his father's illness would end fatally; butthere were reserves of vital power still left, which might prolong thestruggle. Under these melancholy circumstances, he begged that Iriswould write to him. The oftener she could tell him of the little eventsof her life at home, the more kindly she would brighten the days of adreary life. 

Eager to show, even in a trifling matter, how gratefully sheappreciated Mountjoy's past kindness, Iris related the simple story ofher life at home, in weekly letters addressed to her good friend. Aftertelling Hugh (among other things) of Rhoda's establishment at the farm, she had some unexpected results to relate, which had followed theattempt to provide herself with a new maid. 

Two young women had been successively engaged--each recommended, by thelady whom she had last served, with that utter disregard of moralobligation which appears to be shamelessly on the increase in theEngland of our day. The first of the two maids, described as "ratherexcitable, " revealed infirmities of temper which suggested a lunaticasylum as the only fit place for her. The second young woman, detectedin stealing eau-de-cologne, and using it (mixed with water) as anintoxicating drink, claimed merciful construction of her misconduct, onthe ground that she had been misled by the example of her lastmistress. 

At the third attempt to provide herself with a servant, Iris was ableto report the discovery of a responsible person who told the truth--anunmarried lady of middle age. 

In this case, the young woman was described as a servant thoroughlytrained in the performance of her duties, honest, sober, industrious, of an even temper, and unprovided with a "follower" in the shape of asweetheart. Even her name sounded favourably in the ear of astranger--it was Fanny Mere. Iris asked how a servant, apparentlypossessed of a faultless character, came to be in want of a situation. At this question the lady sighed, and acknowledged that she had "made adreadful discovery, " relating to the past life of her maid. It provedto be the old, the miserably old, story of a broken promise ofmarriage, and of the penalty paid as usual by the unhappy woman. "Iwill say nothing of my own feelings, " the maiden lady explained. "Injustice to the other female servants, it was impossible for me to keepsuch a person in my house; and, in justice to you, I must mostunwillingly stand in the way of Fanny Mere's prospects by mentioning myreason for parting with her. "

"If I could see the young woman and speak to her, " Iris said, "I shouldlike to decide the question of engaging her, for myself. "

The lady knew the address of her discharged servant, and--with someappearance of wonder--communicated it. Miss Henley wrote at once, telling Fanny Mere to come to her on the following day. 

When she woke on the next morning, later than usual, an event occurredwhich Iris had been impatiently expecting for some time past. She founda letter waiting on her bedside table, side by side with her cup oftea. Lord Harry had written to her at last. 

Whether he used his pen or his tongue, the Irish lord's conduct wasalways more or less in need of an apology. Here were the guilty one'snew excuses, expressed in his customary medley of frank confession andflowery language:

"I am fearing, my angel, that I have offended you. You have too surelysaid to yourself, This miserable Harry might have made me happy bywriting two lines--and what does he do? He sends a message in wordswhich tell me nothing. 

"My sweet girl, the reason why is that I was in two minds when your manstopped me on my way to the ship. 

"Whether it was best for you--I was not thinking of myself--to confessthe plain truth, or to take refuge in affectionate equivocation, wasmore than I could decide at the time. When minutes are enough for yourintelligence, my stupidity wants days. Well! I saw it at last. A manowes the truth to a true woman; and you are a true woman. There youfind a process of reasoning--I have been five days getting hold of it. 

"But tell me one thing first. Brutus killed a man; Charlotte Cordaykilled a man. One of the two victims was a fine tyrant, and the other amean tyrant. Nobody blames those two historical assassins. Why thenblame me for wishing to make a third? Is a mere modern murderer beneathmy vengeance, by comparison with two classical tyrants who did _their_murders by deputy? The man who killed Arthur Mountjoy is (next to Cainalone) the most atrocious homicide that ever trod the miry ways of thisearth. There is my reply! I call it a crusher. 

"So now my mind is easy. Darling, let me make your mind easy next. 

"When I left you at the window of Vimpany's house, I was off to theother railroad to find the murderer in his hiding-place by the seaside. He had left it; but I got a trace, and went back to London--to theDocks. Some villain in Ireland, who knows my purpose, must have turnedtraitor. Anyhow, the wretch has escaped me. 

"Yes; I searched the ship in every corner. He was not on board. Has hegone on before me, by an earlier vessel? Or has he directed his flightto some other part of the world? I shall find out in time. His day ofreckoning will come, and he, too, shall know a violent death! Amen. Sobe it. Amen. 

"Have I done now? Bear with me, gentle Iris--there is a word more tocome. 

"You will wonder why I went on by the steamship--all the way to SouthAfrica--when I had failed to find the man I wanted, on board. What wasmy motive? You, you alone, are always my motive. Lucky men have foundgold, lucky men have found diamonds. Why should I not be one of them?My sweet, let us suppose two possible things; my own elasticconvictions would call them two likely things, but never mind that. Say, I come back a reformed character; there is your only objection tome, at once removed! And take it for granted that I return with afortune of my own finding. In that case, what becomes of Mr. Henley'sobjection to me? It melts (as Shakespeare says somewhere) into thinair. Now do take my advice, for once. Show this part of my letter toyour excellent father, with my love. I answer beforehand for theconsequences. Be happy, my Lady Harry--as happy as I am--and look formy return on an earlier day than you may anticipate. Yours till death, and after. 

"HARRY. "

Like the Irish lord, Miss Henley was "in two minds, " while she rose, and dressed herself. There were parts of the letter for which she lovedthe writer, and parts of it for which she hated him. 

What a prospect was before that reckless man--what misery, what horror, might not be lying in wait in the dreadful future! If he failed in theact of vengeance, that violent death of which he had written soheedlessly might overtake him from another hand. If he succeeded, thelaw might discover his crime, and the infamy of expiation on thescaffold might be his dreadful end. She turned, shuddering, from thecontemplation of those hideous possibilities, and took refuge in thehope of his safe, his guiltless return. Even if his visions of success, even if his purposes of reform (how hopeless at his age!) were actuallyrealised, could she consent to marry the man who had led his life, hadwritten this letter, had contemplated (and still cherished) hismerciless resolution of revenge? No woman in her senses could let thebare idea of being his wife enter her mind. Iris opened herwriting-desk, to hide the letter from all eyes but her own. As shesecured it with the key, her heart sank under the return of a terrorremembered but too well. Once more, the superstitious belief in adestiny that was urging Lord Harry and herself nearer and nearer toeach other, even when they seemed to be most widely and most surelyseparated, thrilled her under the chilling mystery of its presence. Shedropped helplessly into a chair. Oh, for a friend who could feel forher, who could strengthen her, whose wise words could restore her toher better and calmer self! Hugh was far away; and Iris was left tosuffer and to struggle alone. 

Heartfelt aspirations for help and sympathy! Oh, irony ofcircumstances, how were they answered? The housemaid entered the room, to announce the arrival of a discharged servant, with a lost character. 

"Let the young woman come in, " Iris said. Was Fanny Mere the friendwhom she had been longing for? She looked at her troubled face in theglass--and laughed bitterly. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE LADY'S MAID

IT was not easy to form a positive opinion of the young woman who nowpresented herself in Miss Henley's room. 

If the Turkish taste is truly reported as valuing beauty in the femalefigure more than beauty in the female face, Fanny Mere's personalappearance might have found, in Constantinople, the approval which shefailed to receive in London. Slim and well balanced, firmly and neatlymade, she interested men who met her by accident (and sometimes evenwomen), if they happened to be walking behind her. When they quickenedtheir steps, and, passing on, looked back at her face, they lost allinterest in Fanny from that moment. Painters would have described thedefect in her face as "want of colour. " She was one of the whitest offair female human beings. Light flaxen hair, faint blue eyes with noexpression in them, and a complexion which looked as if it had neverbeen stirred by a circulation of blood, produced an effect on herfellow-creatures in general which made them insensible to the beauty ofher figure, and the grace of her movements. There was no betrayal ofbad health in her strange pallor: on the contrary, she suggested theidea of rare physical strength. Her quietly respectful manner was, soto say, emphasised by an underlying self-possession, which lookedcapable of acting promptly and fearlessly in the critical emergenciesof life. Otherwise, the expression of character in her face wasessentially passive. Here was a steady, resolute young woman, possessedof qualities which failed to show themselves on the surface--whethergood qualities or bad qualities experience alone could determine. 

Finding it impossible, judging by a first impression, to arrive at anyimmediate decision favourable or adverse to the stranger, Iris openedthe interview with her customary frankness; leaving the consequences tofollow as they might. 

"Take a seat, Fanny, " she said, "and let us try if we can understandeach other. I think you will agree with me that there must be noconcealments between us. You ought to know that your mistress has toldme why she parted with you. It was her duty to tell me the truth, andit is my duty not to be unjustly prejudiced against you after what Ihave heard. Pray believe me when I say that I don't know, and don'twish to know, what your temptation may have been--"

"I beg your pardon, Miss, for interrupting you. My temptation wasvanity. "

Whether she did or did not suffer in making that confession, it wasimpossible to discover. Her tones were quiet; her manner wasunobtrusively respectful; the pallor of her face was not disturbed bythe slightest change of colour. Was the new maid an insensible person?Iris began to fear already that she might have made a mistake. 

"I don't expect you to enter into particulars, " she said; "I don't askyou here to humiliate yourself. "

"When I got your letter, Miss, I tried to consider how I might showmyself worthy of your kindness, " Fanny answered. "The one way I couldsee was not to let you think better of me than I deserve. When aperson, like me, is told, for the first time, that her figure makesamends for her face, she is flattered by the only compliment that hasbeen paid to her in all her life. My excuse, Miss (if I have an excuse)is a mean one---I couldn't resist a compliment. That is all I have tosay. "

Iris began to alter her opinion. This was not a young woman of theordinary type. It began to look possible, and more than possible, thatshe was worthy of a helping hand. The truth seemed to be in her. 

"I understand you, and feel for you. " Having replied in those words, Iris wisely and delicately changed the subject. "Let me hear how youare situated at the present time, " she continued. "Are your parentsliving?"

"My father and mother are dead, Miss. "

"Have you any other relatives?"

"They are too poor to be able to do anything for me. I have lost mycharacter--and I am left to help myself. "

"Suppose you fail to find another situation?" Iris suggested. 

"Yes, Miss?"

"How can you help yourself?"

"I can do what other girls have done. "

"What do you mean?"

"Some of us starve on needlework. Some take to the streets. Some end itin the river. If there is no other chance for me, I think I shall trythat way, " said the poor creature, as quietly as if she was speaking ofsome customary prospect that was open to her. "There will be nobody tobe sorry for me--and, as I have read, drowning is not a very painfuldeath. "

"You shock me, Fanny! I, for one, should be sorry for you. "

"Thank you, Miss. "

"And try to remember, " Iris continued, "that there may be chances inthe future which you don't see yet. You speak of what you have read, and I have already noticed how clearly and correctly you expressyourself. You must have been educated. Was it at home? or at school?

"I was once sent to school, " Fanny replied, not quite willingly. 

"Was it a private school?"

"Yes. "

That short answer warned Iris to be careful. 

"Recollections of school, " she said good-humouredly, "are not thepleasantest recollections in some of our lives. Perhaps I have touchedon a subject which is disagreeable to you?"

"You have touched on one of my disappointments, Miss. While my motherlived, she was my teacher. After her death, my father sent me toschool. When he failed in business, I was obliged to leave, just as Ihad begun to learn and like it. Besides, the girls found out that I wasgoing away, because there was no money at home to pay the fees--andthat mortified me. There is more that I might tell you. I have a reasonfor hating my recollections of the school--but I mustn't mention thattime in my life which your goodness to me tries to forget. "

All that appealed to her, so simply and so modestly, in that reply, wasnot lost on Iris. After an interval of silence, she said:

"Can you guess what I am thinking of, Fanny?"

"No, Miss. "

"I am asking myself a question. If I try you in my service shall Inever regret it?"

For the first time, strong emotion shook Fanny Mere. Her voice failedher, in the effort to speak. Iris considerately went on. 

"You will take the place, " she said, "of a maid who has been with mefor years--a good dear creature who has only left me throughill-health. I must not expect too much of you; I cannot hope that youwill be to me what Rhoda Bennet has been. "

Fanny succeeded in controlling herself. "Is there any hope, " she asked, "of my seeing Rhoda Bennet?"

"Why do you wish to see her?"

"You are fond of her, Miss---that is one reason. "

"And the other?"

"Rhoda Bennet might help me to serve you as I want to serve you; shemight perhaps encourage me to try if I could follow her example. " Fannypaused, and clasped her hands fervently. The thought that was in herforced its way to expression. "It's so easy to feel grateful, " shesaid--"and, oh, so hard to show it!"

"Come to me, " her new mistress answered, "and show it to-morrow. "

Moved by that compassionate impulse, Iris said the words which restoredto an unfortunate creature a lost character and a forfeited place inthe world. 

CHAPTER XV

MR. HENLEY'S TEMPER

PROVIDED by nature with ironclad constitutional defences againstillness, Mr. Henley was now and then troubled with groundless doubts ofhis own state of health. Acting under a delusion of this kind, heimagined symptoms which rendered a change of residence necessary fromhis town house to his country house, a few days only after his daughterhad decided on the engagement of her new maid. 

Iris gladly, even eagerly, adapted her own wishes to the furtherance ofher father's plans. Sorely tried by anxiety and suspense, she neededall that rest and tranquillity could do for her. The first week in thecountry produced an improvement in her health. Enjoying the serenebeauty of woodland and field, breathing the delicious purity of theair--sometimes cultivating her own corner in the garden, and sometimeshelping the women in the lighter labours of the dairy--her nervesrecovered their tone, and her spirits rose again to their higher level. 

In the performance of her duties the new maid justified Miss Henley'sconfidence in her, during the residence of the household in thecountry. 

She showed, in her own undemonstrative way, a grateful sense of hermistress's kindness. Her various occupations were intelligently andattentively pursued; her even temper never seemed to vary; she gave theservants no opportunities of complaining of her. But one peculiarity inher behaviour excited hostile remark, below-stairs. On the occasionswhen she was free to go out for the day, she always found some excusefor not joining any of the other female servants, who might happen tobe similarly favoured. The one use she made of her holiday was totravel by railway to some place unknown; always returning at the righttime in the evening. Iris knew enough of the sad circumstances to beable to respect her motives, and to appreciate the necessity forkeeping the object of these solitary journeys a secret from herfellow-servants. 

The pleasant life in the country house had lasted for nearly a month, when the announcement of Hugh's approaching return to England reachedIris. The fatal end of his father's long and lingering illness hadarrived, and the funeral had taken place. Business, connected with hissuccession to the property, would detain him in London for a few days. Submitting to this necessity, he earnestly expressed the hope of seeingIris again, the moment he was at liberty. 

Hearing the good news, Mr. Henley obstinately returned to hisplans--already twice thwarted--for promoting the marriage of Mountjoyand Iris. 

He wrote to invite Hugh to his house in a tone of cordiality whichastonished his daughter; and when the guest arrived, the genial welcomeof the host had but one defect--Mr. Henley overacted his part. He gavethe two young people perpetual opportunities of speaking to each otherprivately; and, on the principle that none are so blind as those whowon't see, he failed to discover that the relations between themcontinued to be relations of friendship, do what he might. Hugh's longattendance on his dying father had left him depressed in spirits; Irisunderstood him, and felt for him. He was not ready with his opinion ofthe new maid, after he had seen Fanny Mere. "My inclination, " he said, "is to trust the girl. And yet, I hesitate to follow myinclination--and I don't know why. "

When Hugh's visit came to an end, he continued his journey in anortherly direction. The property left to him by his father included acottage, standing in its own grounds, on the Scotch shore of the SolwayFirth. The place had been neglected during the long residence of theelder Mr. Mountjoy on the Continent. Hugh's present object was tojudge, by his own investigation, of the necessity for repairs. 

On the departure of his guest, Mr. Henley (still obstinately hopeful ofthe marriage on which he had set his mind) assumed a jocular mannertowards Iris, and asked if the Scotch cottage was to be put in orderfor the honeymoon. Her reply, gently as it was expressed, threw himinto a state of fury. His vindictive temper revelled, not only in harshwords, but in spiteful actions. He sold one of his dogs which hadspecially attached itself to Iris; and, seeing that she still enjoyedthe country, he decided on returning to London. 

She submitted in silence. But the events of that past time, when herfather's merciless conduct had driven her out of his house, returnedominously to her memory. She said to herself: "Is a day coming when Ishall leave him again?" It was coming--and she little knew how. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE DOCTOR IN FULL DRESS

MR. HENLEY'S household had been again established in London, when aservant appeared one morning with a visiting card, and announced that agentleman had called who wished to see Miss Henley. She looked at thecard. The gentleman was Mr. Vimpany. 

On the point of directing the man to say that she was engaged, Irischecked herself. 

Mrs. Vimpany's farewell words had produced a strong impression on her. There had been moments of doubt and gloom in her later life, when theremembrance of that unhappy woman was associated with a feeling(perhaps a morbid feeling) of self-reproach. It seemed to be hard onthe poor penitent wretch not to have written to her. Was she stillleading the same dreary life in the mouldering old town? Or had shemade another attempt to return to the ungrateful stage? The grosshusband, impudently presenting himself with his card and his message, could answer those questions if he could do nothing else. For thatreason only Iris decided that she would receive Mr. Vimpany. 

On entering the room, she found two discoveries awaiting her, for whichshe was entirely unprepared. 

The doctor's personal appearance exhibited a striking change; he wasdressed, in accordance with the strictest notions of professionalpropriety, entirely in black. More remarkable still, there happened tobe a French novel among the books on the table--and that novel Mr. Vimpany, barbarous Mr. Vimpany, was actually reading with an appearanceof understanding it!

"I seem to surprise you, " said the doctor. "Is it this?" He held up theFrench novel as he put the question. 

"I must own that I was not aware of the range of your accomplishments, "Iris answered. 

"Oh, don't talk of accomplishments! I learnt my profession in Paris. For nigh on three years I lived among the French medical students. Noticing this book on the table, I thought I would try whether I hadforgotten the language--in the time that has passed (you know) sincethose days. Well, my memory isn't a good one in most things, butstrange to say (force of habit, I suppose), some of my French sticks byme still. I hope I see you well, Miss Henley. Might I ask if younoticed the new address, when I sent up my card?"

"I only noticed your name. "

The doctor produced his pocket-book, and took out a second card. Withpride he pointed to the address: "5 Redburn Road, Hampstead Heath. "With pride he looked at his black clothes. "Strictly professional, isn't it?" he said. "I have bought a new practice; and I have become anew man. It isn't easy at first. No, by jingo--I beg your pardon--I wasabout to say, my own respectability rather bothers me; I shall get usedto it in time. If you will allow me, I'll take a liberty. No offence, Ihope?"

He produced a handful of his cards, and laid them out in a neat littlesemicircle on the table. 

"A word of recommendation, when you have the chance, would be afriendly act on your part, " he explained. "Capital air in Redburn Road, and a fine view of the Heath out of the garret windows--but it's ratheran out-of-the-way situation. Not that I complain; beggars mustn't bechoosers. I should have preferred a practice in a fashionable part ofLondon; but our little windfall of money--"

He came to a full stop in the middle of a sentence. The sale of thesuperb diamond pin, by means of which Lord Harry had repaid Mrs. Vimpany's services, was, of all domestic events, the last which itmight be wise to mention in the presence of Miss Henley. He wasawkwardly silent. Taking advantage of that circumstance, Irisintroduced the subject in which she felt interested. 

"How is Mrs. Vimpany?" she asked. 

"Oh, she's all right!"

"Does she like your new house?"

The doctor made a strange reply. "I really can't tell you, " he said. 

"Do you mean that Mrs. Vimpany declines to express an opinion?"

He laughed. "In all my experience, " he said, "I never met with a womanwho did that! No, no; the fact is, my wife and I have parted company. There's no need to look so serious about it! Incompatibility of temper, as the saying is, has led us to a friendly separation. Equally a reliefon both sides. She goes her way, I go mine. "

His tone disgusted Iris--and she let him see it. "Is it of any use toask you for Mrs. Vimpany's address?" she inquired. 

His atrocious good-humour kept its balance as steadily as ever: "Sorryto disappoint you. Mrs. Vimpany hasn't given me her address. Curious, isn't it? The fact is, she moped a good deal, after you left us; talkedof her duty, and the care of her soul, and that sort of thing. When Ihear where she is, I'll let you know with pleasure. To the best of mybelief, she's doing nurse's work somewhere. "

"Nurse's work? What do you mean?"

"Oh, the right thing--all in the fashion. She belongs to what they calla Sisterhood; goes about, you know, in a shabby black gown, with a pokebonnet. At least, so Lord Harry told me the other day. "

In spite of herself, Iris betrayed the agitation which those wordsinstantly roused in her. "Lord Harry!" she exclaimed. "Where is he? InLondon?"

"Yes--at Parker's Hotel. "

"When did he return?"

"Oh, a few days ago; and--what do you think?--he's come back from thegoldfields a lucky man. Damn it, I've let the cat out of the bag! I wasto keep the thing a secret from everybody, and from you mostparticularly. He's got some surprise in store for you. Don't tell himwhat I've done! We had a little misunderstanding, in past days, atHoneybuzzard--and, now we are friends again, I don't want to lose hislordship's interest. "

Iris promised to be silent. But to know that the wild lord was inEngland again, and to remain in ignorance whether he had, or had not, returned with the stain of bloodshed on him, was more than she couldendure. 

"There is one question I must ask you, " she said. "I have reason tofear that Lord Harry left this country, with a purpose of revenge--"

Mr. Vimpany wanted no further explanation. "Yes, yes; I know. You maybe easy about that. There's been no mischief done, either one way orthe other. The man he was after, when he landed in South Africa (hetold me so himself) has escaped him. "

With that reply, the doctor got up in a hurry to bring his visit to anend. He proposed to take to flight, he remarked facetiously, beforeMiss Henley wheedled him into saying anything more. 

After opening the door, however, he suddenly returned to Iris, andadded a last word in the strictest confidence. 

"If you won't forget to recommend me to your friends, " he said, "I'lltrust you with another secret. You will see his lordship in a day ortwo, when he returns from the races. Good-bye. "

The races! What was Lord Harry doing at the races?

CHAPTER XVII

ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

IRIS had only to remember the manner in which she and Mountjoy haddisappointed her father, to perceive the serious necessity ofpreventing Mountjoy's rival from paying a visit at Mr. Henley's house. 

She wrote at once to Lord Harry, at the hotel which Mr. Vimpany hadmentioned, entreating him not to think of calling on her. Being wellaware that he would insist on a meeting, she engaged to write again andpropose an appointment. In making this concession, Iris might havefound it easier to persuade herself that she was yielding to sheernecessity, if she had not been guiltily conscious of a feeling ofpleasure at the prospect of seeing Lord Harry again, returning to heran innocent man. There was some influence, in this train of thought, which led her mind back to Hugh. She regretted his absence--wonderedwhether he would have proposed throwing her letter to the Irish lordinto the fire--sighed, closed the envelope, and sent the letter to thepost. 

On the next day, she had arranged to drive to Muswell Hill, and to paythe customary visit to Rhoda. Heavy rain obliged her to wait for afitter opportunity. It was only on the third day that the sky cleared, and the weather was favourable again. On a sunshiny autumn morning, with a fine keen air blowing, she ordered the open carriage. Noticing, while Fanny Mere was helping her to dress, that the girl looked evenpaler than usual, she said, with her customary kindness to personsdependent on her, "You look as if a drive in the fresh air would do yougood--you shall go with me to the farm, and see Rhoda Bennet. "

When they stopped at the house, the farmer's wife appeared, attending agentleman to the door. Iris at once recognised the local medical man. "You're not in attendance, I hope, on Rhoda Bennet?" she said. 

The doctor acknowledged that there had been some return of the nervousderangement from which the girl suffered. He depended mainly (he said)on the weather allowing her to be out as much as possible in the freshair, and on keeping her free from all agitation. Rhoda was so far onthe way to recovery, that she was now walking in the garden by hisadvice. He had no fear of her, provided she was not too readilyencouraged, in her present state, to receive visitors. Her mistresswould be, of course, an exception to this rule. But even Miss Henleywould perhaps do well not to excite the girl by prolonging her visit. There was one other suggestion which he would venture to make, while hehad the opportunity. Rhoda was not, as he thought, warmly enoughclothed for the time of year; and a bad cold might be easily caught bya person in her condition. 

Iris entered the farm-house; leaving Fanny Mere, after what the doctorhad said on the subject of visitors, to wait for her in the carriage. 

After an absence of barely ten minutes Miss Henley returned; personallychanged, not at all to her own advantage, by the introduction of anovelty in her dress. She had gone into the farmhouse, wearing ahandsome mantle of sealskin. When she came out again, the mantle hadvanished, and there appeared in its place a common cloak ofdrab-coloured cloth. Noticing the expression of blank amazement in themaid's face, Iris burst out laughing. 

"How do you think I look in my new cloak?" she asked. 

Fanny saw nothing to laugh at in the sacrifice of a sealskin mantle. "Imust not presume, Miss, to give an opinion, " she said gravely. 

"At any rate, " Iris continued, "you must be more than mortal if mychange of costume doesn't excite your curiosity. I found Rhoda Bennetin the garden, exposed to the cold wind in this ugly flimsy thing. After what the doctor had told me, it was high time to assert myauthority. I insisted on changing cloaks with Rhoda. She made anattempt, poor dear, to resist; but she knows me of old--and I had myway. I am sorry you have been prevented from seeing her; you shall notmiss the opportunity when she is well again. Do you admire a fine view?Very well; we will vary the drive on our return. Go back, " she said tothe coachman, "by Highgate and Hampstead. "

Fanny's eyes rested on the shabby cloak with a well-founded distrust ofit as a protection against the autumn weather. She ventured to suggestthat her mistress might feel the loss (in an open carriage) of the warmmantle which she had left on Rhoda's shoulders. 

Iris made light of the doubt expressed by her maid. But by the timethey had passed Highgate, and had approached the beginning of thestraight road which crosses the high ridge of Hampstead Heath, she wasobliged to acknowledge that she did indeed feel the cold. "You ought tobe a good walker, " she said, looking at her maid's firm well-knitfigure. "Exercise is all I want to warm me. What do you say to goinghome on foot?" Fanny was ready and willing to accompany her mistress. The carriage was dismissed, and they set forth on their walk. 

As they passed the inn called "The Spaniards, " two women who werestanding at the garden gate stared at Iris, and smiled. A few pacesfurther on, they were met by an errand-boy. He too looked at the younglady, and put his hand derisively to his head, with a shrill whistleexpressive of malicious enjoyment. "I appear to amuse these people, "Iris said. "What do they see in me?"

Fanny answered with an effort to preserve her gravity, which was notquite successfully disguised: "I beg your pardon, Miss; I think theynotice the curious contrast between your beautiful bonnet and yourshabby cloak. "

Persons of excitable temperament have a sense of ridicule, and a dreadof it, unintelligible to their fellow-creatures who are made of coarsermaterial. For the moment, Iris was angry. "Why didn't you tell me ofit, " she asked sharply, "before I sent away the carriage? How can Iwalk back, with everybody laughing at me?"

She paused--reflected a little--and led the way off the high road, onthe right, to the fine clump of fir-trees which commands the famousview in that part of the Heath. 

"There's but one thing to be done, " she said, recovering her goodtemper; "we must make my grand bonnet suit itself to my miserablecloak. You will pull out the feather and rip off the lace (and keepthem for yourself, if you like), and then I ought to look shabby enoughfrom head to foot, I am sure! No; not here; they may notice us from theroad--and what may the fools not do when they see you tearing theornaments off my bonnet! Come down below the trees, where the groundwill hide us. "

They had nearly descended the steep slope which leads to the valley, below the clump of firs, when they were stopped by a terriblediscovery. 

Close at their feet, in a hollow of the ground, was stretched theinsensible body of a man. He lay on his side, with his face turned awayfrom them. An open razor had dropped close by him. Iris stooped overthe prostate man, to examine his face. Blood flowing from a frightfulwound in his throat, was the first thing that she saw. Her eyes closedinstinctively, recoiling from that ghastly sight. The next instant sheopened them again, and saw his face. 

Dying or dead, it was the face of Lord Harry. 

The shriek that burst from her, on making that horrible discovery, washeard by two men who were crossing the lower heath at some distance. They saw the women, and ran to them. One of the men was a labourer; theother, better dressed, looked like a foreman of works. He was the firstwho arrived on the spot. 

"Enough to frighten you out of your senses, ladies, " he said civilly. "It's a case of suicide, I should say, by the look of it. "

"For God's sake, let us do something to help him!" Iris burst out. "Iknow him! I know him!"

Fanny, equal to the emergency, asked Miss Henley for her handkerchief, joined her own handkerchief to it, and began to bandage the wound. "Tryif his pulse is beating, " she said quietly to her mistress. The foremanmade himself useful by examining the suicide's pockets. Iris thoughtshe could detect a faint fluttering in the pulse. "Is there no doctorliving near?" she cried. "Is there no carriage to be found in thishorrible place?"

The foreman had discovered two letters. Iris read her own name on oneof them. The other was addressed "To the person who may find my body. "She tore the envelope open. It contained one of Mr. Vimpany's cards, with these desperate words written on it in pencil: "Take me to thedoctor's address, and let him bury me, or dissect me, whichever hepleases. " Iris showed the card to the foreman. "Is it near here?" sheasked. "Yes, Miss; we might get him to that place in no time, if therewas a conveyance of any kind to be found. " Still preserving herpresence of mind, Fanny pointed in the direction of "The Spaniards"inn. "We might get what we want there, " she said. "Shall I go?"

Iris signed to her to attend to the wounded man, and ascended thesloping ground. She ran on towards the road. The men, directed byFanny, raised the body and slowly followed her, diverging to an easierascent. As Iris reached the road, a four-wheel cab passed her. Withoutan instant's hesitation, she called to the driver to stop. He pulled uphis horse. She confronted a solitary gentleman, staring out of thewindow of the cab, and looking as if he thought that a lady had taken aliberty with him. Iris allowed the outraged stranger no opportunity ofexpressing his sentiments. Breathless as she was, she spoke first. 

"Pray forgive me--you are alone in the cab--there is room for agentleman, dangerously wounded--he will bleed to death if we don't findhelp for him--the place is close by--oh, don't refuse me!" She lookedback, holding fast by the cab door, and saw Fanny and the men slowlyapproaching. "Bring him here!" she cried. 

"Do nothing of the sort!" shouted the gentleman in possession of thecab. 

But Fanny obeyed her mistress; and the men obeyed Fanny. Iris turnedindignantly to the merciless stranger. "I ask you to do an act ofChristian kindness, " she said. "How can you, how dare you, hesitate?"

"Drive on!" cried the stranger. 

"Drive on, at your peril, " Iris added, on her side. 

The cabman sat, silent and stolid, on the box, waiting for events. 

Slowly the men came in view, bearing Lord Harry, still insensible. Thehandkerchiefs on his throat were saturated with blood. At that sight, the cowardly instincts of the stranger completely mastered him. "Let meout!" he clamoured; "let me out!"

Finding the cab left at her disposal, Iris actually thanked him! Helooked at her with an evil eye. "I have my suspicions, I can tell you, "he muttered. "If this comes to a trial in a court of law, I'm not goingto be mixed up with it. Innocent people have been hanged before now, when appearances were against them. "

He walked off; and, by way of completing the revelation of his ownmeanness, forgot to pay his fare. 

On the point of starting the horse to pursue him, the cabman waseffectually stopped. Iris showed him a sovereign. Upon this hint (likeOthello) he spoke. 

"All right, Miss. I see your poor gentleman is a-bleeding. You'll takecare--won't you?--that he doesn't spoil my cushions. " The driver wasnot a ill-conditioned man; he put the case of his property indulgently, with a persuasive smile. Iris turned to the two worthy fellows, who hadso readily given her their help, and bade them good-bye, with a solidexpression of her gratitude which they both remembered for many a longday to come. Fanny was already in the cab supporting Lord Harry's body. Iris joined her. The cabman drove carefully to Mr. Vimpany's new house. 

CHAPTER XVIII

PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE

NUMBER Five was near the centre of the row of little suburban housescalled Redburn Road. 

When the cab drew up at the door Mr. Vimpany himself was visible, looking out of the window on the ground floor--and yawning as helooked. Iris beckoned to him impatiently. "Anything wrong?" he asked, as he approached the door of the cab. She drew back, and silentlyshowed him what was wrong. The doctor received the shock withcomposure. When he happened to be sober and sad, looking for patientsand failing to find them, Mr. Vimpany's capacity for feeling sympathybegan and ended with himself. 

"This is a new scrape, even for Lord Harry, " he remarked. "Let's gethim into the house. "

The insensible man was carried into the nearest room on the groundfloor. Pale and trembling, Iris related what had happened, and asked ifthere was no hope of saving him. 

"Patience!" Mr. Vimpany answered; "I'll tell you directly. "

He removed the bandages, and examined the wound. "There's been a dealof blood lost, " he said; "I'll try and pull him through. While I amabout it, Miss, go upstairs, if you please, and find your way to thedrawing-room. " Iris hesitated. The doctor opened a neat mahogany box. "The tools of my trade, " he continued; "I'm going to sew up hislordship's throat. " Shuddering as she heard those words, Iris hurriedout of the room. Fanny followed her mistress up the stairs. In her ownvery different way, the maid was as impenetrably composed as Mr. Vimpany himself. "There was a second letter found in the gentleman'spocket, Miss, " she said. "Will you excuse my reminding you that youhave not read it yet. "

Iris read the lines that follow:

"Forgive me, my dear, for the last time. My letter is to say that Ishall trouble you no more in this world--and, as for the other world, who knows? I brought some money back with me, from the goldfields. Itwas not enough to be called a fortune--I mean the sort of fortune whichmight persuade your father to let you marry me. Well! here in England, I had an opportunity of making ten times more of it on the turf; and, let me add, with private information of the horses which I mightcertainly count on to win. I don't stop to ask by what cruel roguery Iwas tempted to my ruin. My money is lost; and, with it, my last hope ofa happy and harmless life with you comes to an end. I die, Iris dear, with the death of that hope. Something in me seems to shrink fromsuicide in the ugly gloom of great overgrown London. I prefer to makeaway with myself among the fields, where the green will remind me ofdear old Ireland. When you think of me sometimes, say to yourself thepoor wretch loved me--and perhaps the earth will lie lighter on Harryfor those kind words, and the flowers (if you favour me by planting afew) may grow prettier on my grave. "

There it ended. 

The heart of Iris sank as she read that melancholy farewell, expressedin language at once wild and childish. If he survived his desperateattempt at self-destruction, to what end would it lead? In silence, thewoman who loved him put his letter back in her bosom. Watching herattentively--affected, it was impossible to say how, by that mutedistress--Fanny Mere proposed to go downstairs, and ask once more whathope there might be for the wounded man. Iris knew the doctor too wellto let the maid leave her on a useless errand. 

"Some men might be kindly ready to relieve my suspense, " she said; "theman downstairs is not one of them. I must wait till he comes to me, orsends for me. But there is something I wish to say to you, while we arealone. You have been but a short time in my service, Fanny. Is it toosoon to ask if you feel some interest in me?"

"If I can comfort you or help you, Miss, be pleased to tell me how. "She made that reply respectfully, in her usual quiet manner; her palecheeks showing no change of colour, her faint blue eyes restingsteadily on her mistress's face. Iris went on:

"If I ask you to keep what has happened, on this dreadful day, a secretfrom everybody, may I trust you--little as you know of me--as I mighthave trusted Rhoda Bennet?"

"I promise it, Miss. " In saying those few words, the undemonstrativewoman seemed to think that she had said enough. 

Iris had no alternative but to ask another favour. 

"And whatever curiosity you may feel, will you be content to do me akindness--without wanting an explanation?"

"It is my duty to respect my mistress's secrets; I will do my duty. " Nosentiment, no offer of respectful sympathy; a positive declaration offidelity, left impenetrably to speak for itself. Was the girl's hearthardened by the disaster which had darkened her life? Or was she thesubmissive victim of that inbred reserve, which shrinks from the frankexpression of feeling, and lives and dies self-imprisoned in its ownsecrecy? A third explanation, founded probably on a steadier basis, wassuggested by Miss Henley's remembrance of their first interview. Fanny's nature had revealed a sensitive side, when she was firstencouraged to hope for a refuge from ruin followed perhaps bystarvation and death. Judging so far from experience, a soundconclusion seemed to follow. When circumstances strongly excited thegirl, there was a dormant vitality in her that revived. At other timeswhen events failed to agitate her by a direct appeal to personalinterests, her constitutional reserve held the rule. She could beimpenetrably honest, steadily industrious, truly grateful--but theintuitive expression of feeling, on ordinary occasions, was beyond herreach. 

After an interval of nearly half an hour, Mr. Vimpany made hisappearance. Pausing in the doorway, he consulted his watch, and enteredon a calculation which presented him favourably from a professionalpoint of view. 

"Allow for time lost in reviving my lord when he fainted, and stringinghim up with a drop of brandy, and washing my hands (look how clean theyare!), I haven't been more than twenty minutes in mending his throat. Not bad surgery, Miss Henley. "

"Is his life safe, Mr. Vimpany?"

"Thanks to his luck--yes. "

"His luck?"

"To be sure! In the first place, he owes his life to your finding himwhen you did; a little later, and it would have been all over with LordHarry. Second piece of luck: catching the doctor at home, just when hewas most wanted. Third piece of luck: our friend didn't know how to cuthis own throat properly. You needn't look black at me, Miss; I'm notjoking. A suicide with a razor in his hand has generally one chance inhis favour--he is ignorant of anatomy. That is my lord's case. He hasonly cut through the upper fleshy part of his throat, and has missedthe larger blood vessels. Take my word for it, he will do well enoughnow; thanks to you, thanks to me, and thanks to his own ignorance. Whatdo you say to that way of putting it? Ha! my brains are in good workingorder to-day; I haven't been drinking any of Mr. Mountjoy's claret--doyou take the joke, Miss Henley?"

Chuckling over the recollection of his own drunken audacity, hehappened to notice Fanny Mere. 

"Hullo! is this another injured person in want of me? You're as whiteas a sheet, Miss. If you're going to faint, do me a favour--wait till Ican get the brandy-bottle. Oh! it's natural to you, is it? I see. Athick skin and a slow circulation; you will live to be an old woman. Afriend of yours, Miss Henley?"

Fanny answered composedly for herself: "I am Miss Henley's maid, sir. "

"What's become of the other one?" Mr. Vimpany asked. "Aye? aye? Stayingat a farm-house for the benefit of her health, is she? If I had beenallowed time enough, I would have made a cure of Rhoda Bennet. Thereisn't a medical man in England who knows more than I do of the nervousmaladies of women--and what is my reward? Is my waiting-room crammedwith rich people coming to consult me? Do I live in a fashionableSquare? Have I even been made a Baronet? Damn it--I beg your pardon, Miss Henley--but it is irritating, to a man of my capacity, to becompletely neglected. For the last three days not a creature hasdarkened the doors of this house. Could I say a word to you?"

He led Iris mysteriously into a corner of the room. "About our frienddownstairs?" he began. 

"When may we hope that he will be well again, Mr. Vimpany?"

"Maybe in three weeks. In a month at most. I have nobody here but astupid servant girl. We ought to have a competent nurse. I can get athoroughly trained person from the hospital; but there's a littledifficulty. I am an outspoken man. When I am poor, I own I am poor. Mylord must be well fed; the nurse must be well fed. Would you mindadvancing a small loan, to provide beforehand for the payment ofexpenses?"

Iris handed her purse to him, sick of the sight of Mr. Vimpany. "Isthat all?" she asked, making for the door. 

"Much obliged. That's all. "

As they approached the room on the ground floor, Iris stopped: her eyesrested on the doctor. Even to that coarse creature, the eloquent lookspoke for her. Fanny noticed it, and suddenly turned her head aside. Over the maid's white face there passed darkly an expression ofunutterable contempt. Her mistress's weakness had revealeditself--weakness for one of the betrayers of women; weakness for a man!In the meantime, Mr. Vimpany (having got the money) was ready to humourthe enviable young lady with a well-filled purse. 

"Do you want to see my lord before you go?" he asked, amused at theidea. "Mind! you mustn't disturb him! No talking, and no crying. Ready?Now look at him. "

There he lay on a shabby little sofa, in an ugly little room; his eyesclosed; one helpless hand hanging down; a stillness on his ghastlyface, horribly suggestive of the stillness of death--there he lay, thereckless victim of his love for the woman who had desperately renouncedhim again and again, who had now saved him for the third time. Ah, howher treacherous heart pleaded for him! Can you drive him away from youafter this? You, who love him, what does your cold-blooded prudencesay, when you look at him now?

She felt herself drawn, roughly and suddenly, back into the passage. The door was closed; the doctor was whispering to her. "Hold up, Miss!I expected better things of you. Come! come!--no fainting. You'll findhim a different man to-morrow. Pay us a visit, and judge for yourself. "

After what she had suffered, Iris hungered for sympathy. "Isn't itpitiable?" she said to her maid as they left the house. 

"I don't know, Miss. "

"You don't know? Good heavens, are you made of stone? Have you no suchthing as a heart in you?"

"Not for the men, " Fanny answered. "I keep my pity for the women. "

Iris knew what bitter remembrances made their confession in thosewords. How she missed Rhoda Bennet at that moment!

CHAPTER XIX

MR. HENLEY AT HOME

FOR a month, Mountjoy remained in his cottage on the shores of theSolway Firth, superintending the repairs. 

His correspondence with Iris was regularly continued; and, for thefirst time in his experience of her, was a cause of disappointment tohim. 

Her replies revealed an incomprehensible change in her manner ofwriting, which became more and more marked in each succeeding instance. Notice it as he might in his own letters, no explanation followed onthe part of his correspondent. She, who had so frankly confided herjoys and sorrows to him in past days, now wrote with a reserve whichseemed only to permit the most vague and guarded allusion to herself. The changes in the weather; the alternation of public news that wasdull, and public news that was interesting; the absence of her fatherabroad, occasioned by doubt of the soundness of his investments inforeign securities; vague questions relating to Hugh's new place ofabode, which could only have proceeded from a preoccupied mind--thesewere the topics on which Iris dwelt, in writing to her faithful oldfriend. It was hardly possible to doubt that something must havehappened, which she had reasons--serious reasons, as it seemed only toonatural to infer--for keeping concealed from Mountjoy. Try as he mightto disguise it from himself, he now knew how dear, how hopelessly dear, she was to him by the anxiety that he suffered, and by the jealoussense of injury which defied his self-command. His immediatesuperintendence of the workmen at the cottage was no longer necessary. Leaving there a representative whom he could trust, he resolved toanswer his last letter, received from Iris, in person. 

The next day he was in London. 

Calling at the house, he was informed that Miss Henley was not at home, and that it was impossible to say with certainty when she might return. While he was addressing his inquiries to the servant, Mr. Henley openedthe library door. "Is that you, Mountjoy?" he asked. "Come in: I wantto speak to you. "

Short and thick-set, with a thin-lipped mouth, a coarsely-floridcomplexion, and furtive greenish eyes; hard in his manner, and harsh inhis voice; Mr. Henley was one of the few heartless men, who areinnocent of deception on the surface: he was externally a person whoinspired, at first sight, feelings of doubt and dislike. His mannerfailed to show even a pretence of being glad to see Hugh. What he hadto say, he said walking up and down the room, and scratching hisbristly iron-gray hair from time to time. Those signs of restlessnessindicated, to those who knew him well, that he had a selfish use tomake of a fellow-creature, and failed to see immediately how to reachthe end in view. 

"I say, Mountjoy, " he began, "have you any idea of what my daughter isabout?"

"I don't even understand what you mean, " Hugh replied. "For the lastmonth I have been in Scotland. "

"You and she write to each other, don't you?"

"Yes. "

"Hasn't she told you--"

"Excuse me for interrupting you, Mr. Henley; she has told me nothing. "

Mr. Henley stared absently at the superbly-bound books on hislibrary-shelves (never degraded by the familiar act of reading), andscratched his head more restlessly than ever. 

"Look here, young man. When you were staying with me in the country, Irather hoped it might end in a marriage engagement. You and Irisdisappointed me--not for the first time. But women do change theirminds. Suppose she had changed her mind, after having twice refusedyou? Suppose she had given you an opportunity--"

Hugh interrupted him again. "It's needless to suppose anything of thesort, sir; she would not have given me an opportunity. "

"Don't fence with me, Mountjoy! I'll put it in a milder way, if youprefer being humbugged. Do you feel any interest in that perverse girlof mine?"

Hugh answered readily and warmly: "The truest interest!"

Even Mr. Henley was human; his ugly face looked uglier still. Itassumed the self-satisfied expression of a man who had carried hispoint. 

"Now I can go on, my friend, with what I had to say to you. I have beenabroad on business, and only came back the other day. The moment I sawIris I noticed something wrong about her. If I had been a stranger, Ishould have said: That young woman is not easy in her mind. Perfectlyuseless to speak to her about it. Quite happy and quite well--there washer own account of herself. I tried her maid next, a white-liveredsulky creature, one of the steadiest liars I have ever met with. 'Iknow of nothing amiss with my mistress, sir. ' There was the maid's wayof keeping the secret, whatever it may be! I don't know whether you mayhave noticed it, in the course of your acquaintance with me--I hate tobe beaten. "

"No, Mr. Henley, I have not noticed it. "

"Then you are informed of it now. Have you seen my housekeeper?"

"Once or twice, sir. "

"Come! you're improving; we shall make something of you in course oftime. Well, the housekeeper was the next person I spoke to about mydaughter. Had she seen anything strange in Miss Iris, while I was awayfrom home? There's a dash of malice in my housekeeper's composition; Idon't object to a dash of malice. When the old woman is pleased, sheshows her yellow fangs. She had something to tell me: 'The servantshave been talking, sir, about Miss Iris. ' 'Out with it, ma'am! what dothey say?' 'They notice, sir, that their young lady has taken to goingout in the forenoon, regularly every day: always by herself, and alwaysin the same direction. I don't encourage the servants, Mr. Henley:there was something insolent in the tone of suspicion that theyadopted. I told them that Miss Iris was merely taking her walk. Theyreminded me that it must be a cruelly long walk; Miss Iris being awayregularly for four or five hours together, before she came back to thehouse. After that' (says the housekeeper) 'I thought it best to dropthe subject. ' What do you think of it yourself, Mountjoy? Do you callmy daughter's conduct suspicious?"

"I see nothing suspicious, Mr. Henley. When Iris goes out, she visits afriend. "

"And always goes in the same direction, and always visits the samefriend, " Mr. Henley added. "I felt a curiosity to know who that friendmight be; and I made the discovery yesterday. When you were staying inmy house in the country, do you remember the man who waited on you?"

Mountjoy began to feel alarmed for Iris; he answered as briefly aspossible. 

"Your valet, " he said. 

"That's it! Well, I took my valet into my confidence--not for the firsttime, I can tell you: an invaluable fellow. When Iris went outyesterday, he tracked her to a wretched little suburban place nearHampstead Heath, called Redburn Road. She rang the bell at Number Five, and was at once let in--evidently well known there. My clever man madeinquiries in the neighbourhood. The house belongs to a doctor, who haslately taken it. Name of Vimpany. "

Mountjoy was not only startled, but showed it plainly. Mr. Henley, still pacing backwards and forwards, happened by good fortune to havehis back turned towards his visitor, at that moment. 

"Now I ask you, as a man of the world, " Mr. Henley resumed, "what doesthis mean? If you're too cautious to speak out--and I must say it lookslike it--shall I set you the example?"

"Just as you please, sir. "

"Very well, then; I'll tell you what I suspect. When Iris is at home, and when there's something amiss in my family, I believe that scoundrelLord Harry to be at the bottom of it. There's my experience, andthere's my explanation. I was on the point of ordering my carriage, togo to the doctor myself, and insist on knowing what the attraction isthat takes my daughter to his house, when I heard your voice in thehall. You tell me you are interested in Iris. Very well; you are justthe man to help me. "

"May I ask how, Mr. Henley?"

"Of course you may. You can find your way to her confidence, if youchoose to try; she will trust you, when she won't trust her father. Idon't care two straws about her other secrets; but I do want to knowwhether she is, or is not, plotting to marry the Irish blackguard. Satisfy me about that, and you needn't tell me anything more. May Icount on you to find out how the land lies?"

Mountjoy listened, hardly able to credit the evidence of his ownsenses; he was actually expected to insinuate himself into theconfidence of Iris, and then to betray her to her father! He rose, andtook his hat--and, without even the formality of a bow, opened thedoor. 

"Does that mean No?" Mr. Henley called after him. 

"Most assuredly, " Mountjoy answered--and closed the door behind him. 

CHAPTER XX

FIRST SUSPICIONS OF IRIS

FROM the last memorable day, on which Iris had declared to him that hemight always count on her as his friend, but never as his wife, Hughhad resolved to subject his feelings to a rigorous control. As toconquering his hopeless love, he knew but too well that it wouldconquer him, on any future occasion when he and Iris happened to meet. 

He had been true to his resolution, at what cost of suffering he, andhe alone knew. Sincerely, unaffectedly, he had tried to remain herfriend. But the nature of the truest and the firmest man has its weakplace, where the subtle influence of a woman is concerned. Deeplylatent, beyond the reach of his own power of sounding, there wasjealousy of the Irish lord lurking in Mountjoy, and secretly leadinghis mind when he hesitated in those emergencies of his life which wereconnected with Iris. Ignorant of the influence which was reallydirecting him, he viewed with contempt Mr. Henley's suspicions of asecret understanding between his daughter and the man who was, by herown acknowledgment, unworthy of the love with which it had been hermisfortune to regard him. At the same time, Hugh's mind was reluctantlyin search of an explanation, which might account (without degradingIris) for her having been traced to the doctor's house. In hisrecollection of events at the old country town, he found a motive forher renewal of intercourse with such a man as Mr. Vimpany, in thecompassionate feeling with which she regarded the doctor's unhappywife. There might well be some humiliating circumstance, recently addedto the other trials of Mrs. Vimpany's married life, which had appealedto all that was generous and forgiving in the nature of Iris. Knowingnothing of the resolution to live apart which had latterly separatedthe doctor and his wife, Mountjoy decided on putting his idea to thetest by applying for information to Mrs. Vimpany at her husband'shouse. 

In the nature of a sensitive man the bare idea of delay, under thesecircumstances, was unendurable. Hugh called the first cab that passedhim, and drove to Hampstead. 

Careful--morbidly careful, perhaps--not to attract attention needlesslyto himself, he stopped the cab at the entrance to Redburn Road, andapproached Number Five on foot. A servant-girl answered the door. Mountjoy asked if Mrs. Vimpany was at home. 

The girl made no immediate reply. She seemed to be puzzled byMountjoy's simple question. Her familiar manner, with its vulgarassumption of equality in the presence of a stranger, revealed theLondon-bred maid-servant of modern times. "Did you say _Mrs. _ Vimpany?"she inquired sharply. 

"Yes. "

"There's no such person here. "

It was Mountjoy's turn to be puzzled. "Is this Mr. Vimpany's house?" hesaid. 

"Yes, to be sure it is. "

"And yet Mrs. Vimpany doesn't live here?"

"No Mrs. Vimpany has darkened these doors, " the girl declaredpositively. 

"Are you sure you are not making a mistake?"

"Quite sure. I have been in the doctor's service since he first tookthe house. "

Determined to solve the mystery, if it could be done, Mountjoy asked ifhe could see the doctor. No: Mr. Vimpany had gone out. 

"There's a young person comes to us, " the servant continued. "I wonderwhether you mean her, when you ask for Mrs. Vimpany? The name _she_gives is Henley. "

"Is Miss Henley here, now?"

"You can't see her--she's engaged. "

She was not engaged with Mrs. Vimpany, for no such person was known inthe house. She was not engaged with the doctor, for the doctor had goneout. Mountjoy looked at the hat-stand in the passage, and discovered aman's hat and a man's greatcoat. To whom did they belong? Certainly notto Mr. Vimpany, who had gone out. Repellent as it was, Mr. Henley'sidea that the explanation of his daughter's conduct was to be found inthe renewed influence over her of the Irish lord, now presented itselfto Hugh's mind under a new point of view. He tried in vain to resistthe impression that had been produced on him. A sense of injury, whichhe was unable to justify to himself, took possession of him. Come whatmight of it, he determined to set at rest the doubts of which he wasashamed, by communicating with Iris. His card-case proved to be emptywhen he opened it; but there were letters in his pocket, addressed tohim at his hotel in London. Removing the envelope from one of these, hehanded it to the servant: "Take that to Miss Henley, and ask when I cansee her. "

The girl left him in the passage, and went upstairs to thedrawing-room. 

