CHAPTER XIV.
THE MEETING OF NEVA AND RUFUS.
The hours of his father’s absence in London were full of an insupportable suspense to Rufus Black. He was tempted to hurry up to town by the next train, and only his weakness and cowardice prevented him from flying to the succor of his wronged young wife. His terror of his father was a lion in his way. And the act of perjury he had committed in declaring himself of age when obtaining his marriage license—an act more of thoughtlessness and boyish ardor than of deliberate lying—arose now between him and poor Lally like a wall of iron. He had erred, and must accept the consequences, but he thought to himself that he would give all his hopes of heaven if Lally might have been spared his punishment.
Anguished and despairing, he put on his hat and hurried out into the street, eager for fresh air and for action. He passed out of the little hamlet, seeing no one, and wandered into the open country, where a noble park bordered one side of the road, and fair green fields stretched far away upon the other. Both park and fields belonged to the domain of Hawkhurst, but Rufus Black was unconscious of the fact until he came out in full view of the great gray stone house throned upon the broad ridge of ground, and set in its parks and gardens like some rare jewel in its setting.
Then he recognized the place, and muttered moodily:
“So, this is what I am to sell my soul for? A goodly price, no doubt, and more than it is worth. The owner of all this wealth cannot go begging for a husband, be she ugly as Medusa. Perhaps, after all, I have been troubling myself for nothing. She may not choose to accept a shabby young man, without a penny in his pocket, and with a gloomy face. If she refuses me, I dare say that father will let me go back to Lally.”
This thought afforded him some comfort, and he plodded on, seeking relief from his troubles in exertion. He cared not whither he went, and his surprise was great when at last, arousing from his abstraction, he found himself in the streets of Canterbury.
He was near an inn of the humbler sort, and, with a sudden recklessness as to what became of him, he turned into the low barroom and demanded a private parlor. A bare little apartment on the upper floor, overlooking the inn stables, was assigned him. The floor was uncovered, and a deal table, rush-bottomed chair and rickety lounge made up the sum of the furniture.
Rufus called for brandy and water, tossing a shilling to the frowsy waiter. A decanter of brandy and a bottle of water were brought to him, and he entered upon a solitary orgie. He had not been used to drink, and the fiery liquid mounted to his brain, inducing stupidity and drunkenness. For an hour or two he drank with brief intermission, but sleep overpowered him, and his head fell upon the table and he snored heavily. With his red face, dishevelled hair and stertorous breathing, his unmistakable aspect of drunkenness, he presented a terrible contrast to the hopeful boy artist with his honest eyes and loving soul, who had made the dingy lodging in New Brompton a very paradise to poor Lally.
The day wore on. A waiter looked in upon the poor wreck, once or twice, and went away each time chuckling. In the latter part of the afternoon Rufus awakened, and came to himself. Ashamed and conscience-stricken, his first thought being of what Lally would think of him, he summoned a waiter and demanded strong coffee and food. These were furnished him, and having partaken of them he settled his bill, and set out to walk back to Wyndham.
“It makes no difference what becomes of me now,” he said to himself, as he strode along the return route. “I have started down hill, and I may as well keep on descending.”
He had accomplished half the distance between Canterbury and his destination, when a four-wheeled cab, traveling briskly, came up behind him, compelling him to take to the side path. The next moment the cab stopped, and Craven Black’s head was protruded from the open window, and Craven Black’s smooth voice called:
“Is that you, Rufus? What are you doing away out here? Jump in! jump in!”
Rufus obeyed, entering the vehicle, and the cabman drove on.
“Where have you been?” demanded the elder Black, as the son settled himself upon the front seat and opposite his father.
“I have spent the day in Canterbury,” returned Rufus sullenly.
“What have you been doing there?”
“Getting drunk,” was the dogged answer.
The young man’s face testified to his truthfulness. His eyes, wild in their glances, were bloodshot and watery, and he had a reckless air, as if he had thrown off all restraints of virtue and decency.
Craven Black experienced a sense of alarm. He began to fear lest his son would defeat all his plans by his obstinacy and recklessness.
“You do not ask me about the girl,” said the father, with more gentleness than was usual to him. “I have seen her.”
“I supposed you had,” was the reply. “I gave you her address.”
