Part 49 (1/2)

'You are quite sure you know between whom the love lies now--eh?'

Ethelberta asked in a sarcastic whisper of Lord Mountclere.

'I am--beyond a doubt,' murmured the anxious n.o.bleman; he feared that look of hers, which was not less dominant than irresistible.

Some additional moments given to thought on the circ.u.mstances rendered Ethelberta still more indignant and intractable. She went out at the door by which they had entered, along the pa.s.sage, and down the stairs. A shuffling footstep followed, but she did not turn her head. When they reached the bottom of the stairs the carriage had gone, their exit not being expected till two hours later. Ethelberta, nothing daunted, swept along the pavement and down the street in a turbulent prance, Lord Mountclere trotting behind with a jowl reduced to a mere nothing by his concern at the discourtesy into which he had been lured by jealous whisperings.

'My dearest--forgive me; I confess I doubted you--but I was beside myself,' came to her ears from over her shoulder. But Ethelberta walked on as before.

Lord Mountclere sighed like a poet over a ledger. 'An old man--who is not very old--naturally torments himself with fears of losing--no, no--it was an innocent jest of mine--you will forgive a joke--hee-hee?' he said again, on getting no reply.

'You had no right to mistrust me!'

'I do not--you did not blench. You should have told me before that it was your sister and not yourself who was entangled with him.'

'You brought me to Melchester on purpose to confront him!'

'Yes, I did.'

'Are you not ashamed?'

'I am satisfied. It is better to know the truth by any means than to die of suspense; better for us both--surely you see that?'

They had by this time got to the end of a long street, and into a deserted side road by which the station could be indirectly reached.

Picotee appeared in the distance as a mere distracted speck of girlhood, following them because not knowing what else to do in her sickness of body and mind. Once out of sight here, Ethelberta began to cry.

'Ethelberta,' said Lord Mountclere, in an agony of trouble, 'don't be vexed! It was an inconsiderate trick--I own it. Do what you will, but do not desert me now! I could not bear it--you would kill me if you were to leave me. Anything, but be mine.'

Ethelberta continued her way, and drying her eyes entered the station, where, on searching the time-tables, she found there would be no train for Anglebury for the next two hours. Then more slowly she turned towards the town again, meeting Picotee and keeping in her company.

Lord Mountclere gave up the chase, but as he wished to get into the town again, he followed in the same direction. When Ethelberta had proceeded as far as the Red Lion Hotel, she turned towards it with her companion, and being shown to a room, the two sisters shut themselves in. Lord Mountclere paused and entered the White Hart, the rival hotel to the Red Lion, which stood in an adjoining street.

Having secluded himself in an apartment here, walked from window to window awhile, and made himself generally uncomfortable, he sat down to the writing materials on the table, and concocted a note:--

'WHITE HART HOTEL.

'MY DEAR MRS. PETHERWIN,--You do not mean to be so cruel as to break your plighted word to me? Remember, there is no love without much jealousy, and lovers are ever full of sighs and misgiving. I have owned to as much contrition as can reasonably be expected. I could not endure the suspicion that you loved another.--Yours always,

'MOUNTCLERE.'

This he sent, watching from the window its progress along the street. He awaited anxiously for an answer, and waited long. It was nearly twenty minutes before he could hear a messenger approaching the door. Yes--she had actually sent a reply; he prized it as if it had been the first encouragement he had ever in his life received from woman:--

'MY LORD' (wrote Ethelberta),--'I am not prepared at present to enter into the question of marriage at all. The incident which has occurred affords me every excuse for withdrawing my promise, since it was given under misapprehensions on a point that materially affects my happiness.

'E. PETHERWIN.'

'Ho-ho-ho--Miss Hoity-toity!' said Lord Mountclere, trotting up and down.

But, remembering it was her June against his November, this did not last long, and he frantically replied:--

'MY DARLING,--I cannot release you--I must do anything to keep my treasure. Will you not see me for a few minutes, and let bygones go to the winds?'