by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER V.
THE WOMAN AND THE MAN.
Quite unaware that Destiny, that tireless spinner, was weaving sinisterred threads of hate and love into the web of his life, Lambert continuedto live quietly in his woodland retreat. In a somewhat misanthropicframe of mind he had retired to this hermitage, after the failure of hislove affair, since, lacking the society of Agnes, there was nothing leftfor him to desire. From a garden of roses, the world became a sandydesert, and denied the sole gift of fortune, which would have made himcompletely happy, the disconsolate lover foreswore society for solitude.As some seek religion, so Lambert hoped by seeking Nature's breast toassuage the pains of his sore heart. But although the great Mother coulddo so much, she could not do all, and the young man still felt restlessand weary. Hard work helped him more than a little, but he had his darkhours during those intervals when hand and brain were too weary tocreate pictures.
In one way he blamed Agnes, because she had married for money; inanother way he did not blame her, because that same money had beennecessary to support the falling fortunes of the noble family to whichLambert belonged. An ordinary person would not have understood this, andwould have seen in the mercenary marriage simply a greedy grasping afterthe loaves and fishes. But Lambert, coming at the end of a long line oflordly ancestors, considered that both he and his cousin owed somethingto those of the past who had built up the family. Thus his pride toldhim that Agnes had acted rightly in taking Pine as her husband, whilehis love cried aloud that the sacrifice was too hard upon theirindividual selves. He was a Lambert, but he was also a human being, andthe two emotions of love and pride strove mightily against one another.Although quite three years had elapsed since the victim had been offeredat the altar--and a willing victim to the family fetish--the strugglewas still going on. And because of its stress and strain, Lambertwithdrew from society, so that he might see as little as possible of thewoman he loved. They had met, they had talked, they had looked, in aconventionally light-hearted way, but both were relieved whencircumstances parted them. The strain was too great.
Pine arranged the circumstances, for hearing here, there, andeverywhere, that his wife had been practically engaged to her cousinbefore he became her husband, he looked with jealous eyes upon theirchance meetings. Neither to Agnes nor Lambert did he say a single word,since he had no reason to utter it, so scrupulously correct was theirbehavior, but his eyes were sufficiently eloquent to reveal hisjealousy. He took his wife for an American tour, and when he brought herback to London, Lambert, knowing only too truly the reason for thattour, had gone away in his turn to shoot big game in Africa. An attackof malaria contracted in the Congo marshes had driven him back toEngland, and it was then that he had begged Garvington to give him TheAbbot's Wood Cottage. For six months he had been shut up here,occasionally going to London, or for a week's walking tour, and duringthat time he had done his best to banish the image of Agnes from hisheart. Doubtless she was attempting the same conquest, for she nevereven wrote to him. And now these two sorely-tried people were withinspeaking distance of one another, and strange results might be lookedfor unless honor held them sufficiently true. Seeing that the cottagewas near the family seat, and that Agnes sooner or later would arrive tostay with her brother and sister-in-law, Lambert might have expectedthat such a situation would come about in the natural course of things.Perhaps he did, and perhaps--as some busybodies said--he took thecottage for that purpose; but so far, he had refrained from seeking thesociety of Pine's wife. He would not even dine at The Manor, nor wouldhe join the shooting-party, although Garvington, with a singularblindness, urged him to do so. While daylight lasted, the artist painteddesperately hard, and after dark wandered round the lanes and roads andacross the fields, haunting almost unconsciously the Manor Park, if onlyto see in moonlight and twilight the casket which held the rich jewel hehad lost. This was foolish, and Lambert acknowledged that it wasfoolish, but at the same time he added inwardly that he was a man andnot an angel, a sinner and not a saint, so that there were limits, etc.,etc., etc., using impossible arguments to quieten a lively consciencethat did not approve of this dangerous philandering.
