Into the Highways and Hedges

by F. F. Montrésor

  CHAPTER IX.

  One enemy is too much.

  --_Herbert._

  It was the last day of August. The London plane trees were beginning toshed their leaves, that were choked with the season's dust; the air wasstill and hot, the West End nearly deserted.

  The hatchment, that had been put up on Mr. Russelthorpe's death, stillhung in Bryanston Square, but fresh straw was laid down in the street.This time, at least, all that the living could do to keep out death wasbeing done.

  Mr. Deane had had a relapse after the journey to London. Two nurses werein attendance, and the doctors came night and day.

  "Really, sis, I should be ashamed to get well again after this," he hadsaid playfully; "and what is the use of having regiments of physicians?I am sure my case is delightfully simple! I know perfectly well what'sthe matter. They vary a little as to 'how long' they will give me,according to whether they are of the hopeful or the gloomy school; andsome of them have very small respect for my intellect, and pretend I maylive years; and so, perhaps, I might, if I weren't dying; and some ofthem have inconvenient consciences, and feel bound to tell the truth;but it makes no difference. 'Not all the king's horses and all theking's men will ever set this Humpty Dumpty up again.'"

  "You give way too easily!" Mrs. Russelthorpe cried, with an impatienceborn of sharp anxiety. She _would_ not think that that hurried flighthad nearly killed him.

  "You'll get over this fresh chill you caught at that horrible damprectory. It was high time you left. I shall write to Dr. Renshawe atonce. These old-fashioned practitioners are of no use; they don't opentheir eyes to the new lights!"

  "Poor sis! you must be feeling very hopeless, when you go in for the newlights. Let it alone, and let's enjoy our last weeks together in peace.No? Well, as you like. If it comforts you to have all the quacks inEngland fighting over me, why shouldn't you?" He smiled while he spoke.Perhaps he had always given way too easily; though not in the manner shemeant. "But one can't start a new system on one's death-bed," he said tohimself; and his thoughts wandered dreamily off to other subjects. Ahuge china bowl, full of late roses, stood on the sofa by his side. Helay drinking in their beauty. Probably he would not see many more roses;and, while there was no bitterness in the reflection,--Mr. Deane's wastoo sweet a nature to be bitter,--it yet added to his always keenappreciation of colour. His naturally intense enjoyment of the finerpleasures of the senses had been apt to be dashed by an almost morbidrecollection of the many "better men than he," who had no chance ofsatisfying themselves. Like Meg, he could not enjoy his cream for thethought of those who needed bread. But now that life was ebbing fast, hedelighted in any small gratification that came in his way, in a mannerthat surprised and almost annoyed his sister.

  "My work is done," he told her. "Rather badly, no doubt;but--anyhow--done. I need only 'play' now. Other people may ride atiltagainst all the problems one bruises head and heart over. Good luck gowith them, and more power to their elbows! But I shall bother aboutnothing now. Don't put that shade of pink against those crimson roses,sis; you set my teeth on edge."

  So he lay; outwardly serene at any rate. If at the bottom of his heartwere any regrets for the life cut short, not much past its prime, thiswas his own secret. He knew how to die like a gentleman. On that sameprinciple of "enjoying the last days together," he spoke no more of Meg,though he thought of her often and tenderly; but there may yet bechanges on the cards when Death is looking over a man's shoulder. Hespeaks rashly who predicts "peace" while he is yet in the land of theliving!

  Mrs. Russelthorpe stood on the drawing-room landing, and George Saulsfaced her. He had already twice refused to take "No" for an answer tohis demand--it could scarcely be called request--to see Mr. Deane.

  The bare idea of giving way before his impertinent assurance waspreposterous. Mrs. Russelthorpe assured him at last that she had neitherleisure nor inclination to receive visitors.

  "Naturally!" said Mr. Sauls. "I should not dream of intruding on you, ifit were not that I must see Mr. Deane. There is something I mean to tellhim." He leaned one arm on the banisters; and there was no trace ofnervousness in his expression, though she was doing her best to freezehim. Something in George Sauls' look made Mrs. Russelthorpe feel thatthis was no sham fight. She had no idea of defeat--she had seldom beendefeated.

