CHAPTER IX
AND THE PRINCESS TIES IT AGAIN
DISAPPOINTMENT sat heavily on the face of Gilbert Byfield as anobsequious porter who knew him pulled open the door of the carriage andseized his bag. For there was no one with a familiar face in sight onthe little platform; and Gilbert had rather hoped that there might havebeen someone with a smile to welcome him, and a hand to clasp his own.
Few passengers ever get out at Fiddler's Green, and on this occasionthere was only a stout and heavy farmer, and an elderly woman with aplethoric basket. True, at the end of the platform was a young girlin a white dress, and with a slim and pretty figure; but young girlsin white dresses were nothing to Gilbert Byfield at that moment. Hefollowed the porter gloomily, muttering something to the effect that hesupposed he'd better have the fly.
It was only when he was actually giving up his ticket that he foundhimself face to face with the girl in the white dress; and thendiscovered that he was holding her hands, and gazing at her--and thatit was Bessie, half laughing and half crying, and saying again andagain how glad she was to see him. And all in a moment the sun wasshining, and Fiddler's Green was beautiful; and the fly was a mustyaffair, good enough to carry on his bag to the house, but not to beridden in under any circumstances.
They went on a little shyly and happily down the long road that ledfrom the station towards the house. Once or twice she looked at him ashe strode along beside her; and she laughed with the conscious shynessof a child, and yet with complete happiness. Presently, when it cameabout that a turn of the road hid them from the sight of the stationor of any houses beyond, she slipped her hand into his; and so heldit, as a child might have done, while they walked on side by side. Andthen it was that the problem he had to face loomed large, and askedfierce questions of the man, and would not be denied. Questions hardto answer, with that happy face beside him, and with those clear eyeslooking up into his own. He found himself wishing passionately that thetime might never come when those eyes should change, or should look athim with any indignation or any sorrow. Which might well happen, as heknew.
"Tell me everything," he said after a pause. "About your life--and whatyou do--and how you spend your days. This is such a changed Bessie thatI scarcely seem to know her."
"For the better, Mr. Byfield?" She looked at him with no seriousness atall, and he gave her a gay answer naturally enough.
"Oh--this isn't the Bessie of Arcadia Street at all; this is a beingin a white frock who belongs naturally and properly to the country. Ishall believe presently that you've been here all your life."
"I believe it already," she retorted. "Arcadia Street seems milesand miles away, as though it had never existed at all; I find myselfwondering sometimes exactly how one turned into it--and what the houseswere like--and if they really were as small and mean as they seem to benow. You'll like Fiddler's Green," she added quickly.
"I'm sure I shall. And so I suppose you are really and truly veryhappy?"
She did not answer for a moment; she walked on beside him, and henoticed as he glanced at her that her face was grave. "So happysometimes, Mr. Byfield, that I'm afraid," she said steadily. "I wakeat night in the great room that is mine, and I lie listening to thesilence, and wondering if it's all true. I dread sometimes to open myeyes in the morning, for fear that I may open them in the old narrowroom in the old narrow house in Arcadia Street; I'm frightened whenthey knock at my door in the morning, lest it should be Amelia come tosay that the baker has stopped credit, or the milkman wants a littlesomething on account. You don't know, Mr. Byfield," she added, turningwide, serious eyes upon him for a moment--"you really don't know whatit means never by any chance to hear that phrase again--'someone wantssomething on account.'"
"I think I can understand," he replied. "And so you still likeFiddler's Green--eh?"
"I never believed that there was such a place," she said. "It'swonderful! Even poor father seems to be getting more used to it; hemissed his club terribly at first. But now he is finding quite a lotto interest him; he drives round and studies the architecture of thevarious old inns round about--sometimes gives up a day to it."
"And your brother?" asked Gilbert with a frown.
"Aubrey is turning out really splendidly," said the girl. "He looksquite handsome when he's riding; even father admits that--and fathernever did like Aubrey. In fact, everything is better than it has everbeen--and all the dreams I ever had seem to have come true."
