The Saint Paul globe., March 12, 1899, Novels for Leisure Hours, Page 4, Image 30

About The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
' 4.
Mr. Geoffrey Davenant. Give him your card,
and tell him to make as much haste as pos
sible. We must leave here in less than an
hour."
Geoffrey rang the bell and gave the neces
sary directions.
"First, sir? This way if you please."
The porter hurried along the platform, and
threw open the door of a first-class carriage.
An old man, with white beard and hair,
entered the compartment with the man's
assistance, and fumbled in the pocket of his
Inverness for a sixpence.
"There, my man! Put my bag into the rack
above my head. Thank you."
The porter closed the door, having previous
lly pulled up both windows at the old gen
tleman's desire.
"Now then, time's up!" shouted the guard,
as an old woman and a burly countryman
came hurrying along the platform. "Do you
think we're going to wait all night for
you!"
And with scant courtesy he bundled them
into a third-class carriage and blew his whis
tle shrilly.
The old woman muttered something, as she
drew up the window, about "the imper'ence
of jacks in office," and in another moment the
train glided out into the dusk of the summer
night.
The countryman bent over her, and asked
a question, will more animation than one
would have expected from so bucolic-looking
an individual.
"Yes, the old gentleman with the white
beard. He got in two compartments ahead of
us," whispered the old woman, with an up
ward glance at her companion's astonished
face.
"Jove! Is it possible? I should never have
recognized him!" muttered the countryman.
"Are you quite sure?"
"Perfectly certain."
And the old woman crouched up .in her
corner of the carriage, and shut her eyes, as
though prepared to sleep the journey through.
• ***••
"Westdale! Westdale!"
The guard's voice rang out on the quiet
night, and the station-master stepped for
ward to open the door for an old gentleman.
When he had passed out through the wait
ing-room,, the countryman and the old women
stumbled along, sleepily, in his wake, and all
three found themselves in the darkness of the
country road.
"Ye be half asleep now, Isaac, my man,"
remonstrated the old woman, in a shrill,
querulous voice, as she jerked his arm, im
patiently. "I believe you're half daft with the
sound of the London streets."
"I believe ye're right, mother," growled her
companion, following her across the road,
with a heavy, bucolic step. "I feel 'mazed,
that I do!"
The old gentleman had limped away into
the darkness, after bestowing a cursory glance
at his fellow-travellers.
A heavy storm had been threatening all the
evening, and the night was intensely dark.
Quick as thought the man and woman
slipped on their heavy boots* and followed
stealthily, listening now and again, with
bated breath, for the footsteps a few yards
ahead of them. ■"■ L '.!'■')' V
"Heaven gran,t we may be >on the^ight
track!" murmured then-jaaeudo-apuntryman,
in whom, of course, the reader will have rec
ognized Geoffrey Davenant.
They plodded on and on, without exchang
ing another word, until, with a rapid gesture,
Portia drew her companion back, for Philip
Haldane had halted, and was feeling for the
latch of a wicket-gate, which was the en
trance to a right-of-way across the fields,
where, some fifty yaids ahead, the lights of
a human habitation glimmered through the
darkness.
The latch yielded to his hand, and, with a
cautious step, Haldane proceeded on his way.
Suddenly he paused, hearing the sound of
heavy, plodding footsteps coming from the
direction of the house.
It proved to be an old countryman, who
started as Philip Haldane confronted him.
"Eh, master; but what a fright you gave
me; Be ye the parson who has come to see
Mr. Benson? He is expectin' of ye, I believe,
him and the missus; and it's fortunate that
you come when you do, for they are a-leavin'
these parts tomorrow! The* place don't seem
to agree with the poor, daft lady. She takes
on awful at times, she do, but they're won
derful patient with her, all things consid
ered."
Geoffrey Haldane and his companion had
crept up under the heavy shadow of the trees
and had heard all.
The old countryman plodded along towards
his own cottage, some distance off, and Philip
Haldane continued on his way, until he
reached the house.
