The Beckoning Hand, and Other Stories Page 6

  _THE THIRD TIME._

  I.

  If Harry Lewin had never come to Stoke Peveril, Edie Meredith wouldcertainly have married her cousin Evan.

  For Evan Meredith was the sort of man that any girl of Edie'stemperament might very easily fall in love with. Tall, handsome, withdelicate, clear-cut Celtic face, piercing yet pensive black Welsh eyes,and the true Cymric gifts of music and poetry, Evan Meredith had longbeen his pretty cousin's prime favourite among all the young men of allHerefordshire. She had danced with him over and over again at everycounty ball; she had talked with him incessantly at every lawn-tennismatch and garden-party; she had whispered to him quietly on the sofa inthe far corner while distinguished amateurs were hammering awayconscientiously at the grand piano; and all the world of Herefordshiretook it for granted that young Mr. Meredith and his second cousin were,in the delightfully vague slang of society, "almost engaged."

  Suddenly, like a flaming meteor across the quiet evening skies, HarryLewin burst in all his dashing splendour upon the peaceful and limitedHerefordshire horizon. He came from that land of golden possibilities,Australia; but he was Irish by descent, and his father had sent himyoung to Eton and Oxford, where he picked up the acquaintance ofeverybody worth knowing, and a sufficient knowledge of things in generalto pass with brilliant success in English society. In his vacations,having no home of his own to go to, he had loitered about half thecapitals and spas of Europe, so that Vichy and Carlsbad, Monte Carlo andSpezzia, Berlin and St. Petersburg, were almost as familiar to him asLondon and Scarborough. Nobody knew exactly what his father had been:some said a convict, some a gold-miner, some a bush-ranger; but whateverhe was, he was at least exceedingly rich, and money covers a multitudeof sins quite as well and as effectually as charity. When Harry Lewincame into his splendid property at his father's death, and purchased theinsolvent Lord Tintern's old estate at Stoke Peveril, half the girls andall the mothers in the whole of Herefordshire rose at once to a fever ofanxiety in their desire to know upon which of the marriageable youngwomen of the county the wealthy new-comer would finally bestow himselfin holy matrimony.

  There was only one girl in the Stoke district who never appeared in theslightest degree flattered or fluttered by Harry Lewin's politeattentions, and that girl was Edie Meredith. Though she was only thecountry doctor's daughter--"hardly in our set at all, you know," thecounty people said depreciatingly--she had no desire to be the mistressof Peveril Court, and she let Harry Lewin see pretty clearly that shedidn't care the least in the world for that distinguished honour.

  It was at a garden party at Stoke Peveril Rectory that Edie Meredith metone afternoon her cousin Evan and the rich young Irish-Australian. HarryLewin had stood talking to her with his easy jaunty manner, so perfectlyself-possessed, so full of Irish courtesy and Etonian readiness, whenEvan Meredith, watching them half angrily out of his dark Welsh eyesfrom the corner by the laburnum tree, walked slowly over to interrupttheir _tete-a-tete_ of set purpose. He chose certainly an awkwardmoment: for his earnest serious face and figure showed to ill advantagejust then and there beside the light-hearted cheery young Oxonian's.Edie fancied as he strolled up to her that she had never seen her cousinEvan look so awkward, so countrified, and so awfully Welsh. (On theborder counties, to look like a Welshman is of course almost criminal.)She wondered she had overlooked till now the fact that his wasdistinctly a local and rustic sort of handsomeness. He looked like aHerefordshire squireen gentleman, while Harry Lewin, with his Irishchivalry and his Oxford confidence, looked like a cosmopolitan and a manof society.

  As Evan came up, glancing blackly at him from under his dark eyebrows,Harry Lewin moved away carelessly, raising his hat and strolling off asif quite unconcerned, to make way for the new-comer. Evan nodded to hima distant nod, and then turned to his cousin Edie.

