had shown the way by which her mother was thrown on the world!
"My Anne is my second self. She is not called by her father's
name; she is called by mine. She is Anne Silvester as I was. Will
she end like Me?"--The answer to those words--the last words that
had trembled on the dying mother's lips--was coming fast. Through
the chances and changes of many years, the future was pressing
near--and Anne Silvester stood on the brink of it.
"Well?" she resumed. "Are you at the end of your objections? Can
you give me a plain answer at last?"
No! He had another objection ready as the words passed her lips.
"Suppose the witnesses at the inn happen to know me?" he said.
"Suppose it comes to my father's ears in that way?"
"Suppose you drive me to my death?" she retorted, starting to her
feet. "Your father shall know the truth, in that case--I swear
it!"
He rose, on his side, and drew back from her. She followed him
up. There was a clapping of hands, at the same moment, on the
lawn. Somebody had evidently made a brilliant stroke which
promised to decide the game. There was no security now that
Blanche might not return again. There was every prospect, the
game being over, that Lady Lundie would be free. Anne brought the
interview to its crisis, without wasting a moment more.
"Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn," she said. "You have bargained for a
private marriage, and I have consented. Are you, or are you not,
ready to marry me on your own terms?"
"Give me a minute to think!"
"Not an instant. Once for all, is it Yes, or No?"
He couldn't say "Yes," even then. But he said what was equivalent
to it. He asked, savagely, "Where is the inn?"
She put her arm in his, and whispered, rapidly, "Pass the road on
the right that leads to the railway. Follow the path over the
moor, and the sheep-track up the hill. The first house you come
to after that is the inn. You understand!"
He nodded his head, with a sullen frown, and took his pipe out of
his pocket again.
"Let it alone this time," he said, meeting her eye. "My mind's
upset. When a man's mind's upset, a man can't smoke. What's the
name of the place?"
"Craig Fernie."
"Who am I to ask for at the door?"
"For your wife."
"Suppose they want you to give your name when you get there?"
"If I must give a name, I shall call myself Mrs., instead of
Miss, Silvester. But I shall do my best to avoid giving any name.
And you will do your best to avoid making a mistake, by only
asking for me as your wife. Is there any thing else you want to
know?"
"Yes."
"Be quick about it! What is it?"
"How am I to know you have got away from here?"
"If you don't hear from me in half an hour from the time when I
have left you, you may be sure I have got away. Hush!"
Two voices, in conversation, were audible at the bottom of the
steps--Lady Lundie's voice and Sir Patrick's. Anne pointed to the
door in the back wall of the summer-house. She had just pulled it
to again, after Geoffrey had passed through it, when Lady Lundie
and Sir Patrick appeared at the top of the steps.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
THE SUITOR.
LADY LUNDIE pointed significantly to the door, and addressed
herself to Sir Patrick's private ear.
"Observe!" she said. "Miss Silvester has just got rid of
somebody."
Sir Patrick deliberately looked in the wrong direction, and (in
the politest possible manner) observed--nothing.
Lady Lundie advanced into the summer-house. Suspicious hatred of
the governess was written legibly in every line of her face.
Suspicious distrust of the governess's illness spoke plainly in
every tone of her voice.
"May I inquire, Miss Silvester, if your sufferings are relieved?"
"I am no better, Lady Lundie."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said I was no better."
"You appear to be able to stand up. When _I_ am ill, I am not so
fortunate. I am obliged to lie down."'
"I will follow your example, Lady Lundie. If you will be so good
as to excuse me, I will leave you, and lie down in my own room."
She could say no more. The interview with Geoffrey had worn her
out; there was no spirit left in her to resist the petty malice
of the woman, after bearing, as she had borne it, the brutish
indifference of the man. In another moment the hysterical
suffering which she was keeping down would have forced its way
outward in tears. Without waiting to know whether she was excused
or not, without stopping to hear a word more, she left the
summer-house.