"Dreams fade, little Make-Believe," he reminded her.
"I don't think my dreams will ever fade," she replied. "And you mustn'tcall me Little-Make-Believe any more--because it isn't true. Everythingis real; I don't have to make-believe any longer."
"Fortunes are lost sometimes; it happens every day," he urged again."Suppose this great fortune of yours was swept away--this fortune thatcame by lucky speculation--what then?"
"I can't believe that it will ever end; I can't believe that Fate wouldbe so cruel as to send me back again to Arcadia Street--and to all theold unhappy life."
"You forget, Bessie; you were very happy there--playing that great gameof life."
She shook her head. "I didn't understand--that was why I was happy,"she said. "I struggled hard to make myself happy--fought hard to reachevery little gleam of sunshine that came my way. Now I don't have tofight; thanks to father, all my happiness comes to me naturally."
They were nearing the house when she turned upon him with astoundingnews. "Oh--I forgot to tell you that we've got visitors."
"Visitors?" He stared at her as though not understanding.
She nodded brightly. "Yes; Aunt Julia Stocker and Uncle Ted. Fatherasked them down; father said--'What's the use of having a big houseif you don't fill it?' Father's thinking of asking some otherpeople--friends of his particularly. Of course there'll be lots of roomfor you, Mr. Byfield," she added; "I've seen about your room myself.Besides the housekeeper seemed to think that you'd like it; I supposeshe knew what sort of a man you were."
Gilbert Byfield went on to the house in silence, listening as in adream to the girl's animated chatter, as she pointed out this, thator the other familiar thing, and demanded his admiration. He beganto understand that the difficulties he had created were greater thanhe had yet imagined; already he seemed to see an imaginary DanielMeggison--grinning and triumphant--defying him to move at all, andsheltering himself in every extravagance behind this girl in the whitefrock, whose happiness Gilbert had purchased at so strange a price.
Mr. Daniel Meggison, for his part, made no secret from the beginningof the attitude he intended to adopt. For some weeks now he had beengiven a free hand, and that fact, combined with new clothes, and acomfortable house, and money in his pocket, and servants to do hisbidding, had already gone far to spoil the man, and to bring out someof the original bully that had been suppressed in his nature. Whateverqualms he may have felt he hid successfully at the first moment ofmeeting. He stood at the door of the house, with arms outstretched, andwith a beaming smile upon his face.
"Welcome, my dear Byfield--thrice welcome!" he exclaimed, seizingGilbert by the hand and wringing it hard--as much in apparentcordiality as to impress upon him that he understood the secret compactbetween them, and was acting his part accordingly. "Delighted to seeyou. I would have driven down myself to the station--but my child hereseemed to think that you would expect her alone. Well--well--thatis quite natural; you were always good friends. Come in, my dearByfield--come in and make yourself at home. You will find friends here;stay as long as you like--do what you like--order what you like! Comein!"
So Gilbert Byfield went into his own house, not without some feeling ofamusement, and looked about him. The servant who hurried forward as hesaw his master was silenced with a look, and retired, wondering morethan ever; Gilbert allowed the girl to run on before him up the stairs,to show him the way with which he was already familiar. He expresseddue approval of the room (which happened to be his own), and said thathe felt he should be very comfortable there for a f
ew days.
When presently he went downstairs, his object was to find Mr. DanielMeggison and to have a talk with that gentleman. But Daniel was not tobe caught napping; he avoided Gilbert on every occasion, and clung tohis relatives with an amazing fondness whenever he saw the young manapproaching him.
The relatives, for their part, adopted characteristic attitudestowards Byfield. Mrs. Stocker conceived it to be her duty, being in themansions of the great, to sit in the largest and the stiffest chairshe could discover, in a condition of state, ready to receive all andsundry. Her dignity in this particular instance compelled her to suffertortures, for the simple reason that her husband, Mr. Edward Stocker,was free to come and go as he liked, and was having rather a good time.He cheerfully flitted about the place, and smoked unaccustomed pipes inthe boldest manner, and was for once quite happy. Being introduced byBessie to the new-comer, he greeted Gilbert cordially.