  "You've been talking a great deal with that fellow Lewin," he saidsharply, almost angrily, glancing straight at her with his big blackeyes.

  Edie was annoyed at the apparent assumption of a right to criticise her."Mr. Lewin's a very agreeable man," she answered quietly, without takingthe least notice of his angry tone. "I always like to have a chat withhim, Evan. He's been everywhere and knows all about everything--Parisand Vienna, and I don't know where. So very different, of course, fromour Stoke young men, who've never been anywhere in their whole livesbeyond Bristol or Hereford."

  "Bristol and Hereford are much better places, I've no doubt, for a manto be brought up in than Paris or Vienna," Evan Meredith retortedhastily, the hot blood flushing up at once into his dusky cheek. "But asyou seem to be so very much taken up with your new admirer, Edie, I'msure I'm very sorry I happened at such an unpropitious moment to breakin upon your conversation."

  "So am I," Edie answered, quietly and with emphasis.

  She hardly meant it, though she was vexed with Evan; but Evan took herimmediately at her word. Without another syllable he raised his hat,turned upon his heel, and left her standing there alone, at some littledistance from her mother, by the edge of the oval grass-plot. It was anawkward position for a girl to be left in--for everybody would have seenthat Evan had retired in high dudgeon--had not Harry Lewin promptlyperceived it, and with quiet tact managed to return quite casually toher side, and walk back with her to her mother's protection, so as tohide at once her confusion and her blushes. As for Evan, he wandered offmoodily by himself among the lilacs and arbutus bushes of the lowershrubbery.

  He had been pacing up and down there alone for half an hour or more,nursing his wrath and jealousy in his angry heart, when he saw betweenthe lilac branches on the upper walk the flash of Edie's pretty whitedress, followed behind at a discreet distance by the rustle of Mrs.Meredith's black satin. Edie was walking in front with Harry Lewin, andMrs. Meredith, attempting vainly to affect a becoming interest in therector's conversation, was doing the proprieties at twenty paces.

  As they passed, Evan Meredith heard Harry Lewin's voice murmuringsomething in a soft, gentle, persuasive flow, not a word of which hecould catch individually, though the general accent and intonationshowed him at once that Harry was pleading earnestly with his cousinEdie. Evan could have written her verses--pretty enough verses, too--bythe foolscap ream; but though he had the Welsh gift of rhyme, he hadn'tthe Irish gift of fluency and eloquence; and he knew in his own heartthat he could never have poured forth to any woman such a steady, long,impassioned flood of earnest solicitation as Harry Lewin was thatmoment evidently pouring forth to his cousin Edie. He held his breath insilent expectation, and waited ten whole endless seconds--a longeternity--to catch the tone of Edie's answer.

  Instead of the mere tone, he caught distinctly the very words of thatlow soft musical reply. Edie murmured after a slight pause: "No, no, Mr.Lewin, I must not--I cannot. I do not love you."

  Evan Meredith waited for no more. He knew partly from that short butominous pause, and still more from the half-hearted, hesitating way inwhich the nominal refusal was faintly spoken, that his cousin Edie wouldsooner or later accept his rival. He walked away, fiercely indignant,and going home, sat down to his desk, and wrote at white-heat an angryletter, beginning simply "Edith Meredith," in which he released herformally and unconditionally from the engagement which both of themdeclared had never existed.

  Whether his letter expedited Harry Lewin's wooing or not, it is at leastcertain that in the end Evan Meredith's judgment was approved by theresult; and before the next Christmas came round again, Edie was marriedto Harry Lewin, and duly installed as mistress of Peveril Court.

  II.

