XX
A PLOT UNMASKED
For a few moments the old man and the young man gazed at one another,alike in this only that neither found words equal to his feelings.While Mary, covered with confusion, blushing for the situation inwhich she had been found, could not hold up her head. It was SirRobert who at last broke the silence in a voice which trembled withpassion.
"You viper!" he said. "You viper! You would sting me--here also."
Vaughan stared at him, aghast. The intrusion was outrageous, butastonishment rather than anger was the young man's first feeling."Here also?" he repeated, as if he thought that he must have heardamiss. "_I_ sting you? What do you mean? Why have you followed me?"And then more warmly, "How dare you, sir, spy on me?" And he threwback his head in wrath.
The old man, every nerve and vein in his lean, high forehead swollenand leaping, raised his cane and shook it at him. "Dare? Dare?" hecried, and then for very rage his voice failed him.
Vaughan closed his eyes and opened them again. "I am dreaming," hesaid. "I must be dreaming. Are you Sir Robert Vermuyden? Is this houseMiss Sibson's school? Are we in Bristol? Or is it all--but first,sir," recalling abruptly and with indignation the situation in whichhe had been surprised, and raising his tone, "how come you here? Ihave a right to know that!"
"How come I here?"
"Yes! How come you here, sir?"
"You ask me! You ask me!" Sir Robert repeated, as if he could notbelieve his ears. "How I come here! You scoundrel! You scoundrel!"
Vaughan started under the lash of the word. The insult was gratuitous,intolerable! No relationship, no family tie could excuse it. No wonderthat the astonishment and irritation which had been his firstfeelings, gave way to pure anger. Sir Robert might be this or that. Hemight have, or rather, he might have had certain rights. But now allthat was over, the relationship was a thing of the past. And tosuppose that he was still to suffer the old gentleman's interference,to put up with his insults, to permit him in the presence of a younggirl, his promised wife, to use such language as he was using, was outof the question. Vaughan's face grew dark.
"Sir Robert," he said, "you are too old to be called to account. Youmay say, therefore, what you please. But not--not if you are agentleman--until this young lady has left the room."
"This--young--lady!" Sir Robert gasped in an indescribable tone: andwith the cane quivering in his grasp he looked from Vaughan to thegirl.
"Yes," Vaughan answered sternly. "That young lady! And do not let mehear you call her anything else, sir, for she has promised to be mywife."
"You lie!" the baronet cried, the words leaping from his lips.
"Sir Robert!"
"My daughter--promised to be your wife! My--my----"
"Your daughter!"
"Hypocrite!" Sir Robert retorted, flinging the word at him. "You knewit! You knew it!"
"Your daughter?"
"Ay, that she was my daughter!"
"Your daughter!"
This time the words fell from Arthur Vaughan in a whisper. And hestood, turned to stone. His daughter? Sir Robert's daughter? Thegirl--he tried desperately to clear his mind--of whom Wetherell hadtold the story, the girl whom her mother had hidden away, while inItaly, the girl whose reappearance in life had ousted him or was tooust him from his inheritance? Mary Smith--was that girl! Hisdaughter!
But no! The blood leapt back to his heart. It was impossible, it wasincredible! The coincidence was too great, too amazing. His reasonrevolted against it. And "Impossible!" he cried in a louder, a boldertone--though fear underlay its confidence. "You are playing with me!You must be jesting!" he repeated angrily.
But the elder man, though his hand still trembled on his cane and hisface was sallow with rage, had regained some control of himself.Instead of retorting on Vaughan--except by a single glance ofwithering contempt--he turned to Mary. "You had better go to yourroom," he said, coldly but not ungently. For how could he blame her,bred amid such surroundings, for conduct that in other circumstanceshad irritated him indeed? For conduct that had been unseemly,unmaidenly, improper. "You had better go to your room," he repeated."This is no fit place for you and no fit discussion for your ears. Iam not--the fault is not with you, but it will be better if you leaveus."
She was rising, too completely overwhelmed to dream of refusing, whenVaughan interposed. "No," he said with a gleam of defiance in hiseyes. "By your leave, sir, no! This young lady is my affianced wife.If it be her own wish to retire, be it so. But if not, there is no onewho has the right to bid her go or stay. You"--checking Sir Robert'swrathful rejoinder by a gesture--"you may be her father, but beforeyou can exercise a father's rights you must make good your case."
"Make good my case!" Sir Robert ejaculated.
"And when you have made it good, it will still be for her to choosebetween us," Vaughan continued with determination. "You, who havenever played a father's part, who have never guided or guarded,fostered or cherished her--do not think, sir, that you can in a momentarrogate to yourself a father's authority."
Sir Robert gasped. But the next moment he took up the glove so boldlyflung down. He pointed to the door, and with less courtesy than theoccasion demanded--but he was sore pressed by his anger, "Leave theroom, girl," he said.
"Do as you please, Mary," Vaughan said.
"Go!" cried the baronet, stung by the use of her name. "Stay!" saidVaughan.
