Part 27 (1/2)

When Leslie returned home from his office he found his wife awaiting him with the disdainful look upon her face which he had learned to hate.

”What's the matter now, Millicent? Has something upset your usually pacific temper?” he asked with a sneer.

”Yes,” was the direct answer. ”When you last asked my a.s.sistance you, as usual, lied to me. I helped you to trace your--your confederate, because you told me it was the only way to escape ruin. For once I believed you, which was blindly foolish of me. I met Mr. Thurston and learned from him how somebody had plotted to destroy his machinery. He did not know it was you, and I very nearly told him.”

”Don't be a fool, Millicent,” Leslie admonished. ”I'm sick of these displays of temper--they don't become you. I tell you I plotted nothing except to get my man into my own hands again. The other rascals exceeded their orders on their own responsibility. Oh, you would wear out any poor man's patience! Folks in my position don't do such childish things as hire people to upset wagons loaded with machinery.”

”I do not believe you,” replied Millicent, and Leslie laughed ironically.

”I don't know that it greatly matters whether you do or not. Have you any more such dutiful things to say?”

”Just this. One hears of honor among thieves, and it is evident you cannot rise even to that. You have once more tricked me, and henceforward I warn you that you must carry on your work in your own way. Further, if I hear of any more plotting to do Thurston injury, I shall at once inform him.”

”Then,” Leslie gripped her arm until his fingers left their mark on the soft white flesh, ”I warn you that it will be so much the worse for you. Good heavens, why don't you--but go, and don't tempt me to say what I feel greatly tempted to.”

Millicent shook off his grasp, moved slowly away, turning to fling back a bitter answer from the half-opened door.

”Confound her!” said Leslie, refilling the gla.s.s upon the table. ”Now, what the devil tempted me to ruin all my prospects by marrying that woman?”

CHAPTER XXI

REPARATION

”You will have to go,” said Henry Leslie, glancing sharply at his wife across the breakfast-table as he returned her an open letter which had lately arrived by the English mail. ”I hardly know where to find the money for your pa.s.sage out and home just now, and you will want new dresses--women always seem to. Still, we can't afford to miss an opportunity, and it may prove a good investment,” he added, reflectively.

Millicent sighed as she took the letter, and, ignoring her husband's words, read it through again. It had been written by a relative, a member of the legal profession, and requested her to return at once to England. The stern old man, who had reared her, was slowly dying, and had expressed an urgent wish to see her.

”Isn't that the man who wanted you to marry Thurston, and when you disappointed him washed his hands of both of you?” Leslie inquired.

”There were reasons why I hadn't the pleasure of duly making the acquaintance of your relatives, but I think you said he was tolerably wealthy, and, as he evidently desires a reconciliation, you must do your best to please him. Let me see. You might catch the next New York Cunarder or the Allan boat from Quebec.”

Millicent looked up at him angrily. She was not wholly heartless, and her kinsman had not only provided for her after her parents died in financial difficulties, but in his own austere fas.h.i.+on he had been kind to her. Accordingly, her husband's comments jarred upon her.

”I should certainly go, even if I had to travel by Colonist car and steerage,” she declared. ”I should do so if there were no hope of financial benefit, which is, after all, very uncertain, for Anthony Thurston is not the man to change his mind when he has once come to a determination. The fact that he is dying and asks for me is sufficient--though it is perhaps useless to expect you to believe it.”

”We must all die some day,” was the abstracted answer. ”Hardly an original observation, is it? But it would be folly to let such a chance pa.s.s, and I must try to spare you. If you really feel it, I sympathize with you, and had no intention of wounding your sensibilities, but as, unfortunately, circ.u.mstances force us to consider these questions practically, you will--well, you will do your best with the old man, Millicent. To put it so, you owe a duty to me.”

Leslie and his wife had by this time learned to see each other's real self, naked and stripped of all disguise, and the sight was not calculated to inspire either with superfluous delicacy. The man, however, overlooked the fact that his partner in life still clung to a last grace of sentiment, and could, on occasion, deceive herself.

”I owe you a duty! How have you discharged yours to me?” she said, reproachfully. ”Do not force me to oppose you, Harry, but if you are wise, go around to the depot and find out when the steamers sail.”

”Yes, my dear,” Leslie acquiesced with a smile, which he did not mean to be wholly ironical. ”Would it be any use for me to say that I shall miss you?”

”No,” answered Millicent, though she returned his smile. ”You really would not expect me to believe you. Still, if only because of the rareness of such civility, I rather like to hear you say so.”

Mrs. Leslie sailed in the first Cunarder, and duly arrived at a little station in the North of England where a dogcart was waiting to drive her to Crosbie Ghyll. She had known the man, who drove it long before, and he told her, with full details, how Anthony Thurston, having come down from an iron-working town to visit the owner of the dilapidated mansion had been wounded by a gun accident while shooting. The wound was not of itself serious, but the old man's health was failing, and he had not vitality enough to recover from the shock.

Meantime, while Millicent Leslie was driven across the bleak brown moorlands, Anthony Thurston lay in the great bare guest-chamber at Crosbie Ghyll. He had been a hard, determined man, a younger son who had made money in business, while his brothers died poor, clinging to the land, and it was with characteristic grimness that he was quietly awaiting his end. The narrow, deep-sunk window in front of him was open wide, though the evening breeze blew chilly from the fells, which rose blackly against an orange glow. Though he manifested no impatience, the sunset light beating in showed an expectant look in his eyes. A much younger man sat at a table close by and laid down the pen he held, when the other said:

”That will do, Halliday. Is there any sign of the dog-cart yet? You are sure she will come to-night?”