  The first three months of Edie Lewin's married life passed away happilyand pleasantly. Harry was always kindness itself to her; and as she sawmore of him, she found in him what she had not anticipated, anunsuspected depth and earnestness of purpose. She had thought him atfirst a brilliant, dashing, clever Irishman; she discovered upon nearerview that he had something more within him than mere showy externalqualities. He was deeply in love with her: he respected and admired her:and in the midst
of all his manly chivalry of demeanour towards hiswife there was a certain indefinable air of self-restraint and constantwatchfulness over his own actions which Edie noticed with some littlewifely pride and pleasure. She had not married a mere handsome richyoung fellow; she had married a man of character and determination.

  About three months after their marriage, Harry Lewin was called away forthe first time to leave his bride. An unexpected letter from his lawyerin London--immediate business--those bothering Australian shares andcompanies! Would Edie forgive him? He would run up for the day only,starting early and getting back late the same night. It's a long runfrom Stoke to London, but you can just manage it if you fit your trainswith dexterous ingenuity. So Harry went, and Edie was left alone, forthe first time in her life, in the big rooms of Peveril Court for awhole day.

  That very afternoon Evan Meredith and his father happened to call. Itwas Evan's first visit to the bride, for he couldn't somehow make up hismind to see her earlier. He was subdued, silent, constrained, regretful,but he said nothing in allusion to the past--nothing but praise of thePeveril Court grounds, the beauty of the house, the charm of thesurroundings, the magnificence of the old Romneys and Sir Joshuas.

  "You have a lovely place, Edie," he said, hesitating a second before hespoke the old familiar name, but bringing it out quite naturally atlast. "And your husband? I hope I may have the--the pleasure of seeinghim again."

  Edie coloured. "He has gone up to town to-day," she answered simply.

  "By himself?"

  "By himself, Evan."

  Evan Meredith coughed uneasily, and looked at her with a silent lookwhich said more plainly than words could have said it, "Already!"

  "He will be back this evening," Edie went on apologetically, answeringaloud his unspoken thought. "I--I'm sorry he isn't here to see you,Evan."

  "I'm sorry too, very sorry," Evan answered with a half-stifled sigh. Hedidn't mean to let her see the ideas that were passing through his mind;but his quick, irrepressible Celtic nature allowed the internal emotionsto peep out at once through the thin cloak of that conventionally politeexpression of regret. Edie knew he meant he was very sorry that Harryshould have gone away so soon and left her.

  That evening, about ten o'clock, as Edie, sitting alone in the bluedrawing-room, was beginning to wonder when Harry's dogcart would beheard rolling briskly up the front avenue, there came a sudden doublerap at the front door, and the servant brought in a sealed telegram.Edie tore it open with some misgiving. It was not from Harry. She readit hastily: "From Proprietor, Norton's Hotel, Jermyn Street, London, toMrs. Lewin, Peveril Court, Stoke Peveril, Herefordshire. Mr. Lewinunfortunately detained in town by urgent business. He will not be ableto return before to-morrow."

  Edie laid down the telegram with a sinking heart. In itself there wasnothing so very strange in Harry's being detained by business; men arealways being detained by business; she knew it was a way they had, amasculine peculiarity. But why had not Harry telegraphed himself? Whyhad he left the proprietor of Norton's Hotel to telegraph for him? Whywas he at Norton's Hotel at all? And if he really was there, why couldhe not have written the telegram himself? It was very mysterious,perplexing, and inexplicable. Tears came into Edie's eyes, and she satlong looking at the flimsy pink Government paper, as if the mereinspection of the hateful message would help her to make out the meaningof the enclosed mystery.

  Soon the question began to occur to her, what should she do for thenight's arrangements? Peveril Court was so big and lonely; she hated theidea of stopping there alone. Should she have out the carriage and driveround to spend the night as of old at her mother's? But no; it was late,and the servants would think it so very odd of her. People would talkabout it; they would say Harry had stopped away from her unexpectedly,and that she had gone back in a pique to her own home. Young wives, sheknew, are always doing those foolish things, and always regretting themafterwards when they find the whole county magnifying the molehill intoa veritable mountain. Much as she dreaded it, she must spend the nightalone in that big bedroom--the haunted bedroom where the last of thePeverils died. Poor little Edie! with her simple, small, village ways,she hated that great rambling house, and all its halls and staircasesand corridors! But there was no help for it. She went tearfully up toher own room, and flung herself without undressing on the great bed withthe heavy crimson tapestry hangings.

