 Chapter 24 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksey. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. November 2. A dreary day with a leaden sky overhead and the monotonous pattern of incessant rain against the window panes, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse had just come downstairs and opening the door which led from the hall to the small withdrawing room on the right, he saw Mistress de Chavasse half sitting, half crouching in one of the stiff-backed chairs which she had drawn close to the fire. There was a cheerful blaze on the hearth, and the room itself, being small, always looked cozier than any other at Acle Court. Nevertheless, Aditha's face was pallid and drawn, and she stared into the fire with eyes which seemed aglow, with anxiety, and even with fear. Her cloak was tied loosely about her shoulders, and at sight of Sir Marmaduke she started. When rising hurriedly, she put her hood over her head and went towards the door. Ah, my dear Aditha, quote her brother-in-law, lightly greeting her, up be times like the lark I see, are you going without? He added, as she made a rapid movement to brush past him and once more made for the door. Yes, she replied dully, I must fain move about, tire myself out if I can, I am consumed with anxiety. Indeed, he retorted blandly, why should you be anxious, everything is going splendidly, and tonight at the latest a fortune of nigh on five hundred thousand pounds will be placed in my hands by a fond and adoring woman. He caught the glitter in her eyes that suggestion of power and of unspoken threats which she had adopted since the episode in the Bath Street house. For an instant an ugly frown further disfigured his sour face, but this frown was only momentary, it soon gave way to a suave smile. He took her hand and lightly touched it with his lips. For which, my dear Aditha, he said, I shall be able to fulfill those obligations which my heart originally dictated. She seemed satisfied at this assurance, for she now spoke in less aggressive tones. Are you so sure of the girl, Marmaduke? She asked. Absolutely, he replied, his thoughts reverting to a day spent at Dover nearly three months ago, when Anna was tired of which fair Aditha was not aware, but which rendered Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse very sure of a fortune. Yet you have oft told me that Sue's love for her mysterious prince had vastly cooled of late, urged Aditha still anxiously. Why, yes, for Sue, he retorted grimly, Sue's sentimental fancy for the romantic exile have gone the way of all such unreasoning attachments, but she has ventured too far to draw back, and she will not draw back, he concluded significantly. Have a care, Marmaduke, the girl is more willful than ye wad of, you may strain at a cord until it snap. Shaw, he said, with a shrug of his wide shoulders, you are suffering from vapours, my dear Aditha, or you would grant me more knowledge of how to conduct mine own affairs. Do you remember, per chance, that the bulk of Sue's fortune will be handed over to her this day? I, I remember. Begad, then, tonight, I'll have that bulk out of her hands. You may take an oath on that, he declared savagely. And afterwards, she asked simply, afterwards, yes, afterwards, when Sue has discovered how she has been tricked, are you not afraid of what she might do, even though her money may pass into your hands, even though you may invagle her into a clandestine marriage, she is still the daughter of the late Earl of Dover, she has landed estates, wealth, rich and powerful relations, there must be an afterwards, remember. His ironical laugh graded on her nerves as he replied lightly, Shaw, my dear Aditha, of a truth you are not your own calm self today, else you had understood that for Sue's in the love affairs of Prince Amidae de Orleans and Lady Susanna Altmarsh there must be, and can be, no, afterwards, I don't understand you, yet it is simple enough, Sue is my wife. Your wife, she exclaimed, hush, and you want to scream, I pray you question me not, for what I say is bound to startle you, Sue is my wife. I married her, having obtained a special license to do so in the name of Prince Amidae Henry de Orleans, and all the rest of the romantic paraphernalia, she is my wife, and therefore her money and fortune are mine, every penny of it, without question or demure, she will appeal to the court to have the marriage annulled, she'll rouse public indignation against you to such a pitch that you'll not be able to look one of your kith and kin in the face, the whole shameful story of the mysterious French Prince, your tricks to win the hand of your ward by lying, cheating, and willful deceit, will resound from one end of the country to the other. What is the use of a mint of money if you have to herd without casts and not an honest man will shake you by the hand? None, my dear Aditha, none, he replied quietly, and tis of still less use for you to rack your nerves in order to place before me a gruesome picture of the miserable social pariah which I should become if the story of my impersonation of a romantic exile for the purpose of capturing the hand of my ward came to the ears of those in authority, whether it doubtless would come, she affirmed hotly, whether it doubtless would come, he assented, and therefore my dear Aditha, once the money is safely in my hands I will leave her royal highness, the princes, dayorlins, in full possession, not only of her landed estates, but of the freedom conferred on her by widowhood. For Prince Amade, her husband, will vanish like the beautiful dream which he always was. But how, how, she reiterated, puzzled, anxious, senting some nefarious scheme more unavailable even than the last, time will show, but he will vanish, my dear Aditha, take my word on it. While we say that he will fly up into the clouds and her highness, the princess, will know him no more, then why have married her, she exclaimed, some womanly instinct within her crying out against this outrage, twas