CHAPTER VII.
THE sight that met Moody's view wrung him to the heart.
Isabel and the dog were at play together. Among the variedaccomplishments possessed by Tommie, the capacity to take his part at agame of hide-and-seek was one. His playfellow for the time being put ashawl or a handkerchief over his head, so as to prevent him from seeing,and then hid among the furniture a pocketbook, or a cigar-case, or apurse, or anything else that happened to be at hand, leaving the dog tofind it, with his keen sense of smell to guide him. Doubly relievedby the fit and the bleeding, Tommie's spirits had revived; and heand Isabel had just begun their game when Moody looked into the room,charged with his terrible errand. "You're burning, Tommie, you'reburning!" cried the girl, laughing and clapping her hands. The nextmoment she happened to look round and saw Moody through the partedcurtains. His face warned her instantly that something serious hadhappened. She advanced a few steps, her eyes resting on him in silentalarm. He was himself too painfully agitated to speak. Not a word wasexchanged between Lady Lydiard and Mr. Troy in the next room. In thecomplete stillness that prevailed, the dog was heard sniffing andfidgeting about the furniture. Robert took Isabel by the hand and ledher into the drawing-room. "For God's sake, spare her, my Lady!" hewhispered. The lawyer heard him. "No," said Mr. Troy. "Be merciful, andtell her the truth!"
He spoke to a woman who stood in no need of his advice. The inherentnobility in Lady Lydiard's nature was aroused: her great heart offereditself patiently to any sorrow, to any sacrifice.
Putting her arm round Isabel--half caressing her, half supportingher--Lady Lydiard accepted the whole responsibility and told the wholetruth.
Reeling under the first shock, the poor girl recovered herself withadmirable courage. She raised her head, and eyed the lawyer withoututtering a word. In its artless consciousness of innocence the look wasnothing less than sublime. Addressing herself to Mr. Troy, Lady Lydiardpointed to Isabel. "Do you see guilt there?" she asked.
Mr. Troy made no answer. In the melancholy experience of humanity towhich his profession condemned him, he had seen conscious guilt assumethe face of innocence, and helpless innocence admit the disguise ofguilt: the keenest observation, in either case, failing completely todetect the truth. Lady Lydiard misinterpreted his silence as expressingthe sullen self-assertion of a heartless man. She turned from him, incontempt, and held out her hand to Isabel.
"Mr. Troy is not satisfied yet," she said bitterly. "My love, take myhand, and look me in the face as your equal; I know no difference ofrank at such a time as this. Before God, who hears you, are you innocentof the theft of the bank-note?"
"Before God, who hears me," Isabel answered, "I am innocent."
Lady Lydiard looked once more at the lawyer, and waited to hear if hebelieved _that_.
Mr. Troy took refuge in dumb diplomacy--he made a low bow. It might havemeant that he believed Isabel, or it might have meant that he modestlywithdrew his own opinion into the background. Lady Lydiard did notcondescend to inquire what it meant.
"The sooner we bring this painful scene to an end the better," she said."I shall be glad to avail myself of your professional assistance, Mr.Troy, within certain limits. Outside of my house, I beg that you willspare no trouble in tracing the lost money to the person who has reallystolen it. Inside of my house, I must positively request that thedisappearance of the note may never be alluded to, in any way whatever,until your inquiries have been successful in discovering the thief. Inthe meanwhile, Mrs. Tollmidge and her family must not be sufferers bymy loss: I shall pay the money again." She paused, and pressed Isabel'shand with affectionate fervor. "My child," she said, "one last word toyou, and I have done. You remain here, with my trust in you, and my lovefor you, absolutely unshaken. When you think of what has been said hereto-day, never forget that."
Isabel bent her head, and kissed the kind hand that still held hers. Thehigh spirit that was in her, inspired by Lady Lydiard's example, roseequal to the dreadful situation in which she was placed.
"No, my Lady," she said calmly and sadly; "it cannot be. What thisgentleman has said of me is not to be denied--the appearances areagainst me. The letter was open, and I was alone in the room with it,and Mr. Moody told me that a valuable inclosure was inside it. Dear andkind mistress! I am not fit to be a member of your household, I am notworthy to live with the honest people who serve you, while my innocenceis in doubt. It is enough for me now that _you_ don't doubt it. I canwait patiently, after that, for the day that gives me back my good name.Oh, my Lady, don't cry about it! Pray, pray don't cry!"
Lady Lydiard's self-control failed her for the first time. Isabel'scourage had made Isabel dearer to her than ever. She sank into a chair,and covered her face with her handkerchief. Mr. Troy turned asideabruptly, and examined a Japanese vase, without any idea in his mindof what he was looking at. Lady Lydiard had gravely misjudged him inbelieving him to be a heartless man.
Isabel followed the lawyer, and touched him gently on the arm to rousehis attention.
"I have one relation living, sir--an aunt--who will receive me if I goto her," she said simply. "Is there any harm in my going? Lady Lydiardwill give you the address when you want me. Spare her Ladyship, sir, allthe pain and trouble that you can."
At last the heart that was in Mr. Troy asserted itself. "You are afine creature!" he said, with a burst of enthusiasm. "I agree with LadyLydiard--I believe you are innocent, too; and I will leave no effortuntried to find the proof of it." He turned aside again, and had anotherlook at the Japanese vase.
As the lawyer withdrew himself from observation, Moody approachedIsabel.