  There she lay all night, tossing and turning, crying and wondering,dozing off at times and starting up again fitfully, but never puttingout the candles on the dressing-table, which had burned away deep in thesockets by the time morning began to peep through the grey Venetians ofthe east window.

  III.

  Next morning Evan Meredith heard accidentally that Harry Lewin hadstopped for the night in London, and had telegraphed unexpectedly toEdie that he had been detained in town on business.

  Evan shook his head with an ominous look. "Poor child," he said tohimself pityingly; "she _would_ marry a man who had been brought up inParis and Vienna!"

  And when Harry came back that evening by the late train, Evan Meredithwas loitering casually by the big iron gates of Peveril Court to seewhether Edie's husband was really returning.

  There was a very grave and serious look on Harry's face that surprisedand somewhat disconcerted Evan. He somehow felt that Harry's expressionwas not that of a careless, dissipated fellow, and he said to himself,this time a little less confidently: "Perhaps after all I may have beenmisjudging him."

  Edie was standing to welcome her husband on the big stone steps of theold manor house. He stepped from the dogcart, not lightly with a springas was his usual wont, but slowly and almost remorsefully, like a manwho has some evil tidings to break to those he loves dearest. But hekissed Edie as tenderly as ever--even more tenderly, she somehowimagined; and he looked at her with such a genuine look of love thatEdie thought it was well worth while for him to go away for the sake ofsuch a delightful meeting.

  "Well, darling," she asked, as she went with him into the greatdining-room, "why didn't you come back to the little wifie, as youpromised yesterday?"

  Harry looked her full in the face, not evasively or furtively, but witha frank, open glance, and answered in a very quiet voice, "I wasdetained on business, Edie."

  "What business?" Edie asked, a little piqued at the indefiniteness ofthe answer.

  "Business that absolutely prevented me from returning," Harry replied,with a short air of perfect determination.

  Edie tried in vain to get any further detail out of him. To all herquestions Harry only answered with the one set and unaltered formula, "Iwas detained on important business."

  But when she had asked him for the fiftieth time in the drawing-roomthat evening, he said at last, not at all angrily, but very seriously,"It was business, Edie, closely connected with your own happiness. If Ihad returned last night, you would have been sorry for it, sooner orlater. I stayed away for your own sake, darling. Please ask me no moreabout it."

  Edie couldn't imagine what he meant; but he spoke so seriously, andsmoothed her hand with such a tender, loving gesture, that she kissedhim fervently, and brushed away the tears from her swimming eyes withoutletting him see them. As for Harry, he sat long looking at the embers inthe smouldering fire, and holding his pretty little wife's hand tight inhis without uttering a single syllable. At last, just as they wererising to go upstairs, he laid his hand upon the mantelpiece as if tosteady himself, and said very earnestly, "Edie, with God's help, I hopeit shall never occur again."

  "What, Harry darling? What do you mean? What will never occur again?"

  He paused a moment. "That I should be compelled to stop a night awayfrom you unexpectedly," he answered then very slowly.

  And when he had said it he took up the candle from the little side tableand walked away, with two tears standing in his eyes, to his owndressing-room.

  From that day forth Edie Lewin noticed two things. First, that herhusband seemed to love her even more tenderly and deeply than ever. Andsecon
d, that his strange gravity and self-restraint seemed to increasedaily upon him.

  And Evan Meredith, watching closely his cousin and her husband, thoughtto himself with a glow of satisfaction--for he was too generous and tootrue in his heart to wish ill to his rival--"After all, he loves hertruly; he is really in love with her. Edie will be rich now, and willhave a good husband. What could I ever have given her compared to whatHarry Lewin can give her? It is better so. I must not regret it."