cruel and unnecessary, he shrugged his shoulders, cruel perhaps, but surely no more than necessary, I doubt if she would have entrusted her fortune to anyone but her husband, had she ceased to trust her romantic prince then, perhaps at any rate I chose to make sure of the prize, I have worked hard to get it and would not fail for lack of a simple ceremony, moreover, moreover, moreover, my dear Aditha, there is always the possibility, remote no doubt, but nevertheless tangible, that at some time or other soon or late, who knows, the little deception practiced on Lady Sue may come to the light of day, in that case even if the marriage be annulled on the ground of fraud, which me thinks is more than doubtful, no one could deny my right as the heiress's, shall we say, temporary husband to dispose of her wealth as I thought fit, if I am to become a pariah and an outcast, as you so eloquently suggested just now, I much prefer being a rich one, with half a million in the pocket of my doublet, the whole world is open to me. There was so much cool calculation, such callous contempt for the feelings and thoughts of the unfortunate girl whom he had so terribly wronged, in this expose of the situation, that Mistress de Chevasse herself was conscious of a sense of repulsion from the man whom she had aided hitherto. She believed that she held him sufficiently in her power through her knowledge of his schemes and through the help which she was rendering him to extract a promise from him that he would share his ill-gotten spoils in equal portions with her, at one time after the fracas in Bath Street, he had even given her a vague promise of marriage, therefore he had kept secret from her the relation of that day spent at Dover. Now she felt that even if he were free she would never consent to link her future irretrievably with his, but her share of the money she meant to have. She was tired of poverty, tired of planning and scheming, of debt and humiliation. She was tired of her life of dependence at Acle Court, and felt a sufficiency of youth and buoyancy in herself yet to enjoy a final decade of luxury and amusement in London. Therefore she closed her ears to every call of conscience. She shut her heart against the lonely young girl who so sadly needed the counsels and protections of a good woman, and she was quite ready to lend a helping hand to Sir Marmaduke, at least until a goodly share of Lady Sue's fortune was safely within her grasp. One point occurred to her now which caused her to ask anxiously, have you not made your reckonings without Richard Lambert, Marmaduke? He is back in these parts, you know. Ah, he ejaculated with a quick scowl of impatience, he has returned. Yes, charity was my informant, he looks very ill, so the wench says, he has been down with fever, it appears, all the while that he was in prison, and was only discharged because they feared that he would die. He contrived to work, or beg his way back here, and now he is staying in the village, I thought you would have heard. No, I never speak to the old woman, and Adam Lambert avoids me, as he would the plague, I see as little of them as I can, I had to be prudent these last final days. Heaven grant, he may do nothing fatal today, she murmured. Nay, my dear Aditha, he retorted with a harsh laugh to scarcely heaven's business to look after our schemes, but Lambert can do us very little harm now, for his own sake he will keep out of Sue's way. At what hour does Master Skiffington arrive, in half an hour? Then as he saw that she was putting into effect her former resolve of going out, despite the rain, and was once more readjusting her hood for that purpose, he opened the door for her, and whispered as he followed her out. And you will follow me, my dear Aditha, I'll accompany you on your walk, we might push on down the Canterbury Road, and perhaps meet Master Skiffington. I understand that Sue has been asking for me, and I would prefer to meet her as seldom as possible, just now. This is my last day, he concluded with a laugh, and I must be doubly careful. CHAPTER XXV Master Him of praise busy was vastly perturbed, try how he might he had been unable to make any discovery with regard to the mysterious events which he felt sure were occurring all round him. A discovery which, had he but made it, would have enabled him to apply with more chance of success for one of the posts in my Lord Protector's Secret Service, and moreover would have covered his name with glory. This last contingency was always uppermost in his mind. Not from any feeling of personal pride, for of a truth vanity is a mortal sin, but because Mistress Charity had of late cast uncommonly kind eyes on that cringing worm, Master Courage Too Good, and the latter, emboldened by the minks's favors, had been more than usually insolent to his betters. To have the right to administer serious physical punishment to the youth, and moral reproof to the wench, was part of Master Busy's comprehensive scheme for his own advancement and the confusion of all the miscreants who dwelt in Acle Court. For this he had glued both eye and ear to drafty keyholes, and lain for hours under cover of prickly thistles in the sunk fence which surrounded the flower garden. For this he now emerged, on that morning of November 2, accompanied by a terrific clatter and a volley of soot from out the depth of the monumental chimney in the hall of Acle Court. As soon as he had recovered sufficient breath, and shaken off some of the soot from his hair and face, he looked solemnly about him, and was confronted by two pairs of eyes round with astonishment and two mouths agape with surprise and with fear. Mistress Charity and Master Courage Too Good, interrupted in the midst of their animated conversation, were now speechless with terror at sight of this black apparition, which literally had descended on them from the skies. Lad, love ye, Master Busy, ejaculated Mistress Charity, who was the first to recognize in the sooty wraith the manly form of her betrothed, where have