“I saw him down there, myself.”
“Saw whom? Whom are you talking of?”
“Of that Jew, of course. Mr. Merl, he calls himself.”
A faint groan was all Martin’s reply, as he turned away to hide his face.
Scanlan watched him for a minute or so, and then resumed: “I guessed at once what he was at; he never deceived me, talking about snipe and woodcocks, and pretending to care about hare-hunting. I saw my man at a glance. ‘It’s not sporting ever brought you down to these parts,’ said I. ‘Your game is young fellows, hard up for cash, willing to give up their birthright for a few thousands down, and never giving a second thought whether they paid twenty per cent, or a hundred and twenty.’ Well, well, Captain, you ought to have told me all about it. There wasn’t a man in Ireland could have putted you through like myself.”
“How do you mean?” cried Martin, hurriedly.
“Sure, when he was down in the West, what was easier? Faix, if I had only had the wind of a word that matters were so bad, I ‘d have had the papers out of him long ago. You shake your head as if you did n’t believe me; but take my word for it, I ‘m right, sir. I ‘d put a quarrel on him.”
“He’d not fight you!” said Martin, turning away in disappointment.
“Maybe he wouldn’t; but mightn’t he be robbed? Couldn’t he be waylaid, and carried off to the Islands? There was no need to kill him. Intimidation would do it all! I’d lay my head upon a block this minute if I would n’t send him back to London without the back of a letter in his company; and what’s more, a pledge that he ‘d never tell what’s happened to him!”
“These cockney gents are more ‘wide awake’ than you suspect, Master Maurice, and the chances are that he never carried a single paper or parchment along with him.”
“Worse for him, then,” said Scanlan. “He’d have to pass the rest of his days in the Arran Islands. But I’m not so sure he’s as ‘cute as you think him,” added Maurice, after a pause. “He left a little note-book once behind him that told some strange stories, by all accounts.”
“What was that you speak of?” cried Martin, eagerly.
“I did n’t see it myself, but Simmy Crow told me of it; and that it was full of all the fellows he ruined, – how much he won from this man, what he carried off from that; and, moreover, there was your own name, and the date of the very evening that he finished you off! It was something in this wise: ‘This night’s work makes me an estated gentleman, vice Harry Martin, Esquire, retired upon less than half-pay!’”
A terrible oath, uttered in all the vehemence of a malediction, burst from Martin, and seizing Scanlan’s wrist, he shook his arm in an agony of passion.
“I wish I had given you a hint about him, Master Scanlan,” said he, savagely.
“It’s too late to think of it now, Captain,” said the other; “the fellow is in Baden.”
“Here?” asked Martin.
“Ay. He came up the Rhine along with me; but he never recognized me, – on account of my moustaches perhaps, – he took me for a Frenchman or a German, I think. We parted at Mayence, and I saw no more of him.”
“I would that I was to see no more of him!” said Martin, gloomily, as he walked into another room, banging the door heavily behind him.
CHAPTER XXII. HOW PRIDE MEETS PRIDE
Kate Henderson sat alone in her room reading a letter from her father, her thoughtful brow a shade more serious perhaps than its wont, and at times a faint, half-sickly smile moving her dimpled cheek. The interests of our story have no concern with that letter, save passingly, nor do we regret it. Enough, if we say it was in reply to one of her own, requesting permission to return home, until, as she phrased it, she could “obtain another service.” That the request had met scant favor was easy to see, as, folding up the letter, she laid it down beside her with a sigh and a muttered “I thought as much! – ‘So long as her Ladyship is pleased to accept of your services,’” said she, repeating aloud an expression of the writer. “Well, I suppose he’s right; such is the true reading of the compact, as it is of every compact where there is wealth on one side, dependence on the other! Nor should I complain,” said she, still more resolutely, “if these same services could be rendered toilfully, but costing nothing of self-sacrifice in honorable feeling. I could be a drudge – a slave – to-morrow; I could stoop to any labor; but I cannot – no, I cannot – descend to companionship! They who hire us,” cried she, rising, and pacing the room in slow and measured tread, “have a right to our capacity. We are here to do their bidding; but they can lay no claim to that over which we ourselves have no control – our sympathies, our affections – we cannot sell these; we cannot always give them, even as a gift.” She paused, and opening the letter, read it for some seconds, and then flinging it down with a haughty gesture, said, “‘Nothing menial – nothing to complain of in my station!’ Can he not see that there is no such servitude as that which drags out existence, by subjecting, not head and hands, but heart and soul, to the dictates of another? The menial – the menial has the best of it. Some stipulate that they are not to wear a livery; but what livery exacts such degradation as this?” And she shook the rich folds of her heavy silk dress as she spoke. The tears rose up and dimmed her eyes, but they were tears of offended pride, and as they stole slowly along her cheeks, her features acquired an expression of intense haughtiness. “They who train their children to this career are but sorry calculators! – educating them but to feel the bitter smart of their station, to see more clearly the wide gulf that separates them from what they live amongst!” said she, in a voice of deep emotion.