The visit of Miss Greeby awoke him positively to a sense of danger, forif she talked--and talk she did--other people would talk also. Lambertasked himself if it would be better to visit The Manor and behave likea man who has got over his passion, or to leave the cottage and betakehimself to London. While turning over this problem in his mind, hepainted feverishly, and for three days after Miss Greeby had come tostir up muddy water, he remained as much as possible in his studio.Chaldea visited him, as usual, to be painted, and brought Kara with hisgreen coat and beloved violin and hairy looks. The girl chatted, Karaplayed, and Lambert painted, and all three pretended to be very happyand careless. This was merely on the surface, however, for the artistwas desperately wretched, because the other half of himself was marriedto another man, while Chaldea, getting neither love-look nor caress,felt savagely discontented. As for Kara, he had long since lovedChaldea, who treated him like a dog, and he could not help seeing thatshe adored the Gentile artist--a knowledge which almost broke his heart.But it was some satisfaction for him to note that Lambert would havenothing to do with the siren, and that she could not charm him to herfeet, sang she ever so tenderly. It was an unhappy trio at the best.
The gypsies usually came in the morning, since the light was then betterfor artistic purposes, but they always departed at one o'clock, so thatLambert had the afternoon to himself. Chaldea would fain have lingeredin order to charm the man she loved into subjection; but he never gaveher the least encouragement, so she was obliged to stay away. All thesame, she often haunted the woods near the cottage, and when Lambertcame out for a stroll, which he usually did when it became too dark topaint, he was bound to run across her. Since he had not the slightestdesire to make love to her, and did not fathom the depth of her passion,he never suspected that she purposely contrived the meetings which helooked upon as accidental.
Since Chaldea hung round the house, like a moth round a candle, she sawevery one who came and went from the woodland cottage. On the afternoonof the third day since Pine's arrival at the camp in the character ofIshmael Hearne, the gypsy saw Lady Agnes coming through the wood.Chaldea knew her at once, having often seen her when she had come tovisit Mother Cockleshell a few months previously. With characteristiccunning, the girl dived into the undergrowth, and there remainedconcealed for the purpose of spying on the Gentile lady whom sheregarded as a rival. Immediately, Chaldea guessed that Lady Agnes wason her way to the cottage, and, as Lambert was alone as usual for theafternoon, the two would probably have a private conversation. The girlswiftly determined to listen, so that she might learn exactly howmatters stood between them. It might be that she would discoversomething which Pine--Chaldea now thought of him as Pine--might like toknow. So having arranged this in her own unscrupulous mind, the girlbehind a juniper bush jealously watched the unsuspecting lady. What shesaw did not please her overmuch, as Lady Agnes was rather too beautifulfor her unknown rival's peace of mind.
Sir Hubert's wife was not really the exquisitely lovely creature Chaldeatook her to be, but her fair skin and brown hair were such a contrast tothe gypsy's swarthy face and raven locks, that she really looked like anangel of light compared with the dark child of Nature. Agnes was talland slender, and moved with a great air of dignity and calmself-possession, and this to the uncontrolled Chaldea was also a matterof offence. She inwardly tried to belittle her rival by thinking what amilk-and-water useless person she was, but the steady and resolute lookin the lady's brown eyes gave the lie to this mental assertion. LadyAgnes had an air of breeding and command, which, with all her beauty,Chaldea lacked, and as she passed along like a cold, stately goddess,the gypsy rolled on the grass in an ecstasy of rage. She could never bewhat her rival was, and what her rival was, as she suspected, formedLambert's ideal of womanhood. When she again peered through the bush,Lady Agnes had disappeared. But there was no need for C
haldea to ask herjealous heart where she had gone. With the stealth and cunning of a RedIndian, the gypsy took up the trail, and saw the woman she followedenter the cottage. For a single moment she had it in her mind to run tothe camp and bring Pine, but reflecting that in a moment of rage the manmight kill Lambert, Chaldea checked her first impulse, and bent all herenergies towards getting sufficiently near to listen to a conversationwhich was not meant for her ears.
Meanwhile, Agnes had been admitted by Mrs. Tribb, a dried-up littlewoman with the rosy face of a winter apple, and a continual smile ofsatisfaction with herself and with her limited world. This consisted ofthe cottage, in the wood, and of the near villages, where she repairedon occasions to buy food. Sometimes, indeed, she went to The Manor, for,born and bred on the Garvington estates, Mrs. Tribb knew all theservants at the big house. She had married a gamekeeper, who had died,and unwilling to leave the country she knew best, had gladly acceptedthe offer of Lord Garvington to look after the woodland cottage. In thisway Lambert became possessed of an exceedingly clean housekeeper, and awonderfully good cook. In fact so excellent a cook was Mrs. Tribb, thatGarvington had frequently suggested she should come to The Manor. But,so far, Lambert had managed to keep the little woman to himself. Mrs.Tribb adored him, since she had known him from babyhood, and declined toleave him under any circumstances. She thought Lambert the best man inthe world, and challenged the universe to find another so handsome andclever, and so considerate.
