Hew returned suddenly from Bickerton—Hew of the shifty eyes and cold, fish-like hands—more indignant than ever with 'Old Pipeclay,' as he irreverently called Sir Piers.
Old Mr. John Balderstone, the family factor, who had been enjoying some shooting at the Bickerton covers, had incidentally and laughingly mentioned having seen Cecil Falconer and Mary Montgomerie twice in her pony-carriage at a considerable distance from home; and thus Hew had returned full of ire at the folly of Sir Piers in having 'invited that fellow to Eaglescraig,' at the presumption of the latter, and with his heart full of secret rage, jealousy, and no little rancour for the result of the last game at écarté.
Before this time, Cecil perhaps cared little what Hew said or thought of his manner with Mary Montgomerie, so far as friendly intercourse went. Thus Hew had more than once seen him bending caressingly over Mary as he addressed her, bending till his dark-brown moustache almost touched her darker glossy hair. But then, his whole manner to her might be described as one long caress, though he was ever courteous to all women, even the old and plain-looking; while Mary thought it new and charming, and something that even in society she was unused to.
But now there was a sudden change. The result of Mrs. Garth's friendly advice was, that doubt, reserve, and smothered irritation—born of a suspicion that he had been trifled with, or played with—tinged the manner of Cecil Falconer, infusing therein a peculiar strangeness that piqued Mary Montgomerie, and made their intercourse more perilous, for, being somewhat of a little coquette, it was one of her idiosyncrasies, when so piqued, to avoid a reconciliation that was too openly affected, and shyly, or slyly, to take refuge in those which were merely, and silently, implied.
The communications of the old lady had forced upon him the necessity for sedulously seeking to forget, as soon as possible, the existence of Mary; and how far such an effort was consistent with spending the hours of every day in her society, may be imagined.
In the first fever of his spirit he felt inclined to quit Eaglescraig at once, ere his leave was up, and to get Fotheringhame to telegraph for him; but anon he resolved to linger till the last moment, and sun himself in the eyes of Mary; and in the midst of all this Hew now returned, like the shadow of evil, to Eaglescraig, suddenly, and not finding either Mary or Cecil in the house, had his spleen further roused on being told by the watchful Mrs. Garth, that they were rambling somewhere in the grounds together.
'In the grounds,' said Hew, viciously; 'where?'
'I know not,' replied Mrs. Garth; 'but if you will absent yourself shooting here and there, Mary must avail herself of the courtesy of others.'
'Of course—to help her to water her ferns, which she does indefatigably, although a staff of gardeners are kept here at Eaglescraig.'
'And to feed her favourite pigeons at the dovecot.'
'How touchingly domestic; how d——d Arcadian!' said Hew, more viciously than ever. 'Are they on the lawn?'
'No; I think they took the path that leads to the grotto,' replied Mrs. Garth, not unwilling to pique the jealousy of Hew, who muttered an ugly word, and at once left the house to seek them in their ramble.
For this circumstance Sir Piers was in some measure to blame, as he had desired Mary to show Falconer a curious grotto, or cavern, partly natural and partly artificial, under the old tower of Eaglescraig, in which tradition said some centuries ago, when the wall which had concealed it fell, a so-called magic lamp had been discovered hanging from a chain in the rocky roof. The flame, when first seen, was thought to be a Jack-o'-lantern, but was found to proceed from what was supposed to be an ancient sepulchral lamp, prepared with matter spontaneously combustible on the accession of air, and which, instead of burning for centuries, had only taken light when the grotto was opened.
Be all that as it may, neither Cecil nor Mary troubled themselves much about the archæology of the place, though they certainly lingered there, they scarcely knew why, and she clung to his arm, for the mouth of the grotto opened inwards from the rock on which the mansion stood, and overlooked the Firth of Clyde, three hundred feet below.
Alone with Mary there, Cecil felt that he was becoming more devoted and empressé every moment, in spite of his recent resolutions and the warnings of Mrs. Garth.
