I Say No Page 62

  CHAPTER LVIII. A COUNCIL OF TWO.

  Early in the last century one of the picturesque race of robbers andmurderers, practicing the vices of humanity on the borderlandswatered by the river Tweed, built a tower of stone on the coast ofNorthumberland. He lived joyously in the perpetration of atrocities; andhe died penitent, under the direction of his priest. Since that event,he has figured in poems and pictures; and has been greatly admired bymodern ladies and gentlemen, whom he would have outraged and robbed ifhe had been lucky enough to meet with them in the good old times.

  His son succeeded him, and failed to profit by the paternal example:that is to say, he made the fatal mistake of fighting for other peopleinstead of fighting for himself.

  In the rebellion of Forty-Five, this northern squire sided to seriouspurpose with Prince Charles and the Highlanders. He lost his head;and his children lost their inheritance. In the lapse of years, theconfiscated property fell into the hands of strangers; the last of whom(having a taste for the turf) discovered, in course of time, that he wasin want of money. A retired merchant, named Delvin (originally of Frenchextraction), took a liking to the wild situation, and purchased thetower. His wife--already in failing health--had been ordered by thedoctors to live a quiet life by the sea. Her husband's death left her arich and lonely widow; by day and night alike, a prisoner in her room;wasted by disease, and having but two interests which reconciled her tolife--writing poetry in the intervals of pain, and paying the debts ofa reverend brother who succeeded in the pulpit, and prospered nowhereelse.

  In the later days of its life, the tower had been greatly improved as aplace of residence. The contrast was remarkable between the dreary grayouter walls, and the luxuriously furnished rooms inside, rising by twoat a time to the lofty eighth story of the building. Among the scatteredpopulace of the country round, the tower was still known by the odd namegiven to it in the bygone time--"The Clink." It had been so called (aswas supposed) in allusion to the noise made by loose stones, washedbackward and forward at certain times of the tide, in hollows of therock on which the building stood.

  On the evening of her arrival at Mrs. Delvin's retreat, Emily retired atan early hour, fatigued by her long journey. Mirabel had an opportunityof speaking with his sister privately in her own room.

  "Send me away, Agatha, if I disturb you," he said, "and let me know whenI can see you in the morning."

  "My dear Miles, have you forgotten that I am never able to sleep in calmweather? My lullaby, for years past, has been the moaning of the greatNorth Sea, under my window. Listen! There is not a sound outside on thispeaceful night. It is the right time of the tide, just now--and yet,'the clink' is not to be heard. Is the moon up?"

  Mirabel opened the curtains. "The whole sky is one great abyss ofblack," he answered. "If I was superstitious, I should think that horriddarkness a bad omen for the future. Are you suffering, Agatha?"

  "Not just now. I suppose I look sadly changed for the worse since yousaw me last?"

  But for the feverish brightness of her eyes, she would have looked likea corpse. Her wrinkled forehead, her hollow cheeks, her white lips toldtheir terrible tale of the suffering of years. The ghastly appearanceof her face was heightened by the furnishing of the room. This doomedwoman, dying slowly day by day, delighted in bright colors and sumptuousmaterials. The paper on the walls, the curtains, the carpet presentedthe hues of the rainbow. She lay on a couch covered with purple silk,under draperies of green velvet to keep her warm. Rich lace hid h erscanty hair, turning prematurely gray; brilliant rings glittered on herbony fingers. The room was in a blaze of light from lamps and candles.Even the wine at her side that kept her alive had been decanted into abottle of lustrous Venetian glass. "My grave is open," she used to say;"and I want all these beautiful things to keep me from looking at it. Ishould die at once, if I was left in the dark."

  Her brother sat by the couch, thinking "Shall I tell you what is in yourmind?" she asked.

  Mirabel humored the caprice of the moment. "Tell me!" he said.

  "You want to know what I think of Emily," she answered. "Your lettertold me you were in love; but I didn't believe your letter. I havealways doubted whether you were capable of feeling true love--untilI saw Emily. The moment she entered the room, I knew that I had neverproperly appreciated my brother. You _are_ in love with her, Miles; andyou are a better man than I thought you. Does that express my opinion?"

  Mirabel took her wasted hand, and kissed it gratefully.

  "What a position I am in!" he said. "To love her as I love her; and, ifshe knew the truth, to be the object of her horror--to be the man whomshe would hunt to the scaffold, as an act of duty to the memory of herfather!"

  "You have left out the worst part of it," Mrs. Delvin reminded him."You have bound yourself to help her to find the man. Your one hope ofpersuading her to become your wife rests on your success in finding him.And you are the man. There is your situation! You can't submit to it.How can you escape from it?"

  "You are trying to frighten me, Agatha."

  "I am trying to encourage you to face your position boldly."

  "I am doing my best," Mirabel said, with sullen resignation. "Fortunehas favored me so far. I have, really and truly, been unable to satisfyEmily by discovering Miss Jethro. She has left the place at which I sawher last--there is no trace to be found of her--and Emily knows it."

  "Don't forget," Mrs. Delvin replied, "that there is a trace to be foundof Mrs. Rook, and that Emily expects you to follow it."

  Mirabel shuddered. "I am surrounded by dangers, whichever way I look,"he said. "Do what I may, it turns out to be wrong. I was wrong, perhaps,when I brought Emily here."

  "No!"

  "I could easily make an excuse," Mirabel persisted "and take her back toLondon."

  "And for all you know to the contrary," his wiser sister replied, "Mrs.Rook may go to London; and you may take Emily back in time to receiveher at the cottage. In every way you are safer in my old tower.And--don't forget--you have got my money to help you, if you want it. Inmy belief, Miles, you _will_ want it."

  "You are the dearest and best of sisters! What do you recommend me todo?"

  "What you would have been obliged to do," Mrs. Delvin answered, "if youhad remained in London. You must go to Redwood Hall tomorrow, as Emilyhas arranged it. If Mrs. Rook is not there, you must ask for her addressin Scotland. If nobody knows the address, you must still bestir yourselfin trying to find it. And, when you do fall in with Mrs. Rook--"

  "Well?"

  "Take care, wherever it may be, that you see her privately."

  Mirabel was alarmed. "Don't keep me in suspense," he burst out. "Tell mewhat you propose."

  "Never mind what I propose, to-night. Before I can tell you what I havein my mind, I must know whether Mrs. Rook is in England or Scotland.Bring me that information to-morrow, and I shall have something to sayto you. Hark! The wind is rising, the rain is falling. There is a chanceof sleep for me--I shall soon hear the sea. Good-night."

  "Good-night, dearest--and thank you again, and again!"