Thus far he had stood apart, watching her and listening to her insilence. Not a look that had crossed her face, not a word thathad fallen from her, had escaped him. Unconsciously on her side,unconsciously on his side, she now wrought on his nature with apurifying and ennobling influence which animated it with a new life.All that had been selfish and violent in his passion for her left him toreturn no more. The immeasurable devotion which he laid at her feet, inthe days that were yet to come--the unyielding courage which cheerfullyaccepted the sacrifice of himself when events demanded it at a laterperiod of his life--struck root in him now. Without attempting toconceal the tears that were falling fast over his cheeks--strivingvainly to express those new thoughts in him that were beyond the reachof words--he stood before her the truest friend and servant that everwoman had.
"Oh, my dear! my heart is heavy for you. Take me to serve you and helpyou. Her Ladyship's kindness will permit it, I am sure."
He could say no more. In those simple words the cry of his heart reachedher. "Forgive me, Robert," she answered, gratefully, "if I said anythingto pain you when we spoke together a little while since. I didn't meanit." She gave him her hand, and looked timidly over her shoulder at LadyLydiard. "Let me go!" she said, in low, broken tones, "Let me go!"
Mr. Troy heard her, and stepped forward to interfere before Lady Lydiardcould speak. The man had recovered his self-control; the lawyer took hisplace again on the scene.
"You must not leave us, my dear," he said to Isabel, "until I have put aquestion to Mr. Moody in which you are interested. Do you happen to havethe number of the lost bank-note?" he asked, turning to the steward.
Moody produced his slip of paper with the number on it. Mr. Troy madetwo copies of it before he returned the paper. One copy he put in hispocket, the other he handed to Isabel.
"Keep it carefully," he said. "Neither you nor I know how soon it may beof use to you."
Receiving the copy from him, she felt mechanically in her apron for herpocketbook. She had used it, in playing with the dog, as an object tohide from him; but she had suffered, and was still suffering, too keenlyto be capable of the effort of remembrance. Moody, eager to help hereven in the most trifling thing, guessed what had happened. "You wereplaying with Tommie," he said; "is it in the next room?"
The dog heard his name pronounced through the open door. The next momenthe trotted into the
drawing-room with Isabel's pocketbook in his mouth.He was a strong, well-grown Scotch terrier of the largest size, withbright, intelligent eyes, and a coat of thick curling white hair,diversified by two light brown patches on his back. As he reachedthe middle of the room, and looked from one to another of the personspresent, the fine sympathy of his race told him that there was troubleamong his human friends. His tail dropped; he whined softly as heapproached Isabel, and laid her pocketbook at her feet.
She knelt as she picked up the pocketbook, and raised her playfellow ofhappier days to take her leave of him. As the dog put his paws on hershoulders, returning her caress, her first tears fell. "Foolish ofme," she said, faintly, "to cry over a dog. I can't help it. Good-by,Tommie!"
Putting him away from her gently, she walked towards the door. The doginstantly followed. She put him away from her, for the second time, andleft him. He was not to be denied; he followed her again, and took theskirt of her dress in his teeth, as if to hold her back. Robert forcedthe dog, growling and resisting with all his might, to let go ofthe dress. "Don't be rough with him," said Isabel. "Put him on herladyship's lap; he will be quieter there." Robert obeyed. He whisperedto Lady Lydiard as she received the dog; she seemed to be stillincapable of speaking--she bowed her head in silent assent. Roberthurried back to Isabel before she had passed the door. "Not alone!" hesaid entreatingly. "Her Ladyship permits it, Isabel. Let me see you safeto your aunt's house."
Isabel looked at him, felt for him, and yielded.
"Yes," she answered softly; "to make amends for what I said to you whenI was thoughtless and happy!" She waited a little to compose herselfbefore she spoke her farewell words to Lady Lydiard. "Good-by, my Lady.Your kindness has not been thrown away on an ungrateful girl. I loveyou, and thank you, with all my heart."
Lady Lydiard rose, placing the dog on the chair as she left it. Sheseemed to have grown older by years, instead of by minutes, in the shortinterval that had passed since she had hidden her face from view. "Ican't bear it!" she cried, in husky, broken tones. "Isabel! Isabel! Iforbid you to leave me!"
But one person could venture to resist her. That person was Mr.Troy--and Mr. Troy knew it.
"Control yourself," he said to her in a whisper. "The girl is doingwhat is best and most becoming in her position--and is doing it witha patience and courage wonderful to see. She places herself under theprotection of her nearest relative, until her character is vindicatedand her position in your house is once more beyond a doubt. Is this atime to throw obstacles in her way? Be worthy of yourself, Lady Lydiardand think of the day when she will return to you without the breath of asuspicion to rest on her!"
There was no disputing with him--he was too plainly in the right. LadyLydiard submitted; she concealed the torture that her own resolutioninflicted on her with an endurance which was, indeed, worthy of herself.Taking Isabel in her arms she kissed her in a passion of sorrow andlove. "My poor dear! My own sweet girl! don't suppose that this is aparting kiss! I shall see you again--often and often I shall see youagain at your aunt's!" At a sign from Mr. Troy, Robert took Isabel's armin his and led her away. Tommie, watching her from his chair, liftedhis little white muzzle as his playfellow looked back on passing thedoorway. The long, melancholy, farewell howl of the dog was the lastsound Isabel Miller heard as she left the house.
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