In the flimsily-built little house, he could hear the heavy step of aman, crossing the room above, and then the resonant tones of a man'svoice raised as if in anger. Had she given him already the right to beangry with her? He thought of the time, when the betrayal of LordHarry's vindictive purpose in leaving England had frightened her--whenhe had set aside his own sense of what was due to him, for hersake--and had helped her to communicate, by letter, with the man whosefatal ascendency over Iris had saddened his life. Was what he heard, now, the return that he had deserved?

After a short absence, the servant came back with a message. 

"Miss Henley begs you will excuse her. She will write to you. "

Would this promised letter be like the other letters which he hadreceived from her in Scotland? Mountjoy's gentler nature reminded himthat he owed it to his remembrance of happier days, and truerfriendship, to wait and see. 

He was just getting into the cab, on his return to London, when aclosed carriage, with one person in it, passed him on its way toRedburn Road. In that person he recognised Mr. Henley. As thecab-driver mounted to his seat, Hugh saw the carriage stop at NumberFive. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE PARTING SCENE

THE evening had advanced, and the candles had just been lit inMountjoy's sitting-room at the hotel. 

His anxiety to hear from Iris had been doubled and trebled, since hehad made the discovery of her father's visit to the doctor's house, ata time when it was impossible to doubt that Lord Harry was with her. Hugh's jealous sense of wrong was now mastered by the nobler emotionswhich filled him with pity and alarm, when he thought of Iris placedbetween the contending claims of two such men as the heartless Mr. Henley and the reckless Irish lord. He had remained at the hotel, through the long afternoon, on the chance that she might write to himspeedily by the hand of a messenger--and no letter had arrived. He wasstill in expectation of news which might reach him by the evening post, when the waiter knocked at the door. 

"A letter?" Mountjoy asked. 

"No, sir, " the man answered; "a lady. "

Before she could raise her veil, Hugh had recognised Iris. Her mannerwas subdued; her face was haggard; her hand lay cold and passive in hishand, when he advanced to bid her welcome. He placed a chair for her bythe fire. She thanked him and declined to take it. With the air of awoman conscious of committing an intrusion, she seated herself apart ina corner of the room. 

"I have tried to write to you, and I have not been able to do it. " Shesaid that with a dogged resignation of tone and manner, so unlikeherself that Mountjoy looked at her in dismay. "My friend, " she wenton, "your pity is all I may hope for; I am no longer worthy of theinterest you once felt in me. "

Hugh saw that it would be useless to remonstrate. He asked if it hadbeen his misfortune to offend her. 

"No, " she said, "you have not offended me. "

"Then what in Heaven's name does this change in you mean?"

"It means, " she said, as coldly as ever, "that I have lost myself-respect; it means that my father has renounced me, and that youwill do well to follow his example. Have I not led you to believe thatI could never be the wife of Lord Harry? Well, I have deceived you---Iam going to marry him. "

"I can't believe it, Iris! I won't believe it!"

She handed him the letter, in which the Irishman had declared hisresolution to destroy himself. Hugh read it with contempt. "Did mylord's heart fail him?" he asked scornfully. 

"He would have died by his own hand, Mr. Mountjoy----"

"Oh, Iris--_'Mr. !'"_

"I will say 'Hugh, ' if you prefer it--but the days of our familiarfriendship are none the less at an end. I found Lord Harry bleeding todeath from a wound in his throat. It was in a lonely place on HampsteadHeath; I was the one person who happened to pass by it. For the thirdtime, you see, it has been my destiny to save him. How can I forgetthat? My mind will dwell on it. I try to find happiness--oh, onlyhappiness enough for me--in cheering my poor Irishman, on his way backto the life that I have preserved. There is my motive, if I have amotive. Day after day I have helped to nurse him. Day after day I haveheard him say things to me--what is the use of repeating them? Afteryears of resistance I have given way; let that be enough. My one act ofdiscretion has been to prevent a quarrel between my father and Harry. Ibeg your pardon, I ought to have said Lord Harry. When my father cameto the house, I insisted on speaking with him alone. I told him what Ihave just told you. He said: 'Think again before you make your choicebetween that man and me. If you decide to marry him, you will live anddie without one farthing of my money to help you. ' He put his watch onthe table between us, and gave me five minutes to make up my mind. Itwas a long five minutes, but it ended at last. He asked me which he wasto do--leave his will as it was, or go to his lawyer and make another. I said, 'You will do as you please, sir. ' No; it was not a hastyreply--you can't make that excuse for me. I knew what I was saying; andI saw the future I was preparing for myself, as plainly as you seeit--"

Hugh could endure no longer the reckless expression of her despair. 

"No!" he cried, "you don't see your future as I see it. Will you hearwhat I have to say, before it is too late?"

"It is too late already. But I will listen to you if you wish it. "

"And, while you listen, " Mountjoy added, "you will acquit me of beinginfluenced by a selfish motive. I have loved you dearly. Perhaps, insecret, I love you still. But, this I know: if you were to remain asingle woman for the rest of your life, there would be no hope for Me. Do you believe that I am speaking the truth?"

"You always speak the truth. "

"I speak in your interest, at least. You think you see your future lifeplainly--you are blind to your future life. You talk as if you wereresigned to suffer. Are you resigned to lose your sense of right andwrong? Are you resigned to lead the life of an outlaw, and--worsestill--not to feel the disgrace of it?"

"Go on, Hugh. "

"You won't answer me?"

"I won't shock you. "

"You don't discourage me, my dear; I am still obstinate in the hope ofrestoring you to your calmer and truer self. Let me do every justice toLord Harry. I believe, sincerely believe, that his miserable life hasnot utterly destroyed in him the virtues which distinguish anhonourable man. But he has one terrible defect. In his nature, there isthe fatal pliability which finds companionable qualities in badfriends. In this aspect of his character, he is a dangerous man--and hemay be (forgive me!) a bad husband. It is a thankless task to warn youto any good purpose. A wife--and a loving wife more than another--feelsthe deteriorating influence of a husband who is not worthy of her. Hisways of thinking are apt to become, little by little, her ways ofthinking. She makes allowances for him, which he does not deserve; hersense of right and wrong becomes confused; and before she is aware ofit herself, she has sunk to his level. Are you angry with me?"

"How can I be angry with you? Perhaps you are right. "

"Do you really mean that?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Then, for God's sake, reconsider your decision! Let me go to yourfather. "

"Mere waste of time, " Iris answered. "Nothing that you can say willhave the least effect on him. "

"At any rate, " Mountjoy persisted, "I mean to try. "

Had he touched her? She smiled--how bitterly Hugh failed to perceive. 

"Shall I tell you what happened to me when I went home to-day?" shesaid. "I found my maid waiting in the hall--with everything thatbelongs to me, packed up for my departure. The girl explained that shehad been forced to obey my father's positive orders. I knew what thatmeant--I had to leave the house, and find a place to live in. "

"Not by yourself, Iris?"

"No--with my maid. She is a strange creature; if she feels sympathy, she never expresses it. 'I am your grateful servant, Miss. Where yougo, I go. ' That was all she said; I was not disappointed--I am gettingused to Fanny Mere already. Mine is a lonely lot--isn't it? I haveacquaintances among the few ladies who sometimes visit at my father'shouse, but no friends. My mother's family, as I have always been told, cast her off when she married a man in trade, with a doubtfulreputation. I don't even know where my relations live. Isn't Lord Harrygood enough for me, as I am now? When I look at my prospects, is itwonderful if I talk like a desperate woman? There is but oneencouraging circumstance that I can see. This misplaced love of minethat everybody condemns has, oddly enough, a virtue that everybody mustadmire. It offers a refuge to a woman who is alone in the world. "

Mountjoy denied indignantly that she was alone in the world. 

"Is there any protection that a man can offer to a woman, " he asked, "which I am not ready and eager to offer to You? Oh, Iris, what have Idone to deserve that you should speak of yourself as friendless in myhearing!"

He had touched her at last. Their tender charm showed itself once morein her eyes and in her smile. She rose and approached him. 

"What exquisite kindness it must be, " she said, "that blinds a cleverman like you to obstacles which anyone else can see! Remember, dearHugh, what the world would say to that protection which your true heartoffers to me. Are you my near relation? are you my guardian? are youeven an old man? Ah me! you are only an angel of goodness whom I mustsubmit to lose. I shall still count on your kindness when we see eachother no more. You will pity me, when you hear that I have fallen lowerand lower; you will be sorry for me, when I end in disgracing myself. "

"Even then, Iris, we shall not be separated. The loving friend who isnear you now, will be your loving friend still. "

For the first time in her life, she threw her arms round him. In theagony of that farewell, she held him to her bosom. "Goodbye, dear, " shesaid faintly--and kissed him. 

The next moment, a deadly pallor overspread her face. She staggered asshe drew back, and dropped into the chair that she had just left. Inthe fear that she might faint, Mountjoy hurried out in search of arestorative. His bed-chamber was close by, at the end of the corridor;and there were smelling-salts in his dressing-case. As he raised thelid, he heard the door behind him, the one door in the room, lockedfrom the outer side. 

He rushed to the door, and called to her. From the farther end of thecorridor, her voice reached him for the last time, repeating the lastmelancholy word: "Good-bye. " No renewal of the miserable parting scene:no more of the heartache--Iris had ended it!

CHAPTER XXII

THE FATAL WORDS

WHEN Mountjoy had rung for the servant, and the bedroom door had beenunlocked, it was too late to follow the fugitive. Her cab was waitingfor her outside; and the attention of the porter had been distracted, at the same time, by a new arrival of travellers at the hotel. 

It is more or less in the nature of all men who are worthy of the name, to take refuge from distress in action. Hugh decided on writing toIris, and on making his appeal to her father, that evening. Heabstained from alluding, in his letter, to the manner in which she hadleft him; it was her right, it was even her duty to spare herself. Allthat he asked was to be informed of her present place of residence, sothat he might communicate the result--in writing only if she preferredit--of his contemplated interview with her father. He addressed hisletter to the care of Mr. Vimpany, to be forwarded, and posted ithimself. 

This done, he went on at once to Mr. Henley's house. 

The servant who opened the door had evidently received his orders. Mr. Henley was "not at home. " Mountjoy was in no humour to be trifled with. He pushed the man out of his way, and made straight for thedining-room. There, as his previous experience of the habits of thehousehold had led him to anticipate, was the man whom he was determinedto see. The table was laid for Mr. Henley's late dinner. 

Hugh's well-meant attempt to plead the daughter's cause with the fatherended as Iris had said it would end. 

After hotly resenting the intrusion on him that had been committed, Mr. Henley declared that a codicil to his will, depriving his daughterabsolutely of all interest in his property, had been legally executedthat day. For a time, Mountjoy's self-control had resisted the mostmerciless provocation. All that it was possible to effect, by patiententreaty and respectful remonstrance, he had tried again and again, andinvariably in vain. At last, Mr. Henley's unbridled insolencetriumphed. Hugh lost his temper--and, in leaving the heartless old man, used language which he afterwards remembered with regret. 

To feel that he had attempted to assert the interests of Iris, and thathe had failed, was, in Hugh's heated state of mind, an irresistiblestimulant to further exertion. It was perhaps not too late yet to makeanother attempt to delay (if not to prevent) the marriage. 

In sheer desperation, Mountjoy resolved to inform Lord Harry that hisunion with Miss Henley would be followed by the utter ruin of herexpectations from her father. Whether the wild lord only considered hisown interests, or whether he was loyally devoted to the interests ofthe woman whom he loved, in either case the penalty to be paid for themarriage was formidable enough to make him hesitate. 

The lights in the lower window, and in the passage, told Hugh that hehad arrived in good time at Redburn Road. 

He found Mr. Vimpany and the young Irishman sitting together, in thefriendliest manner, under the composing influence of tobacco. Primed, as he would have said himself, with only a third glass of grog, thehospitable side of the doctor's character was displayed to view. He atonce accepted Mountjoy's visit as offering a renewal of friendlyrelations between them. 

"Forgive and forget, " he said, "there's the way to settle that littlemisunderstanding, after our dinner at the inn. You know Mr. Mountjoy, my lord? That's right. Draw in your chair, Mountjoy. My professionalprospects threaten me with ruin--but while I have a roof over my head, there's always a welcome for a friend. My dear fellow, I have everyreason to believe that the doctor who sold me this practice was aswindler. The money is gone, and the patients don't come. Well! I amnot quite bankrupt yet; I can offer you a glass of grog. Mix foryourself--we'll make a night of it. "

Hugh explained (with the necessary excuses) that his object was to saya few words to Lord Harry in private. The change visible in thedoctor's manner, when he had been made acquainted with thiscircumstance, was not amiably expressed; he had the air of a man whosuspected that an unfair advantage had been taken of him. Lord Harry, on his side, appeared to feel some hesitation in granting a privateinterview to Mr. Mountjoy. 

"Is it about Miss Henley?" he asked. 

Hugh admitted that it was. Lord Harry thereupon suggested that theymight be acting wisely if they avoided the subject. Mountjoy answeredthat there were, on the contrary, reasons for approaching the subjectsufficiently important to have induced him to leave London forHampstead at a late hour of the night. 

Hearing this, Lord Harry rose to lead the way to another room. Excludedfrom his visitor's confidence, Mr. Vimpany could at least remindMountjoy that he exercised authority as master of the house. "Oh, takehim upstairs, my lord, " said the doctor; "you are at home under myhumble roof!"

The two young men faced each other in the barely-furnisheddrawing-room; both sufficiently doubtful of the friendly result of theconference to abstain from seating themselves. Hugh came to the point, without wasting time in preparatory words. Admitting that he had heardof Miss Henley's engagement, he asked if Lord Harry was aware of thedisastrous consequences to the young lady which would follow hermarriage. The reply to this was frankly expressed. The Irish lord knewnothing of the consequences to which Mr. Mountjoy had alluded. Hugh atonce enlightened him, and evidently took him completely by surprise. 

"May I ask, sir, " he said, "if you are speaking from your own personalknowledge?"

"I have just come, my lord, from Mr. Henley's house; and what I havetold you, I heard from his own lips. "

There was a pause. Hugh was already inclined to think that he hadraised an obstacle to the immediate celebration of the marriage. Aspeedy disappointment was in store for him. Lord Harry was too fond ofIris to be influenced, in his relations with her, by mercenaryconsiderations. 

"You put it strongly, " he said. "But let me tell you, Miss Henley isfar from being so dependent on her father--he ought to be ashamed ofhimself, but that's neither here nor there--I say, she is far frombeing so dependent on her father as you seem to think. I am not, I begto inform you, without resources which I shall offer to her with all myheart and soul. Perhaps you wish me to descend to particulars? Oh, it'seasily done; I have sold my cottage in Ireland. "

"For a large sum--in these times?" Hugh inquired. 

"Never mind the sum, Mr. Mountjoy--let the fact be enough for you. And, while we are on the question of money (a disgusting question, withwhich I refuse to associate the most charming woman in existence), don't forget that Miss Henley has an income of her own; derived, as Iunderstand, from her mother's fortune, You will do me the justice, sir, to believe that I shall not touch a farthing of it. "

"Certainly! But her mother's fortune, " Mountjoy continued, obstinatelypresenting the subject on its darkest side, "consists of shares in aCompany. Shares rise and fall--and Companies some times fail. "

"And a friend's anxiety about Miss Henley's affairs sometimes takes amighty disagreeable form, " the Irishman added, his temper beginning toshow itself without disguise. "Let's suppose the worst that can happen, and get all the sooner to the end of a conversation which is far frombeing agreeable to me. We'll say, if you like, that Miss Henley'sshares are waste paper, and her pockets (God bless her!) as empty aspockets can be, does she run any other risk that occurs to youringenuity in becoming my wife?"

"Yes, she does!" Hugh was provoked into saying. "In the case you havejust supposed, she runs the risk of being left a destitute widow--ifyou die. "

He was prepared for an angry reply--for another quarrel added, on thatdisastrous night, to the quarrel with Mr. Henley. To his astonishment, Lord Harry's brightly-expressive eyes rested on him with a look ofmingled distress and alarm. "God forgive me!" he said to himself, "Inever thought of that! What am I to do? what am I to do?"

Mountjoy observed that deep discouragement, and failed to understandit. 

Here was a desperate adventurer, whose wanderings had over and overagain placed his life in jeopardy, now apparently overcome by merelyhaving his thoughts directed to the subject of death! To place on thecircumstances such a construction as this was impossible, after amoment's reflection. The other alternative was to assume that theremust be some anxiety burdening Lord Harry's mind, which he had motivesfor keeping concealed--and here indeed the true explanation had beenfound. The Irish lord had reasons, known only to himself, for recoilingfrom the contemplation of his own future. After the murder of ArthurMountjoy, he had severed his connection with the assassinatingbrotherhood of the Invincibles; and he had then been warned that hetook this step at the peril of his life, if he remained in GreatBritain after he had made himself an object of distrust to hiscolleagues. The discovery, by the secret tribunal, of his return fromSouth Africa would be followed inevitably by the sentence of death. Such was the terrible position which Mountjoy's reply had ignorantlyforced him to confront. His fate depended on the doubtful security ofhis refuge in the doctor's house. 

While Hugh was still looking at him, in grave doubt, a new idea seemedto spring to life in Lord Harry's mind. He threw off the oppressionthat had weighed on his spirits in an instant. His manner towardsMountjoy changed, with the suddenness of a flash of light, from theextreme of coldness to the extreme of cordiality. 

"I have got it at last!" he exclaimed. "Let's shake hands. My dear sir, you're the best friend I have ever had!"

The cool Englishman asked: "In what way?"

"In this way, to be sure! You have reminded me that I can provide forMiss Henley--and the sooner the better. There's our friend the doctordown-stairs, ready to be my reference. Don't you see it?"

Obstacles that might prevent the marriage Mountjoy was ready enough tosee. Facilities that might hasten the marriage found his mind hard ofaccess to new impressions. 

"Are you speaking seriously?" he said. 

The Irishman's irritable temper began to show itself again. 

"Why do you doubt it?" he asked. 

"I fail to understand you, " Mountjoy replied. 

Never--as events were yet to prove--had words of such serious importfallen from Lord Harry's lips as the words that he spoke next. 

"Clear your mind of jealousy, " he said, "and you will understand mewell enough. I agree with you that I am bound to provide for mywidow--and I mean to do it by insuring my life. "

THE END OF THE SECOND PERIOD

THIRD PERIOD

CHAPTER XXIII

NEWS OF IRIS

AFTER his interview with the Irish lord, Mountjoy waited for two days, in the expectation of hearing from Iris. No reply arrived. Had Mr. Vimpany failed to forward the letter that had been entrusted to him?

On the third day, Hugh wrote to make inquiries. 

The doctor returned the letter that had been confided to his care, andcomplained in his reply of the ungrateful manner in which he had beentreated. Miss Henley had not trusted him with her new address inLondon; and Lord Harry had suddenly left Redburn Road; bidding his hostgoodbye in a few lines of commonplace apology, and nothing more. Mr. Vimpany did not deny that he had been paid for his medical services;but, he would ask, was nothing due to friendship? Was one man justifiedin enjoying another man's hospitality, and then treating him like astranger? "I have done with them both--and I recommend you, my dearsir, to follow my example. " In those terms the angry (and sober) doctorexpressed his sentiments, and offered his advice. 

Mountjoy laid down the letter in despair. 

His last poor chance of preventing the marriage depended on his beingstill able to communicate with Iris--and she was as completely lost tohim as if she had taken flight to the other end of the world. It mighthave been possible to discover her by following the movements of LordHarry, but he too had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. The precious hours and days were passing--and Hugh was absolutelyhelpless. 

Tortured by anxiety and suspense, he still lingered at the hotel inLondon. More than once, he decided on giving up the struggle, andreturning to his pretty cottage in Scotland. More than once, hedeferred taking the journey. At one time, he dreaded to hear that Iriswas married, if she wrote to him. At another time, he felt mortifiedand disappointed by the neglect which her silence implied. Was she nearhim, or far from him? In England, or out of England? Who could say!

After more weary days of waiting and suffering a letter arrived, addressed to Mountjoy in a strange handwriting, and bearing thepost-mark of Paris. The signature revealed that his correspondent wasLord Harry. 

His first impulse was to throw the letter into the fire, unread. Therecould be little doubt, after the time that had passed, of theinformation that it would contain. Could he endure to be told of themarriage of Iris, by the man who was her husband? Never! There wassomething humiliating in the very idea of it. He arrived at thatconclusion--and what did he do in spite of it? He read the letter. 

Lord Harry wrote with scrupulous politeness of expression. He regrettedthat circumstances had prevented him from calling on Mr. Mountjoy, before he left England. After the conversation that had taken place atMr. Vimpany's house, he felt it his duty to inform Mr. Mountjoy that hehad insured his life--and, he would add, for a sum of money amply, andmore than amply, sufficient to provide for his wife in the event of hersurviving him. Lady Harry desired her kind regards, and would writeimmediately to her old and valued friend. In the meantime, he wouldconclude by repeating the expression of his sense of obligation to Mr. Mountjoy. 

Hugh looked back at the first page of the letter, in search of thewriter's address. It was simply, "Paris. " The intention to prevent anyfurther correspondence, or any personal communication, could hardlyhave been more plainly implied. In another moment, the letter was inthe fire. 

In two days more, Hugh heard from Iris. 

She, too, wrote regretfully of the sudden departure from England;adding, however, that it was her own doing. A slip of the tongue, onLord Harry's part, in the course of conversation, had led her to fearthat he was still in danger from political conspirators with whom hehad imprudently connected himself. She had accordingly persuaded him totell her the whole truth, and had thereupon insisted on an immediatedeparture for the Continent. She and her husband were now living inParis; Lord Harry having friends in that city whose influence mightprove to be of great importance to his pecuniary prospects. Somesentences followed, expressing the writer's grateful remembrance of allthat she had owed to Hugh in past days, and her earnest desire thatthey might still hear of each other, from time to time, bycorrespondence. She could not venture to anticipate the pleasure ofreceiving a visit from him, under present circumstances. But, she hopedthat he would not object to write to her, addressing his letters, forthe present, to post-restante. 

In a postscript a few words were added, alluding to Mr. Vimpany. Hughwas requested not to answer any inquiries which that bad man mightventure to make, relating to her husband or to herself. In the bygonedays, she had been thankful to the doctor for the care which he hadtaken, medically speaking, of Rhoda Bonnet. But, since that time, hisbehaviour to his wife, and the opinions which he had expressed infamiliar conversation with Lord Harry, had convinced her that he was anunprincipled person. All further communication with him (if herinfluence could prevent it) must come to an end. 

Still as far as ever from feeling reconciled to the marriage, Mountjoyread this letter with a feeling of resentment which disinclined him toanswer it. 

He believed (quite erroneously) that Iris had written to him under thesuperintendence of her husband. There were certain phrases which hadbeen, as he chose to suspect, dictated by Lord Harry's distrust--jealousdistrust, perhaps--of his wife's friend. Mountjoy would wait toreply, until, as he bitterly expressed it, Iris was able to write tohim without the assistance of her master. 

Again he thought of returning to Scotland--and, again, he hesitated. 

On this occasion, he discovered objections to the cottage which had notoccurred to him while Iris was a single woman. The situation wassolitary; his nearest neighbours were fishermen. Here and there, atsome little distance, there were only a few scattered houses inhabitedby retired tradesmen. Further away yet, there was the country-seat ofan absent person of distinction, whose health suffered in the climateof Scotland. The lonely life in prospect, on the shores of the Solway, now daunted Mountjoy for the first time. 

He decided on trying what society in London would do to divert his mindfrom the burdens and anxieties that weighed on it. Acquaintances whomhe had neglected were pleasantly surprised by visits from their richand agreeable young friend. He attended dinner parties; he roused hopein mothers and daughters by accepting invitations to balls; hereappeared at his club. Was there any relief to his mind in this? wasthere even amusement? No; he was acting a part, and he found it a hardtask to keep up appearances. After a brief and brilliant interval, society knew him no more. 

Left by himself again, he enjoyed one happy evening in London. It wasthe evening on which he relented, in spite of himself, and wrote toIris. 

CHAPTER XXIV

LORD HARRY'S HONEYMOON

THE next day, Hugh received a visit from the last person in the littleworld of his acquaintance whom he expected to see. The lost Mrs. Vimpany presented herself at the hotel. 

She looked unnaturally older since Mountjoy had last seen her. Herartificial complexion was gone. The discarded rouge that had onceoverlaid her cheeks, through a long succession of years, had left thetexture of the skin coarse, and had turned the colour of it to a dullyellowish tinge. Her hair, once so skilfully darkened, was nowpermitted to tell the truth, and revealed the sober colouring of age, in gray. The lower face had fallen away in substance; and even thepenetrating brightness of her large dark eyes was a little dimmed. Allthat had been left in her of the attractions of past days, owed itsvital preservation to her stage training. Her suave grace of movement, and the deep elocutionary melody of her voice, still identified Mrs. Vimpany--disguised as she was in a dress of dull brown, shorn withoutmercy of the milliner's hideous improvements to the figure. "Will youshake hands with me, Mr. Mountjoy?" Those were the first words she saidto him, in a sad subdued manner, on entering the room. 

"Why not?" Hugh asked, giving her his hand. 

"You can have no very favourable remembrance of me, " she answered. "ButI hope to produce a better impression--if you can spare me a little ofyour time. You may, or may not, have heard of my separation from myhusband. Anyway, it is needless to trouble you on the subject; you knowMr. Vimpany; you can guess what I have suffered, and why I have lefthim. If he comes to you, I hope you will not tell him where Lady Harryis. "--

Hugh interposed: "Pray don't speak of her by that name! Call her'Iris, ' as I do. "

A faint reflection of the old stage-smile trembled on Mrs. Vimpany'sworn and weary face. 

"Ah, Mr. Mountjoy, I know whom she ought to have married! The worstenemy of women is their ignorance of men--and they only learn to knowbetter, when it is too late. I try to be hopeful for Iris, in the timeto come, but my fears conquer me. "

She paused, sighed, and pressed her open hand on her bosom;unconsciously betraying in that action some of the ineradicabletraining of the theatre. 

"I am almost afraid to say that I love Iris, " she resumed; "but this Iknow; if I am not so bad as I once was, I owe it to that dearest andsweetest of women! But for the days that I passed in her company, Imight never have tried to atone for my past life by works of mercy. When other people take the way of amendment, I wonder whether they findit as hard to follow, at first, as I did?"

"There is no doubt of it, Mrs. Vimpany--if people are sincere. Bewareof the sinners who talk of sudden conversion and perfect happiness. MayI ask how you began your new life?"

"I began unhappily, Mr. Mountjoy--I joined a nursing Sisterhood. Beforelong, a dispute broke out among them. Think of women who callthemselves Christians, quarrelling about churches and churchservices--priest's vestments and attitudes, and candles and incense! Ileft them, and went to a hospital, and found the doctors betterChristians than the Sisters. I am not talking about my own poor self(as you will soon see) without a reason. My experience in the hospitalled to other things. I nursed a lady through a tedious illness, and wastrusted to take her to some friends in the south of France. On myreturn, I thought of staying for a few days in Paris--it was anopportunity of seeing how the nurses did their work in the Frenchhospitals. And, oh, it was far more than that! In Paris, I found Irisagain. "

"By accident?" Hugh asked. 

"I am not sure, " Mrs. Vimpany answered, "that there are such things asmeetings by accident. She and her husband were among the crowds ofpeople on the Boulevards, who sit taking their coffee in view of theother crowds, passing along the street. I went by, without noticingthem. _She_ saw me, and sent Lord Harry to bring me back. I have beenwith them every day, at her invitation, from that time to this; and Ihave seen their life. "

She stopped, noticing that Hugh grew restless. "I am in doubt, " shesaid, "whether you wish to hear more of their life in Paris. "

Mountjoy at once controlled himself. 

"Go on, " he said quietly. 

"Even if I tell you that Iris is perfectly happy?"

"Go on, " Hugh repeated. 

"May I confess, " she resumed, "that her husband is irresistible--notonly to his wife, but even to an old woman like me? After having knownhim for years at his worst, as well as at his best, I am still foolishenough to feel the charm of his high spirits and his delightfulgood-humour. Sober English people, if they saw him now, would almostthink him a fit subject to be placed under restraint. One of his wildIrish ideas of expressing devotion to his wife is, that they shallforget they are married, and live the life of lovers. When they dine ata restaurant, he insists on having a private room. He takes her topublic balls, and engages her to dance with him for the whole evening. When she stays at home and is a little fatigued, he sends me to thepiano, and whirls her round the room in a waltz. 'Nothing revives awoman, ' he says, 'like dancing with the man she loves. ' When she is outof breath, and I shut up the piano, do you know what he does? Heactually kisses Me--and says he is expressing his wife's feeling for mewhen she is not able to do it herself! He sometimes dines out with men, and comes back all on fire with the good wine, and more amiable thanever. On these occasions his pockets are full of sweetmeats, stolen for'his angel' from the dessert. 'Am I a little tipsy?' he asks. 'Oh, don't be angry; it's all for love of you. I have been in the highestsociety, my darling; proposing your health over and over and overagain, and drinking to you deeper than all the rest of the company. Youdon't blame me? Ah, but I blame myself. I was wrong to leave you, anddine with men. What do I want with the society of men, when I have yoursociety? Drinking your health is a lame excuse. I will refuse allinvitations for the future that don't include my wife. ' And--mind!--hereally means it, at the time. Two or three days later, he forgets hisgood resolutions, and dines with the men again, and comes home withmore charming excuses, and stolen sweetmeats, and good resolutions. Iam afraid I weary you, Mr. Mountjoy?"

"You surprise me, " Hugh replied. "Why do I hear all this of LordHarry?"

Mrs. Vimpany left her chair. The stage directions of other days hadaccustomed her to rise, when the character she played had anythingserious to say. Her own character still felt the animating influence ofdramatic habit: she rose now, and laid her hand impressively onMountjoy's shoulder. 

"I have not thoughtlessly tried your patience, " she said. "Now that Iam away from the influence of Lord Harry, I can recall my formerexperience of him: and I am afraid I can see the end that is coming. Hewill drift into bad company; he will listen to bad advice; and he willdo things in the future which he might shrink from doing now. When thattime comes, I fear him! I fear him!"

"When that time comes, " Hugh repeated, "if I have any influence leftover his wife, he shall find her capable of protecting herself. Willyou give me her address in Paris?

"Willingly--if you will promise not to go to her till she really needsyou?"

"Who is to decide when she needs me?"

"I am to decide, " Mrs. Vimpany answered; "Iris writes to meconfidentially. If anything happens which she may be unwilling to trustto a letter, I believe I shall hear of it from her maid. "

"Are you sure the maid is to be relied on?" Mountjoy interposed. 

"She is a silent creature, so far as I know anything of her, " Mrs. Vimpany admitted; "and her manner doesn't invite confidence. But I havespoken with Fanny Mere; I am satisfied that she is true to her mistressand grateful to her mistress in her own strange way. If Iris is in anydanger, I shall not be left in ignorance of it. Does this incline youto consult with me, before you decide on going to Paris? Don't stand onceremony; say honestly, Yes or No. "

Honestly, Hugh said Yes. 

He was at once trusted with the address of Iris. At the same time, Mrs. Vimpany undertook that he should know what news she received from Parisas soon as she knew it herself. On that understanding they parted, forthe time being. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE DOCTOR IN DIFFICULTIES

SLOWLY the weeks passed. Strictly Mrs. Vimpany kept her promise. 

When she heard from Iris the letter was always sent to Hugh, to bereturned after he had read it. Events in the lives of the newly-marriedpair, many of which pointed to the end that Mrs. Vimpany saw anddreaded, were lightly, sometimes jestingly, related by the young wife. Her blind belief in her husband, sincerely asserted in the earlier partof the correspondence, began to betray, in her later letters, signs ofself delusion. It was sad indeed to see that bright intelligencerendered incapable of conceiving suspicions, which might have occurredto the mind of a child. 

When the latest news from Paris followed, in due course, Mountjoy wasinformed of it by a note from Mrs. Vimpany expressed in these terms:

"My last letter from Iris is really no letter at all. It simplyencloses a circular, with her love, and asks me to send it on to you. If it is in your power to make inquiries in the right quarter, I amsure you will not hesitate to take the trouble. There can be littledoubt, as I think, that Lord Harry is engaged in a hazardousspeculation, more deeply than his wife is willing to acknowledge. "

The circular announced the contemplated publication of a weeklynewspaper, printed partly in English, and partly in French, having itschief office in Paris, and being intended to dispute the advantages ofa European circulation with the well-known Continental journal called"Galignani's Messenger. " A first list of contributors included names ofsome notoriety in the literature of England and the literature ofFrance. Speculators who wished to know, in the first place, on whatsecurity they might reckon, were referred to the managing committee, represented by persons of importance in the financial worlds of Londonand Paris. 

Being in a position to make the inquiries which Mrs. Vimpany hadsuggested, Hugh received information which verified the statementscontained in the circular, and vouched for the good faith of thosepersons who were concerned in directing the speculation. So far, sogood. 

But, when the question of success was next discussed, the authoritiesconsulted shook their wise heads. It was impossible to say what lossesmight not be suffered, and what sums of money might not be required, before the circulation of the new journal would justify the hope ofsuccess. This opinion Hugh communicated to Mrs. Vimpany; Iris wasinformed of it by that day's post. 

A longer time than usual elapsed before any further news of Lord Harryand his wife was received by Mountjoy. When he did at last hear againfrom Mrs. Vimpany, she forwarded a letter from Iris dated from a newaddress, in the suburb of Paris called Passy. 

From motives of economy (Iris wrote) her husband had decided on achange of residence. They were just established in their new abode, with the advantages of a saving in rent, a pretty little garden tocultivate, and purer air to breathe than the air of Paris. There theletter ended, without the slightest allusion to the forthcomingnewspaper, or to the opinion that had been pronounced on the prospectsof success. 

In forwarding this letter, Mrs. Vimpany wrote on the blank page asfollows: "I am sorry to add that some disquieting news of my husbandhas reached me. For the present, I will say no more. It is at leastpossible that the report may not be worthy of belief. "

A few days later the report was confirmed, under circumstances whichhad certainly not been foreseen. Mr. Vimpany himself arrived at thehotel, on a visit to Mountjoy. 

Always more or less superior to the amiable weakness of modesty, thedoctor seemed to have risen higher than ever in his own estimation, since Hugh had last seen him. He strutted; he stared confidently atpersons and things; authority was in his voice when he spoke, and loftyindulgence distinguished his manner when he listened. 

"How are you?" he cried with a grand gaiety, as he entered the room. "Fine weather, isn't it, for the time of year? You don't look well. Iwonder whether you notice any change in me?

"You seem to be in good spirits, " Hugh replied, not very cordially. 

"Do I carry my head high?" Mr. Vimpany went on. "When calamity strikesat a man, don't let him cringe and cry for pity--let him hit backagain! Those are my principles. Look at me. Now do look at me. Here Iam, a cultivated person, a member of an honourable profession, a man ofart and accomplishment--stripped of every blessed thing belonging to mebut the clothes I stand up in. Give me your hand, Mountjoy. It's thehand, sir, of a bankrupt. "

"You don't seem to mind it much, " Mountjoy remarked. 

"Why should I mind it?" asked the doctor. "There isn't a medical man inEngland who has less reason to reproach himself than I have. Have Iwasted money in rash speculations? Not a farthing. Have I been foolenough to bet at horse races? My worst enemy daren't say it of me. Whathave I done then? I have toiled after virtue--that's what I have done. Oh, there's nothing to laugh at! When a doctor tries to be the medicalfriend of humanity; when he only asks leave to cure disease, to soothepain, to preserve life--isn't that virtue? And what is my reward? I sitat home, waiting for my suffering fellow-creatures; and the onlyfellow-creatures who come to me are too poor to pay. I have gone myrounds, calling on the rich patients whom I bought when I bought thepractice. Not one of them wanted me. Men, women, and children, were allinexcusably healthy--devil take them! Is it wonderful if a man becomesbankrupt, in such a situation as mine? By Jupiter, I go farther thanthat! I say, a man owes it to himself (as a protest against undeservedneglect) to become a bankrupt. If you will allow me, I'll take achair. "

He sat down with an air of impudent independence and looked round theroom. A little cabinet, containing liqueurs, stood open on thesideboard. Mr. Vimpany got up again. "May I take a friendly liberty?"he said--and helped himself, without waiting for permission. 

Hugh bore with this, mindful of the mistake that he had committed inconsenting to receive the doctor. At the same time, he was sufficientlyirritated to take a friendly liberty on his side. He crossed the roomto the sideboard, and locked up the liqueurs. Mr. Vimpany's brazen faceflushed deeply (not with shame); he opened his lips to say somethingworthy of himself, controlled the impulse, and burst into a boisterouslaugh. He had evidently some favour still to ask. 

"Devilish good!" he broke out cheerfully. "Do you remember thelandlady's claret? Ha! you don't want to tempt me this time. Well!well! to return to my bankruptcy. "

Hugh had heard enough of his visitor's bankruptcy. "I am not one ofyour creditors, " he said. 

Mr. Vimpany made a smart reply: "Don't you be too sure of that. Wait alittle. "

"Do you mean, " Mountjoy asked, "that you have come here to borrow moneyof me?"

"Time---give me time, " the doctor pleaded: "this is not a matter to bedispatched in a hurry; this is a matter of business. You will hardlybelieve it, " he resumed, "but I have actually been in my presentposition, once before. " He looked towards the cabinet of liqueurs. "IfI had the key, " he said, "I should like to try a drop more of your goodCuracoa. You don't see it?"

"I am waiting to hear what your business is, " Hugh replied. 

Mr. Vimpany's pliable temper submitted with perfect amiability. "Quiteright, " he said; "let us return to business. I am a man who possessesgreat fertility of resource. On the last occasion when my creditorspounced on my property, do you think I was discouraged? Nothing of thesort! My regular medical practice had broken down under me. Verywell--I tried my luck as a quack. In plain English, I invented a patentmedicine. The one thing wanting was money enough to advertise it. Falsefriends buttoned up their pockets. You see?"

"Oh, yes; I see. "

"In that case, " Mr. Vimpany continued, "you will not be surprised tohear that I draw on my resources again. You have no doubt noticed thatwe live in an age of amateurs. Amateurs write, paint, compose music, perform on the stage. I, too, am one of the accomplished persons whohave taken possession of the field of Art. Did you observe thephotographic portraits on the walls of my dining-room? They are of mydoing, sir--whether you observed them or not I am one of the handymedical men, who can use the photograph. Not that I mention itgenerally; the public have got a narrow-minded notion that a doctorought to be nothing but a doctor. My name won't appear in a new workthat I am contemplating. Of course, you want to know what my new workis. I'll tell you, in the strictest confidence. Imagine (if you can) aseries of superb photographs of the most eminent doctors in England, with memoirs of their lives written by themselves; published once amonth, price half-a-crown. If there isn't money in that idea, there isno money in anything. Exert yourself, my good friend. Tell me what youthink of it?"

"I don't understand the subject, " Mountjoy replied. "May I ask why youtake _me_ into your confidence?"

"Because I look upon you as my best friend. "

"You are very good. But surely, Mr. Vimpany, you have older friends inyour circle of acquaintance than I am. "

"Not one, " the doctor answered promptly, "whom I trust as I trust you. Let me give you a proof of it. "

"Is the proof in any way connected with money?" Hugh inquired. 

"I call that hard on me, " Mr. Vimpany protested. "No unfriendlyinterruptions, Mountjoy! I offer a proof of kindly feeling. Do you meanto hurt me?"

"Certainly not. Go on. "

"Thank you; a little encouragement goes a long way with me. I havefound a bookseller, who will publish my contemplated work, oncommission. Not a soul has yet seen the estimate of expenses. I proposeto show it to You. "

"Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany. "

"Why quite needless?"

"Because I decline lending you the money. "

"No, no, Mountjoy! You can't really mean that?"

"I do mean it. "

"No!"

"Yes!"

The doctor's face showed a sudden change of expression---a sinister andthreatening change. "Don't drive me into a corner, " he said. "Think ofit again. "

Hugh's capacity for controlling himself gave way at last. 

"Do you presume to threaten me?" he said. "Understand, if you please, that my mind is made up, and that nothing you can say or do will alterit. "

With that declaration he rose from his chair, and waited for Mr. Vimpany's departure. 

The doctor put on his hat. His eyes rested on Hugh, with a look ofdiabolical malice: "The time is not far off, Mr. Mountjoy, when you maybe sorry you refused me. " He said those words deliberately--and tookhis leave. 

Released from the man's presence, Hugh found himself strangelyassociating the interests of Iris with the language--otherwise beneathnotice--which Mr. Vimpany had used on leaving the room. 

In desperate straits for want of money, how would the audaciousbankrupt next attempt to fill his empty purse? If he had, by anychance, renewed his relations with his Irish friend--and such an eventwas at least possible--his next experiment in the art of raising a loanmight take him to Paris. Lord Harry had already ventured on aspeculation which called for an immediate outlay of money, and whichwas only expected to put a profit into his pocket at some futureperiod. In the meanwhile, his resources in money had their limits; andhis current expenses would make imperative demands on an ill-filledpurse. If the temptation to fail in his resolution to respect hiswife's fortune was already trying his fortitude, what better excusecould be offered for yielding than the necessities of an old friend ina state of pecuniary distress?

Looking at the position of Iris, and at the complications whichthreatened it, from this point of view, Mountjoy left the hotel toconsult with Mrs. Vimpany. It rested with her to decide whether thecircumstances justified his departure for Paris. 

CHAPTER XXVI

LONDON AND PARIS

INFORMED of all that Hugh could tell her relating to his interview withher husband, Mrs. Vimpany understood and appreciated his fears for thefuture. She failed, however, to agree with him that he would do well totake the journey to France, under present circumstances. 

"Wait a little longer in London, " she said. "If Iris doesn't write tome in the next few days there will be a reason for her silence; and inthat case (as I have already told you) I shall hear from Fanny Mere. You shall see me when I get a letter from Paris. "

On the last morning in the week, Mrs. Vimpany was announced. The letterthat she brought with her had been written by Fanny Mere. With the penin her hand, the maid's remarkable character expressed itself asstrongly as ever:--

"Madam, --I said I would let you know what goes on here, when I thoughtthere was need of it. There seems to be need now. Mr. Vimpany came tous yesterday. He has the spare bedroom. My mistress says nothing, andwrites nothing. For that reason, I send you the present writing. --Yourhumble servant, F. "

Mountjoy was perplexed by this letter, plain as it was. 

"It seems strange, " he said, "that Iris herself has not written to you. She has never hitherto concealed her opinion of Mr. Vimpany. "

"She is concealing it now, " Mr. Vimpany's wife replied gravely. 

"Do you know why?"

"I am afraid I do. Iris will not hesitate at any sacrifice of herselfto please Lord Harry. She will give him her money when he wants it. Ifhe tells her to alter her opinion of my husband, she will obey him. Hecan shake her confidence in me, whenever he pleases; and he has verylikely done it already. "

"Surely it is time for me to go to her now?" Hugh said. 

"Full time, " Mrs. Vimpany admitted--"if you can feel sure of yourself. In the interests of Iris, can you undertake to be cool and careful?"

"In the interests of Iris, I can undertake anything. "

"One word more, " Mrs. Vimpany continued, "before you take yourdeparture. No matter whether appearances are for him, or against him, be always on your guard with my husband. Let me hear from you while youare away; and don't forget that there is an obstacle between you andIris, which will put even your patience and devotion to a hard trial. "

"You mean her husband?"

"I do. "

There was no more to be said, Hugh set forth on his journey to Paris. 

 * * * * * * *

On the morning after his arrival in the French capital, Mountjoy hadtwo alternatives to consider. He might either write to Iris, and askwhen it would be convenient to her to receive him--or he might presenthimself unexpectedly in the cottage at Passy. Reflection convinced himthat his best chance of placing an obstacle in the way of deceptionwould be to adopt the second alternative, and to take Lord Harry andthe doctor by surprise. 

He went to Passy. The lively French taste had brightened the cottagewith colour: the fair white window curtains were tied withrose-coloured ribbons, the blinds were gaily painted, the chimneys wereornamental, the small garden was a paradise of flowers. When Mountjoyrang the bell, the gate was opened by Fanny Mere. She looked at him ingrave astonishment. 

"Do they expect you?" she asked. 

"Never mind that, " Hugh answered. "Are they at home?"

"They have just finished breakfast, sir. "

"Do you remember my name?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then show me in. "

Fanny opened the door of a room on the ground floor, and announced:"Mr. Mountjoy. "

The two men were smoking; Iris was watering some flowers in the window. Her colour instantly faded when Hugh entered the room. In doubt andalarm, her eyes questioned Lord Harry. He was in his sweetest state ofgood-humour. Urged by the genial impulse of the moment, he set theexample of a cordial reception. "This is an agreeable surprise, indeed, " he said, shaking hands with Mountjoy in his easy amiable way. "It's kind of you to come and see us. " Relieved of anxiety (evidentlywhen she had not expected it), Iris eagerly followed her husband'sexample: her face recovered its colour, and brightened with itsprettiest smile. Mr. Vimpany stood in a corner; his cigar went out: hisown wife would hardly have known him again--he actually presented anappearance of embarrassment! Lord Harry burst out laughing: "Look athim Iris! The doctor is shy for the first time in his life. " The Irishgood-humour was irresistible. The young wife merrily echoed herhusband's laugh. Mr. Vimpany, observing the friendly reception offeredto Hugh, felt the necessity of adapting himself to circumstances. Hecame out of his corner with an apology: "Sorry I misbehaved myself, Mr. Mountjoy, when I called on you in London. Shake hands. No offence--eh?"Iris, in feverish high spirits, mimicked the doctor's coarse tones whenhe repeated his favourite form of excuse. Lord Harry clapped his hands, delighted with his wife's clever raillery: "Ha! Mr. Mountjoy, you don'tfind that her married life has affected her spirits! May I hope thatyou have come here to breakfast? The table is ready as you see"----

"And I have been taking lessons, Hugh, in French ways of cooking eggs, "Iris added; "pray let me show you what I can do. " The doctor chimed infacetiously: "I'm Lady Harry's medical referee; you'll find her Frenchdelicacies half digested for you, sir, before you can open your mouth:signed, Clarence Vimpany, member of the College of Surgeons. "Remembering Mrs. Vimpany's caution, Hugh concealed his distrust of thisoutbreak of hospitable gaiety, and made his excuses. Lord Harryfollowed, with more excuses, on his part. He deplored it--but he wasobliged to go out. Had Mr. Mountjoy met with the new paper which was tobeat "Galiguani" out of the field? The "Continental Herald "--there wasthe title. "Forty thousand copies of the first number have just flownall over Europe; we have our agencies in every town of importance, atevery point of the compass; and, one of the great proprietors, my dearsir, is the humble individual who now addresses you. " His bright eyessparkled with boyish pleasure, as he made that announcement of his ownimportance. If Mr. Mountjoy would kindly excuse him, he had anappointment at the office that morning. "Get your hat, Vimpany. Thefact is our friend here carries a case of consumption in his pocket;consumption of the purse, you understand. I am going to enrol him amongthe contributors to the newspaper. A series of articles (betweenourselves) exposing the humbug of physicians, and asserting with finesatirical emphasis the overstocked state of the medical profession. Ah, well! you'll be glad (won't you?) to talk over old times with Iris. Myangel, show our good friend the 'Continental Herald, ' and mind you keephim here till we get back. Doctor, look alive! Mr. Mountjoy, aurevoir. " They shook hands again heartily. As Mrs. Vimpany hadconfessed, there was no resisting the Irish lord. 

But Hugh's strange experience of that morning was not at an end, yet. 

CHAPTER XXVII

THE BRIDE AT HOME

LEFT alone with the woman whose charm still held him to her, cruelly asshe had tried his devotion by her marriage, Mountjoy found the fluentamiability of the husband imitated by the wife. She, too, when the doorhad hardly closed on Lord Harry, was bent on persuading Hugh that hermarriage had been the happiest event of her life. 

"Will you think the worse of me, " she began, "if I own that I hadlittle expectation of seeing you again?"

"Certainly not, Iris. "

"Consider my situation, " she went on. "When I remember how you tried(oh, conscientiously tried!) to prevent my marriage--how you predictedthe miserable results that would follow, if Harry's life and my lifebecame one--could I venture to hope that you would come here, and judgefor yourself? Dear and good friend, I have nothing to fear from theresult; your presence was never more welcome to me than it is now!"

Whether it was attributable to prejudice on Mountjoy's part, or to keenand just observation, he detected something artificial in the ring ofher enthusiasm; there was not the steady light of truth in her eyes, which he remembered in the past and better days of their companionship. He was a little--just a little--irritated. The temptation to remind herthat his distrust of Lord Harry had once been her distrust too, provedto be more than his frailty could resist. 

"Your memory is generally exact, " he said; "but it hardly serves younow as well as usual. "

"What have I forgotten?"

"You have forgotten the time, my dear, when your opinion was almost asstrongly against a marriage with Lord Harry as mine. "

Her answer was ready on the instant: "Ah, I didn't know him then aswell as I know him now!"

Some men, in Mountjoy's position, might have been provoked into hintingthat there were sides to her husband's character which she had probablynot discovered yet. But Hugh's gentle temper--ruffled for a momentonly--had recovered its serenity. Her friend was her true friend still;he said no more on the subject of her marriage. 

"Old habits are not easily set aside, " he reminded her. "I have been solong accustomed to advise you and help you, that I find myself hopingthere may be some need for my services still. Is there no way in whichI might relieve you of the hateful presence of Mr. Vimpany?"

"My dear Hugh, I wish you had not mentioned Mr. Vimpany. "

Mountjoy concluded that the subject was disagreeable to her. "After theopinion of him which you expressed in your letter to me, " he said, "Iought not to have spoken of the doctor. Pray forgive me. "

Iris looked distressed. "Oh, you are quite mistaken! The poor doctorhas been sadly misjudged; and I"--she shook her head, and sighedpenitently--"and, I, " she resumed, "am one among other people who haveignorantly wronged him. Pray consult my husband. Hear what he can tellyou--and you will pity Mr. Vimpany. The newspaper makes such largedemands on our means that we can do little to help him. With yourrecommendation he might find some employment. "

"He has already asked me to assist him, Iris; and I have refused. Ican't agree with your change of opinion about Mr. Vimpany. "

"Why not? Is it because he has separated from his wife?"

"That is one reason, among many others, " Mountjoy replied. 

"Indeed, indeed you are wrong! Lord Harry has known Mrs. Vimpany foryears, and he says--I am truly sorry to hear it--that the separation isher fault. "

Hugh changed the subject again. The purpose which had mainly inducedhim to leave England had not been mentioned yet. 

Alluding to the newspaper, and to the heavy pecuniary demands made bythe preliminary expenses of the new journal, he reminded Iris thattheir long and intimate friendship permitted him to feel some interestin her affairs. "I won't venture to express an opinion, " he added; "letme only ask if Lord Harry's investments in this speculation havecompelled him to make some use of your little fortune?"

"My husband refused to touch my fortune, " Iris answered. "But"--Shepaused, there. "Do you know how honourably, how nobly, he has behaved?"she abruptly resumed. "He has insured his life: he has burdened himselfwith the payment of a large sum of money every year. And all for me, ifI am so unfortunate (which God forbid!) as to survive him. When a largeshare in the newspaper was for sale, do you think I could be ungratefulenough to let him lose the chance of making our fortune, when theprofits begin to come in? I insisted on advancing the money--we almostquarrelled about it--but, you know how sweet he is. I said: 'Don'tdistress me'; and the dearest of men let me have my own way. "

Mountjoy listened in silence. To have expressed what he felt would havebeen only to mortify and offend Iris. Old habit (as he had said) hadmade the idea of devoting himself to her interests the uppermost ideain his mind. He asked if the money had all been spent. Hearing thatsome of it was still left, he resolved on making the attempt to securethe remains of her fortune to herself. 

"Tell me, " he said, "have you ever heard of such a thing as buying anannuity?"

She knew nothing about it. He carefully explained the method by which amoderate sum of money might be made to purchase a sufficient income forlife. She offered no objection, when he proposed to write to his lawyerin London for the necessary particulars. But when he asked her to tellhim what the sum was of which she might be still able to dispose, Irishesitated, and made no reply. 

This time, Hugh arrived at the right conclusion. 

It was only too plain to him that what remained of her moneyrepresented an amount so trifling that she was ashamed to mention it. Of the need for helping her, there could be no doubt now; and, as forthe means, no difficulties presented themselves to Mountjoy--alwaysexcepting the one obstacle likely to be offered by the woman herself. Experience warned him to approach her delicately, by the indirect way. 

"You know me well enough, " he said, "to feel sure that I am incapableof saying anything which can embarrass you, or cause a moment'smisunderstanding between two old friends. Won't you look at me, Iris, when I am speaking to you?"

She still looked away from him. "I am afraid of what you are going tosay to me, " she answered coldly. 

