Man and Wife Page 46

in my life!" cried the old gentleman, warmly. "Never mind! it's

  useless to regret it now. At any rate, you read Delamayn's answer

  to Miss Silvester's letter?"

  "Yes--I did."

  "Repeat it--as nearly as you can remember at this distance of

  time."

  "It was so short," said Arnold, "that there is hardly any thing

  to repeat. As well as I remember, Geoffrey said he was called

  away to London by his father's illness. He told Miss Silvester to

  stop where she was; and he referred her to me, as messenger.

  That's all I recollect of it now."

  "Cudgel your brains, my good fellow! this is very important. Did

  he make no allusion to his engagement to marry Miss Silvester at

  Craig Fernie? Didn't he try to pacify her by an apology of some

  sort?"

  The question roused Arnold's memory to make another effort.

  "Yes," he answered. "Geoffrey said something about being true to

  his engagement, or keeping his promise or words to that effect."

  "You're sure of what you say now?"

  "I am certain of it."

  Sir Patrick made another note.

  "Was the letter signed?" he asked, when he had done.

  "Yes."

  "And dated?"

  "Yes." Arnold's memory made a second effort, after he had given

  his second affirmative answer. "Wait a little," he said. "I

  remember something else about the letter. It was not only dated.

  The time of day at which it was written was put as well."

  "How came he to do that?"

  "I suggested it. The letter was so short I felt ashamed to

  deliver it as it stood. I told him to put the time--so as to show

  her that he was obliged to write in a hurry. He put the time when

  the train started; and (I think) the time when the letter was

  written as well."

  "And you delivered that letter to Miss Silvester, with your own

  hand, as soon as you saw her at the inn?"

  "I did."

  Sir Patrick made a third note, and pushed the paper away from him

  with an air of supreme satisfaction.

  "I always suspected that lost letter to be an important

  document," he said--"or Bishopriggs would never have stolen it.

  We must get possession of it, Arnold, at any sacrifice. The first

  thing to be done (exactly as I anticipated), is to write to the

  Glasgow lawyer, and find Miss Silvester."

  "Wait a lit tle!" cried a voice at the veranda. "Don't forget

  that I have come back from Baden to help you!"

  Sir Patrick and Arnold both looked up. This time Blanche had

  heard the last words that had passed between them. She sat down

  at the table by Sir Patrick's side, and laid her hand caressingly

  on his shoulder.

  "You are quite right, uncle," she said. "I _am_ suffering this

  morning from the malady of having nothing to do. Are you going to

  write to Anne? Don't. Let me write instead."

  Sir Patrick declined to resign the pen.

  "The person who knows Miss Silvester's address," he said, "is a

  lawyer in Glasgow. I am going to write to the lawyer. When he

  sends us word where she is--then, Blanche, will be the time to

  employ your good offices in winning back your friend."

  He drew the writing materials once more with in his reach, and,

  suspending the remainder of Arnold's examination for the present,

  began his letter to Mr. Crum.

  Blanche pleaded hard for an occupation of some sort. "Can nobody

  give me something to do?" she asked. "Glasgow is such a long way

  off, and waiting is such weary work. Don't sit there staring at

  me, Arnold! Can't you suggest something?"

  Arnold, for once, displayed an unexpected readiness of resource.

  "If you want to write," he said, "you owe Lady Lundie a letter.

  It's three days since you heard from her--and you haven't

  answered her yet."

  Sir Patrick paused, and looked up quickly from his writing-desk.

  "Lady Lundie?" he muttered, inquiringly.

  "Yes," said Blanche. "It's quite true; I owe her a letter. And of

  course I ought to tell her we have come back to England. She will

  be finely provoked when she hears why!"

  The prospect of provoking Lady Lundie seemed to rouse Blanche s

  dormant energies. She took a sheet of her uncle's note-paper, and

  began writing her answer then and there.