Their conversation was somewhat disjointed and desultory, especially so far as Cecil was concerned; for the eve of his departure was drawing near; he knew not when, or if ever, he might see Mary Montgomerie again, and the great secret of his heart loaded his tongue. But the faltering accents and broken language of love are generally expressions of the fullest eloquence to her who hears them; and now, filled by all the charm her presence inspired, while gazing into her face which had all the soul-like beauty that radiates from within, Cecil Falconer felt his heart flying to his head, and while pressing to his side the little hand that leant upon his arm, he said:
'Another day—only one short day more—and this time of joy, so sweet to me, will have become a thing of the past—a dream—but a past never to be forgotten!'
'I am glad that you have been happy with us—we live so quietly here at Eaglescraig,' she replied, affecting to misunderstand what he so evidently referred to.
'Happy indeed! But who could fail to be happy here? I am much of a day-dreamer, Miss Montgomerie, and often it has seemed to me, in my solitary moments and thoughtful moods, that some mysterious sympathy or bond was linking my existence with that of another, but who that other was I knew not.'
'A strange idea!'
'You will smile at my folly, as you no doubt deem it. So, too, have I thought there was something singularly sweet in the idea, but sweeter still now that I know, the soul that I dreamed of was you.'
Mary's hand trembled on his arm, but she made no reply, and stood with half-averted face.
'My lips have been silent,' he resumed, bending over her, as she still further averted her face and looked down; 'yet you must have guessed the cherished hope of my heart, and learned, even from my glance—that I—that—that I love you!'
So Mrs. Garth's friendly warnings all came to nothing, and even Hew's existence was forgotten!
'I saw from the first,' said Mary, in a low and agitated voice, 'from the first, that you admired me, but—but, I never thought that——'
'That I loved you?'
'I know not what I thought.'
'Oh, Mary—may I call you so?—I have no words to tell you, Mary, darling, how fondly, how deeply and tenderly I love you!'
Her hands were in his now, and her long lashes were cast down, during a little pause that ensued, and he could see her soft bosom heaving under her dress.
Then she looked up with a coy, shy smile of great brightness, as she asked:
'Am I the first you have loved—the very first?'
'Fancies I have had—as what lad has not—but I never loved till now, Mary,' he replied, with great tenderness, 'unless it was the love I bore my poor mother, who is now in her grave.'
'I am so confused—so startled, Mr. Falconer.'
'Do say "Cecil," I implore you!'
'Well, then—Cecil.'
No need to say more just then, as their lips met, passionately for an instant, and Cecil felt that she was his own. Then Mary shrank back a little, and blushing deeply, said:
'Oh, what would Sir Piers say if he knew of this?'
There was something of terror in her tone—alarm, at least, as Cecil thought.
'When I tell him of my love for you——' he began.
'Oh, that you must not—must not do—yet awhile, at least!' she exclaimed earnestly.
'Why, my darling?'
'Don't ask me—do not ask me! Be content that—that——'
'You love me?'
'Oh, Cecil—yes. But your love for me—when did it first begin?' she asked, looking up with the same fond yet shy smile again on her soft face.
'Heaven only knows—when I first saw you, without a doubt,' replied Falconer, drawing her towards him. 'But now tell me, darling——'
Ere he could say more, she shrank from him. A step was heard on the gravelled path, Snarley growled and showed his teeth, and Hew appeared close by them, at the mouth of the grotto—Hew, with a very dubious and mingled expression on his face.
'Have you not heard the gong sound for luncheon?' he asked, curtly and sulkily.
'Hew—returned already!' said Mary, blushing deeply.
'So soon—yes,' said he.
'Had good shooting at Bickerton?' asked Cecil Falconer, feeling that it required a double effort to be complaisant to Hew just then, and to slide into the commonplaces required by society.
'Pretty fairish—knocked over a few rocketters or so. There were ten guns out. But how do you two come to be here?' he asked bluntly and almost rudely.
'Sir Piers requested Miss Montgomerie to show me where an ancient lamp had been found,' replied Cecil, with some annoyance of manner.
Hew muttered something unpleasant under his moustache, as he thought that the 'ancient lamp' had thrown more light on their proceedings than he anticipated, and drawing Mary's arm through his own, he said sharply and curtly:
'Let us go back to the house, or we shall be late.'
Cecil's handsome mouth was compressed with sternness at the abruptness of Hew's bearing, tone, and words. His small and well-cut nostrils quivered, and his eyes flashed with the anger which, despite his recent joy, he felt a difficulty in restraining.