"Then let me say it at once. In one of your letters, written longsince--I don't suppose you remember it--you told me that I was anobstinate man when I once took a thing into my head. You were quiteright. My dear, I have taken it into my head that you will be as readyas ever to accept my advice, and will leave me (as your man ofbusiness) to buy the annuity"--

She stopped him. 

"No, " she cried, "I won't hear a word more! Do you think I aminsensible to years of kindness that I have never deserved? Do youthink I forget how nobly you have forgiven me for those cruel refusalswhich have saddened your life? Is it possible that you expect me toborrow money of You?" She started wildly to her feet. "I declare, asGod hears me, I would rather die than take that base, that shamefuladvantage of all your goodness to me. The woman never lived who owed somuch to a man, as I owe to you--but not money! Oh, my dear, not money!not money!"

He was too deeply touched to be able to speak to her--and she saw it. "What a wretch I am, " she said to herself; "I have made his heartache!"

He heard those words. Still feeling for her--never, never forhimself!--he tried to soothe her. In the passion of her self-reproach, she refused to hear him. Pacing the room from end to end, she fannedthe fiery emotion that was consuming her. Now, she reviled herself inlanguage that broke through the restraints by which good breeding setsits seal on a woman's social rank. And now, again, she lost herselfmore miserably still, and yielded with hysteric recklessness to abitter outburst of gaiety. 

"If you wish to be married happily, " she cried, "never be as fond ofany other woman as you have been of me. We are none of us worth it. Laugh at us, Hugh--do anything but believe in us. We all lie, myfriend. And I have been lying--shamelessly! shamelessly!"

He tried to check her. "Don't talk in that way, Iris, " he said sternly. 

She laughed at him. "Talk?" she repeated. "It isn't that; it's aconfession. "

"I don't desire to hear your confession. "

"You must hear it--you have drawn it out of me. Come! we'll enjoy myhumiliation together. Contradict every word I said to you about thatbrute and blackguard, the doctor--and you will have the truth. Whathorrid inconsistency, isn't it? I can't help myself; I am a wretched, unreasonable creature; I don't know my own mind for two days together, and all through my husband--I am so fond of him; Harry is delightfullyinnocent; he's like a nice boy; he never seemed to think of Mr. Vimpany, till it was settled between them that the doctor was to comeand stay here----and then he persuaded me--oh, I don't know how!--tosee his friend in quite a new light. I believed him--and I believe himstill--I mean I _would_ believe him, but for you. Will you do me afavour? I wish you wouldn't look at me with those eyes that won't lie;I wish you wouldn't speak to me with that voice which finds things out. Oh, good Heavens, do you suppose I would let you think that my husbandis a bad man, and my marriage an unhappy one? Never! If it turns myblood to sit and eat at the same table with Mr. Vimpany, I'm not cruelenough to blame the dear doctor. It's my wickedness that's to blame. Weshall quarrel, if you tell me that Harry is capable of letting a rascalbe his friend. I'm happy; I'm happy; I'm happy!--do you understandthat? Oh, Hugh, I wish you had never come to see me!"

She burst into a passionate fit of weeping, broken down at last underthe terrible strain laid on her. "Let me hide myself!" was all thatIris could say to her old friend--before she ran out of the room, andleft him. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE MAID AND THE KEYHOLE

DEEPLY as she had grieved him, keenly as he felt that his worst fearsfor her threatened already to be realised, it was characteristic ofMountjoy that he still refused to despair of Iris--even with thehusband's influence against him. 

The moral deterioration of her, revealed in the false words that shehad spoken, and in the deceptions that she had attempted, would havejustified the saddest misgivings, but for the voluntary confessionwhich had followed, and the signs which it had shown of the betternature still struggling to assert itself. How could Hugh hope toencourage that effort of resistance to the evil influences that werethreatening her--first and foremost, among them, being the arrival ofVimpany at the cottage? His presence kept her in a state of perpetualcontention, between her own wise instincts which distrusted him, andher husband's authoritative assertions which recommended him to herconfidence. No greater service could be rendered to Iris than theremoval of this man--but how could it be accomplished, without givingoffence to her husband? Mountjoy's mind was still in search of a meansof overcoming the obstacle thus presented, when he heard the door open. Had Iris recovered herself? or had Lord Harry and his friend returned?

The person who now entered the room was the strange and silent maid, Fanny Mere. 

"Can I speak to you, sir?"

"Certainly. What is it?"

"Please give me your address. "

"For your mistress?"

"Yes. "

"Does she wish to write to me?"

"Yes. "

Hugh gave the strange creature the address of his hotel in Paris. For amoment, her eyes rested on him with an expression of steady scrutiny. She opened the door to go out---stopped--considered--came back again. 

"I want to speak for myself, " she said. "Do you care to hear what aservant has to say?"

Mountjoy replied that he was ready to hear what she had to say. She atonce stepped up to him, and addressed him in these words:

"I think you are fond of my mistress?"

An ordinary man might have resented the familiar manner in which shehad expressed herself. Mountjoy waited for what was still to come. Fanny Mere abruptly went on, with a nearer approach to agitation in hermanner than she had shown yet:

"My mistress took me into her service; she trusted me when other ladieswould have shown me the door. When she sent for me to see her, mycharacter was lost; I had nobody to feel for me, nobody to help me. Sheis the one friend who held out a hand to me. I hate the men; I don'tcare for the women. Except one. Being a servant I mustn't say I lovethat one. If I was a lady, I don't know that I should say it. Love iscant; love is rubbish. Tell me one thing. Is the doctor a friend ofyours?"

"The doctor is nothing of the kind. "

"Perhaps he is your enemy?"

"I can hardly say that. "

She looked at Hugh discontentedly. "I want to get at it, " she said. "Why can't we understand each other? Will you laugh at me, if I say thefirst thing that comes into my head? Are you a good swimmer?"

An extraordinary question, even from Fanny Mere. It was putseriously--and seriously Mountjoy answered it. He said that he wasconsidered to be a good swimmer. 

"Perhaps, " she continued, "you have saved people's lives. "

"I have twice been so fortunate as to save lives, " he replied. 

"If you saw the doctor drowning, would you save him? _I_ wouldn't!"

"Do you hate him as bitterly as that?" Hugh asked. 

She passed the question over without notice. "I wish you would help meto get at it, " she persisted. "Suppose you could rid my mistress ofthat man by giving him a kick, would you up with your foot and do it?"

"Yes--with pleasure. "

"Thank you, sir. Now I've got it. Mr. Mountjoy, the doctor is the curseof my mistress's life. I can't bear to see it. If we are not relievedof him somehow, I shall do something wrong. When I wait at table, andsee him using his knife, I want to snatch it out of his hand, and stickit into him. I had a hope that my lord might turn him out of the housewhen they quarrelled. My lord is too wicked himself to do it. For thelove of God, sir, help my mistress--or show me the way how!"

Mountjoy began to be interested. "How do you know, " he asked, "thatLord Harry and the doctor have quarrelled?"

Without the slightest appearance of embarrassment, Fanny Mere informedhim that she had listened at the door, while her master and his friendwere talking of their secrets. She had also taken an opportunity oflooking through the keyhole. "I suppose, sir, " said this curious woman, still speaking quite respectfully, "you have never tried that wayyourself?"

"Certainly not!"

"Wouldn't you do it to serve my mistress?"

"No. "

"And yet, you're fond of her! You are a merciful one--the only mercifulone, so far as I know--among men. Perhaps, if you were frightened abouther, you might be more ready with your help. I wonder whether I canfrighten you? Will you let me try?"

The woman's faithful attachment to Iris pleaded for her with Hugh. "Try, if you like, " he said kindly. 

Speaking as seriously as ever, Fanny proceeded to describe herexperience at the keyhole. What she had seen was not worth relating. What she had heard proved to be more important. 

The talk between my lord and the doctor had been about raising money. They had different notions of how to do that. My lord's plan was toborrow what was wanted, on his life-insurance. The doctor told him hecouldn't do that, till his insurance had been going on for three orfour years at least. "I have something better and bolder to propose, "says Mr. Vimpany. It must have been also something wicked--for hewhispered it in the master's ear. My lord didn't take to it kindly. "How do you think I could face my wife, " he says, "if she discoveredme?" The doctor says: "Don't be afraid of your wife; Lady Harry willget used to many things which she little thought of before she marriedyou. " Says my lord to that: "I have done my best, Vimpany, to improvemy wife's opinion of you. If you say much more, I shall come round toher way of thinking. Drop it!"--"All right, " says the doctor, "I'lldrop it now, and wait to pick it up again till you come to your lastbank note. " There the talk ended for that day---and Fanny would be gladto know what Mr. Mountjoy thought of it. 

"I think you have done me a service, " Hugh replied. 

"Tell me how, sir. "

"I can only tell you this, Fanny. You have shown me how to relieve yourmistress of the doctor. "

For the first time, the maid's impenetrable composure completely failedher. The smouldering fire in Fanny Mere flamed up. She impulsivelykissed Mountjoy's hand. The moment her lips touched it she shrank back:the natural pallor of her face became whiter than ever. Startled by thesudden change, Hugh asked if she was ill. 

She shook her head. 

"It isn't that. Yours is the first man's hand I have kissed, since--"She checked herself. "I beg you won't ask me about it. I only meant tothank you, sir; I do thank you with all my heart--I mustn't stay hereany longer. "

As she spoke the sound of a key was heard, opening the lock of thecottage-door. Lord Harry had returned. 

CHAPTER XXIX

THE CONQUEST OF MR. VIMPANY

THE Irish lord came in--with his medical friend sulkily in attendanceon him. He looked at Fanny, and asked where her mistress was. 

"My lady is in her room, sir. "

Hearing this, he turned sharply to Mountjoy. On the point of speaking, he seemed to think better of it, and went to his wife's room. The maidfollowed. "Get rid of him now, " she whispered to Hugh, glancing at thedoctor. Mr. Vimpany was in no very approachable humour--standing at thewindow, with his hands in his empty pockets, gloomily looking out. ButHugh was not disposed to neglect the opportunity; he ventured to say:"You don't seem to be in such good spirits as usual. "

The doctor gruffly expressed his opinion that Mr. Mountjoy would not beparticularly cheerful, in his place. My lord had taken him to theoffice, on the distinct understanding that he was to earn a littlepocket-money by becoming one of the contributors to the newspaper. Andhow had it ended? The editor had declared that his list of writers wasfull, and begged leave to suggest that Mr. Vimpany should wait for thenext vacancy. A most impertinent proposal! Had Lord Harry--aproprietor, remember--exerted his authority? Not he! His lordship haddropped the doctor "like a hot potato, " and had meanly submitted to hisown servant. What did Mr. Mountjoy think of such conduct as that?

Hugh answered the question, with his own end in view. Paving the wayfor Mr. Vimpany's departure from the cottage at Passy, he made a politeoffer of his services. 

"Can't I help you out of your difficulty?" he said. 

"You!" cried the doctor. "Have you forgotten how you received me, sir, when I asked for a loan at your hotel in London?"

Hugh admitted that he might have spoken hastily. "You took me bysurprise, " he said, "and (perhaps I was mistaken, on my side) I thoughtyou were, to say the least of it, not particularly civil. You didcertainly use threatening language when you left me. No man likes to betreated in that way. "

Mr. Vimpany's big bold eyes stared at Mountjoy in a state ofbewilderment. "Are you trying to make a fool of me?" he asked. 

"I am incapable, Mr. Vimpany, of an act of rudeness towards anybody. "

"If you come to that, " the doctor stoutly declared, "I am incapabletoo. It's plain to me that we have been misunderstanding each other. Wait a bit; I want to go back for a moment to that threatening languagewhich you complained of just now. I was sorry for what I had said assoon as your door was shut on me. On my way downstairs I did think ofturning back and making a friendly apology before I gave you up. Suppose I had done that?" Mr. Vimpany asked, wondering internallywhether Mountjoy was foolish enough to believe him. 

Hugh advanced a little nearer to the design that he had in view. 

"You might have found me more kindly disposed towards you, " he said, "than you had anticipated. "

This encouraging reply cost him an effort. He had stooped to theunworthy practice of perverting what he had said and done on a formeroccasion, to serve a present interest. Remind himself as he might ofthe end which, in the interests of Iris, did really appear to justifythe means, he still sank to a place in his own estimation which he washonestly ashamed to occupy. 

Under other circumstances his hesitation, slight as it was, might haveexcited suspicion. As things were, Mr. Vimpany could only discovergolden possibilities that dazzled his eyes. "I wonder whether you're inthe humour, " he said, "to be kindly disposed towards me now?"

It was needless to be careful of the feelings of such man as this. "Suppose you had the money you want in your pocket, " Hugh suggested, "what would you do with it?"

"Go back to London, to be sure, and publish the first number of thatwork of mine I told you of. "

"And leave your friend, Lord Harry?"

"What good is my friend to me? He's nearly as poor as I am--he sent forme to advise him--I put him up to a way of filling both our pockets, and he wouldn't hear of it. What sort of a friend do you call that?"

Pay him and get rid of him. There was the course of proceedingsuggested by the private counsellor in Mountjoy's bosom. 

"Have you got the publisher's estimate of expenses?" he asked. 

The doctor instantly produced the document. 

To a rich man the sum required was, after all, trifling enough. Mountjoy sat down at the writing-table. As he took up a pen, Mr. Vimpany's protuberant eyes looked as if they would fly out of his head. 

"If I lend you the money--" Hugh began. 

"Yes? Yes?" cried the doctor. 

"I do so on condition that nobody is to know of the loan butourselves. "

"Oh, sir, on my sacred word of honour--" An order on Mountjoy's bankersin Paris for the necessary amount, with something added for travellingexpenses, checked Mr. Vimpany in full career of protestation. He triedto begin again: "My friend! my benefactor--"

He was stopped once more. His friend and benefactor pointed to theclock. 

"If you want the money to-day, you have just time to get to Parisbefore the bank closes. "

Mr. Vimpany did want the money--always wanted the money; his gratitudeburst out for the third time: "God bless you!"

The object of that highly original form of benediction pointed throughthe window in the direction of the railway station. Mr. Vimpanystruggled no longer to express his feelings--he had made his lastsacrifice to appearances--he caught the train. 

The door of the room had been left open. A voice outside said: "Has hegone?"

"Come in, Fanny, " said Mountjoy. "He will return to London eitherto-night or to-morrow morning. "

The strange maid put her head in at the door. "I'll be at theterminus, " she said, "and make sure of him. "

Her head suddenly disappeared, before it was possible to speak to heragain. "Was there some other person outside? The other person enteredthe room; it was Lord Harry. He spoke without his customary smile. 

"I want a word with you, Mr. Mountjoy. "

"About what, my lord?"

That direct question seemed to confuse the Irishman. He hesitated. 

"About you, " he said, and stopped to consider. "And another person, " headded mysteriously. 

Hugh was constitutionally a hater of mysteries. He felt the need of amore definite reply, and asked for it plainly:

"Does your lordship associate that other person with me?"

"Yes, I do. "

"Who is the person?"

"My wife. "

CHAPTER XXX

SAXON AND CELT

WHEN amicable relations between two men happen to be in jeopardy, thereis least danger of an ensuing quarrel if the friendly intercourse hasbeen of artificial growth, on either side. In this case, the promptingsof self-interest, and the laws of politeness, have been animatinginfluences throughout; acting under conditions which assist the effortof self-control. And for this reason: the man who has never reallytaken a high place in our regard is unprovided with those sharpestweapons of provocation, which make unendurable demands on humanfortitude. In a true attachment, on the other hand, there is aninnocent familiarity implied, which is forgetful of ceremony, and blindto consequences. The affectionate freedom which can speak kindlywithout effort is sensitive to offence, and can speak harshly withoutrestraint. When the friend who wounds us has once been associated withthe sacred memories of the heart, he strikes at a tender place, and noconsiderations of propriety are powerful enough to stifle our cry ofrage and pain. The enemies who have once loved each other are thebitterest enemies of all. 

Thus, the curt exchange of question and answer, which had taken placein the cottage at Passy, between two gentlemen artificially friendly toone another, led to no regrettable result. Lord Harry had been tooreadily angry: he remembered what was due to Mr. Mountjoy. Mr. Mountjoyhad been too thoughtlessly abrupt: he remembered what was due to LordHarry. The courteous Irishman bowed, and pointed to a chair. Thewell-bred Englishman returned the polite salute, and sat down. My lordbroke the silence that followed. 

"May I hope that you will excuse me, " he began, "if I walk about theroom? Movement seems to help me when I am puzzled how to put thingsnicely. Sometimes I go round and round the subject, before I get at it. I'm afraid I'm going round and round, now. Have you arranged to make along stay in Paris?"

Circumstances, Mountjoy answered, would probably decide him. 

"You have no doubt been many times in Paris before this, " Lord Harrycontinued. "Do you find it at all dull, now?"

Wondering what he could possibly mean, Hugh said he never found Parisdull--and waited for further enlightenment. The Irish lord persisted:

"People mostly think Paris isn't as gay as it used to be. Not such goodplays and such good actors as they had at one time. The restaurantsinferior, and society very much mixed. People don't stay there as longas they used. I'm told that Americans are getting disappointed, and aretrying London for a change. "

Could he have any serious motive for this irrelevant way of talking? Orwas he, to judge by his own account of himself, going round and roundthe subject of his wife and his guest, before he could get at it?

Suspecting him of jealousy from the first, Hugh failed--naturallyperhaps in his position--to understand the regard for Iris, and thefear of offending her, by which her jealous husband was restrained. Lord Harry was attempting (awkwardly indeed!) to break off therelations between his wife and her friend, by means which might keepthe true state of his feelings concealed from both of them. Ignorant ofthis claim on his forbearance, it was Mountjoy's impression that he wasbeing trifled with. Once more, he waited for enlightenment, and waitedin silence. 

"You don't find my conversation interesting?" Lord Harry remarked, still with perfect good-humour. 

"I fail to see the connection, " Mountjoy acknowledged, "between whatyou have said so far, and the subject on which you expressed yourintention of speaking to me. Pray forgive me if I appear to hurryyou--or if you have any reasons for hesitation. "

Far from being offended, this incomprehensible man really appeared tobe pleased. "You read me like a book!" he exclaimed. "It's hesitationthat's the matter with me. I'm a variable man. If there's somethingdisagreeable to say, there are times when I dash at it, and times whenI hang back. Can I offer you any refreshment?" he asked, getting awayfrom the subject again, without so much as an attempt at concealment. 

Hugh thanked him, and declined. 

"Not even a glass of wine? Such white Burgundy, my dear sir, as youseldom taste. "

Hugh's British obstinacy was roused; he repeated his reply. Lord Harrylooked at him gravely, and made a nearer approach to an open confessionof feeling than he had ventured on yet. 

"With regard now to my wife. When I went away this morning withVimpany--he's not such good company as he used to be; soured bymisfortune, poor devil; I wish he would go back to London. As I wassaying--I mean as I was about to say--I left you and Lady Harrytogether this morning; two old friends, glad (as I supposed) to have agossip about old times. When I come back, I find you left here alone, and I am told that Lady Harry is in her room. What do I see when I getthere? I see the finest pair of eyes in the world; and the tale theytell me is, We have been crying. When I ask what may have happened toaccount for this--'Nothing, dear, ' is all the answer I get. What's theimpression naturally produced on my mind? There has been a quarrelperhaps between you and my wife. "

"I fail entirely, Lord Harry, to see it in that light. "

"Ah, likely enough! Mine's the Irish point of view. As an Englishmanyou fail to understand it. Let that be. One thing; Mr. Mountjoy, I'lltake the freedom of saying at once. I'll thank you, next time, toquarrel with Me. "

"You force me to tell you, my lord, that you are under a completedelusion, if you suppose that there has been any quarrel, or approachto a quarrel, between Lady Harry and myself. "

"You tell me that, on your word of honour as a gentleman?"

"Most assuredly!"

"Sir! I deeply regret to hear it. "

"Which does your lordship deeply regret? That I have spoken to you onmy word of honour, or that I have not quarrelled with Lady Harry?"

"Both, sir! By the piper that played before Moses, both!"

Hugh got up, and took his hat: "We may have a better chance ofunderstanding each other, " he suggested, "if you will be so good as towrite to me. "

"Put your hat down again, Mr. Mountjoy, and pray have a moment'spatience. I've tried to like you, sir--and I'm bound in candour to ownthat I've failed to find a bond of union between us. Maybe, this frankconfession annoys you. "

"Far from it! You are going straight to your subject at last, if I mayventure to say so. "

The Irish lord's good-humour had completely disappeared by this time. His handsome face hardened, and his voice rose. The outbreak of jealousfeeling, which motives honourable to himself had hitherto controlled, now seized on its freedom of expression. His language betrayed (as onsome former occasions) that association with unworthy companions, whichhad been one of the evil results of his adventurous life. 

"Maybe I'll go straighter than you bargain for, " he replied; "I'm intwo humours about you. My common-sense tells me that you're my wife'sfriend. And the best of friends do sometimes quarrel, don't they? Well, sir, you deny it, on your own account. I find myself forced back on myother humour--and it's a black humour, I can tell you. You may be mywife's friend, my fine fellow, but you're something more than that. Youhave always been in love with her--and you're in love with her now. Thank you for your visit, but don't repeat it. Say! do we understandeach other at last?"

"I have too sincere a respect for Lady Harry to answer you, " Mountjoysaid. "At the same time, let me acknowledge my obligations to yourlordship. You have reminded me that I did a foolish thing when I calledhere without an invitation. I agree with you that the sooner my mistakeis set right the better. "

He replied in those words, and left the cottage. 

On the way back to his hotel, Hugh thought of what Mrs. Vimpany hadsaid to him when they had last seen each other: "Don't forget thatthere is an obstacle between you and Iris which will put even yourpatience and your devotion to a hard trial. " The obstacle of thehusband had set itself up, and had stopped him already. 

His own act (a necessary act after the language that had been addressedto him) had closed the doors of the cottage, and had put an end tofuture meetings between Iris and himself. If they attempted tocommunicate by letter, Lord Harry would have opportunities ofdiscovering their correspondence, of which his jealousy would certainlyavail itself. Through the wakeful night, Hugh's helpless situation wasperpetually in his thoughts. There seemed to be no present alternativebefore him but resignation, and a return to England. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS

ON the next day Mountjoy heard news of Iris, which was not of a natureto relieve his anxieties. He received a visit from Fanny Mere. 

The leave-taking of Mr. Vimpany, on the previous evening, was the firstevent which the maid had to relate. She had been present when thedoctor said good-bye to the master and mistress. Business in London wasthe reason he gave for going away. The master had taken the excuse asif he really believed in it, and seemed to be glad to get rid of hisfriend. The mistress expressed her opinion that Mr. Vimpany's return toLondon must have been brought about by an act of liberality on the partof the most generous of living men. _"Your_ friend has, as I believe, got some money from _my_ friend, " she said to her husband. My lord hadlooked at her very strangely when she spoke of Mr. Mountjoy in thatway, and had walked out of the room. As soon as his back was turned, Fanny had obtained leave of absence. She had carried out her intentionof watching the terminus, and had seen Mr. Vimpany take his place amongthe passengers to London by the mail train. 

Returning to the cottage, it was Fanny's duty to ascertain if herservices were required in her mistress's room. 

On reaching the door, she had heard the voices of my lord and my lady, and (as Mr. Mountjoy would perhaps be pleased to know) had been toohonourable to listen outside, on this occasion. She had at once goneaway, and had waited until she should be sent for. After a longinterval, the bell that summoned her had been rung. She had found themistress in a state of agitation, partly angry, and partly distressed;and had ventured to ask if anything unpleasant had happened. No replywas made to that inquiry. Fanny had silently performed the customaryduties of the night-toilet, in getting my lady ready for bed; they hadsaid good-night to each other and had said no more. 

In the morning (that present morning), being again in attendance asusual, the maid had found Lady Harry in a more indulgent frame of mind;still troubled by anxieties, but willing to speak of them now. 

She had begun by talking of Mr. Mountjoy:

"I think you like him, Fanny: everybody likes him. You will be sorry tohear that we have no prospect of seeing him again at the cottage. "There she had stopped; something that she had not said, yet, seemed tobe in her mind, and to trouble her. She was near to crying, poor soul, but struggled against it. "I have no sister, " she said, "and no friendwho might be like a sister to me. It isn't perhaps quite right to speakof my sorrow to my maid. Still, there is something hard to bear inhaving no kind heart near one--I mean, no other woman to speak to whoknows what women feel. It is so lonely here--oh, so lonely! I wonderwhether you understand me and pity me?" Never forgetting all that sheowed to her mistress--if she might say so without seeming to praiseherself--Fanny was truly sorry. It would have been a relief to her, ifshe could have freely expressed her opinion that my lord must be toblame, when my lady was in trouble. Being a man, he was by nature cruelto women; the wisest thing his poor wife could do would be to expectnothing from him. The maid was sorely tempted to offer a little goodadvice to this effect; but she was afraid of her own remembrances, ifshe encouraged them by speaking out boldly. It would be better to waitfor what the mistress might say next. 

Lord Harry's conduct was the first subject that presented itself whenthe conversation was resumed. 

My lady mentioned that she had noticed how he looked, and how he leftthe room, when she had spoken in praise of Mr. Mountjoy. She hadpressed him to explain himself---and she had made a discovery whichproved to be the bitterest disappointment of her life. Her husbandsuspected her! Her husband was jealous of her! It was too cruel; it wasan insult beyond endurance, an insult to Mr. Mountjoy as well as toherself. If that best and dearest of good friends was to be forbiddenthe house, if he was to go away and never to see her or speak to heragain, of one thing she was determined--he should not leave her withouta kind word of farewell; he should hear how truly she valued him; yes, and how she admired and felt for him! Would Fanny not do the samething, in her place? And Fanny had remembered the time when she mighthave done it for such a man as Mr. Mountjoy. "Mind you stay indoorsthis evening, sir, " the maid continued, looking and speaking soexcitedly that Hugh hardly knew her again. "My mistress is coming tosee you, and I shall come with her. "

Such an act of imprudence was incredible. "You must be out of yoursenses!" Mountjoy exclaimed. 

"I'm out of myself sir, if that's what you mean, " Fanny answered. "I doso enjoy treating a man in that way! The master's going out todinner--he'll know nothing about it--and, " cried the cool cold woman ofother times, "he richly deserves it. "

Hugh reasoned and remonstrated, and failed to produce the slightesteffect. 

His next effort was to write a few lines to Lady Harry, entreating herto remember that a jealous man is sometimes capable of acts of themeanest duplicity, and that she might be watched. When he gave the noteto Fanny to deliver, she informed him respectfully that he had betternot trust her. A person sometimes meant to do right (she reminded him), and sometimes ended in doing wrong. Rather than disappoint hermistress, she was quite capable of tearing up the letter, on her wayhome, and saying nothing about it. Hugh tried a threat next: "Yourmistress will not find me, if she comes here; I shall go out to-night. "The impenetrable maid looked at him with a pitying smile, and answered:

"Not you!"

It was a humiliating reflection--but Fanny Mere understood him betterthan he understood himself. 

All that Mountjoy had said and done in the way of protest, had beenreally dictated by consideration for the young wife. If he questionedhis conscience, selfish delight in the happy prospect of seeing Irisagain asserted itself, as the only view with which he looked forward tothe end of the day. When the evening approached, he took the precautionof having his own discreet and faithful servant in attendance, toreceive Lady Harry at the door of the hotel, before the ringing of thebell could summon the porter from his lodge. On calm consideration, thechances seemed to be in favour of her escaping detection by Lord Harry. The jealous husband of the stage, who sooner (or later) discovers theinnocent (or guilty) couple, as the case may be, is not always thehusband of the world outside the theatre. With this fragment ofexperience present in his mind, Hugh saw the door of his sitting-roomcautiously opened, at an earlier hour than he had anticipated. Histrustworthy representative introduced a lady, closely veiled--and thatlady was Iris. 

CHAPTER XXXII

GOOD-BYE TO IRIS

LADY HARRY lifted her veil, and looked at Mountjoy with sad entreaty inher eyes. "Are you angry with me?" she asked. 

"I ought to be angry with you, " he said. "This is a very imprudent, Iris. "

"It's worse than that, " she confessed. "It's reckless and desperate. Don't say I ought to have controlled myself. I can't control the shameI feel when I think of what has happened. Can I let you go--oh, what areturn for your kindness!--without taking your hand at parting? Comeand sit by me on the sofa. After my poor husband's conduct, you and Iare not likely to meet again. I don't expect you to lament it as I do. Even your sweetness and your patience--so often tried--must be weary ofme now. "

"If you thought that possible, my dear, you would not have come hereto-night, " Hugh reminded her. "While we live, we have the hope ofmeeting again. Nothing in this world lasts, Iris--not even jealousy. Lord Harry himself told me that he was a variable man. Sooner or laterhe will come to his senses. "

Those words seemed to startle Iris. "I hope you don't think that myhusband is brutal to me!" she exclaimed, still resenting even theappearance of a reflection on her marriage, and still forgetting whatshe herself had said which justified a doubt of her happiness. "Haveyou formed a wrong impression?" she went on. "Has Fanny Mereinnocently--?"

Mountjoy noticed, for the first time, the absence of the maid. It was acircumstance which justified him in interrupting Iris--for it mightseriously affect her if her visit to the hotel happened to bediscovered. 

"I understood, " he said, "that Fanny was to come here with you. "

"Yes! yes! She is waiting in the carriage. We are careful not to exciteattention at the door of the hotel; the coachman will drive up and downthe street till I want him again. Never mind that! I have something tosay to you about Fanny. She thinks of her own troubles, poor soul, whenshe talks to me, and exaggerates a little without meaning it. I hopeshe has not misled you in speaking of her master. It is base and bad ofhim, unworthy of a gentleman, to be jealous--and he has wounded medeeply. But dear Hugh, his jealousy is a gentle jealousy. I have heardof other men who watch their wives--who have lost all confidence inthem--who would even have taken away from me such a trifle as this. "She smiled, and showed to Mountjoy her duplicate key of the cottagedoor. "Ah, Harry is above such degrading distrust as that! There aretimes when he is as heartily ashamed of his own weakness as I couldwish him to be. I have seen him on his knees before me, shocked at hisconduct. He is no hypocrite. Indeed, his repentance is sincere, whileit lasts--only it doesn't last! His jealousy rises and falls, like thewind. He said last night (when the wind was high): 'If you wish to makeme the happiest creature on the face of the earth, don't encourage Mr. Mountjoy to remain in Paris!' Try to make allowances for him!"

"I would rather make allowances, Iris, for you. Do _you, _ too wish meto leave Paris?"

Sitting very near to him--nearer than her husband might have liked tosee--Iris drew away a little. "Did you mean to be cruel in sayingthat?" she asked. "I don't deserve it. "

"It was kindly meant, " Hugh assured her. "If I can make your positionmore endurable by going away, I will leave Paris to-morrow. "

Iris moved back again to the place which she had already occupied. Shewas eager to thank him (for a reason not yet mentioned) as she hadnever thanked him yet. Silently and softly she offered her gratitude toHugh, by offering her cheek. The irritating influence of Lord Harry'sjealousy was felt by both of them at that moment. He kissed hercheek--and lingered over it. She was the first to recover herself. 

"When you spoke just now of my position with my husband, " she said, "you reminded me of anxieties, Hugh, in which you once shared, and ofservices which I can never forget. "

Preparing him in those words for the disclosure which she had now tomake, Iris alluded to the vagabond life of adventure which Lord Harryhad led. The restlessness in his nature which that life implied, hadlatterly shown itself again; and his wife had traced the cause to aletter from Ireland, communicating a report that the assassin of ArthurMountjoy had been seen in London, and was supposed to be passing underthe name of Carrigeen. Hugh would understand that the desperateresolution to revenge the murder of his friend, with which Lord Harryhad left England in the past time, had been urged into action oncemore. He had not concealed from Iris that she must be resigned to hisleaving her for awhile, if the report which had reached him fromIreland proved to be true. It would be useless, and worse than useless, to remind this reckless man of the danger that threatened him from theInvincibles, if he returned to England. In using her power ofinfluencing the husband who still loved her, Iris could only hope toexercise a salutary restraint in her own domestic interests, appealingto him for indulgence by careful submission to any exactions on whichhis capricious jealousy might insist. Would sad necessity excuse her, if she accepted Mountjoy's offer to leave Paris, for the one reasonthat her husband had asked it of her as a favour?

Hugh at once understood her motive, and assured her of his sympathy. 

"You may depend upon my returning to London to-morrow, " he said. "Inthe meantime, is there no better way in which I can be of use to you?If your influence fails, do you see any other chance of keeping LordHarry's desperate purpose under control?"

It had only that day occurred to Iris that there might be some prospectof an encouraging result, if she could obtain the assistance of Mrs. Vimpany. 

The doctor's wife was well acquainted with Lord Harry's past life, whenhe happened to be in Ireland; and she had met many of his countrymenwith whom he had associated. If one of those friends happened to be theofficious person who had written to him, it was at least possible thatMrs. Vimpany's discreet interference might prevent his mischievouscorrespondent from writing again. Lord Harry, waiting for more news, would in this event wait in vain. He would not know where to go, orwhat to do next--and, with such a nature as his, the end of hispatience and the end of his resolution were likely to come together. 

Hugh handed his pocket-book to Iris. Of the poor chances in her favour, the last was to his mind the least hopeless of the two. 

"If you have discovered the name of your husband's correspondent, " hesaid, "write it down for me, and I will ask Mrs. Vimpany if she knowshim. I will make your excuses for not having written to her lately;and, in any case, I answer for her being ready to help you. "

As Iris thanked him and wrote the name, the clock on the chimneypiecestruck the hour. 

She rose to say farewell. With a restless hand she half-lowered herveil, and raised it again. "You won't mind my crying, " she saidfaintly, trying to smile through her tears. "This is the saddestparting I have ever known. Dear, dear Hugh--good-bye!"

Great is the law of Duty; but the elder law of Love claims its higherright. Never, in all the years of their friendship, had they forgottenthemselves as they forgot themselves now. For the first time her lipsmet his lips, in their farewell kiss. In a moment more, they rememberedthe restraints which honour imposed on them; they were only friendsagain. Silently she lowered her veil. Silently he took her arm and ledher down to the carriage. It was moving away from them at a slow pace, towards the other end of the street. Instead of waiting for its return, they followed and overtook it. 

"We shall meet again, " he whispered. 

She answered sadly: "Don't forget me. "

Mountjoy turned back. As he approached the hotel he noticed a tall mancrossing from the opposite side of the street. Not two minutes afterIris was on her way home, her jealous husband and her old friend met atthe hotel door. 

Lord Harry spoke first. "I have been dining out, " he said, "and I camehere to have a word with you, Mr. Mountjoy, on my road home. "

Hugh answered with formal politeness: "Let me show your lordship theway to my rooms. "

"Oh, it's needless to trouble you, " Lord Harry declared. "I have solittle to say--do you mind walking on with me for a few minutes?"

Mountjoy silently complied. He was thinking of what might have happenedif Iris had delayed her departure--or if the movement of the carriagehad been towards, instead of away from the hotel. In either case it hadbeen a narrow escape for the wife, from a dramatic discovery by thehusband. 

"We Irishmen, " Lord Harry resumed, "are not famous for always obeyingthe laws; but it is in our natures to respect the law of hospitality. When you were at the cottage yesterday I was inhospitable to my guest. My rude behaviour has weighed on my mind since--and for that reason Ihave come here to speak to you. It was ill-bred on my part to reproachyou with your visit, and to forbid you (oh, quite needlessly, I don'tdoubt!) to call on me again. If I own that I have no desire to proposea renewal of friendly intercourse between us, you will understand me, Iam sure; with my way of thinking, the less we see of each other for thefuture, the better it may be. But, for what I said when my temper ranaway with me, I ask you to accept my excuses, and the sincereexpression of my regret. "

"Your excuses are accepted, my lord, as sincerely as you have offeredthem, " Mountjoy answered. "So far as I am concerned, the incident isforgotten from this moment. "

Lord Harry expressed his courteous acknowledgments. "Spoken as becomesa gentleman, " he said. "I thank you. "

There it ended. They saluted each other; they wished each othergood-night. "A mere formality!" Hugh thought, when they had parted. 

He had wronged the Irish lord in arriving at that conclusion. But timewas to pass before events helped him to discover his error. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE DECREE OF FATE

ON his arrival in London, Mountjoy went to the Nurses' Institute toinquire for Mrs. Vimpany. 

She was again absent, in attendance on another patient. The address ofthe house (known only to the matron) was, on this occasion, not to becommunicated to any friend who might make inquiries. A bad case ofscarlet fever had been placed under the nurse's care, and the danger ofcontagion was too serious to be trifled with. 

The events which had led to Mrs. Vimpany's present employment had notoccurred in the customary course. 

A nurse who had recently joined the Institute had been first engaged toundertake the case, at the express request of the suffering person--whowas said to be distantly related to the young woman. On the morningwhen she was about to proceed to the scene of her labours, news hadreached her of the dangerous illness of her mother. Mrs. Vimpany, whowas free at the time, and who felt a friendly interest in her youngcolleague, volunteered to take her place. Upon this, a strange requesthad been addressed to the matron, on behalf of the sick man. He desiredto be "informed of it, if the new nurse was an Irishwoman. " Hearingthat she was an Englishwoman, he at once accepted her services, beinghimself (as an additional element of mystery in the matter) anIrishman!

The matron's English prejudices at once assumed that there had beensome discreditable event in the man's life, which might be made asubject of scandalous exposure if he was attended by one of his owncountrypeople. She advised Mrs. Vimpany to have nothing to do with theafflicted stranger. The nurse answered that she had promised to attendon him--and she kept her promise. 

Mountjoy left the Institute, after vainly attempting to obtain Mrs. Vimpany's address. The one concession which the matron offered to makewas to direct his letter, and send it to the post, if he would becontent with that form of communication. 

On reflection, he decided to write the letter. 

Prompt employment of time might be of importance, if it was possible toprevent any further communication with Lord Larry on the part of hisIrish correspondent. Using the name with which Iris had provided him, Hugh wrote to inquire if it was familiar to Mrs. Vimpany, as the nameof a person with whom she had been, at any time, acquainted. In thisevent, he assured her that an immediate consultation between them wasabsolutely necessary in the interests of Iris. He added, in apostscript, that he was in perfect health, and that he had no fear ofinfection--and sent his letter to the matron to be forwarded. 

The reply reached him late in the evening. It was in the handwriting ofa stranger, and was to this effect:

"Dear Mr. Mountjoy, --It is impossible that I can allow you to run therisk of seeing me while I am in my present situation. So serious is thedanger of contagion in scarlet fever, that I dare not even write to youwith my own hand on note-paper which has been used in the sick room. This is no mere fancy of mine; the doctor in attendance here knows of acase in which a small piece of infected flannel communicated thedisease after an interval of no less than a year. I must trust to yourown good sense to see the necessity of waiting, until I can receive youwithout any fear of consequences to yourself. In the meantime, I mayanswer your inquiry relating to the name communicated in your letter. Ifirst knew the gentleman you mention some years since; we wereintroduced to each other by Lord Harry; and I saw him afterwards onmore than one occasion. "

Mountjoy read this wise and considerate reply to his letter withindignation. 

Here was the good fortune for which he had not dared to hope, declaringitself in favour of Iris. Here (if Mrs. Vimpany could be persuaded towrite to her friend) was the opportunity offered of keeping thehot-tempered Irish husband passive and harmless, by keeping him withoutfurther news of the assassin of Arthur Mountjoy. Under theseencouraging circumstances the proposed consultation which might haveproduced such excellent results had been rejected; thanks to acontemptible fear of infection, excited by a story of a trumpery pieceof flannel!

Hugh snatched up the unfortunate letter (cast away on the floor) totear it in pieces and throw it into the waste-paper basket--and checkedhimself. His angry hand had seized on it with the blank leaf of thenote-paper uppermost. 

On that leaf he discovered two little lines of print, presenting, inthe customary form, the address of the house at which the letter hadbeen written! The writer, in taking the sheet of paper from the case, must have accidentally turned it wrong side uppermost on the desk, andhad not cared to re-copy the letter, or had not discovered the mistake. Restored to his best good-humour, Hugh resolved to surprise Mrs. Vimpany by a visit, on the next day, which would set the theory ofcontagion at defiance, and render valuable service to Iris at a crisisin her life. 

Having time before him for reflection, in the course of the evening, hewas at no loss to discover a formidable obstacle in the way of hisdesign. 

Whether he gave his name or concealed his name, when he asked for Mrs. Vimpany at the house-door, she would in either case refuse to see him. The one accessible person whom he could consult in this difficulty washis faithful old servant. 

That experienced man--formerly employed, at various times, in the army, in the police, and in service at a public school--obtained leave tomake some preliminary investigations on the next morning. 

He achieved two important discoveries. In the first place, Mrs. Vimpanywas living in the house in which the letter to his master had beenwritten. In the second place, there was a page attached to the domesticestablishment (already under notice to leave his situation), who wasaccessible to corruption by means of a bribe. The boy would be on thewatch for Mr. Mountjoy at two o'clock on that day, and would show himwhere to find Mrs. Vimpany, in the room near the sick man, in which shewas accustomed to take her meals. 

Hugh acted on his instructions, and found the page waiting to admit himsecretly to the house. Leading the way upstairs, the boy pointed withone hand to a door on the second floor, and held out the other hand toreceive his money. While he pocketed the bribe, and disappeared, Mountjoy opened the door. 

Mrs. Vimpany was seated at a table waiting for her dinner. When Hughshowed himself she started to her feet with a cry of alarm. 

"Are you mad?" she exclaimed. "How did you get here? What do you wanthere? Don't come near me!"

She attempted to pass Hugh on her way out of the room. He caught her bythe arm, led her back to her chair, and forced her to seat herselfagain. "Iris is in trouble, " he pleaded, "and you can help her. "

"The fever!" she cried, heedless of what he had said. "Keep back fromme--the fever!"

For the second time she tried to get out of the room. For the secondtime Hugh stopped her. 

"Fever or no fever, " he persisted, "I have something to say to you. Intwo minutes I shall have said it, and I will go. "

In the fewest possible words he described the situation of Iris withher jealous husband. Mrs. Vimpany indignantly interrupted him. 

"Are you running this dreadful risk, " she asked, "with nothing to sayto me that I don't know already? Her husband jealous of her? Of coursehe is jealous of her! Leave me--or I will ring for the servant. "

"Ring, if you like, " Hugh answered; "but hear this first. My letter toyou alluded to a consultation between us, which might be necessary inthe interests of Iris. Imagine her situation if you can! The assassinof Arthur Mountjoy is reported to be in London; and Lord Harry hasheard of it. "

Mrs. Vimpany looked at him with horror in her eyes. 

"Gracious God!" she cried, "the man is here--under my care. Oh, I amnot in the conspiracy to hide the wretch! I knew no more of him thanyou do when I offered to nurse him. The names that have escaped him, inhis delirium, have told me the truth. "

As she spoke, a second door in the room was opened. An old woman showedherself for a moment, trembling with terror. "He's breaking out again, nurse! Help me to hold him!"

Mrs. Vimpany instantly followed the woman into the bed-room. "Wait andlisten, " she said to Mountjoy--and left the door open. 

The quick, fierce, muttering tones of a man in delirium were nowfearfully audible. His maddened memory was travelling back over his ownhorrible life. He put questions to himself; he answered himself:

"Who drew the lot to kill the traitor? I did! I did! Who shot him onthe road, before he could get to the wood? I did! I did! ArthurMountjoy, traitor to Ireland. Set that on his tombstone, and disgracehim for ever. Listen, boys--listen! There is a patriot among you. I amthe patriot--preserved by a merciful Providence. Ha, my Lord Harry, search the earth and search the sea, the patriot is out of your reach!Nurse! What's that the doctor said of me? The fever will kill him?Well, what does that matter, as long as Lord Harry doesn't kill me?Open the doors, and let everybody hear of it. I die the death of asaint--the greatest of all saints--the saint who shot Arthur Mountjoy. Oh, the heat, the heat, the burning raging heat!" The tortured creatureburst into a dreadful cry of rage and pain. It was more than Hugh'sresolution could support. He hurried out of the house. 

 * * * * * * * *

Ten days passed. A letter, in a strange handwriting, reached Iris atPassy. 

The first part of the letter was devoted to the Irish desperado, whomMrs. Vimpany had attended in his illness. 

When she only knew him as a suffering fellow-creature she had promisedto be his nurse. Did the discovery that he was an assassin justifydesertion, or even excuse neglect? No! the nursing art, like thehealing art, is an act of mercy--in itself too essentially noble toinquire whether the misery that it relieves merits help. All thatexperience, all that intelligence, all that care could offer, the nursegave to the man whose hand she would have shrunk from touching infriendship, after she had saved his life. 

A time had come when the fever threatened to take Lord Harry'svengeance out of his hands. The crisis of the disease declared itself. With the shadow of death on him, the wretch lived through it--saved byhis strong constitution, and by the skilled and fearless woman whoattended on him. At the period of his convalescence, friends fromIreland (accompanied by a medical man of their own choosing) presentedthemselves at the house, and asked for him by the name under which hepassed--Carrigeen. With every possible care, he was removed; to whatdestination had never been discovered. From that time, all trace of himhad been lost. 

Terrible news followed on the next page. 

The subtle power of infection had asserted itself against the poormortal who had defied it. Hugh Mountjoy, stricken by the man who hadmurdered his brother, lay burning under the scarlet fire of the fever. 

But the nurse watched by him, night and day. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

MY LORD'S MIND

HERE, my old-vagabond-Vimpany, is an interesting case for you--the cryof a patient with a sick mind. 

Look over it, and prescribe for your wild Irish friend, if you can. 

You will perhaps remember that I have never thoroughly trusted you, inall the years since we have known each other. At this later date in ourlives, when I ought to see more clearly than ever what an unfathomableman you are, am I rash enough to be capable of taking you into myconfidence?

I don't know what I am going to do; I feel like a man who has beenstunned. To be told that the murderer of Arthur Mountjoy had been seenin London--to be prepared to trace him by his paltry assumed name ofCarrigeen--to wait vainly for the next discovery which might bring himwithin reach of retribution at my hands--and then to be overwhelmed bythe news of his illness, his recovery, and his disappearance: these arethe blows which have stupefied me. Only think of it! He has escaped mefor the second time. Fever that kills thousands of harmless creatureshas spared the assassin. He may yet die in his bed, and be buried, withthe guiltless dead around him, in a quiet churchyard. I can't get overit; I shall never get over it. 

Add to this, anxieties about my wife, and maddening letters fromcreditors--and don't expect me to write reasonably. 

What I want to know is whether your art (or whatever you call it) canget at my diseased mind, through my healthy body. You have more thanonce told me that medicine can do this. The time has come for doing it. I am in a bad way, and a bad end may follow. My only medical friend, deliver me from myself. 

In any case, let me beg you to keep your temper while you read whatfollows. 

I have to confess that the devil whose name is Jealousy has enteredinto me, and is threatening the tranquillity of my married life. Youdislike Iris, I know--and she returns your hostile feeling towards her. Try to do my wife justice, nevertheless, as I do. I don't believe mydistrust of her has any excuse--and yet, I am jealous. Moreunreasonable still, I am as fond of her as I was in the first days ofthe honeymoon. Is she as fond as ever of me? You were a married manwhen I was a boy. Let me give you the means of forming an opinion by anarrative of her conduct, under (what I admit to have been) very tryingcircumstances. 

When the first information reached Iris of Hugh Mountjoy's dangerousillness, we were at breakfast. It struck her dumb. She handed theletter to me, and left the table. 

I hate a man who doesn't know what it is to want money; I hate a manwho keeps his temper; I hate a man who pretends to be my wife's friend, and who is secretly in love with her all the time. What difference didit make to me whether Hugh Mountjoy ended in living or dying? If I hadany interest in the matter, it ought by rights (seeing that I amjealous of him) to be an interest in his death. Well! I declarepositively that the alarming news from London spoilt my breakfast. Thereis something about that friend of my wife--that smug, prosperous, well-behaved Englishman--which seems to plead for him (God knows how!)when my mind is least inclined in his favour. While I was reading abouthis illness, I found myself hoping that he would recover--and, I giveyou my sacred word of honour, I hated him all the time. 

My Irish friend is mad--you will say. Your Irish friend, my dearfollow, does not dispute it. 

Let us get back to my wife. She showed herself again after a longabsence, having something (at last) to say to her husband. 

"I am innocently to blame, " she began, "for the dreadful misfortunethat has fallen on Mr. Mountjoy. If I had not given him a message toMrs. Vimpany, he would never have insisted on seeing her, and wouldnever have caught the fever. It may help me to bear my misery ofself-reproach and suspense, if I am kept informed of his illness. Thereis no fear of infection by my receiving letters. I am to write to afriend of Mrs. Vimpany, who lives in another house, and who will answermy inquiries. Do you object, dear Harry, to my getting news of HughMountjoy every day, while he is in danger?"

I was perfectly willing that she should get that news, and she ought tohave known it. 

It seemed to me to be also a bad sign that she made her request withdry eyes. She must have cried, when she first heard that he was likelyto sink under an attack of fever. Why were her tears kept hidden in herown room? When she came back to me, her face was pale and hard andtearless. Don't you think she might have forgotten my jealousy, when Iwas so careful myself not to show it? My own belief is that she waslonging to go to London, and help your wife to nurse the poor man, andcatch the fever, and die with him if _he_ died. 

Is this bitter? Perhaps it is. Tear it off, and light your pipe withit. 

Well, the correspondence relating to the sick man continued every day;and every day--oh, Vimpany, another concession to my jealousy!--shehanded the letters to me to read. I made excuses (we Irish are good atthat, if we are good at nothing else), and declined to read the medicalreports. One morning, when she opened the letter of that day, therepassed over her a change which is likely to remain in my memory as longas I live. Never have I seen such an ecstasy of happiness in anywoman's face, as I saw when she read the lines which informed her thatthe fever was mastered. Iris is sweet and delicate andbright--essentially fascinating, in a word. But she was never a beautifulwoman, until she knew that Mountjoy's life was safe; and she will neverbe a beautiful woman again, unless the time comes when my death leavesher free to marry him. On her wedding-day, he will see thetransformation that I saw--and he will be dazzled as I was. 

She looked at me, as if she expected me to speak. 

"I am glad indeed, " I said, "that he is out of danger. "

She ran to me--she kissed me; I wouldn't have believed it was in her togive such kisses. "Now I have your sympathy, " she said, "my happinessis complete!" Do you think I was indebted for these kisses to myself orto that other man? No, no--here is an unworthy doubt. I discard it. Vile suspicion shall not wrong Iris this time. 

And yet----

Shall I go on, and write the rest of it?

Poor, dear Arthur Mountjoy once told me of a foreign author, who was ingreat doubt of the right answer to some tough question that troubledhim. He went into his garden and threw a stone at a tree. If he hit thetree, the answer would be--Yes. If he missed the tree, the answer wouldbe--No. I am going into the garden to imitate the foreign author. Youshall hear how it ends. 

I have hit the tree. As a necessary consequence, I must go on and writethe rest of it. 

There is a growing estrangement between Iris and myself--and myjealousy doesn't altogether account for it. Sometimes, it occurs to methat we are thinking of what our future relations with Mountjoy arelikely to be, and are ashamed to confess it to each other. Sometimes--and perhaps this second, and easiest, guess may be the rightone--I am apt to conclude that we are only anxious about money matters. I am waiting for her to touch on the subject, and she is waiting forme; and there we are at a deadlock. 

I wish I had some reason for going to some other place. I wish I waslost among strangers. I should like to find myself in a state ofdanger, meeting the risks that I used to run in my vagabond days. Now Ithink of it, I might enjoy this last excitement by going back toEngland, and giving the Invincibles a chance of shooting me as atraitor to the cause. But my wife would object to that. 

Suppose we change the subject. 

You will be glad to hear that you knew something of law, as well as ofmedicine. I sent instructions to my solicitor in London to raise a loanon my life-insurance. What you said to me turns out to be right. Ican't raise a farthing, for three years to come, out of all thethousands of pounds which I shall leave behind me when I die. 

Are my prospects from the newspaper likely to cheer me after such adisappointment as this? The new journal, I have the pleasure ofinforming you, is much admired. When I inquire for my profits, I hearthat the expenses are heavy, and I am told that I must wait for a risein our circulation. How long? Nobody knows. 

I shall keep these pages open for a few days more, on the chance ofsomething happening which may alter my present position for the better. 

My position has altered for the worse. 

I have been obliged to fill my empty purse, for a little while, bymeans of a bit of stamped paper. And how shall I meet my liabilitieswhen the note falls due? Let time answer the question; for the presentthe evil day is put off. In the meanwhile, if that literary speculationof yours is answering no better than my newspaper, I can lend you a fewpounds to get on with. What do you say (on second thoughts) to comingback to your old quarters at Passy, and giving me your valuable adviceby word of mouth instead of by letter?