"It's a wonderful world, sir," he exclaimed, looking at Gilbertwith a smiling face. "Now, it would never have occurred to me thatMeggison was the man to make money--and yet to be so dark about it.Having a little property myself--which runs to 'ouses--I may saythat I know what property is, and how money is made. But Meggisonseems to have gone a cut above us all. A modest place down Claphamway--or Brixton--or even Norwood--but when you makes a splash in thecountry--with servants and what not----well, I can only say that it's avery wonderful world, sir."
Gilbert left the little man, and, still in search of Meggison, camepresently into the presence of Mrs. Stocker, sitting in state. Shereceived him coldly, but with the resignation of one who expects thatall sorts of people may drift in, and are not specially to be accountedfor. He was retiring again hastily, when she recalled him.
"One moment, sir, I beg. One of my brother's new friends?"
"Oh, no--an old friend," stammered Gilbert. "A friend of his daughter."
"She never told me--but that is not surprising; I seem to learneverything only by accident here. I should like to know, sir"--shelowered her voice, and looked round about her impressively--"I shouldlike to know what you think of this business?"
"I've scarcely had time to think about it at all yet," replied Gilbert.
"My brother Daniel has surprised us all," said Mrs. Stocker. "I don'tlike sly people; I should have thought that he would have been only tooglad to take me into his confidence. But, no--oh dear, no! He is glad,of course, to ignore me--and then to invite me down here on sufferance,as it were."
"Can you tell me where your brother is now?" asked Gilbert, movingtowards the door.
"I cannot say," said Mrs. Stocker, in an affected voice. "I believeDaniel drives out a great deal. He might have asked me certainly to gowith him; but no one ever thinks of me."
Gilbert was crossing the hall, still intent upon that search, whenhe was approached by the elderly manservant--staid husband of thehousekeeper--who had been in charge of the house for years. The manhesitated for a moment, with puzzled face, remembering his strangeinstructions as to the new tenants; and Gilbert, seeing that the manhad something to say, opened the door of a room and went in, beckoningthe man to follow. He closed the door and waited.
"Do you want to speak to me?" he asked.
"To know, sir, if everything is all right," responded the man in a lowtone. "Also, sir, to understand how long it's to last."
"Until you have orders to the contrary, or until Mr. Meggison goes,"said Gilbert, after a moment's pause. "Why do you ask?"
"Only, sir, on account of the wines and such-like," replied the man inan aggrieved tone. "Your friends was to have all that they required,and no questions asked; but I didn't quite understand it was to bechampagne here, and champagne there--to say nothing of spirits in whatI may call a fashion that is absolutely _had lib_, sir. Mr. Meggison,sir, and the young man--beg pardon, gentleman--they do put away a greatdeal."
"That's all right," said Gilbert easily. "You were quite right tomention it, of course. Anything else?"
"Only the manners of the two gents is a little bit 'arsh, if I may usethe word, in regard to me and the other servants; also the young gentis not particular as to language if a little heated, sir."
"I'm sorry; I've no doubt his tone will improve from this time,"replied Gilbert grimly. "That will do; and be careful to remember whatI have said; I am only a guest here for the present. You take all yourorders from Mr. Meggison."
The man was going slowly out of the room when he turned back and lookedagain at his master. Gilbert Byfield turned a lowering gloomy face tothe man, and asked somewhat impatiently what more he wanted.
"Only one thing, sir; I wouldn't have you think for a moment that inany remarks it has been my duty to make concerning your friends Ishould be thought to include the young lady."
Gilbert's face lightened a little, and he looked at the man quickly."Oh--so you don't complain about the young lady?" he said.
"Between you and me, sir--if I may take so bold a liberty--if it 'adn'tbeen for the young lady I don't think that any of us could have stoodit. Oil on the waters more than once Miss Meggison's been--and alwaysa smile if she wants anything--and always sorry to give any trouble.Fairly on her knees to her the wife is, Mr. Byfield, sir."
