The Man Between: An International Romance

by Amelia E. Barr

  CHAPTER XI

  TRADE and commerce have their heroes as well as arms, and the strugglein which Tyrrel Rawdon at last plucked victory from apparent failure wasas arduous a campaign as any military operations could have afforded. Ithad entailed on him a ceaseless, undaunted watch over antagonists richand powerful; and a fight for rights which contained not only his ownfortune, but the honor of his father, so that to give up a fraction ofthem was to turn traitor to the memory of a parent whom he believedto be beyond all doubt or reproach. Money, political power, civicinfluence, treachery, bribery, the law's delay and many otherhindrances met him on every side, but his heart was encouraged daily toperseverance by love's tenderest sympathy. For he told Ethel everything,and received both from her fine intuitions and her father's legal skillpriceless comfort and advice. But at last the long trial was over, themarriage day was set, and Tyrrel, with all his rights conceded, washonorably free to seek the happiness he had safeguarded on every side.

  It was a lovely day in the beginning of May, nearly two years aftertheir first meeting, when Tyrrel reached New York. Ethel knew at whathour his train would arrive, she was watching and listening for hisstep. They met in each other's arms, and the blessed hours of that happyevening were an over-payment of delight for the long months of theirseparation.

  In the morning Ethel was to introduce her lover to Madam Rawdon, andside by side, almost hand in hand, they walked down the avenue together.Walked? They were so happy they hardly knew whether their feet touchedearth or not. They had a constant inclination to clasp hands, to run aslittle children run; They wished to smile at everyone, to bid all theworld good morning. Madam had resolved to be cool and careful in heradvances, but she quickly found herself unable to resist the sight ofso much love and hope and happiness. The young people together took herheart by storm, and she felt herself compelled to express an interest intheir future, and to question Tyrrel about it.

  "What are you going to do with yourself or make of yourself?" she askedTyrrel one evening when they were sitting together. "I do hope you'llfind some kind of work. Anything is better than loafing about clubs andsuch like places."

  "I am going to study law with Judge Rawdon. My late experience hastaught me its value. I do not think I shall loaf in his office."

  "Not if he is anywhere around. He works and makes others work. Lawyeringis a queer business, but men can be honest in it if they want to."

  "And, grandmother," said Ethel, "my father says Tyrrel has a wonderfulgift for public speaking. He made a fine speech at father's club lastnight. Tyrrel will go into politics."

  "Will he, indeed? Tyrrel is a wonder. If he manages to walk his shoesstraight in the zigzaggery ways of the law, he will be one of that grandbreed called 'exceptions.' As for politics, I don't like them, far fromit. Your grandfather used to say they either found a man a rascal ormade him one. However, I'm ready to compromise on law and politics. Iwas afraid with his grand voice he would set up for a tenor."

  Tyrrel laughed. "I did once think of that role," he said.

  "I fancied that. Whoever taught you to use your voice knew a thing ortwo about singing. I'll say that much."

  "My mother taught me."

  "Never! I wonder now!"

  "She was a famous singer. She was a great and a good woman. I owe herfor every excellent quality there is in me."

  "No, you don't. You have got your black eyes and hair her way,I'll warrant that, but your solid make-up, your pluck and grit andperseverance is the Rawdon in you. Without Rawdon you would verylikely now be strutting about some opera stage, playing at kings andlovemaking."

  "As it is----"

  "As it is, you will be lord consort of Rawdon Manor, with a silver mineto back you."

  "I am sorry about the Manor," said Tyrrel. "I wish the dear old Squirewere alive to meet Ethel and myself."

  "To be sure you do. But I dare say that he is glad now to have passedout of it. Death is a mystery to those left, but I have no doubt itis satisfying to those who have gone away. He died as he lived, veryproperly; walked in the garden that morning as far as the strawberrybeds, and the gardener gave him the first ripe half-dozen in a youngcabbage leaf, and he ate them like a boy, and said they tasted asif grown in Paradise, then strolled home and asked Joel to shake thepillows on the sofa in the hall, laid himself down, shuffled his headeasy among them, and fell on sleep. So Death the Deliverer found him. Agood going home! Nothing to fear in it."

  "Ethel tells me that Mr. Mostyn is now living at Mostyn Hall."

  "Yes, he married that girl he would have sold his soul for and took herthere, four months only after her husband's death. When I was young hedurst not have done it, the Yorkshire gentry would have cut them both."

  "I think," said Tyrrel, "American gentlemen of to-day felt much thesame. Will Madison told me that the club cut him as soon as Mrs.Stanhope left her husband. He went there one day after it was known, andno one saw him; finally he walked up to McLean, and would have sat down,but McLean said, 'Your company is not desired, Mr. Mostyn.' Mostyn saidsomething in re-ply, and McLean answered sternly, 'True, we are noneof us saints, but there are lines the worst of us will not pass; andif there is any member of this club willing to interfere between abridegroom and his bride, I would like to kick him out of it.'Mostyn struck the table with some exclamation, and McLean continued,'Especially when the wronged husband is a gentleman of such stainlesscharacter and unsuspecting nature as Basil Stanhope--a clergyman also!Oh, the thing is beyond palliation entirely!' And he walked away andleft Mostyn."