  IV.

  For five or six months more, life passed as usual at Peveril Court, orat Harry Lewin's new town house in Curzon Street, Mayfair. The seasoncame and went pleasantly enough, with its round of dances, theatres, anddinners; and in the autumn Edie Lewin found herself once more back forthe shooting in dear old Herefordshire. Harry was always by her side,the most attentive and inseparable of husbands; he seemed somehow tocling to her passionately, as if he could not bear to be out of hersight for a single moment. Edie noticed it, and felt grateful for hislove. Evan Meredith noticed it too, and reproached himself bitterly morethan once that he should ever so unworthily have distrusted the man whohad been brought up in Paris and Vienna.

  One day, however, Harry had ridden from Stoke to Hereford, for theexercise alone, and Edie expected him back to dinner. But at half-pastseven, just as the gong in the hall was burrr-ing loudly, a telegramarrived once more for Mrs. Lewin, which Edie tore open with tremblingfingers. It was almost exactly the same mystifying message over again,only this time it was sent by Harry himself, not by an unknownhotel-keeping deputy. "I have been suddenly detained here by unexpectedbusiness. Do not expect me home before to-morrow. Shall return as earlyas possible. God bless you!"

  Those last words, so singular in a telegram, roused and accentuated allEdie's womanly terrors. "God bless you!"--what on earth could Harry meanby that solemn adjuration under such strange and mysteriouscircumstances? There was something very serious the matter, Edie feltsure; but what it could be she could not even picture to herself. Herinstinctive fears did not take that vulgarly mistrustful form that theymight have taken with many a woman of lower and more suspicious nature;she knew and trusted Harry far too well for that; she was too absolutelycertain of his whole unshaken love and tenderness; but the veryvagueness and indefiniteness of the fears she felt made them all theharder and more terrible to bear. When you don't know what it is youdread, your fancy can dress up its terrors afresh every moment in somestill more painful and distressing disguise.

  If Harry had let her know where he was stopping, she would have orderedthe carriage then and there, and driven over to Hereford, not to spy himout, but to be with him in his trouble or difficulty. That, however, wasclearly impossible, for Harry had merely sent his telegram as from "H.Lewin, Hereford;" and to go about from hotel to hotel through the countytown, inquiring whether her husband was staying there, would of coursehave been open to the most ridiculous misinterpretation. Everybody wouldhave said she was indeed keeping a tight hand upon him! So with manybitter tears brushed hastily away, Edie went down in solemn and solitarystate to dinner, hating herself for crying so foolishly, and burning hotwith the unpleasant consciousness that the butler and footman wereclosely observing her face and demeanour. If she could have dined quitealone in her own boudoir very furtively it wouldn't have been quite sodreadful; but to keep up appearances with a sinking heart before thosetwo eminently respectable and officious men-servants--it was reallyenough to choke one.

  That night again Edie Lewin never slept for more than a few troubledminutes together; and whenever she awoke, it was with a start and ascream, and a vague consciousness of some impending evil.

  When Harry came again next day he didn't laugh it off carelessly andlightly; he didn't soothe her fears and uneasiness with ready kisses andprompt excuses; he didn't get angry with her and tell her not to askhim too many questions about his own business: he met her as gravely andearnestly as before, with the same tender, loving, half self-reproachfultone, and yet with the same evident desire and intention to love andcherish her more fondly than ever. Edie was relieved, but she was by nomeans satisfied. She knew Harry loved her tenderly, devotedly; but sheknew also there was some sort of shadow or secret looming ominouslybetween them.

  Another wife, supposed dead? He would have trusted her and told her.Another love? Oh, no: she could trust him; it was impossible.

  And so the weeks wore away, and Edie wondered all to no purpose. Atlast, by dint of constant wondering, she almost wore out the faculty ofwonder, and half ceased to think about it any longer.

