CHAPTER XXI
THE LETTER IS WRITTEN
But Stella's confidence did not live long. Mr. Hazlewood was a child atdeceptions; and day by day his anxieties increased. His friends arguedwith him--his folly and weakness were the themes--and he must needs repelthe argument though his thoughts echoed every word they used. Never was aman brought to such a piteous depth of misery by the practice of his owntheories. He sat by the hour at his desk, burying his face amongst hispapers if Dick came into the room, with a great show of occupation. Hecould hardly bear to contemplate the marriage of his son, yet day andnight he must think of it and search for expedients which might put anend to the trouble and let him walk free again with his head raised high.But there were only the two expedients. He must speak out his fears thatjustice had miscarried, and that device his vanity forbade; or he mustadopt Pettifer's suggestion, and from that he shrank almost as much. Hebegan to resent the presence of Stella Ballantyne and he showed it.Sometimes a friendliness, so excessive that it was almost hysterical,betrayed him; more usually a discomfort and constraint. He avoided herif by any means he could; if he could not quite avoid her an excuse ofbusiness was always on his lips.
"Your father hates me, Dick," she said. "He was my friend until I touchedhis own life. Then I was in the black books in a second."
Dick would not hear of it.
"You were never in the black books at all, Stella," he said, comfortingher as well as he could. "We knew that there would be a little struggle,didn't we? But the worst of that's over. You make friends daily."
"Not with your father, Dick. I go back with him. Ever since thatnight--it's three weeks ago now--when you took me home from LittleBeeding."
"No," cried Dick, but Stella nodded her head gloomily.
"Mr. Pettifer dined here that night. He's an enemy of mine."
"Stella," young Hazlewood remonstrated, "you see enemies everywhere," andupon that Stella broke out with a quivering troubled face.
"Is it wonderful? Oh, Dick, I couldn't lose you! A month ago--before thatnight--yes. Nothing had been said. But now! I couldn't, I couldn't! Ihave often thought it would be better for me to go right away and neversee you again. And--and I have tried to tell you something, Dick, ever somany times."
"Yes?" said Dick. He slipped his arm through hers and held her close tohim, as though to give her courage and security. "Yes, Stella?" and hestood very still.
"I mean," she said, looking down upon the ground, "that I have tried totell you that I wouldn't suffer so very much if we did part, but I nevercould do it. My lips shook so, I never could speak the words." Then hervoice ran up into a laugh. "To think of your living in a house withsomebody else! Oh no!"
"You need have no fear of that, Stella."
They were in the garden of Little Beeding and they walked across themeadow towards her cottage, talking very earnestly. Mr. Hazlewood waswatching them secretly from the window of the library. He saw that Dickwas pleading and she hanging in doubt; and a great wave of anger surgedover him that Dick should have to plead to her at all, he who was givingeverything--even his own future.
"King's Bench Walk," he muttered to himself, taking from the drawer ofhis writing-table a slip of paper on which he had written the addresslest he should forget it. "Yes, that's the address," and he looked at itfor a long time very doubtfully. Suppose that his suspicions werecorrect! His heart sank at the supposition. Surely he would be justifiedin setting any trap. But he shut the drawer violently and turned awayfrom his writing-table. Even his pamphlets had become trivial in hiseyes. He was brought face to face with real passions and real facts, hehad been fetched out from his cloister and was blinking miserably in afull measure of daylight. How long could he endure it, he wondered?
The question was settled for him that very evening. He and his son weretaking their coffee on a paved terrace by the lawn after dinner. It was adark quiet night, with a clear sky of golden stars. Across the meadow thelights shone in the windows of Stella's cottage.
"Father," said Dick, after they had sat in a constrained silence for alittle while, "why don't you like Stella any longer?"
The old man blustered in reply:
"A lawyer's question, Richard. I object to it very strongly. You assumethat I have ceased to like her."
"It's extremely evident," said Dick drily. "Stella has noticed it."
"And complained to you of course," cried Mr. Hazlewood resentfully.
"Stella doesn't complain," and then Dick leaned over and spoke in thefull quiet voice which his father had grown to dread. There rang in it somuch of true feeling and resolution.
"There can be no backing down now. We are both agreed upon that, aren'twe? Imagine for an instant that I were first to blazon my trust in awoman whom others suspected by becoming engaged to her and thenendorsed their suspicions by breaking off the engagement! Suppose thatI were to do that!"
Mr. Hazlewood allowed his longings to lead him astray. For amoment he hoped.
"Well?" he asked eagerly.
"You wouldn't think very much of me, would you? Not you nor any man. Acur--that would be the word, the only word, wouldn't it?"
But Mr. Hazlewood refused to answer that question. He looked behind himto make sure that none of the servants were within hearing. Then helowered his voice to a whisper.
"What if Stella has deceived you, Dick?"