"Then that's a great compensation--isn't it?" asked Gilbert, laughing.
"It's everything, sir," replied the man earnestly. "Though, if you'llexcuse the saying, it licks me how the young lady could ever 'ave hadsuch a father--to say nothing of such a brother. Asking your pardon, ofcourse, sir."
Gilbert decided that he would do no good in the matter by forcingthe issue; on the other hand, he might strengthen his position if hewaited, and saw for himself what was happening. He rightly judged thatMeggison at least would be anxious to know what steps the outragedowner of the house at Fiddler's Green would take, and would in allprobability in very fear be the first to approach Byfield.
He decided to wait at least until evening.
In that great game that was being played, as poor Bessie fondlybelieved in reality at last, she had determined that it should at leastbe played properly. Thus dinner was a special function, and a solemnone; and although neither Mr. Meggison nor his son had yet reachedthat sublime point insisted upon in the pictures in the illustratedpapers of "dressing" for it, she yet had hopes even that that mightsome day be accomplished. As a matter of fact, Aubrey, the better toshow his complete independence, had a fashion of strolling in a littlelate, and sitting down attired in very loud riding clothes; old DanielMeggison sported a frock-coat somewhat too large for him, and so waspassable. Bessie fulfilled the dream of many years, and appeared alwaysin white.
On this particular occasion the dinner gong had gone for some minutes,and after waiting uneasily Bessie had at last suggested that perhapsthey had better go in to dinner. Meggison had not appeared, nor hisson; the tale was complete otherwise. They straggled awkwardly acrossthe hall, and into the big dining-room; and there the girl took one endof the table, and quietly indicated where the others should sit. Thehead of the table was vacant, and one other place; and Gilbert foundhimself watching with amusement to see what would presently happen.
Suddenly the door was flung open, and Daniel Meggison came in quickly,smiling broadly and with a somewhat feverish air of patronage. He didnot even look at Gilbert; but he glanced round at the others as he tookhis seat, and tucked one corner of his napkin inside his collar.
"You should not have waited," he said quickly. "Unexpectedly detained;so many things to see to in a place like this. My child"--this toBessie down the length of the table--"you remind me of your poormother. That frock suits you."
"Thank you, father," said the girl.
Daniel Meggison began to gulp soup at a great rate; paused to say overhis spoon--"Pretty country about here, Mr. Byfield--eh?"
"Very," replied Gilbert, looking at him steadily. "Do you find thehouse convenient?"
"There are certain things in it that I should change if it actuallybelonged to me," replied Meggison critically--"but it'll serve--it
'llserve. I could suggest half a dozen ways in which money might be spentto improve it."
"In my opinion there's a lot of ground wasted," said Mrs. Stockergloomily. "What's anyone want with more than a bit in front to keeppeople from staring in at the windows, and a bit behind to put a fewseeds in? Why, you could build four houses this size on the place, andstill have a lot of land to cut to waste. Of course, if I'm wrong Istand corrected; but I know what house property's worth."
It was at this moment that Mr. Aubrey Meggison entered the room. Hecame in with the inevitable cigarette drooping from his lips, butcondescended to toss that into the fireplace; then seated himself,and expressed the hope that there might be some hot soup left, unlessanybody had chosen to "wolf it."
"If you came in at a decent time you would partake of the same dishesas other people, and at the same moment," said Daniel Meggisoncrushingly. "In future, sir, you will clearly understand that unlessyou arrive at the moment--I repeat, sir, at the moment--you won'tget----"
"I don't think anybody's paying any real attention to you, dad," saidAubrey patiently. "And perhaps others may want to get a word in ontheir own account."
Daniel Meggison muttered and spluttered over his soup; Gilbert seizedthe opportunity to turn to Bessie. "And what do you do with yourselfall day in the country--you who used always to be so busy?" he asked.