Come, and feel my pulse, and look at my tongue--and tell me how thesevarious anxieties of mine are going to end, before we are any of us ayear older. Shall I, like you, be separated from my wife--at herrequest; oh, not at mine! Or shall I be locked up in prison? And whatwill become of You? Do you take the hint, doctor?

CHAPTER XXXV

MY LADY'S MIND

"ENTREAT Lady Harry not to write to me. She will be tempted to do so, when she hears that there is good hope of Mr. Mountjoy's recovery. But, even from that loving and generous heart, I must not accept expressionsof gratitude which would only embarrass me. All that I have done, as anurse, and all that I may yet hope to do, is no more than an effort tomake amends for my past life. Iris has my heart's truest wishes for herhappiness. Until I can myself write to her without danger, let this beenough. "

In those terms, dearest of women, your friend has sent your message tome. My love respects as well as admires you; your wishes are commandsto me. At the same time, I may find some relief from the fears of thefuture that oppress me, if I can confide them to friendly ears. May Inot harmlessly write to you, if I only write of my own poor self?

Try, dear, to remember those pleasant days when you were staying withus, in our honeymoon time, at Paris. 

You warned me, one evening when we were alone, to be on my guardagainst any circumstances which might excite my husband's jealousy. Since then, the trouble that you foresaw has fallen on me; mainly, I amafraid, through my own want of self-control. It is so hard for a woman, when she really loves a man, to understand a state of mind which canmake him doubt her. 

I have discovered that jealousy varies. Let me tell you what I mean. 

Lord Harry was silent and sullen (ah, how well I knew what that meant!)while the life of our poor Hugh was in jeopardy. When I read the goodnews which told me that he was no longer in danger, I don't knowwhether there was any change worth remarking in myself--but, there wasa change in my husband, delightful to see. His face showed such sweetsympathy when he looked at me, he spoke so kindly and nicely of Hugh, that I could only express my pleasure by kissing him. You will hardlybelieve me, when I tell you that his hateful jealousy appeared again, at that moment. He looked surprised, he looked suspicious--he looked, Ideclare, as if he doubted whether I meant it with all my heart when Ikissed him! What incomprehensible creatures men are! We read in novelsof women who are able to manage their masters. I wish I knew how tomanage mine. 

We have been getting into debt. For some weeks past, this sad state ofthings has been a burden on my mind. Day after day I have beenexpecting him to speak of our situation, and have found him obstinatelysilent. Is his mind entirely occupied with other things? Or is heunwilling to speak of our anxieties because the subject humiliates him?Yesterday, I could bear it no longer. 

"Our debts are increasing, " I said. "Have you thought of any way ofpaying them?"

I had feared that my question might irritate him. To my relief, heseemed to be diverted by it. 

"The payment of debts, " he replied, "is a problem that I am too poor tosolve. Perhaps I got near to it the other day. "

I asked how. 

"Well, " he said, "I found myself wishing I had some rich friends. By-the-bye, how is _your_ rich friend? What have you heard lately ofMr. Mountjoy?"

"I have heard that he is steadily advancing towards recovery. "

"Likely, I dare say, to return to France when he feels equal to it, " myhusband remarked. "He is a good-natured creature. If he finds himselfin Paris again, I wonder whether he will pay us another visit?"

He said this quite seriously. On my side, I was too much as astonishedto utter a word. My bewilderment seemed to amuse him. In his ownpleasant way he explained himself:

"I ought to have told you, my dear, that I was in Mr. Mountjoy'scompany the night before he returned to England. We had said somedisagreeable things to each other here in the cottage, while you wereaway in your room. My tongue got the better of my judgment. In short, Ispoke rudely to our guest. Thinking over it afterwards, I felt that Iought to make an apology. He received my sincere excuses with anamiability of manner, and a grace of language, which raised him greatlyin my estimation. "

There you have Lord Harry's own words! Who would suppose that he hadever been jealous of the man whom he spoke of in this way?

I explain it to myself, partly by the charm in Hugh's look and manner, which everybody feels; partly by the readiness with which my husband'svariable nature receives new impressions. I hope you agree with me. Inany case, pray let Hugh see what I have written to you in this place, and ask him what he thinks of it. *

*_Note by Mrs. Vimpany. _--I shall certainly not be foolish enough toshow what she has written to Mr. Mountjoy. Poor deluded Iris! Miserablefatal marriage!

Encouraged, as you will easily understand, by the delightful prospectof a reconciliation between them, I was eager to take my firstopportunity of speaking freely of Hugh. Up to that time, it had been ahard trial to keep to myself so much that was deeply interesting in mythoughts and hopes. But my hours of disappointment were not at an endyet. We were interrupted. 

A letter was brought to us--one of many, already received!--insistingon immediate payment of a debt that had been too long unsettled. Thedetestable subject of our poverty insisted on claiming attention whenthere was a messenger outside, waiting for my poor Harry's last Frenchbank note. 

"What is to be done?" I said, when we were left by ourselves again. 

My husband's composure was something wonderful. He laughed and lit acigar. 

"We have got to the crisis, " he said. "The question of money has drivenus into a corner at last. My darling, have you ever heard of such athing as a promissory note?"

I was not quite so ignorant as he supposed me to be; I said I had heardmy father speak of promissory notes. 

This seemed to fail in convincing him. "Your father, " he remarked, "used to pay his notes when they fell due. "

I betrayed my ignorance, after all. "Doesn't everybody do the same?" Iasked. 

He burst out laughing. "We will send the maid to get a bit of stampedpaper, " he said; "I'll write the message for her, this time. "

Those last words alluded to Fanny's ignorance of the French language, which made it necessary to provide her with written instructions, whenshe was sent on an errand. In our domestic affairs, I was able to dothis; but, in the present case, I only handed the message to her. Whenshe returned with a slip of stamped paper, Harry called to me to cometo the writing-table. 

"Now, my sweet, " he said, "see how easily money is to be got with ascratch of the pen. "

I looked, over his shoulder. In less than a minute it was done; and hehad produced ten thousand francs on paper--in English money (as he toldme), four hundred pounds. This seemed to be a large loan; I asked howhe proposed to pay it back. He kindly reminded me that he was anewspaper proprietor, and, as such, possessed of the means of inspiringconfidence in persons with money to spare. They could afford, it seems, to give him three months in which to arrange for repayment. In thattime, as he thought, the profits of the new journal might come pouringin. He knew best, of course. 

We took the next train to Paris, and turned our bit of paper into notesand gold. Never was there such a delightful companion as my husband, when he has got money in his pocket. After so much sorrow and anxiety, for weeks past, that memorable afternoon was like a glimpse ofParadise. 

On the next morning, there was an end to my short-lived enjoyment of nomore than the latter half of a day. 

Watching her opportunity, Fanny Mere came to me while I was alone, carrying a thick letter in her hand. She held it before me with theaddress uppermost. 

"Please to look at that, " she said. 

The letter was directed (in Harry's handwriting) to Mr. Vimpany, at apublishing office in London. Fanny next turned the envelope the otherway. 

"Look at this side, " she resumed. 

The envelope was specially protected by a seal; bearing a device of myhusband's own invention; that is to say, the initials of his name(Harry Norland) surmounted by a star--his lucky star, as he paid me thecompliment of calling it, on the day when he married me. I was thinkingof that day now. Fanny saw me looking, with a sad heart, at theimpression on the wax. She completely misinterpreted the directiontaken by my thoughts. 

"Tell me to do it, my lady, " she proceeded; "and I'll open the letter. "

I looked at her. She showed no confusion. "I can seal it up again, " shecoolly explained, "with a bit of fresh wax and my thimble. Perhaps Mr. Vimpany won't be sober enough to notice it. "

"Do you know, Fanny, that you are making a dishonourable proposal tome?" I said. 

"I know there's nothing I can do to help you that I won't do, " sheanswered; "and you know why. I have made a dishonourable proposal--haveI? That comes quite naturally to a lost woman like me. Shall I tell youwhat Honour means? It means sticking at nothing, in your service. Please tell me to open the letter. "

"How did you come by the letter, Fanny?"

"My master gave it to me to put in the post. "

"Then, post it. "

The strange creature, so full of contraries--so sensitive at one time, so impenetrable at another--pointed again to the address. 

"When the master writes to that man, " she went on--"a long letter (ifyou will notice), and a sealed letter--your ladyship ought to see whatis inside it. I haven't a doubt myself that there's writing under thisseal which bodes trouble to you. The spare bedroom is empty. Do youwant to have the doctor for your visitor again? Don't tell me to postthe letter, till I've opened it first. "

"I do tell you to post the letter. "

Fanny submitted, so far. But she had a new form of persuasion to try, before her reserves of resistance were exhausted. "If the doctor comesback, " she continued, "will your ladyship give me leave to go out, whenever I ask for it?"

This was surely presuming on my indulgence. "Are you not expecting alittle too much?" I suggested--not unkindly. 

"If you say that, my lady, " she answered, "I shall be obliged to askyou to suit yourself with another maid. "

There was a tone of dictation in this, which I found beyond endurance. In my anger, I said: "Leave me whenever you like. "

"I shall leave you when I'm dead--not before, " was the reply that Ireceived. "But if you won't let me have my liberty without going awayfrom you, for a time, I must go--for your sake. "

(For my sake! Pray observe that. )

She went on:

"Try to see it, my lady, as I do! If we have the doctor with us again, I must be able to watch him. "

"Why?"

"Because he is your enemy, as I believe. "

"How can he hurt me, Fanny?"

"Through your husband, my lady, if he can do it in no other way. Mr. Vimpany shall have a spy at his heels. Dishonourable! oh, dishonourableagain! Never mind. I don't pretend to know what that villain means todo, if he and my lord get together again. But this I can tell you, ifit's in woman's wit to circumvent him, here I am with my mind made up. With my mind, made up!" she repeated fiercely--and recovered on asudden her customary character as a quiet well-trained servant, devotedto her duties. "I'll take my master's letter to the post now, " shesaid. "Is there anything your ladyship wants in the town?"

What do you think of Fanny Mere? Ought I to have treated this lastoffer of her services, as I treated her proposal to open the letter? Iwas not able to do it. 

The truth is, I was so touched by her devotion to me, that I could notprevail on myself to mortify her by a refusal. I believe there may be agood reason for the distrust of the doctor which possesses her sostrongly; and I feel the importance of having this faithful anddetermined woman for an ally. Let me hope that Mr. Vimpany's return (ifit is to take place) may be delayed until you can safely write, withyour own hand, such a letter of wise advice as I sadly need. 

In the meantime, give my love to Hugh, and say to this dear friend allthat I might have said for myself, if I had been near him. But takecare that his recovery is not retarded by anxiety for me. Pray keep himin ignorance of the doubts and fears with which I am now looking at thefuture. If I was not so fond of my husband, I should be easier in mymind. This sounds contradictory, but I believe you will understand it. For a while, my dear, good-bye. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE DOCTOR MEANS MISCHIEF

ON the day after Lord Harry's description of the state of his mindreached London, a gentleman presented himself at the publishing officeof Messrs. Boldside Brothers, and asked for the senior partner, Mr. Peter Boldside. When he sent in his card, it bore the name of "Mr. Vimpany. "

"To what fortunate circumstance am I indebted, sir, for the honour ofyour visit?" the senior partner inquired. His ingratiating manners, hisgenial smile, his roundly resonant voice, were personal advantages ofwhich he made a merciless use. The literary customer who entered theoffice, hesitating before the question of publishing a work at his ownexpense, generally decided to pay the penalty when he encountered Mr. Peter Boldside. 

"I want to inquire about the sale of my work, " Mr. Vimpany replied. 

"Ah, doctor, you have come to the wrong man. You must go to mybrother. "

Mr. Vimpany protested. "You mentioned the terms when I first applied toyou, " he said, "and you signed the agreement. "

"That is in _my_ department, " the senior partner gently explained. "AndI shall write the cheque when, as we both hope, your large profitsshall fall due. But our sales of works are in the department of mybrother, Mr. Paul Boldside. " He rang a bell; a clerk appeared, andreceived his instructions: "Mr. Paul. Good-morning, doctor. "

Mr. Paul was, personally speaking, his brother repeated--without thedeep voice, and without the genial smile. Conducted to the office ofthe junior partner, Mr. Vimpany found himself in the presence of astranger, occupied in turning over the pages of a newspaper. When hisname was announced, the publisher started, and handed his newspaper tothe doctor. 

"This is a coincidence, " he said. "I was looking, sir, for your name inthe pages which I have just put into your hand. Surely the editor can'thave refused to publish your letter?"

Mr. Vimpany was sober, and therefore sad, and therefore (again) not tobe trifled with by a mystifying reception. "I don't understand you, " heanswered gruffly. "What do you mean?"

"Is it possible that you have not seen last week's number of thepaper?" Mr. Paul asked. "And you a literary man!" He forthwith producedthe last week's number, and opened it at the right place. "Read that, sir, " he said, with something in his manner which looked like virtuousindignation. 

Mr. Vimpany found himself confronted by a letter addressed to theeditor. It was signed by an eminent physician, whose portrait hadappeared in the first serial part of the new work--accompanied by abrief memoir of his life, which purported to be written by himself. Notone line of the autobiography (this celebrated person declared) hadproceeded from his pen. Mr. Vimpany had impudently published animaginary memoir, full of false reports and scandalous inventions--andthis after he had been referred to a trustworthy source for thenecessary particulars. Stating these facts, the indignant physiciancautioned readers to beware of purchasing a work which, so far as hewas concerned, was nothing less than a fraud on the public. 

"If you can answer that letter, sir, " Mr. Paul Boldside resumed, "thebetter it will be, I can tell you, for the sale of your publication. "

Mr. Vimpany made a reckless reply: "I want to know how the thing sells. Never mind the letter. "

"Never mind the letter?" the junior partner repeated. "A positivecharge of fraud is advanced by a man at the head of his professionagainst a work which _we_ have published--and you say, Never mind theletter. "

The rough customer of the Boldsides struck his fist on the table. "Bother the letter! I insist on knowing what the sale is. "

Still preserving his dignity, Mr. Paul (like Mr. Peter) rang for theclerk, and briefly gave an order. "Mr. Vimpany's account, " he said--andproceeded to admonish Mr. Vimpany himself. 

"You appear, sir, to have no defence of your conduct to offer. Our firmhas a reputation to preserve. When I have consulted with my brother, weshall be under the disagreeable necessity--"

Here (as he afterwards told his brother) the publisher was brutallyinterrupted by the author:

"If you will have it, " said this rude man, "here it is in two words. The doctor's portrait is the likeness of an ass. As he couldn't do ithimself, I wanted materials for writing his life. He referred me to theyear of his birth, the year of his marriage, the year of this, that, and the other. Who cares about dates? The public likes to be tickled bypersonal statements. Very well--I tickled the public. There you have itin a nutshell. "

The clerk appeared at that auspicious moment, with the author's accountneatly exhibited under two sides: a Debtor side, which represented theexpenditure of Hugh Mountjoy's money; and a Creditor side, whichrepresented (so far) Mr. Vimpany's profits. Amount of these last: 3_l. _14_s. _ 10_d. _

Mr. Vimpany tore up the account, threw the pieces in the face of Mr. Paul, and expressed his sentiments in one opprobrious word:"Swindlers!"

The publisher said: "You shall hear of us, sir, through our lawyer. "

And the author answered: "Go to the devil!"

Once out in the streets again, the first open door at which Mr. Vimpanystopped was the door of a tavern. He ordered a glass of brandy andwater, and a cigar. 

It was then the hour of the afternoon, between the time of luncheon andthe time of dinner, when the business of a tavern is generally in astate of suspense. The dining-room was empty when Mr. Vimpany enteredit: and the waiter's unoccupied attention was in want of an object. Having nothing else to notice, he looked at the person who had justcome in. The deluded stranger was drinking fiery potato-brandy, andsmoking (at the foreign price) an English cigar. Would his taste tellhim the melancholy truth? No: it seemed to matter nothing to him whathe was drinking or what he was smoking. Now he looked angry, and now helooked puzzled; and now he took a long letter from his pocket, and readit in places, and marked the places with a pencil. "Up to somemischief, " was the waiter's interpretation of these signs. The strangerordered a second glass of grog, and drank it in gulps, and fell intosuch deep thought that he let his cigar go out. Evidently, a man insearch of an idea. And, to all appearance, he found what he wanted on asudden. In a hurry he paid his reckoning, and left his small change andhis unfinished cigar on the table, and was off before the waiter couldsay, "Thank you. "

The next place at which he stopped was a fine house in a spacioussquare. A carriage was waiting at the door. The servant who opened thedoor knew him. 

"Sir James is going out again, sir, in two minutes, " the man said. Mr. Vimpany answered: "I won't keep him two minutes. "

A bell rang from the room on the ground floor; and a gentleman cameout, as Mr. Vimpany was shown in. Sir James's stethoscope was still inhis hand; his latest medical fee lay on the table. "Some other day, Vimpany, " the great surgeon said; "I have no time to give you now. "

"Will you give me a minute?" the humble doctor asked. 

"Very well. What is it?"

"I am down in the world now, Sir James, as you know--and I am trying topick myself up again. "

"Very creditable, my good fellow. How can I help you? Come, come--outwith it. You want something?"

"I want your great name to do me a great service. I am going to France. A letter of introduction, from you, will open doors which might beclosed to an unknown man like myself. "

"What doors do you mean?" Sir James asked. 

"The doors of the hospitals in Paris. "

"Wait a minute, Vimpany. Have you any particular object in view?"

"A professional object, of course, " the ready doctor answered. "I havegot an idea for a new treatment of diseases of the lungs; and I want tosee if the French have made any recent discoveries in that direction. "

Sir James took up his pen--and hesitated. His ill-starred medicalcolleague had been his fellow-student and his friend, in the days whenthey were both young men. They had seen but little of each other sincethey had gone their different ways--one of them, on the high road whichleads to success, the other down the byways which end in failure. Thefamous surgeon felt a passing doubt of the use which his needy andvagabond inferior might make of his name. For a moment his pen was heldsuspended over the paper. But the man of great reputation was also aman of great heart. Old associations pleaded with him, and won theircause. His companion of former times left the house provided with aletter of introduction to the chief surgeon at the Hotel Dieu, inParis. 

Mr. Vimpany's next, and last, proceeding for that day, was to stop at atelegraph-office, and to communicate economically with Lord Harry inthree words:

"Expect me to-morrow. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE FIRST QUARREL

EARLY in the morning of the next day, Lord Harry received the doctor'stelegram. Iris not having risen at the time, he sent for Fanny Mere, and ordered her to get the spare room ready for a guest. The maid'sbusy suspicion tempted her to put a venturesome question. She asked ifthe person expected was a lady or a gentleman. 

"What business is it of yours who the visitor is?" her master askedsharply. Always easy and good-humoured with his inferiors in general, Lord Harry had taken a dislike to his wife's maid, from the moment whenhe had first seen her. His Irish feeling for beauty and brightness wasespecially offended by the unhealthy pallor of the woman's complexion, and the sullen self-suppression of her manner. All that his nativeingenuity had been able to do was to make her a means of paying acompliment to his wife. "Your maid has one merit in my eyes, " he said;"she is a living proof of the sweetness of your temper. "

Iris joined her husband at the breakfast-table with an appearance ofdisturbance in her face, seldom seen, during the dull days of her lifeat Passy. "I hear of somebody coming to stay with us, " she said. "NotMr. Vimpany again, I hope and trust?"

Lord Harry was careful to give his customary morning kiss, before hereplied. "Why shouldn't my faithful old friend come and see me again?"he asked, with his winning smile. 

"Pray don't speak of that hateful man, " she answered, "as your faithfulold friend! He is nothing of the kind. What did you tell me when hetook leave of us after his last visit, and I owned I was glad that hehad gone? You said: 'Faith, my dear, I'm as glad as you are. '"

Her good-natured husband laughed at this little picture of himself. "Ah, my darling, how many more times am I to make the same confessionto my pretty priest? Try to remember, without more telling, that it'sone of my misfortunes to be a man of many tempers. There are times whenI get tired to death of Mr. Vimpany; and there are times when thecheery old devil exercises fascinations over me. I declare you'respoiling the eyebrows that I admire by letting them twist themselvesinto a frown! After the trouble I have taken to clear your mind ofprejudice against an unfortunate man, it's disheartening to find you sohard on the poor fellow's faults and so blind to his virtues. "

The time had been when this remonstrance might have influenced hiswife's opinion. She passed it over without notice now. 

"Does he come here by your invitation?" she asked. 

"How else should he come here, my dear?"

She looked at her husband with doubt too plainly visible in her eyes. "I wonder what your motive is for sending for him, " she said. 

He was just lifting his teacup to his lips--he put it down again whenhe heard those words. 

"Are you ill this morning?" he asked. 

"No. "

"Have I said anything that has offended you?"

"Certainly not. "

"Then I must tell you this, Iris; I don't approve of what you have justsaid. It sounds, to my mind, unpleasantly like suspicion of me andsuspicion of my friend. I see your face confessing it, my lady, at thismoment. "

"You are half right, Harry, and no more. What you see in my face issuspicion of your friend. "

"Founded on what, if you please?"

"Founded on what I have seen of him, and on what I know of him. Whenyou tried to alter my opinion of Mr. Vimpany some time since, I did mybest to make my view your view. I deceived myself, for your sake; I putthe best construction on what he said and did, when he was stayinghere. It was well meant, but it was of no use. In a thousand differentways, while he was doing his best to win my favour, his true self wastelling tales of him under the fair surface. Mr. Vimpany is a bad man. He is the very worst friend you could have about you at any time--andespecially at a time when your patience is tried by needycircumstances. "

"One word, Iris. The more eloquent you are, the more I admire you. Only, don't mention my needy circumstances again. "

She passed over the interruption as she had already passed over theremonstrance, without taking notice of it. 

"Dearest, you are always good to me, " she continued gently. "Am I wrongin thinking that love gives me some little influence over you still?Women are vain--are they not?--and I am no better than the rest ofthem. Flatter your wife's vanity, Harry, by attaching some importanceto her opinion. Is there time enough, yet, to telegraph to Mr. Vimpany?Quite out of the question, is it? Well, then, if he must come here, do--pray, pray do consider Me. Don't let him stay in the house! I'llfind a good excuse, and take a bedroom for him in the neighbourhood. Anywhere else, so long as he is not here. He turns me cold when I thinkof him, sleeping under the same roof with ourselves. Not with us! oh, Harry, not with us!"

Her eyes eagerly searched her husband's face; she looked there forindulgence, she looked for conviction. No! he was still admiring her. 

"On my word of honour, " he burst out, "you fascinate me. What animagination you have got! One of these days, Iris, I shall be prouderof you than ever; I shall find you a famous literary character. I don'tmean writing a novel; women who can't even hem a handkerchief can writea novel. It's poetry I'm thinking of. Irish melodies by Lady Harry thatbeat Tom Moore. What a gift! And there are fortunes made, as I haveheard, by people who spoil fair white paper to some purpose. I wish Iwas one of them. "

"Have you no more to say to me?" she asked. 

"What more should there be? You wouldn't have me take you seriously, inwhat you have just said of Vimpany?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, come, come, my darling! Just consider. With a bedroom empty andwaiting, upstairs, is my old Vimpany to be sent to quarters for thenight among strangers? I wouldn't speak harshly to you, Iris, for thewhole world; and I don't deny that the convivial doctor may besometimes a little too fond of his drop of grog. You will tell me, maybe, that he hasn't got on nicely with his wife; and I grant it. There are not many people who set such a pretty example of matrimony aswe do. Poor humanity--there's all that's to be said about it. But whenyou tell me that Vimpany is a bad man, and the worst friend I couldpossibly have, and so forth--what better can I do than set it down toyour imagination? I've a pretty fancy, myself; and I think I see myangel inventing poetical characters, up among congenial clouds. What'sthe matter? Surely, you haven't done breakfast yet?"

"Yes. "

"Are you going to leave me?"

"I am going to my room. "

"You're in a mighty hurry to get away. I never meant to vex you, Iris. Ah, well, if you must leave the table, I'll have the honour of openingthe door for you, at any rate. I wonder what you're going to do?"

"To cultivate my imagination, " she answered, with the first outbreak ofbitterness that had escaped her yet. 

His face hardened. "There seems to be something like bearing malice inthis, " he said. "Are you treating me, for the first time, to anexhibition of enmity? What am I to call it, if it's not that?"

"Call it disappointment, " she suggested quietly, and left him. 

Lord Harry went back to his breakfast. His jealousy was up in armsagain. "She's comparing me with her absent friend, " he said to himself, "and wishing she had married the amiable Mountjoy instead of me. "

So the first quarrel ended--and Mr. Vimpany had been the cause of it. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ICI ON PARLE FRANCAIS

THE doctor arrived in good time for dinner, and shook hands with theIrish lord in excellent spirits. 

He looked round the room, and asked where my lady was. Lord Harry'sreply suggested the presence of a cloud on the domestic horizon. He hadbeen taking a long ride, and had only returned a few minutes since;Iris would (as he supposed) join them immediately. 

The maid put the soup on the table, and delivered a message. Hermistress was suffering from a headache, and was not well enough to dinewith the gentlemen. 

As an old married man, Mr. Vimpany knew what this meant; he beggedleave to send a comforting message to the suffering lady of the house. Would Fanny be good enough to say that he had made inquiries on thesubject of Mr. Mountjoy's health, before he left London. The report wasstill favourable; there was nothing to complain of but theafter-weakness which had followed the fever. On that account only, theattendance of the nurse was still a matter of necessity. "With myrespects to Lady Harry, " he called after Fanny, as she went out indogged silence. 

"I have begun by making myself agreeable to your wife, " the doctorremarked with a self-approving grin. "Perhaps she will dine with usto-morrow. Pass the sherry. "

The remembrance of what had happened at the breakfast-table, thatmorning, seemed to be dwelling disagreeably on Lord Harry's mind. Hesaid but little--and that little related to the subject on which he hadalready written, at full length, to his medical friend. 

In an interval, when the service of the table required the attendanceof Fanny in the kitchen, Mr. Vimpany took the opportunity of saying afew cheering words. He had come (he remarked) prepared with the rightsort of remedy for an ailing state of mind, and he would explainhimself at a fitter opportunity. Lord Harry impatiently asked why theexplanation was deferred. If the presence of the maid was the obstaclewhich caused delay, it would be easy to tell her that she was notwanted to wait. 

The wary doctor positively forbade this. 

He had observed Fanny, during his previous visit, and had discoveredthat she seemed to distrust him. The woman was sly and suspicious. Since they had sat down to dinner, it was easy to see that she waslingering in the room to listen to the conversation, on one pretence oranother. If she was told not to wait, there could be no doubt of hernext proceeding: she would listen outside the door. "Take my word forit, " the doctor concluded, "there are all the materials for a spy inFanny Mere. "

But Lord Harry was obstinate. Chafing under the sense of his helplesspecuniary position, he was determined to hear, at once, what remedy forit Vimpany had discovered. 

"We can set that woman's curiosity at defiance, " he said. 

"How?"

"When you were learning your profession, you lived in Paris for someyears, didn't you?

"All right!"

"Well, then, you can't have entirely forgotten your French?"

The doctor at once understood what this meant, and answeredsignificantly by a wink. He had found an opportunity (he said) oftesting his memory, not very long since. Time had undoubtedly deprivedhim of his early mastery over the French language; but he could still(allowing for a few mistakes) make a shift to understand it and speakit. There was one thing, however, that he wanted to know first. Couldthey be sure that my lady's maid had not picked up French enough to useher ears to some purpose? Lord Harry easily disposed of this doubt. Soentirely ignorant was the maid of the language of the place in whichshe was living, that she was not able to ask the tradespeople for thesimplest article of household use, unless it was written for her inFrench before she was sent on an errand. 

This was conclusive. When Fanny returned to the dining-room, she founda surprise waiting for her. The two gentlemen had taken leave of theirnationality, and were talking the language of foreigners. 

An hour later, when the dinner-table had been cleared, the maid'sdomestic duties took her to Lady Harry's room to make tea. She noticedthe sad careworn look on her mistress's face, and spoke of it at oncein her own downright way. 

"I thought it was only an excuse, " she said, "when you gave me thatmessage to the gentlemen, at dinner-time. Are you really ill, my lady?"

"I am a little out of spirits, " Iris replied. 

Fanny made the tea. "I can understand that, " she said to herself, asshe moved away to leave the room; "I'm out of spirits myself. "

Iris called her back: "I heard you say just now, Fanny, that you wereout of spirits yourself. If you were speaking of some troubles of yourown, I am sorry for you, and I won't say any more. But if you know whatmy anxieties are, and share them--"

"Mine is the biggest share of the two, " Fanny broke out abruptly. "Itgoes against the grain with me to distress you, my lady; but we arebeginning badly, and you ought to know it. The doctor has beaten mealready. "

"Beaten you already?" Iris repeated. "Tell me plainly what you mean?"

"Here it is, if you please, as plainly as words can say it. Mr. Vimpanyhas something--something wicked, of course--to say to my master; and hewon't let it pass his lips here, in the cottage. "

"Why not?"

"Because he suspects me of listening at the door, and looking throughthe keyhole. I don't know, my lady, that he doesn't even suspect You. 'I've learnt something in the course of my life, ' he says to my master;'and it's a rule with me to be careful of what I talk about indoors, when there are women in the house. What are you going to doto-morrow?' he says. My lord told him there was to be a meeting at thenewspaper office. The doctor says: 'I'll go to Paris with you. Thenewspaper office isn't far from the Luxembourg Gardens. When you havedone your business, you will find me waiting at the gate. What I haveto tell you, you shall hear out of doors in the Gardens--and in an openpart of them, too, where there are no lurking-places among the trees. 'My master seemed to get angry at being put off in this way. 'What is ityou have got to tell me?' he says. 'Is it anything like the proposalyou made, when you were on your last visit here?' The doctor laughed. 'To-morrow won't be long in coming, ' he says. 'Patience, mylord--patience. ' There was no getting him to say a word more. Now, whatam I to do? How am I to get a chance of listening to him, out in anopen garden, without being seen? There's what I mean when I say he hasbeaten me. It's you, my lady--it's you who will suffer in the end. "

"You don't _know_ that, Fanny. "

"No, my lady--but I'm certain of it. And here I am, as helpless asyourself! My temper has been quiet, since my misfortune; it would bequiet still, but for this. " The one animating motive, the oneexasperating influence, in that sad and secret life was still themistress's welfare--still the safety of the generous woman who hadbefriended and forgiven her. She turned aside from the table, to hideher ghastly face. 

"Pray try to control yourself. " As Iris spoke, she pointed kindly to achair. "There is something that I want to say when you are composedagain. I won't hurry you; I won't look at you. Sit down, Fanny. "

She appeared to shrink from being seated in her mistress's presence. "Please to let me go to the window, " she said; "the air will help me. "

To the window she went, and struggled with the passionate self sosteadily kept under at other times; so obstinately conquered now. "Whatdid you wish to say to me?" she asked. 

"You have surprised--you have perplexed me, " Iris said. "I am at a lossto understand how you discovered what seems to have passed between yourmaster and Mr. Vimpany. You don't surely mean to tell me that theytalked of their private affairs while you were waiting at table?"

"I don't tell lies, my lady, " Fanny declared impulsively. "They talkedof nothing else all through the dinner. "

"Before _you!"_ Iris exclaimed. 

There was a pause. Fear and shame confessed themselves furtively on themaid's colourless face. Silently, swiftly, she turned to the door. Hada slip of the tongue hurried her into the betrayal of something whichit was her interest to conceal? "Don't be alarmed, " Iris saidcompassionately; "I have no wish to intrude on your secrets. "

With her hand on the door, Fanny Mere closed it again, and came back. 

"I am not so ungrateful, " she said, "as to have any secrets from You. It's hard to confess what may lower me in your good opinion, but itmust be done. I have deceived your ladyship--and I am ashamed of it. Ihave deceived the doctor--and I glory in it. My master and Mr. Vimpanythought they were safe in speaking French, while I was waiting on them. I know French as well as they do. "

Iris could hardly believe what she heard. "Do you really mean what yousay?" she asked. 

"There's that much good in me, " Fanny replied; "I always mean what Isay. "

"Why did you deceive me? Why have you been acting the part of anignorant woman?"

"The deceit has been useful in your service, " the obstinate maiddeclared. "Perhaps it may be useful again. "

"Was that what you were thinking of, " Iris said, "when you allowed meto translate English into French for you, and never told me the truth?"

"At any rate, I will tell you the truth, now. No: I was not thinking ofyou, when you wrote my errands for me in French--I was thinking againof some advice that was once given to me. "

"Was it advice given by a friend?"

"Given by a man, my lady, who was the worst enemy I have ever had. "

Her considerate mistress understood the allusion, and forbade her todistress herself by saying more. But Fanny felt that atonement, as wellas explanation, was due to her benefactress. Slowly, painfully shedescribed the person to whom she had referred. He was a Frenchman, whohad been her music-master during the brief period at which she hadattended a school: he had promised her marriage; he had persuaded herto elope with him. The little money that they had to live on was earnedby her needle, and by his wages as accompanist at a music-hall. Whileshe was still able to attract him, and to hope for the performance ofhis promise, he amused himself by teaching her his own language. Whenhe deserted her, his letter of farewell contained, among other thingsthe advice to which she had alluded. 

"In your station of life, " this man had written, "knowledge of Frenchis still a rare accomplishment. Keep your knowledge to yourself. English people of rank have a way of talking French to each other, whenthey don't wish to be understood by their inferiors. In the course ofyour career, you may surprise secrets which will prove to be a littlefortune, if you play your cards properly. Anyhow, it is the onlyfortune I have to leave to you. " Such had been the villain's partinggift to the woman whom he had betrayed. 

She had hated him too bitterly to be depraved by his advice. 

On the contrary, when the kindness of a friend (now no longer inEngland) had helped her to obtain her first employment as a domesticservant, she had thought it might be to her interest to mention thatshe could read, write, and speak French. The result proved to be notonly a disappointment, but a warning to her for the future. Such anaccomplishment as a knowledge of a foreign language possessed by anEnglishwoman, in her humble rank of life, was considered by hermistress to justify suspicion. Questions were asked, which it wasimpossible for her to answer truthfully. Small scandal drew its ownconclusions--her life with the other servants became unendurable--sheleft her situation. 

From that time, until the happy day when she met with Iris, concealmentof her knowledge of French became a proceeding forced on her by her ownpoor interests. Her present mistress would undoubtedly have been takeninto her confidence, if the opportunity had offered itself. But Irishad never encouraged her to speak of the one darkest scene in her life;and for that reason, she had kept her own counsel until the date of hermistress's marriage. Distrusting the husband, and the husband'sconfidential friend--for were they not both men?--she had thought ofthe vile Frenchman's advice, and had resolved to give it a trial; notwith the degrading motive which he had suggested, but with the vaguepresentiment of making a discovery of wickedness, threatening mischiefunder a French disguise, which might be of service to her benefactressat some future time. 

"And I may still turn it to your advantage, my lady, " Fanny ventured toadd, "if you will consent to say nothing to anybody of your having aservant who has learnt French. "

Iris looked at her coldly and gravely. "Must I remind you, " she said, "that you are asking my help in practicing a deception on my husband?"

"I shall be sent away, " Fanny answered, "if you tell my master what Ihave told you. "

This was indisputably true. Iris hesitated. In her present situation, the maid was the one friend on whom she could rely. Before hermarriage, she would have recoiled from availing herself, under anycircumstances, of such services as Fanny's reckless gratitude hadoffered to her. But the moral atmosphere in which she was living hadbegun, as Mrs. Vimpany had foreseen, to exert its baneful influence. The mistress descended to bargaining with the servant. 

"Deceive the doctor, " she said, "and I well remember that it may be formy good. " She stopped, and considered for a moment. Her noble naturerallied its forces, and prompted her next words: "But respect yourmaster, if you wish me to keep your secret. I forbid you to listen towhat my lord may say, when he speaks with Mr. Vimpany to-morrow. "

"I have already told your ladyship that I shall have no chance oflistening to what they say to each other, out of doors, " Fannyrejoined. "But I can watch the doctor at any rate. We don't know whathe may not do when he is left by himself, while my master is at themeeting. I want to try if I can follow that rogue through the streets, without his finding me out. Please to send me on an errand to Paristo-morrow. "

"You will be running a terrible risk, " her mistress reminded her, "ifMr. Vimpany discovers you. "

"I'll take my chance of that, " was the reckless reply. 

Iris consented. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE MYSTERY OF THE HOSPITAL

ON the next morning Lord Harry left the cottage, accompanied by thedoctor. 

After a long absence, he returned alone. His wife's worstapprehensions, roused by what Fanny had told her, were more thanjustified, by the change which she now perceived in him. His eyes werebloodshot, his face was haggard, his movements were feeble and slow. Helooked like a man exhausted by some internal conflict, which hadvibrated between the extremes of anger and alarm. "I'm tired to death, "he said; "get me a glass of wine. "

She waited on him with eager obedience, and watched anxiously for thereviving effect of the stimulant. 

The little irritabilities which degrade humanity only prolong theirmischievous existence, while the surface of life stagnates in calm. Their annihilation follows when strong emotion stirs in the depths, andraises the storm. The estrangement of the day before passed ascompletely from the minds of the husband and wife--both stronglyagitated--as if it had never existed. All-mastering fear was busy attheir hearts; fear, in the woman, of the unknown temptation which hadtried the man; fear, in the man, of the tell-tale disturbance in him, which might excite the woman's suspicion. Without venturing to look athim, Iris said: "I am afraid you have heard bad news?" Withoutventuring to look at her, Lord Harry answered: "Yes, at the newspaperoffice. " She knew that he was deceiving her; and he felt that she knewit. For awhile, they were both silent. 

From time to time, she anxiously stole a look at him. 

His mind remained absorbed in thought. There they were, in the sameroom--seated near each other; united by the most intimate of humanrelationships--and yet how far, how cruelly far, apart! The slowest ofall laggard minutes, the minutes which are reckoned by suspense, followed each other tardily and more tardily, before there appeared thefirst sign of a change. He lifted his drooping head. Sadly, longingly, he looked at her. The unerring instinct of true love encouraged hiswife to speak to him. 

"I wish I could relieve your anxieties, " she said simply. "Is therenothing I can do to help you?"

"Come here, Iris. "

She rose and approached him. In the past days of the honeymoon and itssweet familiarities, he had sometimes taken her on his knee. He tookher on his knee now, and put his arm round her. "Kiss me, " he said. 

With all her heart she kissed him. He sighed heavily; his eyes restedon her with a trustful appealing look which she had never observed inthem before. 

"Why do you hesitate to confide in me?" she asked. "Dear Harry, do youthink I don't see that something troubles you?"

"Yes, " he said, "there is something that I regret. "

"What is it?"

"Iris, " he answered, "I am sorry I asked Vimpany to come back to us. "

At that unexpected confession, a bright flush of joy and prideoverspread his wife's face. Again, the unerring instinct of love guidedher to discovery of the truth. The opinion of his wicked friend musthave been accidentally justified, at the secret interview of that day, by the friend himself! In tempting her husband, Vimpany had saidsomething which must have shocked and offended him. The result, as shecould hardly doubt, had been the restoration of her domestic influenceto its helpful freedom of control--whether for the time only it was notin her nature, at that moment of happiness, to inquire. "After what youhave just told me, " she ventured to say, "I may own that I am glad tosee you come home, alone. "

In that indirect manner, she confessed the hope that friendlyintercourse between the two men had come to an end. His replydisappointed her. 

"Vimpany only remains in Paris, " he said, "to present a letter ofintroduction. He will follow me home. "

"Soon?" she asked, piteously. 

"In time for dinner, I suppose. " She was still sitting on his knee. Hisarm pressed her gently when he said his next words, "I hope you willdine with us to-day, Iris?"

"Yes--if you wish it. "

"I wish it very much. Something in me recoils from being alone withVimpany. Besides, a dinner at home without you is no dinner at all. "

She thanked him for that little compliment by a look. At the same time, her grateful sense of her husband's kindness was embittered by theprospect of the doctor's return. "Is he likely to dine with us often, now?" she was bold enough to say. 

"I hope not. "

Perhaps he was conscious that he might have made a more positive reply. He certainly took refuge in another subject--more agreeable to himself. 

"My dear, you have expressed the wish to relieve my anxieties, " hesaid; "and you can help me, I think, in that way. I have a letter towrite--of some importance, Iris, to your interests as well as tomine--which must go to Ireland by to-day's post. You shall read it, andsay if you approve of what I have done. Don't let me be disturbed. Thisletter, I can tell you, will make a hard demand on my poor brains--Imust go and write in my own room. "

Left alone with the thoughts that now crowded on her mind, Iris foundher attention claimed once more by passing events. Fanny Mere arrived, to report herself on her return from Paris. 

She had so managed her departure from Passy as to precede Lord Harryand Mr. Vimpany, and to watch for their arrival in Paris by a latertrain. They had driven from the railway to the newspaper office---withthe maid in attendance on them in another cab. When they separated, thedoctor proceeded on foot to the Luxembourg Gardens. Wearing a plainblack dress, and protected from close observation by her veil, Fannyfollowed him, cautiously keeping at a sufficient distance, now on oneside of the street and now on the other. When my lord joined hisfriend, she just held them in view, and no more, as they walked up anddown in the barest and loneliest part of the Gardens that they couldfind. Their talk having come to an end, they parted. Her master was thefirst who came out into the street; walking at a great rate, andlooking most desperately upset. Mr. Vimpany next appeared, saunteringalong with his hands in his pockets, grinning as if his own villainousthoughts were thoroughly amusing him. Fanny was now more careful thanever not to lose sight of the doctor. The course which he pursued ledthem to the famous hospital called the Hotel Dieu. 

At the entrance she saw him take a letter out of his pocket, and giveit to the porter. Soon afterwards, a person appeared who greeted himpolitely, and conducted him into the building. For more than an hour, Fanny waited to see Mr. Vimpany come out again, and waited in vain. What could he possibly want in a French hospital? And why had heremained in that foreign institution for so long a time? Baffled bythese mysteries, and weary after much walking, Fanny made the best ofher way home, and consulted her mistress. 

Even if Iris had been capable of enlightening her, the opportunity waswanting. Lord Harry entered the room, with the letter which he had justwritten, open in his hand, As a matter of course, the maid retired. 

CHAPTER XL

DIRE NECESSITY

THE Irish lord had a word to say to his wife, before he submitted toher the letter which he had just written. 

He had been summoned to a meeting of proprietors at the office of thenewspaper, convened to settle the terms of a new subscription renderednecessary by unforeseen expenses incurred in the interests of thespeculation. The vote that followed, after careful preliminaryconsultation, authorised a claim on the purses of subscribingproprietors, which sadly reduced the sum obtained by Lord Harry'spromissory note. Nor was this inconvenience the only trial of enduranceto which the Irish lord was compelled to submit. The hope which he hadentertained of assistance from the profits of the new journal, whenrepayment of the loan that he had raised became due, was now plainlyrevealed as a delusion. Ruin stared him in the face, unless he couldcommand the means of waiting for the pecuniary success of thenewspaper, during an interval variously estimated at six months, oreven at a year to come. 

"Our case is desperate enough, " he said, "to call for a desperateremedy. Keep up your spirits, Iris--I have written to my brother. "

Iris looked at him in dismay. 

"Surely, " she said, "you once told me you had written to your brother, and he answered you in the cruellest manner through his lawyers. "

"Quite true, my dear. But, this time, there is one circumstance in ourfavour--my brother is going to be married. The lady is said to be anheiress; a charming creature, admired and beloved wherever she goes. There must surely be something to soften the hardest heart in thathappy prospect. Read what I have written, and tell me what you think ofit. "

The opinion of the devoted wife encouraged the desperate husband: theletter was dispatched by the post of that day. 

If boisterous good spirits can make a man agreeable at thedinner-table, then indeed Mr. Vimpany, on his return to the cottage, played the part of a welcome guest. He was inexhaustible in gallantattentions to his friend's wife; he told his most amusing stories inhis happiest way; he gaily drank his host's fine white Burgundy, andpraised with thorough knowledge of the subject the succulent Frenchdishes; he tried Lord Harry with talk on politics, talk on sport, and(wonderful to relate in these days) talk on literature. The preoccupiedIrishman was equally inaccessible on all three subjects. When thedessert was placed on the table--still bent on making himself agreeableto Lady Harry--Mr. Vimpany led the conversation to the subject offloriculture. In the interests of her ladyship's pretty little garden, he advocated a complete change in the system of cultivation, andjustified his revolutionary views by misquoting the published work of agreat authority on gardening with such polite obstinacy that Iris(eager to confute him) went away to fetch the book. The moment he hadentrapped her into leaving the room, the doctor turned to Lord Harrywith a sudden change to the imperative mood in look and manner. 

"What have you been about, " he asked, "since we had that talk in theGardens to-day? Have you looked at your empty purse, and are you wiseenough to take my way of filling it?"

"As long as there's the ghost of a chance left to me, " Lord Harryreplied, "I'll take any way of filling my purse but yours. "

"Does that mean you have found a way?"

"Do me a favour, Vimpany. Defer all questions till the end of theweek. "

"And then I shall have your answer?"

"Without fail, I promise it. Hush!"

Iris returned to the dining-room with her book; and polite Mr. Vimpanyowned in the readiest manner that he had been mistaken. 

The remaining days of the week followed each other wearily. During theinterval, Lord Harry's friend carefully preserved the character of amodel guest--he gave as little trouble as possible. Every morning afterbreakfast the doctor went away by the train. Every morning (withsimilar regularity) he was followed by the resolute Fanny Mere. Pursuing his way through widely different quarters of Paris, heinvariably stopped at a public building, invariably presented a letterat the door, and was invariably asked to walk in. Inquiries, patientlypersisted in by the English maid, led in each case to the same result. The different public buildings were devoted to the same benevolentpurpose. Like the Hotel Dieu, they were all hospitals; and Mr. Vimpany's object in visiting them remained as profound a mystery asever. 

Early on the last morning of the week the answer from Lord Harry'sbrother arrived. Hearing of it, Iris ran eagerly into her husband'sroom. The letter was already scattered in fragments on the floor. Whatthe tone of the Earl's inhuman answer had been in the past time, thatit was again now. 

Iris put her arms round her husband's neck. "Oh, my poor love, what isto be done?"

He answered in one reckless word: "Nothing!"

"Is there nobody else who can help us?" she asked. 

"Ah, well, darling, there's perhaps one other person still left, "

"Who is the person?"

"Who should it be but your own dear self?"

She looked at him in undisguised bewilderment: "Only tell me, Harry, what I can do?"

"Write to Mountjoy, and ask him to lend me the money. "

He said it. In those shameless words, he said it. She, who hadsacrificed Mountjoy to the man whom she had married, was now asked bythat man to use Mountjoy's devotion to her, as a means of paying hisdebts! Iris drew back from him with a cry of disgust. 

"You refuse?" he said. 

"Do you insult me by doubting it?" she answered. 

He rang the bell furiously, and dashed out of the room. She heard him, on the stairs, ask where Mr. Vimpany was. The servant replied: "In thegarden, my lord. "

Smoking a cigar luxuriously in the fine morning air, the doctor saw hisexcitable Irish friend hastening out to meet him. 

"Don't hurry, " he said, in full possession of his impudent good-humour;"and don't lose your temper. Will you take my way out of yourdifficulties, or will you not? Which is it--Yes or No?"

"You infernal scoundrel--Yes!"

"My dear lord, I congratulate you. "

"On what, sir?"

"On being as great a scoundrel as I am. "

CHAPTER XLI

THE MAN IS FOUND. 

THE unworthy scheme, by means of which Lord Harry had proposed toextricate himself from his pecuniary responsibilities, had led toserious consequences. It had produced a state of deliberateestrangement between man and wife. 

Iris secluded herself in her own room. Her husband passed the hours ofevery day away from the cottage; sometimes in the company of thedoctor, sometimes among his friends in Paris. His wife suffered acutelyunder the self-imposed state of separation, to which wounded pride andkeenly felt resentment compelled her to submit. No friend was near her, in whose compassionate advice she might have token refuge. Not even thesympathy of her maid was offered to the lonely wife. 

With the welfare of Iris as her one end in view, Fanny Mere honestlybelieved that it would be better and safer for Lady Harry if she andher husband finally decided on living separate lives. The longer mylord persisted in keeping the doctor with him as his guest, the moreperilously he was associated with a merciless wretch, who would becapable of plotting the ruin of anyone--man or woman, high person orlow person--who might happen to be an obstacle in his way. So far as aperson in her situation could venture on taking the liberty, the maiddid her best to widen the breach between her master and her mistress. 

While Fanny was making the attempt to influence Lady Harry, and onlyproducing irritation as the result, Vimpany was exerting strongerpowers of persuasion in the effort to prejudice the Irish lord againstany proposal for reconciliation which might reach him through his wife. 

"I find an unforgiving temper in your charming lady, " the doctordeclared. "It doesn't show itself on the surface, my dear fellow, butthere it is. Take a wise advantage of circumstances--say you will raiseno inconvenient objections, if she wants a separation by mutualconsent. Now don't misunderstand me. I only recommend the sort ofseparation which will suit our convenience. You know as well as I dothat you can whistle your wife back again--"

Mr. Vimpany's friend was rude enough to interrupt him, there. 

"I call that a coarse way of putting it, " Lord Harry interposed. 

"Put it how you like for yourself, " the doctor rejoined. "Lady Harrymay be persuaded to come back to you, when we want her for our grandproject. In the meantime (for I am always a considerate man where womenare concerned) we act delicately towards my lady, in sparing her thediscovery of--what shall I call our coming enterprise?--venturesomevillainy, which might ruin you in your wife's estimation. Do you seeour situation now, as it really is? Very well. Pass the bottle, anddrop the subject for the present. "

The next morning brought with it an event, which demolished thedoctor's ingenious arrangement for the dismissal of Iris from the sceneof action. Lord and Lady Harry encountered each other accidentally onthe stairs. 

Distrusting herself if she ventured to look at him, Iris turned hereyes away from her husband. He misinterpreted the action as anexpression of contempt. Anger at once inclined him to follow Mr. Vimpany's advice. 

He opened the door of the dining-room, empty at that moment, and toldIris that he wished to speak with her. What his villainous friend hadsuggested that he should say, on the subject of a separation, he nowrepeated with a repellent firmness which he was far from reallyfeeling. The acting was bad, but the effect was produced. For the firsttime, his wife spoke to him. 

"Do you really mean it?" she asked, The tone in which she said those words, sadly and regretfully tellingits tale of uncontrollable surprise; the tender remembrance of pasthappy days in her eyes; the quivering pain, expressive of wounded love, that parted her lips in the effort to breathe freely, touched hisheart, try as he might in the wretched pride of the moment to concealit. He was silent. 

"If you are weary of our married life, " she continued, "say so, and letus part. I will go away, without entreaties and without reproaches. Whatever pain I may feel, you shall not see it!" A passing flushcrossed her face, and left it pale again. She trembled under theconsciousness of returning love--the blind love that had so cruellymisled her! At a moment when she most needed firmness, her heart wassinking; she resisted, struggled, recovered herself. Quietly, and evenfirmly, she claimed his decision. "Does your silence mean, " she asked, "that you wish me to leave you?"

No man who had loved her as tenderly as her husband had loved her, could have resisted that touching self-control. He answered his wifewithout uttering a word--he held out his arms to her. The fatalreconciliation was accomplished in silence. 

At dinner on that day Mr. Vimpany's bold eyes saw a new sight, and Mr. Vimpany's rascally lips indulged in an impudent smile. My lady appearedagain in her place at the dinner-table. At the customary time, the twomen were left alone over their wine. The reckless Irish lord, rejoicingin the recovery of his wife's tender regard, drank freely. Understanding and despising him, the doctor's devilish gaiety indulgedin facetious reminiscences of his own married life. 

"If I could claim a sovereign, " he said, "for every quarrel betweenMrs. Vimpany and myself, I put it at a low average when I declare thatI should be worth a thousand pounds. How does your lordship stand inthat matter? Shall we say a dozen breaches of the marriage agreement upto the present time?"

"Say two--and no more to come!" his friend answered cheerfully. 

"No more to come!" the doctor repeated. "My experience says plenty moreto come; I never saw two people less likely to submit to a peaceablemarried life than you and my lady. Ha! you laugh at that? It's a habitof mine to back my opinion. I'll bet you a dozen of champagne therewill be a quarrel which parts you two, for good and all, before theyear is out. Do you take the bet?"

"Done!" cried Lord Harry. "I propose my wife's good health, Vimpany, ina bumper. She shall drink confusion to all false prophets in the firstglass of your champagne!"

The post of the next morning brought with it two letters. 