“I told her the truth,” said Craven Black, puzzled by his son’s strange mood. “I explained to her kindly enough that her marriage with you was no marriage at all. She readily accepted the situation. She cried a little, to be sure, but she said herself that she was of lower rank than you, and that the match was too unequal. She—she said that of course all was over between you, and it was best you and she should never meet again. And in fact, to render any such meeting impossible, she left her lodging while I was there.”
Rufus fixed a burning gaze upon his father.
“I don’t believe a word you say,” he cried. “The news you carried to her broke my darling’s heart. Do you suppose I do not know how much she loved me? I was all she had in the wide world—her only friend. Think of that, sir! Her only friend—and you have torn me from her. If she dies of grief, you are her murderer.”
Craven Black shuddered involuntarily, remembering poor Lally’s flight, and his conviction that she had gone to destroy herself. His emotion did not pass unnoticed by his son.
“Poor Lally!” said Rufus, his voice trembling. “It’s all over between us forever. I have blighted her life, ruined her good name, and made her an outcast. Yet it was not I who did this. It was you. Her blood be upon your head. If I could find her and were free to woo her, she would never take me back, now that I have proved myself a liar, perjurer and pitiful wretched coward. It is indeed all over between us. You can do what you like with the wreck you have made me. You might have given me a chance to redeem myself; you might have let me be true to her, but you would make me perjure myself doubly. I hope you are pleased with your work.”
“Let there be an end of these silly boyish reproaches,” exclaimed Mr. Black harshly. “You have done with the girl, and are about to enter upon a new life. I have generously forgiven your errors and crimes. If you repeat the drunkenness of to-day, I’ll send you to prison. Try me, and see if I do not. I have brought you a trunk from London, filled with new clothing from your tailor, shirt-maker, boot-maker and jeweller. I have spared no expense to make you look as my son should look. And now, by Heaven, if you disgrace me to-night by any recklessness and folly, any mock despair, I’ll prosecute you on that charge of perjury.”
“You need not fear that I shall disgrace myself, or insult my hostess,” said Rufus doggedly. “You think no one has the instincts of a gentleman save yourself.”
With such recriminations as these, the pair beguiled their drive to Wyndham; nor did they cease from them after their arrival in Mr. Black’s private parlor. A sullen silence succeeded in good time, and reigned throughout the dinner, of which they partook together. After dinner, they retired to their several rooms to dress.
The trunk Mr. Black had brought from London had been deposited in his son’s chamber. Rufus had the key, and unlocked the receptacle, bringing to light an ample supply of fine garments, perfume cases, a dressing case, and a set of jewelled shirt studs in a little velvet case.
He arrayed his boyish figure in his new black garments, noticing even in his despair that they fitted him as if he had been measured for them. He waited in his room until his father came for him, and submitted sullenly to his father’s careful inspection.
“You’ll do,” commented Craven Black. “If you act as well as you look, I shall be satisfied. Mind, if you mention to Miss Wynde one word about the girl Lally, it’s all up with you. The cab is waiting. Come on!”
They descended together to the cab, and were conveyed to Hawkhurst. On arriving at the mansion, they alighted, and entered the great baronial hall, sending in their cards to Lady Wynde by the footman. The baronet’s widow having signified to her domestic that she was “always at home” to Mr. Black and his son, the visitors was ushered into the drawing-room.
Lady Wynde and Artress arose to receive them. Craven Black presented his son, and the baronet’s widow welcomed the young man graciously. She was looking unusually well this evening in a robe of pale amber silk, with a row of short locks trimmed squarely, nursery fashion, across her low polished forehead, a long black curl trailing over each shoulder, and her cheeks glowing with suppressed excitement. Rufus remembered having seen her before her marriage to Sir Harold Wynde, and his face brightened as at the sight of a friend.
He was acquainted, although slightly, with his father’s cousin, Mrs. Artress, and as he held out his hand to her, he looked his surprise at seeing her at the house of Lady Wynde.
“I am her ladyship’s hired companion,” said Artress, explainingly. “My husband left me very poor, you know, Rufus, and I have been in dear Lady Wynde’s employ for some three years. I beg you not to recognize me as a relative, nor to mention the fact to any one. I have my family pride, you know, Rufus, and it is hard to be obliged to earn one’s own living when one has not been brought up to it.”
Her reasons for concealment of the relationship existing between them seemed to Rufus no reasons at all, but he could not gainsay her wishes, and muttered that he would obey her.