She turned to him with a smile. "Oh, there seems to be such a lotto do," she replied quickly. "So many people want me--and there areflowers to arrange--and orders to give--and half a hundred things todo. And then, of course, I'm obliged to go and see the dogs----"
"Who bark very early in the morning, and kick up a devil of a row atnight," snapped Meggison from his end of the table.
"Yes, of course--the dogs," went on Gilbert, taking no notice of theinterruption. "There's Ponto--and Billy--and----"
"Why--how did you know their names?" she asked, with a puzzled look inher eyes.
He saw in a moment the blunder he had made. "Why--your father--Mr.Meggison told me all about them," he replied lamely, with a quickglance down the table.
"Oh, yes--I told him--I mentioned it this afternoon," said Meggisonhastily. "I found he was very deeply interested in dogs."
Gilbert saw that it was impossible to talk to the girl just then; heknew that Meggison at least was watching every gesture and listeningto every word. He contented himself with looking at the girl; notinglittle subtle differences in her, and seeing that the little unnaturalsharpness that had belonged to her scheming plotting life had alreadyworn away and left her softened. Her hair was differently and moregenerously arranged; there was a refinement and a delicacy about her,greater even than that which had at first singled her out in his eyesin Arcadia Street. And it was pleasant, too, sitting there, to have hereyes turned occasionally in his direction, and always to see in theirdepths that fine smile of comradeship and friendliness. As the mealprogressed he found himself weighing her against the others; notingtheir coarseness and their awkwardness and their airs and attitudes;and seeing her so different that she might not have belonged to them atall. Of all that strange assortment in the house at Fiddler's Green shewas the one who seemed properly to belong there.
They were getting to the end of the meal when a servant entered andspoke a little diffidently to Bessie, after a glance at old Meggison."Mr. Quarle is here, Miss."
Bessie sprang to her feet at once. "Oh, please bring him in," sheexclaimed; "how delightful that he should have come to-night. You knowMr. Quarle, Mr. Byfield?" she added.
"Oh, yes--I know him quite well," said Gilbert.
"Quarle has nothing to do with us now; he's an unpleasant reminderof things I endeavour to forget," said Meggison peevishly. "Secondvisit, too; what's he think he's going to get out of us? . . . ah!--mydear Quarle--delighted to see you," he broke off hurriedly as Simoncame into the room, looking sharply about him. "I was just sayingto my daughter Bessie how very charming . . . a place for Mr. Quarlethere; what the devil are you standing staring for; don't you know yourduties?"
Simon Quarle cocked an eyebrow comically at sight of Byfield, and then,with a nod to the others, came round the table, and shook hands withBessie. "I'll find room here, thank you," he said, as he pulled up achair beside the girl--"no one need disturb themselves on my account.Well--and how's the little girl getting on?" he asked, taking no noticeof anyone else.
Gilbert Byfield watched him, wondering a little what the object of thisvisit might be. He noted the old man's tenderness for the girl--thechange in his tones when he spoke to her; he saw also, or thought hesaw, a new grimness about the lines of his mouth. He knew in his ownmind that something must be settled this night; felt certain that withthis man in the house the bubble must be pricked, and poor Bessie beshown in a moment this new and horrible game of make-believe in whichshe had really had no part. Looking at the happy face of the girl, heseemed more than ever to separate her from those who had plotted, withher for a shield, and who had not hesitated to bite the hand that fedthem.
"You didn't let us know you were coming," hinted Daniel Meggison.
"I didn't think it necessary," retorted Quarle, with a momentary glanceat him. "Now I beg that just as soon as you have finished--all ofyou--you will go away and leave me with my young hostess," he added."I've a great deal to say to Bessie--and I'm desperately hungry--and Iknow that I'm very late. No ceremony, I beg."
"You seem quite to take possession of the house, Mr. Quarle," saidDaniel Meggison, half rising from his chair.
"Exactly. Just as you have done, you know," said Simon Quarle, with agrim nod at him. "Don't you worry; Bessie understands."