  But she noticed that from day to day the old bright, brilliant Irishcharacter was slowly fading out of Harry's nature, and that in its placethere was growing up a settled, noble, not unbecoming earnestness. Heseemed perhaps a trifle less striking and attractive than formerly, buta great deal worthier of any true woman's enduring love and admiration.

  Evan Meredith noticed the change as well. He and Harry had grown nowinto real friends. Harry saw and recognized the genuine depth of Evan'snature. Evan had made amends and apologies to Harry for a single passingrudeness or two. Both liked the other better for the momentary rivalryand for the way he had soon forgotten it. "He's a good fellow," Evansaid to his father often, "and Edie, with her quiet, simple Englishnature, has made quite another man of him--given him the ballast and theeven steadiness he once wanted."

  V.

  Spring came, and then summer; and with summer, the annual visitation ofgarden parties. The Trenches at Malbury Manor were going to give agarden party, and Harry and Edie drove across to it. Edie took herhusband over in the pony-carriage with the two little greys she loved sowell to drive herself: the very prettiest and best-matched ponies,everybody said, in the whole county of Hereford.

  As they walked about on the lawn together, they met Edie's father andmother. Somehow, Edie happened to fasten herself accidentally upon hermother, while Harry strolled away alone, and stood talking withsomething of his old brilliancy to one group or another of loungersindependently. For awhile, Edie missed him; he had gone off to look atthe conservatories or something. Then, she saw him chatting with CanonWilmington and his daughters over by one of the refreshment tables, andhanding them champagne cup and ices, while he talked with unusualvolubility and laughter. Presently he came up to her again, and to hergreat surprise said, with a yawn, "Edie, this is getting dreadfullyslow. I can't stand it any longer. I think I shall just slip awayquietly and walk home; you can come after me whenever you like with theponies! Good-bye till dinner. God bless you, darling!"

  It wasn't a usual form of address with him, and Edie vaguely noted it inpassing, but thought nothing more about the matter after the firstmoment. "Good-bye, Harry," she said laughingly. "Perhaps Evan will seeme home. Good-bye."

  Harry smiled rather sadly. "Evan has ridden over on one of my cobs," heanswered quietly, "and so I suppose he'll have to ride back again."

  "He's the best fellow that ever lived," Evan said, as Harry turned awaywith a friendly nod. "Upon my word, I'm quite ashamed of the use I makeof your husband's stables, Edie."

  "Nonsense, Evan; we're always both delighted when you will use anythingof ours as if it were your own."

  At six o'clock the ponies were stopping the way, and Edie prepared todrive home alone. She took the bye-road at the back of the grounds inpreference to the turnpike, because it wouldn't be so crowded or sodusty for her to drive upon.

  They had gone about a mile from the house, and had passed the Beehive,where a group of half-tipsy fellows was loitering upon the road outsidethe tavern, when a few hundred yards further Edie suddenly checked thegreys for no immediately apparent reason.

  "Got a stone in his hoof, ma'am?" the groom asked, looking downcuriously at the off horse, and preparing to alight for the expectedemergency.

  "No," Edie answered with a sudden shake of her head. "Look there,William! On the road in front of us! What a disgusting brute. I nearlyran over him."

  The groom looked in the direction where Edie pointed with her wh
ip, andsaw lying on the ground, straight before the horses' heads, a drunkenman, asleep and helpless, with a small pocket flask clasped in his hand,quite empty.

  "Pick him up!" Edie said in a tone of disgust. "Carry him over and layhim on the side of the road there, will you, William?"

  The man went off to do as he was directed. At that moment, EvanMeredith, coming up from behind on Harry's cob, called out lightly, "CanI help you, Edie? What's the matter? Ho! One of those beastly fellowsfrom the Beehive yonder. Hold a minute, William, you've got a regularjob there--more than an armful. Drunken men are heavy to carry. Wait abit, and I'll come and help you."