“Miss Wynde has gone out for a solitary stroll in the park,” observed Lady Wynde, as Mr. Black’s eyes wandered about the room. “I sent her out for the fresh air. She is not looking well, I regret to say. Mr. Rufus, if you will be kind enough to go down the wide park avenue, you cannot fail to find her. I beg you will introduce yourself to her, and bring her back to the house.”
Rufus bowed, and stepping lightly out of the open window, moved leisurely toward the park.
“There is nothing like an informal meeting,” said Lady Wynde, looking after the young man. “I planned to have the meeting occur in this way, so that neither should be embarrassed by the presence of a third party.”
“I should have preferred to keep my eye upon Rufus,” remarked Mr. Black uneasily. “Did you give the letter to the young lady?”
“Yes, and she received it exactly as I had expected she would. She is not at all the style of girl I looked for, Craven, and it is fortunate for our plans that she cared so much for her father.”
While the conspirators were thus conversing, Rufus crossed the lawn and entered the park by a small gate. The wide avenue, a fine carriage drive, was readily found, and Rufus walked for some distance upon it, keeping a vigilant look-out for Miss Wynde. He was beginning to meditate upon a return to the house without the young lady, when a flutter of white garments among the dusky shadows of a side path caught his gaze. He plunged into the path without hesitation, and presently overtook the wearer of the garments, who was of course Miss Wynde.
Hearing his swift approach, she halted and turned her face toward him. Rufus also halted, strangely embarrassed under her brave full glance. She had laid aside her mourning garments, and wore rose-colored ribbons and a profusion of frills and puffs and lace, in which she looked very fair and dainty and sweet. Her wine-brown eyes were all aglow, but her cheeks were pale, and her face was very grave, even to sadness.
“I beg your pardon,” said Rufus awkwardly, raising his hat. “I am looking for Miss Wynde.”
“I am Miss Wynde,” said Neva, with gentle courtesy.
The young man’s embarrassment was not lessened by this announcement.
“Lady Wynde sent me to look for you,” he declared. “I—I am Rufus Black!”
Neva started and looked at him with her grave, serious eyes. He appeared to advantage in his new garments, and his face was pale and worn by the day’s dissipation. His sorrows and his sickness had given him a refined look to which he was not fully and fairly entitled, and his eyes met hers frankly and honestly, with a real admiration in their gaze.
Neva’s cheeks flushed slightly, and her heart fluttered. Clearly Rufus Black had not made an unfavorable impression upon her in that first glance.
They turned and walked slowly up the path together, entering the avenue. Rufus tried to conquer his unwonted awkwardness, and singularly impressed with Neva’s beauty, exerted himself to please her. They sauntered on, stopping now and then to gather ferns or flowers, and when they emerged from the park upon the lawn, they were chatting gayly, and on the best of terms with each other.
And yet the heart of each was strangely sore. Neva thought of what “might have been,” and sighed in her inmost soul that the husband her father was supposed by her to have chosen for her was not the one her heart most longed for. And Rufus mourned as bitterly as ever in his soul for his lost young wife, and felt that he should never be comforted.
Craven Black and Lady Wynde watched them as they approached the house, and the lip of the former curled, as he muttered:
“So fade the griefs of the young! Unstable as water, Rufus is already this girl’s lover!”
“They are mutually pleased,” murmured Lady Wynde. “Her father’s supposed wishes and this young man’s interesting melancholy will soon efface Lord Towyn’s image from Neva’s mind, if it has made any impression there.”
It seemed indeed as if the opinion of the worldly-wise conspirators would be justified.
The young couple halted upon the lawn, and Neva’s gravity and the melancholy of Rufus began to disappear, when the lodge gates swung open, and three gentleman came riding up the avenue.
The long twilight had begun, and even Neva’s keen eyes could not recognize the new-comers at that distance, and she chatted merrily to Rufus, who answered as lightly. But as the horsemen came nearer, and Neva regarded them more closely, a sudden silence fell upon her, and a strange shyness seized her.
It was a critical movement in the progress of the game which Craven Black and Lady Wynde were playing, and these new-comers had arrived in time to give a new turn to it.
For Neva recognized them as the three guardians of her property—Sir John Freies, Mr. Atkins, and the young Lord Towyn!