The Malefactor

  GUARDIAN AND WARD

  "Up to the present, then," Wingrave remarked, "the child has no idea asto who has been responsible for the charge of her?"

  "No idea at all, Sir Wingrave," the lawyer declared. "Your wishes havebeen strictly carried out, most strictly. She imagines that it is someunknown connection of her father. But, as I explained to you in myletter, she has recently exhibited a good deal of curiosity in thematter. She is--er--a young lady of considerable force of character forher years, and her present attitude--as I explained in my letter--is atrifle difficult."

  Wingrave was sitting in the lawyer's own chair. Mr. Pengarth, who was atrifle nervous, preferred to stand.

  "She shows, I think, a certain amount of ingratitude in forcing thisjourney and explanation upon me," Wingrave declared coldly. "It shouldhave been sufficient for her that her benefactor preferred to remainanonymous."

  "I regret, Sir Wingrave, that I must disagree with you," Mr. Pengarthanswered boldly. "Miss Juliet, Miss Lundy I should say, is a young ladyof character--and--er--some originality of disposition. She is a greatfavorite with everyone around here."

  Wingrave remained silent. He had the air of one not troubling to replyto what he considered folly. Through the wide open window floated in thevarious sounds of the little country town, the rumbling of heavy cartspassing along the cobbled streets, the shrill greetings of neighbors andacquaintances meeting upon the sidewalk. And then the tinkling bell of arubber-tired cart pulling up outside, and a clear girlish voice speakingto some one of the passers-by.

  Wingrave betrayed as much surprise as it was possible for him to showwhen at last she stood with outstretched hand before him. He had only animperfect recollection of an ill-clad, untidy-looking child, with paletear-stained cheeks, and dark unhappy eyes. The march of the years hadbeen a thing whose effects he had altogether underestimated. The girlwho stood now facing him was slight, and there was something of thechild left in her bright eager face, but she carried herself with allthe graceful assurance of an older woman. Her soft, dark eyes werelit with pleasure and excitement, her delicately traced eyebrows anddelightful smile were somehow suggestive of her foreign descent. Herclothes were country-made, but perfect as regarded fit and trimness,her beflowered hat was worn with a touch of coquettish grace, a trifleun-English, but very delightful. She had not an atom of shyness orembarrassment. Only there was a great surprise in her face as she heldout her hands to Wingrave.

  "I know who you are," she exclaimed. "You are Sir Wingrave Seton. Tothink that I never guessed."

  "You remember seeing me, then?" he remarked, and his tone sounded allthe colder after the full richness of her young voice.

  "I just remember it--only just," she answered. "You see you did nottake much notice of me that time, did you? But I have lived amongst yourancestors too long to make any mistake. Why have you stayed away fromTredowen so long?"

  "I have been abroad," Wingrave answered. "I am not fond of England."

  "You had trouble here, I know," she said frankly. "But that is all pastand over. I think that you must forget how beautiful your home is oryou would never bear to live away from it. Now, please, may I ask you aquestion?"

  "Any that you think necessary," Wingrave answered. "Spare me as much aspossible; I am not fond of them."

  "Shall I leave you two together for a little time?" Mr. Pengarthsuggested, gathering up some papers.

  "Certainly not," Wingrave said shortly. "There is not the slightestnecessity for it."

  Mr. Pengarth resumed his seat.

  "Just as you please," he answered. "But you must sit down, Juliet.There, you shall have my clients' chair."

  The girl accepted it with a little laugh. There was no shadow ofembarrassment about her manner, notwithstanding the cold stiffness ofWingrave's deportment. He sat where the sunlight fell across his chair,and the lines in his pale face seemed deeper than usual, the grey hairsmore plentiful, the weariness in his eyes more apparent. Yet she was notin the least afraid of him.

  "First of all, then, Sir Wingrave, may I ask you why you have been soextraordinarily kind to me?"

  "There is nothing extraordinary about it at all," he answered. "Yourfather died and left you friendless in a parish of which I am Lord ofthe Manor. He received a starvation pittance for his labors, which itwas my duty to augment, a duty which, with many others, I neglected. Isimply gave orders that you should be looked after."

  She laughed softly.

  "Looked after! Why, I have lived at Tredowen. I have had a governess, apony to drive. Heaven knows how many luxuries!"