  Ho rode forward, to the groom's side just as the groom raised in hisarms the drunkard's head and exposed to view his down-turned face. Then,with a sudden cry of horror and pity, Evan Meredith, not faltering for amoment, drove his heel into his horse's flank, and rode off, speechlesswith conflicting emotions, leaving Edie there alone, face to face withher fallen husband.

  It was Harry Lewin.

  Apoplexy? Epilepsy? An accident? A sunstroke? No, no. Edie could comfortherself with none of those instantaneous flashes of conjecture, for hisface and his breath would alone have told the whole story, even if theempty flask in his drunken hand had not at once confirmed the truth ofher first apprehension. She sat down beside him on the green roadside,buried her poor face in her trembling hands, and cried silently,silently, silently, for twenty minutes.

  The groom, standing motionless officially beside her, let her tears havefree vent, and knew not what to say or do under such extraordinary andunprecedented circumstances.

  One thing only Edie thought once or twice in the midst of that awfulblinding discovery. Thank God that Evan Meredith had not stopped thereto see her misery and degradation. An Englishman might have remainedlike a fool, with the clumsy notion of assisting her in her trouble, andgetting him safely home to Peveril Court for her. Evan, with his quickWelsh perception, had seen in a second that the only possible thing forher own equals to do on such an occasion was to leave her alone with herunspeakable wretchedness.

  After a while, she came to a little, by dint of crying and pureexhaustion, and began to think that something must at least be done tohide this terrible disgrace from the prying eyes of all Herefordshire.

  She rose mechanically, without a word, and motioning the groom to takethe feet, she lifted Harry's head--her own husband's head--that drunkenwretch's head--great heavens, which was it? and helped to lay himsilently on the floor of the pony carriage. He was helpless andmotionless as a baby. Her eyes were dry now, and she hardly evenshuddered. She got into the carriage again, covered over the breathingmass of insensible humanity at the bottom with her light woollenwrapper, and drove on in perfect silence till she reached Peveril Court.As she drew up in front of the door, the evening was beginning to closein rapidly. The groom, still silent, jumped from the carriage, and ranup the steps with his usual drilled accuracy to ring the bell. Ediebeckoned to him imperiously with her hand to stop and come back to her.He paused, and turned down the steps again to hear what she wished.Edie's lips were dry; she couldn't utter a word: but she pointed mutelyto her husband's prostrate form, and the groom understood at once thatshe wished him to lift Harry out of the carriage. Hastily and furtivelythey carried him in at the library door--the first room inside thehouse--and there they laid him out upon the sofa, Edie putting one whitefinger passionately on her lip to enjoin silence. As soon as that wasdone, she sat down to the table with marvellous resolution, and wroteout a cheque for twenty pounds from her own cheque-book. Then at lastshe found speech with difficulty. "William," she said, her dry huskythroat almost choking with the effort, "take that, instead of notice. Goaway at once--I'll drive you to the station--go to London, and never saya single word of this to any one."

  William touched his hat in silence, and walked back slowly to thecarriage. Edie, now flushed and feverish, but dry of lips and erect ofmien, turned the key haughtily in the door, and stalked out to the greysonce more. Silently still she drove to the station, and saw William takethe London train. "You shall have a character," she said, very quietly;"write to me for it. But never say a word of this for your life toanybody."

  William touched his hat once more, and went away, meaningconscientiously in his own soul to keep this strange and unexpectedcompact.

  Then Edie drove herself back to Peveril Court, feeling that only EvanMeredith knew besides; and she could surely count at least on Evan'shonour.

  But to-morrow! to-morrow! what could she ever do to-morrow?

  Hot and tearless still, she rang the drawing-room bell. "Mr. Lewin willnot be home to-night," she said, with no further word of explanation. "Ishall not dine. Tell Watkins to bring me a cup of tea in my ownbedroom."