"Dear me, my lady, is it yourself?" said Mrs. Tribb, throwing up her drylittle hands and dropping a dignified curtsey. "Well, I do call it goodof you to come and see Master Noel. He don't go out enough, and don'ttake enough interest in his stomach, if your ladyship will pardon mymentioning that part of him. But you don't know, my lady, what it is tobe a cook, and to see the dishes get cold, while he as should eat themgoes on painting, not but what Master Noel don't paint like an angel, asI've said dozens of times."
While Mrs. Tribb ran on in this manner her lively black eyes twinkledanxiously. She knew that her master and Lady Agnes had been, as she saidherself, "next door to engaged," and knew also that Lambert was frettingover the match which had been brought about for the glorification of thefamily. The housekeeper, therefore, wondered why Lady Agnes had come,and asked herself whether it would not be wise to say that MasterNoel--from old associations, she always called Lambert by this juveniletitle--was not at home. But she banished the thought as unworthy, themoment it entered her active brain, and with another curtsey in responseto the visitor's greeting, she conducted her to the studio. "Them twoangels will never do no wrong, anyhow," was Mrs. Tribb's reflection, asshe closed the door and left the pair together. "But I do hope as thatblack-faced husband won't ever learn. He's as jealous as Cain, and Idon't want Master Noel to be no Abel!"
If Mrs. Tribb, instead of going to the kitchen, which she did, had goneout of the front door, she would have found Chaldea lying full lengthamongst the flowers under the large window of the studio. This wasslightly open, and the girl could hear every word that was spoken, whileso swiftly and cleverly had she gained her point of vantage, that thosewithin never for one moment suspected her presence. If they had, theywould assuredly have kept better guard over their tongues, for theconversation was of the most private nature, and did not tend to soothethe eavesdropper's jealousy.
Lambert was so absorbed in his painting--he was working at theEsmeralda-Quasimodo picture--that he scarcely heard the studio dooropen, and it was only when Mrs. Tribb's shrill voice announced the nameof his visitor, that he woke to the surprising fact that the woman heloved was within a few feet of him. The blood rushed to his face, andthen retired to leave him deadly pale, but Agnes was more composed, anddid not let her heart's tides mount to high-water mark. On seeing herself-possession, the man became ashamed that he had lost his own, andstrove to conceal his momentary lapse into a natural emotion, by pushingforward an arm-chair.
"This is a surprise, Agnes," he said in a voice which he strove vainlyto render steady. "Won't you sit down?"
"Thank you," and she took her seat like a queen on her throne, lookingfair and gracious as any white lily. What with her white dress, whitegloves and shoes, and straw hat tied under her chin with a broad whiteribbon in old Georgian fashion, she looked wonderfully cool, and pure,and--as Lambert inwardly observed--holy. Her face was as faintly tintedwith color as is a tea-rose, and her calm, brown eyes, under her smoothbrown hair, added to the suggestive stillness of her looks. She seemedin her placidity to be far removed from any earthly emotion, andresembled a picture of the Madonna, serene, peaceful, and somewhat sad.Yet who could tell what anguished feelings were masked by her womanlypride?
"I hope you do not find the weather too warm for walking," said Lambert,reining in his emotions with an iron hand, and speaking conventionally.
"Not at all. I enjoyed the walk. I am staying at The Manor."
"So I understand."
"And you are staying here?"
"There can be no doubt on that point."
"Do you think you are acting wisely?" she asked with great calmness.
"I might put the same question to you, Agnes, seeing that you have cometo live within three miles of my hermitage."
"It is because you are living in what you call your hermitage that Ihave come," rejoined Agnes, with a slight color deepening her cheeks."Is it fair to me that you should shut yourself up and play the part ofthe disappointed lover?"