There was a light burning in the lower
room, and as he knocked gently, the door was
opened by a woman, who closed it again di
rectly he had passed in, and the listeners
heard the bolts shot and the chain put up
Geoffrey drew a long breath of suspense
and Portia, laying her hand upon his arm
whispered — '
"You must not allow yourself to get ex
cited, or you will mai all; and recollect that
they are sure to have in some way tried to
conceal Miss Haldane's identity. You must
not feel startled when you see her "
A shiver of suppressed excitement shook
Geoffrey; but he followed his companion
round to the lighted windows p
The blinds were drawn, but one of them
had broken away from the roller at the tOD
leaving an open space of a few inches
Portia pointed this out to Geoffrey,' who
mounted cautiously upon the sill
"I will keep watch," she whispered; "only
do not allow your excitement to get the hot
ter of you." uel ~
• From this coign of vantage, Geoffrey could
command a good view of the interior
Philip Haldane, who had thrown aside his
wig and beard sat talking to a man on the
opposite side of the table: while the woman
a person verging on middle age, and dressed
in black, stood midway between the tablland
the door.
Geoffrey felt suffocated with excitement
and longed to come to close quarters with the
miscreants, but, reflecting that he had not
ye* ascertained whether Madeline was detain-
ESPLOT AND COUNTERPLOT"
.
Ed there, he bided his time.
He could -iot hear aught but the murmur
;of the conspirators' voices, though he saw
I that they were discussing monetary matters,
I for Philip Haldane was counting out notes
and gold, which he passed across the table
to the woman.
Suddenly, all three started up, apparently
in consternation, for in the doorway was
i framed a fourth person — a woman, with a fair
| face, and long, dark hair falling in disorder
upon her shoulders.
She uttered a wild cry of recognition, and
pointed at Philip Haldane, who had been too
much startled at the apparition to resume his
disguise.
"Philip! My own kinsman! Is it possible?"
she shrieked, advancing into the room.
There was no longer, room for doubt.
Geoffrey would have known her voice
| amongst a thousand, though, for the moment,
I even he had been deceived by the darkened
! hair and brows, which had so strangely al
aei-ed his darling.
The woman sprang forward and threw her
I arms round ' the excited girl, while Philip
escaped to the further end of the room.
Geoffrey, who had thrown aside his dis
guise, could bear no more.
He raised the loaded stick he carried, and,
with a terrific blow, shattered the window,
and sprang into the^ room.
"It is I, Madeline, darling! They have me
I to deal with now!" h<? cried, for the women
were paralyzed with fear, and the men
startled out of all powers of resistance for the
moment.
The older man was the first to recover him
self.
Seizing a pistol that lay on the mantel
piece he levelled it at the intruder and fired;
but Geoffrey lowered his head, and the bullet
lodged in the wall behind him.
With one well-directed blow, he felled his
assailant, who lay motionless, stunned.
Then he stooped and took the still smoking
pistol from the nerveless hand.
There were still several cartridges undis
charged-
Madeline, with a wild, hysterical cry of joy,
sprang towards him, to be encircled with his
arm, while he covered Philip Haldane with
the revolver.
"Move an inch, >ou scoundrel, and I'll shoot
you!" he said, as he levelled the pistol with
every intention of carrying his threat into
execution.
A ringing, metallic laugh startled them all,
as Portia Dupres entered the room in the
same way that Geoffrey had done.
She had thrown off her disguise, and stood
before them in the lamplight, with her golden
head uncovered, and her eyes ablaze with
triumph.
"Ah, Philip Haldane, v.c are quits at last!"
she cried.
"You, Portia! Am I dreaming?" murmured
Haldane, crouching back as though he had
seen some fearful apparition. "Why are you
here?"
"To assist to track you down, to revenge
] myself for the death and ignominy of one
I who was dearer to me than life! Have you
! fcrgotten Andre L'Estrange? He was my
ibetraothed, and I have sworn to avenge him!"
i Philip Haldane uttered a deep groan, and,
i before" Geoffrey was aware of his intention, he
j had dashed past and leaped out of the win-
I dow. - _ r -.
Geoffrey sprang out after him, leaving Por
tia to take care of Madeline, who had fainted.
There was a babei of voices in the dark
ness and Geoffrey saw that Haldane was sur
rounded by police, with whom he was fighting
desperately.