“Her Ladyship, Miss Henderson,” said a servant, throwing wide the door, and closing it after the entrance of Lady Dorothea, who swept into the room in her haughtiest of moods, and seated herself with all that preparation that betokened a visit of importance.
“Take a seat, Miss Henderson,” said she. And Kate obeyed in silence. “If in the course of what I shall have to say to you,” resumed her Ladyship, – “if in what I shall feel it my duty to say to you, I may be betrayed into any expression stronger than in a calmer moment would occur to me, – stronger in fact, than strict justice might warrant – ”
“I beg your Ladyship’s pardon if I interrupt, but I would beg to remark – ”
“What?” said Lady Dorothea, proudly.
“That simply your Ladyship’s present caution is the best security for future propriety. I ask no other.”
“You presume too far, young lady. I cannot answer that my temper may not reveal sentiments that my judgment or my breeding might prefer to keep in abeyance.”
“If the sentiments be there, my Lady, I should certainly say, better to avow them,” said Kate, with an air of most impassive coldness.
“I ‘m not aware that I have asked your advice on that head, Miss Henderson,” said she, almost insolently. “At the same time, your habits of late in this family may have suggested the delusion.”
“Will your Ladyship pardon me if I confess I do not understand you?”
“You shall have little to complain of on that score, Miss Henderson; I shall not speak in riddles, depend upon it. Nor should that be an obstacle if your intelligence were only the equal of your ambition.”
“Now, indeed, is your Ladyship completely beyond me.”
“Had you felt that I was as much ‘above’ you, Miss Henderson, it were more to the purpose.”
“I sincerely hope that I have never forgotten all the deference I owe your Ladyship,” said Kate. Nor could humble words have taken a more humble accent; and yet they availed little to conciliate her to whom they were addressed; nay, this very humility seemed to irritate and provoke her to a greater show of temper, as with an insolent laugh she said, – “This mockery of respect never imposed on we, young lady. I have been bred and born in a rank where real deference is so invariable that the fictitious article is soon detected, had there been any hardy enough to attempt it.”
Kate made no other answer to this speech than a deep inclination of her head. It might mean assent, submission, anything.
“You may remember, Miss Henderson,” said her Ladyship, with all the formality of a charge in her manner, – “you may remember that on the day I engaged your services you were obliging enough to furnish me with a brief summary of your acquirements.” She paused, as if expecting some intimation of assent, and after an interval of a few seconds, Kate smiled, and said, – “It must have been a very meagre catalogue, my Lady.”
“Quite the reverse. It was a perfect marvel to me how you ever found time to store your mind with such varied information; and yet, notwithstanding that imposing array of accomplishments, I now find that your modesty – perhaps out of deference to my ignorance – withheld fully as many more.”
Kate’s look of bewilderment at this speech was the only reply she made.
“Oh, of course you do not understand me,” said Lady Dorothea, sneeringly; “but I mean to be most explicit. Have you any recollection of the circumstance I allude to?”
“I remember perfectly the day, madam, I waited on you for the first time.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Now, pray, has any portion of our discourse dwelt upon your mind?”
“Yes, my Lady; a remark of your Ladyship’s made a considerable impression upon me at the moment, and has continued frequently to rise to my recollection since that.”
“May I ask what it was?”
“It was with reference to the treatment I had been so long accustomed to in the family of the Duchesse de Luygnes, and which your Ladyship characterized by an epithet I have never forgotten. At the time I thought it severe; I have learned to see it just. You called it an ‘irreparable mischief.’ Your Ladyship said most truly.”
“I was never more convinced of the fact than at this very moment,” said Lady Dorothea, as a flush of anger covered her cheek. “The ill-judging condescension of your first protectors has left a very troublesome legacy for their successors. Your youth and inexperience – I do not desire to attribute it to anything more reprehensible – led you, probably, into an error regarding the privileges you thus enjoyed, and you fancied that you owed to your own claims what you were entirely indebted to from the favor of others.”
“I have no doubt that the observation of your Ladyship is quite correct,” said Kate, calmly.