ye come from, pray? Have you been scouring the chimney, good Master? queried Master Courage, with some diffidence, for the saintly man looked somewhat out of humor. No, replied him of praise solemnly, I have not, but I tell ye both that my hour hath come. I knew that something was happening in this house, and I climbed up that chimney in order to find out what it was. Little curiosity caused Mistress Charity to venture a little nearer to the soot-covered figure of her adorer. And did you hear anything, Master Busy? She asked eagerly, I see Sir Marmaduke and the Mistress in close conversation here this morning. So they thought, said Master, him of praise, with weird significance. Well, and what happened, good Master? Thou beest in too mighty and hurry, Mistress, he retorted with quiet dignity. I am under no obligation to report matters to thee. Oh, but Master Busy, she rejoined coily, me thought I was to be your, hem thy partner in life, and so my partner, my partner, didst thou say, sweet Charity, nay, then, thou wilt permit me to salute thee with a kiss, I'll tell thee all I know. And in asking for that chaste salute, we may assume that Master, him of praise, was actuated with at least an equal desire to please Mistress Charity, to gratify his own wishes, and to effectually annoy Master Courage. But Mistress Charity was actuated by curiosity alone, and, without thought of her betrothed grimy appearance, she presented her cheek to him for the kiss. The result caused Master Courage an uncontrollable fit of hilarity. Oh, Mistress, he said, pointing to the black imprint left on her face by her lover's kiss, you should gaze into a mirror now. But already Mistress Charity had guessed what had occurred. Her good humor vanished, and she began scouring her face with her pinner. I'll never forgive you, Master, she said crossly, you had no right to, hem, with your face in that condition, and you have not yet told us what happened. What happened? I, you promised to tell me, if I allowed you to kiss me, tis done. I well-nigh broke my back, said Master, busy, sententiously. I hurt my knee, that is what happened. I am well-nigh choked with soot, agh, that is what happened. Lord, love you, Master, busy. She retorted, with a saucy toss, of her head. I trust your life's partner will not need to hide herself in chimneys. Listen, wench, and I'll tell thee, no kind of servant of my Lord protectors should ever be called upon to hide in chimneys. They are not comfortable, and they are not clean. Bless the man, she cried angrily, are you ever going to tell us what did happen whilst you were there? I was about to come to that point, he said imperturbably, hast thou not interrupted me? What withholding on so as not to fall, and the soot falling in my ears? I, I, I heard nothing, he concluded solemnly. Master Courage, he added with becoming severity, seeing that the youth was on the verge of making a ribald remark, which of necessity had to be checked, be times, come into my room with me, and help me to clean the traces of my difficult task from off my person, come. And with ominous significance he approached the young scoffer, his hand on an exact level with the latter's ear, his right foot raised to indicate a possible means of enforcing obedience to his commands. On the whole Master Courage thought it wise to repress both his hilarity and his pertinent remarks, and to follow the pompous, if begrimed, butler to the latter's room upstairs. CHAPTER XXVI She had thrown herself into a chair, with her pinner over her face, in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. When this outburst of hilarity had subsided, she sat up, and looked round her, with eyes still streaming with merry tears. But the laughter suddenly died on her lips, and the merryment out of her eyes, adult tired voice had just said feebly. Is Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse within? She jumped up from the chair, and stared stupidly at the speaker. Oh, Lord, love you, Master Richard Lambert! She murmured, I thought you were your ghost. Forgive me, Mistress, if I have frightened you. He said, it is my own self. I give you assurance of that, and I, feign, would have speech with Sir Marmaduke. Mistress Charity was visibly embarrassed. She began mechanically to rub the black stain on her cheek. Sir Marmaduke is without, just at present, Master Lambert. She stammered shyly. And yes, and he asked, what is it, Wench? Speak out! Sir Marmaduke gave orders, Master Lambert. She began, with obvious reluctance, that she paused, and he concluded the sentence for her, that I was not to be allowed inside his house. Was that it? Alas, yes, good Master! Never mind, girl. He rejoined as he deliberately crossed the hall, and sat down in the chair, which she had just vacated. You have done your duty, but you could not help admitting me, could you, since I walked in of my own accord. And now that I am here, I will remain until I have seen Sir Marmaduke. Well, of a truth, good Master, she said with a smile, for it was but natural that her feminine sympathies should be on the side of a young and good-looking man, somewhat in her own sphere of life, as against the ill-humored, parsimonious Master whom she served. And you sit there so determinately I cannot prevent you, can I? Then as she perceived the look of misery on the young man's face, his pale cheeks, his otherwise vigorous frame, obviously attenuated by fear, the motherly instinct present in every good woman's heart, caused her to go up to him, and to address him timidly, offering such humble solace as her simple heart could dictate. Lord, preserve you, good Master, I pray you do not take on so. You know, Master Courage and I, now never believed all those stories about ye of a truth, Master Busy, he had his own views. But then, you see, good Master, he and I do not always agree, even though I own, but he is vastly clever with his discoveries and his clues. But Master Courage, now, Master Courage is a wonderful lad, and he thinks that you are a persecuted