Lady Lundie's magnificent black eyes opened to their utmost
width, and blazed with their most dazzling brightness. She
appealed to Sir Patrick, poised easily on his ivory cane, and
looking out at the lawn-party, the picture of venerable
innocence.
"After what I have already told you, Sir Patrick, of Miss
Silvester's conduct, may I ask whether you consider _that_
proceeding at all extraordinary?"
The old gentleman touched the spring in the knob of his cane, and
answered, in the courtly manner of the old school:
"I consider no proceeding extraordinary Lady Lundie, which
emanates from your enchanting sex."
He bowed, and took his pinch. With a little jaunty flourish of
the hand, he dusted the stray grains of snuff off his finger and
thumb, and looked back again at the lawn-party, and became more
absorbed in the diversions of his young friends than ever.
Lady Lundie stood her ground, plainly determined to force a
serious expression of opinion from her brother-in-law. Before she
could speak again, Arnold and Blanche appeared together at the
bottom of the steps. "And when does the dancing begin?" inquired
Sir Patrick, advancing to meet them, and looking as if he felt
the deepest interest in a speedy settlement of the question.
"The very thing I was going to ask mamma," returned Blanche. "Is
she in there with Anne? Is Anne better?"
Lady Lundie forthwith appeared, and took the answer to that
inquiry on herself.
"Miss Silvester has retired to her room. Miss Silvester persists
in being ill. Have you noticed, Sir Patrick, that these half-bred
sort of people are almost invariably rude when they are ill?"
Blanche's bright face flushed up. "If you think Anne a half-bred
person, Lady Lundie, you stand alone in your opinion. My uncle
doesn't agree with you, I'm sure."
Sir Patrick's interest in the first quadrille became almost
painful to see. "_Do_ tell me, my dear, when _is_ the dancing
going to begin?"
"The sooner the better," interposed Lady Lundie; "before Blanche
picks another quarrel with me on the subject of Miss Silvester."
Blanche looked at her uncle. "Begin! begin! Don't lose time!"
cried the ardent Sir Patrick, pointing toward the house with his
cane. "Certainly, uncle! Any thing that _you_ wish!" With that
parting shot at her
step-mother, Blanche withdrew. Arnold, who
had thus far waited in silence at the foot of the steps, looked
appealingly at Sir Patrick. The train which was to take him to
his newly inherited property would start in less than an hour;
and he had not presented himself to Blanche's guardian in the
character of Blanche's suitor yet! Sir Patrick's indifference to
all domestic claims on him--claims of persons who loved, and
claims of persons who hated, it didn't matter which--remained
perfectly unassailable. There he stood, poised on his cane,
humming an old Scotch air. And there was Lady Lundie, resolute
not to leave him till he had seen the governess with _her_ eyes
and judged the governess with _her_ mind. She returned to the
charge--in spite of Sir Patrick, humming at the top of the steps,
and of Arnold, waiting at the bottom. (Her enemies said, "No
wonder poor Sir Thomas died in a few months after his marriage!"
And, oh dear me, our enemies _are_ sometimes right!)
"I must once more remind you, Sir Patrick, that I have serious
reason to doubt whether Miss Silvester is a fit companion for
Blanche. My governess has something on her mind. She has fits of
crying in private. She is up and walking about her room when she
ought to be asleep. She posts her own letters--_and,_ she has
lately been excessively insolent to Me. There is something wrong.
I must take some steps in the matter--and it is only proper that
I should do so with your sanction, as head of the family."
"Consider me as abdicating my position, Lady Lundie, in your
favor."
"Sir Patrick, I beg you to observe that I am speaking seriously,
and that I expect a serious reply."
"My good lady, ask me for any thing else and it is at your
service. I have not made a serious reply since I gave up practice
at the Scottish Bar. At my age," added Sir Patrick, cunningly
drifting into generalities, "nothing is serious--except
Indigestion. I say, with the philosopher, 'Life is a comedy to
sister-in-law's hand, and kissed it. "Dear Lady Lundie, why
feel?"