  "You can write your communication," she said. "Mr. Deane is equal toreading his letters."

  "Thanks!" He twisted his eyeglass violently, and put his foot on thestair. "Thanks! but trusting to paper is only a degree less foolish thantrusting a secret to any but number one. I will wait so long as youlike, but I am afraid I must see Mr. Deane."

  It was the third repetition! Mrs. Russelthorpe drew herself up. Who wasthis man that he should say "must" to her "shall not"?

  "I imagined that I had made clear to you that you cannot possibly dothat," she answered coldly.

  "Is that what you said to his daughter?" asked George. It was adeclaration of war, a throwing down of the gauntlet. Mr. Sauls did nottake his eyes from her face; as he brought out the words, he knew thatthey were insolent, but he was prepared not to stick at a trifle--forMeg's sake.

  He had thought to take his adversary unawares by that bold stroke; butMrs. Russelthorpe moved not a muscle, and George, much as he dislikedher, felt a momentary admiration for her pluck.

  "If you are speaking of Mrs. Thorpe," she said, "she has chosen her ownlot, and must abide by it."

  "Oh, certainly!" said George. For the first time in this curiousinterview there was a shade of warmth in his tone. Meg's very nameslightly changed his attitude.

  "If a woman is fool enough to marry beneath her, she chooses a lot thatmight satisfy her bitterest enemy," he remarked. "I don't pretend to goin for Christian charity and wholesale forgiveness; but Mrs. Thorpeinjured herself more than any one else. Can't you hold out a hand to hernow?"

  "We will not discuss that subject. May I remind you that my time isprecious--as I have no doubt yours is?"

  "You mean that it is of no use waiting for your permission? You do notintend to give it?"

  "I certainly will not."

  "I am sorry," said Mr. Sauls. "My time is precious, as you remark. Ifthere is no use in waiting, I will wait no longer." And, lookingstraight before him, though with perhaps a tinge more colour than usualin his sallow cheek, George went, not down, but up the stairs.

  For a moment Mrs. Russelthorpe stood aghast; then she put her hand onhis arm, when he would have passed her, and detained him with a gripwhich had plenty of strength in it.

  "Mr. Sauls," she said, "you are doing a most unprecedented thing! Idon't know what your private business with my brother may be; but,whatever it is, you are not justified in behaving so to any woman in herown house."

  "I will tell you my private business," said George. "Mrs. Thorpe came toLupcombe rectory, begging to see her father, and you sent her away,broken-hearted! Did he ever hear of that? If he did, I will ask yourpardon humbly; but, in any case, he _shall_ know before he dies."

  He felt the grip on his arm tighten at his words; it assured him, had heneeded assurance, that he was right, that Mr. Deane had not known, and,what was more, that Mrs. Russelthorpe, who feared few things, dreadedsuch a revelation.

  "I have an impression that you have some grudge against me; and though,in ordinary circumstances, that fact could hardly have any weight withme," she remarked, with a fine touch of contempt in the voice she wouldnot allow to tremble, "I acknowledge that, just now, you have anopportunity of annoying me seriously. Even you, however, may rememberthat, in gratifying your petty spite, you will probably quicken the endof the man who has befriended you, and whose friend, I believe, you callyourself. You must think worse of Mrs. Thorpe than I do, if you imaginethat she will thank you for that."

  "Oh, I shan't ask for thanks," he said, with a short laugh. "Why shouldI, if I am gratifying my own petty spite? No; Mrs. Thorpe wouldn'tapprove this. I don't imagine that she would; she never did quiteapprove me! Please take
your hand off my arm; I assure you that I don'twant to hurt you, but I am going upstairs."

  He could not free himself from her grasp, however, without using actualforce; and Mrs. Russelthorpe made one last desperate effort.