  "Well," said Madam, "if it came to kicking, two could play that game.Fred is no coward. I don't want to hear another word about them. Theywill punish each other without our help. Let them alone. I hope you arenot going to have a crowd at your wedding. The quietest weddings are theluckiest ones."

  "About twenty of our most intimate friends are invited to the church,"said Ethel. "There will be no reception until we return to New York inthe fall."

  "No need of fuss here, there will be enough when you reach Monk-Rawdon.The village will be garlanded and flagged, the bells ring-ing, and allyour tenants and retainers out to meet you."

  "We intend to get into our own home without anyone being aware of it.Come, Tyrrel, my dressmaker is waiting, I know. It is my wedding gown,dear Granny, and oh, so lovely!"

  "You will not be any smarter than I intend to be, miss. You are shut offfrom color. I can outdo you."

  "I am sure you can--and will. Here comes father. What can he want?" Theymet him at the door, and with a few laughing words left him with Madam.She looked curiously into his face and asked, "What is it, Edward?"

  "I suppose they have told you all the arrangements. They are verysimple. Did they say anything about Ruth?"

  "They never named her. They said they were going to Washington for aweek, and then to Rawdon Court. Ruth seems out of it all. Are you goingto turn her adrift, or present her with a few thousand dollars? She hasbeen a mother to Ethel. Something ought to be done for Ruth Bayard."

  "I intend to marry her."

  "I thought so."

  "She will go to her sister's in Philadelphia for a month 's preparation.I shall marry her there, and bring her home as my wife. She is a sweet,gentle, docile woman. She will make me happy."

  "Sweet, gentle, docile! Yes, that is the style of wife Rawdon menprefer. What does Ethel say?"

  "She is delighted. It was her idea. I was much pleased with herthoughtfulness. Any serious break in my life would now be a greatdiscomfort. You need not look so satirical, mother; I thought of Ruth'slife also."

  "Also an afterthought; but Ruth is gentle and docile, and she issatisfied, and I am satisfied, so then everything is proper and everyonecontent. Come for me at ten on Wednesday morning. I shall be ready. Norefreshments, I suppose. I must look after my own breakfast. Won't youfeel a bit shabby, Edward?" And then the look and handclasp between themturned every word into sweetness and good-will.

  And as Ethel regarded her marriage rather as a reli
gious rite thana social function, she objected to its details becoming in any sensepublic, and her desires were to be regarded. Yet everyone may imaginethe white loveliness of the bride, the joy of the bridegroom, thecalm happiness of the family breakfast, and the leisurely, quietleave-taking. The whole ceremony was the right note struck at thebeginning of a new life, and they might justly expect it would moveonward in melodious sequence.

  Within three weeks after their marriage they arrived at Rawdon Court. Itwas on a day and at an hour when no one was looking for them, andthey stepped into the lovely home waiting for them without outsideobservation. Hiring a carriage at the railway station, they dismissed itat the little bridge near the Manor House, and sauntered happily throughthe intervening space. The door of the great hall stood open, and thefire, which had been burning on its big hearth unquenched for morethan three hundred years, was blazing merrily, as if some hand had justreplenished it. On the long table the broad, white beaver hat of thedead Squire was lying, and his oak walking stick was beside it. No onehad liked to remove them. They remained just as he had put them down,that last, peaceful morning of his life.

  In a few minutes the whole household was aware of their home-coming, andbefore the day was over the whole neighborhood. Then there was no wayof avoiding the calls, the congratulations, and the entertainmentsthat followed, and the old Court was once more the center of a splendidhospitality. Of course the Tyrrel-Rawdons were first on the scene, andEthel was genuinely glad to meet again the good-natured Mrs. Nicholas.No one could give her better local advice, and Ethel quickly discoveredthat the best general social laws require a local interpretation. Herhands were full, her heart full, she had so many interests to share, somany people to receive and to visit, and yet when two weeks passed andDora neither came nor wrote she was worried and dissatisfied.

  "Are the Mostyns at the Hall?" she asked Mrs. Nicholas at last. "I havebeen expecting Mrs. Mostyn every day, but she neither comes nor writesto me."

  "I dare say not. Poor little woman! I'll warrant she has been forbid todo either. If Mostyn thought she wanted to see you, he would watch dayand night to prevent her coming. He's turning out as cruel a man as hisfather was, and you need not say a word worse than that."

  "Cruel! Oh, dear, how dreadful! Men will drink and cheat and swear, buta cruel man seems so unnatural, so wicked."

  "To be sure, cruelty is the joy of devils. As I said to John Thomas whenwe heard about Mostyn's goings-on, we have got rid of the Wicked One,but the wicked still remain with us."