Lady Lundie, who had never "felt" in her life, appeared
perversely determined to feel, on this occasion. She was
offended--and she showed it plainly.
"When you are next called on, Sir Patrick, to judge of Miss
Silvester's conduct," she said, "unless I am entirely mistaken,
you will find yourself _compelled_ to consider it as something
beyond a joke." With those words, she walked out of the
summer-house--and so forwarded Arnold's interests by leaving
Blanche's guardian alone at last.
It was an excellent opportunity. The guests were safe in the
house--there was no interruption to be feared, Arnold showed
himself. Sir Patrick (perfectly undisturbed by Lady Lundie's
parting speech) sat down in the summer-house, without noticing
his young friend, and asked himself a question founded on
profound observation of the female sex. "Were there ever two
women yet with a quarrel between them," thought the old
gentleman, "who didn't want to drag a man into it? Let them drag
_me_ in, if they can!"
Arnold advanced a step, and modestly announced himself. "I hope I
am not in the way, Sir Patrick?"
"In the way? of course not! Bless my soul, how serious the boy
looks! Are _you_ going to appeal to me as the head of the family
next?"
It was exactly what Arnold was about to do. But it was plain that
if he admitted it just then Sir Patrick (for some unintelligible
reason) would decline to listen to him. He answered cautiously,
"I asked leave to consult you in private, Sir; and you kindly
said you would give me the opportunity before I left W
indygates?"
"Ay! ay! to be sure. I remember. We were both engaged in the
serious business of croquet at the time--and it was doubtful
which of us did that business most clumsily. Well, here is the
opportunity; and here am I, with all my worldly experience, at
your service. I have only one caution to give you. Don't appeal
to me as 'the head of the family.' My resignation is in Lady
Lundie's hands."
He was, as usual, half in jest, half in earnest. The wry twist of
humor showed itself at the corners of his lips. Arnold was at a
loss how to approach Sir Patrick on the subject of his niece
without reminding him of his domestic responsibilities on the one
hand, and without setting himself up as a target for the shafts
of Sir Patrick's wit on the other. In this difficulty, he
committed a mistake at the outset. He hesitated.
"Don't hurry yourself," said Sir Patrick. "Collect your ideas. I
can wait! I can wait!"
Arnold collected his ideas--and committed a second mistake. He
determined on feeling his way cautiously at first. Under the
circumstances (and with such a man as he had now to deal with),
it was perhaps the rashest resolution at which he could possibly
have arrived--it was the mouse attempting to outmanoeuvre the cat
"You have been very kind, Sir, in offering me the benefit of your
experience," he began. "I want a word of advice."
"Suppose you take it sitting?" suggested Sir Patrick. "Get a
chair." His sharp eyes followed Arnold with an expression of
malicious enjoyment. "Wants my advice?" he thought. "The young
humbug wants nothing of the sort--he wants my niece."
Arnold sat down under Sir Patrick's eye, with a well-founded
suspicion that he was destined to suffer, before he got up again,
under Sir Patrick's tongue.
"I am only a young man," he went on, moving uneasily in his
chair, "and I am beginning a new life--"
"Any thing wrong with the chair?" asked Sir Patrick. "Begin your
new life comfortably, and get another."
"There's nothing wrong with the chair, Sir. Would you--"
"Would I keep the chair, in that case? Certainly."
"I mean, would you advise me--"
"My good fellow, I'm waiting to advise you. (I'm sure there's
something wrong with that chair. Why be obstinate about it? Why
not get another?)"
"Please don't notice the chair, Sir Patrick--you put me out. I
want--in short--perhaps it's a curious question--"
"I can't say till I have heard it," remarked Sir Patrick.