“I sincerely wish that the conviction had impressed itself upon your conduct then,” said Lady Dorothea, whose temper was never so outraged as by the other’s self-possession. “Had such been the case, I might have spared myself the unpleasantness of my present task.” Her passion was now fully roused, and with redoubled energy she continued: “Your ambition has taken a high flight, young lady, and, from the condescension by which I accorded you a certain degree of influence in this family, you have aspired to become its head. Do not affect any misconception of my meaning. My son has told me everything – everything – from your invaluable aid to him in his pecuniary difficulties, to your sage counsels on his betting-book; from the admirable advice you gave him as to his studies, to the disinterested offer of your own tuition. Be assured if he has not understood all the advantages so generously presented to him, I, at least, appreciate them fully. I must acknowledge you have played your game cleverly, and you have made the mock independence of your character the mask of your designs. With another than myself you might have succeeded, too,” said her Ladyship, with a smile of bitter irony; “but I have few self-delusions, Miss Henderson, nor is there amongst the number that of believing that any one serves me, in any capacity, from any devotion to my own person. I natter myself, at least, that I have so much of humility.”
“If I understand your Ladyship aright, I am charged with some designs on Captain Martin?” said Kate, calmly.
“Yes; precisely so,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily.
“I can only protest that I am innocent of all such, my Lady,” said she, with an expression of great deference. “It is a charge that does not admit of any other refutation, since, if I appeal to my conduct, your Ladyship’s suspicions would not exculpate me.”
“Certainly not.”
“I thought so. What, then, can I adduce? I’m sure your Ladyship’s own delicacy will see that this is not a case where testimony can be invoked. I cannot – you would not ask me to – require an acquittal from the lips of Captain Martin himself; humble as I stand here, my Lady, you never could mean to expose me to this humiliation.” For the first time did her voice falter, and a sickly paleness came over her as she uttered the last words.
“The humiliation which you had intended for this family, Miss Henderson, is alone what demands consideration from me. If what you call your exculpation requires Captain Martin’s presence, I confess I see no objection to it.”
“It is only, then, because your Ladyship is angry with me that you could bring yourself to think so, especially since another and much easier solution of the difficulty offers itself.”
“How so? What do you mean?”
“To send me home, madam.”
“I understand you, young lady. I am to send you back to your father’s house as one whose presence here was too dangerous, whose attractions could only be resisted by means of absence and distance. A very interesting martyrdom might have been made of it, I ‘ve no doubt, and even some speculation as to the conduct of a young gentleman so suddenly bereaved of the object of his affections. But all this is much too dignified for me. My son shall be taught to respect himself without the intervention of any contrivance.”
As she uttered the last words, she arose and approached the bell.
“Your Ladyship surely is not going – ”
“I am going to send for Captain Martin, Miss Henderson.”
“Do not, I entreat of you, – I implore your Ladyship,” cried Kate, with her clasped hands trembling as she spoke.
“This agitation is not without a cause, and would alone decide me to call for my son.”
“If I have ever deserved well at your hands, my Lady, – if I have served you faithfully in anything, – if my devotion has lightened you of one care, or aided you through one difficulty, – spare me, oh, spare me, I beseech you, this – degradation!”
“I have a higher consideration to consult here, Miss Henderson, than any which can have reference to you.” She pulled the bell violently, and while her hand still held the cord, the servant entered. “Tell Captain Martin to come here,” said she, and sat down.
Kate leaned her arm upon the chimney-piece, and, resting her head on it, never uttered a word.
For several minutes the silence was unbroken on either side. At last Lady Dorothea started suddenly, and said, – “We cannot receive Captain Martin here.”
“Your Ladyship is full of consideration,” said Kate, bitterly. “For a moment I had thought it was only an additional humiliation to which you had destined me.”
“Follow me into the drawing-room, Miss Henderson,” said Lady Dorothea, proudly, as she left the room. And with slow, submissive mien Kate quitted the chamber, and walked after her.
Scarcely had the door of the drawing-room been closed upon them than it was re-opened to admit Captain Martin. He was booted and spurred for his afternoon canter, and seemed in no wise pleased at the sudden interruption to his project.
“They said you wanted me,” cried he; “and here have I been searching for you in your dressing-room, and all over the house.”
“I desire to speak with you,” said she, proudly; and she motioned to a chair.
“I trust the séance is to be a brief one, otherwise I ‘ll beg a postponement,” said he, half laughingly. Then turning his glance towards Kate, he remarked for the first time the deathlike color of her face, and an expression of repressed suffering that all her self-control could not conceal. “Has anything happened? What is it?” said he, in a half-whisper.