Portia had thrown open the front door, and
stood peering into the gloom, when Philip
Haldane, who had momentarily thrown off
his captors, rushed up to her, and, drawing
a revolver, fired two shots.
With an inarticulate cry she fell back
as the police hurried forward to secure the
murderer, he fired again, and when the smoke
cleared away, they found that he had fallen
| across the prostrate body of Portia Dupres
"He's escaped us after all!" said the in
spector, regretfully. "We might have known
he was armed. Yes, sir," he said, as Geoffrey
came forward, inexpressibly shocked at Por
tia's sad fate. "The young lady is quite dead
and so is he, worse luck. Such a death is too
good for him."
Geoffrey turned away, sick at heart at the
terrible denouement.
The bodies were carried into the house
where Madeline had just recovered conscious
ness.
Geoffrey bent over her in a perfect trans
port of joy, and their lips met in a long kiss
of joyous reunion.
She was still very weak, and he carefully
concealed from her the fact of her father's
death, and Philip Haldaae's suicide, until she
was better able to bear so terrible a shock.
A conveyance was procured from Westdale
and Madeline was removed from the scene of
the recent tragedy.
Geoffrey telegraphed to London for his sis
ter, who came, and remained with the girl for
a few days, until she was sufficiently recov
ered to return to Cumnor Towers.
The woman and man were arrested, and
were found to be related to Madame Werner
whom they asserted to be not one whit less
guilty than they were themselves.
The three were committed for trial, and
each received a heavy sentence at the next
assize, when they were condemned to long
terms of penal servitude, Madame Werner's
attempt to turn "Queen's Evidence" not be
ing admitted.
• •••»,
It was some months before Madeline re
covered from the vicissitudes through which
she had passed.
She and Miss Davenant, who was many
years her senior, had become fast friends, and
after six months' travel for change of scene
they returned to Bellminster one balmy day
in April, to find the hedgerows arrayed in all
the bravery of spring.
Geoffrey was there to receive them.
He had driven over from The Gabled House
where he had lived, and met them at the
lodge gates, where they alighted, to walk up
the avenue with him.
Miss Dav«nant preceded the lovers to the
house for they lingered by the way to enjoy
their long-deferred teU-a-tete.
They were to be married early in June, and
certainly the life that opened out before them
seemed to hold out the promise of idyllic
happiness.
A waking dream,
; A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
i Of that rare happiness, which even earth,
[ Heaven gives to those it loves.
I Lord VeauvoiF's Mistake.
CHAPTER I.
Almost every invitation that Lady Carruth
j ers sent out for the 10th of July was ac
icepted; but, then, Lady Carruthers' balls
j were always successful.
She had the best band, the prettiest women,
the costliest flowers to be had for love and
money.
At 11 o'clock the ball was in full swing;
but, though dancing was still quite possible,
even enjoyable, there were two young people
in the ballroom who seemed hardly to par
ticipate in the general gaiety.
Lilian Vaughan stood leaning against' the
window that opened into the balcony, and
though her eyes were fixed on the fan she
opened and shut nervously, she was quite
conscious of a pair of eyes watching her from
no great distance — a pair of eager, anxious
eyes.
They belonged to Sir Philip Fairfax, who
was standing outside under the awning, with
his arms folded across his chest, and a moody,
dissatisfied look on his otherwise handsome
face.
As the opening bars of a new waltz rang
out, an interchange of partners took place;
but no one came to claim Miss Vaughan, and
neither she nor Sir Philip stirred till the
dancers were again whirling round; then he
moved.
"Well, Lilian," he whispered; "what answer
are you going to give me? Stay— don't speak,
come out here."
The balcony was deserted now, and he drew
a chair forward as she followed him out; she
threw herself into it vsith a sigh of impa
tience.
"You promised, Lilian, that you would give
me an answer tonight."
"Oh, yes! I know I did; and now I am not
ready. You must give me longer — I — you
don't know what you ask.
'•Don't I?" He laughed, a short, dry laugh.
"I think I do — I ask you to be my wife."
Lilian blushed a little at the subdued pas
sion in his voice.
"You speak plainly, at all events. Faficy if
anyone heard us! Are you quite sure you love
me?"