  "That," he interrupted hastily, "is nothing. The house is betteroccupied. What I have done for you is less in proportion than thesixpence you may sometimes have given to a beggar for I am a rich, aridiculously rich man, with no possible chance of spending one-quarterof my income. You had a distinct and obvious claim upon me, and, at nocost or inconvenience to myself, I have endeavored, through others, torecognize it."

  "I will accept your view of the situation," the girl said, stillsmiling, but with a faint note of disappointment in her tone. "I do notwish to force upon you expressions of gratitude which you would onlyfind wearisome. But I must thank you! It is in my heart, and I mustspeak of it. There, it is over, you see! I shall say no more."

  "You are a sensible young lady," Wingrave said, making a motion asthough to rise. "I have only one request to make to you, and that isthat you keep to yourself the knowledge which Mr. Pengarth informs methat you insisted upon acquiring. You are nearly enough of age now, andI will make you your own mistress. That is all, I think."

  The smile died away from her lips. Her tone became very earnest.

  "Sir Wingrave," she said, "for all that you have done for me, I am, asyou know grateful. I would try to tell you how grateful, only I knowthat it would weary you. So we will speak only of the future. I cannotcontinue to accept--even such magnificent alms as yours."

  "What do you mean, child?" he asked, frowning across at her.

  "I mean," she said, "that now I am old enough to work, I cannot accepteverything from one upon whom I have no claim. If you will help me alittle still, I shall be more than grateful. But it must be in my ownway."

  "You talk about work," he said. "What can you do?"

  "I can paint," she answered, "fairly well. I should like to go to Londonand have a few lessons. If I cannot make a living at that, I shall trysomething else."

  "You disappoint me," Wingrave said. "There is no place for you inLondon. There are thousands starving there already because they canpaint a little, or sing a little, or fancy they can. Do you find it dulldown here?"

  "Dull!" she exclaimed wonderingly. "I think that there can be no placeon earth so beautiful as Tredowen."

  "You are happy here?"

  "Perfectly!"

  "Then, for heaven's sake, forget all this folly," Wingrave said hardly."London is no place for children. Miss Harrison can take you up for amonth when you choose. You can go abroad if you want to. But for therest--"

  She rose suddenly, and sweeping across the office with one gracefulmovement, she leaned over Wingrave's chair. Her hands rested uponhis shoulders, her eyes, soft with gathering tears, pleaded with his.Wingrave sat with all the outward immobility of a Sphinx.

  "Dear Sir Wingrave," she said, "you have been so generous, so kind, andI may not even speak of my gratitude. Don't please think me unreasonableor ungracious. I can't tell you how I feel, but I must, I must, I mustgo away. I could not live here any longer now that I know. Fancy fora moment that I am your sister, or your daughter! Don't you believe,really, that she would feel the same? And I think you would wish her to.Don't be angry with me, please."

  Wingrave's face never changed; but his fingers gripped the arms of hischair so that a signet ring he wore cut deep into his flesh. When hespoke, his tone sounded almost harsh. The girl turned away to dash thetears from her eyes.

  "What do you think of this--folly, Pengarth?"

  The lawyer looked his best client s
quarely in the face. "I do not callit folly, Sir Wingrave. I think that Miss Lundy is right."

  There was a pause. Her eyes were still pleading with him.

  "Against the two of you," Wingrave remarked, "I am, of course,powerless. After all, it is no concern of mine. I shall leave you,Pengarth, to make such arrangements as Miss Lundy desires!"

  He rose to his feet. Juliet now was pale. She dashed the tears from hereyes and looked at him in amazement mingled with something which wasalmost like despair.

  "You don't mean," she exclaimed, "you are going away without coming toTredowen?"

  "Why not?" he asked. "I never had any intention of going there!"

  "You are very angry with me," she cried in despair. "I--I--"

  Her lip quivered. Wingrave interposed.

  "I shall be happy to go and have a look at the place," he saidcarelessly, "if you will drive me back. I fancy I have almost forgottenwhat it is like."

  She looked at him as at one who had spoken irreverently. Her eyes werefull of wonder.

  "I think that you must have indeed forgotten," she said, "how verybeautiful it is. It is your home too! There is no one else," she addedsoftly, "who can live there, amongst all those wonderful things, andcall it really--home!"

  "I am afraid," he said, "you will find that I have outlived allsentiment; but I will certainly come to Tredowen with you!"