FullReads

“My dear,” said I, “’twas to-night that you promised me your answer, and to-night you observe in me alike your grandfather and your brother’s murderer.”

VII

Lady Allonby fell to wringing her hands, but Dorothy had knelt beside the prostrate form and was inspecting the ravages of my fratricidal sword. “Oh, fy! fy!” says she immediately, and wrinkles her saucy nose; “had none of you the sense to perceive that Gerald was tipsy? And as for the wound, ’tis only a scratch here on the left shoulder. Get water, somebody.” And her command being obeyed, she cleansed the hurt composedly and bandaged it with the ruffle of her petticoat.

Meanwhile we hulking men stood thick about her, fidgeting and foolishly gaping like a basket of fish; and presently a sibilance of relief went about our circle as Gerald opened his eyes. “Sister,” says he, with a profoundly tragic face, “remember–remember that I perished to preserve the honor of our family.”

“To preserve a fiddlestick!” said my adored Dorothy. And, rising, she confronted me, a tinted statuette of decision. “Now, Frank,” says she, “I would like to know the meaning of this nonsense.”

And thereupon, for the second time, I recounted the dreadful and huddled action of the night.

When I had ended, “The first thing,” says she, “is to let Grandmother out of that room. And the second is to show me the Parson.” This was done; the Dowager entered in an extremity of sulkiness, and the Parson, on being pointed out, lowered his eyes and intensified his complexion.

“As I anticipated,” says my charmer, “you are, one and all, a parcel of credulous infants. ‘Tis a parson, indeed, but merely the parson out of Vanbrugh’s Relapse; only last Friday, sir, we heartily commended your fine performance. Why, Frank, the man is one of the play-actors.”

“I fancy,” Mr. Vanringham here interpolates, “that I owe the assembled company some modicum of explanation. ‘Tis true that at the beginning of our friendship I had contemplated matrimony with our amiable Marchioness, but, I confess, ’twas the lady’s property rather than her person which was the allure. And reflection dissuaded me; a legal union left me, a young and not unhandsome man, irrevocably fettered to an old woman; whereas a mock-marriage afforded an eternal option to compound the match–for a consideration–with the lady’s relatives, to whom, I had instinctively divined, her alliance with me would prove distasteful. Accordingly I had availed myself of my colleague’s skill [Footnote: I witnessed this same Quarmby’s hanging in 1754, and for a burglary, I think, with an extraordinary relish.–F.A.] in the portrayal of clerical parts rather than resort to any parson whose authority was unrestricted by the footlights. And accordingly–“

“And accordingly my marriage,” I interrupted, “is not binding?”

“I can assure you,” he replied, “that you might trade your lawful right in the lady for a twopenny whistle and not lose by the bargain.”

“And what about my marriage?” says the Marchioness–“the marriage which was never to be legalized?–’twas merely that you might sell me afterward, like so much mutton, was it, you jumping-jack–!”

But I spare you her ensuing gloss upon this text.

The man heard her through, without a muscle twitching. “It is more than probable,” he conceded, “that I have merited each and every fate your Ladyship is pleased to invoke. Indeed, I consider the extent of your distresses to be equaled only by that of your vocabulary. Yet by ordinary the heart of woman is not obdurate, and upon one lady here I have some claim–“

Dorothy had drawn away from him, with an odd and frightened cry. “Not upon me, sir! I never saw you except across the footlights. You know I never saw you except across the footlights, Mr. Vanringham!”

Fixedly he regarded her, with a curious yet not unpleasing smile. “I am the more unfortunate,” he said, at last. “Nay, ’twas to Lady Allonby I addressed my appeal.”

The person he named had been whispering with George Erwyn, but now she turned toward the actor. “Heavens!” said Lady Allonby, “to think I should be able to repay you this soon! La, of course, you are at liberty, Mr. Vanringham, and we may treat the whole series of events as a frolic suited to the day. For I am under obligations to you, and, besides, your punishment would breed a scandal, and, above all, anything is preferable to being talked about in the wrong way.”

Having reasons of my own, I was elated by the upshot of this rather remarkable affair. Yet in justice to my own perspicacity, I must declare that it occurred to me, at this very time, that Mr. Vanringham had proven himself not entirely worthy of unlimited confidence, I reflected, however, that I had my instructions, and that, if a bad king may prove a good husband, a knave may surely carry a letter with fidelity, the more so if it be to his interest to do it.

VIII

I rode back to Tunbridge in the coach, with Dorothy at my side and with Gerald recumbent upon the front seat,–where, after ten minutes’ driving the boy very philanthropically fell asleep.

“And you have not,” I immediately asserted–“after all, you have not given me the answer which was to-night to decide whether I be of all mankind the most fortunate or the most miserable. And ’tis nearing twelve.”

“What choice have I?” she murmured; “after to-night is it not doubly apparent that you need some one to take care of you? And, besides, this is your eighth proposal, and the ninth I had always rather meant to accept, because I have been in love with you for two whole weeks.”

My heart stood still. And shall I confess that for an instant my wits, too, paused to play the gourmet with my emotions? She sat beside me in the darkness, you understand, waiting, mine to touch. And everywhere the world was filled with beautiful, kind people, and overhead God smiled down upon His world, and a careless seraph had left open the door of Heaven, so that quite a deal of its splendor flooded the world about us. And the snoring of Gerald was now inaudible because of a stately music which was playing somewhere.

“Frank–!” she breathed. And I noted that her voice was no less tender than her lips.