  This conversation having been opened, was naturally prolonged by therelation of incidents which had come through various sources to Mrs.Rawdon's ears, all of them indicating an almost incredible system ofpetty tyranny and cruel contradiction. Ethel was amazed, and finallyangry at what she heard. Dora was her countrywoman and her friend;she instantly began to express her sympathy and her intention ofinterfering.

  "You had better neither meddle nor make in the matter," answered Mrs.Rawdon. "Our Lucy went to see her, and gave her some advice aboutmanaging Yorkshiremen. And as she was talking Mostyn came in, and was asrude as he dared to be. Then Lucy asked him 'if he was sick.' She said,'All the men in the neighborhood, gentle and simple, were talking abouthim, and that it wasn't a pleasant thing to be talked about in theway they were doing it. You must begin to look more like yourself, Mr.Mostyn; it is good advice I am giving you,' she added; and Mostyn toldher he would look as he felt, whether it was liked or not liked.And Lucy laughed, and said, 'In that case he would have to go to hislooking-glass for company.' Well, Ethel, there was a time to joy adevil after Lucy left, and some one of the servants went on their ownresponsibility for a doctor; and Mostyn ordered him out of the house,and he would not go until he saw Mrs. Mostyn; and the little woman wasforced to come and say 'she was quite well,' though she was sobbing allthe time she spoke. Then the doctor told Mostyn what he thought, andthere is a quarrel between them every time they meet."

  But Ethel was not deterred by these statements; on the contrary, theystimulated her interest in her friend. Dora needed her, and the oldfeeling of protection stirred her to interference. At any rate, shecould call and see the unhappy woman; and though Tyrrel was opposed tothe visit, and thought it every way unwise, Ethel was resolved tomake it. "You can drive me there," she said, "then go and see JusticeManningham and call for me in half an hour." And this resolution wasstrengthened by a pitiful little note received from Dora just after herdecision. "Mostyn has gone to Thirsk," it said; "for pity's sake comeand see me about two o'clock this afternoon."

  The request was promptly answered. As the clock struck two Ethel crossedthe threshold of the home that might have been hers. She shuddered atthe thought. The atmosphere of the house was full of fear and gloom, thefurniture dark and shabby, and she fancied the wraiths of old forgottencrimes and sorrows were gliding about the sad, dim rooms and stairways.Dora rose in a passion of tears to welcome her, and because time wasshort instantly began her pitiful story.

  "You know how he adored me once," she said; "would you believe it,Ethel, we were not two weeks married when he began to hate me. Hedragged me through Europe in blazing heat and blinding snows when I wassick and unfit to move. He brought me here in the depth of winter, andwhen no one called on us he blamed me; and from morning till night, andsometimes all night long, he taunts and torments me. After he heard thatyou had bought the Manor he lost all control of himself. He will not letme sleep. He walks the floor hour after hour, declaring he could havehad you and the finest manor in England but for a cat-faced womanlike me. And he blames me for poor Basil's death--says we murderedhim together, and that he sees blood on my hands." And she looked withterror at her small, thin hands, and held them up as if to protestagainst the charge. When she next spoke it was to sob out, "Poor Basil!He would pity me! He would help me! He would forgive me! He knows nowthat Mostyn was, and is, my evil genius."

  "Do not cry so bitterly, Dora, it hurts me. Let us think. Is therenothing you can do?"

  "I want to go to mother." Then she drew Ethel's head close to her andwhispered a few words, and Ethel answered, "You poor little one, youshall go to your mother. Where is she?"

  "She will be in London next week, and I must see her. He will not let mego, but go I must if I die for it. Mrs. John Thomas Rawdon told me whatto do, and I have been following her advice."

  Ethel did not ask what it was, but added,

  "If Tyrrel and I can help you, send for us. We will come. And, Dora,do stop weeping, and be brave. Remember you are an American woman. Yourfather has often told me how you could ride with Indians or cowboysand shoot with any miner in Colorado. A bully like Mostyn is always acoward. Lift up your heart and stand for every one of your rights. Youwill find plenty of friends to stand with you." And with the words shetook her by the hands and raised her to her feet, and looked at herwith such a beaming, courageous smile that Dora caught its spirit, andpromised to insist on her claims for rest and sleep.

  "When shall I come again, Dora?"

  "Not till I send for you. Mother will be in London next Wednesday atthe Savoy. I intend to leave here Wednesday some time, and may need you;will you come?"

  "Surely, both Tyrrel and I."

  Then the time being on a dangerous line they parted. But Ethel couldthink of nothing and talk of nothing but the frightful change in herfriend, and the unceasing misery which had produced it. Tyrrel sharedall her indignation. The slow torture of any creature was an intolerablecrime in his eyes, but when the brutality was exercised on a woman, andon a countrywoman, he was roused to the highest pitch of indignation.When Wednesday arrived he did not leave the house, but waited withEthel for the message they confidently expected. It came about fiveo'clock--urgent, imperative, entreating, "Come, for God's sake! He willkill me."

