Parson Kelly

  CHAPTER XVIII

  WHEREIN A NEW FLY DISCOURSES ON THE INNOCENCE OF THE SPIDER'S WEB

  Wogan was still leaning on the rail of the balustrade when a watch washeld beneath his nose.

  'The half-hour is gone, Mr. Hilton,' said Lord Sidney Beauclerk.

  'True,' said Wogan, 'it is now a quarter past eleven.' His eyes movedfrom the watch to the closed door. 'Half an hour, my lord,' he mused,'a small trifle of minutes. You may measure it by grains of sand, but,if you will, for each grain of sand you may count a life.'

  'You hit my sentiments to a nicety.'

  Lord Sidney spoke with a grave significance which roused Wogan fromhis reflections. The lad's face was hard; his eyes gloomy and fierce.Wogan remembered that, when Lord Sidney had spoken before, he had notseemed in the best of good humour.

  'My lord,' he said, 'we can hardly talk with comfort here in thedoorway.' He led the way back into the inner withdrawing-room andacross the room to the recess of a window.

  'Here we shall be private,' he said.

  'Mr. Hilton, you spoke a little while ago of a ballad, wherein, to useyour words, the arm of flesh was preferred to a spiritual Blade. Thatmay have been wit, of which I do not profess to be the judge. But youaimed an insult at a woman, and any man may claim to be the judge ofthat.'

  'My lord,' answered Wogan gently, 'you do not know the woman. I couldwish you never will.'

  Lord Sidney laughed with a sharp scorn which brought the blood intoWogan's face. It was plain the remark was counted an evasion.

  'At all events I know an insult when I hear it. Let us keep to theinsult, Mr. Hilton. It reaped its reward, for here and there a cowardsmirked his applause.' Lord Sidney's voice began to tremble withpassion. 'But it has yet to be paid for. You must pay for it to me,'and, since Wogan kept silence, his passion of a sudden got the upperhand, and in a low quick voice--there was as much pain as anger init--'It hurts me,' he said, clenching his hands, 'it positively hurtsme. Here is a woman'--he stopped in full flight, and blushed with ayouthful sort of shame at his eloquence--'a woman, sir, in a word, andyou must torture her with your brave sneers and she must wear asmiling face while her heart bleeds! Mr. Hilton, are you a man? Why,then, so am I, and it humiliates me that we should both be men. Thehumiliation will not pass even after,' and he drew a breath in throughhis shut teeth, 'after I have killed you.'

  Mr. Wogan had listened to the outburst with all the respect he thoughtdue to a boy's frank faith. A boy--Wogan's years were not many morethan his, but he had seen mankind, and marvelled how they will trust awoman who, they know, has fooled one man, if but a husband. But, atLord Sidney's talk of killing him, Wogan sank the philosopher andcould not repress a grin.

  'Kill me, my young friend; _ne fait ce tour qui veut_,' he said; 'butsure you may try if you will. You will not be the first who hastried.'

  'I have no doubt of that,' said Lord Sidney gravely, 'and you willoblige me by using another word. I may be young, Mr. Hilton, but Ithank God I am not your friend.'

  There was a dignity, a sincerity in his manner which to Mr. Wogan'sears robbed the speech of all impertinence. Wogan simply bowed andsaid:

  'If you will send your friend to Burton's Coffee House in themorning----'

  'To Burton's Coffee House.'

  Lord Sidney turned away. Mr. Wogan drew aside the curtain of thewindow and stared out into the night with an unusual discontent.Across the road Mr. Scrope was still lurking in the shadow--a hiredspy. Very like, he had once been just such another honest lad, withjust the same chivalry, before my lady cast her covetous eyes on him.Downstairs in the little room the Parson was fighting, for the Cause,for his sweetheart, for his liberty, and maybe for his life, withlittle prospect of a safe issue. It seemed a pity that Lord SidneyBeauclerk should be wasted too.

  'My lord,' said Wogan, calling after Lord Sidney. And Lord Sidney cameback. Wogan was still holding the curtain aside; he had some vaguethought of relating Scrope's history, but his first glance at LordSidney's face showed to him it would not avail. Lord Sidney woulddisbelieve it utterly. Wogan dropped the curtain.

  'How old is your lordship?' he asked.

  Lord Sidney looked surprised, as well he might, and then blushed forhis youth.

  'I am twenty,' he said, 'and some months,' with considerable emphasison the months as though they made a world of difference.

  'Ah,' replied Wogan, 'I am of the century's age, twenty-two and somemore months. You are astonished, my lord. But when I was fifteen Ifought in battles.'

  'Was it to tell me this you called me back?'