  Sir Patrick completed his communication to the lawyer--after a

  look at Blanche, which expressed any thing rather than approval

  of her present employment. Having placed his completed note in

  the postbag, he silently signed to Arnold to follow him into the

  garden. They went out together, leaving Blanche absorbed over her

  letter to her step-mother.

  "Is my wife doing any thing wrong?" asked Arnold, who had noticed

  the look which Sir Patrick had cast on Blanche.

  "Your wife is making mischief as fast as her fingers can spread

  it."

  Arnold stared. "She must answer Lady Lundie's letter," he said.

  "Unquestionably."

  "And she must tell Lady Lundie we have come back."

  "I don't deny it."

  "Then what is the objection to her writing?"

  Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuff--and pointed with his ivory

  cane to the bees humming busily about the flower-beds in the

  sunshine of the autumn morning.

  "I'll show you the objection," he said. "Suppose Blanche told one

  of those inveterately intrusive insects that the honey in the

  flowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to

  an end--do you think he would take the statement for granted? No.

  He would plunge head-foremost into the nearest flower, and

  investigate it for himself."

  "Well?" said Arnold.

  "Well--there is Blanche in the breakfast-room telling Lady Lundie

  that the bridal tour happens, through an unexpected accident, to

  have come to an end. Do you think Lady Lundie is the sort of

  person to take the statement for granted? Nothing of the sort!

  Lady Lundie, like the bee, will insist on investigating for

  herself. How it will end, if she discovers the truth--and what

  new complications she may not introduce into a matter which,

  Heaven knows, is complicated enough already--I leave you to

  imagine. _My_ poor powers of prevision are not equal to it."

  Before Arnold could answer, Blanche joined them from the

  breakfast-room.

  "I've done it," she said. "It was an awkward letter to write--and

  it's a comfort to have it over."

  "You have done it, my dear," remarked Sir Patrick, quietly. "And

  it may be a comfort. But it's not over."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I think, Blanche, we shall hear from your step-mother by return

  of post."

  CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.

  THE NEWS FROM GLASGOW.

  THE letters to Lady Lundie and to Mr. Crum having been dispatched

  on Monday, the return of the post might be looked for on

  Wednesday afternoon at Ham Farm.

  Sir Patrick and Arnold held more than one private consultation,

  during the interval, on the delicate and difficult subject of

  admitting Blanche to a knowledge of what had happened. The wise

  elder advised and the inex
perienced junior listened. "Think of

  it," said Sir Patrick; "and do it." And Arnold thought of it--and

  left it undone.

  Let those who feel inclined to blame him remember that he had

  only been married a fortnight. It is hard, surely, after but two

  weeks' possession of your wife, to appear before her in the

  character of an offender on trial--and to find that an angel of

  retribution has been thrown into the bargain by the liberal

  destiny which bestowed on you the woman whom you adore!

  They were all three at home on the Wednesday afternoon, looking

  out for the postman.

  The correspondence delivered included (exactly as Sir Patrick had

  foreseen) a letter from Lady Lundie. Further investigation, on

  the far more interesting subject of the expected news from

  Glasgow, revealed--nothing. The lawyer had not answered Sir

  Patrick's inquiry by return of post.

  "Is that a bad sign?" asked Blanche.

  "It is a sign that something has happened," answered her uncle.

  "Mr. Crum is possibly expecting to receive some special

  information, and is waiting on the chance of being able to

  communicate it. We must hope, my dear, in to-morrow's post."

  "Open Lady Lundie's letter in the mean time," said Blanche. "Are

  you sure it is for you--and not for me?"

  There was no doubt about it. Her ladyship's reply was ominously

  addressed to her ladyship's brother-in-law. "I know what that

  means." said Blanche, eying her uncle eagerly while he was

  reading the letter. "If you mention Anne's name you insult my

  step-mother. I have mentioned it freely. Lady Lundie is mortally

  offended with me."