One of them bore the postmark of London, and was addressed to LadyHarry Norland. It was written by Mrs. Vimpany, and it contained a fewlines added by Hugh Mountjoy. "My strength is slow in returning to me"(he wrote); "but my kind and devoted nurse says that all danger ofinfection is at an end. You may write again to your old friend if LordHarry sees no objection, as harmlessly as in the happy past time. Myweak hand begins to tremble already. How glad I shall be to hear fromyou, it is, happily for me, quite needless to add. "

In her delight at receiving this good news Iris impulsively assumedthat her husband would give it a kindly welcome on his side; sheinsisted on reading the letter to him. He said coldly, "I am glad tohear of Mr. Mountjoy's recovery"--and took up the newspaper. Was thisunworthy jealousy still strong enough to master him, even at thatmoment? His wife had forgotten it. Why had he not forgotten it too?

On the same day Iris replied to Hugh, with the confidence and affectionof the bygone time before her marriage. After closing and addressingthe envelope, she found that her small store of postage stamps wasexhausted, and sent for her maid. Mr. Vimpany happened to pass the opendoor of her room, while she was asking for a stamp; he heard Fanny saythat she was not able to accommodate her mistress. "Allow me to makemyself useful, " the polite doctor suggested. He produced a stamp, andfixed it himself on the envelope. When he had proceeded on his waydownstairs, Fanny's distrust of him insisted on expressing itself. "Hewanted to find out what person you have written to, " she said. "Let memake your letter safe in the post. " In five minutes more it was in thebox at the office. 

While these trifling events were in course of progress, Mr. Vimpany hadgone into the garden to read the second of the two letters, deliveredthat morning, addressed to himself. On her return from the post-office, Fanny had opportunities of observing him while she was in thegreenhouse, trying to revive the perishing flowers--neglected in thepast days of domestic trouble. 

Noticing her, after he had read his letter over for the second time, Mr. Vimpany sent the maid into the cottage to say that he wished tospeak with her master. Lord Harry joined him in the garden--looked atthe letter--and, handing it back, turned away. The doctor followed him, and said something which seemed to be received with objection. Mr. Vimpany persisted nevertheless, and apparently carried his point. Thetwo gentlemen consulted the railway time-table, and hurried awaytogether, to catch the train to Paris. 

Fanny Mere returned to the conservatory, and absently resumed heremployment among the flowers. On what evil errand had the doctor leftthe cottage? And, why, on this occasion, had he taken the master withhim?

The time had been when Fanny might have tried to set these questions atrest by boldly following the two gentlemen to Paris; trusting to herveil, to her luck, and to the choice of a separate carriage in thetrain, to escape notice. But, although her ill-judged interference withthe domestic affairs of Lady Harry had been forgiven, she had not beenreceived again into favour unreservedly. Conditions were imposed, whichforbade her to express any opinion on her master's conduct, and whichimperatively ordered her to leave the protection of her mistress--ifprotection was really needed--in his lordship's competent hands. "Igratefully appreciate your kind intentions, " Iris had said, with hercustomary tenderness of regard for the feelings of others; "but I neverwish to hear again of Mr. Vimpany, or of the strange suspicions whichhe seems to excite in your mind. " Still as gratefully devoted to Irisas ever, Fanny viewed the change in my lady's way of thinking as one ofthe deplorable results of her return to her husband, and waitedresignedly for the coming time when her wise distrust of twounscrupulous men would be justified. 

Condemned to inaction for the present, Lady Harry's maid walkedirritably up and down the conservatory, forgetting the flowers. Throughthe open back door of the cottage the cheap clock in the hall pouredits harsh little volume of sound, striking the hour. "I wonder, " shesaid to herself, "if those two wicked ones have found their way to ahospital yet?" That guess happened to have hit the mark. The two wickedones were really approaching a hospital, well known to the doctor bymore previous visits than one. At the door they were met by a Frenchphysician, attached to the institution--the writer of the letter whichhad reached Mr. Vimpany in the morning. 

This gentleman led the way to the official department of the hospital, and introduced the two foreigners to the French authorities assembledfor the transaction of business. 

As a medical man, Mr. Vimpany's claims to general respect andconfidence were carefully presented. He was a member of the EnglishCollege of Surgeons; he was the friend, as well as the colleague of thefamous President of that College, who had introduced him to the chiefsurgeon of the Hotel Dieu. Other introductions to illustrious medicalpersons in Paris had naturally followed. Presented under theseadvantages, Mr. Vimpany announced his discovery of a new system oftreatment in diseases of the lungs. Having received his medicaleducation in Paris, he felt bound in gratitude to place himself underthe protection of "the princes of science, " resident in the brilliantcapital of France. In that hospital, after much fruitless investigationin similar institutions, he had found a patient suffering from the formof lung disease, which offered to him the opportunity that he wanted. It was impossible that he could do justice to his new system, unlessthe circumstances were especially favourable. Air more pure than theair of a great city, and bed-room accommodation not shared by othersick persons, were among the conditions absolutely necessary to thesuccess of the experiment. These, and other advantages, were freelyoffered to him by his noble friend, who would enter into anyexplanations which the authorities then present might think itnecessary to demand. 

The explanations having been offered and approved, there was a generalmove to the bed occupied by the invalid who was an object ofprofessional interest to the English doctor. 

The patient's name was Oxbye. He was a native of Denmark, and hadfollowed in his own country the vocation of a schoolmaster. Hisknowledge of the English language and the French had offered him theopportunity of migrating to Paris, where he had obtained employment astranslator and copyist. Earning his bread, poorly enough in this way, he had been prostrated by the malady which had obliged him to takerefuge in the hospital. The French physician, under whose medical carehe had been placed, having announced that he had communicated his notesenclosed in a letter to his English colleague, and having franklyacknowledged that the result of the treatment had not as yetsufficiently justified expectation, the officers of the institutionspoke next. The Dane was informed of the nature of Mr. Vimpany'sinterest in him, and of the hospitable assistance offered by Mr. Vimpany's benevolent friend; and the question was then put, whether hepreferred to remain where he was, or whether he desired to be removedunder the conditions which had just been stated?

Tempted by the prospect of a change, which offered to him a bed-chamberof his own in the house of a person of distinction--with a garden towalk about in, and flowers to gladden his eyes, when he gotbetter--Oxbye eagerly adopted the alternative of leaving the hospital. "Pray let me go, " the poor fellow said: "I am sure I shall be thebetter for it. " Without opposing this decision, the responsibledirectors reminded him that it had been adopted on impulse, and decidedthat it was their duty to give him a little time for consideration. 

In the meanwhile, some of the gentlemen assembled at the bedside, looking at Oxbye and then looking at Lord Harry, had observed a certainaccidental likeness between the patient and "Milord, thephilanthropist, " who was willing to receive him. The restraints ofpoliteness had only permitted them to speak of this curious discoveryamong themselves. At the later time, however, when the gentlemen hadtaken leave of each other, Mr. Vimpany--finding himself alone with LordHarry--had no hesitation in introducing the subject, on which delicacyhad prevented the Frenchmen from entering. 

"Did you look at the Dane?" he began abruptly. 

"Of course I did!"

"And you noticed the likeness?"

"Not I!"

The doctor's uproarious laughter startled the people who were walkingnear them in the street. "Here's another proof, " he burst out, "of thetrue saying that no man knows himself. You don't deny the likeness, Isuppose?"

"Do you yourself see it?" Lord Harry asked. 

Mr. Vimpany answered the question scornfully: "Is it likely that Ishould have submitted to all the trouble I have taken to get possessionof that man, if I had not seen a likeness between his face and yours?"

The Irish lord said no more. When his friend asked why he was silent, he gave his reason sharply enough: "I don't like the subject. "

CHAPTER XLII

THE METTLESOME MAID

ON the evening of that day Fanny Mere, entering the dining-room withthe coffee, found Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany alone, and discovered (assoon as she opened the door) that they changed the language in whichthey were talking from English to French. 

She continued to linger in the room, apparently occupied in setting thevarious objects on the sideboard in order. Her master was speaking atthe time; he asked if the doctor had succeeded in finding a bed-roomfor himself in the neighbourhood. To this Mr. Vimpany replied that hehad got the bed-room. Also, that he had provided himself with somethingelse, which it was equally important to have at his disposal. "I mean, "he proceeded, in his bad French, "that I have found a photographicapparatus on hire. We are ready now for the appearance of ourinteresting Danish guest. "

"And when the man comes, " Lord Harry added, "what am I to say to mywife? How am I to find an excuse, when she hears of a hospital patientwho has taken possession of your bed-room at the cottage--and has doneit with my permission, and with you to attend on him?"

The doctor sipped his coffee. "We have told a story that has satisfiedthe authorities, " he said coolly. "Repeat the story to your wife. "

"She won't believe it, " Lord Harry replied. 

Mr. Vimpany waited until he had lit another cigar, and had quitesatisfied himself that it was worth smoking. 

"You have yourself to thank for that obstacle, " he resumed. "If you hadtaken my advice, your wife would have been out of our way by this time. I suppose I must manage it. If you fail, leave her ladyship to me. Inthe meanwhile, there's a matter of more importance to settle first. Weshall want a nurse for our poor dear invalid. Where are we to findher?"

As he stated that difficulty, he finished his coffee, and looked abouthim for the bottle of brandy which always stood on the dinner-table. Indoing this, he happened to notice Fanny. Convinced that her mistresswas in danger, after what she had already heard, the maid's anxiety andalarm had so completely absorbed her that she had forgotten to play herpart. Instead of still busying herself at the sideboard, she stood withher back to it, palpably listening. Cunning Mr. Vimpany, possessinghimself of the brandy, made a request too entirely appropriate toexcite suspicion. 

"Some fresh cold water, if you please, " was all that he said. 

The moment that Fanny left the room, the doctor addressed his friend inEnglish, with his eye on the door: "News for you, my boy! We are in apretty pickle--Lady Harry's maid understands French. "

"Quite impossible, " Lord Harry declared. 

"We will put that to the test, " Mr. Vimpany answered. "Watch her whenshe comes in again. "

"What are you going to do. "

"I am going to insult her in French. Observe the result. "

In another minute Fanny returned with the fresh water. As she placedthe glass jug before Mr. Vimpany he suddenly laid his hand on her armand looked her straight in the face. "Vous nous avez mis dedans, drolesse!"* he said. 

*In English: "You have taken us in, you jade!"

An uncontrollable look of mingled rage and fear made its plainconfession in Fanny's face. She had been discovered; she had heardherself called "drolesse;" she stood before the two men self-condemned. Her angry master threatened her with instant dismissal from the house. The doctor interfered. 

"No, no, " he said; "you mustn't deprive Lady Harry, at a moment'snotice, of her maid. Such a clever maid, too, " he added with hisrascally smile. "An accomplished person, who understands French, and istoo modest to own it!"

The doctor had led Fanny through many a weary and unrewarded walk whenshe had followed him to the hospitals; he had now inflicted adeliberate insult by calling her "drolesse" and he had completed thesum of his offences by talking contemptuously of her modesty and hermastery of the French language. The woman's detestation of him, whichunder ordinary circumstances she might have attempted to conceal, wasurged into audaciously asserting itself by the strong excitement thatnow possessed her. Driven to bay, Fanny had made up her mind todiscover the conspiracy of which Mr. Vimpany was the animating spirit, by a method daring enough to be worthy of the doctor himself. 

"My knowledge of French has told me something, " she said. "I have justheard, Mr. Vimpany, that you want a nurse for your invalid gentleman. With my lord's permission, suppose you try Me?"

Fanny's audacity was more than her master's patience could endure. Heordered her to leave the room. 

The peace-making doctor interfered again: "My dear lord, let me beg youwill not be too hard on the young woman. " He turned to Fanny, with aneffort to look indulgent, which ended in the reappearance of hisrascally smile. "Thank you, my dear, for your proposal, " he said; "Iwill let you know if we accept it, to-morrow. "

Fanny's unforgiving master pointed to the door; she thanked Mr. Vimpany, and went out. Lord Harry eyed his friend in angry amazement. "Are you mad?" he asked. 

"Tell me something first, " the doctor rejoined. "Is there any Englishblood in your family?"

Lord Harry answered with a burst of patriotic feeling: "I regret to saymy family is adulterated in that manner. My grandmother was anEnglishwoman. "

Mr. Vimpany received this extract from the page of family history witha coolness all his own. 

"It's a relief to hear that, " he said. "You may be capable (by thegrandmother's side) of swallowing a dose of sound English sense. I canbut try, at any rate. That woman is too bold and too clever to betreated like an ordinary servant--I incline to believe that she is aspy in the employment of your wife. Whether I am right or wrong in thislatter case, the one way I can see of paring the cat's claws is to turnher into a nurse. Do you find me mad now?"

"Madder than ever!"

"Ah, you don't take after your grandmother! Now listen to me. Do we runthe smallest risk, if Fanny finds it her interest to betray us? Supposewe ask ourselves what she has really found out. She knows we have got asick man from a hospital coming here--does she know what we want himfor? Not she! Neither you nor I said a word on that subject. But shealso heard us agree that your wife was in our way. What does thatmatter? Did she hear us say what it is that we don't want your wife todiscover? Not she, I tell you again! Very well, then--if Fanny acts asOxbye's nurse, shy as the young woman may be, she innocently associatesherself with the end that we have to gain by the Danish gentleman'sdeath! Oh, you needn't look alarmed! I mean his natural death by lungdisease--no crime, my noble friend! no crime!"

The Irish lord, sitting near the doctor, drew his chair back in ahurry. 

"If there's English blood in my family, " he declared, "I'll tell youwhat, Vimpany, there's devil's blood in yours!"

"Anything you like but Irish blood, " the cool scoundrel rejoined. 

As he made that insolent reply, Fanny came in again, with a sufficientexcuse for her reappearance. She announced that a person from thehospital wished to speak to the English doctor. 

The messenger proved to be a young man employed in the secretary'soffice. Oxbye still persisting in his desire to be placed under Mr. Vimpany's care; one last responsibility rested on the officialgentlemen now in charge of him. They could implicitly trust the medicalassistance and the gracious hospitality offered to the poor Danishpatient; but, before he left them, they must also be satisfied that hewould be attended by a competent nurse. If the person whom Mr. Vimpanyproposed to employ in this capacity could be brought to the hospital, it would be esteemed a favour; and, if her account of herself satisfiedthe physician in charge of Oxbye's case, the Dane might be removed tohis new quarters on the same day. 

The next morning witnessed the first in a series of domestic incidentsat the cottage, which no prophetic ingenuity could have foreseen. Mr. Vimpany and Fanny Mere actually left Passy together, on their way toParis!

CHAPTER XLIII

FICTION: ATTEMPTED BY MY LORD

THE day on which the doctor took his newly-appointed nurse with him tothe hospital became an occasion associated with distressingrecollections in the memory of Iris. 

In the morning, Fanny Mere had asked for leave to go out. For some timepast this request had been so frequently granted, with such poorresults so far as the maid's own designs were concerned, that LadyHarry decided on administering a tacit reproof, by means of a refusal. Fanny made no attempt at remonstrance; she left the room in silence. 

Half an hour later, Iris had occasion to ring for her attendant. Thebell was answered by the cook--who announced, in explanation of herappearance, that Fanny Mere had gone out. More distressed thandispleased by this reckless disregard of her authority, on the part ofa woman who had hitherto expressed the most grateful sense of herkindness, Iris only said: "Send Fanny to me as soon as she comes back. "

Two hours passed before the truant maid returned. 

"I refused to let you go out this morning, " Lady Harry said; "and youhave taken the liberty of leaving the house for two hours. You mighthave made me understand, in a more becoming manner, that you intendedto leave my service. "

Steadily respectful, Fanny answered: "I don't wish to leave yourladyship's service. "

"Then what does your conduct mean?"

"It means, if you please, that I had a duty to do--and did it. "

"A duty to yourself?" Iris asked. 

"No, my lady; a duty to you. "

As she made that strange reply the door was opened, and Lord Harryentered the room. When he saw Fanny Mere he turned away again, in ahurry, to go out. "I didn't know your maid was with you, " he said. "Another time will do. "

His permitting a servant to be an obstacle in his way, when he wishedto speak to his wife, was a concession so entirely unbecoming in themaster of the house, and so strangely contrary to his customary senseof what was due to himself, that Iris called him back in astonishment. She looked at her maid, who at once understood her, and withdrew. "Whatcan you possibly be thinking of?" she said to her husband, when theywere alone. Putting that question, she noticed an embarrassment in hismanner, and an appearance of confusion in his face, which alarmed her. "Has something happened?" she asked; "and is it so serious that youhesitate to mention it to me?"

He sat down by her and took her hand. The loving look in his eyes, which she knew so well, was not in them now; they expressed doubt, andsomething with it which suggested an effort at conciliation. 

"I am fearing I shall surprise you, " he said. 

"Don't keep me in suspense!" she returned. "What is it?"

He smiled uneasily: "It's something about Vimpany. "

Having got as far as that, he stopped. She drew her hand away from him. "I understand now, " she said; "I must endeavour to control myself--youhave something to tell me which will try my temper. "

He held up his hands in humorous protest: "Ah, my darling, here's yourvivid imagination again, making mountains out of molehills, as theysay! It's nothing half so serious as you seem to think; I have only totell you of a little change. "

"A little change?" she repeated. "What change?"

"Well, my dear, you see--" He hesitated and recovered himself. "I mean, you must know that Vimpany's plans are altered. He won't any longeroccupy his bedroom in the cottage here. "

Iris looked inexpressibly relieved. "Going away, at last!" sheexclaimed. "Oh, Harry, if you have been mystifying me, I hope you willnever do it again. It isn't like you; it's cruel to alarm me aboutnothing. Mr. Vimpany's empty bedroom will be the most interesting roomin the house, when I look into it to-night. "

Lord Harry got up, and walked to the window. As a sign of trouble inhis mind, and of an instinctive effort to relieve it, the object ofthis movement was well-known to Iris. She followed him and stood by hisside. It was now plain to her that there was something more to betold--and that he was hesitating how to confide it to his wife. 

"Go on, " she said resignedly. 

He had expected her to take his arm, or perhaps to caress him, or atleast to encourage him by her gentlest words and her prettiest smiles. The steady self-restraint which she now manifested was a sign, as heinterpreted it, of suppressed resentment. Shrinking, honestlyshrinking, from the bare possibility of another quarrel, he confrontedthe hard necessities of further confession. 

"Well, now, " he said, "it's only this--you mustn't look into the emptybedroom to-night. "

"Why not?"

"Ah, for the best of all good reasons! Because you might find somebodyin there. "

This reply excited her curiosity: her eyes rested on him eagerly. "Somefriend of yours?" she asked. 

He persisted in an assumption of good-humour, which betrayed itself asmere artifice in the clumsiest manner: "I declare I feel as if I werein a court of justice, being cross-examined by a lawyer of skill anddexterity! Well, my sweet counsellor, no--not exactly a friend ofmine. "

She reflected for a moment. "You don't surely mean one of Mr. Vimpany'sfriends?" she said. 

He pretended not to have heard her, and pointed to the view of thegarden from the window. "Isn't it a lovely day? Let's go and look atthe flowers, " he suggested. 

"Did you not hear what I said to you just now?" she persisted. 

"I beg your pardon, dear; I was thinking of something else. Suppose wego into the garden?"

When women have a point to gain in which they are interested, how manyof them are capable of deferring it to a better opportunity? One in athousand, perhaps. Iris kept her place at the window, resolved ongetting an answer. 

"I asked you, Harry, whether the person who is to occupy our sparebedroom, to-night, was one of Mr. Vimpany's friends?"

"Say one of Mr. Vimpany's patients--and you will be nearer the truth, "he answered, with an outburst of impatience. 

She could hardly believe him. "Do you mean a person who is really ill?"she said. 

"Of course I mean it, " he said; irritated into speaking out, at last. 

"A man? or a woman?"

"A man. "

"May I ask if he comes from England?"

"He comes from one of the French hospitals. Anything more?"

Iris left her husband to recover his good-humour, and went back to herchair. The extraordinary disclosure which she had extracted from himhad produced a stupefying effect on her mind. Her customary sympathywith him, her subtle womanly observation of his character, her intimateknowledge of his merits and his defects, failed to find the rationalmotive which might have explained his conduct. She looked round at himwith mingled feelings of perplexity and distrust. 

He was still at the window, but he had turned his back on the view ofthe garden; his eyes were fixed, in furtive expectation, on his wife. Was he waiting to hear her say something more? She ran the risk andsaid it. 

"I don't quite understand the sacrifice you seem to be making to Mr. Vimpany, " she confessed. "Will you tell me, dear, what it means?"

Here was the opportunity offered of following the doctor's advice, andputting his wife's credulity to the test. With her knowledge ofVimpany, would she really believe the story which had imposed on thestrangers who managed the hospital? Lord Harry made up his mind, to trythe experiment. No matter what the result might be, it would bring theresponsibilities that were crushing him to an end. He need say no more, if the deception succeeded. He could do no more, if it failed. Underthe influence of this cheering reflection, he recovered his temper; hishandsome face brightened again with its genial boyish smile. 

"What a wonderful woman you are!" he cried. "Isn't it just the thingthat I am here for, to tell you what I mean--and my clever wife seesthrough and through me, and reminds me of what I must do! Pay my feebeforehand, Iris! Give me a kiss--and my poor meaning shall be offeredin return. It will help me if you remember one thing. Vimpany and I areold friends, and there's nothing we won't do to accommodate each other. Mind that!"

Tried fairly on its own merits, the stupid fiction invented by thedoctor produced an effect for which Lord Harry was not prepared. Thelonger Iris listened, the more strangely Iris looked at him. Not a wordfell from her lips when he had done. He noticed that she had turnedpale: it seemed to be almost possible that he had frightened her!

If his bird-witted brains could have coupled cause and effect, this wasexactly the result which he might have anticipated. 

She was asked to believe that a new system of medical practice had beeninvented by such a person as Mr. Vimpany. She was asked to believe thatan invalid from a foreign hospital, who was a perfect stranger to LordHarry, had been willingly made welcome to a bedroom at the cottage. Shewas asked to believe that this astounding concession had been offeredto the doctor as a tribute of friendship, after her husband had himselftold her that he regretted having invited Vimpany, for the second time, to become his guest. Here was one improbable circumstance accumulatedon another, and a clever woman was expected to accept the monstrousexcuses, thus produced, as a trustworthy statement of facts. Irresistibly, the dread of some evil deed in secret contemplation castits darkening presence on the wife's mind. Lord Harry's observation hadnot misled him, when he saw Iris turn pale, and when the doubt wasforced on him whether he might not have frightened her. 

"If my explanation of this little matter has satisfied you, " heventured to resume, "we need say no more about it. "

"I agree with you, " she answered, "let us say no more about it. "Conscious, in spite of the effort to resist it, of a feeling ofoppression while she was in the same room with a man who haddeliberately lied to her, and that man her husband, she reminded LordHarry that he had proposed to take a walk in the garden. Out in thepure air, under the bright sky, she might breathe more freely. "Come tothe flowers, " she said. 

They went to the garden together--the wife fearing the deceitfulhusband, the husband fearing the quick-witted wife. 

Watching each other like two strangers, they walked silently side byside, and looked now and then at the collection of flowers and plants. Iris noticed a delicate fern which had fallen away from the support towhich it had been attached. She stopped, and occupied herself inrestoring it to its place. When she looked round again, after attendingto the plant, her husband had disappeared, and Mr. Vimpany was waitingin his place. 

CHAPTER XLIV

FICTION: IMPROVED BY THE DOCTOR

"WHERE is Lord Harry?" Iris asked. 

The reply startled her: "Lord Harry leaves me to say to your ladyship, what he has not had resolution enough to say for himself. "

"I don't understand you, Mr. Vimpany. "

The doctor pointed to the fern which had just been the object of LadyHarry's care. 

"You have been helping that sickly plant there to live and thrive, " hesaid, "and I have felt some curiosity in watching you. There is anothersickly plant, which I have undertaken to rear if the thing can be done. My gardening is of the medical kind--I can only carry it onindoors--and whatever else it may be, I tell you plainly, like theoutspoken sort of fellow I am, it's not likely to prove agreeable to alady. No offence, I hope? Your humble servant is only trying to producethe right sort of impression--and takes leave to doubt his lordship inone particular. "

"In what particular, sir?"

"I'll put it in the form of a question, ma'am. Has my friend persuadedyou to make arrangements for leaving the cottage?"

Iris looked at Lord Harry's friend without attempting to conceal heropinion of him. 

"I call that an impertinent question, " she said. "By what right do youpresume to inquire into what my husband and I may, or may not, havesaid to each other?"

"Will you do me a favour, my lady? Or, if that is asking too much, perhaps you will not object to do justice to yourself. Suppose you tryto exercise the virtue of self-control?

"Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany. Pray understand that you are not capableof making me angry. "

"Many thanks, Lady Harry: you encourage me to go on. When I was boldenough to speak of your leaving the cottage, my motive was to preventyou from being needlessly alarmed. "

Did this mean that he was about to take her into his confidence? Allher experience of him forbade her to believe it possible. But thedoubts and fears occasioned by her interview with her husband hadmastered her better sense; and the effort to conceal from the doctorthe anxiety under which she suffered was steadily weakening theinfluence of her self-respect. "Why should I be alarmed?" she asked, inthe vain hope of encouraging him to tell the truth. 

The doctor arrived at a hasty conclusion, on his side. Believing thathe had shaken her resolution, he no longer troubled himself to assumethe forms of politeness which he had hitherto, with some difficulty, contrived to observe. 

"In this curious little world of ours, " he resumed, "we enjoy our liveson infernally hard terms. We live on condition that we die. The man Iwant to cure may die, in spite of the best I can do for him---he maysink slowly, by what we medical men call a hard death. For example, itwouldn't much surprise me if I found some difficulty in keeping him inhis bed. He might roam all over your cottage when my back was turned. Or he might pay the debt of Nature--as somebody calls it--withscreaming and swearing. If you were within hearing of him, I'm afraidyou might be terrified, and, with the best wish to be useful, Icouldn't guarantee (if the worst happened) to keep him quiet. In yourplace, if you will allow me to advise you--"

Iris interrupted him. Instead of confessing the truth, he wasimpudently attempting to frighten her. "I don't allow a person in whomI have no confidence to advise me, " she said; "I wish to hear no more. "

Mr. Vimpany found it desirable to resume the forms of politeness. Either he had failed to shake her resolution, or she was sufficientlyin possession of herself to conceal what she felt. 

"One last word!" he said. "I won't presume to advise your ladyship; Iwill merely offer a suggestion. My lord tells me that Hugh Mountjoy ison the way to recovery. You are in communication with him by letter, asI happened to notice when I did you that trifling service of providinga postage-stamp. Why not go to London and cheer your convalescentfriend? Harry won't mind it--I beg your pardon, I ought to have saidLord Harry. Come! come! my dear lady; I am a rough fellow, but I meanwell. Take a holiday, and come back to us when my lord writes to saythat he can have the pleasure of receiving you again. " He waited for amoment. "Am I not to be favoured with an answer?" he asked. 

"My husband shall answer you. "

With those parting words, Iris turned her back on him. 

She entered the cottage. Now in one room, and now in another, shesearched for Lord Harry; he was nowhere to be found. Had he purposelygone out to avoid her? Her own remembrance of Vimpany's language andVimpany's manner told her that so it must be--the two men were inleague together. Of all dangers, unknown danger is the most terrible tocontemplate. Lady Harry's last resources of resolution failed her. Shedropped helplessly into a chair. 

After an interval--whether it was a long or a short lapse of time shewas unable to decide--someone gently opened the door. Had her husbandfelt for her? Had he returned? "Come in! she cried eagerly--" come in!

CHAPTER XLV

FACT: RELATED BY FANNY

THE person who now entered the room was Fanny Mere. 

But one interest was stirring in the mind of Iris now. "Do you knowwhere your master is?" she asked. 

"I saw him go out, " the maid replied. "Which way I didn't particularlynotice--" She was on the point of adding, "and I didn't particularlycare, " when she checked herself. "Yesterday and to-day, my lady, thingshave come to my knowledge which I must not keep to myself, " theresolute woman continued. "If a servant may say such a thing withoutoffence, I have never been so truly my mistress's friend as I am now. Ibeg you to forgive my boldness; there is a reason for it. "

So she spoke, with no presumption in her looks, with no familiarity inher manner. The eyes of her friendless mistress filled with tears, theoffered hand of her friendless mistress answered in silence. Fanny tookthat kind hand, and pressed it respectfully--a more demonstrative womanthan herself might perhaps have kissed it. She only said, "Thank you, my lady, " and went on with what she felt it her duty to relate. 

As carefully as usual, as quietly as usual, she repeated theconversation, at Lord Harry's table; describing also the manner inwhich Mr. Vimpany had discovered her as a person who understood theFrench language, and who had cunningly kept it a secret. In thisserious state of things, the doctor--yes, the doctor himself!--hadinterfered to protect her from the anger of her master, and, morewonderful still, for a reason which it seemed impossible to dispute. Hewanted a nurse for the foreigner whose arrival was expected on thatevening, and he had offered the place to Fanny. "Your ladyship will, Ihope, excuse me; I have taken the place. "

This amazing end to the strange events which had just been narratedproved to be more than Iris was immediately capable of understanding. "I am in the dark, " she confessed. "Is Mr. Vimpany a bolder villaineven than I have supposed him to be?"

"That he most certainly is!" Fanny said with strong conviction. "As towhat he really had in his wicked head when he engaged me, I shall findthat out in time. Anyway, I am the nurse who is to help him. When Idisobeyed you this morning, my lady, it was to go to the hospital withMr. Vimpany. I was taken to see the person whose nurse I am to be. Apoor, feeble, polite creature, who looked as if he couldn't hurt afly---and yet I promise you he startled me! I saw a likeness, themoment I looked at him. "

"A likeness to anybody whom I know?" Iris asked. 

"To the person in all the world, my lady, whom you know most nearly--alikeness to my master. "

"What!"

"Oh, it's no fancy; I am sure of what I say. To my mind, that Danishman's likeness to my lord is (if you will excuse my language) a nastycircumstance. I don't know why or wherefore--all I can say is, I don'tlike it; and I shan't rest until I have found out what it means. Besides this, my lady, I must know the reason why they want to get youout of their way. Please to keep up your heart; I shall warn you intime, when I am sure of the danger. "

Iris refused to sanction the risk involved in this desperate design. "It's _you_ who will be in danger!" she exclaimed. 

In her coolest state of obstinacy, Fanny answered: "That's in yourladyship's service--and that doesn't reckon. "

Feeling gratefully this simple and sincere expression of attachment, Iris held to her own opinion, nevertheless. 

"You are in my service, " she said; "I won't let you go to Mr. Vimpany. Give it up, Fanny! Give it up!"

"I'll give it up, my lady, when I know what the doctor means to do--notbefore. "

The assertion of authority having failed, Iris tried persuasion next. 

"As your mistress, it is my duty to set you an example, " she resumed. "One of us must be considerate and gentle in a dispute--let me try tobe that one. There can be no harm, and there may be some good, inconsulting the opinion of a friend; some person in whose discretion wecan trust. "

"Am I acquainted with the person your ladyship is thinking of?" Fannyinquired. "In that case, a friend will know what we want of her byto-morrow morning. I have written to Mrs. Vimpany. "

"The very person I had in my mind, Fanny! When may we expect to hearfrom her?"

"If Mrs. Vimpany can put what she has to say to us into few words, "Fanny replied, "we shall hear from her to-morrow by telegraph. "

As she answered her mistress in those cheering words, they werestartled by a heavy knock at the door of the room. Under similarcircumstances, Lord Harry's delicate hand would have been just loudenough to be heard, and no more. Iris called out suspiciously: "Who'sthere?"

The doctor's gross voice answered: "Can I say a word, if you please, toFanny Mere?"

The maid opened the door. Mr. Vimpany's heavy hand laid bold of herarm, pulled her over the threshold, and closed the door behind her. After a brief absence, Fanny returned with news of my lord. 

A commissioner had arrived with a message for the doctor; and Fanny wascharged to repeat it or not, just as she thought right under thecircumstances. Lord Harry was in Paris. He had been invited to go tothe theatre with some friends, and to return with them to supper. If hewas late in getting home, he was anxious that my lady should not bemade uneasy. After having authorised Mr. Vimpany's interference in thegarden, the husband evidently had his motives for avoiding anotherinterview with the wife. Iris was left alone, to think over thatdiscovery. Fanny had received orders to prepare the bedroom for thedoctor's patient. 

CHAPTER XLVI

MAN AND WIFE

TOWARDS evening, the Dane was brought to the cottage. 

A feeling of pride which forbade any display of curiosity, strengthenedperhaps by an irresistible horror of Vimpany, kept Iris in her room. Nothing but the sound of footsteps, outside, told her when thesuffering man was taken to his bed-chamber on the same floor. She was, afterwards informed by Fanny that the doctor turned down the lamp inthe corridor, before the patient was helped to ascend the stairs, as ameans of preventing the mistress of the house from plainly seeing thestranger's face, and recognising the living likeness of her husband. 

The hours advanced--the bustle of domestic life sank intosilence--everybody but Iris rested quietly in bed. 

Through the wakeful night the sense of her situation oppressed hersinking spirits. Mysteries that vaguely threatened danger made theirpresence felt, and took their dark way through her thoughts. Thecottage, in which the first happy days of her marriage had been passed, might ere long be the scene of some evil deed, provoking the lifelongseparation of her husband and herself! Were these the exaggerated fearsof a woman in a state of hysterical suspicion? It was enough for Iristo remember that Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany had been alike incapable oftelling her the truth. The first had tried to deceive her; the secondhad done his best to frighten her. Why? If there was really nothing tobe afraid of--why? The hours of the early morning came; and still shelistened in vain for the sound of my lord's footstep on the stairs;still she failed to hear the cautious opening of his dressing-roomdoor. Leaving her chair, Iris rested on the bed. As time advanced, exhaustion mastered her; she slept. 

Awakening at a late hour, she rang for Fanny Mere. The master had justreturned. He had missed the latest night-train to Passy; and, ratherthan waste money on hiring a carriage at that hour, he had accepted theoffer of a bed at the house of his friends. He was then below stairs, hoping to see Lady Harry at breakfast. 

His wife joined him. 

Not even at the time of the honeymoon had the Irish lord been a moreirresistibly agreeable man than he was on that memorable morning. Hisapologies for having failed to return at the right time were littlemasterpieces of grace and gaiety. The next best thing to having beenpresent, at the theatrical performance of the previous night, was tohear his satirical summary of the story of the play, contrastingdelightfully with his critical approval of the fine art of the actors. The time had been when Iris would have resented such merciless triflingwith serious interests as this. In these earlier and better days, shewould have reminded him affectionately of her claim to be received intohis confidence--she would have tried all that tact and gentleness andpatience could do to win his confession of the ascendency exercisedover him by his vile friend--and she would have used the utmostinfluence of her love and her resolution to disunite the fatalfellowship which was leading him to his ruin. 

But Iris Henley was Lady Harry now. 

She was sinking--as Mrs. Vimpany had feared, as Mountjoy hadforeseen--lower and lower on the descent to her husband's level. With afalse appearance of interest in what he was saying she waited for herchance of matching him with his own weapons of audacious deceit. Heignorantly offered her the opportunity--setting the same snare to catchhis wife, which she herself had it in contemplation to use forentrapping her husband into a confession of the truth. 

"Ah, well--I have said more than enough of my last night's amusement, "he confessed. "It's your turn now, my dear. Have you had a look at thepoor fellow whom the doctor is going to cure?" he asked abruptly; eagerto discover whether she had noticed the likeness between Oxbye andhimself. 

Her eyes rested on him attentively. "I have not yet seen the person youallude to, " she answered. "Is Mr. Vimpany hopeful of his recovery?"

He took out his case, and busied himself in choosing a cigar. In thecourse of his adventurous life, he had gained some knowledge of theeffect of his own impetuous temper on others, and of difficulties whichhe had experienced when circumstances rendered it necessary to keep hisface in a state of discipline. 

"Oh, there's no reason for anxiety!" he said, with an over-actedinterest in examining his cigar. "Mr. Oxbye is in good hands. "

"People do sometimes sink under an illness, " she quietly remarked. 

Without making any reply he took out his matchbox. His hand trembled alittle; he failed at the first attempt to strike a light. 

"And doctors sometimes make mistakes, " Iris went on. 

He was still silent. At the second attempt, he succeeded with thematch, and lit his cigar. 

"Suppose Mr. Vimpany made a mistake, " she persisted. "In the case ofthis stranger, it might lead to deplorable results. "

Lord Harry lost his temper, and with it his colour. 

"What the devil do you mean?" he cried. 

"I might ask, in my turn, " she said, "what have I done to provoke anoutbreak of temper? I only made a remark. "

At that critical moment, Fanny Mere entered the room with a telegram inher hand. 

"For you, my lady. "

Iris opened the telegram. The message was signed by Mrs. Vimpany, andwas expressed in these words: "You may feel it your duty to go to yourfather. He is dangerously ill. "

Lord Harry saw a sudden change in his wife's face that roused hisguilty suspicions. "Is it anything about me?" he asked. 

Iris handed the telegram to him in silence. Having looked at it, hedesired to hear what her wishes were. 

"The telegram expresses my wishes, " she said. "Have you any objectionto my leaving you?"

"None whatever, " he answered eagerly. "Go, by all means. "

If it had still been possible for her to hesitate, that reply wouldhave put an end to all further doubt. She turned away to leave theroom. He followed her to the door. 

"I hope you don't think there is any want of sympathy on my part, " hesaid. "You are quite right to go to your father. That was all I meant. "He was agitated, honestly agitated, while he spoke. Iris saw it, andfelt it gratefully. She was on the point of making a last appeal to hisconfidence, when he opened the door for her. "Don't let me detain you, "he said. His voice faltered; he suddenly turned aside before she couldlook at him. 

Fanny was waiting in the hall, eager to see the telegram. She read ittwice and reflected for a moment. "How often do things fit themselvesto one's wishes in this convenient way?" she asked herself. "It'slucky, " she privately decided--"almost too lucky. Let me pack up yourthings, " she continued, addressing her mistress, "while I have sometime to myself. Mr. Oxbye is asleep. "

As the day wore on, the noble influences in the nature of Iris, failingfast, yet still at rare intervals struggling to assert themselves, inspired her with the resolution to make a last attempt to give herhusband an opportunity of trusting her. He was not in his room, not inany other part of the house, not in the garden. The hours passed--shewas left to eat her dinner in solitude. For the second time, he wasavoiding her. For the second time, he distrusted the influence of hiswife. With a heavy heart she prepared for her departure by thenight-mail. 

The duties of the new nurse kept her in the cottage. Filled with alarmfor the faithful creature whom she was leaving--to what fate, who couldsay?--Iris kissed her at parting. 

Fanny's faint blue eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away, andheld her mistress for an instant in her arms. "I know whom you arethinking of, " she whispered. "He is not here to bid you good-bye. Letme see what I can find in his room. " Iris had already looked round theroom, in the vain hope of finding a letter. Fanny rushed up the stairs, determined on a last search--and ran down again with a folded morsel offlimsy foreign notepaper in her hand. "My ugly eyes are quicker thanyours, " she said. "The air must have come in at the window and blown itoff the table. " Iris eagerly read the letter:

"I dare not deny that you will be better away from us, but only for awhile. Forgive me, dearest; I cannot find the courage to say good-bye. "Those few words spoke for him--and no more. 

Briefly on her side, but not unkindly, his wife answered him:

"You have spared me a bitter moment. May I hope to find the man whom Ihave trusted and honoured, when I come back? Good-bye. "

When were they to meet again? And how?

CHAPTER XLVII

THE PATIENT AND MY LORD

THERE now remained but one other person in Lord Harry's household whosepresence on the scene was an obstacle to be removed. 

This person was the cook. On condition of her immediate departure(excused by alleged motives of economy), she received a month's wagesfrom her master, in advance of the sum due to her, and a writtencharacter which did ample justice to her many good qualities. The poorwoman left her employment with the heartiest expressions of gratitude. To the end of her days, she declared the Irish lord to be a nobleman bynature. Republican principles, inherited from her excellent parents, disinclined her to recognise him as a nobleman by birth. 

But another sweet and simple creature was still left to brighten thesinister gloom in the cottage. 

The good Dane sorely tried the patience of Fanny Mere. This countrymanof Hamlet, as he liked to call himself, was a living protest againstthe sentiments of inveterate contempt and hatred, with which his nursewas accustomed to regard the men. When pain spared him at intervals, Mr. Oxbye presented the bright blue eyes and the winning smile whichsuggested the resemblance to the Irish lord. His beardless face, thintowards the lower extremities, completed the likeness in some degreeonly. The daring expression of Lord Harry, in certain emergencies, never appeared. Nursing him carefully, on the severest principles ofduty as distinguished from inclination, Fanny found herself in thepresence of a male human being, who in the painless intervals of hismalady, wrote little poems in her praise; asked for a few flowers fromthe garden, and made prettily arranged nosegays of them devoted toherself; cried, when she told him he was a fool, and kissed her handfive minutes afterwards, when she administered his medicine, and gavehim no pleasant sweet thing to take the disagreeable taste out of hismouth. This gentle patient loved Lord Harry, loved Mr. Vimpany, lovedthe furious Fanny, resist it as she might. On her obstinate refusal toconfide to him the story of her life--after he had himself set her theexample at great length--he persisted in discovering for himself that"this interesting woman was a victim of sorrows of the heart. " Inanother state of existence, he was offensively certain that she wouldbe living with _him. _ "You are frightfully pale, you will soon die; Ishall break a blood-vessel, and follow you; we shall sit side by sideon clouds, and sing together everlastingly to accompaniment ofcelestial harps. Oh, what a treat!" Like a child, he screamed when hewas in pain; and, like a child, he laughed when the pain had gone away. When she was angry enough with him to say, "If I had known what sort ofman you were, I would never have undertaken to nurse you, " he onlyanswered, "my dear, let us thank God together that you did not know. "There was no temper in him to be roused; and, worse still, on buoyantdays, when his spirits were lively, there was no persuading him that hemight not live long enough to marry his nurse, if he only put thequestion to her often enough. What was to be done with such a man asthis? Fanny believed that she despised her feeble patient. At the sametime, the food that nourished him was prepared by her own hands--whilethe other inhabitants of the cottage were left (in the absence of thecook) to the tough mercies of a neighbouring restaurant. First andforemost among the many good deeds by which the conduct of women claimsthe gratitude of the other sex, is surely the manner in which they letan unfortunate man master them, without an unworthy suspicion of thatcircumstance to trouble the charitable serenity of their minds. 

Carefully on the look-out for any discoveries which might enlightenher, Fanny noticed with ever-increasing interest the effect which theharmless Dane seemed to produce on my lord and the doctor. 

Every morning, after breakfast, Lord Harry presented himself in thebedroom. Every morning, his courteous interest in his guest expresseditself mechanically in the same form of words:

"Mr. Oxbye, how do you find yourself to-day?"

Sometimes the answer would be: "Gracious lord, I am suffering pain. "Sometimes it was: "Dear and admirable patron, I feel as if I might getwell again. " On either occasion, Lord Harry listened without looking atMr. Oxbye--said he was sorry to hear a bad account or glad to hear agood account, without looking at Mr. Oxbye--made a remark on theweather, and took his leave, without looking at Mr. Oxbye. Nothingcould be more plain than that his polite inquiries (once a day) wereunwillingly made, and that it was always a relief to him to get out ofthe room. So strongly was Fanny's curiosity excited by this strangebehaviour, that she ventured one day to speak to her master. 

"I am afraid, my lord, you are not hopeful of Mr. Oxbye's recovering?"

"Mind your own business, " was the savage answer that she received. 

Fanny never again took the liberty of speaking to him; but she watchedhim more closely than ever. He was perpetually restless. Now hewandered from one room to another, and walked round and round thegarden, smoking incessantly. Now he went out riding, or took therailway to Paris and disappeared for the day. On the rare occasionswhen he was in a state of repose, he always appeared to have takenrefuge in his wife's room; Fanny's keyhole-observation discovered him, thinking miserably, seated in his wife's chair. It seemed to bepossible that he was fretting after Lady Harry. But what did hisconduct to Mr. Oxbye mean? What was the motive which made him persist, without an attempt at concealment, in keeping out of Mr. Vimpany's way?And, treated in this rude manner, how was it that his wicked friendseemed to be always amused, never offended?

As for the doctor's behaviour to his patient, it was, in Fanny'sestimation, worthy of a savage. 

He appeared to feel no sort of interest in the man who had been sent tohim from the hospital at his own request, and whose malady it wassupposed to be the height of his ambition to cure. When Mr. Oxbyedescribed his symptoms, Mr. Vimpany hardly even made a pretence atlistening. With a frowning face he applied the stethoscope, felt thepulse, looked at the tongue--and drew his own conclusions in sullensilence. If the nurse had a favourable report to make, he brutallyturned his back on her. If discouraging results of the medicaltreatment made their appearance at night, and she felt it a duty tomention them, he sneered as if he doubted whether she was speaking thetruth. Mr. Oxbye's inexhaustible patience and amiability made endlessallowances for his medical advisor. "It is my misfortune to keep mydevoted doctor in a state of perpetual anxiety, " he used to say; "andwe all know what a trial to the temper is the consequence of unrelievedsuspense. I believe in Mr. Vimpany. " Fanny was careful not to betrayher own opinion by making any reply; her doubts of the doctor had, bythis time, become terrifying doubts even to herself. Whenever anopportunity favoured her, she vigilantly watched him. One of his waysof finding amusement, in his leisure hours, was in the use of aphotographic apparatus. He took little pictures of the rooms in thecottage, which were followed by views in the garden. Those having cometo an end, he completed the mystification of the nurse by producing aportrait of the Dane, while he lay asleep one day after he had beenimproving in health for some little time past. Fanny asked leave tolook at the likeness when it had been "printed" from the negative, inthe garden. He first examined it himself--and then deliberately tore itup and let the fragments fly away in the wind. "I am not satisfied withit, " was all the explanation he offered. One of the garden chairshappened to be near him; he sat down, and looked like a man in a stateof torment under his own angry thoughts. 

If the patient's health had altered for the worse, and if the tendencyto relapse had proved to be noticeable after medicine had beenadministered, Fanny's first suspicions might have taken a very seriousturn. But the change in Oxbye--sleeping in purer air and sustained bybetter food than he could obtain at the hospital--pointed more and morevisibly to a decided gain of vital strength. His hollow checks werefilling out, and colour was beginning to appear again on the pallor ofhis skin. Strange as the conduct of Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany mightbe, there was no possibility, thus far, of connecting it with theposition occupied by the Danish guest. Nobody who had seen his face, when he was first brought to the cottage, could have looked at himagain, after the lapse of a fortnight, and have failed to discover thesigns which promise recovery of health. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

"THE MISTRESS AND THE MAID"

IN the correspondence secretly carried on between the mistress inLondon and the maid at Passy, it was Fanny Mere's turn to write next. She decided on delaying her reply until she had once more given carefulconsideration to the first letter received from Lady Harry, announcingher arrival in England, and a strange discovery that had attended it. 

Before leaving Paris, Iris had telegraphed instructions to Mrs. Vimpanyto meet her at the terminus in London. Her first inquiries were for herfather. The answer given, with an appearance of confusion and even ofshame, was that there was no need to feel anxiety on the subject of Mr. Henley's illness. Relieved on hearing this good news, Iris naturallyexpressed some surprise at her father's rapid recovery. She asked ifthe doctors had misunderstood his malady when they believed him to bein danger. To this question Mrs. Vimpany had replied by making anunexpected confession. 

She owned that Mr. Henley's illness had been at no time of any seriousimportance. A paragraph in a newspaper had informed her that he wassuffering from nothing worse than an attack of gout. It was a wickedact to have exaggerated this report, and to have alarmed Lady Harry onthe subject of her father's health. Mrs. Vimpany had but one excuse tooffer. Fanny's letter had filled her with such unendurable doubts andforebodings that she had taken the one way of inducing Lady Harry tosecure her own safety by at once leaving Passy--the way by a falsealarm. Deceit, so sincerely repented, so resolutely resisted, had triedits power of temptation again, and had prevailed. 

"When I thought of you at the mercy of my vile husband, " Mrs. Vimpanysaid, "with your husband but too surely gained as an accomplice, mygood resolutions failed me. Is it only in books that a true repentancenever stumbles again? Or am I the one fallible mortal creature in theworld? I am ashamed of myself. But, oh, Lady Harry, I was so frightenedfor you! Try to forgive me; I am so fond of you, and so glad to see youhere in safety. Don't go back! For God's sake, don't go back!"

Iris had no intention of returning, while the doctor and his patientwere still at Passy; and she found in Mrs. Vimpany's compassion goodreason to forgive an offence committed through devotion to herself, andatoned for by sincere regret. 

Fanny looked carefully over the next page of the letter, whichdescribed Lady Harry's first interview with Mr. Mountjoy since hisillness. The expressions of happiness on renewing her relations withher old and dear friend confirmed the maid in her first impression thatthere was no fear of a premature return to Passy, with the wish to seeLord Harry again as the motive. She looked over the later lettersnext--and still the good influence of Mr. Mountjoy seemed to be in timeascendant. There was anxiety felt for Fanny's safety, and curiosityexpressed to hear what discoveries she might have made; but the onlyallusions to my lord contained ordinary inquiries relating to the stateof his health, and, on one occasion, there was a wish expressed to knowwhether he was still on friendly terms with Mr. Vimpany. There seemedto be no fear of tempting her mistress to undervalue the danger ofreturning to the cottage, if she mentioned the cheering improvement nowvisible in Mr. Oxbye. And yet Fanny still hesitated to trust her firstimpressions, even after they had been confirmed. Her own sad experiencereminded her of the fatal influence which an unscrupulous man canexercise over the woman who loves him. It was always possible that LadyHarry might not choose to confide the state of her feelings towards herhusband to a person who, after all, only occupied the position of hermaid. The absence, in her letters, of any expressions of affectionateregret was no proof that she was not thinking of my lord. So far as hewas personally concerned, the Dane's prospects of recovery would appearto justify the action of the doctor and his accomplice. Distrustingthem both as resolutely as ever, and determined to keep Lady Harry aslong as possible at the safe distance of London, Fanny Mere, in writingher reply, preserved a discreet silence on the subject of Mr. Oxbye'shealth. 

[At this point Wilkie Collins' health prevented his finishing thenovel. ]

CHAPTER XLIX

THE NURSE IS SENT AWAY

"YOU have repented and changed your mind, Vimpany?" said Lord Harry. 

"I repented?" the doctor repeated, with a laugh. "You think me capableof that, do you?"

"The man is growing stronger and better every day. You are going tomake him recover, after all. I was afraid"--he corrected himself--"Ithought"--the word was the truer--"that you were going to poison him. "

"You thought I was going--we were going, my lord--to commit a stupidand a useless crime. And, with our clever nurse present, all the timewatching with the suspicions of a cat, and noting every change in thesymptoms? No--I confess his case has puzzled me because I did notanticipate this favourable change. Well--it is all for the best. Fannysees him grow stronger every day--whatever happens she can testify tothe care with which the man has been treated. So far she thought shewould have us in her power, and we have her. "

"You are mighty clever, Vimpany; but sometimes you are too clever forme, and, perhaps, too clever for yourself. "

"Let me make myself clearer"--conscious of the nurse's suspicions, heleaned forward and whispered: "Fanny must go. Now is the time. The manis recovering. The man must go: the next patient will be your lordshiphimself. Now do you understand?"

"Partly. "

"Enough. If I am to act it is sufficient for you to understand step bystep. Our suspicious nurse is to go. That is the next step. Leave me toact. "

Lord Harry walked away. He left the thing to the doctor. It hardlyseemed to concern him. A dying man; a conspiracy; a fraud:--yet theguilty knowledge of all this gave him small uneasiness. He carried withhim his wife's last note: "May I hope to find on my return the man whomI have trusted and honoured?" His conscience, callous as regards thedoctor's scheme, filled him with remorse whenever--which was fiftytimes a day--he took this little rag of a note from his pocket-book andread it again. Yes: she would always find the man, on her return--theman whom she had trusted and honoured--the latter clause he passedover--it would be, of course the same man: whether she would still beable to trust and honour him--that question he did not put to himself. After all, the doctor was acting--not he, himself. 

And he remembered Hugh Mountjoy. Iris would be with him--the man whoseaffection was only brought out in the stronger light by his respect, his devotion, and his delicacy. She would be in his society: she wouldunderstand the true meaning of this respect and delicacy: she wouldappreciate the depth of his devotion: she would contrast Hugh, the manshe might have married, with himself, the man she did marry. 

And the house was wretched without her; and he hated the sight of thedoctor--desperate and reckless. 

He resolved to write to Iris: he sat down and poured out his heart, butnot his conscience, to her. 