  The carriage was ready, and in half an hour they were at Mostyn Hall. Noone answered their summons, but as they stood listening and waiting,a shrill cry of pain and anger pierced the silence. It was followed byloud voices and a confuse
d noise--noise of many talking and exclaiming.Then Tyrrel no longer hesitated. He opened the door easily, and takingEthel on his arm, suddenly entered the parlor from which the clamorcame. Dora stood in the center of the room like an enraged pythoness,her eyes blazing with passion.

  "See!" she cried as Tyrrel entered the room--"see!" And she held outher arm, and pointed to her shoulder from which the lace hung in shreds,showing the white flesh, red and bruised, where Mostyn had gripped her.Then Tyrrel turned to Mostyn, who was held tightly in the grasp ofhis gardener and coachman, and foaming with a rage that rendered hisexplanation almost inarticulate, especially as the three women servantsgathered around their mistress added their railing and invectives to thegeneral confusion.

  "The witch! The cat-faced woman!" he screamed. "She wants to go to hermother! Wants to play the trick she killed Basil Stanhope with! Sheshall not! She shall not! I will kill her first! She is mad! I willsend her to an asylum! She is a little devil! I will send her to hell!Nothing is bad enough--nothing----"

  "Mr. Mostyn," said Tyrrel.

  "Out of my house! What are you doing here? Away! This is my house! Outof it immediately!"

  "This man is insane," said Tyrrel to Dora. "Put on your hat and cloak,and come home with us."

  "I am waiting for Justice Manningham," she answered with a calmsubsidence of passion that angered Mostyn more than her reproaches."I have sent for him. He will be here in five minutes now. Thatbrute"--pointing to Mostyn--"must be kept under guard till I reach mymother. The magistrate will bring a couple of constables with him."

  "This is a plot, then! You hear it! You! You, Tyrrel Rawdon, and you,Saint Ethel, are in it, all here on time. A plot, I say! Let me loosethat I may strangle the cat-faced creature. Look at her hands, they arealready bloody!"

  At these words Dora began to sob passionately, the servants, one andall, to comfort her, or to abuse Mostyn, and in the height of the hubbubJustice Manningham entered with two constables behind him.

  "Take charge of Mr. Mostyn," he said to them, and as they laid their bighands on his shoulders the Justice added, "You will consider yourselfunder arrest, Mr. Mostyn."

  And when nothing else could cow Mostyn, he was cowed by the law. Hesank almost fainting into his chair, and the Justice listened to Dora'sstory, and looked indignantly at the brutal man, when she showed him hertorn dress and bruised shoulder. "I entreat your Honor," she said, "topermit me to go to my mother who is now in London." And he answeredkindly, "You shall go. You are in a condition only a mother can help andcomfort. As soon as I have taken your deposition you shall go."

  No one paid any attention to Mostyn's disclaimers and denials. TheJustice saw the state of affairs. Squire Rawdon and Mrs. Rawdontestified to Dora's ill-usage; the butler, the coachman, the stablemen,the cook, the housemaids were all eager to bear witness to the same; andMrs. Mostyn's appearance was too eloquent a plea for any humane man todeny her the mother-help she asked for.

  Though neighbors and members of the same hunt and clubs, the Justicetook no more friendly notice of Mostyn than he would have taken of anywife-beating cotton-weaver; and when all lawful preliminaries had beenarranged, he told Mrs. Mostyn that he should not take up Mr. Mostyn'scase till Friday; and in the interval she would have time to put herselfunder her mother's care. She thanked him, weeping, and in her old,pretty way kissed his hands, and "vowed he had saved her life, andshe would forever remember his goodness." Mostyn mocked at her"play-acting," and was sternly reproved by the Justice; and then Tyrreland Ethel took charge of Mrs. Mostyn until she was ready to leave forLondon.

  She was more nearly ready than they expected. All her trunks werepacked, and the butler promised to take them immediately to the railwaystation. In a quarter of an hour she appeared in traveling costume, withher jewels in a bag, which she carried in her hand. There was a trainfor London passing Monk-Rawdon at eight o'clock; and after JusticeManningham had left, the cook brought in some dinner, which Dora askedthe Rawdons to share with her. It was, perhaps, a necessary but apainful meal. No one noticed Mostyn. He was enforced to sit still andwatch its progress, which he accompanied with curses it would be a kindof sacrilege to write down. But no one answered him, and no one noticedthe orders he gave for his own dinner, until Dora rose to leave foreverthe house of bondage. Then she said to the cook:

  "See that those gentlemanly constables have something good to eat and todrink, and when they have been served you may give that man"--pointingto Mostyn--"the dinner of bread and water he has so often prescribedfor me. After my train leaves you are all free to go to your own homes.Farewell, friends!"