"Lilian, can you doubt it?"
"I never thought you really serious, and, to
tell you the truth," she said, laughing a little,
"I cannot quite imagine you married. Could
! you really be faithful to one?"
"Faithful as a dog to his master!"
"That's hardly an answer. Dogs have no
j power of reasoning, and you — well, you might
very soon reason away my charms."
"Ah! but Lilian, it is not only your baruty
I love, it is "
■ . "And what will you do about Nelly
Temple?" she broke in, quickly, as she looked"'
at him with a smile.
He started up fr-.m the back of her chair,
over which he had been leaning, and gazed
out into the square.
"I don't think you ought to say such things;
it's not worthy of you."
"My dear Sir Philip, I am no longer seven
teen, but twenty- two. Many women would be
very proud of your adoration, and I am not
sure ' that I should not be proud of being called
Lady Fairfax. But — but— are you not rather
Eastern in your ideas? In England, at least,
you should be off with the old love — you know
the rest," v
"You imply that you are a woman *of the
j world. Nelly Temple has nothing to complain
of. I was free— and now. our engagement is
! at an end."
"Quite so; but then, don't talk to me of
love, when so many others have heard the
same story from your lips."
"Lilian, you know, you must know, there is
love and love. I swear to you that my
feeling for you is sacred. I have broken with
my old life; don't drive me back to it. Do you
not believe I love you?"
"You think you do, I am sure of that. Why,
I do not know. Perhaps because it is a new
sensation you feel — something like a glass of
spring water after neat brandy, like smelling
at a violet after a gardenia; but, dear Sir
Philip, believe me, you prefer the 'fine cham
pagne' and the exotic, and I should soon be
thrown aside like huirbler friends."
"No; not if you wished."
"My will is not sufficient."
There was a silence after these words.
Philip Fairfax felt himself more powerless
than he would have liked to confess.
Miss Vaughan reasoned so clearly and sim
ply, there could be little, if any, love on her
side, and her arguments made him even won
der if, indeed, his feelings were more than of
■ that much abused sentiment — passion.
"My dear Lilian," he said, stibing a sigh,
■ "you want that most impossible thing now
i adays — perfection— it is not bought easily.
Will you think over my proposal again? No;
'don't answer at once, say you will think it
over."
"Certainly, if you wish it. Perhaps— who
knows?— you may be right. In which case I
shall never marry."
"And that would be cruel. Take counsel.
Ask Lady Carruthers; she knows the world
I better than you do. Will you do this?*'
He held out his hand, and she put hers into
it with a frank smile.
"Perhaps I will," she said.
And Sir Philip, hoping that his cause was
not quite lost, left his companion to her own
thoughts.
The dancing-room was empty now, and no
one came to disturb Lilian Vaughan, and she
leant back amongst the flowers and palms
around her.
She was not in 'love with Sir Philip Fairfax,
and she knew veiy well that her own out
spoken words were true.
He cared for her as he might for a gem in
brilliant setting-
Take a way her surroundings, clothe her in
. a print gown, and his passionate love would
1 melt into weariness and ennui.
Now, under Lilian's laces and flowers there
beat a very soft and tender heart— a heart
i that longed for a very different love tha»
that of Sir Philip Fairfax.
At an age when most girls are still in the
schoolroom, she hart engaged herself to her
cousin, Hugh Vaughan, chiefly because she
pitied him.
An uncle had left her money that ought to
I have been his, and in her generosity she took
I the only means of giving him what might
I have been his own.
He died suddenly, almost on the eve of his
| wedding-day, killed by a fall from his horse;
| and now, after three years of seclusion, she
j was beginning to enjoy life with all the light
j heartedness of two-and-twenty.
But, as she sat among the flowers, pluck
ing and pulling a rose to pieces she whispered
to herself —
"No; his is not love! Ah! is there nothing
else? Nothing but a few kisses given and
returned, a little pride in being beautiful, and
in being called 'my lady?' Better, far better,
would be a stern reality of sorrow and tears:
of fears and hopes. At least, one would feel."
Then, suddenly, in the midst of her musing
came a memory — a memory so slight that she
was almost surprised at remembering.