It was curious to see how in that ill-assorted household one andanother of them took the hint and went away. First Mrs. Stocker, witha toss of the head and much rustling of skirts; followed obedientlyby her husband. Then Daniel--followed at a grumbling interval by hisson. So that at the last Bessie sat between Simon Quarle and GilbertByfield. And from one to the other, before her unconscious eyes, sweptmeaning glances; glances that meant appeal on the part of Gilbert, anddetermination on the part of Quarle.
"I'm going to talk to your father," said Gilbert at last, rising fromhis place, and looking squarely at Quarle. "We've not had a chattogether yet."
"We'll excuse you," said Quarle gruffly. Then, as the younger man wasmoving towards the door, he got up quickly and followed him. "I wonderwhat they're doing about my bag," he began; and then, as he thrustGilbert into the hall in front of him--and closed the door--"Well--soyou've made up your mind that something must be done--eh?"
"Yes--something must be done--and to-night," whispered Gilbert quickly."I can promise you that at least."
"Good." Quarle nodded, and turned to go back into the room. "I'm gladyou see the necessity for that. Don't spare them."
"I want only to spare _her_," said Gilbert.
Mr. Daniel Meggison proved to be as difficult of capture as before.In the drawing-room he was talking of the value and the security ofhaving a stake in the country to his sister and brother-in-law; on theappearance of Gilbert he button-holed Mr. Stocker, and began rapidly toask his candid opinion concerning the work of our parish councils, andwhether he did not think they required new blood--as, for instance, newblood from London, in the shape of a man who had had experience of thevicissitudes of life, and who knew what real government meant? Gilbertremaining, and looking at him steadily, he began to see that the matterhad to be brought to a crisis, and could not much longer be delayed.Therefore he turned with an air of forced geniality to Byfield, andactually took him by the arm.
"You have something to talk to me about, Mr. Byfield?" he demandedwith sublime assurance "As a matter of fact, too, I should like youradvice on a little question of investments; I am a child in thesematters--save accidentally. Suppose we have a bit of a talk--eh?"
"Nothing would please me better," Gilbert answered.
"Then, if my dear sister will excuse us--we will go and smoke afriendly cigar, and have a dry business chat," sa
id Meggison, drawingGilbert towards the door. "I want some sound advice."
They went towards a small room which had been used by Gilbert as asmoking-room; it was empty, although a lamp burned on a small tableat one end. Meggison closed the door, and went into the room; threwhimself on to a couch, and looked up smilingly at the other man. Hisface was rather white, and he had something of the air of a schoolboyabout to receive punishment that he knew he had deserved; but hismanner was as jaunty as ever.
"Now, sir--what do you want with me?" he asked.
"Bluntly--an account of your stewardship, Meggison," said Gilbert. "Ineed hardly remind you of the facts; you were to come down here withyour daughter; you were to give her that rest and that holiday she sosorely needed."
"Will you deny that she is having that rest and that holiday?" askedMeggison, with a grin. "Isn't there a wonderful change in her?"
"I thank God--yes," said Gilbert Byfield steadily. "But it is not ofthat I am speaking; I am referring to the fashion in which you areflinging money broadcast--you and your dissolute son; I refer to thispersistent fairy-tale that you have a great fortune, and that you arehere for the remainder of your life. You have sold up the house inArcadia Street; you are living on my charity."
"My good man," retorted Meggison, with a new insolence in hisvoice--"you appear to forget all the circumstances; more than that,you appear to forget what manner of man you are dealing with; you losesight of the fact that you are dealing with _me_. If you wanted yourabsurd scheme carried out in any halting cheeseparing fashion, youshould have gone to a meaner man; you should not have come to DanielMeggison. I am a creature of imagination; I soar, sir; I refuse to beconfined or held back. I think only of my daughter, who in your ownwords was to have a much-needed rest and holiday; I have given herboth. I let facts and results speak for themselves."
"I see it is quite useless to argue the matter with you," said Gilbert."I intend to take the matter into my own hands; I intend to let Bessieunderstand the true facts of the case, so that she may know exactlywhere she stands. And I intend to do that to-night."