  Then Mostyn raved again, and finally tried his old loving terms. "Comeback to me, Dora," he called frantically. "Come back, dearest, sweetestDora, I will be your lover forever. I will never say another cross wordto you."

  But Dora heard not and saw not. She left the room without a glance atthe man sitting cowering between the officers, and blubbering with shameand passion and the sense of total loss. In a few minutes he heard theRawdon carriage drive to the door. Tyrrel and Ethel assisted Dora intoit, and the party drove at once to the railway station. They were justable to catch the London train. The butler came up to report all thetrunks safely forwarded, and Dora dropped gold into his hand, andbade him clear the house of servants as soon as the morning broke.Fortunately there was no time for last words and promises; the trainbegan to move, and Tyrrel and Ethel, after watching Dora's white faceglide into the darkness, turned silently away. That depression whichso often follows the lifting of burdens not intended for our shouldersweighed on their hearts and made speech difficult. Tyrrel was especiallyaffected by it. A quick feeling of something like sympathy for Mostynwould not be reasoned away, and he drew Ethel close within his arm, andgave the coachman an order to drive home as quickly as possible, fortwilight was already becoming night, and under the trees the darknessfelt oppressive.

  The little fire on the hearth and their belated dinner somewhat relievedthe tension; but it was not until they had retired to a small parlor,and Tyrrel had smoked a cigar, that the tragedy of the evening became apossible topic of conversation. Tyrrel opened the subject by a questionas to whether "he ought to have gone with Dora to London."

  "Dora opposed the idea strongly when I named it to her," answered Ethel."She said it would give opportunities for Mostyn to slander both herselfand you, and I think she was correct. Every way she was best alone."

  "Perhaps, but I feel as if I ought to have gone, as if I had beensomething less than a gentleman; in fact, as if I had been veryun-gentle."

  "There is no need," answered Ethel a little coldly.

  "It is a terrible position for Mostyn."

  "He deserves it."

  "He is so sensitive about public opinion."

  "In that case he should behave decently in private."

  Then Tyrrel lit another cigar, and there was another silence, whichEthel occupied in irritating thoughts of Dora's unfortunate fatality introuble-making. She sat at a little table standing between herself andTyrrel. It held his smoking utensils, and after awhile she pushed themaside, and let the splendid rings which adorned her hand fall into thecleared space. Tyrrel watched her a few moments, and then asked, "Whatare you doing, Ethel, my dear?"

  She looked up with a smile, and then down at the hand she had laid openupon the table. "I am looking at the Ring of all Rings. See, Tyrrel, itis but a little band of gold, and yet it gave me more than all the gemsof earth could buy. Rubies and opals and sapphires are only its guard.The simple wedding ring is the ring of great price. It is the loveliestornament a happy woman can wear."

  Tyrrel took her hand and kissed it, and kissed the golden band, and thenanswered, "Truly an ornament if a happy wife wears it; but oh, Ethel,what is it when it binds a woman to such misery as Dora has just fledfrom?"

  "Then it is a fetter, and a woman who has a particle of self-respectwill break it. The Ring of all Rings!" she ejaculated again, as shelifted the rubies and opals, and slowly but smilingly encircled t
helittle gold band.

  "Let us try now to forget that sorrowful woman," said Tyrrel. "She willbe with her mother in a few hours. Mother-love can cure all griefs. Itnever fails. It never blames. It never grows weary. It is always youngand warm and true. Dora will be comforted. Let us forget; we can do nomore."

  For a couple of days this was possible, but then came Mrs. NicholasRawdon, and the subject was perforce opened. "It was a bad case," shesaid, "but it is being settled as quickly and as quietly as possible. Ibelieve the man has entered into some sort of recognizance to keep thepeace, and has disappeared. No one will look for him. The gentry areagainst pulling one another down in any way, and this affair theydon't want talked about. Being all of them married men, it isn't to beexpected, is it? Justice Manningham was very sorry for the littlelady, but he said also 'it was a bad precedent, and ought not to bediscussed.' And Squire Bentley said, 'If English gentlemen would marryAmerican women, they must put up with American women's ways,' and so on.None of them think it prudent to approve Mrs. Mostyn's course. But theywon't get off as easy as they think. The women are standing up for her.Did you ever hear anything like that? And I'll warrant some husbands arenone so easy in their minds, as my Nicholas said, 'Mrs. Mostyn had sownseed that would be seen and heard tell of for many a long day.' OurLucy, I suspect, had more to do with the move than she will confess. Shegot a lot of new, queer notions at college, and I do believe in my heartshe set the poor woman up to the business. John Thomas, of course, saysnot a word, but he looks at Lucy in a very proud kind of way; and I'llbe bound he has got an object lesson he'll remember as long as he lives.So has Nicholas, though he bluffs more than a little as to what he'ddo with a wife that got a running-away notion into her head. Bless you,dear, they are all formulating their laws on the subject, and theirwives are smiling queerly at them, and holding their heads a bit higherthan usual. I've been doing it myself, so I know how they feel."