It was too dark for him to see the smile upon his son's face, but heheard the reply, and the confidence of it stung him to exasperation.
"She hasn't done that," said Dick. "If you are sure of nothing else,sir, you may be quite certain of what I am telling you now. She hasn'tdone that."
He remained silent for a few moments waiting for any rejoinder, andgetting none he continued:
"There's something else I wanted to speak to you about."
"Yes?"
"The date of our marriage."
The old man moved sharply in his chair.
"There's no hurry, Richard. You must find out how it will affect yourcareer. You have been so long at Little Beeding where we hear verylittle from the outer world. You must consult your Colonel."
Dick Hazlewood would not listen to the argument.
"My marriage is my affair, sir, not my Colonel's. I cannot take advice,for we both of us know what it would be. And we both of us value it atits proper price, don't we?"
Mr. Hazlewood could not reply. How often had he inveighed againstthe opinions of the sleek worldly people who would add up advantagesin a column and leave out of their consideration the merits of thehigher life.
"It would not be fair to Stella were we to ask her to wait," Dickresumed. "Any delay--think what will be made of it! A month or six weeksfrom now, that gives us time enough."
The old man rose abruptly from his chair with a vague word that he wouldthink of it and went into the house. He saw again the lovers as he hadseen them this afternoon walking side by side slowly towards StellaBallantyne's cottage; and the picture even in the retrospect wasintolerable. The marriage must not take place--yet it was so near. Amonth or six weeks! Mr. Hazlewood took up his pen and wrote the letter toHenry Thresk at last, as Robert Pettifer had always been sure that hewould do. It was the simplest kind of letter and took but a minute in thewriting. It mentioned only his miniatures and invited Henry Thresk toLittle Beeding to see them, as more than one stranger had been askedbefore. The answers which Thresk had given to the questions in _Notes andQueries_ were pleaded as an introduction and Thresk was invited to choosehis own day and remain at Little Beeding for the night. The reply came byreturn of post. Thresk would come to Little Beeding on the Fridayafternoon of the next week. He was in town, for Parliament was sittinglate that year. He would reach Little Beeding soon after five so that hemight have an opportunity of seeing the miniatures by daylight. Mr.Hazlewood hurried over with the news to Robert Pettifer. His spirits hadrisen at a bound. Already he saw the neighbourhood freed from thedisturbing presence of Stella Ballantyne and himself cheerfully resuminghis multifari
ous occupations.
Robert Pettifer, however, spoke in quite another strain.
"I am not so sure as you, Hazlewood. The points which trouble me are verypossibly capable of quite simple explanations. I hope for my part thatthey will be so explained."
"You hope it?" cried Mr. Hazlewood.
"Yes. I want Dick to marry," said Robert Pettifer.
Mr. Hazlewood was not, however, to be discouraged. He drove back to hishouse counting the days which must pass before Thresk's arrival andwondering how he should manage to conceal his elation from the keeneyes of his son. But he found that there was no need for him totrouble himself on that point, for this very morning at luncheon Dicksaid to him:
"I think that I'll run up to town this afternoon, father. I might bethere for a day or two."
Mr. Hazlewood was delighted. No other proposal could have fitted in sowell with his scheme. The mere fact that Dick was away would start peopleat the pleasant business of conjecturing mishaps and quarrels. Perhapsindeed the lovers _had_ quarrelled. Perhaps Richard had taken his adviceand was off to consult his superiors. Mr. Hazlewood scanned his son'sface eagerly but learnt nothing from it; and he was too wary to ask anyquestions.
"By all means, Richard," he said carelessly, "go to London! You will beback by next Friday, I suppose."
"Oh yes, before that. I shall stay at my own rooms, so if you want me youcan send me a telegram."
Dick Hazlewood had a small flat of his own in some Mansions atWestminster which had seen very little of him that summer.
"Thank you, Richard," said the old man. "But I shall get on very well,and a few days change will no doubt do you good."
Dick grinned at his father and went off that afternoon without a word offarewell to Stella Ballantyne. Mr. Hazlewood stood in the hall and sawhim go with a great relief at his heart. Everything at last seemed to beworking out to advantage. He could not but remember how so very fewweeks ago he had been urgent that Richard should spend his summer atLittle Beeding and lend a hand in the noble work of defending StellaBallantyne against ignorance and unreason. But the twinge only lasted amoment. He had made a mistake, as all men occasionally do--yes, evensagacious and thoughtful people like himself. And the mistake was alreadybeing repaired. He looked across the meadow that night at the lightedblinds of Stella's windows and anticipated an evening when those windowswould be dark and the cottage without an inhabitant.
"Very soon," he murmured to himself, "very soon." He had not one singlethrob of pity for her now, not a single speculation whither she would goor what she would make of her life. His own defence of her had now becomea fault of hers. He wished her no harm, he argued, but in a week's timethere must be no light shining behind those blinds.
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