Infinitely distressed, infinitely distracted by this appeal from theone, from the other, from this side, from that, she turned herswimming eyes on her lover. "Oh, what," she cried, "what am I to do?"
He did not speak, but he looked at her, not doubting what she woulddo, nor conceiving it possible that she could prefer to him, herlover, whose sweet professions were still honey in her ears, whose armwas still warm from the pressure of her form--that she could prefer tohim, a father who was no more than the shadow of a name.
But he did not know Mary yet, either in her strength or her weakness.Nor did he consider that her father was already more than a name toher. She hung a moment undecided and wretched, drooping as the whiterose that hangs its head in the first shower. Then she turned to theelder man, and throwing her arms about his neck hung in tears on hisbreast. "You will be good to him, sir," she whispered passionately."Oh, forgive him! Forgive him, sir!"
"My dear----"
"Oh, forgive him, sir!"
Sir Robert smoothed her hair with a caressing hand, and with pinchedlips and bright eyes looked at his adversary over her head. "I wouldforgive him," he said, "I could forgive him--all but this! All butthis, my dear! I could forgive him had he not tricked you and deceivedyou, cozened you and flattered you--into this! Into the belief that heloves you, while he loves only your inheritance! Or that part," headded bitterly, "of which he has not already robbed you!"
"Sir Robert," Vaughan said, "you have stooped very low. But it willnot avail you."
"It has availed me so far," the baronet retorted. With confidence hewas regaining also command of himself.
Vaughan winced. In proportion as the other recovered his temper, helost his.
"It will avail me still farther," Sir Robert continued exultantly,"when my daughter understands, as she shall understand, sir, that whenyou came here to-day, when you stole a march on me, as you thought,and proposed marriage to her behind my back, you knew all that I knew!Knew, sir, that she was my daughter, knew that she was my heiress,knew that she ousted you, knew that by a marriage with her, and bythat only, you could regain all that you had lost!"
"It is a lie!" Vaughan cried, stung beyond endurance. He was pale withanger.
"Then refute it!" Sir Robert said, clasping the girl, who hadinvoluntarily winced at the word, more closely to him. "Refute it,sir! Refute it!"
"It is absurd! It--it needs no refutation!" Vaughan cried.
"Why?" Sir Robert retorted. "I state it. I am prepared to prove it! Ihave three witnesses to the fact!"
"To the f
act that I----"
"That you knew," Sir Robert replied. "Knew this lady to be my daughterwhen you came here this morning--as well as I knew it myself."
Vaughan returned his look in speechless indignation. Did the manreally believe in a charge, which at first had seemed to be merevulgar abuse. It was not possible! "Sir Robert," he said, speakingslowly and with dignity, "I never did you harm by word or deed until aday or two ago. And then, God knows, perforce and reluctantly. Howthen can you lower yourself to--to such a charge as this?"
"Do you deny then," the baronet replied with contemptuous force, "doyou dare to deny--to my face, that you knew?"
Vaughan stared. "You will say presently," he replied, "that I knew herto be your daughter when I made her acquaintance on the coach a weekago. At a time when you knew nothing yourself."
"As to that I cannot say one way or the other," Sir Robert rejoined."I do not know how nor where you made her acquaintance. But I do knowthat an acquaintance so convenient, so coincident, could hardly be thework of chance!"
"Good G--d! Then you will say also that I knew who she was when Icalled on her the day after, and again two days after that--while youwere still in ignorance?"
"I have said," the baronet answered with cold decision, "that I do notknow how you made, nor why you followed up your acquaintance with her.But I have, I cannot but have my suspicions."
"Suspicions? Suspicions?" Vaughan cried bitterly. "And on suspicion,the base issue of prejudice and dislike----"
"No, sir, no!" Sir Robert struck in. "Though it may be that if I knewwho introduced you to her, who opened this house to you, and the rest,I might find ground for more than suspicion! The schoolmistress mighttell me somewhat, and--you wince, sir! Ay," he continued in a tone oftriumph. "I see there is something to be learned! But it is not uponsuspicion that I charge you to-day! It is upon the best of grounds.Did you not before my eyes and in the presence of two other witnesses,read, no farther back than the day before yesterday, in thedrawing-room of my house, the whole story of my daughter's movementsup to her departure from London for Bristol! With the name of theschool to which she was consigned? Did you not, sir? Did you not?"
"Never! Never!"
"What?" The astonishment in Sir Robert's voice was so real, sounfeigned, that it must have carried conviction to any listener.
Vaughan passed his hand across his brow; and Mary, who had hithertokept her face hidden, shivering under the stroke of each harshword--for to a tender heart what could be more distressing than thisstrife between the two beings she most cherished?--raised her headimperceptibly. What would he answer? Only she knew how her heart beat;how sick she was with fear; how she shrank from that which the nextminute might unfold!
And yet she listened.
"I--I remember now," Vaughan said--and the consternation he felt madeitself heard in his voice. "I remember that I looked at a paper----"
"At a paper!" Sir Robert cried in a tone of withering contempt. "At adetailed account, sir, of my daughter's movements down to her arrivalat Bristol! Do you deny that?" he continued grimly. "Do you deny thatyou perused that account?"