  Rash judgment of youth! A lady who takes a dignified attitude, in

  a family emergency, is never mortally offended--she is only

  deeply grieved. Lady Lundie took a dignified attitude. "I well

  know," wrote this estimable and Christian woman, "that I have

  been all along regarded in the light of an intruder by the family

  connections of my late beloved husband. But I was hardly prepared

  to find myself entirely shut out from all domestic confidence, at

  a time when some serious domestic catastrophe has but too

  evidently taken place. I have no desire, dear Sir Patrick, to

  intrude. Feeling it, however, to be quite inconsistent with a due

  regard for my own position--after what has happened--to

  correspond with Blanche, I address myself to the head of the

  family, purely in the interests of propriety. Permit me to ask

  whether--under circumstances which appear to be serious enough to

  require the recall of my step-daughter and her husband from their

  wedding tour--you think it DECENT to keep the widow of the late

  Sir Thomas Lundie entirely in the dark? Pray consider this--not

  at all out of regard for Me!--but out of regard for your own

  position with Society. Curiosity is, as you know, foreign to my

  nature. But when this dreadful scandal (whatever it may be) comes

  out--which, dear Sir Patrick, it can not fail to do--what will

  the world think, when it asks for Lady Lundie's, opinion, and

  hears that Lady Lundie knew nothing about it? Whichever way you

  may decide I shall take no offense. I may possibly be

  wounded--but that won't matter. My little round of duties will

  find me still earnest, still cheerful. And even if you shut me

  out, my best wishes will find their way, nevertheless, to Ham

  Farm. May I add--without encountering a sneer--that the prayers

  of a lonely woman are offered for the welfare of all?"

  "Well?" said Blanche.

  Sir Patrick folded up the letter, and put it in his pocket.

  "You have your step-mother's best wishes, my dear." Having

  answered in those terms, he bowed to his niece with his best

  grace, and walked out of the room.

  "Do I think it decent," he repeated to himself, as he closed the

  door, "to leave the widow of the late Sir Thomas Lundie in the

  dark? When a lady's temper is a little ruffled, I think it more

  than decent, I think it absolutely desirable, to let that lady

  have the last word." He went into the library, and dropped his

  sister-in-law's remonstrance into a box, labeled "Unanswered

  Letters." Having got rid of it in that way, he hummed his

  favorite little Scotch air--and put on his hat, and went out to

  sun himself in the garden.

  Meanwhile, Blanche was not quite satisfied with Sir Patrick's

  reply. She appealed to her husband. "There is something wrong,"

  she said--"and my uncle is hiding it from me."

  Arnold could have desired no better opportunity than she had

  offered to him, in those words, for making the long-deferred

  disclosure to her of the truth. He lifted his eyes to Blanche's

  face. By an unhappy fatality she was looking charmingly that

  morning. How would she look if he told her the story of the

  hiding at the inn? Arnold was still in love with her--and Arnold

  said nothing.

  The next day's post brought not only the anticipated letter from

  Mr. Crum, but an unexpected Glasgow newspaper as well.

  This time Blanche had no reason to complain that her uncle kept

  his correspondence a secret from her. After reading the lawyer's

  letter, with an interest and agitation which showed that the

  contents had taken him by surprise, he handed it to Arnold and

  his niece. "Bad news there," he said. "We must share it

  together."