Lambert, who had been touching up his picture here and there, laid downhis palette and brushes with ostentatious care, and faced her doggedly."I don't understand what you mean," he declared.
"Oh, I think you do; and in the hope that I may induce you, in justiceto me, to change your conduct, I have come over."
"I don't think you should have come," he observed in a low voice, andthrew himself on the couch with averted eyes.
Lady Agnes colored again. "You are talking nonsense," she said with somesharpness. "There is no harm in my coming to see my cousin."
"We were more than cousins once."
"Exactly, and unfortunately people know that. But you needn't makematters worse by so pointedly keeping away from me."
Lambert looked up quickly. "Do you wish me to see you often?" he asked,and there was a new note in his voice which irritated her.
"Personally I don't, but--"
"But what?" He rose and stood up, very tall and very straight, lookingdown on her with a hungry look in his blue eyes.
"People are talking," murmured the lady, and stared at the floor,because she could not face that same look.
"Let them talk. What does it matter?"
"Nothing to you, perhaps, but to me a great deal. I have a husband."
"As I know to my cost," he interpolated.
"Then don't let me know it to _my_ cost," she said pointedly. "Sit downand let us talk common sense."
Lambert did not obey at once. "I am only a human being, Agnes--"
"Quite so, and a man at that. Act like a man, then, and don't place theburden on a woman's shoulders."
"What burden?"
"Oh, Noel, can't you understand?"
"I daresay I can if you will explain. I wish you hadn't come hereto-day. I have enough to bear without that."
"And have I nothing to bear?" she demanded, a flash of passion rufflingher enforced calm. "Do you think that anything but the direst needbrought me here?"
"I don't know what brought you here. I am waiting for an explanation."
"What is the use of explaining what you already know?"
"I know nothing," he repeated doggedly. "Explain."
"Well," said Lady Agnes with some bitterness, "it seems to me that anexplanation is really necessary, as apparently I am talking to a childinstead of a man. Sit down and listen."
This time Lambert obeyed, and laughed as he did so. "Your taunts don'thurt me in the least," he observed. "I love you too much."
"And I love in return. No! Don't rise again. I did not come here torevive t
he embers of our dead passion."
"Embers!" cried Lambert with bitter scorn. "Embers, indeed! And a deadpassion; how well you put it. So far as I am concerned, Agnes, thepassion is not dead and never will be."
"I am aware of that, and so I have come to appeal to that passion. Lovemeans sacrifice. I want you to understand that."
"I do, by experience. Did I not surrender you for the sake of the familyname? Understand! I should think I did understand."
"I--think--not," said Lady Agnes slowly and gently. "It is necessary torevive your recollections. We loved one another since we were boy andgirl, and we intended, as you know, to marry. There was no regularengagement between us, but it was an understood family arrangement. Myfather always approved of it; my brother did not."
"No. Because he saw in you an article of sale out of which he hoped tomake money," sneered Lambert, nursing his ankle.
Lady Agnes winced. "Don't make it too hard for me," she saidplaintively. "My life is uncomfortable enough as it is. Remember thatwhen my father died we were nearly ruined. Only by the greatestcleverness did Garvington manage to keep interest on the mortgages paidup, hoping that he would marry a rich wife--an American for choice--andso could put things straight. But he married Jane, as you know--"
"Because he is a glutton, and she knows all about cooking."
"Well, gluttony may be as powerful a vice as drinking and gambling, andall the rest of it. It is with Garvington, although I daresay thatseeing the position he was in, people would laugh to think he shouldmarry a poor woman, when he needed a rich wife. But at that time Hubertwanted to marry me, and Garvington got his cook-wife, while I wassacrificed."
"Seeing that I loved you and you loved me, I wonder--"
"Yes, I know you wondered, but you finally accepted my explanation thatI did it to save the family name."
"I did, and, much as I hated your sacrifice, it was necessary."
"More necessary than you think," said Lady Agnes, sinking her voice toa whisper and glancing round, "In a moment of madness Garvington altereda check which Hubert gave him, and was in danger of arrest. Hubertdeclared that he would give up the check if I married him. I did so, tosave my brother and the family name."
"Oh, Agnes!" Lambert jumped up. "I never knew this."
