CHAPTER XIV
MISTRESS DIANA IS UNMAIDENLY
The idyllic summer days passed quickly by, and every time that my lordspoke of leaving, the outcry was so indignant and so firm that hehastily subsided and told himself he would stay just another few days.His shoulder, having mended up to a certain point, refused quite toheal, and exertion brought the pain back very swiftly. So his time wasfor the most part spent with Mistress Di out of doors, helping her withher gardening and her chickens--for Diana was an enthusiastic poultryfarmer on a small scale--and ministering to her various pets. If Fidohad a splinter in his paw, it was to Mr. Carr that he was taken; ifNellie, the spaniel, caught a live rabbit, Mr. Carr would assuredly knowwhat to do for it, and the same with all the other animals. The youngpair grew closer and closer together, while Miss Betty and O'Harawatched from afar, the former filled with pride of her darling, andsatisfaction, and the latter with apprehension. O'Hara knew that hisfriend was falling unconsciously in love, and he feared the time whenJohn should realise it. He confided these fears to his wife, who, withyoung David, was staying at her mother's house in Kensington, in a longand very Irish letter. She replied that he must try and coax my lordinto coming to stay with them, when her charms would at once eclipseMistress Diana's, though to be sure, she could not understand why Milesshould not wish him to fall in love, for as he well knew, 'twas aprodigious pleasant sensation. If he did not know it, then he was indeedmost disagreeable. And had he ever heard of anything sowonderful?--David had drawn a picture of a horse! Yes, really, it was ahorse! Was he not a clever child? Further, would her dearest Milesplease come and fetch her home, for although Mamma was prodigiousamiable, and wanted her to stay several weeks, she positively could notlive without her husband an instant longer than was necessary!
As soon as O'Hara read the last part of the letter he brushed Carstaresand his love affairs to one side, and posted straight to London to obeythe welcome summons.
Bit by bit my lord discovered that he was very much in love with Diana.At first his heart gave a great bound, and then seemed to stop with asickening thud. He remembered that he could not ask her to marry him,disgraced as he was, and he immediately faced the situation, realisingthat he must go away at once. His first move was to Mr. Beauleigh, totell him of his decision. On being asked why he must so suddenly leaveHorton House, he explained that he loved Diana and could not in honourspeak of love to her. At which Mr. Beauleigh gasped and demanded to knowthe reason. Carstares told him that he was by profession a highwayman,and watched him bridle angrily. Before so agreeable and so smiling, Mr.Beauleigh now became frigidly polite. He quite understood Mr. Carr'sposition, and--er--yes, he honoured him for the course on which he haddecided. But Mr. Beauleigh was very, very cold. Carstares gave Jimorders to pack immediately, that he might depart next day, andreluctantly informed Miss Betty of his going. She was startled andbewildered. She had imagined that he would spend all June with them.Circumstances, he regretted, willed otherwise. He should always rememberher great kindness to him, and hoped that she would forgive the brusquenature of his departure.
When he told Diana her eyes opened very wide and she laughed, pointingan accusing finger at him.
"You are teasing, Mr. Carr!" she cried, and ran into the house.
That evening Miss Betty confirmed Jack's words, and seeing the hurt lookin the girl's eyes, wisely held her peace.
Next morning in the pleasaunce Diana came across my lord, and went up tohim, gravely questioning.
"You are really leaving us to-day, Mr. Carr?"
"I am afraid I must, Mistress Di."
"So suddenly? Then you were not teasing yesterday?"
"No, mademoiselle--I was not. I fear I have tarried too long, takingadvantage of your kindness."
"Oh, no, no!" she assured him. "Indeed, you have not! Must you _really_go?"
Looking down into her big eyes, John read the answering love in them,and grew pale. It was worse to think that she cared, too. If only hethought she was indifferent, parting would not seem so unbearable.
"Mademoiselle--you overwhelm me--I must go."
"Oh, but I am sorry. Your being here has been such a pleasure! I--" Shestopped, and looked away across the flowers.
"You?" prompted Jack before he could check himself.
With a tiny laugh she brought her gaze back.
"I am sorry you must leave us, naturally."
