A DEED OF GIFT
Wingrave threw the paper aside with an impatient exclamation. A smallnotice in an obscure corner had attracted his attention; the young man,Richardson, had been fished out of the river half drowned, and in viewof his tearful and abject penitence, had been allowed to go his way bya lenient magistrate. He had been ill, he pleaded, and disappointed. Hisformer employer, in an Islington emporium, gave him a good character,and offered to take him back. So that was an end of Mr. Richardson, andthe romance of his days!
A worm like that to have brought him--the strong man, low! Wingravethought with sullen anger as he leaned back in his chair withhalf-closed eyes. Here was an undignified hiatus, if not a finale, toall his schemes, to the even tenor of his self-restrained, purposefullife! The west wind was rippling through the orchards which borderedthe garden. The muffled roar of the Atlantic was in his ears, a strangeeverlasting background to all the slighter summer sounds, the murmuringof insects, the calling of birds, the melodious swish of the whirlingknives in the distant hayfield. Wingrave was alone with his thoughts,and he hated them!
Even Mr. Pengarth was welcome, Mr. Pengarth very warm from his ride,carrying his hat and a small black bag in his hand. As he drew nearer,he became hotter and was obliged to rest his bag upon the path and mophis forehead. He was more afraid of his client than of anything else inthe world.
"Good afternoon, Sir Wingrave," he said. "I trust that you are feelingbetter today."
Wingrave eyed him coldly. He did not reply to the inquiry as to hishealth.
"You have brought the deed?" he asked.
"Certainly, Sir Wingrave."
The lawyer produced a roll of parchment from his bag. In response toWingrave's gesture, he seated himself on the extreme edge of an adjacentseat.
"I do not propose to read all that stuff through," Wingrave remarked."I take it for granted that the deed is made out according to myinstructions."
"Certainly, Sir Wingrave!"
"Then we will go into the house, and I will sign it."
Mr. Pengarth mopped his forehead once more. It was a terrible thing tohave a conscience.
"Sir Wingrave," he said, "I apologize most humbly for what I am about tosay, but as the agent of your estates in this county and your--er--legaladviser with regard to them, I am forced to ask you whether you arequite determined upon this--most unexampled piece of generosity.Tredowen has been in your mother's family for a great many years, andalthough I must say that I have a great affection for this young lady,I have also an old fashioned dislike to seeing--er--family property passinto the hands of strangers. You might, forgive me--marry!"
Wingrave smiled very faintly, otherwise his face was inscrutable.
"I might," he admitted calmly, "but I shall not. Do you consider me, Mr.Pengarth, to be a person in possession of his usual faculties?"
"Oh, most certainly--most certainly," the lawyer declared emphatically.
"Then please do not question my instructions any further. So far asregards the pecuniary part of it, I am a richer man than you have anyidea of, Mr. Pengarth, and for the rest--sentiment unfortunatelydoes not appeal to me. I choose to give the Tredowen estates away, todisappoint my next of kin. That is how you may regard the transaction.We will go into the house and complete this deed."
Wingrave rose slowly and walked with some difficulty up the gravel path.He ignored, however, his companion's timid offer of help, and ledthe way to the library. In a few minutes the document was signed andwitnessed.
"I have ordered tea in the garden," Wingrave said, as the twoservants left the room; "that is, unless you prefer any other sort ofrefreshment. I don't know much about the cellars, but there is somecabinet hock, I believe--"
Mr. Pengarth interposed.
"I am very much obliged," he said, "but I will not intrude upon youfurther. If you will allow me, I will ring the bell for my trap."
"You will do nothing of the sort," Wingrave answered testily. "You willstay here and talk to me."
"I will stay with pleasure if you desire it," the lawyer answered. "Ihad an idea that you preferred solitude."
"Then you were wrong," Wingrave answered. "I hate being alone."
They moved out together towards the garden. Tea was set out in a shadycorner of the lawn.
"If you will forgive my remarking it," Mr. Pengarth said, "this seemsrather an extraordinary place for you to come to if you really dislikesolitude."