  "If there were a man within call besides old Pankhurst," she said, "andmy brother, who is ill, you wouldn't dare do this! You are taking acowardly advantage, Mr. Sauls, a cowardly and ungenerous advantage ofpower. You have no right to do what I forbid in my house; but--you arethe stronger. If you have a spark of manliness in you, you will beashamed!"

  George looked down on her; his near-sighted eyes brightened, theexpression of his imperturbable face changed a little. She had felt thatthat must move him; she spoke with genuinely righteous indignation; andhe was moved, though not as she had expected.

  "Might is right, Mrs. Russelthorpe," said he. "Oh, it's not an exaltedtheory, I know. Mr. Deane would never allow it for a moment, nor wouldhis daughter; but you and I--we don't go in for their exalted theories,do we? Cowardly and ungenerous? When you sent Mrs. Thorpe away, did youstop to consider the right of the weakest? Did you _ever_ consider that,where she was concerned? Yes! I am the stronger; and I pay you thecompliment of following your example rather than your precepts, yousee." And he put his hand on her wrist, freed himself with a wrench, andwent on upstairs.

  For a second, Mrs. Russelthorpe still stood where he had left her,feeling as if heaven and earth were coming to an end. Then she pulledherself together, and followed him. She would have forfeited some yearsof her life, though she loved life dearly, to have prevented thisdisclosure. Since prevention was impossible, she would hear the worst.

  She wished she had not made an enemy of Mr. Sauls; but, at least, heshould not be able to say that he had seen her afraid.

  He looked round doubtfully when he reached the second landing.

  It was awkward not to know which was Mr. Deane's room, though he wouldhave tried each door in succession before he would have been baffled.

  It may be said for George that "petty spite" alone would not havecarried him to these lengths.

  He was very much aware that his conduct was rather indefensible,although he was certainly a good hater.

  "It is the second door on the right," said Mrs. Russelthorpe behind him.

  She held her head a little higher than usual, and spoke in her ordinarycold incisive tones. She had protested in vain. She had appealed to anygentlemanly instinct he might possess; but he had none. There should beno more undignified scrimmages; whatever was to be, should be quickly.

  Mr. Sauls opened the door, and held it open for her to pass in first. Hewould have preferred seeing Mr. Deane alone, but he had some pride too;she should not suppose that he shrank from saying before her face whathe had to say.

  Meg's champion was not over scrupulous; but he was no coward; and, ifmost men would have shrunk from behaving to a woman as he had, on thescore of chivalry, it must also be owned that many would hardly have hadthe courage to meet their host's astonished glance and to explain theirpresence before a hostile listener.

  Mr. Deane did, indeed, look utterly surprised for a moment; then he heldout his hand with his usual genial courtesy.

  "Sauls! This is uncommonly kind of you. I wasn't expecting a visitor,but my sister was quite right to bring you up."

  His voice was very weak, and he flushed with the effort of talking. Mr.Sauls could almost see the light through the hand extended in welcome,and a momentary compunction seized him. Then he thought of Meg. "He willdie anyhow," reflected George. "But he shall see her first, if I cancompass it."

  "I am afraid I must own that Mrs. Russelthorpe did not bring me up--infact, she did not give me her permission to come," he said.

  "Dear me! That sounds as if you had been fighting your way," said Mr.Deane, with some amusement. He had not the faintest idea of the truth ofthe suggestion, till he caught a glimpse of the face of his sister, whostood behind Mr. Sauls. Then he raised himself on his elbow, and lookedfrom one to the other.

  "Is anything really the matter?" he asked.

  "No; but there is something I wish to say to you, at the risk of yourpossibly considering me an impertinent interferer in your affairs."

  "I am sure," said Mr. Deane, with a touch of hauteur in his voice, "thatyou would never impertinently interfere in my affairs;" and George sethis teeth hard. It was difficult to go on after that. He felt as he hadfelt in old days, when Meg had sometimes snubbed him gently and evenunconsciously, because he had ventured a little too far.

  "Do you remember this?" he said; and, taking a small parcel from hisbreast pocket, he opened it, and disclosed Meg's locket. Mr. Deane heldout his hand instinctively; he did not like to see that precious relicin Mr. Sauls' possession.

