Part 49 (2/2)

”It's a deuced bad state of affairs, Charley. Have you thought of anything?”

”I've thought of suicide,” Charley answered, ”and made all the preliminary arrangements. I took out my razor-case, examined the edges, found the sharpest, and--put it carefully away again. I loaded all the chambers of my revolver, and locked it up. I sauntered by the cla.s.sic banks of the Serpentine, sleeping tranquilly in the rays of the sunset (that sounds like poetry, but I don't mean poetry). Of the three I think I prefer it, and if the worst comes to the worst, it's there still, and it's pleasant and cool.”

”How do your mother and sister take it?” Captain Hammond gloomily asked.

”My mother is one of those happy-go-lucky, apathetic sort of people who never break their hearts over anything. She said 'O dear me!'

several times, I believe, and cried a little. Trix hasn't time to 'take it' at all. She is absorbed all day in attending her father. The fit turns out not to be dangerous at present, but he lies in a sort of stupor, a lethargy from which nothing can rouse him. Of course our first step will be to return to New York immediately. Beggars--and I take it that's about what we are at present--have no business at Langham's.”

Captain Hammond opened his bearded lips as though to speak, thought better of it, replaced his cigar again between them in moody silence, and stared hard at nothing out of the window.

”I called this afternoon upon the London agent of the Cunard s.h.i.+ps,”

resumed Charley, ”and found that one sails in four days. Providentially two cabins remained untaken; I secured them at once. In four days, then, we sail. Meantime, old fellow, if you'll drop in and speak a word to mother and Trix, you will be doing a friendly deed. Poor souls!

they are awfully cut up.”

Captain Hammond started to his feet. He seized Charley's hand in a grip of iron. ”Old boy!” he began--he never got further. The torrent of eloquence dried up suddenly, and a shake of the hand that made Charley wince finished the sentence.

”I shall be fully occupied in the meantime,” Charley said, taking his hat and turning to go, ”and they'll be a great deal alone. If I can find time I'll run down to Ches.h.i.+re, and tell my cousin. As we may not meet again, I should like to say 'good-by.'” He departed.

There was no sleep that night in the Stuart apartments. Mr. Stuart was p.r.o.nounced out of danger and able to travel, but he still lay in that lethargic trance--not speaking at all, and seemingly not suffering.

Next day Charley started for Ches.h.i.+re.

”She doesn't deserve it,” his sister said bitterly; ”I wouldn't go if I were you. She has her lover--her fortune. What are we or our misfortunes to her? She has neither heart, nor grat.i.tude, nor affection. She isn't worth a thought, and never was--there!”

”I wouldn't be too hard upon her, Trix, if I were you,” her brother answered coolly. ”You would have taken Sir Victor yourself, you know, if you could have got him. I will go.”

He went. The long, bright summer day pa.s.sed; at six he was in Chester.

There was some delay in procuring a conveyance to Powyss Place, and the drive was a lengthy one. Twilight had entirely fallen, and lamps glimmered in the windows of the old stone mansion as he alighted.

The servant stared, as he ushered him in, at his pale face and dusty garments.

”You will tell Miss Darrell I wish to see her at once, and alone,” he said, slipping a s.h.i.+lling into the man's hand.

He took a seat in the familiar reception-room, and waited. Would she keep him long, he wondered--would she come to him--_would_ she come at all? Yes, he knew she would, let him send for her, married or single, when and how he might, he knew she would come.

She entered as the thought crossed his mind, hastily, with a soft silken rustle, a waft of perfume. He rose up and looked at her; so for the s.p.a.ce of five seconds they stood silently, face to face.

To the last hour of his life Charley Stuart remembered her, as he saw her then, and always with a sharp pang of the same pain.

She was dressed for a dinner party. She wore violet silk, trailing far behind her, violet shot with red. Her graceful shoulders rose up exquisitely out of the point lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, her arms sparkled in the lights. A necklace of amethysts set in cl.u.s.ters, with diamonds between, shone upon her neck; amethysts and diamonds were in her ears, and clasping the arms above the elbows. Her waving, dark hair was drawn back off her face, and crowned with an ivy wreath. The soft, abundant waxlights showered down upon her. So she stood, resplendent as a queen, radiant as a G.o.ddess. There was a look on Charley Stuart's face, a light in his gray eyes, very rare to see. He only bowed and stood aloof.

”I have surprised you, I am sure--interrupted you, I greatly fear. You will pardon both I know, when I tell you what has brought me here.”

In very few words he told her--the great tragedies of life are always easily told. They were ruined--he had engaged their pa.s.sage by the next steamer--he had merely run down as they were never likely to meet again--for the sake of old times, to say good-by.

Old times! Something rose in the girl's throat, and seemed to choke her. Oh, of all the base, heartless, mercenary, ungrateful wretches on earth, was there another so heartless, so ungrateful as she!

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