He rises, smiling always, but as if to put a termination to the interview.
"No, but listen," says Minnie, who, now she has entered upon her plan, would be difficult to beat. "Do you remember when you and Mrs.
Bethune were standing on the balcony at Warbeck Towers--that night?"
Rylton starts, but in a second collects himself.
"Yes," returns he calmly.
He feels it would be madness to deny it.
"Very well," says Minnie, "I was there too, and I went down the steps--to the garden. Your wife went down before me."
Rylton grows suddenly interested. He had seen Minnie go down those steps--but the other!
"Then?" asks he; his tone is breathless.
"Oh, yes--just then," says Minnie, "and that is what I wanted to talk to you about. You and Mrs. Bethune were on the balcony above, and t.i.ta pa.s.sed just beneath, and I saw Mrs. Bethune lean over for a _second_ as it were--it seemed to me a most evil second, and she saw t.i.ta--and her eyes!" Minnie pauses. "Her eyes were awful! I felt frightened for t.i.ta."
"You mean to tell me that Mrs. Bethune _saw_ t.i.ta that night pa.s.sing beneath the balcony?"
The memory of his bet with Marian, that strange bet, so strangely begun, comes back to him--and other things too! He loses himself a little. Once again he is back on that balcony; the lights are low, the stars are over his head. Marian is whispering to him, and all at once she grows silent. He remembers it; she takes a step forward. He remembers that too--a step as though she would have checked something, and then thought better of it.
Is this girl speaking the truth? _Had_ Marian seen and then made her bet, and then deliberately drawn him step by step to that accursed arbour? And all so quietly--so secretly--without a thought of pity, of remorse!
No, it is not true! This girl is false---- And yet--that quick step Marian had taken; it had somehow, in some queer way, planted itself upon his memory.
Had she seen t.i.ta go by with Hescott? She had called it a fair bet!
Was it fair? Was there any truth anywhere? If she had seen them--if she had deliberately led him to spy upon them----
A very rage of anger swells up within his heart, and with it a first doubt--a first suspicion of the honour of her on whom he had set his soul! Perhaps the ground was ready for the sowing.
"Saw her? Yes, indeed," says Minnie, still with the air of childish candour. "It was _because_ I saw her that I was so frightened about t.i.ta. Do you know, Sir Maurice,"--most ingenuously this--"I don"t think Mrs. Bethune likes t.i.ta."
"Why should you suppose such a thing?" says Rylton. His face is dark and lowering. "t.i.ta seems to me to be a person impossible to dislike."
"Ah, that is what I think," says Minnie. "And it made me the more surprised that Mrs. Bethune should look at her so unkindly. Well,"
smiling very naturally and pleasantly, "I suppose there is nothing in it. It was only my love for t.i.ta that made me come and tell you what was troubling me."
"Why not tell t.i.ta?"
"Ah, t.i.ta is a little angel," says Minnie Hescott. "I might as well speak to the winds as to her. I tried to tell her, you know, and----"
"And----"
He looked up eagerly.
"And she wouldn"t listen. I tell you she is an angel," says Minnie, laughing. She stops. "I suppose it is all nonsense--all my own folly; but I am so fond of t.i.ta, that I felt terrified when I saw Mrs. Bethune look so unkindly at her on the balcony."
"You are sure you were not dreaming?" says Rylton, making an effort, and growing careless once again in his manner.
Minnie Hescott smiles too.
"I never dream," says she.
CHAPTER V.
HOW MISS GOWER GOES FOR A PLEASANT ROW UPON THE LAKE WITH HER NEPHEW; AND HOW SHE ADMIRES THE SKY AND THE WATER; AND HOW PRESENTLY FEAR FALLS ON HER; AND HOW DEATH THREATENS HER; AND HOW BY A MERE SCRATCH OF A PEN SHE REGAINS Sh.o.r.e AND LIFE.
"How delicious the water looks to-day!" says Miss Gower, gazing at the still lake beneath her with a sentimental eye. The eye is under one of the biggest sun-hats in Christendom. "And the sky," continues Miss Gower, now casting the eye aloft, "is admirably arranged too.
What a day for a row, and so late in the season, too!"
""Late, late, so late!"" quotes her nephew, in a gloomy tone.
"Nonsense!" sharply; "it is not so very late, after all. And even if it were there would be no necessity for being so lugubrious over it.
And permit me to add, Randal, that when you take a lady out for a row, it is in the very worst possible taste to be in low spirits."
"I can"t help it," says Mr. Gower, with a groan.
"What"s the matter with you?" demands his aunt.
"Ah, no matter--no matter!"
"In debt, as usual, I suppose?" grimly.
"Deeply!" with increasing gloom.
"And you expect me to help you, I suppose?"
"No. I expect nothing. I hope only for one thing," says Mr. Gower, fixing a haggard gaze upon her face.
"If it"s a cheque from me," says his aunt sternly, "you will hope a long time."
"I don"t think so," sadly.
"What do you mean, sir? Do you think I am a weatherc.o.c.k, to change with every wind? You have had your last cheque from me, Randal. Be sure of that. I shall no longer pander to your wicked ways, your terrible extravagances."
"I didn"t mean that. I wished only to convey to you the thought that soon there would be no room for hope left to me."
"Well, there isn"t _now!" _says Miss Gower cheerfully, "if you are alluding to me. Row on, Randal; there isn"t anything like as good a view from this spot as there is from the lower end!"
"I like the middle of the lake," says Mr. Gower, in a sepulchral tone. As he speaks he draws in both oars, and leaning his arms upon them, looks straight across into her face. It is now neck or nothing, he tells himself, and decides at once it shall be neck.
"Aunt," says he, in a low, soft, sad tone--a tone that reduces itself into a freezing whisper, _"Are you prepared to die?"_
"What!" says Miss Gower. She drops the ropes she has been holding and glares at him. "Collect yourself, boy!"