But she never replied, nor even seemed to heed his question.
“Tell me, I beseech you,” cried he, turning to Lady Dorothea, – “tell me, has anything gone wrong?”
“It is precisely on that account I have sent for you, Captain Martin,” said her Ladyship, as she assigned to him a seat with a motion of her hand. “It is because a great deal has gone wrong here – and were it not for my vigilance, much more still likely to follow it – I have sent for you, sir, that you should hear from this young lady’s lips a denial which, I own, has not satisfied me; nor shall it, till it be made in your presence and meet with your corroboration. Your looks, Miss Henderson,” said she, addressing her, “would imply that all the suffering of the present moment falls to your share; but I would beg you to bear in mind what a person in my sphere must endure at the bare possibility of the event which now demands investigation.”
“Good heavens! will not you tell me what it is?” exclaimed Martin, in the last extremity of impatience.
“I have sent for you, sir,” resumed she, “that you should hear Miss Henderson declare that no attentions on your part – no assiduities, I should perhaps call them – have ever been addressed to her; that, in fact” – here her Ladyship became embarrassed in her explanation, – “that, in fact, those counsels – those very admirable aids to your conduct which she on so many occasions has vouchsafed to afford you – have had no object – no ulterior object, I should perhaps call it – and that your – your intercourse has ever been such as beseems the heir of Cro’ Martin, and the daughter of the steward on that property!”
“By Jove, I can make nothing of all this!” cried the Captain, whose bewildered looks fully corroborated the assertion.
“Lady Dorothea, sir, requires you to assure her that I have never made love to you,” said Kate Henderson, with a look of scorn that her Ladyship did not dare to reply to. “I,” added she, “have already given my pledge on this subject. I trust that your testimony will not gainsay me.”
“Confound me if I can fathom it at all!” said he, more distracted than ever. “If you are alluding to the offer I made you – ”
“The offer you made,” cried Lady Dorothea. “When? – how? – in what wise?”
“No, no, I will speak out,” said he, addressing Kate. “I am certain you never divulged it; but I cannot accept that all the honorable dealing should be on one side only. Yes, my Lady, however you learned it, I cannot guess, but it is perfectly true; I asked Miss Henderson to be my wife, and she refused me.”
A low, faint sigh broke from Lady Dorothea, and she fell back into her chair.
“She would have it, – it’s not my fault, – you are witness it’s not,” muttered he to Kate. But she motioned him in silence to the door, and then opening the window, that the fresh air might enter, stood silently beside the chair.
A slight shivering shook her; and Lady Dorothea – her cheeks almost lividly pale – raised her eyes and fixed them on Kate Henderson.
“You have had your triumph!” said she, in a low but firm voice.
“I do not feel it such, madam,” said Kate, calmly. “Nor is it in a moment of humiliation like this that a thought of triumph can enter.”
“Hear me, – stoop down lower. You can leave this – tomorrow, if you wish it.”
Kate bowed slowly in acquiescence.
“I have no need to ask you that what has occurred here should never be mentioned.”
“You may trust me, madam.”
“I feel that I may. There – I am better – quite well, now! You may leave me.” Kate courtesied deeply, and moved towards the door. “One word before you go. Will you answer me one question? I’ll ask but one; but your answer must be full, or not at all.”
“So it shall be, madam. What is it?”
“I want to know the reason – on what grounds – you declined the proposal of my son?”
“For the same good reason, madam, that should have prevented his ever making it.”
“Disparity – inequality of station, you mean?”
“Something like it, madam. Our union would have been both a blunder and a paradox. Each would have married beneath him!” And once more courtesying, and with an air of haughty dignity, Kate withdrew, and left her Ladyship to her own thoughts.
Strange and conflicting were the same thoughts; at one moment stimulating her to projects of passionate vengeance, at the next suggesting the warmest measures of reconciliation and affection. These indeed predominated, for in her heart pride seemed the emblem of all that was great, noble, or exalted; and when she saw that sentiment, not fostered by the accidents of fortune, not associated with birth, lineage, and high station, but actually rising superior to the absence of all these, she almost felt a species of worship for one so gloriously endowed.
“She might be a duchess!” was the only speech she uttered, and the words revealed a whole volume of her meditations. It was curious enough how completely all recollection of her son was merged and lost in the greater interest Kate’s character supplied. But so is it frequently in life. The traits which most resemble our own are those we alone attach importance to, and what we fancy admiration of another is very often nothing more than the gratified contemplation of ourselves.