inexperienced young creature to deal with on Monday next. I shall
be there."
With that formidable announcement, Lady Lundie closed the
conversation; and Mrs. Glenarm rose to take her leave.
"We meet at the Junction, dear Lady Lundie?"
"At the Junction, on Saturday."
ELEVENTH SCENE.--SIR PATRICK'S HOUSE.
CHAPTER THE FORTY-SECOND.
THE SMOKING-ROOM WINDOW.
"I CAN'T believe it! I won't believe it! You're trying to part me
from my husband--you're trying to set me against my dearest
friend. It's infamous. It's horrible. What have I done to you?
Oh, my head! my head! Are you trying to drive me mad?"
Pale and wild; her hands twisted in her hair; her feet hurrying
her aimlessly to and fro in the room--so Blanche answered her
step-mother, when the object of Lady Lundie's pilgrimage had been
accomplished, and the cruel truth had been plainly told.
Her ladyship sat, superbly composed, looking out through the
window at the placid landscape of woods and fields which
surrounded Ham Farm.
"I was prepared for this outbreak," she said, sadly. "These wild
words relieve your over-burdened heart, my poor child. I can
wait, Blanche--I can wait!"
Blanche stopped, and confronted Lady Lundie.
"You and I never liked each other," she said. "I wrote you a pert
letter from this place. I have always taken Anne's part against
you. I have shown you plainly--rudely, I dare say--that I was
glad to be married and get away from you. This is not your
revenge, is it?"
"Oh, Blanche, Blanche, what thoughts to think! what words to say!
I can only pray for you."
"I am mad, Lady Lundie. You bear with mad people. Bear with me. I
have been hardly more than a fortnight married. I love _him_--I
love _her_--with all my heart. Remember what you have told me
about them. Remember! remember! remember!"
She reiterated the words with a low cry of pain. Her hands went
up to her head again; and she returned restlessly to pacing this
way and that in the room.
Lady Lundie tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance. "For your
own sake," she said, "don't persist in estranging yourself from
me. In this dreadful trial, I am the only friend you have."
Blanche came back to her step-mother's chair; and looked at her
steadily, in silence. Lady Lundie submitted to inspection--and
bore it perfectly.
"Look into my heart," she said. "Blanche! it bleeds for you!"
Blanche heard, without heeding. Her mind was painfully intent on
its own thoughts. "You are a religious woman," she said,
abruptly. "Will you swear on your Bible, that what you told me is
true?"
"_My_ Bible!" repeated Lady Lundie with sorrowful emphasis. "Oh,
my child! have _you_ no part in that precious inheritance? Is it
not _your_ Bible, too?"
A momentary triumph showed itself in Blanche's face. "You daren't
swear it!" she said. "That's enough for me!"
She turned away scornfully. Lady Lundie caught her by the hand,
and drew her sharply back. The suffering saint disappeared, and
the woman who was no longer to be trifled with took her place.
"There must be an end to this," she said. "You don't believe what
I have told you. Have you courage enough to put it to the test?"
Blanche started, and released her hand. She trembled a little.
There was a horrible certainty of conviction expressed in Lady
Lundie's sudden change of manner.
"How?" she asked.
"You shall see. Tell me the truth, on your side, first. Where is
Sir Patrick? Is he really out, as his servant told me?"
"Yes. He is out with the farm bailiff. You have taken us all by
surprise. You wrote that we were to expect you by the next
train."
"When does the next train arrive? It is eleven o'clock now."
"Between one and two."
"Sir Patrick will not be back till then?"
"Not till then."
"Where is Mr. Brinkworth?"
"My husband?"
"Your husband--if you like. Is he out, too?"
"He is in the smoking-room."
"Do you mean the long room, built out from the back of the
house?"
"Yes."
"Come down stairs at once with me."
Blanche advanced a step--and drew back. "What do you want of me?"
she asked, inspired by a
sudden distrust.
Lady Lundie turned round, and looked at her impatiently.
"Can't you see yet," she said, sharply, "that your interest and
my interest in this matter are one? What have I told you?"
"Don't repeat it!"
"I must repeat it! I have told you that Arnold Brinkworth was
privately at Craig Fernie, with Miss Silvester, in the
acknowledged character of her husband--when we supposed him to be
visiting the estate left him by his aunt. You refuse to believe
it--and I am about to put it to the proof. Is it your interest or
is it not, to know whether this man deserves the blind belief
that you place in him?"
Blanche trembled from head to foot, and made no reply.
"I am going into the garden, to speak to Mr. Brinkworth through
the smoking-room window," pursued her ladyship. "Have you the
courage to come with me; to wait behind out of sight; and to hear
what he says with his own lips? I am not afraid of putting it to
that test. Are you?"
The tone in which she asked the question roused Blanche's spirit.
"If I believed him to be guilty," she said, resolutely, "I should
_not_ have the courage. I believe him to be innocent. Lead the
way, Lady Lundie, as soon as you please."