  "Yes, it is--I mean it was--mine. I'll give you anything you like forit, Sauls."

  "I remembered it too," said George. "Miss Deane once showed it to me.The diamonds are uncommonly fine. I found it at a pawnbroker's at N----.Mrs. Thorpe sold it to him. The old rascal made a good thing out of her,I suspect. He assured me that he saw her cross the road to the 'Pig andWhistle' with the money in her hand, and order a chaise to take her toLupcombe parsonage."

  "To Lupcombe!" said Mr. Deane; he started painfully.

  "You didn't know?" said George. "It was not news to me. The gardenertold us how a woman had come to the parsonage--it was while Mr.Bagshotte and I were looking at ancient monuments--and begged hard tosee you, but was sent away; he said she seemed broken-hearted."

  George's even voice--he spoke in as matter-of-fact a tone as if he werecommenting on the weather--ceased for a moment. He knew that Mrs.Russelthorpe had turned white even to her lips; but he had no pity forher;--that other woman "broken-hearted" was too present with him.

  "How do you know--it was my Meg?" said her father, with a catch of thebreath in the middle of his sentence.

  "I questioned the gardener again," said George. "When Mrs. Russelthorpesent her away, the woman said, 'Tell father I know he was right'.Possibly Mrs. Russelthorpe forgot to give you that message?" He put uphis eyeglass and looked at her, but she stood perfectly still andstraight. An enemy's presence has a finely bracing effect on a woman'snerves; yet, perhaps, at that moment, Meg's wrongs were avenged, evenbetter than the avenger knew.

  Mrs. Russelthorpe's love for her brother might be selfish, but at leastit was intense; and to lose his was like losing the very life of hersoul, for it was the only love she knew. She could not look at Charles,though she felt him look eagerly and questioningly at her, or speak tohim, though her silence was an admission. But she met Mr. Sauls' starewith haughty composure; if he must guess she suffered, at least heshouldn't _see_ it.

  Mr. Deane put his hand over his eyes; there was a minute's deadsilence,--the longest minute that Mrs. Russelthorpe had ever known.Then: "Mr. Sauls, you have made a mistake," he said. "It--it was I whoforgot; my memory is getting misty. You must not fancy that my sisterdid not tell me. Of course, I knew--but, no doubt, you meant well." And,for once in his life, George was taken aback. Then he turned on hisheel, with a short laugh.

  "Thank you; I am glad you credit me with good intentions," he said. "Iam no more fond of interfering than you are of--shall I say, of tellinglies? But there _are_ circumstances--Mrs. Thorpe had no one else tospeak for her. Family pride is a stronger influence than abstractjustice, isn't it?" He walked to the door, then paused. Mr. Deanefancied that Mr. Sauls was going to make one last cutting remark; but hedid not. After all, it was not for his own hand that he was fighting;and stinging speeches wouldn't help her much.

  "I daresay I have 'interfered impertinently,'" he said; "but don't'forget' again. I think if you had seen, as I have, how she looks whenyour name is mentioned, how she longs for any crumb of news of you, youmight remember, and even let her in next time. Good-bye; I am sorry wedon't part friends--I am very sorry." And he spoke the truth. Mr. Deanehad befriended him years ago; and then he was Meg's father.

  He was just leaving the room when Mr. Deane cal
led him back.

  "Sauls, come here!" he said. "I can't make you hear across the room; myvoice isn't strong enough. Tell me, do you know where she is? Yes? Bringme paper and pencil, please." George handed him his own pocket-book, andtook the pencil from his watch-chain. Mr. Deane's hand shook while heheld it. His sister, who had stood still as a statue all through thisinterview, stepped forward now in genuine anxiety for him.

  "You are not fit to write," she said. "Let me--or Mr. Sauls." But heshook his head. "No one else can do it. Meg will understand and come,when she gets this. Tell her, Sauls, that I will do my best to live tillI have seen her, and give her my love."

  He wrote one line in shaky characters; then folded the leaf in two, andput it in George's hand. "I can't trust it to the post. Will you takethis to her, for the sake of--'abstract justice'? You understand thatwhat happened before was my doing. I trust you with this."