  'No,' said Wogan solemnly, 'but you meet me tomorrow. I am not surethat I could do you better service than by taking care that you meetno one afterwards. It was that I had to tell you,' and he added with asmile, 'but I do not think I shall bring myself to do you thatservice.'

  Lord Sidney's face changed a little from its formal politeness. Heeyed Mr. Wogan as though for a moment he doubted whether he had notmistaken his man. Then he said:

  'In a duel, Mr. Hilton, there are two who fight.'

  'Not always, my lord. Sometimes there is one who only defends,' andwith that they parted. Clamorous dames took Lord Sidney captive. Woganlooked at his watch. Five minutes had passed since that latch hadclicked. He strolled out of the room to the stairs. The door was stillshut. He came back into the room and stood by Lady Mary, who wasdescribing to Rose the characters of those who passed by. She lookedanxiously at Wogan, who had no comforting news and shook his head, butshe did not cease from her rattle.

  'And here comes Colonel Montague with a yellow bundle of bones tied upin parchment, 'she cried. Lady Rich was the bundle of bones inparchment. 'Colonel Montague--well, my dear, he is a gallant officerin the King's guards who fought at Preston, and he owes his life to anoisy Irish boy who has since grown out of all recognition.'

  Here Rose suddenly looked up at Wogan.

  'It was this Colonel Montague you saved!' said she.

  'Hush,' whispered Wogan, who had his own reasons for wishing theColonel should discover nothing upon that head. 'Remember, if youplease, that my name is Hilton.'

  Colonel Montague led Lady Rich to the sofa.

  'Colonel, has fortune deserted you that you look so glum?' asked LadyMary.

  'I am on the losing hand indeed, your ladyship, to-night,' saidMontague bitterly.

  'Well, _malheureux en jeu_,' said her ladyship maliciously, 'you maytake comfort from the rest of the proverb.'

  Lady Rich shook her rose-coloured ribbons, a girlish simpleton offorty summers.

  'I am vastly ashamed of being so prodigiously ignorant,' said she. 'Idaresay I ask a mighty silly question, but what is the rest?'

  'French, my dear, and it means that fifteen years is the properest agefor a woman to continue at, but why need one be five?'

  Colonel Montague smiled grimly. Mr. Wogan stifled a laugh. Lady Richlooked somewhat disconcerted.

  'Oh, is that a proverb?' said she with a _minauderie_. 'I shall doteon proverbs,' and so she simpered out of range.

  Lady Mary lifted up her hands.

  '_Regardez cet animal!_' she cried; '_considerez ce neant_. There's apretty soul to be immortal.'

  'Your ladyship is cruel,' said Rose in remonstrance.

  'Nay, my dear, it is the only way to keep her quiet. My Lady Rich islike a top that hums senselessly. You must whip it hard enough andthen it goes to sleep and makes no noise. Mr. Hilton, are you struckdumb?'

  Mr. Hilton's ears were on the stretch to catch the sound of a door,and making an excuse he moved away. Suspense kept him restless; itseemed every muscle in his body clamoured to be doing. He walked againto the window. Scrope was still fixed at his post. Wogan sauntered outof the room to the stairs, and down the stairs to the hall. The hallwas empty. The door of the little room where Kelly and Lady Oxfordwere closeted was shut, and no sound came through it, either of wordor movement. Wogan wished he had been born a housemaid, that he m
ightlean his ear against the keyhole without any shame at theeavesdropping. He stood at the stair-foot gazing at the door as thoughhis eyes would melt the oak by the ardour of their look. Above thevoices laughed, the smooth music murmured of all soft pleasures. Here,in the quiet of the hall, Wogan began to think the door would neveropen; he had a foolish fancy that he was staring at the lid of acoffin sealed down until the Judgment Day, and indeed the room mightprove a coffin. He looked at his watch; only a poor quarter of an hourhad passed since the door had closed. Wogan could not believe it; heshook his watch in the belief that it had stopped, and then a hubbubarose in the street. The noise drew nearer and nearer, and Wogan coulddistinguish the shouts of newsboys crying their papers. What theycried as yet he could not hear. In the great room at the head of thestairs the voices of a sudden ceased; here and there a window wasthrown open. The ominous din rang through the open windows and floateddown the stairs, first the vague cries, then the sound of runningfeet, and last of all the words, clear as a knell:

  'Bloody Popish Plot! A Plot discovered!'

  So Lady Oxford had played her cards. The plot was out; Scrope was inthe street; the Parson was trapped. Wogan determined to open thatdoor. He took his hand from the balustrade, but before he had advanceda step, the door was opened from within. Her ladyship sailed forthupon Mr. Kelly's arm, radiant with smiles; and, to Wogan'sastonishment, Kelly in the matter of good humour seemed in no wisebehind her.