hero, and I am bound to say that I too hold that view. Thank you, thank you, kind mistress, said Lambert, smiling, despite his dejection, at the girl's impulsive efforts, at consolation. His head had sunk down on his breast, and he sat there, in the high-backed chair, one hand resting on each leather-covered arm, his pale face showing almost ghostlike against the dark background, and with the faint November light, illuminating the dark circled eyes, the bloodless lips, and deeply frowning brow. His charity gazed down on him with mute and kindly compassion. Then suddenly a slight rustling noise as of a curdle sweeping the polished oak of the stairs caused the girl to look up, then to pause a brief while, as if what she had now seen had brought forth a new train of thought. Finally she tiptoed silently out through the door of the dining-hall. Charity, Mistress Charity, I want you, called Lady Sue from above. We must presume, however, that the wench had closed the heavy door behind her, for certainly she did not come in answer to the call. On the other hand Richard Lambert had heard it. He sprang to his feet, and saw Sue descending the stairs. She saw him, too, and it seemed as if at sight of him she had turned and meant to fly, but a word from him detained her, Sue. Only once had he thus called her by her name before, that long ago night in the woods, but now the cry came from out his heart, brought forth by his misery and his sorrow, his sense of terrible injustice and of an irretrievable wrong. It never occurred to her to resent the familiarity. At sound of her name thus spoken by him, she had looked down from the stairs, and seen his pallid face turned up to her in such heart-rending appeal for sympathy that all her womanly instincts of tenderness and pity were aroused. While her old feeling of trustful friendship for him, she, too, felt much of that loneliness which his yearning eyes expressed so pathetically, she, too, was conscious of grave injustice and of an irretrievable wrong, and her heart went out to him immediately in kindness and in love. Don't go, for pity's sake, he added entreatingly, for he thought that she meant to turn away from him. Surely you will not begrudge me a few words of kindness, I have gone through a great deal since I saw you. She descended a few steps, her delicate hand still resting on the banisters, her silken curdle making a soft swishing noise against the polished oak of the stairs. It was a solace to him even to watch her now. The sight of his adored mistress was balm to his aching eyes, yet he was quick to note, with that sharp intuition peculiar to love, that her dear face had lost much of its brightness, of its youth, of its joy of living. She was as exquisite to look on as ever, but she seemed older, more gentle, and alas a trifle sad. I heard you had been ill, she said softly, I was very sorry, believe me, but, oh, do you not think she added with sudden inexplicable pathos whilst she felt hot tears rising to her eyes and causing her voice to quiver? Do you not think that an interview between us now can only be painful to us both? He mistook the intention of her words as was only natural, and whilst she mistrusted her own feelings for him, fearing to betray that yearning for his friendship and his consolation, which had so suddenly overwhelmed her at sight of him, he thought that she feared the interview because of her condemnation of him. Then you believe me guilty, he said sadly, they told you this hideous tale of me, and you believed them without giving the absent one, who alas could not speak in his own defense the benefit of the doubt, for one of those subtle reasons of which women alone possess the secret, and which will forever remain inexplicable to the more logical sex, she stilled her heart against him, even when her entire sensibilities went out to him in passionate sympathy. I could not help but believe, good master, she said a little coldly, Sir Marmadude who, with all his faults of temper, is a man of honour, confirmed that horrible story which appeared in the newspaper, and of which everyone in Thanet has been talking these weeks past. And am I not a man of honour, he retorted hotly, because I am poor, and must work in order to live, am I to be condemned unheard, is a whole life's record of self-education and honest labour, to be thus obliterated by the word of my most bitter enemy. Your bitter enemy, she asked Sir Marmadude, I, Sir Marmadude de Chavasse, it seems passing strange, does it not, he rejoined bitterly, yet somehow in my heart I feel that Sir Marmadude hates me with a violent and passionate hatred, nay, I know it, though I can explain neither its cause nor its ultimate aim. He drew nearer to the stairs, whereon she still stood, her graceful figure slightly leaning towards him. He now stood close to her, his head just below the level of her own, his hand, had he dared to raise it, could have rested on hers. Sue, my beautiful and worshipped lady, he cried impassionately, I entreat you to look into my eyes. Can you see in them the reflex of those shameful deeds which have been imputed to me? Do I look like a liar and a cheat, in the name of pity and of justice, for the sweet sake of our first days of friendship, I beg of you not to condemn me unheard. He lowered his head and rested his aching brow against her cool white hand. She did not withdraw it, for a great joy had suddenly filled her heart, mingling with its sadness, a sense of security and a bitter yet real happiness pervaded her whole being, a happiness which she could not, wished not to explain, but which prompted her to stoop yet further towards him, and to touch his hair with her lips, hot tears which he tried vainly to repress, fell upon her fingers. He had felt the kiss descending on him, almost like a benediction. The exquisite fragrance of her person filled his soul with a great delight which was almost pain, never had he loved her so ardently, so passionately, as at this moment, when he felt that she too loved him, and yet was