  After acknowledging the receipt of Sir Patrick's letter of

  inquiry, Mr. Crum began by stating all that he knew of Miss

  Silvester's movements--dating from the time when she had left the

  Sheep's Head Hotel. About a fortnight since he had received a

  letter from her informing him that she had found a suitable place

  of residence in a village near Glasgow. Feeling a strong interest

  in Miss Silvester, Mr. Crum had visited her some few days

  afterward. He had satisfied himself that she was lodging with

  respectable people, and was as comfortably situated as

  circumstances would permit. For a week more he had heard nothing

  from the lady. At the expiration of that time he had received a

  letter from her, telling him that she had read something in a

  Glasgow newspaper, of that day's date, which seriously concerned

  herself, and which would oblige her to travel northward

  immediately as fast as her strength would permit. At a later

  period, when she would be more certain of her own movements, she

  engaged to write again, and let Mr. Crum know where he might

  communicate with her if necessary. In the mean time, she could

  only thank him for his kindness, and beg him to take care of any

  letters or messages which might be left for her. Since the

  receipt of this communication the lawyer had heard nothing

  further. He had waited for the morning's post in the hope of

  being able to report that he had received some further

  intelligence. The hope had not been realized. He had now stated

  all that he knew himself thus far--and he had forwarded a copy of

  the newspaper alluded to by Miss Silvester, on the chance that an

  examination of it by Sir Patrick m
ight possibly lead to further

  discoveries. In conclusion, he pledged himself to write again the

  moment he had any information to send.

  Blanche snatched up the newspaper, and opened it. "Let me look!"

  she said. "I can find what Anne saw here if any body can!"

  She ran her eye eagerly over column after column and page after

  page--and dropped the newspaper on her lap with a gesture of

  despair.

  "Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Nothing any where, that I can see, to

  interest Anne. Nothing to interest any body--except Lady Lundie,"

  she went on, brushing the newspaper off her lap. "It turns out to

  be all true, Arnold, at Swanhaven. Geoffrey Delamayn is going to

  marry Mrs. Glenarm."

  "What!" cried Arnold; the idea instantly flashing on him that

  this was the news which Anne had seen.

  Sir Patrick gave him a warning look, and picked up the newspaper

  from the floor.

  "I may as well run through it, Blanche, and make quite sure that

  you have missed nothing," he said.

  The report to which Blanche had referred was among the paragraphs

  arranged under the heading of "Fashionable News." "A matrimonial

  alliance" (the Glasgow journal announced) "was in prospect

  between the Honorable Geoffrey Delamayn and the lovely and

  accomplished relict of the late Mathew Glenarm, Esq., formerly

  Miss Newenden." The, marriage would, in all probability, "be

  solemnized in Scotland, before the end of the present autumn;"

  and the wedding breakfast, it was whispered, "would collect a

  large and fashionable party at Swanhaven Lodge."

  Sir Patrick handed the newspaper silently to Arnold. It was plain

  to any one who knew Anne Silvester's story that those were the

  words which had found their fatal way to her in her place of

  rest. The inference that followed seemed to be hardly less clear.

  But one intelligible object, in the opinion of Sir Patrick, could

  be at the end of her journey to the north. The deserted woman had

  rallied the last relics of her old energy--and had devoted

  herself to the desperate purpose of stopping the marriage of Mrs.

  Glenarm.

  Blanche was the first to break the silence.

  "It seems like a fatality," she said. "Perpetual failure!

  Perpetual disappointment! Are Anne and I doomed never to meet

  again?"

  She looked at her uncle. Sir Patrick showed none of his customary

  cheerfulness in the face of disaster.

  "She has promised to write to Mr. Crum," he said. "And Mr. Crum

  has promised to let us know when he hears from her. That is the

  only prospect before us. We must accept it as resignedly as we

  can."

  Blanche wandered out listlessly among the flowers in the

  conservatory. Sir Patrick made no secret of the impression

  produced upon him by Mr. Crum's letter, when he and Arnold were

  left alone.

  "There is no denying," he said, "that matters have taken a very

  serious turn. My plans and calculations are all thrown out. It is

  impossible to foresee what new mischief may not come of it, if

  those two women meet; or what desperate act Delamayn may not

  commit, if he finds himself driven to the wall. As things are, I

  own frankly I don't know what to do next. A great light of the

  Presbyterian Church," he added, with a momentary outbreak of his

  whimsical humor, "once declared, in my hearing, that the

  invention of printing was nothing more or less than a proof of

  the intellectual activity of the Devil. Upon my honor, I feel for

  the first time in my life inclined to agree with him."

  He mechanically took up the Glasgow journal, which Arnold had

  laid aside, while he spoke.

  "What's this!" he exclaimed, as a name caught his eye in the

  first line of the newspaper at which he happened to look. "Mrs.

  Glenarm again! Are they turning the iron-master's widow into a

  public character?"