"However, we will admit it, for form's sake, if you like. Say
it's a curious question. Or let us express it more strongly, if
that will help you. Say it's the most extraordinary question that
ever was put, since the beginning of the world, from one human
"It's this!" Arnold burst out, desperately. "I want to be
married!"
"That isn't a question," objected Sir Patrick. "It's an
assertion. You say, I want to be married. And I say, Just so! And
there's an end of it."
Arnold's head began to whirl. "Would you advise me to get
married, Sir?" he said, piteously. "That's what I meant."
"Oh! That's the object of the present interview, is it? Would I
advise you to marry, eh?"
(Having caught the mouse by this time, the cat lifted his paw and
let the luckless little creature breathe again. Sir Patrick's
manner suddenly freed itself from any slight signs of impatience
which it might have hitherto shown, and became as pleasantly easy
and confidential as a manner could be. He touched the knob of his
cane, and helped himself, with infinite zest and enjoyment, to a
pinch of snuff.)
"Would I advise you to marry?" repeated Sir Patrick. "Two courses
are open to us, Mr. Arnold, in treating that question. We may put
it briefly, or we may put it at great length. I am for putting it
briefly. What do you say?"
"What you say, Sir Patrick."
"Very good. May I begin by making an inquiry relating to your
past life?"
"Certainly!"
"Very good again. When you were in the merchant service, did you
ever have any experience in buying provisions ashore?"
Arnold stared. If any relation existed between that question and
the subject in hand it was an impenetrable relation to _him_. He
answered, in unconcealed bewilderment, "Plenty of experience,
Sir."
"I'm coming to the point," pursued Sir Patrick. "Don't be
astonished. I'm coming to the point. What did you think of your
moist sugar when you bought it at the grocer's?"
"Think?" repeated Arnold. "Why, I thought it was moist sugar, to
be sure!"
"Marry, by all means!" cried Sir Patrick. "You are one of the few
men who can try that experiment with a fair chance of success."
The suddenness of the answer fairly took away Arnold's breath.
There was something perfectly electric in the brevity of his
venerable friend. He stared harder than ever.
"Don't you understand me?" asked Sir Patrick.
"I don't understand what the moist sugar has got to do with it,
Sir."
"You don't see that?"
"Not a bit!"
"Then I'll show you," said Sir Patrick, crossing his legs, and
setting in comfortably for a good talk "You go to the tea-shop,
and get your moist sugar. You take it on the understanding that
it is moist sugar. But it isn't any thing of the sort. It's a
compound of adulterations made up to look like sugar. You shut
your eyes to that awkward fact, and swallow your adulterated mess
in various articles of food; and you and your sugar get on
together in that way as well as you can. Do you follow me, so
far?"
Yes. Arnold (quite in the dark) followed, so far.
"Very good," pursued Sir Patrick. "You go to the marriage-shop,
and get a wife. You take her on the understanding--let us
say--that she has lovely yellow hair, that she has an exquisite
complexion, that her figure is the perfection of plumpness, and
that she is just tall enough to carry the plumpness off. You
bring her home, and you discover that it's the old story of the
sugar over again. Your wife is an adulterated article. Her lovely
yellow hair is--dye. Her exquisite skin is--pearl powder. Her
plumpness is--padding. And three inches of her height are--in the
boot-maker's heels. Shut your eyes, and swallow your adulterated
wife as you swallow your adulterated sugar--and, I tell you
again, you are one of the few men who can try the marriage
experiment with a fair chance of success."
With that he uncrossed his legs again, and looked hard at Arnold.
Arnold read the lesson, at last, in the right way. He gave up the
hopeless attempt to circumvent Sir Patrick, and--come what might
of it--dashed at a direct allusion to Sir Patrick's niece.
"That may be all very true, Sir, of some young ladies," he said.
"There is one I know of, who is nearly related to you, and who
doesn't deserve what you have said of the rest of them."
This was coming to the point. Sir Patrick showed his approval of