  "I understand, and you may trust me," said George. "Thank you." Andthere was a warm ring in the thanks that brought a smile to Mr. Deane'slips.

  "You are very fond of abstract justice!" he murmured.

  "Am I? the more fool I!" said George. "It's not a profitable taste, orlikely to find much gratification. I will take your message safely. I amglad I reminded you, though you are very tired, I'm afraid." And theirhands met for the last time.

  "There will be time to rest when I have seen her," said Mr. Deane; "buttell her that she must make haste."

  George went out, shutting the door behind him softly, not even caring tolook again at his enemy. After all, he did not feel triumphant at thatmoment, though he was glad that he had won that victory for Meg.

  When he was fairly gone, Mr. Deane turned and looked at his sister.

  "You could not contradict him," he said, in a low voice. "A man can'tsee a woman put to shame before another man, but I wonder what injury Ihave ever done you that you _could_ do this thing to me. You must hateus very much!"

  "Not you! Not you!" she cried. And she threw herself at his side, hidingher face in the bedclothes. "Oh, Charles, I meant no harm to you. Butwhat right had _she_ to come? She has always been between us, always.She tried to take my place; she was her mother over again,--her mother,who robbed me once; whom I had thought buried! Even when she was a childit was so; and now, having done all the harm she can, having proved herworthlessness, she will still dare to come and----"

  "God grant she will still come!" he said.

  His thin face worked nervously. The generous, easy life, unstained byany gross sin, pure as a girl's, seemed to him, at that moment, moreculpable than words could say.

  "Even when she was a child!" he repeated to himself. "My _poor_ littleMeg, even when she was a child! I don't understand how you had the heartto send my daughter away, but it seems I have never understood. Go,please, and leave me to wait for her," he said aloud.

  "Charles!" she cried again. And even in her own ears both words andvoice sounded strange and unlike herself. "Oh, Charles, it was because Icared so much about you! I know that you can't understand; but forgiveme, if you can."

  "Because you cared!" he said. "I would rather you _had_ hated me, then!It would have been better for us both." Then, seeing her wince as if hehad struck her: "There! I should not have said that; but, for mercy'ssake, do go, Augusta! I don't want to say anything more that I shallrepent. I can't talk about it. Forgive you? If my child comes in time, Iwill. That is all I want,--if Meg only comes in time."

  And Mrs. Russelthorpe rose from her knees, and went downstairs, with aface that seemed to have grown older and greyer.

  "If Mrs. Thorpe comes in time to see Mr. Deane, let her in," she said tothe butler, who nodded gravely.

  "Things must be at a pretty pass when she gives that order," he declareddownstairs; and the cook sat down and cried, for all the servants lovedMr. Deane.

  That night he was worse, but in the morning there was again a slightrally. A kind of expectancy pervaded the whole house. The maids wouldsteal constantly to the area gate, and look down the silent square; eventhe nurse, infected by her patient's anxiety, went often to the window,and peeped out to see whether the daughter was coming.

  Mr. Deane himself did nothing but listen day and night.

  Mrs. Russelthorpe, sitting alone in the big drawing-room, listened too.Her brother would not see her--he might die, still without seeing her.She made no sign of distress; but her head ached, and her brain reeledwith listening. All through the weary day she heard every footfall thatsounded on the flagstones, passed the house and died in the distance;and all through the weary night she wondered whether it would be worsethat Meg should hold him in her arms at the last; or that he should die,leaving his sister unforgiven. It would be a careless forgiveness--givenbecause, having his child again, he had "all he wanted". Mrs.Russelthorpe wondered at herself because she longed for that.

  Well, if her love was selfish, she did not on that account suffer anythe less--but rather more.

  Even George Sauls, who thought she had got off easily, though it wasjust like Mr. Deane to interpose and screen her--even he might have beensatisfied, if he had known how much.

  And, indeed, the most vindictive, could they know everything, wouldprobably have small desire left for the shooting of private arrows atany enemy.