Mr. Daniel Meggison rose to his feet, and thrust his hands in hispockets, and nodded brightly. "Splendid notion! I applaud it. Do it byall means; don't think of me in the least. Go to my daughter, and sayto her--'I have to tell you that your father, for your dear sake, haslied to you, and cheated you, and made a fool of you. Egged on by a manwith whom, under ordinary circumstances, he would have had nothing todo, your poor old father has tried to do something for you at last--tomake your life easier.' Go to Bessie, and tell her that--make herunderstand that all her house of cards must topple down, and that shemust for the future loathe the man she now believes in and loves. Theway is easy; it only requires a very few words."
"You know I can't do that; you know you've got me hard and fast,because in front of you and all your scheming stands the girl who doesnot deserve to suffer. I must bring myself down, I suppose, to appealto you," said Gilbert. "I want you to release me; I want you to find away out of the tangle you have created for us all."
"And I say that I decline to do anything of the kind," said DanielMeggison. "I take my stand upon the happiness of my child; I raise mybanner for her sake, and I fight to my last breath!"
"And very nobly said, too!" A voice came from the further end of theroom, and there rose from the depths of an easy chair there, the backof which had been towards them, the long form of Aubrey Meggison. Heheld a sporting paper in his hands, and he now lounged forward, so asto put himself in a measure between the two men. "I don't always saythat I uphold the old man, mind you," he added--"but on this occasion Ithink he has spoken as only a father and a man could speak. I suppose,Mr. Byfield," went on the youth aggressively, as he tossed the paperinto the chair he had left--"I suppose it didn't occur to you thatthere might be such a thing--or such a being--as a man of the world todeal with--not an old man you could bully--eh?"
"I beg your pardon; in a sense I had forgotten you," said Gilbert,a little helplessly. "I quite understand that if only from motivesof policy alone you would take the side of your father. I've nothingfurther to say to either of you."
They were glancing triumphantly at each other--the father with a newfriendliness for the son--as Gilbert went out of the room. In the hallhe stumbled upon Simon Quarle; was seized upon by that gentleman withthe one inevitable question.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to settle the matter--once and for all--with the girl," saidGilbert; and with a new feeling that he was being goaded into thisthing went on to find her.
He found her, after some inquiries, just where he had expected her tobe; she was wandering alone in the warm summer evening in that newergarden that had so eclipsed the old one. For a little time they walkedside by side there; there seemed to be no actual need for words. He hadtold himself, as he came out of the house, that he would have done thisnight with the mad business; he told himself now, as he saw her facein the light of the stars, that it must go on. And even while he saidthat the natural man sprang up in him--the man who would not easily orlightly give way, and would no longer be robbed with impunity. Not inany spirit of meanness, but because of the dastardly fashion in whichthese people held out this innocent girl as their bait and their bribe.
Almost it seemed, in that quiet garden under the stars, that the twowere alone. So that presently they stopped, with hand strangely holdinghand; and it seemed almost that this new Bessie of the bright eyeswas a woman. Her dreams had come true; the friend who had told herthat they might some day come true was here with her, alone under theshining heavens. It was a matter of whispers--just the simple matterthat it always must be in such an hour.
"Little friend--are you very happy?" he whispered.
"Happier than I have ever been in all my life," she replied.
"Long ago, Bessie (or it seems long ago), in Arcadia Street we werefriends--in that poor old garden that was never a garden at all. I'ma very lonely man, Bessie, and it seems to me to-night that I want myfriend."
"Yes?" She looked up into his eyes; and seemed insensibly, in the duskof the garden, to creep nearer to him.
"I want you, Bessie; there was never a woman in this world that waslike you; you've stolen your way into my heart somehow. Bessie--ifto-night I asked you to leave all this, and for love's sake to comeaway with me--out into the big world--what would you say?"
"I could only say what my heart is saying now," she whispered. "Ishould say--yes."
"Would you? Are you sure?" She was warm and tender and fluttering inhis arms. "Are you sure?"
"Yes--because I love you," she breathed.
And so she tied again that strange tangled knot he had tried so hard tocut.