"As for our separation, " he said, "I, and only I, am to blame. It is myown abominable conduct that has caused it. Give me your pardon, dearestIris. If I have made it impossible for you to live with me, it is alsoimpossible for me to live without you. So am I punished. The house isdull and lonely; the hours crawl, I know not how to kill the time; mylife is a misery and a burden because you are not with me. Yet I haveno right to complain; I ought to rejoice in thinking that you are happyin being relieved of my presence. My dear, I do not ask you to come atpresent"--he remembered, indeed, that her arrival at this juncturemight be seriously awkward--"I cannot ask you to come back yet, but letme have a little hope--let me feel that in the sweetness of your natureyou will believe in my repentance, and let me look forward to a speedyreunion in the future. "

When he had written this letter, which he would have done better tokeep in his own hands for awhile, he directed it in a feigned hand toLady Harry Norland, care of Hugh Mountjoy, at the latter's Londonhotel. Mountjoy would not know Iris's correspondent, and wouldcertainly forward the letter. He calculated--with the knowledge of heraffectionate and impulsive nature--that Iris would meet him half-way, and would return whenever he should be able to call her back. He didnot calculate, as will be seen, on the step which she actually took. 

The letter despatched, he came back to the cottage happier--he wouldget his wife again. He looked in at the sick-room. The patient wassitting up, chatting pleasantly; it was the best day he had known; thedoctor was sitting in a chair placed beside the bed, and the nursestood quiet, self-composed, but none the less watchful and suspicious. 

"You are going on so well, my man, " Doctor Vimpany was saying, "That weshall have you out and about again in a day or two. Not quite yet, though--not quite yet, " he pulled out his stethoscope and made anexamination with an immense show of professional interest. "Mytreatment has succeeded, you see"--he made a note or two in hispocket-book--"has succeeded, " he repeated. "They will have toacknowledge that. "

"Gracious sir, I am grateful. I have given a great deal too muchtrouble. "

"A medical case can never give too much trouble--that is impossible. Remember, Oxbye, it is Science which watches at your bedside. You arenot Oxbye; you are a case; it is not a man, it is a piece of machinerythat is out of order. Science watches: she sees you through andthrough. Though you are made of solid flesh and bones, and clothed, toScience you are transparent. Her business is not only to read yoursymptoms, but to set the machinery right again. "

The Dane, overwhelmed, could only renew his thanks. 

"Can he stand, do you think, nurse?" the doctor went on. "Let ustry--not to walk about much to-day, but to get out of bed, if only toprove to himself that he is so much better; to make him understand thathe is really nearly well. Come, nurse, let us give him a hand. "

In the most paternal manner possible the doctor assisted his patient, weak, after so long a confinement to his bed, to get out of bed, andsupported him while he walked to the open window, and looked out intothe garden. "There, " he said, "that is enough. Not too much at first. To-morrow he will have to get up by himself. Well, Fanny, you agree atlast, I suppose, that I have brought this poor man round? At last, eh?"

His look and his words showed what he meant. "You thought that somedevilry was intended. " That was what the look meant. "You proposed tonurse this man in order to watch for and to discover this devilry. Verywell, what have you got to say?"

All that Fanny had to say was, submissively, that the man was clearlymuch better; and, she added, he had been steadily improving ever sincehe came to the cottage. 

That is what she said; but she said it without the light of confidencein her eyes--she was still doubtful and suspicious. Whatever power thedoctor had of seeing the condition of lungs and hidden machinery, hecertainly had the power of reading this woman's thoughts. He saw, asclearly as if upon a printed page, the bewilderment of her mind. Sheknew that something was intended---something not for her to know. Thatthe man had been brought to the cottage to be made the subject of ascientific experiment she did not believe. She had looked to see himdie, but he did not die. He was mending fast; in a little while hewould be as well as ever he had been in his life. What had the doctordone it for? Was it really possible that nothing was ever intendedbeyond a scientific experiment, which had succeeded? In the case of anyother man, the woman's doubts would have been entirely removed; in thecase of Dr. Vimpany these doubts remained. There are some men of whomnothing good can be believed, whether of motive or of action; for iftheir acts seem good, their motive must be bad. Many women know, orfancy they know, such a man--one who seems to them wholly andhopelessly bad. Besides, what was the meaning of the secretconversation and the widespread colloquies of the doctor and my lord?And why, at first, was the doctor so careless about his patient?

"The time has come at last, " said the doctor that evening, when the twomen were alone, "for this woman to go. The man is getting well rapidly, he no longer wants a nurse; there is no reason for keeping her. If shehas suspicions there is no longer the least foundation for them; shehas assisted at the healing of a man desperately sick by a skilfulphysician. What more? Nothing--positively nothing. "

"Can she tell my wife so much and no more?" asked Lord Harry. "Willthere be no more?"

"She can tell her ladyship no more, because she will have no more totell, " the doctor replied quietly. "She would like to learn more; sheis horribly disappointed that there is no more to tell; but she shallhear no more. She hates me: but she hates your lordship more. "

"Why?"

"Because her mistress loves you still. Such a woman as this would liketo absorb the whole affection of her mistress in herself. You laugh. She is a servant, and a common person. How can such a person conceivean affection so strong as to become a passion for one so superior? Butit is true. It is perfectly well known, and there have been manyrecorded instances of such a woman, say a servant, greatly inferior instation, conceiving a desperate affection for her mistress, accompaniedby the fiercest jealousy. Fanny Mere is jealous--and of you. She hatesyou; she wants your wife to hate you. She would like nothing betterthan to go back to her mistress with the proofs in her hand of suchacts on your part--such acts, I say, " he chose his next wordscarefully, "as would keep her from you for ever. "

"She's a devil, I dare say, " said Lord Harry, carelessly. "What do Icare? What does it matter to me whether a lady's maid, more or less, hates me or loves me?"

"There spoke the aristocrat. My lord, remember that a lady's maid is awoman. You have been brought up to believe, perhaps, that people inservice are not men and women. That is a mistake--a great mistake. Fanny Mere is a woman--that is to say, an inferior form of man; andthere is no man in the world so low or so base as not to be able to domischief. The power of mischief is given to every one of us. It is thetrue, the only Equality of Man--we can all destroy. What? a shot in thedark; the striking of a lucifer match; the false accusation; the falsewitness; the defamation of character;--upon my word, it is far moredangerous to be hated by a woman than by a man. And this excellent andfaithful Fanny, devoted to her mistress, hates you, my lord, evenmore"--he paused and laughed--"even more than the charming Mrs. Vimpanyhates her husband. Never mind. To-morrow we see the last of Fanny Mere. She goes; she leaves her patient rapidly recovering. That is the factthat she carries away--not the fact she hoped and expected to carryaway. She goes to-morrow and she will never come back again. "

The next morning the doctor paid a visit to his patient rather earlierthan usual. He found the man going on admirably: fresh in colour, lively and cheerful, chatting pleasantly with his nurse. 

"So, " said Dr. Vimpany, after the usual examination and questions, "this is better than I expected. You are now able to get up. You can doso by-and-by, after breakfast; you can dress yourself, you want no morehelp. Nurse, " he turned to Fanny, "I think that we have done with you. I am satisfied with the careful watch you have kept over my patient. Ifever you think of becoming a nurse by profession, rely on myrecommendation. The experiment, " he added, thoughtfully, "has fullysucceeded. I cannot deny that it has been owing partly to theintelligence and patience with which you have carried out myinstructions. But I think that your services may now be relinquished. "

"When am I to go, sir?" she asked, impassively. 

"In any other case I should have said, 'Stay a little longer, if youplease. Use your own convenience. ' In your case I must say, 'Go to yourmistress. ' Her ladyship was reluctant to leave you behind. She will beglad to have you back again. How long will you take to get ready?"

"I could be ready in ten minutes, if it were necessary. "

"That is not necessary. You can take the night mail _via_ Dieppe andNewhaven. It leaves Paris at 9. 50. Give yourself an hour to get fromstation to station. Any time, therefore, this evening before seveno'clock will do perfectly well. You will ask his lordship for anyletters or messages he may have. "

"Yes, sir, " Fanny replied. "With your permission, sir, I will go atonce, so as to get a whole day in Paris. "

"As you please, as you please, " said the doctor, wondering why shewanted a day in Paris; but it could have nothing to do with his sickman. He left the room, promising to see the Dane again in an hour ortwo, and took up a position at the garden gate through which the nursemust pass. In about half an hour she walked down the path carrying herbox. The doctor opened the gate for her. 

"Good-bye, Fanny, " he said. "Again, many thanks for your care and yourwatchfulness--especially the latter. I am very glad, " he said, withwhat he meant for the sweetest smile, but it looked like a grin, "thatit has been rewarded in such a way as you hardly perhaps expected. "

"Thank you, sir, " said the girl. "The man is nearly well now, and cando without me very well indeed. "

"The box is too heavy for you, Fanny. Nay, I insist upon it: I shallcarry it to the station for you. "

It was not far to the station, and the box was not too heavy, but Fannyyielded it. "He wants to see me safe out of the station, " she thought. 

"I will see her safe out of the place, " he thought. 

Ten minutes later the doors of the _salle d'attente_ were thrown open, the train rolled in, and Fanny was carried away. 

The doctor returned thoughtfully to the house. The time was come forthe execution of his project. Everybody was out of the way. 

"She is gone, " he said, when Lord Harry returned for breakfast ateleven. "I saw her safely out of the station. "

"Gone!" his confederate echoed: "and I am alone in the house with youand--and----"

"The sick man--henceforth, yourself, my lord, yourself. "

CHAPTER L

IN THE ALCOVE

THE doctor was wrong. Fanny Mere did return, though he did not discoverthe fact. 

She went away in a state of mind which is dangerous when it possesses awoman of determination. The feminine mind loves to understand motivesand intentions; it hates to be puzzled. Fanny was puzzled. Fanny couldnot understand what had been intended and what was now meant. For, first, a man, apparently dying, had been brought into the house--why?Then the man began slowly to recover, and the doctor, whose attentionshad always been of the most slender character, grew more morose everyday. Then he suddenly, on the very day when he sent her away, becamecheerful, congratulated the patient on his prospect of recovery, andassisted in getting him out of bed for a change. The cook having beensent away, there was now no one in the house but the Dane, the doctor, and Lord Harry. 

Man hunts wild creatures; woman hunts man. Fanny was impelled by thehunting instinct. She was sent out of the house to prevent her hunting;she began to consider next, how, without discovery, she could returnand carry on the hunt. 

Everything conspired to drive her back: the mystery of the thing; thedesire to baffle, or at least to discover, a dark design; the wish tobe of service to her mistress; and the hope of finding out somethingwhich would keep Iris from going back to her husband. Fanny was unableto comprehend the depth of her mistress's affection for Lord Harry; butthat she was foolishly, weakly in love with him, and that she wouldcertainly return to him unless plain proofs of real villainy wereprepared--so much Fanny understood very well. When the omnibus set herdown, she found a quiet hotel near the terminus for Dieppe. She spentthe day walking about--to see the shops and streets, she would haveexplained; to consider the situation, she should have explained. Shebought a new dress, a new hat, and a thick veil, so as to be disguisedat a distance. As for escaping the doctor's acuteness by any disguiseshould he meet her face to face, that was impossible. But her mind wasmade up--she would run any risk, meet any danger, in order to discoverthe meaning of all this. 

Next morning she returned by an omnibus service which would allow herto reach the cottage at about a quarter-past eleven. She chose thistime for two reasons: first, because breakfast was sent in from therestaurant at eleven, and the two gentlemen would certainly be in the_salle 'a manger_ over that meal; and, next, because the doctor alwaysvisited his patient after breakfast. She could, therefore, hope to getin unseen, which was the first thing. 

The spare bedroom--that assigned to the patient--was on theground-floor next to the dining-room; it communicated with the gardenby French windows, and by a small flight of steps. 

Fanny walked cautiously along the road past the garden-gate; a rapidglance assured her that no one was there; she hastily opened the gateand slipped in. She knew that the windows of the sick-room were closedon the inner side, and the blinds were still down. The patient, therefore, had not yet been disturbed or visited. The windows of thedining-room were on the other side of the house. The woman thereforeslipped round to the back, where she found, as she expected, the doorwide open. In the hall she heard the voices of the doctor and LordHarry and the clicking of knives and forks. They were at breakfast. 

One thing more--What should she say to Oxbye? What excuse should shemake for coming back? How should she persuade him to keep silence abouther presence? His passion suggested a plan and a reason. She had comeback, she would tell him, for love of him, to watch over him, unseen bythe doctor, to go away with him when he was strong enough to travel. Hewas a simple and a candid soul, and he would fall into such a littleinnocent conspiracy. Meantime, it would be quite easy for her to remainin the house perfectly undisturbed and unknown to either of thegentlemen. 

She opened the door and looked in. 

So far, no reason would be wanted. The patient was sleeping peacefully. But not in the bed. He was lying, partly dressed and covered with ablanket, on the sofa. With the restlessness of convalescence he hadchanged his couch in the morning after a wakeful night, and was nowsleeping far into the morning. 

The bed, as is common in French houses, stood in an alcove. A heavycurtain hung over a rod, also in the French manner. Part of thiscurtain lay over the head of the bed. 

The woman perceived the possibility of using the curtain as a means ofconcealment. There was a space of a foot between the bed and the wall. She placed herself, therefore, behind the bed, in this space, at thehead, where the curtain entirely concealed her. Nothing was moreunlikely than that the doctor should look behind the bed in thatcorner. Then with her scissors she pierced a hole in the curtain largeenough for her to see perfectly without the least danger of being seen, and she waited to see what would happen. 

She waited for half an hour, during which the sleeping man slept onwithout movement, and the voices of the two men in the _salle 'amanger_ rose and fell in conversation. Presently there was silence, broken only by an occasional remark. "They have lit their cigars, "Fanny murmured; "they will take their coffee, and in a few minutes theywill be here. "

When they came in a few minutes later, they had their cigars, and LordHarry's face was slightly flushed, perhaps with the wine he had takenat breakfast--perhaps with the glass of brandy after his coffee. 

The doctor threw himself into a chair and crossed his legs, lookingthoughtfully at his patient. Lord Harry stood over him. 

"Every day, " he said, "the man gets better. "

"He has got better every day, so far, " said the doctor. 

"Every day his face gets fatter, and he grows less like me. "

"It is true, " said the doctor. 

"Then--what the devil are we to do?"

"Wait a little longer, " said the doctor. 

The woman in her hiding-place hardly dared to breathe. 

"What?" asked Lord Harry. "You mean that the man, after all--"

"Wait a little longer, " the doctor repeated quietly. 

"Tell me"--Lord Harry bent over the sick man eagerly--"you think----"

"Look here, " the doctor said. "Which of us two has had a medicaleducation--you, or I?"

"You, of course. "

"Yes; I, of course. Then I tell you, as a medical man, that appearancesare sometimes deceptive. This man, for instance--he looks better; hethinks he is recovering; he feels stronger. You observe that he isfatter in the face. His nurse, Fanny Mere, went away with the knowledgethat he was much better, and the conviction that he was about to leavethe house as much recovered as such a patient with such a disorder canexpect. "

"Well?"

"Well, my lord, allow me to confide in you. Medical men mostly keeptheir knowledge in such matters to themselves. We know and recognisesymptoms which to you are invisible. By these symptoms--by thosesymptoms, " he repeated slowly and looking hard at the other man, "Iknow that this man--no longer Oxbye, my patient, but--another--is in ahighly dangerous condition. I have noted the symptoms in my book"--hetapped his pocket--"for future use. "

"And when--when----" Lord Harry was frightfully pale. His lips moved, but he could not finish the sentence. The Thing he had agreed to wasterribly near, and it looked uglier than he had expected. 

"Oh! when?" the doctor replied carelessly. "Perhaps to-day--perhaps ina week. Here, you see, Science is sometimes baffled. I cannot say. "

Lord Harry breathed deeply. "If the man is in so serious a condition, "he said, "is it safe or prudent for us to be alone in the house withouta servant and without a nurse?"

"I was not born yesterday, my lord, I assure you, " said the doctor inhis jocular way. "They have found me a nurse. She will come to-day. Mypatient's life is, humanly speaking"--Lord Harry shuddered--"perfectlysafe until her arrival. "

"Well--but she is a stranger. She must know whom she is nursing. "

"Certainly. She will be told--I have already told her--that she isgoing to nurse Lord Harry Norland, a young Irish gentleman. She is astranger. That is the most valuable quality she possesses. She is acomplete stranger. As for you, what are you? Anything you please. AnEnglish gentleman staying with me under the melancholy circumstances ofhis lordship's illness. What more natural? The English doctor isstaying with his patient, and the English friend is staying with thedoctor. When the insurance officer makes inquiries, as he is verylikely to do, the nurse will be invaluable for the evidence she willgive. "

He rose, pulled up the blinds noiselessly, and opened the windows. Neither the fresh air nor the light awoke the sleeping man. 

Vimpany looked at his watch. "Time for the medicine, " he said. "Wakehim up while I get it ready. "

"Would you not--at least---suffer him to have his sleep out?" askedLord Harry, again turning pale. 

"Wake him up. Shake him by the shoulder. Do as I tell you, " said thedoctor, roughly. "He will go to sleep again. It is one of the finerqualities of my medicine that it sends people to sleep. It is a mostsoothing medicine. It causes a deep--a profound sleep. Wake him up, Isay. " he went to the cupboard in which the medicines were kept. LordHarry with some difficulty roused the sick man, who awoke dull andheavy, asking why he was disturbed. 

"Time for your medicine, my good fellow, " said the doctor. "Take it, and you shall not be disturbed again--I promise you that. "

The door of the cupboard prevented the spy from seeing what the doctorwas doing; but he took longer than usual in filling the glass. LordHarry seemed to observe this, for he left the Dane and looked over thedoctor's shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Better not inquire, my lord, " said the doctor. "What do you know aboutthe mysteries of medicine?"

"Why must I not inquire?"

Vimpany turned, closing the cupboard behind him. In his hand was aglass full of the stuff he was about to administer. 

"If you look in the glass, " he said, "you will understand why. "

Lord Harry obeyed. He saw a face ghastly in pallor: he shrank back andfell into a chair, saying no more. 

"Now, my good friend, " said the doctor, "drink this and you'll bebetter--ever so much better, ever so much better. Why--that isbrave----" he looked at him strangely, "How do you like the medicine?"

Oxbye shook his head as a man who has taken something nauseous. "Idon't like it at all, " he said. "It doesn't taste like the otherphysic. "

"No I have been changing it--improving it. "

The Dane shook his head again. "There's a pain in my throat, " he said;"it stings--it burns!"

"Patience--patience. It will pass away directly, and you will lie downagain and fall asleep comfortably. "

Oxbye sank back upon the sofa. His eyes closed. Then he opened themagain, looking about him strangely, as one who is suffering some newexperience. Again he shook his head, again he closed his eyes, and heopened them no more. He was asleep. 

The doctor stood at his head watching gravely. Lord Harry, in hischair, leaned forward, also watching, but with white face and tremblinghands. 

As they watched, the man's head rolled a little to the side, turninghis face more towards the room. Then a curious and terrifying thinghappened. His mouth began slowly to fall open. 

"Is he--is he--is he fainting?" Lord Harry whispered. 

"No; he is asleep. Did you never see a man sleep with his mouth wideopen?"

They were silent for a space. 

The doctor broke the silence. 

"There's a good light this morning, " he said carelessly. "I think Iwill try a photograph. Stop! Let me tie up his mouth with ahandkerchief--so. " The patient was not disturbed by the operation, though the doctor tied up the handkerchief with vigour enough to awakena sound sleeper. "Now--we'll see if he looks like a post-mortemportrait. "

He went into the next room, and returned with his camera. In a fewminutes he had taken the picture, and was holding the glass negativeagainst the dark sleeve of his coat, so as to make it visible. "Weshall see how it looks, " he said, "when it is printed. At present Idon't think it is good enough as an imitation of you to be sent to theinsurance offices. Nobody, I am afraid, who knew you, would ever takethis for a post-mortem portrait of Lord Harry. Well, we shall see. Perhaps by-and-by--to-morrow--we may be able to take a betterphotograph. Eh?" Lord Harry followed his movements, watching himclosely, but said nothing. His face remained pale and his fingers stilltrembled. There was now no doubt at all in his mind, not only as toVimpany's intentions, but as to the crime itself. He dared not speak ormove. 

A ring at the door pealed through the house. Lord Harry started in hischair with a cry of terror. 

"That, " said the doctor, quietly, "is the nurse--the new nurse---thestranger. " He took off the handkerchief from Oxbye's face, looked aboutthe room as if careful that everything should be in its right place, and went out to admit the woman. Lord Harry sprang to his feet andpassed his hand over the sick man's face. 

"Is it done?" he whispered. "Can the man be poisoned? Is he alreadydead?--already? Before my eyes?"

He laid his finger on the sick man's pulse. But the doctor's step andvoice stopped him. Then the nurse came in, following Vimpany. She wasan elderly, quiet-looking French woman. 

Lord Harry remained standing at the side of the sofa, hoping to see theman revive. 

"Now, " said Vimpany, cheerfully, "here is your patient, nurse. He isasleep now. Let him have his sleep out--he has taken his medicine andwill want nothing more yet awhile. If you want anything let me know. Weshall be in the next room or in the garden--somewhere about the house. Come, my friend. " He drew away Lord Harry gently by the arm, and theyleft the room. 

Behind the curtain Fanny Mere began to wonder how she was to get offunseen. 

The nurse, left alone, looked at her patient, who lay with his headturned partly round, his eyes closed, his mouth open. "A strangesleep, " she murmured; "but the doctor knows, I suppose. He is to havehis sleep out. "

"A strange sleep, indeed!" thought the watcher. She was tempted at thismoment to disclose herself and to reveal what she had seen; but thethought of Lord Harry's complicity stopped her. With what face couldshe return to her mistress and tell her that she herself was the meansof her husband being charged with murder? She stayed herself, therefore, and waited. 

Chance helped her, at last, to escape. 

The nurse took off her bonnet and shawl and began to look about theroom. She stepped to the bed and examined the sheets and pillow-case asa good French housewife should. Would she throw back the curtain? Ifso--what would happen next? Then it would become necessary to take thenew nurse into confidence, otherwise----Fanny did not put theremainder of this sentence into words. It remained a terror: it meantthat if Vimpany found out where she had been and what she had seen andheard, there would be two, instead of one, cast into a deep slumber. 

The nurse turned from the bed, however, attracted by the half-open doorof the cupboard. Here were the medicine bottles. She took them out oneby one, looked at them with professional curiosity, pulled out thecorks, smelt the contents, replaced the bottles. Then she went to thewindow, which stood open; she stepped out upon the stone steps whichled into the garden, looking about her, to breathe the soft air of noonamong the flowers. 

She came back, and it again seemed as if she would examine the bed, buther attention was attracted by a small book-case. She began to pulldown the books one after the other and to turn them over, as ahalf-educated person does, in the hope of finding something amusing. She found a book with pictures. Then she sat down in the armchairbeside the sofa and began to turn over the leaves slowly. How long wasthis going to last?

It lasted about half an hour. The nurse laid down the volume with ayawn, stretched herself, yawned again, crossed her hands, and closedher eyes. She was going to sleep. If she would only fall so fast asleepthat the woman behind the curtain could creep away!

But sometimes at the sleepiest moment sleep is driven away by anaccident. The accident in this case was that the nurse before finallydropping off remembered that she was nursing a sick man, and sat up tolook at him before she allowed herself to drop off. 

Stung with sudden inspiration she sprang to her feet and bent over theman. "Does he breathe?" she asked. She bent lower. "His pulse! does itbeat?" she caught his wrist. 

"Doctor!" she shrieked, running into the garden. "Doctor! Come--comequick! He is dead!"

Fanny Mere stepped from her hiding-place and ran out of the back door, and by the garden gate into the road. 

She had escaped. She had seen the crime committed. She knew now atleast what was intended and why she was sent away. The motive for thecrime she could not guess. 

CHAPTER LI

WHAT NEXT?

WHAT should she do with the terrible secret?

She ought to inform the police. But there were two objections. First, the nurse may have been mistaken in supposing her patient to be dead. She herself had no choice but to escape as she did. Next, the dreadfulthought occurred to her that she herself until the previous day hadbeen the man's nurse--his only nurse, day and night. What was toprevent the doctor from fixing the guilt of poisoning upon herself?Nay; it would be his most obvious line of action. The man was leftalone all the morning; the day before he had shown every sign ofreturning strength; she would have to confess that she was in hiding. How long had she been there? Why was she in hiding? Was it not aftershe had poisoned the man and when she heard the doctor's footstep?Naturally ignorant of poisons and their symptoms, it seemed to her asif these facts so put together would be conclusive against her. Therefore, she determined to keep quiet in Paris that day and to crossover by the night boat from Dieppe in the evening. She would at firstdisclose everything to Mrs. Vimpany and to Mountjoy. As to what shewould tell her mistress she would be guided by the advice of theothers. 

She got to London in safety and drove straight to Mr. Mountjoy's hotel, proposing first to communicate the whole business to him. But she foundin his sitting-room Mrs. Vimpany herself. 

"We must not awake him, " she said, "whatever news you bring. Hisperfect recovery depends entirely on rest and quiet. There"--shepointed to the chimneypiece--"is a letter in my lady's handwriting. Iam afraid I know only too well what it tells him. "

"What does it tell?"

"This very morning, " Mrs. Vimpany went on, "I called at her lodging. She has gone away. "

"Gone away? My lady gone away? Where is she gone?"

"Where do you think she is most likely to have gone?"

"Not?--oh!--not to her husband? Not to him!--oh! this is moreterrible--far more terrible--than you can imagine. "

"You will tell me why it is now so much more terrible. Meantime, I findthat the cabman was told to drive to Victoria. That is all I know. Ihave no doubt, however, but that she has gone back to her husband. Shehas been in a disturbed, despondent condition ever since she arrived inLondon. Mr. Mountjoy has been as kind as usual: but he has not beenable to chase away her sadness. Whether she was fretting after herhusband, or whether--but this I hardly think--she was comparing the manshe had lost with the man she had taken--but I do not know. All I doknow is that she has been uneasy ever since she came from France, andwhat I believe is that she has been reproaching herself with leavingher husband without good cause. "

"Good cause!" echoed Fanny. "Oh! good gracious! If she only knew, there's cause enough to leave a hundred husbands. "

"Nothing seemed to rouse her, " Mrs. Vimpany continued, withoutregarding the interruption. "I went with her to the farm to see herformer maid, Rhoda. The girl's health is re-established; she is engagedto marry the farmer's brother. Lady Harry was kind, and said the mostpleasant things; she even pulled off one of her prettiest rings andgave it to the girl. But I could see that it was an effort for her toappear interested--her thoughts were with her husband all the time. Iwas sure it would end in this way, and I am not in the least surprised. But what will Mr. Mountjoy say when he opens the letter?"

"Back to her husband!" Fanny repeated. "Oh! what shall we do?"

"Tell me what you mean. What has happened?"

"I must tell you. I thought I would tell Mr. Mountjoy first: but I musttell you, although--" She stopped. 

"Although it concerns my husband. Never mind that consideration--goon. " Fanny told the story from the beginning. 

When she had finished, Mrs. Vimpany looked towards the bedroom door. "Thank God!" she said, "that you told this story to me instead of toMr. Mountjoy. At all events, it gives me time to warn you not to tellhim what you have told me. We can do nothing. Meantime, there is onething you must do--go away. Do not let Mr. Mountjoy find you here. Hemust not learn your story. If he hears what has happened and reads herletter, nothing will keep him from following her to Passy. He will seethat there is every prospect of her being entangled in this vileconspiracy, and he will run any risk in the useless attempt to saveher. He is too weak to bear the journey--far too weak for the violentemotions that will follow; and, oh! how much too weak to cope with myhusband--as strong and as crafty as he is unprincipled!

"Then, what, in Heaven's name, are we to do?"

"Anything--anything--rather than suffer Mr. Mountjoy, in his weakstate, to interfere between man and wife. "

"Yes--yes--but such a man! Mrs. Vimpany, he was present when the Danewas poisoned. He _knew_ that the man was poisoned. He sat in the chair, his face white, and he said nothing. Oh! It was as much as I could donot to rush out and dash the glass from his hands. Lord Harry saidnothing. "

"My dear, do you not understand what you have got to do?"

Fanny made no reply. 

"Consider--my husband---Lord Harry--neither of them knows that you werepresent. You can return with the greatest safety; and then whateverhappens, you will be at hand to protect my lady. Consider, again, asher maid, you can be with her always--in her own room; at night;everywhere and at all times; while Mr. Mountjoy could only be with hernow and then, and at the price of not quarrelling with her husband. "

"Yes, " said Fanny. 

"And you are strong, and Mr. Mountjoy is weak and ill. "

"You think that I should go back to Passy?"

"At once, without the delay of an hour. Lady Harry started last night. Do you start this evening. She will thus have you with her twenty-fourhours after her arrival. "

Fanny rose. 

"I will go, " she said. "It terrifies me even to think of going back tothat awful cottage with that dreadful man. Yet I will go. Mrs. Vimpany, I know that it will be of no use. Whatever is going to happen now willhappen without any power of mine to advance or to prevent. I am certainthat my journey will prove useless. But I will go. Yes, I will go thisevening. "

Then, with a final promise to write as soon as possible--as soon asthere should be anything to communicate--Fanny went away. 

Mrs. Vimpany, alone, listened. From the bedroom came no sound at all. Mr. Mountjoy slept still. When he should be strong enough it would betime to let him know what had been done. But she satthinking--thinking--even when one has the worst husband in the world, and very well knows his character, it is disagreeable to hear such astory as Fanny had told that wife this morning. 

CHAPTER LII

THE DEAD MAN'S PHOTOGRAPH

"HE is quite dead, " said the doctor, with one finger on the man's pulseand another lifting his eyelid. "He is dead. I did not look for sospeedy an end. It is not half an hour since I left him breathingpeacefully. Did he show signs of consciousness?"

"No, sir; I found him dead. "

"This morning he was cheerful. It is not unusual in these complaints. Ihave observed it in many cases of my own experience. On the lastmorning of life, at the very moment when Death is standing on thethreshold with uplifted dart, the patient is cheerful and even joyous:he is more hopeful than he has felt for many months: he thinks--nay, heis sure--that he is recovering: he says he shall be up and about beforelong: he has not felt so strong since the beginning of his illness. Then Death strikes him, and he falls. " He made this remark in a mostimpressive manner. 

"Nothing remains, " he said, "but to certify the cause of death and tosatisfy the proper forms and authorities. I charge myself with thisduty. The unfortunate young man belonged to a highly distinguishedfamily. I will communicate with his friends and forward his papers. Onelast office I can do for him. For the sake of his family, nurse, I willtake a last photograph of him as he lies upon his death-bed. " LordHarry stood in the doorway, listening with an aching and a fearfulheart. He dared not enter the chamber. It was the Chamber of Death. What was his own part in calling the Destroying Angel who is at thebeck and summons of every man--even the meanest? Call him and he comes. Order him to strike--and he obeys. But under penalties. 

The doctor's prophecy, then, had come true. But in what way and by whatagency? The man was dead. What was his own share in the man's death? Heknew when the Dane was brought into the house that he was brought thereto die. As the man did not die, but began to recover fast, he had seenin the doctor's face that the man would have to die. He had heard thedoctor prophesy out of his medical knowledge that the man would surelydie; and then, after the nurse had been sent away because her patientrequired her services no longer, he had seen the doctor give themedicine which burned the patient's throat. What was that medicine? Notonly had it burned his throat, but it caused him to fall into a deepsleep, in which his heart ceased to beat and his blood ceased to flow. 

He turned away and walked out of the cottage. For an hour he walkedalong the road. Then he stopped and walked back. Ropes drew him; hecould no longer keep away. He felt as if something must have happened. Possibly he would find the doctor arrested and the police waiting forhimself, to be charged as an accomplice or a principal. 

He found no such thing. The doctor was in the salon, with letters andofficial forms before him. He looked up cheerfully. 

"My English friend, " he said, "the unexpected end of this young Irishgentleman is a very melancholy affair. I have ascertained the name ofthe family solicitors and have written to them. I have also written tohis brother as the head of the house. I find also, by examination ofhis papers, that his life is insured--the amount is not stated, but Ihave communicated the fact of the death. The authorities--they are, very properly, careful in such matters--have received the necessarynotices and forms: to-morrow, all legal forms having been gone through, we bury the deceased. "

"So soon?"

"So soon? In these eases of advanced pulmonary disease the sooner thebetter. The French custom of speedy interment may be defended as morewholesome than our own. On the other hand, I admit that it has its weakpoints. Cremation is, perhaps, the best and only method of removing thedead which is open to no objections except one. I mean, of course, thechance that the deceased may have met with his death by means ofpoison. But such cases are rare, and, in most instances, would bedetected by the medical man in attendance before or at the time ofdeath. I think we need not----My dear friend, you look ill. Are youupset by such a simple thing as the death of a sick man? Let meprescribe for you. A glass of brandy neat. So, " he went into the _salle'a manger_ and returned with his medicine. "Take that. Now let ustalk. " The doctor continued his conversation in a cheerfully scientificstrain, never alluding to the conspiracy or to the consequences whichmight follow. He told hospital stories bearing on deaths sudden andunexpected; some of them he treated in a jocular vein. The dead man inthe next room was a Case: he knew of many similar and equallyinteresting Cases. When one has arrived at looking upon a dead man as aCase, there is little fear of the ordinary human weakness which makesus tremble in the awful presence of death. 

Presently steps were heard outside. The doctor rose and left theroom--but returned in a few minutes. 

"The _croque-morts_ have come, " he said. "They are with the nurseengaged upon their business. It seems revolting to the outside world. To them it is nothing but the daily routine of work. By-the-way, I tooka photograph of his lordship in the presence of the nurse. Unfortunately--but look at it----"

"It is the face of the dead man"--Lord Harry turned away. "I don't wantto see it. I cannot bear to see it. You forget--I was actually presentwhen--"

"Not when he died. Come, don't be a fool. What I was going to say wasthis: The face is no longer in the least like you. Nobody who ever sawyou once even would believe that this is your face. The creature--hehas given us an unconscionable quantity of trouble--was a little likeyou when he first came. I was wrong in supposing that this likeness waspermanent. Now he is dead, he is not in the least like you. I ought tohave remembered that the resemblance would fade away and disappear indeath. Come and look at him. "

"No, no. "

"Weakness! Death restores to every man his individuality. No two menare like in death, though they may be like in life. Well. It comes tothis. We are going to bury Lord Harry Norland to-morrow, and we musthave a photograph of him as he lay on his deathbed. "

"Well?"

"Well, my friend, go upstairs to your own room, and I will follow withthe camera. "

In a quarter of an hour he was holding the glass against his sleeve. 

"Admirable!" he said. "The cheek a little sunken--that was the effectof the chalk and the adjustment of the shadows--the eyes closed, theface white, the hands composed. It is admirable! Who says that wecannot make the sun tell lies?"

As soon as he could get a print of the portrait, he gave it to LordHarry. 

"There, " he said, "we shall get a better print to-morrow. This is thefirst copy. "

He had mounted it on a frame of card, and had written under it the nameonce borne by the dead man, with the date of his death. The pictureseemed indeed that of a dead man. Lord Harry shuddered. 

"There, " he said, "everything else has been of no use to us--thepresence of the sick man--the suspicions of the nurse--his death--evenhis death--has been of no use to us. We might have been spared thememory--the awful memory--of this death!"

"You forget, my English friend, that a dead body was necessary for us. We had to bury somebody. Why not the man Oxbye?"

CHAPTER LIII

THE WIFE'S RETURN

OF course Mrs. Vimpany was quite right. Iris had gone back to herhusband. She arrived, in fact, at the cottage in the evening justbefore dark--in the falling day, when some people are more thancommonly sensitive to sights and sounds, and when the eyes are more aptthan at other times to be deceived by strange appearances. Iris walkedinto the garden, finding no one there. She opened the door with her ownkey and let herself in. The house struck her as strangely empty andsilent. She opened the dining-room door: no one was there. Like allFrench dining-rooms, it was used for no other purpose than for eating, and furnished with little more than the barest necessaries. She closedthe door and opened that of the salon: that also was empty. She calledher husband: there was no answer. She called the name of the cook:there was no answer. It was fortunate that she did not open the door ofthe spare room, for there lay the body of the dead man. She wentupstairs to her husband's room. That too was empty. But there wassomething lying on the table--a photograph. She took it up. Her facebecame white suddenly and swiftly. She shrieked aloud, then drooped thepicture and fell fainting to the ground. For the photograph was nothingless than that of her husband, dead in his white graveclothes, hishands composed, his eyes closed, his cheek waxen. 

The cry fell upon the ears of Lord Harry, who was in the garden below. He rushed into the house and lifted his wife upon the bed. Thephotograph showed him plainly what had happened. 

She came to her senses again, but seeing her husband alive before her, and remembering what she had seen, she shrieked again, and fell intoanother swoon. 

"What is to be done now?" asked the husband. "What shall I tell her?How shall I make her understand? What can I do for her?"

As for help, there was none: the nurse was gone on some errand; thedoctor was arranging for the funeral of Oxbye under the name of LordHarry Norland; the cottage was empty. 

Such a fainting fit does not last for ever. Iris came round, and satup, looking wildly around. 

"What is it?" she cried. "What does it mean?"

"It means, my love, that you have returned to your husband. " He laid anarm round her, and kissed her again and again. 

"You are my Harry!--living!--my own Harry?"

"Your own Harry, my darling. What else should I be?"

"Tell me then, what does it mean--that picture--that horridphotograph?"

"That means nothing--nothing--a freak--a joke of the doctor's. Whatcould it mean?" He took it up. "Why, my dear, I am living--living andwell. What should this mean but a joke?"

He laid it on the table again, face downwards. But her eyes showed thatshe was not satisfied. Men do not make jokes on death; it is a sorryjest indeed to dress up a man in grave-clothes, and make a photographof him as of one dead. 

"But you--you, my Iris; you are here--tell me how and why--and when, and everything? Never mind that stupid picture: tell me. "

"I got your letter, Harry, " she replied. 

"My letter?" he repeated. "Oh! my dear, you got my letter, and you sawthat your husband loved you still. "

"I could not keep away from you, Harry, whatever had happened. I stayedas long as I could. I thought about you day and night. And at lastI--I--I came back. Are you angry with me, Harry?"

"Angry? Good God! my dearest, angry?" He kissed her passionately--notthe less passionately that she had returned at a time so terrible. Whatwas he to say to her? How was he to tell her? While he showered kisseson her he was asking himself these questions. When she found out--whenhe should confess to her the whole truth--she would leave him again. Yet he did not understand the nature of the woman who loves. He heldher in his arms; his kisses pleaded for him; they mastered her--she wasready to believe, to accept, to surrender even her truth and honesty;and she was ready, though she knew it not, to become the accomplice ofa crime. Rather than leave her husband again, she would do everything. 

Yet, Lord Harry felt there was one reservation: he might confesseverything, except the murder of the Dane. No word of confession hadpassed the doctor's lips, yet he knew too well that the man had beenmurdered; and, so far as the man had been chosen for his resemblance tohimself, that was perfectly useless, because the resemblance, thoughstriking at the first, had been gradually disappearing as the man Oxbyegrew better; and was now, as we have seen, wholly lost after death. 

"I have a great deal--a great deal--to tell you, dear, " said thehusband, holding both her hands tenderly. "You will have to be verypatient with me. You must make up your mind to be shocked at first, though I shall be able to convince you that there was really nothingelse to be done--nothing else at all. "

"Oh! go on, Harry. Tell me all. Hide nothing. "

"I will tell you all, " he replied. 

"First, where is that poor man whom the doctor brought here and Fannynursed? And where is Fanny?"

"The poor man, " he replied carelessly, "made so rapid a recovery thathe has got on his legs and gone away--I believe, to report himself tothe hospital whence he came. It is a great triumph for the doctor, whose new treatment is now proved to be successful. He will make agrand flourish of trumpets about it. I dare say, if all he claims forit is true, he has taken a great step in the treatment of lungdiseases. "

Iris had no disease of the lungs, and consequently cared very littlefor the scientific aspect of the question. 

"Where is my maid, then?"

"Fanny? She went away--let me see: to-day is Friday--on Wednesdaymorning. It was no use keeping her here. The man was well, and she wasanxious to get back to you. So she started on Wednesday morning, proposing to take the night boat from Dieppe. She must have stoppedsomewhere on the way. "

"I suppose she will go to see Mrs. Vimpany. I will send her a linethere. "

"Certainly. That will be sure to find her. "

"Well, Harry, is there anything else to tell me?

"A great deal, " he repeated. "That photograph, Iris, which frightenedyou so much, has been very carefully taken by Vimpany for a certainreason. "

"What reason?"

"There are occasions, " he replied, "when the very best thing that canhappen to a man is the belief that he is dead. Such a juncture ofaffairs has happened to myself--and to you--at this moment. It isconvenient--even necessary--for me that the world should believe medead. In point of fact, I must be dead henceforth. Not for anythingthat I have done, or that I am afraid of--don't think that. No; it isfor the simple reason that I have no longer any money or any resourceswhatever. That is why I must be dead. Had you not returned in thisunexpected manner, my dear, you would have heard of my death from thedoctor, and he would have left it to chance to find a convenientopportunity of letting you know the truth. I am, however, deeplygrieved that I was so careless as to leave that photograph upon thetable. "

"I do not understand, " she said. "You pretend to be dead?"

"Yes. I _must_ have money. I have some left--a very little. I _must_have money; and, in order to get it, I must be dead. "

"How will that help?"

"Why, my dear, I am insured, and my insurances will be paid after mydeath; but not before. "

"Oh! must you get money--even by a----" She hesitated. 

"Call it a conspiracy, my dear, if you please. As there is no other waywhatever left, I must get money that way. "

"Oh, this is dreadful! A conspiracy, Harry? a--a--fraud?"

"If you please. That is the name which lawyers give to it. "

"But oh, Harry!--it is a crime. It is a thing for which men are triedand found guilty and sentenced. "

"Certainly; if they are found out. Meantime, it is only the poor, ignorant, clumsy fool who gets found out. In the City these things aredone every day. Quite as a matter of course, " he added carelessly. "Itis not usual for men to take their wives into confidence, but in thiscase I must take you into confidence: I have no choice, as you willunderstand directly. "

"Tell me, Harry, who first thought of this way?"

"Vimpany, of course. Oh! give him the credit where real cleverness isconcerned. Vimpany suggested the thing. He found me well-nigh asdesperately hard up as he is himself. He suggested it. At first, Iconfess, I did not like it. I refused to listen to any more talk aboutit. But, you see, when one meets destitution face to face, one will doanything--everything. Besides, as I will show you, this is not really afraud. It is only an anticipation of a few years. However, there wasanother reason. "

"Was it to find the money to meet the promissory note?"

"My dear, you may forget--you may resolve never to throw the thing inmy teeth; but my love for you will never suffer me to forget that Ihave lost your little fortune in a doubtful speculation. It is all gone, never to be recovered again; and this after I had sworn never to toucha farthing of it. Iris!"--he started to his feet and walked about theroom as one who is agitated by emotion--"Iris! I could faceimprisonment for debt, I could submit to pecuniary ruin, for thatmatter; the loss of money would not cause me the least trouble, but Icannot endure to have ruined you. "

"Oh! Harry, as if I mind. Everything that I have is yours. When I gaveyou myself I gave all. Take--use--lose it all. As you think, I shouldnever _feel_ reproach, far less utter a word of blame. Dearest Harry, if that is all--"

"No; it is the knowledge that you will not even feel reproach that ismy constant accuser. At my death you will get all back again. But I amnot old; I may live for many, many years to come. How can I wait for myown death when I can repair this wickedness by a single stroke?"

"But by another wickedness--and worse. "

"No--not another crime. Remember that this money is mine. It will cometo my heirs some day, as surely as to-morrow's sun will rise. Sooner orlater it will be mine; I will make it sooner, that is all. TheInsurance Company will lose nothing but the paltry interest for theremainder of my life. My dear, if it is disgraceful to do this I willendure disgrace. It is easier to bear that than constant self-reproachwhich I feel when I think of you and the losses I have inflicted uponyou. "

Again he folded her in his arms; he knelt before her; he wept over her. Carried out of herself by this passion, Iris made no more resistance. 

"Is it--is it, " she asked timidly, "too late to draw back?"

"It is too late, " he replied, thinking of the dead man below. "It istoo late. All is completed. "

"My poor Harry! What shall we do? How shall we live? How shall wecontrive never to be found out?"

She would not leave him, then. She accepted the situation. He wasamazed at the readiness with which she fell; but he did not understandhow she was ready to cling to him, for better for worse, through worseevils than this; nor could he understand how things formerly impossibleto her had been rendered possible by the subtle deterioration of themoral nature, when a woman of lofty mind at the beginning loves and isunited to a man of lower nature and coarser fibre than herself. Only afew months before, Iris would have swept aside these sophistrics withswift and resolute hand. Now she accepted them. 

"You have fallen into the doctor's hands, dear, " she said. "Pray Heavenit brings us not into worse evils! What can I say? it is through loveof your wife--through love of your wife--oh! husband!" she threwherself into his arms, and forgave everything and accepted everything. Henceforth she would be--though this she knew not--the willinginstrument of the two conspirators. 

CHAPTER LIV

ANOTHER STEP

"I HAVE left this terrible thing about once too often already, " andLord Harry took it from the table. "Let me put it in a place ofsafety. "

He unlocked a drawer and opened it. "I will put it here, " he said. "Why"--as if suddenly recollecting something--"here is my will. I shallbe leaving that about on the table next. Iris, my dear, I have lefteverything to you. All will be yours. " He took out the document. "Keepit for me, Iris. It is yours. You may as well have it now, and then Iknow, in your careful hands, it will be quite safe. Not only iseverything left to you, but you are the sole executrix. "

Iris took the will without a word. She understood, now, what it meant. If she was the sole executrix she would have to act. If everything wasleft to her she would have to receive the money. Thus, at a singlestep, she became not only cognisant of the conspiracy, but the chiefagent and instrument to carry it out. 

This done, her husband had only to tell her what had to be done atonce, in consequence of her premature arrival. He had planned, he toldher, not to send for her--not to let her know or suspect anything ofthe truth until the money had been paid to the widow by the InsuranceCompany. As things had turned out, it would be best for both of them toleave Passy at once--that very evening--before her arrival was known byanybody, and to let Vimpany carry out the rest of the business. He wasquite to be trusted--he would do everything that was wanted. "Already, "he said, "the Office will have received from the doctor a notificationof my death. Yesterday evening he wrote to everybody--to mybrother--confound him!--and to the family solicitor. Every moment thatI stay here increases the danger of my being seen and recognised--afterthe Office has been informed that I am dead. "

"Where are we to go?"

"I have thought of that. There is a little quiet town in Belgium whereno English people ever come at all. We will go there, then we will takeanother name; we will be buried to the outer world, and will live, forthe rest of our lives, for ourselves alone. Do you agree?"

"I will do, Harry, whatever you think best. "

"It will be for a time only. When all is ready, you will have to stepto the front--the will in your hand to be proved--to receive what isdue to you as the widow of Lord Harry Norland. You will go back toBelgium, after awhile, so as to disarm suspicion, to become once morethe wife of William Linville. "

Iris sighed heavily, Then she caught her husband's eyes gathering withdoubt, and she smiled again. 

"In everything, Harry, " she said, "I am your servant. When shall westart?"

"Immediately. I have only to write a letter to the doctor. Where isyour bag? Is this all? Let me go first to see that no one is about. Have you got the will? Oh! it is here--yes--in the bag. I will bringalong the bag. "

He ran downstairs, and came up quickly. 

"The nurse has returned, " he said. "She is in the spare room. "

"What nurse?"

"The nurse who came after Fanny left. The man was better, but thedoctor thought it wisest to have a nurse to the end, " he explainedhurriedly, and she suspected nothing till afterwards. "Come downquietly--go out by the back-door--she will not see you. " So Irisobeyed. She went out of her own house like a thief, or like her ownmaid Fanny, had she known. She passed through the garden, and out ofthe garden into the road. There she waited for her husband. 

Lord Harry sat down and wrote a letter. 

"Dear Doctor, " he said, "while you are arranging things outside anunexpected event has happened inside. Nothing happens but theunexpected. My wife has come back. It is the most unexpected event ofany. Anything else might have happened. Most fortunately she has notseen the spare bedroom, and has no idea of its contents. 

"At this point reassure yourself. 

"My wife has gone. 

"She found on the table your first print of the negative. The sight ofthis before she saw me threw her into some kind of swoon, from which, however, she recovered. 

"I have explained things to a certain point. She understands that LordHarry Norland is deceased. She does not understand that it wasnecessary to have a funeral; there is no necessity to tell her of that. I think she understands that she must not seem to have been here. Therefore she goes away immediately. 

"The nurse has not seen her. No one has seen her. 

"She understands, further, that as the widow, heir, and executrix ofLord Harry she will have to prove his will, and to receive the moneydue to him by the Insurance Company. She will do this out of love forher husband. I think that the persuasive powers of a certain personhave never yet been estimated at their true value. 

"Considering the vital importance of getting her out of the placebefore she can learn anything of the spare bedroom, and of getting meout of the place before any messenger can arrive from the Londonoffice, I think you will agree with me that I am right in leavingPassy--and Paris--with Lady Harry this very afternoon. 

"You may write to William Linville, Poste-Restante, Louvain, Belgium. Iam sure I can trust you to destroy this letter. 

"Louvain is a quiet, out-of-the-way place, where one can live quiteseparated from all old friends, and very cheaply. 

"Considering the small amount of money that I have left, I rely uponyou to exercise the greatest economy. I do not know how long it may bebefore just claims are paid up--perhaps in two months--perhaps insix--but until things are settled there will be tightness. 

"At the same time it will not be difficult, as soon as Lady Harry goesto London, to obtain some kind of advance from the family solicitor onthe strength of the insurance due to her from her late husband. 

"I am sorry, dear doctor, to leave you alone over the obsequies of thisunfortunate gentleman. You will also have, I hear, a good deal ofcorrespondence with his family. You may, possibly, have to see them inEngland. All this you will do, and do very well. Your bill for medicalattendance you will do well to send in to the widow. 

"One word more. Fanny Mere, the maid, has gone to London; but she hasnot seen Lady Harry. As soon as she hears that her mistress has leftLondon she will be back to Passy. She may come at any moment. I thinkif I were you I would meet her at the garden gate and send her on. Itwould be inconvenient if she were to arrive before the funeral. 

"My dear doctor, I rely on your sense, your prudence, and yourcapability. --Yours very sincerely, "Your ENGLISH FRIEND. "

He read this letter very carefully. Nothing in it he thought the leastdangerous, and yet something suggested danger. However, he left it; hewas obliged to caution and warn the doctor, and he was obliged to gethis wife away as quietly as possible. 

This done, he packed up his things and hurried off to the station, andPassy saw him no more. 

The next day the mortal remains of Lord Harry Norland were lowered intothe grave. 

CHAPTER LV

THE ADVENTURES OF A FAITHFUL MAID

IT was about five o'clock on Saturday afternoon. The funeral was over. The unfortunate young Irish gentleman was now lying in the cemetery ofAuteuil in a grave purchased in perpetuity. His name, age, and rankwere duly inscribed in the registers, and the cause of his death wasvouched for by the English physician who had attended him at therequest of his family. He was accompanied, in going through theformalities, by the respectable woman who had nursed the sick manduring his last seizure. Everything was perfectly in order. Thephysician was the only mourner at the funeral. No one was curious aboutthe little procession. A funeral, more or less, excites no attention. 

The funeral completed, the doctor gave orders for a single monument tobe put in memory of Lord Harry Norland, thus prematurely cut off. Hethen returned to the cottage, paid and dismissed the nurse, taking heraddress in case he should find an opportunity, as he hoped, torecommend her among his numerous and distinguished clientele, andproceeded to occupy himself in setting everything in order beforegiving over the key to the landlord. First of all he removed themedicine bottles from the cupboard with great care, leaving nothing. Most of the bottles he threw outside into the dust-hole; one or two heplaced in a fire which he made for the purpose in the kitchen: theywere shortly reduced to two or three lumps of molten glass. Thesecontained, no doubt, the mysteries and secrets of Science. Then he wentinto every room and searched in every possible place for any letters orpapers which might have been left about. Letters left about are alwaysindiscreet, and the consequences of an indiscretion may be far-reachingand incalculable. Satisfied at last that the place was perfectlycleared, he sat down in the salon and continued his businesscorrespondence with the noble family and the solicitors. Thus engaged, he heard footsteps outside, footsteps on the gravel, footsteps on thedoorstop. He got up, not without the slightest show of nervousness, andopened the door. Lord Harry was right. There stood the woman who hadbeen his first nurse--the woman who overheard and watched--the womanwho suspected. The suspicion and the intention of watching were legiblein her eyes still. She had come back to renew her watch. 

In her hand she carried her box, which she had lugged along from theplace where the omnibus had deposited her. She made as if she werestepping in; but the big form of the doctor barred the way. 

"Oh!" he said carelessly, "it is you. Who told you to come back?"

"Is my mistress at home?"

"No; she is not. " He made no movement to let her pass. 

"I will come in, please, and wait for her. "

He still stood in the way. 