  Thus, though very little was said in the newspapers about the affair,the notoriety Mostyn dreaded was complete and thorough. It was theprivate topic of conversation in every household. Men talked it over inall the places where men met, and women hired the old Mostyn servants inorder to get the very surest and latest story of the poor wife's wrongs,and then compared reports and even discussed the circumstances in theirown particular clubs.

  At the Court, Tyrrel and Ethel tried to forget, and their own interestswere so many and so important that they usually succeeded; especiallyafter a few lines from Mrs. Denning assured them of Dora's safety andcomfort. And for many weeks the busy life of the Manor sufficed; therewas the hay to cut in the meadow lands, and after it the wheat fieldsto harvest. The stables, the kennels, the farms and timber, the park andthe garden kept Tyrrel constantly busy. And to these duties were addedthe social ones, the dining and dancing and entertaining, the horseracing, the regattas, and the enthusiasm which automobiling in its firstfever engenders.

  And yet there were times when Tyrrel looked bored, and when nothing butSquire Percival's organ or Ethel's piano seemed to exorcise the unrestand ennui that could not be hid. Ethel watched these moods with awise and kind curiosity, and in the beginning of September, when theyperceptibly increased, she asked one day, "Are you happy, Tyrrel? Quitehappy?"

  "I am having a splendid holiday," he answered, "but----"

  "But what, dear?"

  "One could not turn life into a long holiday--that would be harder thanthe hardest work."

  She answered "Yes," and as soon as she was alone fell to thinking, andin the midst of her meditation Mrs. Nicholas Rawdon entered in a whirlof tempestuous delight.

  "What do you think?" she asked between laughing and crying. "Whatever doyou think? Our Lucy had twins yesterday, two fine boys as ever was. AndI wish you could see their grandfather and their father. They are out ofthemselves with joy. They stand hour after hour beside the two cradles,looking at the little fellows, and they nearly came to words thismorning about their names."

  "I am so delighted!" cried Ethel. "And what are you going to call them?"

  "One is an hour older than the other, and John Thomas wanted them calledPercival and Nicholas. But my Nicholas wanted the eldest called afterhimself, and he said so plain enough. And John Thomas said 'he couldsurely name his own sons; and then Nicholas told him to remember hewouldn't have been here to have any sons at all but for his father.' Andjust then I came into the room to have a look at the little lads, andwhen I heard what they were fratching about, I told them it was none oftheir business, that Lucy had the right to name the children, and theywould just have to put up with the names she gave them."

  "And has Lucy named them?"

  "To be sure. I went right away to her and explained the dilemma, andI said, 'Now, Lucy, it is your place to settle this question.' And sheanswered in her positive little way, 'You tell father the eldest is tobe called Nicholas, and tell John Thomas the youngest is to be calledJohn Thomas. I can manage two of that name very well. And say thatI won't have any more disputing about names, the boys are as good aschristened already.' And of course when Lucy said that we all knew itwas settled. And I'm glad the eldest is Nicholas. He is a fine, sturdylittle Yorkshireman, bawling out already for what he wants, and flyinginto a temper if he doesn't get it as soon as he wants it. Dearie me,Ethel, I am a proud woman this morning. And Nicholas is going to giveall the hands a holiday, and a trip up to Ambleside on Saturday, thoughJohn Thomas is very much against it."

  "Why is he against it?"

  "He says they will be holding a meeting on Monday night to try and findout what Old Nicholas is up to, and that if he doesn't give them thesame treat on the same date next year, they'll hold an indignationmeeting about being swindled out of their rights. And I'll pledge you myword John Thomas knows the men he's talking about. However, Nicholasis close with his money, and it will do him good happen to lose a bit.Blood-letting is healthy for the body, and perhaps gold-letting may helpthe soul more than we think for."

  This news stimulated Ethel's thinking, and when she also stood besidethe two cradles, and the little Nicholas opened his big blue eyes andbegan to "bawl for what he wanted," a certain idea took fast hold ofher, and she nursed it silently for the next month, watch-ing Tyrrel atthe same time. It was near October, however, before she found the properopportunity for speaking. There had been a long letter from the Judge.It said Ruth and he were home again after a wonderful trip over theNorthern Pacific road. He wrote with enthusiasm of the country and itsopportunities, and of the big cities they had visited on their returnfrom the Pacific coast. Every word was alive, the magnitude and stir oftraffic and wrestling humanity seemed to rustle the paper. He describedNew York as overflowing with business. His own plans, the plans ofothers, the jar of politics, the thrill of music and the drama--all themultitudinous vitality that crowded the streets and filled the air, evento the roofs of the twenty-story buildings, contributed to the potentexhilaration of the letter.

  "Great George!" exclaimed Tyrrel. "That is life! That is living! I wishwe were back in America!"

  "So do I, Tyrrel."