lost to him irrevocably. Nay, but I will hear you, good master, she murmured with infinite gentleness, for the sake of that friendship, and because, now that I have seen you again, I no longer believe any evil of you. God bless my dear lady, he replied fervently, Heaven is my witness that I am innocent of those abominable crimes imputed to me. Sir Marmaduke took me to that house of evil, and a cruel plot was there concocted to make me appear before all men as a liar and a cheat, and to disgrace me before the world and before you. That the object of this plot was to part me from you, added Richard Lambert, more calmly and firmly, I am absolutely confident. What its deeper motive was I dare not even think. It was known that I loved you, Sue, that I would give my life to save you from trouble. I was your slave, your watchdog. I was forcibly removed, torn from you, my name disgraced, my health broken down, but my life was not for them. It belongs to my lady alone. Heaven would not allow it to be sacrificed to their villainous schemes. I fought against sickness and death with all the energy of despair. It was a hand-to-hand fight, for discouragement and a non-despair ranged themselves among my foes. And now I have come back, he said with proud energy, broken may have yet still standing, a snapped oak yet full of vigor. But I have come back, and with God's help will be even with them yet. He had straightened his young figure and his strong, somewhat harsh voice echoed through the oak-paneled hall. He cared not if all the world heard him, if his enemies lurked about striving to spy upon him. His profession of love and of service to his lady was the sole remaining pride of his life, and now that he knew that she believed and trusted him, he longed for every man to hear what he had to say. Nay, what you say, kind Richard, fills me with dread, said Sue, after a little pause. I am glad, glad that you have come back. For some weeks, nay, months past, I have had the presentiment of some coming evil. I have, I have felt lonely and not unhappy, he said with his usual earnestness, I would not have my lady unhappy for all the treasures of this world. No, she replied meditatively, striving to be conscious of her own feelings. I do not think that I am unhappy, only anxious, and a little lonely. That is all. Sir Marmaduke is oft away. When he is at home, I scarce ever see him, and he but rarely speaks to me. And me thinks there is but scant sympathy, twixt Mistress de Chevasse and me, though she is kind at times in her way. Then she turned her eyes, bright with unshed tears, down again to him. It all seems right again, she said, with a sweet, sad smile, now that you have come back, my dear, dear friend. God bless you for these words. I grieved terribly when I heard about you at first, she said almost gaily now, yet somehow I could not believe it all. And now, yes, and now, he asked, now I believe in you. She replied simply, I believe that you care for me, and that you are my friend. Your friend indeed, for I would give my life for you. Once more he stooped, but now he kissed her hand. He was her friend, and had the right to do this. He had gradually mastered his emotion, his sense of wrong, and with that exquisite selflessness, which real love alone can kindle in a human heart, he had succeeded in putting aside all thought of his own great misery, his helplessness, and the hopelessness of his position, and remembered only that she looked fragile, a little older, sadder, and had need of his help. And now, sweet lady, he said, forcing himself to speak calmly of that which always set his heart and senses into a turmoil of passionate jealousy, will you tell me something about him? Him? The prince, he suggested, but she shook her head resolutely. No, kind Richard, she said gently, I will not speak to you of the prince, I know that you do not think well of him. I wish to look upon you as my friend, and I could not do that if you spoke ill of him. Because she paused for what she now had to tell him was very hard to say, and she knew what a terrible blow she would be dealing to his heart from the wild beating of her own. Yes, he asked, because, because he is my husband, she whispered. Her head fell forward on her breast. She would not trust herself to look at him now, for she knew that the sight of his grief was more than she could bear. She was conscious that at her words he had drawn his hand away from hers, but he spoke no word, nor did the faintest exclamation escape his lips. Thus they remained for a few moments longer, side by side, she slightly above him, with head bent, with hot tears falling slowly from her downcast eyes, her heart well nigh breaking with the consciousness of the irreparable. She somewhat below, silent too, and rigid, all passion, all emotion, love even, numbed momentarily by the violence, the suddenness of this terrible blow. Then without a word, without a sigh or look, he turned, and she heard his footsteps echoing across the hall, then dying away on the threshold of the door beyond. Anon the door itself closed too, with a dull bang which seemed to find an echo in her heart, like the tolling of a passing bell. Then only did she raise her head and look about her. The hall was deserted, and seemed infinitely lonely, silent and grim. The young girl-wife, who had just found a friend, only to lose him again, called out in mute appeal to this old house, the oak-covered walls, the very stones themselves for sympathy. She was so infinitely, so immeasurably lonely, with that awful, irretrievable day at Dover behind her, with all its dreariness, its silent solemnity, its weird finish in the vestry, and a ring upon her finger, her trough plighted to a man whom she feared, and no longer loved. Oh, the pity of it all, the broken young life, the vanished dreams! Sue bent her head down upon her hands, her lips touched her own fingers there, where her friends had rested in gratitude and love, and she cried, cried like a broken-hearted woman, cried for her lost illusions, and the end of her brief romance. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of The Nest of the Sparrowhawk by Emma Orksy. This liprivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Dion Giants, Sutleck City, Utah. Lady Sue's fortune. Less than an hour later, four people were assembled in the small withdrawing room of a cold court. Sir Skiffington, sat behind a central table, a little pompous of manner, clad in sober black with well-starched linen cuffs and collar. His scanty hair closely cropped, his thin hands fingering with assurance and perfect calm, the various documents laid out before him. Near him Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse, sitting with his back to the dim November light, which vainly strove to penetrate the tiny glass panes of the casement windows. In a more remote corner of the room sat Aditha de Chevasse vainly trying to conceal the agitation which her trembling hands, her quivering face, and restless eyes persistently betrayed. And beside the central table near Masters Skiffington and facing Sir Marmaduke was Lady Susanna Altmarsh, only daughter and heiress of the late Earl of Dover. This day aged twenty-one years and about to receive, from the hands of her legal guardians, the vast fortune which her father had bequeathed to her, and which was to become absolutely hers this day, to dispose of as she list. And now, my dear child, said Masters Skiffington, with due solemnity and papers in methodical order upon the table, let me briefly explain to you the object of this momentous meeting here today. I am all attention, Master, said Sue vaguely, and her eyes wide open, obviously absent. She gazed fixedly on the silhouette of Sir Marmaduke, grimly outlined against the grayish window panes. I must tell you, my dear child, resumed Masters Skiffington, after a slight pause during which he had studied, with vague puzzled him, the inscrutable face of the young girl. I must tell you that your late father, the noble Earl of Dover, had married the heiress of Peter Ford, the wealthiest merchant this country hath ever known. She was your own lamented mother, and the whole of her fortune, passing through her husband's hands, hath now devolved upon you. My much esteemed patron, I may venture to say friend, Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse, having been appointed your legal guardian by the court of chancellery, and I myself, being there upon, named the repository of your securities, these have been administered by me up to now. You are listening to me, are you not, my dear young lady? The question was indeed necessary, for even to Masters Skiffington's unobservant mind, it was apparent that Sue's eyes had a look of aloofness in them, of detachment from her surroundings, which was altogether inexplicable to the worthy attorney's practical sense of the due fitness of things. At his query she made a sudden effort to bring her thoughts back from the past to the present, to drag her heart and her aching brain away from that half-hour spent in the hall, from that conversation with her friend, from the recollection of that terribly cruel blow which she had been forced to deal to the man who loved her best in all the world. Yes, yes, kind master, she said, I am listening, and she fixed her eyes resolutely on the attorney's solemn face, forcing her mind to grasp what he was about to say. By the terms of your noble father's will, continued Masters Skiffington, as soon as he had satisfied himself that he had at last held the heiress's attention. The securities, receipts, and all other monies are to be given over absolutely and unconditionally into your own hands on your twenty-first birthday, which is today, said Sue simply, which is today, assented the lawyer. The securities, receipts, and other bonds, grants of monopolies, and so forth lie before you on this table. They represent in value over half a million of English money, a very large sum indeed for so young a girl to have full control of. Nevertheless, it is yours absolutely and unconditionally according to the wishes of your late noble father, and Sir Marmaduke de Chivas, your late guardian, and I myself, have met you here this day for the express purpose of handing these securities, grants, and receipts over to you, and to obtain in exchange your own properly attested signature in full discharge of any further obligation on our part. Masters Skiffington was earnestly gazing into the young girl's face, whilst he thus literally dangled before her the golden treasures of wealth, which were about to become absolutely her own. He thought, not unnaturally, that a girl of her tender years, brought up in the loneliness and seclusion of a not too luxurious home, would fill in a measure dazzled and certainly overjoyed at the brilliant prospect which such independent and enormous wealth opened out before her. But the amiable attorney was vastly disappointed to see neither pleasure nor even interest expressed in Lady Sue's face, which on this joyous and momentous occasion looked unnaturally calm and pallid. Even now when he paused, expectant and eager, waiting for some comment or exclamation of approval or joy from her, she was silent for a while, and then said in a stolidly inquiring tone, Then after today I shall have full control of my money, absolute control my dear young lady, he rejoined, feeling strangely perturbed at this absence of emotion. And no one, after today, will have the right to inquire as to the use I make of these securities, grants, or whatever you, Masters Skiffington, have called them. She continued with the same placidity. No one of a surety, my dear Sue, here interposed Sir Marmaduke speaking in his usual harsh and dictatorial way. But this is a strange and somewhat peremptory question for a young maid to put at this juncture. Masters Skiffington and myself had hoped that you would listen to counsels of prudence and would allow him, who have already administered your fortune in a vastly able manner, to continue so to do for a while at