"What time will she return?"

"Have you heard from her?"

"No. "

"Did she leave orders that you were to follow her?"

"No; none that I received. I thought--"

"Servants should never think. They should obey. "

"I know my duty, Dr. Vimpany, without learning it from you. Will youlet me pass?"

He withdrew, and she entered. 

"Come in, by all means, " he said, "if you desire my society for a shorttime. But you will not find your mistress here. "

"Not here! Where is she, then?"

"Had you waited in London for a day or two you would, I dare say, havebeen informed. As it is, you have had your journey for nothing. "

"Has she not been here?"

"She has not been here. "

"Dr. Vimpany, " said the woman, driven to desperation, "I don't believeyou! I am certain she has been here. What have you done with her?"

"Don't you believe me? That is sad, indeed. But one cannot always helpthese wanderings. You do not believe me? Melancholy, truly!"

"You may mock as much as you like. Where is she?"

"Where, indeed?"

"She left London to join his lordship. Where is he?

"I do not know. He who would answer that question would be a wise manindeed. "

"Can I see him?"

"Certainly not. He has gone away. On a long journey. By himself. "

"Then I shall wait for him. Here!" she added with decision. "In thishouse!"

"By all means. "

She hesitated. There was an easy look about the doctor which she didnot like. 

"I believe, " she said, "that my mistress is in the house. She must bein the house. What are you going to do with her? I believe you have puther somewhere. "

"Indeed!"

"You would do anything! I will go to the police. "

"If you please. "

"Oh! doctor, tell me where she is!"

"You are a faithful servant: it is good, in these days, to find a womanso zealous on account of her mistress. Come in, good and faithful. Search the house all over. Come in--what are you afraid of? Put downyour box, and go and look for your mistress. " Fanny obeyed. She raninto the house, opened the doors of the salon and the dining-room oneafter the other: no one was there. She ran up the stairs and lookedinto her mistress's room: nothing was there, not even a ribbon or ahair-pin, to show the recent presence of a woman. She looked into LordHarry's room. Nothing was there. If a woman leaves hairpins about, aman leaves his toothbrush: nothing at all was there. Then she threwopen the armoire in each room: nothing behind the doors. She camedownstairs slowly, wondering what it all meant. 

"May I look in the spare room?" she asked, expecting to be roughlyrefused. 

"By all means--by all means, " said the doctor, blandly. "You know yourway about. If there is anything left belonging to your mistress or toyou, pray take it. "

She tried one more question. 

"How is my patient? How is Mr. Oxbye?"

"He is gone. "

"Gone? Where has he gone to? Gone?"

"He went away yesterday--Friday. He was a grateful creature. I wish wehad more such grateful creatures as well as more such faithfulservants. He said something about finding his way to London in order tothank you properly. A good soul, indeed!"

"Gone?" she repeated. "Why, on Thursday morning I saw him--" Shechecked herself in time. 

"It was on Wednesday morning that you saw him, and he was thenrecovering rapidly. "

"But he was far too weak to travel. "

"You may be quite certain that I should not have allowed him to go awayunless he was strong enough. "

Fanny made no reply. She had seen with her own eyes the man lying stilland white, as if in death; she had seen the new nurse rushing off, crying that he was dead. Now she was told that he was quite well, andthat he had gone away! But it was no time for thought. 

She was on the point of asking where the new nurse was, but sheremembered in time that it was best for her to know nothing, and toawaken no suspicions. She opened the door of the spare room and lookedin. Yes; the man was gone--dead or alive--and there were no traces leftof his presence. The place was cleared up; the cupboard stood with opendoors, empty; the bed was made; the curtain pushed back; the sofa wasin its place against the wall; the window stood open. Nothing in theroom at all to show that there had been an occupant only two daysbefore. She stared blankly. The dead man was gone, then. Had her sensesaltogether deceived her? Was he not dead, but only sleeping? Was herhorror only a thing of imagination? Behind her, in the hall, stood thedoctor, smiling, cheerful. 

She remembered that her first business was to find her mistress. Shewas not connected with the Dane. She closed the door and returned tothe hall. 

"Well, " asked the doctor, "have you made any discoveries? You see thatthe house is deserted. You will perhaps learn before long why. Now whatwill you do? Will you go back to London?"

"I must find her ladyship. "

The doctor smiled. 

"Had you come here in a different spirit, " he said, "I would havespared you all this trouble. You come, however, with suspicion writtenon your face. You have always been suspecting and watching. It may bein a spirit of fidelity to your mistress; but such a spirit is notpleasing to other people, especially when there is not a single personwho bears any resentment towards that mistress. Therefore, I haveallowed you to run over the empty house, and to satisfy your suspicioussoul. Lady Harry is not hidden here. As for Lord Harry--but you willhear in due time no doubt. And now I don't mind telling you that I haveher ladyship's present address. "

"Oh! What is it?"

"She appears to have passed through Paris on her way to Switzerland twodays ago, and has sent here her address for the next fortnight. She hasnow, I suppose, arrived there. The place is Berne; the Hotel ----. Buthow do I know that she wants you?"

"Of course she wants me. "

"Or of course you want her? Very good. Yours is the responsibility, notmine. Her address is the Hotel d'Angleterre. Shall I write it down foryou? There it is. 'Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne. ' Now you will not forget. She will remain there for one fortnight only. After that, I cannot saywhither she may go. And, as all her things have been sent away, and asI am going away, I am not likely to hear. "

"Oh I must go to her. I must find her!" cried the woman earnestly; "ifit is only to make sure that no evil is intended for her. "

"That is your business. For my own part, I know of no one who can wishher ladyship any evil. "

"Is my lord with her?"

"I don't know whether that is your business. I have already told youthat he is gone. If you join your mistress in Berne, you will very soonfind out if he is there as well. " Something in his tone made Fanny lookup quickly. But his face revealed nothing. "What shall you do then?"asked the doctor. "You must make up your mind quickly whether you willgo back to England or whether you will go on to Switzerland. You cannotstay here, because I am putting together the last things, and I shallgive the landlord the key of the house this evening. All the bills arepaid, and I am going to leave the place. "

"I do not understand. There is the patient, " she murmured vaguely. "What does it mean? I cannot understand. "

"My good creature, " he replied roughly, "what the devil does it matterto me whether you understand or whether you do not understand? Herladyship is, as I have told you, at Berne. If you please to follow herthere, do so. It is your own affair, not mine. If you prefer to go backto London, do so. Still--your own affair. Is there anything else tosay?"

Nothing. Fanny took up her box--this time the doctor did not offer tocarry it for her. 

"Where are you going?" he asked. "What have you decided?"

"I can get round by the Chemin de Fer de Ceinture to the Lyons station. I shall take the first cheap train which will take me to Berne. "

"Bon voyage!" said the doctor, cheerfully, and shut the door. 

It is a long journey from Paris to Berne even for those who can travelfirst class and express--that is, if sixteen hours can be called a longjourney. For those who have to jog along by third class, stopping atall the little country stations, it is a long and tedious journeyindeed. The longest journey ends at last. The train rolled slowly intothe station of Berne, and Fanny descended with her box. Her wanderingswere over for the present. She would find her mistress and be at rest. 

She asked to be directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre. The Swiss guardianof the peace with the cocked hat stared at her. She repeated thequestion. 

"Hotel d'Angleterre?" he echoed. "There is no Hotel d'Angleterre inBerne. "

"Yes, yes; there is. I am the maid of a lady who is staying at thathotel. "

"No; there is no Hotel d'Angleterre, " he reported. "There is the HotelBernehof. "

"No. " She took out the paper and showed it to him--"Lady Harry Norland, Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne. "

"There is the Hotel de Belle Vue, the Hotel du Faucon, the HotelVictoria, the Hotel Schweizerhof. There is the Hotel schrodel, theHotel Schneider, the Pension Simkin. "

Fanny as yet had no other suspicion than that the doctor hadaccidentally written a wrong name. Her mistress was at Berne: she wouldbe in one of the hotels. Berne is not a large place. Very good; shewould go round to the hotels and inquire. She did so. There are not, infact, more than half a dozen hotels in Berne where an English ladycould possibly stay. Fanny went to every one of these. No one had heardof any such lady: they showed her the lists of their visitors. Sheinquired at the post-office. No lady of that name had asked forletters. She asked if there were any pensions, and went round themall--uselessly. 

No other conclusion was possible. The doctor had deceived her wilfully. To get her out of the way he sent her to Berne. He would have sent herto Jericho if her purse had been long enough to pay the fare. She wastricked. 

She counted her money. There was exactly twenty-eight shillings andtenpence in her purse. 

She went back to the cheapest (and dirtiest) of the pensions she hadvisited. She stated her case--she had missed milady her mistress--shemust stay until she should receive orders to go on, and money--wouldthey take her in until one or the other arrived? Certainly. They wouldtake her in, at five francs a day, payable every morning in advance. 

She made a little calculation--she had twenty-eight and tenpence;exactly thirty-five francs--enough for seven days. If she wrote to Mrs. Vimpany at once she could get an answer in five days. 

She accepted the offer, paid her five shillings, was shown into a room, and was informed that the dinner was served at six o'clock. 

Very good. Here she could rest, at any rate, and think what was to bedone. And first she wrote two letters--one to Mrs. Vimpany and one toMr. Mountjoy. 

In both of these letters she told exactly what she had found: neitherLord Harry nor his wife at the cottage, the place vacated, and thedoctor on the point of going away. In both letters she told how she hadbeen sent all the way into Switzerland on a fool's errand, and nowfound herself planted there without the means of getting home. In theletter to Mrs. Vimpany she added the remarkable detail that the manwhom she had seen on the Thursday morning apparently dead, whose actualpoisoning she thought she had witnessed, was reported on the Saturdayto have walked out of the cottage, carrying his things, if he had any, and proposing to make his way to London in order to find out his oldnurse. "Make what you can out of that, " she said. "For my own part, Iunderstand nothing. "

In the letter which she wrote to Mr. Mountjoy she added a petition thathe would send her money to bring her home. This, she said, her mistressshe knew would willingly defray. 

She posted these letters on Tuesday, and waited for the answers. 

Mrs. Vimpany wrote back by return post. 

"My dear Fanny, " she said, "I have read your letter with the greatestinterest. I am not only afraid that some villainy is afloat, but I amperfectly sure of it. One can only hope and pray that her ladyship maybe kept out of its influence. You will be pleased to hear that Mr. Mountjoy is better. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to standthe shock of violent emotion, I put Lady Harry's letter into his hands. It was well that I had kept it from him, for he fell into such aviolence of grief and indignation that I thought he would have had aserious relapse. 'Can any woman, ' he cried, 'be justified in going backto an utterly unworthy husband until he has proved a complete change?What if she had received a thousand letters of penitence? Penitenceshould be shown by acts, not words: she should have waited. ' He wroteher a letter, which he showed me. 'Is there, ' he asked, 'anything inthe letter which could justly offend her?' I could find nothing. Hetold her, but I fear too late, that she risks degradation--perhapsworse, if there is anything worse--if she persists in returning to herunworthy husband. If she refuses to be guided by his advice, on thelast occasion on which he would presume to offer any device, he beggedthat she would not answer. Let her silence say--No. That was thesubstance of his letter. Up to the present moment no answer has beenreceived from Lady Harry. Nor has he received so much as anacknowledgment of the letter. What can be understood by this silence?Clearly, refusal. 

"You must return by way of Paris, though it is longer than by Basle andLaon. Mr. Mountjoy, I know, will send you the money you want. He hastold me as much. 'I have done with Lady Harry, ' he said. 'Her movementsno longer concern me, though I can never want interest in what shedoes. But since the girl is right to stick to her mistress, I will sendher the money--not as a loan to be paid back by Iris, but as a giftfrom myself. '

"Therefore, my dear Fanny, stop in Paris for one night at least, andlearn what has been done if you can. Find out the nurse, and ask herwhat really happened. With the knowledge that you already possess, itwill be hard, indeed, if we cannot arrive at the truth. There must bepeople who supplied things to the cottage--the restaurant, the_pharmacien, _ the laundress. See them all--you know them already, andwe will put the facts together. As for finding her ladyship, that willdepend entirely upon herself. I shall expect you back in about a week. If anything happens here I shall be able to tell you when you arrive. 

"Yours affectionately, L. Vimpany. "

This letter exactly coincided with Fanny's own views. The doctor wasnow gone. She was pretty certain that he was not going to remain alonein the cottage; and the suburb of Passy, though charming in many ways, is not exactly the place for a man of Dr. Vimpany's temperament. Shewould stay a day, or even two days or more, if necessary, at Passy. Shewould make those inquiries. 

The second letter, which reached her the same day, was from Mr. Mountjoy. He told her what he had told Mrs. Vimpany: he would give herthe money, because he recognised the spirit of fidelity which causedFanny to go first to Paris and then to Berne. 

But he could not pretend to any right to interference in the affairs ofLord and Lady Harry Norland. He enclosed a _mandat postal_ for ahundred and twenty-five francs, which he hoped would be sufficient forher immediate wants. 

She started on her return-journey on the same day--namely, Saturday. OnSunday evening she was in a pension at Passy, ready to make thoseinquiries. The first person whom she sought out was the _rentier_--thelandlord of the cottage. He was a retired tradesman--one who had madehis modest fortune in a _charcuterie_ and had invested it in houseproperty. Fanny told him that she had been lady's-maid to Lady HarryNorland, in the recent occupancy of the cottage, and that she wasanxious to know her present address. 

"Merci, mon Dieu! que sais-je? What do I know about it?" he replied. "The wife of the English milord is so much attached to her husband thatshe leaves him in his long illness--"

"His long illness?"

"Certainly--Mademoiselle is not, perhaps, acquainted with thecircumstances--his long illness; and does not come even to see his deadbody after he is dead. There is a wife for you--a wife of the Englishfashion!"

Fanny gasped. 

"After he is dead! Is Lord Harry dead? When did he die?"

"But, assuredly, Mademoiselle has not heard? The English milord died onThursday morning, a week and more ago, of consumption, and was buriedin the cemetery of Auteuil last Saturday. Mademoiselle appearsastonished. "

"En effet, Monsieur, I am astonished. "

"Already the tombstone is erected to the memory of the unhappy youngman, who is said to belong to a most distinguished family of Ireland. Mademoiselle can see it with her own eyes in the cemetery. "

"One word more, Monsieur. If Monsieur would have the kindness to tellher who was the nurse of milord in his last seizure?"

"But certainly. All the world knows the widow La Chaise. It was thewidow La Chaise who was called in by the doctor. Ah! there is aman--what a man! What a miracle of science! What devotion to hisfriend! What admirable sentiments! Truly, the English are great insentiments when their insular coldness allows them to speak. This widowcan be found--easily found. "

He gave Fanny, in fact, the nurse's address. Armed with this, andhaving got out of the landlord the cardinal fact of Lord Harry'salleged death, the lady's-maid went in search of this respectablewidow. 

She found her, in her own apartments, a respectable woman indeed, perfectly ready to tell everything that she knew, and evidently quiteunsuspicious of anything wrong. She was invited to take charge of asick man on the morning of Thursday: she was told that he was a youngIrish lord, dangerously ill of a pulmonary disorder; the doctor, infact, informed her that his life hung by a thread, and might drop atany moment, though on the other hand he had known such cases linger onfor many months. She arrived as she had been ordered, at midday: shewas taken into the sick-room by the doctor, who showed her the patientplacidly sleeping on a sofa: the bed had been slept in, and was not yetmade. After explaining the medicines which she was to administer, andthe times when they were to be given, and telling her something abouthis diet, the doctor left her alone with the patient. 

"He was still sleeping profoundly, " said the nurse. 

"You are sure that he was sleeping, and not dead?" asked Fanny, sharply. 

"Mademoiselle, I have been a nurse for many years. I know my duties. The moment the doctor left me I verified his statements. I proved thatthe patient was sleeping by feeling his pulse and observing hisbreath. "

Fanny made no reply. She could hardly remind this respectable personthat after the doctor left her she employed herself first in examiningthe cupboards, drawers, _armoire, _ and other things; that she thenfound a book with pictures, in which she read for a quarter of an houror so; that she then grew sleepy and dropped the book--

"I then, " continued the widow, "made arrangements against hiswaking--that is to say, I drew back the curtains and turned over thesheet to air the bed"--O Madame! Madame! Surely this wasneedless!--"shook up the pillows, and occupied myself in the cares of aconscientious nurse until the time came to administer the first dose ofmedicine. Then I proceeded to awaken my patient. Figure to yourself! Hewhom I had left tranquilly breathing, with the regularity of aconvalescent rather than a dying man, was dead! He was dead!"

"You are sure he was dead?"

"As if I had never seen a dead body before! I called the doctor, but itwas for duty only, for I knew that he was dead. "

"And then?"

"Then the doctor--who must also have known that he was dead--felt hispulse and his heart, and looked at his eyes, and declared that he wasdead. "

"And then?"

"What then? If a man is dead he is dead. You cannot restore him tolife. Yet one thing the doctor did. He brought a camera and took aphotograph of the dead man for the sake of his friends. "

"Oh! he took a photograph of--of Lord Harry Norland. What did he dothat for?"

"I tell you: for the sake of his friends. "

Fanny was more bewildered than ever. Why on earth should the doctorwant a photograph of the Dane Oxbye to show the friends of Lord Harry?Could he have made a blunder as stupid as it was uncalled for? No onecould possibly mistake the dead face of that poor Dane for the deadface of Lord Harry. 

She had got all the information she wanted--all, in fact, that was ofany use to her. One thing remained. She would see the grave. 

The cemetery of Auteuil is not so large as that of Pere-la-Chaise, nordoes it contain so many celebrated persons as the latter--perhaps thegreatest cemetery, as regards its illustrious dead, in the whole world. It is the cemetery of the better class. The tombs are not those ofImmortals but of Respectables. 

Among them Fanny easily found, following the directions given to her, the tomb she was searching after. 

On it was written in English, "Sacred to the Memory of Lord HarryNorland, second son of the Marquis of Malven. " Then followed the dateand the age, and nothing more. 

Fanny sat down on a bench and contemplated this mendacious stone. 

"The Dane Oxbye, " she said, "was growing better fast when I went away. That was the reason why I was sent away. The very next day the doctor, thinking me far away, poisoned him. I saw him do it. The nurse was toldthat he was asleep, and being left alone presently discovered that hewas dead. She has been told that the sick man is a young Irishgentleman. He is buried under the name of Lord Harry. That is thereason I found the doctor alone. And my lady? Where is she?"

CHAPTER LVI

FANNY'S NARRATIVE

FANNY returned to London. Partly, the slenderness of her resources gaveher no choice; partly, she had learned all there was to learn, andwould do no good by staying longer at Passy. 

She arrived with thirty shillings left out of Mr. Mountjoy's timelygift. She sought a cheap lodging, and found a room, among people whoseemed respectable, which she could have for four-and-sixpence a week, with board at a shilling a day. This settled, she hastened to Mr. Mountjoy's hotel brimful of her news for Mrs. Vimpany. 

Everyone knows the disappointment when the one person in the world whomyou want at the moment to see and to talk with proves to be out. Thenthe news has to be suppressed; the conclusions, the suspicions, theguesses have to be postponed; the active brain falls back upon itself. 

This disappointment--almost as great as that at Berne--was experiencedby Fanny Mere at the hotel. 

Mr. Mountjoy was no longer there. 

The landlady of the hotel, who knew Fanny, came out herself and toldher what had happened. 

"He was better, " she said, "but still weak. They sent him down toScotland in Mrs. Vimpany's care. He was to travel by quick or slowstages, just as he felt able. And I've got the address for you. Here itis. Oh! and Mrs. Vimpany left a message. Will you, she says, when youwrite, send the letter to her and not to him? She says, you know why. "

Fanny returned to her lodging profoundly discouraged. She was filledwith this terrible secret that she had discovered. The only man whocould advise at this juncture was Mr. Mountjoy, and he was gone. Andshe knew not what had become of her mistress. What could she do? Theresponsibility was more than she could bear. 

The conversation with the French nurse firmly established one thing inher mind. The man who was buried in the cemetery of Auteuil with thename of Lord Harry Norland on a headstone, the man who had lingered solong with pulmonary disease, was the man whose death she had witnessed. It was Oxbye the Dane. Of that there could be no doubt. Equally therewas no doubt in her own mind that he had been poisoned by thedoctor--by Mrs. Vimpany's husband--in the presence and, to allappearance, with the consent and full knowledge of Lord Harry himself. Then her mistress was in the power of these two men--villains who hadnow added murder to their other crimes. As for herself, she was alone, almost friendless; in a week or two she would be penniless. If she toldher tale, what mischief might she not do? If she was silent, whatmischief might not follow?

She sat down to write to the only friend she had. But her trouble frozeher brain. She had not been able to put the case plainly. Words failedher. 

She was not at any time fluent with her pen. She now found herselfreally unable to convey any intelligible account of what had happened. To state clearly all that she knew so that the conclusion should beobvious and patent to the reader would have been at all timesdifficult, and was now impossible. She could only confine herself to asimple vague statement. "I can only say that from all I have seen andheard I have reasons for believing that Lord Harry is not dead at all. "She felt that this was a feeble way of summing up, but she was not atthe moment equal to more. "When I write again, after I have heard fromyou, I will tell you more. To-day I cannot. I am too much weighed down. I am afraid of saying too much. Besides, I have no money, and must lookfor work. I am not anxious, however, about my own future, because mylady will not forsake me. I am sure of that. It is my anxiety about herand the dreadful secrets I have learned which give me no rest. "

Several days passed before the answer came. And then it was an answerwhich gave her little help. "I have no good news for you, " she said. "Mr. Mountjoy continues weak. Whatever your secret, I cannot ask you tocommunicate it to him in his present condition. He has been grieved andangry beyond all belief by Lady Harry's decision to rejoin her husband. It is hard to understand that a man should be so true a friend and soconstant a lover. Yet he has brought himself to declare that he hasbroken off all friendly relations with her. He could no longer endureLondon. It was associated with thoughts and memories of her. In spiteof his weak condition, he insisted on coming down here to his Scotchvilla. Ill as he was, he would brook no delay. We came down by veryeasy stages, stopping at Peterborough, York, Durham, Newcastle, andBerwick--at some places for one night, and others for more. In spite ofall my precautions, when we arrived at the villa he was dangerouslyexhausted. I sent for the local doctor, who seems to know something. Atall events, he is wise enough to understand that this is not a case fordrugs. Complete rest and absence from all agitating thoughts must beaimed at. Above all, he is not to see the newspapers. That isfortunate, because, I suppose, Lord Harry's death has been announced inthem, and the thought that his former mistress is a widow might excitehim very dangerously. You will now understand why I left that messageat the hotel for you, and why I have not shown him your letter. I toldhim, it is true, that you had returned without finding your mistress. 'Speak no more to me of Lady Harry, ' he replied irritably. So I havesaid no more. As for money, I have a few pounds by me, which are atyour service. You can repay me at some future time. I have thought ofone thing--that new Continental paper started by Lord Harry. Wherevershe may be, Lady Harry is almost sure to see that. Put an advertisementin it addressed to her, stating that you have not heard of her address, but that you yourself will receive any letter sent to some post-officewhich you can find. I think that such an advertisement will draw areply from her, unless she desires to remain in seclusion. "

Fanny thought the suggestion worth adopting. After carefulconsideration, she drew up an advertisement:--

"Fanny H. To L--H--. I have not been able to ascertain your address. Please write to me, at the Post Office, Hunter Street, London, W. C. "

She paid for the insertion of this advertisement three times onalternate Saturdays. They told her that this would be a more likely waythan to take three successive Saturdays. Then, encouraged by thefeeling that something, however little, had been done, she resolved tosit down to write out a narrative in which she would set down in ordereverything that had happened--exactly as it had happened. Her intensehatred and suspicion of Dr. Vimpany aided her, strange to say, to keepto the strictest fidelity as regards the facts. For it was not herdesire to make up charges and accusations. She wanted to find out theexact truth, and so to set it down that anybody who read her statementwould arrive at the same conclusion as she herself had done. In thecase of an eye-witness there are thousands of things which cannot beproduced in evidence which yet are most important in directing andconfirming suspicions. The attitude, the voice, the look of a speaker, the things which he conceals as well as the things which hereveals--all these are evidence. But these Fanny was unable to setdown. Therefore it behoved her to be strictly careful. 

First, she stated how she became aware that there was some secretscheme under consideration between Lord Harry and the doctor. Next, sheset down the fact that they began to talk French to each other, thinking that she could not understand them; that they spoke ofdeceiving Lady Harry by some statement which had already deceived theauthorities; that the doctor undertook to get the lady out of thehouse; that they engaged herself as nurse to a sick man; that shesuspected from the beginning that their design was to profit in someway by the death of this sick than, who bore a slight resemblance toLord Harry himself. And so on, following the story as closely as shecould remember, to the death of the Dane and her own subsequentconversation with the nurse. She was careful to put in the dates, dayafter day. When she had done all this--it took a good deal of time--shebought a manuscript book and copied it all out. This enabled her toremember two or three facts which had escaped her at the beginning. Then she made another copy this time without names of people or place. The second copy she forwarded as a registered letter to Mrs. Vimpany, with a letter of which this was the conclusion: "Considering, therefore, that on Wednesday morning I left Lord Harry in perfecthealth; considering that on the Thursday morning I saw the man who hadbeen ill so long actually die--how, I have told you in the packetenclosed; considering that the nurse was called in purposely to attenda patient who was stated to have long been ill--there can be no doubtwhatever that the body in the cemetery is that of the unfortunate Dane, Oxbye; and that, somewhere or other, Lord Harry is alive and well. 

"What have they done it for? First of all, I suppose, to get money. Ifit were not for the purpose of getting money the doctor would have hadnothing to do with the conspiracy, which was his own invention. That isvery certain. Your idea was they would try to get money out of theInsurance Offices. I suppose that is their design. But Lord Harry mayhave many other secret reasons of his own for wishing to be thoughtdead. They say his life has been full of wicked things, and he may wellwish to be considered dead and gone. Lots of wicked men would likeabove all things, I should think, to be considered dead and buried. Butthe money matter is at the bottom of all, I am convinced. What are weto do?"

What could they do? These two women had got hold of a terrible secret. Neither of them could move. It was too big a thing. One cannot expect awoman to bring her own husband--however wicked a husband he may be--tothe awful shame and horror of the gallows if murder should beproved--or to a lifelong imprisonment if the conspiracy alone should bebrought home to him. Therefore Mrs. Vimpany could do nothing. As forFanny, the mere thought of the pain she would inflict upon hermistress, were Lord Harry, through her interference, to be brought tojustice and an infamous sentence, kept her quiet. 

Meantime, the announcement of Lord Harry's death had been made. Thosewho knew the family history spoke cheerfully of the event. "Best timinghe had ever done. Very good thing for his people. One more bad lot outof the way. Dead, Sir, and a very good thing, too. Married, I believe. One of the men who have done everything. Pity they can't write a lifeof him. " These were the comments made upon the decease of this younggentleman. Such is fame. Next day he was clean forgotten; just as if hehad never existed. Such is life. 

CHAPTER LVII

AT LOUVAIN

NOT many English tourists go out of their way to visit Louvain, eventhough it has a Hotel de Ville surpassing even that of Brussels itself, and though one can get there in an hour from that city of youth andpleasure. And there are no English residents at all in the place--atleast, none in evidence, though perhaps there may be some who have gonethere for the same reasons which led Mr. William Linville and his wifeto choose this spot--in order to be private and secluded. There aremany more people than we know of who desire, above all things, seclusion and retirement, and dread nothing so much as a chance meetingwith an old friend. 

Mr. William Linville took a small house, furnished, like the cottage atPassy, and, also like that little villa, standing in its own garden. Here, with a cook and a maid, Iris set up her modest _menage. _ To askwhether she was happy would be absurd. At no time since her marriagehad she been happy; to live under the condition of perpetualconcealment is not in itself likely to make a woman any the happier. Fortunately she had no time to experience the full bitterness of theplan proposed by her husband. 

Consider. Had their scheme actually been carried out quitesuccessfully, this pair, still young, would have found themselvescondemned to transportation for life. That was the first thing. Next, they could never make any friends among their own countrymen orcountrywomen for fear of discovery. Iris could never again speak to anEnglish lady. If they had children the risk would appear ten times moreterrible, the consequences ten times more awful. The childrenthemselves would have to grow up without family and without friends. The husband, cut off from intercourse with other men, would be thrownback upon himself. Husband and wife, with this horrible load laid uponthem, would inevitably grow to loathe and hate the sight of each other. The man would almost certainly take to drink: the woman--but we mustnot follow this line any further. The situation lasted only so long asto give the wife a glimpse of what it might become in the future. 

They took their house, and sat down in it. They were very silent. LordHarry, his great _coup_ successfully carried so far, sat taciturn andglum. He stayed indoors all day, only venturing out after dark. For aman whose whole idea of life was motion, society, and action, thispromised ill. 

The monotony was first broken by the arrival of Hugh's letter, whichwas sent in with other documents from Passy. Iris read it; she read itagain, trying to understand exactly what it meant. Then she tore it up. "If he only knew, " she said, "he would not have taken the trouble evento write this letter. There is no answer, Hugh. There can be none--now. Act by your advice? Henceforth, I must act by order. I am aconspirator. "

Two days afterwards came a letter from the doctor. He did not think itnecessary to say anything about Fanny's appearance or her journey toBorne. "Everything, " he wrote, "has so far gone well. The world knows, through the papers, that Lord Harry is dead. There will be now only thebusiness of claiming the money. For this purpose, as his widow is thesole heiress and executrix, it will be necessary for her to place thewill and the policies of insurance in the hands of her husband'slawyers, so that the will may be proved and the claims duly made. Formswill have to be signed. The medical certificate of death and the formsattesting the burial are already in the lawyers' hands. The sooner thewidow goes to London the better. She should write to announce herarrival, and she should write from Paris as if she had been stayingthere after her husband's death. 

"I have only to remind you, my dear Linville, that you are indebted tome in a good round sum. Of course, I shall be very pleased to receive acheque for this sum in full as soon as you have touched the amount dueto you. I shall be in Paris, at the Hotel Continental, where you mayaddress me. Naturally, there is no desire for concealment, and if theInsurance Companies desire any information from me I am always readyand willing to afford it. "

Lord Harry gave this letter to his wife. 

She read it, and laid it open in her lap. 

"Must it be, Harry? Oh! must it be?"

"There is no other way possible, dear. But really, it is nothing. Youwere not at Passy when your husband died. You had been in London--youwere in Brussels--anywhere; when you arrived it was all over; you haveseen his headstone. Dr. Vimpany had him in his care; you knew he wasill, but you thought it was a trifling matter which time would cure;you go to the lawyers and present the will. They have the policies, andwill do everything else; you will not even have to sign anything. Theonly thing that you must do is to get a complete rig-out of widow'sweeds. Mind--there will not be the slightest doubt or question raised. Considering everything, you will be more than justified in seeing noone and going nowhere. "

Hugh's letter breaking in upon her fool's paradise had awakened thepoor woman to her better self; she had gone so far with the fraud as toacquiesce in it; but she recoiled with horror and shame when thisactive part was forced upon her. 

"Oh, Harry!"--she burst into tears. "I cannot--I cannot. You ask me tobe a liar and a thief--oh! heavens!--a vile thief!

"It is too late, Iris! We are all vile thieves. It is too late to begincrying now. "

"Harry"--she threw herself upon her knees--"spare me! Let some otherwoman go, and call herself your widow. Then I will go away and hidemyself. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Iris, " he replied roughly. "I tell you it is fartoo late. You should have thought of this before. It is now allarranged. "

"I cannot go, " she said. 

"You must go; otherwise, all our trouble may prove useless. "

"Then I will not go!" she declared, springing to her feet. "I will notdegrade myself any further. I will not go!"

Harry rose too. He faced her for a moment. His eyes dropped. Even heremembered, at that moment, how great must be the fall of a woman whowould consent to play such a part. 

"You shall not go, " he said, "unless you like. You can leave me to theconsequences of my own acts--to my own degradation. Go back to England. In one thing only spare me. Do not tell what you know. As for me, Iwill forge a letter from you--"

"Forge a letter!"

"It is the only way left open, giving the lawyers authority to act, andinclosing the will. What will happen next? By whose hands the money isto reach me I know not yet. But you can leave me, Iris. Better that youshould leave me--I shall only drag you lower. "

"Why must you forge the letter? Why not come with me somewhere--theworld is large!--to some place where you are not known, and there letus begin a new life? We have not much money, but I can sell my watchesand chains and rings, and we shall have enough. O Harry! for once beguided--listen to me! We shall find some humble manner of living, andwe may be happy yet. There is no harm done if you have only pretendedto be dead; nobody has been injured or defrauded--"

"Iris, you talk wildly! Do you imagine, for one moment, that the doctorwill release me from my bargain?"

"What bargain?"

"Why--of course he was to be paid for the part he has taken in thebusiness. Without him it could never have been done at all. "

"Yes--yes--it was in the letter that you gave me, " she said, consciousthat such agreements belonged to works of fiction and to police courts. 

"Certainly I have to pay him a good large slice out of the money. "

"It is fifteen thousand pounds, is it not? How much is to be paid tothe--to the doctor?"

"We agreed that he was to have the half, " said Lord Harry, laughinglightly. "But as I thought that seven thousand five hundred pounds wasa sum of money which would probably turn his head and bring him tostarvation in a year or two, I told him that the whole amount was fourthousand pounds. Therefore he is to have two thousand pounds for hisshare. And quite enough too. "

"Treachery on treachery!" said his wife. "Fraud on fraud! Would toGOD, " she added with a sigh, "that you had never met this man!"

"I dare say it would have been better for me, on the whole, " hereplied. "But then, my dear, a man like myself is always meeting peoplewhom it would have been better not to have met. Like will to like, Isuppose. Given the active villain and the passive consenter, and theyare sure to meet. Not that I throw stones at the worthy doctor. Not atall. "

"We cannot, Harry, " said his wife. 

"We cannot, my dear. _Bien entendu!_ Well, Iris, there is no more to besaid. You know the situation completely. You can back out of it if youplease, and leave me. Then I shall have to begin all over again a newconspiracy far more dangerous than the last. Well, I shall not drag youdown with me. That is my resolution. If it comes to publicdegradation--but it shall not. Iris, I promise you one thing. " For oncehe looked as if he meant it. "Death before dishonour. Death withoutyour name being mixed up at all, save with pity for being the wife ofsuch a man. "

Again he conquered her. 

"Harry, " she said, "I will go. "

CHAPTER LVIII

OF COURSE THEY WILL PAY

THREE days afterwards a hansom cab drove to the offices of the veryrespectable firm of solicitors who managed the affairs of the Norlandfamily. They had one or two other families as well, and in spite ofagricultural depression, they made a very good thing indeed out of avery comfortable business. The cab contained a lady in deep widow'sweeds. 

Lady Harry Norland expected to be received with coldness and suspicion. Her husband, she knew, had not led the life expected in these days of ayounger son. Nor had his record been such as to endear him to his elderbrother. Then, as may be imagined, there were other tremors, caused bya guilty knowledge of certain facts which might by some accident "comeout. " Everybody has tremors for whom something may come out. Also, Irishad had no experience of solicitors, and was afraid of them. 

Instead of being received, however, by a gentleman as solemn as theCourt of Chancery and as terrible as the Court of Assize, she found anelderly gentleman, of quiet, paternal manners, who held both her hands, and looked as if he was weeping over her bereavement. By long practicethis worthy person could always, at a moment's notice, assume theappearance of one who was weeping with his client. 

"My dear lady!" he murmured. "My dear lady! This is a terrible time foryou. "

She started. She feared that something had come out. 

"In the moment of bereavement, too, to think of business. "

"I have brought you, " she replied curtly, "my husband's--my latehusband's--will. "

"Thank you. With your permission--though it may detain your ladyship--Iwill read it. Humph! it is short and to the point. This will certainlygive us little trouble. I fear, however, that, besides the insurances, your ladyship will not receive much. "

"Nothing. My husband was always a poor man, as you know. At the time ofhis death he left a small sum of money only. I am, as a matter of fact, greatly inconvenienced. "

"Your ladyship shall be inconvenienced no longer. You must draw uponus. As regards Lord Harry's death, we are informed by Dr. Vimpany, whoseems to have been his friend as well as his medical adviser--"

"Dr. Vimpany had been living with him for some time. "

--"that he had a somewhat protracted illness?"

"I was away from my husband. I was staying here in London--onbusiness--for some time before his death. I was not even aware that hewas in any danger. When I hurried back to Passy I was too late. Myhusband was--was already buried. "

"It was most unfortunate. And the fact that his lordship was not onspeaking terms with the members of his own family--pray understand thatI am not expressing any opinion on the case--but this fact seems torender his end more unhappy. "

"He had Dr. Vimpany, " said Iris, in a tone which suggested to thelawyer jealousy or dislike of the doctor. 

"Well, " he said, "it remains to prove the will and to make our claimsagainst the Insurance Office. I have the policy here. His lordship wasinsured in the Royal Unicorn Life Insurance Company for the sumof 15, 000 pounds. We must not expect to have this large claim satisfiedquite immediately. Perhaps the office will take three months to settle. But, as I said before, your ladyship can draw upon us. "

"You are certain that the Company will pay?"

"Assuredly. Why not? They must pay. "

"Oh! I thought that perhaps so large a sum--"

"My dear Madam"--the man who administered so much real and personalproperty smiled--"fifteen thousand pounds is not what we call a verylarge sum. Why, if an Insurance Company refused to pay a lawful claimit would cut its own throat--absolutely. Its very existence dependsupon its meeting all just and lawful claims. The death being proved itremains for the Company to pay the insurance into the hands of theperson entitled to receive it. That is, in this case, to me, acting foryou. "

"Yes--I see--but I thought that, perhaps, my husband having died abroadthere might be difficulty--"

"There might, if he had died in Central Africa. But he died in a suburbof Paris, under French law, which, in such matters, is even morecareful and exacting than our own. We have the official papers, and thedoctor's certificate. We have, besides, a photograph of the unfortunategentleman lying on his death-bed--this was well thought of: it is anadmirable likeness--the sun cannot lie--we have also a photograph ofthe newly erected tombstone. Doubt? Dear me, Madam, they could no moreraise a doubt as to your husband's death than if he were buried in thefamily vault. If anything should remove any ground for doubt, it is thefact that the only person who benefits by his death is yourself. If, onthe other hand, he had been in the hands of persons who had reason towish for his death, there might have been suspicions of foul play, which would have been matter for the police--but not for an insurancecompany. "

"Oh! I am glad to learn, at least, that there will be no trouble. Ihave no knowledge of business, and I thought that--"

"No--no--your ladyship need have no such ideas. In fact, I have alreadyanticipated your arrival, and have sent to the manager of the company. He certainly went so far as to express a doubt as to the cause ofdeath. Consumption in any form was not supposed to be in your husband'sfamily. But Lord Harry--ahem!--tried his constitution--tried hisconstitition, as I put it. "

He had put it a little differently. What he said was to the followingeffect--"Lord Harry Norland, sir, was a devil. There was nothing he didnot do. I only wonder that he has lived so long. Had I been told thathe died of everything all together, I should not have been surprised. Ordinary rapid consumption was too simple for such a man. "

Iris gave the lawyer her London address, obeyed him by drawing ahundred pounds, half of which she sent to Mr. William Linville, atLouvain, and went home to wait. She must now stay in London until theclaim was discharged. 

She waited six weeks. At the end of that time she learned from hersolicitors that the company had settled, and that they, the lawyers, had paid to her bankers the sum of 15, 000 pounds being the whole of theinsurance. 

Acting, then, on her husband's instructions, she sought another bankand opened an account for one William Linville, gentleman, residingabroad. She gave herself as a reference, left the usual signature ofWilliam Linville, and paid to his account a cheque for 8, 000 pounds. She saw the manager of her own bank, explained that this large chequewas for an investment, and asked him to let her have 2, 000 pounds inbank notes. This sum, she added, was for a special purpose. The managerimagined that she was about to perform some act of charity, perhaps anexpiatory work on behalf of her late husband. 

She then wrote to Dr. Vimpany, who was in Paris, making an appointmentwith him. Her work of fraud and falsehood was complete. 

"There has been no trouble at all, " she wrote to her husband; "andthere will not be any. The insurance company has already settled theclaim. I have paid 8, 000 pounds to the account of William Linville. Myown banker--who knows my father--believes that the money is aninvestment. My dear Harry, I believe that, unless the doctor begins toworry us--which he will do as soon as his money is all gone--a clearcourse lies before us. Let us, as I have already begged you to do, gostraight away to some part of America, where you are certain not to beknown. You can dye your hair and grow a beard to make sure. Let us goaway from every place and person that may remind us of time past. Perhaps, in time, we may recover something of the old peace and--can itever be?--the old self-respect. "

There was going to be trouble, however, and that of a kind littleexpected, impossible to be guarded against. And it would be troublecaused by her own act and deed. 

CHAPTER LIX

THE CONSEQUENCES OF AN ADVERTISEMENT

THE trouble was made by Iris herself. 

In this way--

She saw Fanny's advertisement. Her first impulse was to take her backinto her service. But she remembered the necessity for concealment. Shemust not place herself--she realised already the fact that she had donea thing which would draw upon her the vengeance of the law--and herhusband in the power of this woman, whose fidelity might not stand theshock of some fit of jealousy, rage, or revenge for fancied slight. Shemust henceforth be cut off altogether from all her old friends. 

She therefore answered the letter by one which contained no address, and which she posted with her own hand at the General Post Office. Sheconsidered her words carefully. She must not say too much or toolittle. 

"I enclose, " she said, "a bank note for ten pounds to assist you. I amabout to travel abroad, but must, under existing circumstances, dispense with the services of a maid. In the course of my travels Iexpect to be in Brussels. If, therefore, you have anything to tell meor to ask of me, write to me at the Poste Restante of that city, and inthe course of six mouths or so I am tolerably sure to send for theletter. In fact, I shall expect to find a letter from you. Do not thinkthat I have forgotten you or your faithful services, though for amoment I am not able to call you to my side. Be patient. "

There was no address given in the letter. This alone was mysterious. IfLady Harry was in London and the letter was posted at the General PostOffice--why should she not give her address? If she was abroad, whyshould she hide her address? In any case, why should she do without amaid--she who had never been without a maid--to whom a maid was asnecessary as one of her hands? Oh! she could never get along at allwithout a maid. As for Iris's business in London and her part in theconspiracy, of course Fanny neither knew nor suspected. 

She had recourse again to her only friend--Mrs. Vimpany--to whom shesent Lady Harry's letter, and imploring her to lay the whole before Mr. Mountjoy. 

"He is getting so much stronger, " Mrs. Vimpany wrote back, "that Ishall be able to tell him every thing before long. Do not be in ahurry. Let us do nothing that may bring trouble upon her. But I am surethat something is going on--something wicked. I have read your accountof what has happened over and over again. I am as convinced as youcould possibly be that my husband and Lord Harry are trading on thesupposed death of the letter. We can do nothing. Let us wait. "

Three days afterwards she wrote again. 

"The opportunity for which I have been waiting has come at last. Mr. Mountjoy is, I believe, fully recovered. This morning, seeing him sowell and strong, I asked him if I might venture to place in his hands apaper containing a narrative. 

"'Is it concerning Iris?' he asked. 

"'It has to do with Lady Harry--indirectly. '

"For a while he made no reply. Then he asked me if it had also to dowith her husband. 

"'With her husband and with mine, ' I told him. 

"Again he was silent. 

"After a bit he looked up and said, 'I had promised myself never againto interfere in Lady Harry Norland's affairs. You wish me to read thisdocument, Mrs. Vimpany?"

"'Certainly; I am most anxious that you should read it and shouldadvise upon it. '

"'Who wrote it?'

"'Fanny Mere, Lady Harry's maid. '

"'If it is only to tell me that her husband is a villain, ' he said, 'Iwill not read it. '

"'If you were enabled by reading it to keep Lady Harry from a dreadfulmisfortune?' I suggested. 

"'Give me the document, ' he said. 

"Before I gave it to him--it was in my pocket--I showed him a newspapercontaining a certain announcement. 

"'Lord Harry dead?' he cried. 'Impossible! Then Iris is free. '

"'Perhaps you will first read the document. ' I drew it out of mypocket, gave it to him, and retired. He should be alone while he readit. 

"Half an hour afterwards I returned. I found him in a state of the mostviolent agitation, without, however, any of the weakness which hebetrayed on previous occasions. 

"'Mrs. Vimpany, ' he cried, 'this is terrible! There is no doubt--notthe least doubt--in my mind that the man Oxbye is the man buried underthe name of Lord Harry, and that he was murdered--murdered in coldblood--by that worst of villains----'

"'My husband, ' I said. 

"'Your husband--most unfortunate of wives! As for Lord Harry's share inthe murder, it is equally plain that he knew of it, even if he did notconsent to it. Good heavens! Do you understand? Do you realise whatthey have done? Your husband and Iris's husband may be tried--actuallytried--for murder and put to a shameful death. Think of it!'

"'I do think of it, Heaven knows! I think of it every day--I think ofit all day long. But, remember, I will say nothing that will bring thisfate upon them. And Fanny will say nothing. Without Fanny's evidencethere cannot be even a suspicion of the truth. '

"'What does Iris know about it?'

"'I think that she cannot know anything of the murder. Consider thedates. On Wednesday Fanny was dismissed; on Thursday she returnedsecretly and witnessed the murder. It was on Thursday morning that LadyHarry drove to Victoria on her return to Passy, as we all supposed, andas I still suppose. On Saturday Funny was back again. The cottage wasdeserted. She was told that the man Oxbye had got up and walked away;that her mistress had not been at the house at all, but was travellingin Switzerland; and that Lord Harry was gone on a long journey. And shewas sent into Switzerland to get her out of the way. I gather from allthis that Lady Harry was taken away by her husband directly shearrived--most likely by night--and that of the murder she knewnothing. '

"'No--no--she could know nothing! That, at least, they dared not tellher. But about the rest? How much does she know? How far has she lentherself to the conspiracy? Mrs. Vimpany, I shall go back to Londonto-night. We will travel by the night train. I feel quite strongenough. '

"I began this letter in Scotland; I finish it in London. 

"We are back again in town. Come to the hotel at once, and see us. "

So, there was now a Man to advise. For once, Fanny was thankful for thecreation of Man. To the most misanthropic female there sometimes comesa time when she must own that Man has his uses. These two women had nowgot a Man with whom to take counsel. 

"I do not ask you, " said Mr. Mountjoy, with grave face, "how far thisstatement of yours is true: I can see plainly that it is true in everyparticular. "

"It is quite true, sir; every word of it is true. I have been temptedto make out a worse case against the doctor, but I have kept myself tothe bare truth. "

"You could not make out a worse case against any man. It is theblackest case that I ever heard of or read. It is the foulest murder. Ido not understand the exact presence of Lord Harry when the medicinewas given. Did he see the doctor administer it? Did he say anything?"

"He turned white when the doctor told him that the man was going todie--that day, perhaps, or next day. When the doctor was pouring outthe medicine he turned pale again and trembled. While the doctor wastaking the photograph he trembled again. I think, sir--I reallythink--that he knew all along that the man was going to die, but whenit came to the moment, he was afraid. If it had depended on him, Oxbyewould be alive still. "

"He was a consenting party. Well; for the moment both of you keepperfect silence. Don't discuss the timing with each other lest youshould be overheard: bury the thing. I am going to make someinquiries. "

The first thing was to find out what steps had been taken, if any, withinsurance companies. For Iris's sake his inquiry had to be conductedquite openly. His object must seem none other than the discovery ofLady Harry Norland's present address. When bankers, insurancecompanies, and solicitors altogether have to conduct a piece ofbusiness it is not difficult to ascertain such a simple matter. 

He found out the name of the family solicitor, he went to the office, sent in his card, and stated his object. As a very old friend of LadyHarry's, he wanted to learn her address. He had just come up fromScotland, where he had been ill, and had only just learned her terriblebereavement. 

The lawyer made no difficulty at all. There was no reason why heshould. Lady Harry had been in London; she was kept in town for nearlytwo months by business connected with the unfortunate event; but shehad now gone--she was travelling Switzerland or elsewhere. As for heraddress, a letter addressed to his care should be forwarded on hearingfrom her ladyship. 

"Her business, I take it, was the proving of the will and thearrangement of the property. "

"That was the business which kept her in town. "

"Lady Harry, " Mr. Mountjoy went on, "had a little property of her ownapart from what she may ultimately get from her father. About fivethousand pounds--not more. "

"Indeed? She did not ask my assistance in respect of her own property. "

"I suppose it is invested and in the hands of trustees. But, indeed, Ido not know. Lord Harry himself, I have heard, was generally in apenniless condition. Were there any insurances?"

"Yes; happily there was insurance paid for him by the family. Otherwisethere would have been nothing for the widow. "

"And this has been paid up, I suppose?"

"Yes; it has been paid into her private account. "

"Thank you, " said Mr. Mountjoy. "With your permission, I will address aletter to Lady Harry here. Will you kindly order it to be forwarded atthe very earliest opportunity?"

"Iris, " he thought, "will not come to London any more. She has beenpersuaded by her husband to join in the plot. Good heavens! She hasbecome a swindler--a conspirator---a fraudulent woman! Iris!--it isincredible--it is horrible! What shall we do?"

He first wrote a letter, to the care of the lawyers. He informed herthat he had made a discovery of the highest importance to herself--herefrained from anything that might give rise to suspicion; he imploredher to give him an interview anywhere, in any part of the world--alone, he told her that the consequences of refusal might be fatal--absolutelyfatal--to her future happiness: he conjured her to believe that he wasanxious for nothing but her happiness: that he was still, as always, her most faithful friend. 

Well; he could do no more. He had not the least expectation that hisletter would do any good; he did not even believe that it would reachIris. The money was received and paid over to her own account. Therewas really no reason at all why she should place herself again incommunication with these lawyers. What would she do, then? One thingonly remained. With her guilty husband, this guilty woman must remainin concealment for the rest of their days, or until death released herof the man who was pretending to be dead. At the best, they might findsome place where there would be no chance of anybody ever finding themwho knew either of them before this wicked thing was done. 

But could she know of the murder?

He remembered the instruction given to Fanny. She was to write toBrussels. Let her therefore write at once. He would arrange what shewas to say. Under his dictation, therefore, Fanny wrote as follows:--

"My Lady, --I have received your ladyship's letter, and your kind giftof ten pounds. I note your directions to write to you at Brussels, andI obey them. 

"Mr. Mountjoy, who has been ill and in Scotland, has come back toLondon. He begs me to tell you that he has had an interview with yourlawyers, and has learned that you have been in town on business, thenature of which he has also learned. He has left an important letterfor you at their office. They will forward it as soon as they learnyour address. 

"Since I came back from Passy I have thought it prudent to set down inwriting an exact account of everything that happened there under my ownobservation. Mr. Mountjoy has read my story, and thinks that I oughtwithout delay to send a copy of it to you. I therefore send you one, inwhich I have left out all the names, and put in A, B, and C instead, byhis directions. He says that you will have no difficulty in filling upthe names. 

"I remain, my dear Lady, "Your ladyship's most obedient and humble servant, "FANNY MERE. "

This letter, with the document, was dispatched to Brussels that night. And this is the trouble which Iris brought upon herself by answeringFanny's advertisement. 

CHAPTER LX

ON THE EVE OF A CHANGE

IRIS returned to Louvain by way of Paris. She had to settle up with thedoctor. 

He obeyed her summons and called upon her at the hotel. 

"Well, my lady, " he began in his gross voice, rubbing his hands andlaughing, "it has come off, after all; hasn't it?"

"I do not desire, Dr. Vimpany, to discuss anything with you. We willproceed to settle what business we have together. "

"To think that your ladyship should actually fall in!" he replied. "NowI confess that this was to me the really difficult part of the job. Itis quite easy to pretend that a man is dead, but not so easy to touchhis money. I really do not see how we could have managed at all withoutyour co-operation. Well, you've had no difficulty, of course?"

"None at all. "

"I am to have half. "

"I am instructed to give you two thousand pounds. I have the money herefor you. "

"I hope you consider that I deserve this share?"

"I think, Dr. Vimpany, that whatever you get in the future or thepresent you will richly deserve. You have dragged a man down to yourown level--"

"And a woman too. "

"A woman too. Your reward will come, I doubt not. "

"If it always takes the form of bank-notes I care not how great thereward may be. You will doubtless, as a good Christian, expect your ownreward--for him and for you?"

"I have mine already, " she replied sadly. "Now, Dr. Vimpany, let me payyou, and get rid of your company. "

He counted the money carefully and put it in the banker's bag in hiscoat-pocket. "Thank you, my lady. We have exchanged compliments enoughover this job. "

"I hope--I pray--that we may never set eyes on you again. "

"I cannot say. People run up against each other in the strangestmanner, especially people who've done shady things and have got to keepin the background. "

"Enough!--enough!"