  "I am so glad. When shall we go? It is now the twenty-eighth ofSeptember."

  "Are you very weary of Rawdon Court"'

  "Yes. If a man could live for the sake of eating and sleeping and havinga pleasant time, why Rawdon Court would be a heaven to him; but if hewants to DO something with his life, he would be most unhappy here."

  "And you want to do something?"

  "You would not have loved a man who did not want TO DO. We have beenhere four months. Think of it! If I take four months out of every yearfor twenty years, I shall lose, with travel, about seven years ofmy life, and the other things to be dropped with them may be ofincalculable value."

  "I see, Tyrrel. I am not bound in any way to keep Rawdon Court. I cansell it to-morrow."

  "But you would be grieved to do so?"

  "Not at all. Being a lady of the Manor does not flatter me. The othersquires would rather have a good man in my place."

 
"Why did you buy it?"

  "As I have told you, to keep Mostyn out, and to keep a Rawdon here. ButNicholas Rawdon craves the place, and will pay well for his desire. Itcost me eighty thousand pounds. He told father he would gladly give meone hundred thousand pounds whenever I was tired of my bargain. I willtake the hundred thousand pounds to-morrow. There would then be fourgood heirs to Rawdon on the place."

  Here the conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Nicholas, who came toinvite them to the christening feast of the twins. Tyrrel soon left theladies together, and Ethel at once opened the desired conversation.

  "I am afraid we may have left the Court before the christening," shesaid. "Mr. Rawdon is very unhappy here. He is really homesick."

  "But this is his home, isn't it? And a very fine one."

  "He cannot feel it so. He has large interests in America. I doubt ifI ever induce him to come here again. You see, this visit has been ourmarriage trip."

  "And you won't live here! I never heard the line. What will you do withthe Court? It will be badly used if it is left to servants seven oreight months every year."

  "I suppose I must sell it. I see no----"

  "If you only would let Nicholas buy it. You might be sure then it wouldbe well cared for, and the little lads growing up in it, who wouldfinally heir it. Oh, Ethel, if you would think of Nicholas first. Hewould honor the place and be an honor to it."

  Out of this conversation the outcome was as satisfactory as it wascertain, and within two weeks Nicholas Rawdon was Squire of RawdonManor, and possessor of the famous old Manor House. Then there followeda busy two weeks for Tyrrel, who had the superintendence of the packing,which was no light business. For though Ethel would not denude the Courtof its ancient furniture and ornaments, there were many things belongingto the personal estate of the late Squire which had been given to her byhis will, and could not be left behind. But by the end of October casesand trunks were all sent off to the steamship in which their passage wastaken; and the Rawdon estate, which had played such a momentous part inEthel's life having finished its mission, had no further influence, andwithout regret passed out of her physical life forever.

  Indeed, their willingness to resign all claims to the old home was amarvel to both Tyrrel and Ethel. On their last afternoon there theywalked through the garden, and stood under the plane tree wheretheir vows of love had been pledged, and smiled and wondered at theirindifference. The beauteous glamor of first love was gone as completelyas the flowers and scents and songs that had then filled the charmingplace. But amid the sweet decay of these things they once more claspedhands, looking with supreme confidence into each other's eyes. All thathad then been promised was now certain; and with an affection infinitelysweeter and surer, Tyrrel drew Ethel to his heart, and on her lipskissed the tenderest, proudest words a woman hears, "My dear wife!"

  This visit was their last adieu, all the rest had been said, and earlythe next morning they left Monk-Rawdon station as quietly as they hadarrived. During their short reign at Rawdon Court they had been verypopular, and perhaps their resignation was equally so. After all, theywere foreigners, and Nicholas Rawdon was Yorkshire, root and branch.

  "Nice young people," said Justice Manningham at a hunt dinner, "butour ways are not their ways, nor like to be. The young man was born afighter, and there are neither bears nor Indians here for him tofight; and our politics are Greek to him; and the lady, very sweet andbeautiful, but full of new ideas--ideas not suitable for women, and wedo not wish our women changed."

  "Good enough as they are," mumbled Squire Oakes.

  "Nicest Americans I ever met," added Earl Danvers, "but Nicholas Rawdonwill be better at Rawdon Court." To which statement there was a generalassent, and then the subject was considered settled.

  In the meantime Tyrrel and Ethel had reached London and gone to theMetropole Hotel; because, as Ethel said, no one knew where Dora was; butif in England, she was likely to be at the Savoy. They were to be twodays in London. Tyrrel had banking and other business to fully occupythe time, and Ethel remembered she had some shopping to do, a thing anywoman would discover if she found herself in the neighborhood of RegentStreet and Piccadilly. On the afternoon of the second day this duty wasfinished, and she returned to her hotel satisfied but a little weary. Asshe was going up the steps she noticed a woman coming slowly down them.It was Dora Mostyn. They met with great enthusiasm on Dora's part, andshe turned back and went with Ethel to her room.