"It was not necessary to tell you. I made the excuse of saving thefamily name and property generally. You thought it was merely thebankruptcy court, but I knew that it meant the criminal court. However,I married Hubert, and he put the check in the fire in my presence and inGarvington's. He has also fulfilled his share of the bargain which hemade when he bought me, and has paid off a great many of the mortgages.However, Garvington became too outrageous in his demands, and latelyHubert has refused to help him any more. I don't blame him; he has paidenough for me."
"You are worth it," said Lambert emphatically.
"Well, you may think so, and perhaps he does also. But does it notstrike you, Noel, what a poor figure I and Garvington, and the wholefamily, yourself included, cut in the eyes of the world? We were poor,and I was sold to get money to save the land."
"Yes, but this changing of the check also--"
"The world doesn't know of that," said Agnes hurriedly. "Hubert has beenvery loyal to me. I must be loyal to him."
"You are. Who dares to say that you are not?"
"No one--as yet," she replied pointedly.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, flushing through his fair skin.
"I mean that if you met me in the ordinary way, and behaved to me as anordinary man, people would not talk. But you shun my society, and evenwhen I am at The Manor, you do not come near because of my presence."
"It is so hard to be near you and yet, owing to your marriage, so farfrom you," muttered the man savagely.
"If it is hard for you, think how hard it must be for me," said thewoman vehemently, her passion coming to the surface. "People talk of theway in which you avoid me, and hint that we love one another still."
"It is true! Agnes, you know it is true!"
"Need the whole world know that it is true?" cried Agnes, rising, witha gust of anger passing over her face. "If you would only come to TheManor, and meet me in London, and accept Hubert's invitations to dinner,people would think that our attachment was only a boy and girlengagement, that we had outgrown. They would even give me credit forloving Hubert--"
"But you don't?" cried Lambert with a jealous pang.
"Yes, I do. He is my chosen husband, and has carried out his part of thebargain by freeing many of Garvington's estates. Surely the man ought tohave something for his money. I don't love him as a wife should love herhusband, not with heart-whole devotion, that is. But I give him loyalty,and I respect him, and I try to make him happy in every way. I do mypart, Noel, as you do yours. Since I have been compelled to sacrificelove for money, at least let us be true to the sacrifice."
"You didn't sacrifice yourself wholly for money."
"No, I did not. It was because of Garvington's crime. But no one knowsof that, and no one ever shall know. In fact, so happy am I andHubert--"
"Happy?" said Lambert wincing.
"Yes," she declared firmly. "He thinks so, and whatever unhappiness Imay feel, I conceal from him. But you must come to The Manor, and meetme here, there, and everywhere, so that people shall not say, as theyare doing, that you are dying of love, and that, because I am a greedyfortune-hunter, I ruined your life."
"They do not dare. I have not heard any--"
"What can you hear in this jungle?" interrupted Lady Agnes with scorn."You stop your ears with cotton wool, but I am in the world, hearingeverything. And the more unpleasant the thing is, the more readily doI hear it. You can end this trouble by coming out of your lovesickretirement, and by showing that you no longer care for me."
"That would be acting a lie."
"And do I not act a lie?" she cried fiercely. "Is not my whole marriagea lie? I despise myself for my weakness in yielding, and yet, God helpme, what else could I do when Garvington's fair fame was in question?Think of the disgrace, had he been prosecuted by Hubert. And Hubertknows that you and I loved; that I could not give him the love hedesired. He was content to accept me on those terms. I don't say he wasright; but am I right, are you right, is Garvington right? Is any one ofus right? Not one, not one. The whole thing is horrible, but I make thebest of it, since I did what I did do, openly and for a serious purposeof which the world knows nothing. Do your part, Noel, and come to TheManor, if only to show that you no longer care for me. Youunderstand"--she clasped her hands in agony. "You surely understand."
"Yes," said Lambert in a low voice, and suddenly looked years older. "Iunderstand at last, Agnes. You shall no longer bear the burden alone. Ishall be a loyal friend to you, my dear," and he took her hand.
"Will you be a loyal friend to my husband?" she asked, withdrawing it.
"Yes," said Lambert, and he bit his lip. "God helping me, I will."
CHAPTER VI.
THE MAN AND THE WOMAN.