She sat down beneath an arbour of roses, and patted the place beside herinvitingly, with just the same unconscious friendliness that she hadalways shown him. My lord stayed where he was, with one hand on a treetrunk and the other fidgeting with his quizzing glass.
"Mistress Di--I think it only right that I should tell you what I havetold your father, and what I told your aunt some time ago, when sherefused to believe me. To some extent I am here under false pretences. Iam not what you think me."
Diana laced and unlaced her fingers, and thought that she understood.
"Oh, no, Mr. Carr!"
"I am afraid yes, mademoiselle. I am--a common felon ... a highwayman!"He bit the words out, not looking at her.
"But I knew that," she said softly.
"You _knew_ it?"
"Why, yes! I remember when you told Aunt Betty."
"You believed me?"
"You see," she apologised, "I always wondered why you were masked."
"And yet you permitted me to stay--"
"How silly of you, Mr. Carr! Of course I do not care what you are! I oweso much to you!"
He wheeled round at that, and faced her.
"Madam, I can bear anything rather than gratitude! Is it only that whichhas made you tolerate me all this time?"
Her fingers gripped one another.
"Why, sir--why, sir--"
The flame died out of his eyes, and he drew himself up stiffly, speakingwith a curtness that surprised her.
"I crave your pardon. I should be whipped at the cart-tail for askingsuch an impertinent question. Forget it, I beg."
Diana looked up at the stern face, half amazed, half affronted.
"I do not think I quite understand you, sir."
"There is nought to understand, mademoiselle," he answered with drylips. "'Twere merely that I was coxcomb enough to hope that you liked mea little for mine own sake."
She glanced again at his averted head with a wistful little smile.
"Oh!" she murmured. "_Oh!_"--and--"It is very dreadful to be ahighwayman!" she sighed.
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"But surely you could cease to be one?" coaxingly.
He did not trust himself to answer.
"I know you could. Please do!"
"That is not all," he forced himself to say. "There is worse."
"_Is_ there?" she asked wide-eyed. "What else have you done, Mr. Carr?"
"I--once--" heavens, how hard it was to say! "I once ... cheated ... atcards." It was out. Now she would turn from him in disgust. He shut hiseyes in anticipation of her scorn, his head turned away.
"Only _once_?" came the soft voice, filled with awed admiration.
His eyes flew open.
"Mademoiselle--!"
She drooped her head mournfully.
"I'm afraid I always cheat," she confessed. "I had no idea 'twas sowicked, although Auntie gets very cross and vows she will not play withme."
He could not help laughing.
"'Tis not wicked in you, child. You do not play for money."
"Oh, did you?"
"Yes, child."
"Then that _was_ horrid of you," she agreed.
He stood silent, fighting the longing to tell her the truth.
"But--but--do not look so solemn, sir," the pleading voice went on. "Iam sure you must have had a very strong excuse?"
"None."
"And now you are letting it spoil your life?" she asked reproachfully.
"It does not wait for my permission," he answered bitterly.
"Ah, but what a pity! Must one moment's indiscretion interfere
with allelse in life? That is ridiculous. You have--what is the word?--expiated!yes, that is it--expiated it, I know."
"The past can never be undone, madam."
"That, of course, is true," she nodded, with the air of a sage, "but itcan be forgotten."
His hand flew out eagerly and dropped back to his side. It was hopeless.He could not tell her the truth and ask her to share his disgrace; hemust bear it alone, and, above all, he must not whine. He had chosen totake Richard's blame and he must abide by the consequences. It was not aburden to be cast off as soon as it became too heavy for him. It was forever--for ever. He forced his mind to grasp that fact. All through hislife he must be alone against the world; his name would never becleared; he could never ask this sweet child who sat before him withsuch a wistful, pleading look on her lovely face, to wed him. He lookeddown at her sombrely, telling himself that she did not really care: thatit was his own foolish imagination. Now she was speaking: he listened tothe liquid voice that repeated:
"Could it not be forgotten?"
"No, mademoiselle. It will always be there."
"To all intents and purposes, might it not be forgotten?" she persisted.
"It will always stand in the way, mademoiselle."
He supposed that mechanical voice was his own. Through his brainthrummed the thought: "It is for Dick's sake ... for Dick's sake. ForDick's sake you must be silent." Resolutely he pulled himself together.