  Ethel looked at her with astonishment. She was not like any Dora she hadpreviously seen. Her beauty had developed wondrously, she had grown muchtaller, and her childish manner had been superseded by a carriage andair of superb grace and dignity. She had now a fine color, and her eyeswere darker, softer, and more dreamy than ever. "Take off your hat,Dora," said Ethel, "and tell me what has happened. You are positivelysplendid. Where is Mr. Mostyn?"

  "I neither know nor care. He is tramping round the world after me, andI intend to keep him at it. But I forget. I must tell you how THAT hascome about."

  "We heard from Mrs. Denning. She said she had received you safely."

  "My dear mother! She met me like an angel; comforted and cared forme, never said one word of blame, only kissed and pitied me. We talkedthings over, and she advised me to go to New York. So we took threepassages under the names of Mrs. John Gifford, Miss Gifford, and MissDiana Gifford. Miss Diana was my maid, but mother thought a party ofthree would throw Mostyn off our track."

  "A very good idea."

  "We sailed at once. On the second day out I had a son. The poor littlefellow died in a few hours, and was buried at sea. But his birth hasgiven me the power to repay to Fred Mostyn some of the misery he causedme."

  "How so? I do not see."

  "Oh, you must see, if you will only remember how crazy Englishmen areabout their sons. Daughters don't count, you know, but a son carriesthe property in the family name. He is its representative for the nextgeneration. As I lay suffering and weeping, a fine scheme of revengecame clearly to me. Listen! Soon after we got home mother cabledMostyn's lawyer that 'Mrs. Mostyn had had a son.' Nothing was said ofthe boy's death. Almost immediately I was notified that Mr. Mostyn wouldinsist on the surrender of the child to his care. I took no notice ofthe letters. Then he sent his lawyer to claim the child and a woman totake care of it. I laughed them to scorn, and defied them to findthe child. After them came Mostyn himself. He interviewed doctors,overlooked baptismal registers, advertised far and wide, bribed ourservants, bearded father in his office, abused Bryce on the avenue,waylaid me in all my usual resorts, and bombarded me with letters, buthe knows no more yet than the cable told him. And the man is becoming amonomaniac about HIS SON."

  "Are you doing right, Dora?"

  "If you only knew how he had tortured me! Father and mother think hedeserves all I can do to him. Anyway, he will have it to bear. If hegoes to the asylum he threatened me with, I shall be barely satisfied.The 'cat-faced woman' is getting her innings now."

  "Have you never spoken to him or written to him? Surely"

  "He caught me one day as I came out of our house, and said, 'Madam,where is my son?' And I answered, 'You have no son. The child WAS MINE.You shall never see his face in this world. I have taken good care ofthat.'

  "'I will find him some day,' he said, and I laughed at him, andanswered, 'He is too cunningly hid. Do you think I would let the boyknow he had such a father as you? No, indeed. Not unless there wasproperty for the disgrace.' I touched him on the raw in that remark,and then I got into my carriage and told the coachman to drive quickly.Mostyn attempted to follow me, but the whip lashing the horses was inthe way." And Dora laughed, and the laugh was cruel and mocking and fullof meaning.

  "Dora, how can you? How can you find pleasure in such revenges?"

  "I am having the greatest satisfaction of my life. And I am onlybeginning the just retribution, for my beauty is enthralling the managain, and he is on the road to a mad jealousy of me."

  "Why don't you get a divorce? This is a
case for that remedy. He mightthen marry again, and you also."

  "Even so, I should still torment him. If he had sons he would bemiserable in the thought that his unknown son might, on his death, takefrom them the precious Mostyn estate, and that wretched, old, hauntedhouse of his. I am binding him to misery on every hand."

  "Is Mrs. Denning here with you?"

  "Both my father and mother are with me. Father is going to take a year'srest, and we shall visit Berlin, Vienna, Rome, Paris or wherever ourfancy leads us."

  "And Mr. Mostyn?"

  "He can follow me round, and see nobles and princes and kings pay courtto the beauty of the 'cat-faced woman.' I shall never notice him, neverspeak to him; but you need not look so suspicious, Ethel. Neitherby word nor deed will I break a single convention of the strictestrespectability."

  "Mr. Mostyn ought to give you your freedom."

  "I have given freedom to myself. I have already divorced him. When theybrought my dead baby for me to kiss, I slipped into its little handthe ring that made me his mother. They went to the bottom of the seatogether. As for ever marrying again, not in this life. I have hadenough of it. My first husband was the sweetest saint out of heaven,and my second was some mean little demon that had sneaked his way out ofhell; and I found both insupportable." She lifted her hat as she spoke,and began to pin it on her beautifully dressed hair. "Have no fear forme," she continued. "I am sure Basil watches over me. Some day I shallbe good, and he will be happy." Then, hand in hand, they walked to thedoor together, and there were tears in both voices as they softly said"Good-by."