Vaughan stood for a moment with his hand pressed to his brow. Hehesitated. "I remember taking a paper in my hands," he said slowly,his face flushing, as the probable inference from his words occurredto him. "But I was thinking so much of the disclosure you had made tome, and of the change it involved---to me, that----"
"That you took no interest in the written details!" Sir Robert criedin a tone of bitter irony.
"I did not."
"You did not read a word, I suppose?"
"I did not."
Before the baronet could utter the sneer which was on his lips, Maryinterposed. "I--I would like to go," she murmured. "I feel ratherfaint!"
She detached herself from her father's arm as she spoke, and with herface averted from her lover, she moved uncertainly towards the door.She had no wish to look on him. She shrank from meeting his shamedeyes. But something, either the feeling that she would never see himagain, and that this was the end of her maiden love, or the desperatehope that even at this last moment he might explain his admission--andthose facts, "confirmation strong as hell" which she knew, but whichSir Robert did not know--one or other of these feelings made herfalter on the threshold, made her turn. Their eyes met.
He stepped forward impulsively. He was white with pain, his facerigid. For what pain is stronger than the pang of innocence accused?
"One moment!" he said, in an unsteady voice. "If we part so, Mary, wepart indeed! We part forever! I said awhile ago that you must choosebetween us. And you have chosen--it seems," he continued unsteadily."Yet think! Give yourself, give me a chance. Will you not believe myword?" And he held out his arms to her. "Will you not believe thatwhen I came to you this morning I thought you penniless? I thought youthe unknown schoolmistress you thought yourself a week ago! Will younot trust me when I say that I never connected you with the missingdaughter? Never dreamed of a connection? Why should I?" he added, ingrowing agitation as the words of his appeal wrought on himself. "Whyshould I? Or why do you in a moment think me guilty of the meanest,the most despicable, the most mercenary of acts?"
He was going to take her hand, but Sir Robert stepped between them,grim as fate and as vindictive. "No!" he said. "No! No more! You havegiven her pain enough, sir! Take your dismissal and go! She haschosen--you have said it yourself!"
He cast one look at Sir Robert, and then, "Mary," he asked, "am I togo?"
She was leaning, almost beside herself, against the door. And oh, howmuch of joy and sorrow she had known since she crossed the threshold.A man's embrace, and a man's treachery. The sweetness of love and thebitterness of--reality!
"Mary!" Vaughan repeated.
But the baronet could not endure this. "By G--d, no!" he cried,infuriated by the other's persistence, and perhaps a little by fearthat the girl would give way. "You shall not soil her name with yourlips, sir! You shall torture her no longer! You have your dismissal!Take it and go!"
"When she tells me with her own lips to go," Vaughan answereddoggedly, "I will go. Not before!" For never had she seemed moredesirable to him. Never, though contempt of her weakness wrestled withhis love, had he wanted her more. Except that seat in the House whichhad cost him so dearly, she was all he had left. And it did not seempossible that she whom he had held so lately in his arms, she who hadconfessed her love for him, with whom he had vowed to share his lifeand his success, his lot good or bad--it did not seem possible thatshe could really believe this miserable, this incredible, thisimpossible thing of him! She could not! Or, if she could, he wasindeed mistaken in her. "I shall go," he repeated coldly, "and I shallnot return."
And Mary had not believed it of him, had she known him longer orbetter; had she known him as girls commonly know their lovers. But hiswooing had been short, we know: and we know, too, the distrust of menin which she had been trained. He had taken her by storm, stooping toher from the height of his position, having on his side her povertyand loneliness, her inexperience and youth. Now all these things, andher ignorance of his world weighed against him. Was it to be supposed,could it be credited that he, who had come to her bearing her mother'scommendation, knew nothing, though he was her kinsman? That he, whoafter plain hesitation and avowed doubt, laid all at her feet as soonas her father was prepared to acknowledge her--still sought her inignorance? That he, who had read her story in black and white, stillknew nothing?
No, she could not believe it. But it was a bitter thing to know thathe did not love her, that he had not loved her! That he had come toher for gain! She must speak if it were only to escape, only to saveherself from--from collapse. She yearned for nothing now so much as tobe alone in her room.
"Good-bye," she muttered, with averted eyes and pallid lips. "I--Iforgive you. Good-bye."
And she opened the door with groping fingers; and still, still lookingaway from him lest she should break down, she went out.
He drew a deep breath as she
passed the threshold; and his eyes didnot leave her. But he did not speak. Nor did Sir Robert Vermuydenuntil his daughter's step, light as thistledown that morning, and nowuncertain and lagging, passed out of hearing, and--and at last a doorclosed on the floor above.
Then the elder man looked at the other. "Are you not going?" he saidwith stern meaning. "You have robbed me of my borough, sir--I give youjoy of your cleverness. But you shall not rob me of my daughter!"
"I wonder which you love the better!" Vaughan snarled. And with thevicious gibe he took his hat and went.
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