They left the room--Blanche's own room at Ham Farm--and descended
to the hall. Lady Lundie stopped, and consulted the railway
time-table hanging near the house-door.
"There is a train to London at a quarter to twelve," she said.
"How long does it take to walk to the station?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You will soon know. Answer my question."
"It's a walk of twenty minutes to the station."
Lady Lundie referred to her watch. "There will be just time," she
said.
"Time for what?"
"Come into the garden."
With that answer, she led the way out
The smoking-room projected at right angles from the wall of the
house, in an oblong form--with a bow-window at the farther end,
looking into the garden. Before she turned the corner, and showed
herself within the range of view from the window Lady Lundie
looked back, and signed to Blanche to wait behind the angle of
the wall. Blanche waited.
The next instant she heard the voices in conversation through the
open window. Arnold's voice was the first that spoke.
"Lady Lundie! Why, we didn't expect you till luncheon time!"
Lady Lundie was ready with her answer.
"I was able to leave town earlier than I had anticipated. Don't
put out your cigar; and don't move. I am not coming in."
The quick interchange of question and answer went on; every word
being audible in the perfect stillness of the place.
Arnold was
the next to speak.
"Have you seen Blanche?"
"Blanche is getting ready to go out with me. We mean to have a
walk together. I have many things to say to her. Before we go, I
have something to say to _you._"
"Is it any thing very serious?"
"It is most serious."
"About me?"
"About you. I know where you went on the evening of my lawn-party
at Windygates--you went to Craig Fernie."
"Good Heavens! how did you find out--?"
"I know whom you went to meet--Miss Silvester. I know what is
said of you and of her--you are man and wife."
"Hush! don't speak so loud. Somebody may hear you!"
"What does it matter if they do? I am the only person whom you
have kept out of the secret. You all of you know it here."
"Nothing of the sort! Blanche doesn't know it."
"What! Neither you nor Sir Patrick has told Blanche of the
situation you stand in at this moment?"
"Not yet. Sir Patrick leaves it to me. I haven't been able to
bring myself to do it. Don't say a word, I entreat you. I don't
know how Blanche may interpret it. Her friend is expected in
London to-morrow. I want to wait till Sir Patrick can bring them
together. Her friend will break it to her better than I can. It's
_my_ notion. Sir Patrick thinks it a good one. Stop! you're not
going away already?"
"She will be here to look for me if I stay any longer."
"One word! I want to know--"
"You shall know later in the day."
Her ladyship appeared again round the angle of the wall. The next
words that passed were words spoken in a whisper.
"Are you satisfied now, Blanche?"
"Have you mercy enough left, Lady Lundie, to take me away from
this house?"
"My dear child! Why else did I look at the time-table in the
hall?"
CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD.
THE EXPLOSION.
ARNOLD'S mind was far from easy when he was left by himself again
in the smoking-room.
After wasting some time in vainly trying to guess at the source
from which Lady Lundie had derived her information, he put on his
hat, and took the direction which led to Blanche's favorite walk
at Ham Farm. Without absolutely distrusting her ladyship's
discretion, the idea had occurred to him that he would do well to
join his wife and her step-mother. By making a third at the
interview between them, he might prevent the conversation from
assuming a perilously confidential turn.
The search for the ladies proved useless. They had not taken the
direction in which he supposed them to have gone.
He returned to the smoking-room, and composed himself to wait for
events as patiently as he might. In this passive position--with
his thoughts still running on Lady Lundie--his memory reverted to
a brief conversation between Sir Patrick and himself, occasioned,
on the previous day, by her ladyship's announcement of her
proposed visit to Ham Farm. Sir Patrick had at once expressed his
conviction that his sister-in-law's journey south had some
acknowledged purpose at the bottom of it.
"I am not at all sure, Arnold" (he had said), "that I have done
wisely in leaving her letter unanswered. And I am strongly
disposed to think that the safest course will be to take her into
the secret when she comes to-morrow. We can't help the position
in which we are placed. It was impossible (without admitting your
wife to our confidence) to prevent Blanche from writing that
unlucky letter to her--and, even if we had prevented it, she must
have heard in other ways of your return to England. I don't doubt
my own discretion, so far; and I don't doubt the convenience of
keeping her in the dark, as a means of keeping her from meddling
in this business of yours, until I have had time to set it right.
But she may, by some unlucky accident, discover the truth for
herself--and, in that case, I strongly distrust the influence
which she might attempt to exercise on Blanche's mind."
Those were the words--and what had happened on the day after they
had been spoken? Lady Lundie _had_ discovered the truth; and she
was, at that moment, alone somewhere with Blanche. Arnold took up
his hat once more, and set forth on the search for the ladies in
another direction.
The second expedition was as fruitless as the first. Nothing was
to be seen, and nothing was to be heard, of Lady Lundie and
Blanche.