"The background of the world is a very odd place, I assure you. It isfull of interesting people. The society has a piquancy which you willfind, I hope, quite charming. You will be known by another name, ofcourse?"

"I shall not tell you by what name--"

"Tut--tut! I shall soon find out. The background gets narrower when youfall into misery. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Lady Harry, that your husband has no idea whatever as to thevalue of money. The two thousand that you are taking him will vanish ina year or two. What will you do then? As for myself, I know the valueof money so well that I am always buying the most precious anddelightful things with it. I enjoy them immensely. Never any manenjoyed good things so much as I do. But the delightful things costmoney. Let us be under no illusions. Your ladyship and your noblehusband and I all belong to the background; and in a year or two weshall belong to the needy background. I daresay that very soon afterthat the world will learn that we all belong to the criminalbackground. I wish your ladyship a joyful reunion with your husband!"

He withdrew, and Iris set eyes on him no more. But the prophecy withwhich he departed remained with her, and it was with a heart forebodingfresh sorrows that she left Paris and started for Louvain. 

Here began the new life--that of concealment and false pretence. Irisput off her weeds, but she never ventured abroad without a thick veil. Her husband, discovering that English visitors sometimes ran over fromBrussels to see the Hotel de Ville, never ventured out at all tillevening. They had no friends and no society of any kind. 

The house, which stood secluded behind a high wall in its garden, wasin the quietest part of this quiet old city; no sound of life and workreached it; the pair who lived there seldom spoke to each other. Exceptat the midday breakfast and the dinner they did not meet. Iris sat inher own room, silent; Lord Harry sat in his, or paced the garden walksfor hours. 

Thus the days went on monotonously. The clock ticked; the hours struck;they took meals; they slept; they rose and dressed; they took mealsagain--this was all their life. This was all that they could expect forthe future. 

The weeks went on. For three months Iris endured this life. No newscame to her from the outer world; her husband had even forgotten thefirst necessary of modern life--the newspaper. It was not the ideallife of love, apart from the world, where the two make for themselves aGarden of Eden; it was a prison, in which two were confined togetherwho were kept apart by their guilty secret. 

They ceased altogether to speak; their very meals were taken insilence. The husband saw continual reproach in his wife's eyes; her sadand heavy look spoke more plainly than any words, "It is to this thatyou have brought me. "

One morning Iris was idly turning over the papers in her desk. Therewere old letters, old photographs, all kinds of trifling treasures thatreminded her of the past--a woman keeps everything; the littlemementoes of her childhood, her first governess, her first school, herschool friendships--everything. As Iris turned over these things hermind wandered back to the old days. She became again a younggirl--innocent, fancy free; she grew up--she was a woman innocentstill. Then her mind jumped at one leap to the present, and she sawherself as she was--innocent no longer, degraded and guilty, the vileaccomplice of a vile conspiracy. 

Then, as one who has been wearing coloured glasses puts them off andsees things in their own true colours, she saw how she had been pulleddown by a blind infatuation to the level of the man who had held her inhis fascination; she saw him as he was--reckless, unstable, careless ofname and honour. Then for the first time she realised the depths intowhich she was plunged and the life which she was henceforth doomed tolead. The blind love fell from her--it was dead at last; but it lefther bound to the man by a chain which nothing could break; she was inher right senses; she saw things as they were; but the knowledge cametoo late. 

Her husband made no attempt to bridge over the estrangement which hadthus grown up between them: it became wider every day; he lived apartand alone; he sat in his own room, smoking more cigars, drinking morebrandy-and-water than was good for him; sometimes he paced the gravelwalks in the garden; in the evening, after dinner, he went out andwalked about the empty streets of the quiet city. Once or twice heventured into a cafe, sitting in a corner, his hat drawn over his eyes;but that was dangerous. For the most part he kept in the streets, andhe spoke to no one. 

Meantime the autumn had given place to winter, which began in wet anddreary fashion. Day and night the rain fell, making the gravel walkstoo wet and the streets impossible. Then Lord Harry sat in his room andsmoked all day long. And still the melancholy of the one increased, andthe boredom of the other. 

He spoke at last. It was after breakfast. 

"Iris, " he said, "how long is this to continue?"

"This--what?"

"This life--this miserable solitude and silence. "

"Till we die, " she replied. "What else do you expect? You have sold ourfreedom, and we must pay the price. "

"No; it shall end. I will end it. I can endure it no longer. "

"You are still young. You will perhaps have forty years more tolive--all like this--as dull and empty. It is the price we must pay. "

"No, " he repeated, "it shall end. I swear that I will go on like thisno longer. "

"You had better go to London and walk in Piccadilly to get a littlesociety. "

"What do you care what I do or where I go?"

"We will not reproach each other, Harry. "

"Why--what else do you do all day long but reproach me with your gloomylooks and your silence?"

"Well--end it if you can. Find some change in the life. "

"Be gracious for a little, and listen to my plan. I have made a plan. Listen, Iris. I can no longer endure this life. It drives me mad. "

"And me too. That is one reason why we should not desire to change it. Mad people forget. They think they are somewhere else. For us tobelieve that we were somewhere else would be in itself happiness. "

"I am resolved to change it--to change it, I say--at any risk. We willleave Louvain. "

"We can, I dare say, " Iris replied coldly, "find another town, Frenchor Belgian, where we can get another cottage, behind high walls in agarden, and hide there. "

"No. I will hide no longer. I am sick of hiding. "

"Go on. What is your plan? Am I to pretend to be some one else'swidow?"

"We will go to America. There are heaps of places in the States whereno English people ever go---neither tourists nor settlers--places wherethey have certainly never heard of us. We will find some quiet village, buy a small farm, and settle among the people. I know something aboutfarming. We need not trouble to make the thing pay. And we will go backto mankind again. Perhaps, Iris--when we have gone back to theworld--you will--" he hesitated--"you will be able to forgive me, andto regard me again with your old thoughts. It was done for your sake. "

"It was not done for my sake. Do not repeat that falsehood. The oldthoughts will never come back, Harry. They are dead and gone. I haveceased to respect you or myself. Love cannot survive the loss ofself-respect. Who am I that I should give love to anybody? Who are youthat you should expect love?"

"Will you go with me to America--love or no love? I cannot stay here--Iwill not stay here. "

"I will go with you wherever you please. I should like not to runrisks. There are still people whom it would pain to see Iris Henleytried and found guilty with two others on a charge of fraudulentconspiracy. "

"I wouldn't accustom myself, if I were you, Iris, to speak of thingstoo plainly. Leave the thing to me and I will arrange it. See now, wewill travel by a night train from Brussels to Calais. We will take thecross-country line from Amiens to Havre; there we will take boat forNew York--no English people ever travel by the Havre line. Once inAmerica we will push up country--to Kentucky or somewhere--and findthat quiet country place: after that I ask no more. I will settle downfor the rest of my life, and have no more adventures. Do you agree, Iris?"

"I will do anything that you wish, " she replied coldly. 

"Very well. Let us lose no time. I feel choked here. Will you go intoBrussels and buy a Continental Bradshaw or a Baedeker, or somethingthat will tell us the times of sailing, the cost of passage, and allthe rest of it? We will take with us money to start us with: you willhave to write to your bankers. We can easily arrange to have the moneysent to New York, and it can be invested there--except your ownfortune--in my new name. We shall want no outfit for a fortnight atsea. I have arranged it all beautifully. Child, look like your oldself. " He took an unresisting hand. "I want to see you smile and lookhappy again. "

"You never will. "

"Yes--when we have got ourselves out of this damnable, unwholesome wayof life; when we are with our fellow-creatures again. You will forgetthis--this little business--which was, you know, after all, an unhappynecessity. "

"Oh! how can I ever forget?"

"New interests will arise; new friendships will be formed--"

"Harry, it is myself that I cannot forgive. Teach me to forgive myself, and I will forget everything. "

He pressed her no longer. 

"Well, then, " he said, "go to Brussels and get this information. If youwill not try to conquer this absurd moral sensitiveness--which comestoo late--you will at least enable me to place you in a healthieratmosphere. "

"I will go at once, " she said, "I will go by the next train. "

"There is a train at a quarter to two. You can do all you have to doand catch the train at five. Iris"--the chance of a change made himimpatient--"let us go to-morrow. Let us go by the night express. Therewill be English travellers, but they shall not recognise me. We shallbe in Calais at one in the morning. We will go on by an early trainbefore the English steamer comes in. Will you be ready?"

"Yes; there is nothing to delay me. I suppose we can leave the house bypaying the rent? I will go and do what you want. "

"Let us go this very night. "

"If you please; I am always ready. "

"No: there will be no time; it will look like running away. We will goto-morrow night. Besides, you would be too tired after going toBrussels and back. Iris, we are going to be happy again--I am sure weare. " He, for one, looked as if there was nothing to prevent a returnof happiness. He laughed and waved his hands. "A new sky---newscenes--new work--you will be happy again, Iris. You shall go, dear. Get me the things I want. "

She put on her thick veil and started on her short journey. Thehusband's sudden return to his former good spirits gave her a gleam ofhope. The change would be welcome indeed if it permitted him to goabout among other men, and to her if it gave her occupation. As toforgetting--how could she forget the past, so long as they were reapingthe fruit of their wickedness in the shape of solid dividends? Sheeasily found what she wanted. The steamer of the Compagnie GeneraleTransatlantique left Havre every eighth day. They would go by thatline. The more she considered the plan the more it recommended itself. They would at any rate go out of prison. There would be a change intheir life. Miserable condition! To have no other choice of life butthat of banishment and concealment: no other prospect than that ofcontinual fraud renewed by every post that brought them money. 

When she had got all the information that was wanted she had still anhour or two before her. She thought she would spend the time wanderingabout the streets of Brussels. The animation and life of the cheerfulcity--where all the people except the market-women are young--pleasedher. It was long since she had seen any of the cheerfulness thatbelongs to a busy street. She walked slowly along, up one street anddown another, looking into the shops. She made two or three littlepurchases. She looked into a place filled with Tauchnitz Editions, andbought two or three books. She was beginning to think that she wastired and had better make her way back to the station, when suddenlyshe remembered the post-office and her instructions to Fanny Mere. 

"I wonder, " she said, "if Fanny has written to me. "

She asked the way to the post-office. There was time if she walkedquickly. 

At the Poste Restante there was a letter for her--more than a letter, aparcel, apparently a book. 

She received it and hurried back to the station. 

In the train she amused herself with looking through the leaves of hernew books. Fanny Mere's letter she would read after dinner. 

At dinner they actually talked. Lord Harry was excited with theprospect of going back to the world. He had enjoyed his hermitage, hesaid, quite long enough. Give him the society of his fellow-creatures. "Put me among cannibals, " he said, "and I should make friends withthem. But to live alone--it is the devil! To-morrow we begin our newflight. "

After dinner he lit his cigar, and went on chattering about the future. Iris remembered the packet she had got at the post-office, and openedit. It contained a small manuscript book filled with writing and abrief letter. She read the letter, laid it down, and opened the book. 

CHAPTER LXI

THE LAST DISCOVERY

"I SHALL like to turn farmer, " Lord Harry went on talking while Irisopened and began to read Fanny's manuscript. "After all my adventures, to settle down in a quiet place and cultivate the soil. On market-daywe will drive into town together"--he talked as if Kentucky wereWarwickshire--"side by side in a spring cart. I shall have samples ofgrain in bags, and you will have a basket of butter and cream. It willbe an ideal life. We shall dine at the ordinary, and, after dinner, over a pipe and a glass of grog, I shall discuss the weather and thecrops. And while we live in this retreat of ours, over here the veryname of Harry Norland will have been forgotten. Queer, that! We shallgo on living long after we are dead and buried and forgotten. In thenovels the man turns up after he is supposed to be castaway--wrecked--drowned--dead long ago. But he never turns up when he isforgotten--unless he is Rip Van Winkle. By Gad, Iris! when we are oldpeople we will go home and see the old places together. It will besomething to look forward to--something to live for--eh?"

"I feel quite happy this evening, Iris; happier than I have been formonths. The fact is, this infernal place has hipped us bothconfoundedly. I didn't like to grumble, but I've felt the monotony morethan a bit. And so have you. It's made you brood over things. Now, formy part, I like to look at the bright side. Here we are comfortably cutoff from the past. That's all done with. Nothing in the world canrevive the memory of disagreeable things if we are only true toourselves and agree to forget them. What has been done can never bediscovered. Not a soul knows except the doctor, and between him andourselves we are going to put a few thousand--What's the matter, Iris?What the devil is the matter?"

For Iris, who had been steadily reading while her husband chattered on, suddenly dropped the book, and turned upon him a white face and eyesstruck with horror. 

"What is it?" Lord Harry repeated. 

"Oh! Is this true?"

"What?"

"I cannot say it. Oh, my God! can this be true?"

"What? Speak, Iris. " He sprang to his feet. "Is it--is it discovered?"

"Discovered? Yes, all--all--all--is discovered!"

"Where? How? Give me the thing, Iris. Quick! Who knows? What is known?"

He snatched the book from her hands. She shrank from his touch, andpushed back her chair, standing in an attitude of self-defence--watchinghim as one would watch a dangerous creature. 

He swiftly read page after page, eager to know the worst. Then he threwthe book upon the table. 

"Well?" he said, not lifting his eyes. 

"The man was murdered--murdered!" she whispered. 

He made no reply. 

"You looked on while he was murdered! You looked on consenting! You area murderer!"

"I had no share or part in it. I did not know he was being poisoned. "

"You knew when I was with you. Oh! the dead man--the murdered man--wasin the house at the very moment! Your hands were red with blood whenyou took me away--to get me out of the way--so that I should notknow--" She stopped, she could not go on. 

"I did not know, Iris--not with certainty. I thought he was dying whenhe came into the house. He did not die; he began to recover. When thedoctor gave him his medicine--after that woman went away--I suspected. When he died, my suspicions were stronger. I challenged him. He did notdeny it. Believe me, Iris, I neither counselled it nor knew of it. "

"You acquiesced in it. You consented. You should have warned the--theother murderer that you would denounce him if the man died. You tookadvantage of it. His death enabled you to carry out your fraud with meas your accomplice. With ME! I am an accomplice in a murder!"

"No, no, Iris; you knew nothing of it. No one can ever accuse you--"

"You do not understand. It is part of the accusation which I makeagainst myself. "

"As for what this woman writes, " her husband went on, "it is true. Isuppose it is useless to deny a single word of it. She was hiddenbehind the curtain, then! She heard and saw all! If Vimpany had foundher! He was right. No one so dangerous as a woman. Yes; she has toldyou exactly what happened. She suspected all along. We should have senther away and changed our plans. This comes of being too clever. Nothingwould do for the doctor but the man's death. I hoped--we bothhoped--that he would die a natural death. He did not. Without a deadman we were powerless. We had to get a dead man, Iris, I will hidenothing more from you, whatever happens. I confess everything. I knewthat he was going to die. When he began to get well I was filled withforebodings, because I knew that he would never be allowed to go away. How else could we find a dead body? You can't steal a body; you can'tmake one up. You must have one for proof of death. I say"--his voicewas harsh and hoarse--"I say that I knew he must die. I saw his deathin the doctor's face. And there was no more money left for a newexperiment if Oxbye should get well and go away. When it came to thepoint I was seized with mortal terror. I would have given upeverything--everything--to see the man get up from his bed and go away. But it was too late. I saw the doctor prepare the final dose, and whenhe had it to his lips I saw by his eyes that it was the drink of death. I have told you all, " he concluded. 

"You have told me all, " she repeated. "All! Good Heavens! All!"

"I have hidden nothing from you. Now there is nothing more to tell. "

She stood perfectly still--her hands clasped, her eyes set, her facewhite and stern. 

"What I have to do now, " she said, "lies plain before me. "

"Iris! I implore you, make no change in our plans. Let us go away as weproposed. Let the past be forgotten. Come with me--"

"Go with you? With you? With you? Oh!" she shuddered. 

"Iris! I have told you all. Let us go on as if you had heard nothing. We cannot be more separated than we have been for the last threemonths. Let us remain as we are until the time when you will be able tofeel for me--to pity my weakness--and to forgive me. "

"You do not understand. Forgive you? It is no longer a question offorgiveness. Who am I that my forgiveness should be of the least valueto you--or to any?"

"What is the question, then?"

"I don't know. A horrible crime has been committed--a horrible, ghastly, dreadful crime--such a thing as one reads of in the papers andwonders, reading it, what manner of wild beasts must be those who dosuch things. Perhaps one wonders, besides, what manner of women must bethose who associate with those wild beasts. My husband is one of thosewild beasts!--my husband!--my husband!--and--I--I am one of the womenwho are the fit companions of these wild creatures. "

"You can say what you please, Iris; what you please. "

"I have known--only since I came here have I really known andunderstood--that I have wrecked my life in a blind passion. I haveloved you, Harry; it has been my curse. I followed you against thewarnings of everybody: I have been rewarded--by this. We are in hiding. If we are found we shall be sent to a convict prison for conspiracy. Weshall be lucky if we are not tried for murder and hanged by the neckuntil we are dead. This is my reward!"

"I have never played the hypocrite with you, Iris. I have neverpretended to virtues which I do not possess. So far--"

"Hush! Do not speak to me. I have something more to say, and then Ishall never speak to you any more. Hush! Let me collect my thoughts. Icannot find the words. I cannot. . . Wait--wait! Oh!" She sat down andburst into sobbings and moanings. But only for a minute. Then shesprang to her feet again and dashed back the tears. "Time for crying, "she said, "when all is done. Harry, listen carefully; these are my lastwords. You will never hear from me any more. You must manage your ownlife in your own way, to save it or to spoil it; I will never more bearany part in it. I am going back to England--alone. I shall give up yourname, and I shall take my maiden name again--or some other. I shalllive somewhere quietly where you will not discover me. But perhaps youwill not look for me?"

"I will not, " he said. "I owe you so much. I will not look for you. "

"As regards the money which I have obtained for you under falsepretences, out of the fifteen thousand pounds for which you wereinsured, five thousand have been paid to my private account. I shallrestore to the Company all that money. "

"Good Heavens! Iris, you will be prosecuted on a criminal charge. "

"Shall I? That will matter little, provided I make reparation. Alas!who shall make reparation--who shall atone--for the blood-spilling? Forall things else in this world we may make what we call atonement; butnot for the spilling of blood. "

"You mean this? You will deliberately do this?"

"I mean every word. I will do nothing and say nothing that will betrayyou. But the money that I can restore, I will restore--SO HELP ME, GOD!" With streaming eyes she raised her hand and pointed upwards. 

Her husband bowed his head. 

"You have said all you wished to say?" he asked humbly. 

"I have said all. "

"Let me look in your face once more---so--full--with the light upon it. Yes; I have loved you, Iris--I have always loved you. Better, farbetter, for you had you fallen dead at my feet on the day when youbecame my wife. Then I should have been spared--I should have beenspared a great deal. You are right, Iris. Your duty lies plainly beforeyou. As for me, I must think of mine. Farewell! The lips of a murdererare not fit to touch even the hem of your garments. Farewell!"

He left her. She heard the hall door open and shut. She would see herhusband no more. 

She went to her own room and packed a single box with necessary things. Then she called the housemaid and informed her that she had beensummoned to return suddenly to England; she must reach Brussels atleast that evening. The woman brought a porter who carried her box tothe station; and Iris left Louvain--and her husband--for ever. 

CHAPTER LXII

THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS

AT a Board Meeting of the Royal Unicorn Life Insurance Company, specially convened, the Chairman had to make a communication of a veryremarkable character. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, "I call upon the Secretary, without furtherintroduction, to read a letter, to consider which you are calledtogether this day. "

"The letter, " the Secretary began, "is simply headed 'Paris, ' dated twodays ago. "

"Only two days ago, " said the Chairman, mysteriously. "But, of course, that means nothing. There has been plenty of time for him to change hisresidence. I dare say he may be in London at our very elbow. Go on, ifyou please. "

"Gentlemen"--the Secretary proceeded to read the letter. "It is nowthree months since a claim was sent in to you by the firm of Erskine, Mansfield, Denham & Co. , solicitors of Lincoln's Inn Fields, for thesum of 15, 000 pounds due to the heirs of Lord Harry Norland in respectof an insurance effected upon his life. "

"The claim, gentlemen, " said the Chairman, "was duly acknowledged andpaid some weeks later. It was a heavy loss; but these things willoccur, and there seemed no reason to doubt the facts alleged, or todispute the claim. "

"I write this letter, " the Secretary continued reading, "in order toinform you that the claim was fraudulent, inasmuch as Lord HarryNorland was at the time, and is still, actually living. "

Fraudulent! The man still living! At this point there was a suddenawakening. Everybody sat up and listened with all their ears. 

"I may tell you, gentlemen, " the Chairman explained, "that the writerof this remarkable letter is none other than Lord Harry Norlandhimself. We will now proceed without further interruption. "

"In conjunction with another person, I devised and carried outsuccessfully a plan by which I was enabled to touch at once, andwithout the disagreeable necessity of previously expiring and beingburied, the whole of the money for which I was insured. Other peoplehave attempted the same design, I believe, but the thing has hithertobeen managed clumsily. In my own case, it has been managed with greatdexterity and artistic skill. As you will naturally be curious on asubject which interests you so closely I have no objection to revealthe method. It is not enough to write to your office and state that acertain person is dead. One must be prepared with proofs of the deathshould any doubt arise. No proof of death is quite satisfactory withoutevidence as to the disposal of the dead body. With that object, weprocured from the Hotel Dieu a patient apparently in an advanced stateof consumption. My accomplice, being a medical man, highly recommended, was able to do this without suspicion. We nursed him ostentatiously. During the latter part of the illness he was nursed under the name ofLord Harry Norland. He died. His name was entered in the officialregister as Lord Harry Norland. He was buried in the cemetery atAuteuil, near Paris, as Lord Harry Norland. A headstone marks hisgrave, which is purchased in perpetuity. The doctor certified the causeof his death, and communicated the fact to the deceased's brother, LordMalven, and to the deceased's solicitors. The death was also announcedto the papers. The difficulties attendant on the successful conduct ofthe business are so great that you need not fear a repetition. Nobody, in order to assist a fraud, will consent to die and lend his own body. It is seldom, indeed, that a sick man can be found--a foreigner andfriendless--whose death will cause no curiosity and raise no questions. Add to this, it is extremely difficult, as I have now experienced, tofind the necessary assistance without encountering the objections ofconscience. "

"Upon my word!" cried one of the Directors, "this is a most wonderfulletter. I beg your pardon. Pray go on. "

"We began very well. We buried our man under the name of Lord HarryNorland, as I have said. The difficulty then arose as to thepresentation of the claim. It was most desirable that the claim shouldbe made by the person who would most naturally be the deceased's heirand after proving his will and by his own solicitor. 

"I am married. I have no children. I have not lived on good terms withmy family. It was, therefore, quite reasonable to expect that I shouldleave my wife sole heir and executrix. It was also natural that sheshould go to my solicitors--the family solicitors--and ask them tomanage her affairs. 

"With this object I confessed to my wife as much of the conspiracy aswas necessary. Like many women, she possesses, in addition to everyvirtue, a blessed devotion to her husband. Where he is concerned she iseasily led even from the paths of honour. I practised on that devotion;I used all the arguments and persuasions based on that devotionnecessary to convert a woman of honour into the accomplice of aconspiracy. In brief, I made my wife join in the fraud. She consentedto act for me, persuaded that if she did not the conspiracy would bediscovered. The business has, therefore been carried through with thegreatest success. You have paid the claim in full without question. Forme there was left the very comfortable provision of 15, 000 pounds, withthe consciousness of a daring and successful swindle. Unfortunately, mywife has now discovered that her conscience will give her no peace orrest until full restitution of the money has been made. She hasinformed me of her intention to send back without delay that part of itwhich lies at her bank in her own name--that is to say, five thousandpounds. 

"I do not suppose that, as gentlemen, you would be disposed to subjecta woman who thus desires to repair a wrong to the degradation of apublic prosecution. No useful end, in fact, will be served in so doing. It is, in fact, in the conviction that you will take no proceedingsthat I write this letter. 

"Further, as I wish my wife's scruples of conscience to be completelyset at rest, I am prepared, on an assurance that the matter will beallowed to drop, to forward to you the remainder of the money, less twothousand pounds, which I have reason to believe will be sent to you incourse of time. I am also prepared to instruct my wife, as my heir, inthe event of my death to make no claim on the Company; and I haverequested my solicitor to cease paying the annual premium. The Companywill, therefore, be the gainers of the whole premiums which have beenpaid--namely, 300 pounds a year for ten years: that is to say, 3, 000pounds. 

"As for myself, I will take the necessary steps as soon as you havegiven me that letter of assurance. As regards the other principal inthe Conspiracy, it is hardly worth your while to search after him. Ishall be obliged if you will be so good as to acknowledge this letterwithout delay, with any assurance which you may be able to make asregards the person whom I have dragged into the affair. I send you anaddress where a letter will find me. You may wish to watch the house. Iassure you beforehand that it is useless. I shall not go there. --Iremain, Gentlemen, "Your obedient servant, "HARRY NORLAND. "

"Perhaps, " said the Secretary, "it is in connection with this letterthat I have this day received a packet of bank-notes amounting in allto the sum of five thousand pounds. The packet is endorsed 'Restitutionmoney. '"

"Bank-notes, gentlemen, " said the Chairman significantly, "may betraced if necessary. "

The Directors looked at each other. This was, indeed, a very remarkablestory, and one never before brought to the notice of any Board. 

"Gentlemen, " said the Chairman, "you have heard the letter; you nowhave the case before you. I should like to hear your views. "

"We are likely to get most of our money back, " said one of theDirectors, "it seems to me, by holding our tongues. That is the mainthing. "

"If we could get Lord Harry himself, " said another, "I should say: Gofor him, but not for his wife. I wonder we ever took his life at all. If all stories are true about him he is as bad as they make 'em. He ranaway when he was a boy, and went to sea: he was a strolling actor afterthat: he went out to the States and was reported to have been seen inthe West: he has been a ship's steward: he has been on the turf. Whathas he not been?"

"We have got the money, " said another; "that is the great thing. Wemust remember that we should never have found out the thing unless--"

"The Company must not compound a felony, " said the Chairman. 

"Certainly not. By no means. At the same time, would any good purposebe served by public scandal in connection with a noble House?"

"The noble House, " said another Director, who was Radical, "may verywell take care of itself. Question is, Would it do any good to anybodyif we ran in the wife?"

"Who is she?"

"You would expect a ruffian like Lord Harry to marry a woman likehimself. Not at all. He married a most charming creature namedHenley--Iris Henley--father very well known in the City. I heard of itat the time. She would have him---infatuated about him--sad business. Mr. Chairman, I submit that it is quite impossible for us to takeproceedings against this unfortunate lady, who is doing her utmost tomake restitution. "

"The Company must not compound a felony, " the Chairman repeated. 

"Even if we do not get back that two thousand pounds, " said theSecretary, "the Company will lose nothing. The surrender value must beconsidered. "

Then another of the Directors spoke. "We do not know where this lady isto be found. She is probably passing under another name. It is not ourbusiness to hunt her down. "

"And if we found her we should have to prove the case, and her guiltyknowledge of the conspiracy, " said another. "How would this preciousletter be taken as evidence? Why, we do not even know that it is true. We might exhume the body: what would that prove after three months? Wemight open up the case, and spend a heap of money, and create a greatscandal, and be none the better for it afterwards. My advice is, letthe thing drop. "

"Well, but, " objected another, "suppose we admit that the man is stillliving. He may die, and then there would be another claim upon us. "

"Of that, " said the Chairman, "I think there need be no apprehensionwhatever. You have heard his letter. But, I repeat, we must notcompound a felony!"

"I submit, Mr. Chairman, " said one who had not spoken--and he was abarrister--"that the Company knows nothing at all about Lady HarryNorland. We have had to deal with the firm of Erskine, Mansfield, Denham & Co. , of Lincoln's Inn Fields: and a most respectable firm too. On their representations we paid the money. If it can be ascertainedthat we have been defrauded we must look to them. If we have toprosecute anybody it must be that respectable firm. "

"Good, " said the Chairman. 

"I propose, therefore, that the Secretary write to Lord Harry Norland, informing him that the Company have had nothing at all to do with hiswife, and do not recognise her action in any way. We shall then seewhat happens, and can proceed in accordance. "

At this moment a card was brought in. It was that of Mr. Erskinehimself, senior partner in the very firm. 

He came in, old, eminently respectable, but shaken. He was greatlyshaken. "Gentlemen, " he said nervously, "I hasten to bring you acommunication, a most extraordinary communication, which I have justreceived. It is nothing less than a confession--a full confession--froma person whom I had every reason to believe was dead. It is from LordHarry Norland. "

"We know already, " said the Chairman, superior, "the main facts whichyou are going to lay before us. We are met to-day in order to discussour action in view of these facts. There has been a conspiracy of avery artful and ingenious character. It has been successful so farthrough the action of a woman. By the action of the same woman it issought to make restitution. The hand of justice, however--"

"Perhaps, " said the lawyer, "you will oblige me by allowing me to readthe letter. "

"Pray read it"--the Chairman bowed--"though I do not suppose it willadd to the information we already possess. "

"Gentlemen"--the lawyer read--"You will be surprised and pained tolearn that I am not--as you were given to understand--dead; but on theother hand, living and in the enjoyment of rude health. I see no reasonwhy my life should not be prolonged to threescore years and ten. 

"The claim, therefore, which you sent in to the Royal Unicorn LifeInsurance Company was fraudulent. It was the result of a deep-laidconspiracy. You have been made the innocent accomplice of a greatcrime. 

"My wife, who now knows the whole truth, is most anxious forrestitution to be made. She is about to restore that portion of themoney which lies in her name. Most of the rest will be sent back bymyself, on certain conditions. 

"In communicating the fact of my being still alive to the head of myfamily you will please also to inform him that I authorise thediscontinuance of the premium. This will save the family 300 pounds ayear. This will be a solatium to him for the fact that his brotherstill lives to disgrace the name. If I should die before the nextpremium is due I order my heirs not to claim the money. --I remain, Gentlemen, your obedient servant, "HARRY NORLAND. "

"The premium which should have been paid under ordinary circumstances, "said the Secretary, "was due six weeks ago. The policy has thereforeexpired. "

"It is a characteristic letter, " said the lawyer. "Lord Harry was bornto be a trouble to his family. There has never been a time, so far as Iremember, when he was not a trouble and a disgrace. Hitherto, however, he has avoided actual crime--at least, actual detection. Now, Isuppose, the game is up. Yet, gentlemen, the letter is not that of anutter villain. "

"He will not be caught, " observed the Chairman. "The letter is from toocool a hand. He has prepared a retreat. I dare say by this time he isin some safe and convenient disguise. We are only concerned--are wenot?--for the moment with the lady. She has received the money fromyou. We paid it to you on your representations. "

"Observe, " said the lawyer, "that the moment she learns the truth shehastens to make restitution. "

"Humph!" said the Director, turning over Lord Harry's letter so thatthe lawyer should not be able to read the contents. "Have you seenher?"

"I have not. I expect to do so before long. She will certainly callupon me. "

"She will be ill-advised, " said the Chairman, "if she calls uponanybody just at present. Well, sir, I confess that I should besorry--every member of this Board would be sorry--to see that ladyplaced in the dock beside her husband. "

"In the interests of the noble family concerned, I hope that neither ofthem will be placed in the dock. "

"Do you know who is the other man--the second principal?"

"I can guess. I do not know, however, where he is. All I know is what Ihave communicated to you--the contents of this letter. "

"One would like to get hold of the other man, " said the Chairman. "Presumably he does not belong to a noble family. Well, sir, I don'tknow what may be done; but this Company cannot, I repeat, compound afelony. "

"Certainly not. Most certainly not. At present, however, you have gotvery little to go upon. And unless evidence is forthcoming--"

"We will not discuss that part of the business, " said the Chairman. "Aconspiracy has been undoubtedly entered into. We may be compelled tobring an action of some kind against your firm, Mr. Erskine. As regardsthe lady, if she is guilty--"

"No--no, " said the lawyer, "upon my life! Sinned against--not guilty. "

The Chairman folded up Lord Harry's letter and gave it to theSecretary. 

"We are much obliged to you, sir, for your prompt action. It is, ofcourse, only what we should have expected of your firm. Meantime, remember that the claim was made by you, that you received the money, and--but we will communicate with you in a few days. "

The Secretary wrote such a letter as was suggested. By return of post acheque was sent, signed by one William Linville, for the sum of eightthousand pounds. The Company had, therefore, recovered thirteen out offifteen thousand pounds. The Secretary had another interview with Mr. Erskine, the result of which was that the Company recovered theremaining two thousand pounds. 

Every firm of solicitors contains its own secrets and keeps them. Therefore, we need not inquire whether it was intended that this moneyshould be paid by the firm or by the noble family to which Lord HarryNorland belonged. It is, however, certain that a few days afterwardsMr. Hugh Mountjoy called at the office and had a long conversation withthe senior partner, and that he left behind him a very big cheque. 

The subject has never been brought before the Directors again. It was, indeed, privately discussed, and that frequently. Perhaps the story waswhispered about outside the Board-room. These things do get about. There has been, however, a feeling that the thing, which would havebeen perfectly successful but for the conscience of a woman concerned, might be repeated with less tender consciences, and so the Companies bedefrauded. Now the wickedness of the world is already so great that itneeds no more teaching to make it worse. On the whole, the less saidthe better. 

Besides, the tragic event which happened a day or two later effectivelyprevented any further step. That in itself was sufficient to wipe outthe whole business. 

CHAPTER LXIII

A REFUGE

IT was all over. Iris had sent in her money. She was in a small lodgingfound for her by Fanny Mere, who called her cousin. She stayed indoorsall day long, afraid of stirring abroad; afraid to read the papers;afraid that her husband was arrested on the charge of conspiracy andfraud; afraid that some kind of hue and cry might be out after her. 

Therefore, when she heard a manly step on the stair, she started andturned pale, expecting nothing short of an armed messenger of the law. She never was in this danger for a single minute, but conscience made acoward of her. 

The step was that of Hugh Mountjoy. 

"I found you out, " he said, "by means of Fanny. The girl knew that shewas safe in letting me know your secret. Why are you in concealment?"

"You cannot know all, or you would not ask me that. "

"I do know all; and again I ask, why are you in concealment?"

"Because--Oh, Hugh--spare me!"

"I know all, which is the reason why I cannot choose but come to seeyou. Come out of this poor place; resume your own name. There is noreason why you should not. You were not present at Passy when thisconspiracy was hatched; you got there after the funeral. You, naturally, went to see the family solicitors. Iris, what has theconspiracy to do with you?" It will be observed that Hugh had not readthe letter written to the Directors of the Company. 

"Do you know about the money?"

"Certainly. You sent back all that you could--five thousand pounds. That showed your own innocence--"

"Hugh, you know that I am guilty. "

"The world will think that you are innocent. At any rate, you can comeout and go about without fear. Tell me, what are your plans?"

"I have no plans. I only want to hide my head--somewhere. "

"Yes; we will talk about that presently. Meantime, I have some news foryou. "

"News? What news?"

"Really good news. I have to tell you a thing which will surprise you. "

"Good news? What good news is there for me?"

"Your husband has sent back the whole of the money. "

"Sent back? To the Insurance Office?"

"All has been sent back. He wrote two letters--one to the solicitorsand the other to the Insurance Company. It is not likely now thatanything can be said, because the Directors have accepted the money. Moreover, it appears that they might have proceeded against the lawyersfor the recovery of the money, but that they have nothing to do eitherwith you or with Lord Harry Norland. That is a difficult point, however. Somebody, it seems, has compounded--or is going to compound--afelony. I do not understand exactly what this means, or what dreadfulconsequences might follow; but I am assured by the lawyers that we needapprehend nothing more. All is over. "

Iris heaved a profound sigh. 

"Then he is safe?" she said. 

"You think of him first, " said Hugh, jealously. "Yes: he is safe; and, I do hope, gone away, out of the country, never to come back any more. The more important thing is that you should be safe from him. As forthe doctor--but I cannot speak of the doctor with common patience. Lethim be left to the end which always awaits such men. It is to be hopedthat he will never, wherever he goes, feel himself in safety. "

"I am safe, " said Iris, "not only from my husband, but from what elsebeside? You know what I mean. You mean that I, as well as my husband, am safe from that. Oh! the fear of it has never left me--never for onemoment. You tell me that I am safe from public disgrace, and Irejoice--when I ought to sink into the earth with shame!" She coveredher face with her hands. 

"Iris, we know what you have done. We also know why you did it. Whatneed we say more? The thing is finished and done with. Let us neveragain allude to it. The question now is--what will you do next? Wherewill you live?"

"I do not know. I have got Fanny Mere with me. Mrs. Vimpany is alsoanxious to live with me. I am rich, indeed, since I have two faithfuldependants and one friend. "

"In such wealth, Iris, you will always be rich. Now listen seriously. Ihave a villa in the country. It is far away from London, in theScottish Lowlands--quite out of the way--remote even from tourists andtravellers. It is a very lonely place, but there is a pretty house, with a great garden behind and a stretch of sand and seashore in front. There one may live completely isolated. I offer you that villa for yourresidence. Take it; live in it as long as you please. "

"No, no. I must not accept such a gift. "

"You must, Iris--you shall. I ask it of you as a proof of friendship, and nothing more. Only, I fear that you will get tired of theloneliness. "

"No--no, " she said. "I cannot get tired of loneliness it is all Iwant. "

"There is no society at all. "

"Society? Society for me?"

"I go to the neighbourhood sometimes for fishing. You will let me callupon you?"

"Who else has such a right?"

"Then you will accept my offer?"

"I feel that I must. Yes, Hugh; yes, with deepest gratitude. "

The next day she went down by the night-mail to Scotland. With hertravelled Mrs. Vimpany and Fanny Mere. 

CHAPTER LXIV

THE INVINCIBLES

THE proceedings of Lord Harry after he had sent off that cheque weremost remarkable. If he had invited--actually courted--what followed--hecould not have acted differently. 

He left London and crossed over to Dublin. 

Arrived there, he went to a small hotel entirely frequented by IrishAmericans and their friends. It was suspected of being the principalplace of resort of the Invincibles. It was known to be a house entirelygiven up to the Nationalists. He made no attempt to conceal his name. He entered the hotel, greeted the landlord cheerfully, saluted the headwaiter, ordered his dinner, and took no notice of the sullen looks withwhich he was received or the scowls which followed him about thecoffee-room, where half a dozen men were sitting and talking, for themost part in whispers. 

He slept there that night. 

The next day, still openly and as if there was nothing to fear, eitherfrom England or from Ireland, he walked to the station and took histicket, paying no attention to what all the world might have seen andunderstood--that he was watched. When he had taken his ticket two menimmediately afterwards took tickets to the same place. The place wherehe was going was that part of Kerry where the Invincibles had formerlyassassinated Arthur Mountjoy. 

The two men who followed him--who took their tickets for the sameplace--who got into the same carriage with him--were two members ofthat same fraternity. It is well known that he who joins that body andafterwards leaves it, or disobeys its order, or is supposed to betrayits secrets, incurs the penalty of death. 

On the unexpected arrival of Lord Harry at this hotel, there had beenhurriedly called together a meeting of those members then in Dublin. Itwas resolved that the traitor must be removed. Lots were cast, and thelot fell upon one who remembered past acts of kindness done by LordHarry to his own people. He would fain have been spared this business, but the rules of the society are imperative. He must obey. 

It is the practice of the society when a murder has been resolved uponto appoint a second man, whose duty it is to accompany the murderer andto see that he executes his task. 

In the afternoon, about an hour before sunset, the train arrived at thestation where Lord Harry was to get down. The station-master recognisedhim, and touched his hat. Then he saw the two other men got down afterhim, and he turned pale. 

"I will leave my portmanteau, " said Lord Harry, "in the cloak-room. Itwill be called for. "

Afterwards the station-master remembered those words. Lord Harry didnot say "I will call for it, " but "It will be called for. " Ominouswords. 

The weather was cold; a drizzling rain fell; the day was drawing in. Lord Harry left the station, and started with quick step along theroad, which stretched across a dreary desolate piece of country. 

The two men walked after him. One presently quickened his step, leavingthe second man twenty yards behind. 

The station-master looked after them till he could see them no longer. Then he shook his head and returned to his office. 

Lord Harry walking along the road knew that the two men were followinghim. Presently he became aware that one of them was quickening hispace. 

He walked on. Perhaps his cheeks paled and his lips were set close, because he knew that he was walking to his death. 

The steps behind him approached faster--faster. Lord Harry never eventurned his head. The man was close behind him. The man was beside him. 

"Mickey O'Flynn it is, " said Lord Harry. 

"'Tis a ---- traitor, you are, " said the man. 

"Your friends the Invincibles told you that, Mickey. Why, do you thinkI don't know, man, what are you here for? Well?" he stopped. "I amunarmed. You have got a revolver in your hand--the hand behind yourback. What are you stopping for?"

"I cannot, " said the man. 

"You must, Mickey O'Flynn--you must; or it's murdered you'll beyourself, " said Lord Harry, coolly. "Why, man, 'tis but to lift yourhand. And then you'll be a murderer for life. I am another--we shallboth be murderers then. Why don't you fire, man. "

"By ---- I cannot!" said Mickey. He held the revolver behind him, buthe did not lift his arm. His eyes started: his mouth was open; thehorror of the murderer was upon him before the murder was committed. Then he started. "Look!" he cried. "Look behind you, my lord!"

Lord Harry turned. The second man was upon him. He bent forward andpeered in his face. 

"Arthur Mountjoy's murderer!" he cried, and sprang at his throat. 

One, two, three shots rang out in the evening air. Those who heard themin the roadside cabin, at the railway-station on the road, shuddered. They knew the meaning of those shots. One more murder to load the soulof Ireland. 

But Lord Harry lay dead in the middle of the road. 

The second man got up and felt at his throat. 

"Faith!" he said, "I thought I was murdered outright. Come, Mick, letus drag him to the roadside. "

They did so, and then with bent heads and slouched hats, they madetheir way across country to another station where they would not berecognised as the two who had followed Lord Harry down the road. 

Two mounted men of the Constabulary rode along an hour later and foundthe body lying where it had been left. 

They searched the pockets. They found a purse with a few sovereigns;the portrait of a lady---the murdered man's wife--a sealed envelopeaddressed to Hugh Mountjoy, Esq, care of his London hotel; and acard-case: nothing of any importance. 

"It is Lord Harry Norland, " said one. "The wild lord--he has met hisend at last. "

The letter to Iris was brief. It said:

"Farewell! I am going to meet the death of one who is called a Traitorto the Cause. I am the Traitor of a Cause far higher. May the end thatis already plotted for me be accepted as an atonement! Forgive me, Iris! Think of me as kindly as you can. But I charge you--it is mylatest word--mourn not for one who has done his best to poison yourlife and to ruin your soul. "

In the other letter he said:

"I know the affection you have always entertained for Iris. She willtell you what she pleases about the past. If she tells you nothingabout her late husband, think the worst and you will not be wrong. Remember that whatever she has done was done for me and at myinstigation. She ought to have married you instead of me. 

"I am in the presence of Death. The men who are going to kill me areunder this very roof. They will kill me, perhaps to-night. Perhaps theywill wait for a quieter and a safer place. But they will kill me. 

"In the presence of Death, I rise superior to the pitiful jealousy withwhich I have always regarded you. I now despise it. I ask your pardonfor it. Help Iris to forget the action of her life of which she hasmost reason to be ashamed. Show that you forgive me--when you haveforgiven her--and when you have helped her in the warmth and strengthof your love to drive me out of your thoughts for ever. 

"H. N. "

EPILOGUE

IT is two years after the murder of Lord Harry Norland, the last eventconnected with this history. 

Iris, when she accepted Hugh Mountjoy's offer of his Scotch villa, wentthere resolved to hide herself from the world. Too many people, shethought, knew her history, and what she had done. It was not likelythat the Directors of the Insurance Company would all hold theirtongues about a scandal so very unusual. Even if they did not chargeher with complicity, as they could, they would certainly tell thestory--all the more readily since Lord Harry's murder--of theconspiracy and its success. She could never again, she told herself, beseen in the world. 

She was accompanied by her friend and maid--the woman whose fidelity toher had been so abundantly proved--and by Mrs. Vimpany, who acted ashousekeeper. 

After a decent interval, Hugh Mountjoy joined her. She was now a widow. She understood very well what he wished to say, and she anticipatedhim. She informed him that nothing would ever induce her to become thewife of any other man after her degradation. Hugh received thisintimation without a remark. He remained in the neighbourhood, however, calling upon her frequently and offering no word of love. But he becamenecessary to her. The frequent visits became daily; the afternoonvisits were paid in the morning: the visitor stayed all day. When thetime came for Iris to yield, and he left the house no more, thereseemed to be no change. But still they continued their retired life, and now I do not think they will ever change it again. 

Their villa was situated on the north shore of the Solway Firth, closeto the outfall of the Annan River, but on the west bank, opposite tothe little town of Annan. At the back was a large garden, the frontlooked out upon the stretch of sand at low tide and the water at hightide. The house was provided with a good library. Iris attended to hergarden, walked on the sands, read, or worked. They were a quiethousehold. Husband and wife talked little. They walked about in thegarden, his arm about her waist, or hand in hand. The past, if notforgotten, was ceasing to trouble them; it seemed a dreadful, terribledream. It left its mark in a gentle melancholy which had never belongedto Iris in the old days. 

And then happened the last event which the chronicler of this historyhas to relate. 

It began in the morning with a letter. 

Mrs. Vimpany received it. She knew the handwriting, started, and hid itquickly in her bosom. As soon as she could get away to her own room sheopened and read it. 

"Good and Tender Creature, --I ascertained, a good while ago, thinkingthat probably I might have to make this kind of application to you, where you were living and with whom. It was not difficult; I only hadto connect you with Mr. Hugh Mountjoy and to find out where he lived. Icongratulate you on being so well able to take care of yourself. Youare probably settled for life in a comfortable home. I feel as happyabout it as if I had myself contributed to thus satisfactory result. 

"I have no intention of making myself more disagreeable than I amobliged to do. Necessity, however, knows no law. You will understand mewhen I tell you that I have spent all my money. I do not regret themanner in which the money has been spent, but the fact that it has allgone. This it is which cuts me to the heart. 

"I have also discovered that the late lamented Lord Harry, whose deathI myself have the greatest reasons to deplore, played me a scurvy trickin regard to certain sums of money. The amount for which he was insuredwas not less than 15, 000 pounds. The amount as he stated it to me wasonly 4, 000 pounds. In return for certain services rendered at aparticular juncture I was to receive the half of the insurance money. Ionly received 2, 000 pounds, consequently there is still due to me thesum of 5, 500 pounds. This is a large lump of money. But Mr. Mountjoyis, I believe, a wealthy man. He will, doubtless, see the necessity ofpaying this money to me without further question or delay. 

"You will, therefore, seek his presence--he is now, I hear, at home. You may read to him any part of this letter that you please, and youwill let him know that I am in earnest. A man with empty pockets cannotchoose but be in earnest. 

"He may very possibly object. 

"Very good. In that case you will tell him that a fraud has beencommitted in connection with which I am prepared to make a fullconfession. I consented, on the death of my patient, and at the earnestentreaty of Lord Harry Norland, to represent the dead man as hislordship. I then went away, resolving to have nothing more to do withthe further villainy which I believe was carried on to the obtaining ofthe whole amount for which he was insured. 

"The murder of Lord Harry immediately afterwards caused the Company todrop their intended prosecution. I shall reveal to them the presentresidence of his widow, and shall place my evidence at theirdisposition. Whatever happens I shall make the facts of the casepublic. This done, nothing can hurt me; while, whether the PublicProsecutor intervenes or not, neither Mr. Hugh Mountjoy nor his wifecan ever show face to the world again. 

"Tell Mr. Mountjoy, I say, whatever you please, except that I amjoking. You must not tell him that. I shall call to-morrow morning, andshall expect to find the business as good as done. 

"A. V. "

Mrs. Vimpany dropped the letter in dismay. Her husband had vanished outof her life for more than two years. She hoped that she was effectuallyhidden; she hoped that he had gone away to some far-off country wherehe would never more return. Alas! This world of ours has no far-offcountry left, and, even if the wicked man turneth away from hiswickedness so far as to go to the Rocky Mountains, an express train anda swift boat will bring him back to his wickedness whenever he desiresa little more enjoyment and the society of his old friends. 

Mr. Vimpany was back again. What should she do? What would Iris do?What would Mr. Mountjoy do?

She read the letter again. 

Two things were obvious: first, that he had no clue of the restitution;and, next, that he had no idea of the evidence against him for themurder of the Dane. She resolved to communicate the latter fact only. She was braver now than she had been formerly. She saw more clearlythat the way of the wicked man is not always so easy for him. If heknew that his crime could be brought home to him; that he wouldcertainly be charged with murder if he dared to show himself, or if heasked for money, he would desist. Before such a danger the mosthardened villain would shrink. 

She also understood that it was desirable to hide from him the natureof the evidence and the name of the only witness against him. She wouldcalmly tell him what would happen, and bid him begone, or take theconsequences. 

Yet even if he were driven off he would return. She would livehenceforth in continual apprehension of his return. Her tranquillitywas gone. 

Heavens! That a man should have such power over the lives of others!

She passed the most wretched day of her whole life. She saw inanticipation the happiness of that household broken up. She picturedhis coming, but she could not picture his departure. For she had neverseen him baffled and defeated. 

He would come in, big, burly, with his farmer-like manner confident, bullying, masterful. He would ask her what she had done; he would swearat her when he learned that she had done nothing; he would throwhimself into the most comfortable chair, stretch out his legs, andorder her to go and fetch Mr. Mountjoy. Would she be subdued by him asof old? Would she find the courage to stand up to him? For the sake ofIris--yes. For the sake of the man who had been so kind to her--yes. 

In the evening, the two women--Mrs. Vimpany and Fanny--were seated inthe housekeeper's room. Both had work in their laps: neither was doingany work. The autumnal day had been boisterous; the wind was gettinghigher. 

"What are you thinking of?" asked Fanny. 

"I was thinking of my husband. If he were to come back, Fanny--if hewere to threaten--"

"You would loose my tongue--you would let me speak?"

"Yes; for her sake. I would have shielded him once---if I could. Butnot now. I know, at last, that there is no single good thing left inhim. "

"You have heard from him. I saw the letter this morning, in the box. Iknew the handwriting. I have been waiting for you to speak. "

"Hush! Yes, Fanny; I have heard from him. He wants money. He will comehere to-morrow morning, and will threaten Mr. Mountjoy. Keep yourmistress in her own room. Persuade her to lie in bed--anything. "

"He does not know what I have seen. Charge him with the murder of theDane. Tell him, " said Fanny, her lips stiffening, "that if he dares tocome again--if he does not go away--he shall be arrested for murder. Iwill keep silence no longer!"

"I will--I am resolved! Oh! who will rid us of this monster?"

Outside, the gale rose higher--higher still. They heard it howling, grinding branches together; they heard the roaring and the rushing ofthe waters as the rising tide was driven over the shallow sands, like amountain reservoir at loose among the valleys below. 

In the midst of the tempest there came a sudden lull. Wind and wateralike seemed hushed. And out of the lull, as if in answer to thewoman's question, there came a loud cry--the shriek of a man in deadlyperil. 

The two women caught each other by the hand and rushed to the window. They threw it open; the tempest began again; a fresh gust drove themback; the waters roared: the wind howled; they heard the voice no more. They closed the window and put up the shutters. 

It was long past midnight when they dared to go to bed. One of them layawake the whole night long. In the roaring tempest she had seen an omenof the wrath of Heaven about to fall once more upon her mistress. 

She was wrong. The wrath of Heaven fell upon one far more guilty. 

In the morning, with the ebbing tide, a dead body was found lashed tothe posts of one of the standing nets in the Solway. It was recognisedby Hugh, who went out to look at it, and found it the body of Vimpany. 

Whether he was on his way back to Annan, or whether he intended to callat the villa that evening instead of next morning, no one can tell. Hiswife shed tears, but they were tears of relief. The man was buried as astranger. Hugh kept his counsel. Mrs. Vimpany put the letter in thefire. Neither of them thought it wise to disturb the mind of Iris byany mention of the man. Some days later, however, Mrs. Vimpany camedownstairs in a widow's cap. 

To Iris's look of interrogation she replied calmly, "Yes, I heard theother day. He is dead. Is it not better--even for him, perhaps--that heshould be dead? He can do no more wickedness; he can bring misery intono more households. He is dead. "

Iris made no reply. Better--better far--that he was dead. But how shehad been delivered from the man, to what new dangers she had beenexposed, she knew not, and will never know. 

She has one secret--and only one--which she keeps from her husband. Inher desk she preserves a lock of Lord Harry's hair. Why? I know not. Blind Love doth never wholly die. 

THE END