"It will stand in the way--of what?" asked Diana.
"I can never ask a woman to be my wife," he replied.
Diana wantonly stripped a rose of its petals, letting each fragrant leafflutter slowly to the ground.
"I do not see why you cannot, sir."
"No woman would share my disgrace."
"No?"
"No."
"You seem very certain, Mr. Carr. Pray have you asked the lady?"
"No, madam." Carstares was as white as she was red, but he was holdinghimself well in hand.
"Then--" the husky voice was very low, "then--why don't you?"
The slim hand against the tree trunk was clenched tightly, she observed.In his pale face the blue eyes burnt dark.
"Because, madam, 'twere the action of a--of a--"
"Of a what, Mr. Carr?"
"A cur! A scoundrel! A blackguard!"
Another rose was sharing the fate of the first.
"I have heard it said that some women like--curs, and-and--andscoundrels; even blackguards," remarked that provocative voice. Throughher lashes its owner watched my lord's knuckles gleam white against thetree-bark.
"Not the lady I love, madam."
"Oh? But are you sure?"
"I am sure. She must marry a man whose honour is spotless; who is not--anameless outcast, and who lives--not--by dice--and highway robbery."
He knew that the brown eyes were glowing and sparkling with unshedtears, but he kept his own turned inexorably the other way. There was nodoubting now that she cared, and that she knew that he did also. Hecould not leave her to think that her love had been slighted. She mustnot be hurt, but made to understand that he could not declare his love.But how hard it was, with her sorrowful gaze upon him and the pleadingnote in her voice. It was quivering now:
"Must she, sir?"
"Yes, madam."
"But supposing--supposing the lady did not care? Supposing she--lovedyou--and was willing to share your disgrace?"
The ground at her feet was strewn with crimson petals, and all aroundand above her roses nodded and swayed. A tiny breeze was stirring hercurls and the lace of her frock, but John would not allow himself tolook, lest the temptation to catch her in his arms should prove toogreat for him. She was ready to give herself to him; to face anything,only to be with him. In the plainest language she offered herself tohim, and he had to reject her.
"It is inconceivable that the lady would sacrifice herself in such afashion, madam," he said.
"Sacrifice!" She caught her breath. "You call it that!"
"What else?"
"I ... I ... I do not think that you are very wise, Mr. Carr. Nor ...that you ... understand women ... very well. She might not call it bythat name."
"It would make no difference what she called it, madam. She would ruinher life, and that must never be."
A white rose joined its fallen brethren, pulled to pieces by fingersthat trembled pitifully.
"Mr. Carr, if the lady ... loved you ... is it quite fair to her--to saynothing?"
There was a long silence, and then my lord lied bravely.
"I hope that she will--in time--forget me," he said.
Diana sat very still. No more roses were destroyed; the breeze waftedthe fallen petals over her feet, lightly, almost playfully. Somewhere inthe hedge a bird was singing, a full-throated sobbing plaint, and fromall around came an incessant chirping and twittering. The sun sent itsbright rays all over the garden, bathing it in gold and happiness; butfor the two in the pleasaunce the light had gone out, and the world wasvery black.
"I see," whispered Diana at last. "Poor lady!"
"I think it was a cursed day that saw me come into her life," hegroaned.
"Perhaps it was," her hurt heart made answer.
He bowed his head.
"I can only hope that she will not think too hardly of me," he said,very low. "And that she will find it in her heart to be sorry--forme--also."
She rose and came up to him, her skirts brushing gently over the grass,holding out her hands imploringly.
"Mr. Carr...."
He would not allow himself to look into the gold-flecked eyes.... Hemust remember Dick--his brother Dick!
In his hand he took the tips of her fingers, and bowing, kissed them.Then he turned on his heel and strode swiftly away between the hedgestowards the quiet woods, with a heart aflame with passion, and withrebellion and impotent fury. He would go somewhere quite alone and fightthe devil that was prompting him to cry the truth aloud and to throwaside his burden for love, forgetting duty.
But Diana remained standing among the scattered flowers, very still,very cold, with a look of hopeless longing in her eyes and a greathurt.
The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century Page 14