One morning, a week before, she had been
riding, and was about to turn into the park.
As she reached the crossing at Hayde Park
Corner, the traffic was stopped rather sud
denly, and, taken by surprise, she let her
whip fall.
Someone from the pavement at her side
stepped forward, and picked it up before her
groom could reach her; and as Lilian raised
her eyes, with a wcrd of thanks, she met
those of a tall, aristocratic-looking man, in
deep mourning, and she had blushed as she
moved on under his admiring gaze.
She began now to retrace the features of the
stranger with singular exactitude, and to
think to herself there, at least, was a man
whose instincts were not all brutal. If looks
were to be believed, this stranger would never
let his life be the theme of chattering, busy
tongues.
Then her partner for waltz ten came to
claim her, and she put her arm in his with a
smile, whilst a feeling of vague pleasure made
her lovely face brighten and look even more
beautiful than before.
When Sir Philip Fairfax left Miss Vaughan's
side, he went straight to his hostess.
The two were intimate friends; Rumor
even said that more than once the popular
lady had taken Sir Philip to task, and
threatened to close her doors against him.
when she heard of some more than usually
fast freak.
Now, he was, or fancied himself to be, really
in love, and he meant to enlist her sympa
thies on his behalf, and he looked a little
thoughtful as he threw himself on a couch
; at her side, and gnawed his heavy moustache,
i hardly knowing how to begin on the subject
nearest his heart.
"What's the matter, Philip?" she said,
fanning herself, slowly; "you are not amused,
! or enjoying yourself tonight, I am afraid, and
everyone" says the- evening is a success."
"Yes; thereMs everything to make it so, but
.tije^one thing I want."
"Why, what more can you want?. Most of
my guests have youth, beauty, or money, and
some all ahree combined— but there, you men
are so difficult to please."
"You have forgotten the one other thing I
want— love — Lilian Vaughan's love!"
"And you told me you still had a chance of
that."
"I had— l haye — but it is a very remote
one — she won't answer me definitely, and to
night she taunted me with — but there, I
needn't worry you with that."
"You mean with Nelly Temple. I warned
you, Philip, it would come to her ears; but
you are so reckless, so careless, till you want
th-3 unattainable, and then you think that,
like the ostrich, af long as you have hidden
ycur head, nothing can be known about you.
I declare I must wash my hands of you!"
"Don't do that — you know you are my best
friend, and I want you to help me."
"Yes; and then get thrown into the back
ground for my pains. Ah! Philip, how little
you really listen to your best friends."
And Lady Carruthers shivered a little as
she withdrew her hand, upon which his had
rested lightly when he asked her help.
Perhaps what the world said was true, and
the friendship was rather warmer on her side
than on his, but there was no trace of this as
she rose, saying, gravely —
"Of course, you know I will do all in my
power; so come to me when you want help.
Now take me back to the ballroom."
CHAPTER 11.
"You didn't absolutely refuse Sir Philip,
did you, Lilian?" a»ked Lady Carrulfaers'
about a week later, when they had gone to
her pretty riverside house, "The Refuge," for
a month's sojourn, enlivened by the presence
of several friends.
"He has confided in you, has he?" Lady
Carruthers nodded, and Lilian added: "You
seem very anxious to see me married, Kitty."
"Perhaps I am, but only that you may be
happy, dear."
"But I am happy— very happy."
"Married to Philip Fairfax, you might be
more so," said that gentleman's loyal friend.
"He is good-looking, young, rich, very much
in love with you, and "
"And with Nelly Temple, eh?"
"Don't be naughty, Lilian; you ought to
ignore such episodes — they occur in most
men's lives, and, though I firmly believe he
meant to marry her, he has broken off his
engagement."
"What a good friend you are, Kitty! One
would think; "
"Think nothing but that I promised to helD
Philip, and that he is really in earnest. He is
obliged to leave us today; his uncle, old Mr
Sterling, is very ill, up in Ayshire. If only
he could go with your promise to be his wife
!it would soften the sorrow of the coming
I grief. Don't be a flirt, Lilian — be your owa
! true self, and say 'Yes.' "
1 "Kitty, you go a little too far. He. ought to