  The maid brought it, and Edie drank it. It moistened her lips and brokethe fever. Then she flung herself passionately upon the bed, and cried,and cried, and cried, wildly, till late in the evening.

  Eleven o'clock came. Twelve o'clock. One. She heard them tolling outfrom the old clock-tower, clanging loudly from the church steeple,clinking and tinkling from all the timepieces in all the rooms ofPeveril Court. But still she lay there, and wept, and sobbed, andthought of nothing. She didn't even figure it or picture it to herself;her grief and shame and utter abasement were too profound for mind tofathom. She only felt in a dim, vague, half-unconscious fashion thatHarry--the Harry she had loved and worshipped--was gone from her forever and ever.

  In his place, there had come that irrational, speechless, helpless Thingthat lay below, breathing heavily in its drunken sleep, down on thelibrary sofa.

  VI.

  By half-past one the lights had long been out in all the rooms, andperfect silence reigned throughout the household. Impelled by a wilddesire to see him once more, even though she loathed him, Edie took abedroom candle in her hand, and stole slowly down the big staircase.

  Loathed him? Loved him--ay, loved him even so. Loved him, and the moreshe loved him, the more utterly loathed him.

  If it had been any lesser or lower man, she might have forgiven him. But_him_--Harry--it was too unspeakable.

  Creeping along the passage to the library door, she paused and listened.Inside, there was a noise of footsteps, pacing up and down the roomhurriedly. He had come to himself, then! He had slept off his drunkenhelplessness! She paused and listened again to hear further.

  Harry was stalking to and fro across the floor with fiery eagerness,sobbing bitterly to himself, and pausing every now and then with a sortof sudden spasmodic hesitation. From time to time she heard him mutteraloud, "She must have seen me! She must have seen me! They will tellher, they will tell her! Oh, God! they will tell her!"

  Should she unlock the door, and fling herself wildly into his arms? Herinstinct told her to do it, but she faltered and hesitated. A drunkard!a drunkard! Oh no! she could not. The evil genius conquered the good,and she checked the impulse that alone could have saved her.

  She crept up again, with heart standing still and failing within her,and flung herself once more upon her own bed.

  Two o'clock. Three. Half-past three. A quarter to four.

  How long the night seems when you are watching and weeping!

  Suddenly, at the quarter-hour just gone, a sharp ring at a belldisturbed her lethargy--a ring two or three times repeated, which wakedthe butler from his sound slumber.

  Edie walked out cautiously to the top of the stairs and listened. Thebutler stood at the library door and knocked in vain. Edie heard aletter pushed under the door, and in a muffled voice heard Harry saying,"Give that letter to your mistress, Hardy--to-morrow morning."

  A vague foreboding of evil overcame her. She stole down the stairs inthe blank dark and took the letter without a word from the half-dressedand wondering butler. Then she glided back to her own room, sat downeagerly by the dressing-table, and began to read it.

  "EDIE,

  "This is the third time, and I determined with myself that the third time should be t
he last one. Once in London; once at Hereford; once now. I can stand it no longer. My father died a drunkard. My mother died a drunkard. I cannot resist the temptation. It is better I should not stop here. I have tried hard, but I am beaten in the struggle. I loved you dearly: I love you still far too much to burden your life by my miserable presence. I have left you everything. Evan will make you happier than I could. Forgive me.

  "HARRY."

  She dropped the letter with a scream, and almost would have fainted.

  But even before the faintness could wholly overcome her, another soundrang out sharper and clearer far from the room below her. It brought herback to herself immediately. It was the report of a pistol.

  Edie and the butler hurried back in breathless suspense to the librarydoor. It was locked still. Edie took the key from her pocket and turnedit quickly. When they entered, the candles on the mantelpiece wereburning brightly, and Harry Lewin's body, shot through the heart, lay ina pool of gurgling blood right across the spattered hearthrug.