Hew was sharp enough to see this; but feeling himself somewhat master of the situation, and a species of marplot, he gave one of his strange smiles, and said something that might mean anything or nothing, as he appropriated Mary and marched off with her towards the house.
How long he might have been eavesdropping, and how much or how little of their conversation he might have overheard, or what he might have overseen, it was impossible for them to conjecture; but extreme annoyance clouded the fair face of Mary, and bitter chagrin was but ill concealed in that of Falconer.
'Pray do not quarrel with Hew,' Mary found opportunity to say in a rapid whisper; 'you know not his power in the art of scheming, manœuvring, and mischief.'
Cecil felt his heart beat lightly again at the interest in him implied by her words, and the secret understanding they suggested and created.
Though we doubt very much if Mr. Hew Caddish Montgomerie ever heard of the Bard of Twickenhem, yet we are certain that he believed with him, that 'every woman is at heart a rake;' and thus he was the more irate with Mary, as he was prone to take the worst view of every one and everything.
As they pursued the circuitous path that led from the grotto to the house, Hew maintained a somewhat sulky silence, as he had neither the good feeling nor the good taste to conceal his annoyance. He, perhaps, loved Mary; but if so, it was after a selfish fashion of his own, and as much as it was in him to love anyone. He knew her fortune to a shilling; he had a passionate, an inherited, and avaricious love of wealth, and he knew right well the vast importance that attached to the possession of it; thus he took Mary to task, the moment Falconer left them—with a glance, which Mary read, though to Hew it was all unseen, or misunderstood.
'Were you and that fellow long in the grounds to-day?' he asked bluntly, and with anger in his eyes.
'What if we were?' was the defiant reply.
'I asked you a question, cousin.'
'One you have no right to ask.'
'No right?'
'None!' said she, with decision.
'Come, I like that! I am your cousin.'
'Nothing more, thank goodness!—and scarcely even that, save by name; and you are not my mentor.'
'If I were so——'
'Well, sir; if you were?'
'I should say that I was extremely sorry to meet you and Falconer together, as I met you just now. I consider it most unseemly!'
'Are you my guardian, Hew?' asked the little beauty, with growing irritation.
'Would that I were so, legally!'
'I cannot agree with you,' responded Mary, with a merry laugh.
'I regret to see how this intimacy has grown between you and an utter stranger.'
'Pray what can it matter to you who my gentlemen friends are?'
'How can you adopt this tone to me, knowing what you do of Sir Piers' intentions, Mary? As for this fellow——'
'Fellow? What has he done to offend you, Hew Montgomerie, that you speak of him in this style?'
'I was only about to remark that, like Oliver Twist, I have no doubt that he can trace his genealogy all the way back to his parents—to his mother, at least, for I suppose he has, or had, such a relative,' was the coarse and bitter sneer of Hew; 'but that measure of ancestry will scarcely suit the standard of Sir Piers Montgomerie.'
Mary remembered the little episode of the 'Birthday Book,' and her heart for a moment sank, and her countenance fell.
'What do you mean?' she asked.
'I know—what I know—that is all,' replied Hew, malevolently.
'And I know that you are extremely rude and ill-bred,' said Mary, as she swept away from him, and with difficulty restrained her tears, while Hew looked after her with a scowl that was strangely mingled with a triumphant smile.
He did not knit his eyebrows, for he had little or nothing in that way to knit; but his closely-set eyes twinkled viciously and furtively, as he began to feel that the power he once possessed, or hoped to possess, over Mary, and more especially over her fortune, was slipping away; and the emotions of wounded pride, disappointment, avarice, and an odious passion for her that was not love, grew keenly and stingingly in his heart.
Next day Cecil's leave would be up, and in the interval, so sedulously did Hew keep guard, that never again had Cecil a chance of addressing Mary alone; but the rival, while thus employed, could see with growing rancour that they looked suspiciously amiable and happy, and could talk confidentially enough with their eyes, if prevented from doing so with their tongues; and now, to preclude any fresh invitations on the general's part, or any further extension of the hospitality of Eaglescraig, Hew resolved, ere their guest departed, to do him all the mischief he could with his host.