"I come to escape from an intolerable situation, and because I was ill,"Wingrave said.
"You might have brought friends," the lawyer suggested.
"I have no friends," Wingrave answered.
"Some of the people in the neighborhood would be very glad--" Mr.Pengarth began.
"I do not wish to see them," Wingrave answered.
Mr. Pengarth took a peach, and held his tongue. Wingrave broke thesilence which followed a little abruptly.
"Tell me, Mr. Pengarth," he said, "do I look like a man likely to failin anything he sets out to accomplish?"
The lawyer shook his head vigorously.
"You do not," he declared.
"Nor do I feel like one," Wingrave said, "and yet my record since Icommenced, shall I call it my second life, is one of complete failure!Nothing that I planned have I been able to accomplish. I look backthrough the months and through the years, and I see not a single purposecarried out, not a single scheme successful.
"Not quite so bad as that, I trust, Sir Wingrave," the lawyer protested.
"It is the precise truth," Wingrave affirmed drily. "I am losingconfidence in myself."
"At least," the lawyer declared, "you have been the salvation of ourdear Miss Juliet, if I may call her so. But for you, her life would havebeen ruined."
"Precisely," Wingrave agreed. "But I forgot! You don't understand! Ihave saved her from heaven knows what! I am going to give her the homeshe loves! Benevolence, isn't it? And yet, if I had only the pluck, Imight succeed even now--so far as she is concerned."
The lawyer took off his spectacles and rubbed them with hishandkerchief. He was thoroughly bewildered.
"I might succeed," Wingrave repeated, leaning back in his chair, "ifonly--"
His face darkened. It seemed to Mr. Pengarth as he sipped his tea underthe cool cedars, drawing in all their wonderful perfume with every puffof breeze, that he saw two men in the low invalid's chair before him. Hesaw the breath and desire of evil things struggling with some wonderfuldream vainly seeking to realize itself.
"Some of us," the lawyer said timidly, "build our ideals too high up inthe clouds, so that to reach them is very difficult. Nevertheless, theeffort counts."
Wingrave laughed mockingly.
"It is not like that with me," he declared. "My plans were made down inhell."
"God bless my soul!" the lawyer murmured. "But you are not serious, SirWingrave?"
"Ay! I'm serious enough," Wingrave answered. "Do you suppose a man, withthe best pages of his life rooted out, is likely to look out upon hisfellows from the point of view of a philanthropist? Do you suppose thatthe man, into whose soul the irons of bitterness have gnawed and eatentheir way, is likely to come out with a smirk and look around him forthe opportunity of doing good? Rubbish! My aim is to encourage sufferingwherever I see it, to create it where I can, to make sinners and thievesof honest people."
"God bless my soul!" the lawyer gasped again. "I don't think you canbe--as bad as you think you are. What about Juliet Lundy?"
Fire flashed in Wingrave's eyes. Again, at the mention of her name, heseemed almost to lose control of himself. It was several moments beforehe spoke. He looked Mr. Pengarth in the face, and his tone was unusuallydeliberate.
"Gifts," he said, "are not always given in friendship. Life may easilybecome a more complicated affair for that child with the Tredowenestates hanging round her neck. And anyhow, I disappoint my next ofkin."
Morrison, smooth-footed and silent, appeared upon the lawn. He addressedWingrave.
"A lady has a
rrived in a cab from Truro, sir," he announced. "She wishesto see you as soon as convenient."
A sudden light flashed across Wingrave's face, dying out again almostimmediately.
"Who is she, Morrison?" he asked.
The man glanced at Mr. Pengarth.
"She did not give her name, sir."
Mr. Pengarth and Wingrave both rose. The former at once made his adieuxand took a short cut to the stables. Wingrave, who leaned heavily uponhis stick, clutched Morrison by the arm.
"Who is it, Morrison?" he demanded.
"It is Lady Ruth Barrington, sir," the man answered.
"Alone?"
"Quite alone, sir."
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