Arnold's watch told him that it was not far from the time when
Sir Patrick might be expected to return. In all probability,
while he had been looking for them, the ladies had gone back by
some other way to the house. He entered the rooms on the
ground-floor, one after another. They were all empty. He went up
stairs, and knocked at the door of Blanche's room. There was no
answer. He opened the door and looked in. The room was empty,
like the rooms down stairs. But, close to the entrance, there was
a trifling circumstance to attract notice, in the shape of a note
lying on the carpet. He picked it up, and saw that it was
addressed to him in the handwriting of his wife.
He opened it. The note began, without the usual form of address,
in these words:
"I know the abominable secret that you and my uncle have hidden
from me. I know _your_ infamy, and _her_ infamy, and the position
in which, thanks to you and to her, I now stand. Reproaches would
be wasted words, addressed to such a man as you are. I write
these lines to tell you that I have placed myself under my
step-mother's protection in London. It is useless to attempt to
follow me. Others will find out whether the ceremony of marriage
which you went through with me is binding on you or not. For
myself, I know enough already. I have gone, never to come back,
and never to let you see me again.--Blanche."
Hurrying headlong down the stairs with but one clear idea in his
mind--the idea of instantly following his wife--Arnold
encountered Sir Patrick, standing by a table in the hall, on
which cards and notes left by visitors were usually placed, with
an open letter in his hand. Seeing in an instant what had
happened, he threw one of his arms round Arnold, and stopped him
at the house-door.
"You are a man," he said, firmly. "Bear it like a man."
Arnold's head fell on the shoulder of his kind old friend. He
burst into tears.
Sir Patrick let the irrepressible outbreak of grief have its way.
In those first moments, silence was mercy. He said nothing. The
letter which he had been reading (from Lady Lundie, it is
needless to say), dropped unheeded at his feet.
Arnold lifted his head, and dashed away the tears.
"I am ashamed of myself," he said. "Let me go."
"Wrong, my poor fellow--doubly wrong!" returned Sir Patrick.
"There is no shame in shedding such tears as those. And there is
nothing to be done by leaving _me._"
"I must and will see her!"
"Read that," said Sir Patrick,
pointing to the letter on the
floor. "See your wife? Your wife is with the woman who has
written those lines. Read them."
Arnold read them.
"DEAR SIR PATRICK,--If you had honored me with your confidence, I
should have been happy to consult you before I interfered to
rescue Blanche from the position in which Mr. Brinkworth has
placed her. As it is, your late brother's child is under my
protection at my house in London. If _you_ attempt to exercise
your authority, it must be by main force--I will submit to
nothing less. If Mr. Brinkworth attempts to exercise _his_
authority, he shall establish his right to do so (if he can) in a
police-court.
"Very truly yours, JULIA LUNDIE.
Arnold's resolution was not to be shaken even by this. "What do I
care," he burst out, hotly, "whether I am dragged through the
streets by the police or not! I _will_ see my wife. I _will_
clear myself of the horrible suspicion she has about me. You have
shown me your letter. Look at mine!"
Sir Patrick's clear sense saw the wild words that Blanche had
written in their true light.
"Do you hold your wife responsible for that letter?" be asked. "I
see her step-mother in every line of it. You descend to something
unworthy of you, if you seriously defend yourself against _this!_
You can't see it? You persist in holding to your own view? Write,
then. You can't get to her--your letter may. No! When you leave
this house, you leave it with me. I have conceded something on my
side, in allowing you to write. I insist on your conceding
something, on your side, in return. Come into the library! I
answer for setting things right between you and Blanche, if you
will place your interests in my hands. Do you trust me or not?"
Arnold yielded. They went into the library together. Sir Patrick
pointed to the writing-table. "Relieve your mind there," he said.
"And let me find you a reasonable man again when I come back."
When he returned to the library the letter was written; and
Arnold's mind was so far relieved--for the time at least.
"I shall take your letter to Blanche myself," said Sir Patrick,
"by the train that leaves for London in half an hour's time."
"You will let me go with you?"
"Not to-day. I shall be back this evening to dinner. You shall
hear all that has happened; and you shall accompany me to London
to-morrow--if I find it necessary to make any lengthened stay
there. Between this and then, after the shock that you have
suffered, you will do well to be quiet here. Be satisfied with my
assurance that Blanche shall have your letter. I will force my
authority on her step-mother to that extent (if her step-mother
resists) without scruple. The respect in which I hold the sex
only lasts as long as the sex deserves it--and does _not_ extend
to Lady Lundie. There is no advantage that a man can take of a
woman which I am not fully prepared to take of my sister-in-law."
With that characteristic farewell, he shook hands with Arnold,
and departed for the station.
At seven o'clock the dinner was on the table. At seven o'clock
Sir Patrick came down stairs to eat it, as perfectly dressed as
usual, and as composed as if nothing had happened.
"She has got your letter," he whispered, as he took Arnold's arm,
and led him into the dining-room.
"Did she say any thing?"
"Not a word."
"How did she look?"
"As she ought to look--sorry for what she has done."
The dinner began. As a matter of necessity, the subject of Sir
Patrick's expedition was dropped while the servants were in the
room--to be regularly taken up again by Arnold in the intervals