any rate. That question we can discuss later on, Sir Marmaduke said soon now, with sudden ha-ture, shall we proceed with our business, Master? She added, turning deliberately to the lawyer, ignoring with calm disdain the very presence of her late guardian. The studied contempt of his ward's manner, however, seemed not to disturb the serenity of Sir Marmaduke to any appreciable extent. Casting a quick inquisitorial glance at Sue, he shrugged his shoulders in token of indifference and said no more. Certainly responded Masters Skiffington, somewhat embarrassed, my dear young lady, as you wish, but then he turned deliberately to Sir Marmaduke, once more bringing him into the proceedings and tacitly condemning her ladyship's extraordinary attitude towards his distinguished patron. Having now explained to Lady Sue Altmarsh the terms of her noble father's will, he said, me thinks that she is ready to receive the monies from our hands, good Sir Marmaduke, and thereupon to give us the proper receipt prescribed by law for the same. He checked himself for a moment, and then made a respectful, if pointed suggestion. Mistress de Chevasse, he said inquiringly, Mistress de Chevasse is a member of the family, replied Sir Marmaduke, the business can be transacted in her presence. Nothing therefore remains to be said, my dear young lady, rejoined Masters Skiffington, once more speaking directly to Sue and placing his lean hands with fingers outstretched, over the bundles of papers lying before him. Here are your securities, your grants, monies, and receipts worth five hundred thousand pounds of the present currency of this realm. These I, in my own name, and that of my honoured friend and patron, Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse, do hereby hand over to you. You will, I pray, verify and sign the receipt in proper and due form. He began sorting and overlooking the papers, muttering half audibly the while as he transferred each bundle from his own side of the table to that beside which Lady Sue was sitting. The deeds of property in Holland, hem, receipts of money deposited at the Bank of Amsterdam, the same from the Bank of Vienna, grant of monopoly for the hemp trade in Russia, hem. Thus he mumbled for some time as these papers, representing a fortune, passed out of his keeping into those of a young maid but recently out of her teens. She watched him silently and placidly, just as she had done throughout this momentous interview, which was, of a truth, the starting point of her independent life. Her face expressed neither joy nor excitement of any kind. She knew that all the wealth which now lay before her would only pass briefly through her hands. She knew that the Prince, her husband, was waiting for it even now. Doubtless he was counting the hours when his young wife's vast fortune would come to him as the realization of all his dreams. In spite of her present disbelief in his love, in spite of the bitter knowledge that her own had wanded, Sue had no misgivings as yet as to the honor, the truth, the loyalty of the man whose name she now bore. Her illusions were gone, her romance had become dull reality, but to one thought she clung with all the tenacity of despair. And that was to the illusion that Prince Amadeus de Orleans was the selfless patriot, the regenerator of downtrodden France, which he represented himself to be. Because of that belief she welcomed the wealth which she would this day be able to place in his hands, her own girlish dreams had vanished, but her temperament was far too romantic and too poetic not to recreate illusions even when the old ones had been so ruthlessly shattered. But this recreation would occur anon, not just now, not at the very moment when her heart ached with an intolerable pain at the thought of the sorrow which she had caused to her one friend, presently no doubt when she met her husband, when his usual grand eloquent phrases had once more succeeded in arousing her enthusiasm for the cause which he pleaded she would once more feel serene and happy at thought of the help which she, with her great wealth, would be giving him. For the nonce the whole transaction graded on her sense of romance, money passing from hand to hand, a man waiting somewhere in the dark to receive wealth from a woman's hand. Sir Skiffington desired her to look over the papers ere she signed the formal receipt for them, but she waved them gently aside. Quite unnecessary kind master she said decisively since I received them at your hands. She bent over the document which the lawyer now placed before her and took the pen from him. Shall I sign?" she asked. Sir Marmaduke and Aditha Deschevasse watched her keenly as with a bold stroke of the pen she wrote her name across the receipt. Now the papers, please, master, said Lady Sue, peremptorily, but the prudent lawyer had still a word of protest to enter here. My dear young lady, he said tentatively, odd in spite of himself by the self-possessed behavior of a maid whom up to now he had regarded as a mere child. Let me, as a man of vast experience in such matters, repeat to you the well-meant advice which, Sir Marmaduke, but she checked him decisively, though kindly. You said, Master Skiffington, did you not? She said, that after today no one had the slightest control over my actions or over my fortune. That is so, certainly, he rejoined. But, well then, kind master, I pray you, she said authoritatively, to hand me over all those securities, grants, and monies for which I have just signed a receipt. There was not to do for a punctilious lawyer, as was Master Skiffington, but to obey forthwith. This he did without another word, collecting the various bundles of paper and placing them, one by one, in the brown leather wallet which he had brought for the purpose. She watched him quietly, and when the last of the important documents had been deposited in the wallet, she held out her hand for it. With a grave bow and an unconsciously pompous gesture, Master Skiffington, attorney at law, handed over that wallet which now contained a fortune to Lady Susanna Aldmarsh. She took it, and graciously bowed her head to him in acknowledgment. Then after a slight distinctly haughty nod to Sir Marmaduke and to Aditha, she turned and walked silently out of the room. End of Chapter 27, Chapter 28 Of the Nest of the Sparrowhawk, by Emma Orksy. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Dion John's Sutleck City, Utah. Husband and Wife Mistress Martha Lambert was a dignified old woman on whose wrinkled face stern virtues sedulously practiced had left their lasting imprint among these virtues which she had thus somewhat ruthlessly exercised throughout her long life, cleanliness and orderliness, stood out preeminently. They undoubtedly had brought some of the deepest furrows round her eyes and mouth, as indeed they had done round those of Adam Lambert, who, having lived with her all his life, had had to suffer from her passion of scrubbing and tidying more than anyone else. But her cottage was resplendent, her chief virtues being apparent in every nook and corner of the orderly little rooms which formed her home, and that of the two lads whom a dying friend had entrusted to her care. The parlor below, with its highly polished bits of furniture, its spotless wooden floor and whitewashed walls, was a miracle of cleanliness. The table in the center was laid with a snowy white cloth on it, the pewter candlesticks shown like antique silver. Two straight-backed mahogany chairs were drawn cosily near to the hearth, wherein burned a bright fire made up of ash logs. There was a quaint circular mirror in a gilt frame over the hearth, a relic of former, somewhat more prosperous times. In one of the chairs lulled the mysterious lodger, whom a strange fate in a perverse mood seemed to have wafted to this isolated little cottage on the outskirts of the loneliest village in Thanet. Prince Amidae de Orleans was puffing on that strange weed which of late had taken such marked hold of most men, tending to idleness in them, for it caused them to sit staring at the smoke which they drew from pipes made of clay. Only the Lord had never intended such strange doings, and Mistress Martha would willingly have protested against the unpleasant odor thus created by her lodger when he was puffing away, only that she stood somewhat in awe of his ill humor and of his violent language, especially when Adam himself was from home. On these occasions, such, for instance, as the present one, she had perforce to be content with additional efforts at cleanliness, and as she was convinced that so much smoke must be conducive to soot and dirt, she plied her dusting cloth with redoubled vigor and energy. Whilst the Prince lulled and pulled at his clay pipe, she busied herself all round the tiny room, polishing the backs of the old elm chairs and the brass handles of the chest of drawers. How much longer are you going to fuss about, my good woman? Quote Prince Amidae de Orleans impatiently after a while. This shuffling round me irritates my nerves. Mistress Martha, however, suffered from deafness. She could see from the quick, angry turn of the head that her lodger was addressing her, but did not catch his words. She drew a little nearer, bending her ear to him. Eh? What? She queried in that high-pitched voice peculiar to the deaf. I am somewhat hard of hearing just now, I did not hear thee. But he pushed her roughly aside with a jerk of his elbow. Go away, he said impatiently, do not worry me. Ah, the little pigs! She rejoined blithely. I thank thee. They be doing nicely. Thank the Lord, six of them. And eh, what? I am a bit hard of hearing these times. He had some difficulty in keeping up even a semblance of calm. The placidity of the old Quakerus irritated him beyond endurance. He dreaded the return of Adam Lambert from his work. And worse still, he feared the arrival of Richard. Fortunately, he had gathered from Martha that the young man had come home early in the day in a state of high nervous tension, bordering on acute fever. He had neither eaten nor drunk, but after tidying his clothes and reassuring her as to his future movements, he had sallied out into the woods and had not returned since then. Sir Marmaduke had quickly arrived at the conclusion that Richard Lambert had seen and spoken to Lady Sue, and had learned from her that she was now irrevocably married to him, whom she always called her prince, doubtless the young man was frenzied with grief, and in his weak state of health, after the terrible happenings of the past few weeks, would may have either go raving mad or end his miserable existence over the cliffs. Either eventuality would suit Sir Marmaduke admirably, and he sighed with satisfaction at the thought that the knot between the heiress and himself was indeed tied sufficiently firm now to ensure her obedience to his will. There was to be one more scene in the brief and cruel drama which he had devised for the hoodwinking and final spoliation of a young and inexperienced girl. She had earlier in the day been placed in possession of all the negotiable part of her fortune. This though by no means representing the whole of her wealth, which also lay in landed estates, was nevertheless of such magnitude that the thought of its possession caused every fiber in Sir Marmaduke's body to thrill with the delight of expectancy. One more brief scene in the drama, the handing over of that vast fortune by the young girl-wife, blindly and obediently to the man whom she believed to be her husband. Once that scene enacted, the curtain would fall on the love episode twixed a romantic and ignorant maid, and the most daring scoundrel that had ever committed crime to obtain a fortune. In anticipation of that last and magnificent day-nu-mon, Sir Marmaduke had once more dawned the disguise of the exiled Orlan's prince, the elaborate clothes, the thick parochet, the black silk shade over the left eye, which gave him such a sinister expression. Now he was literally devoured with the burning desire to see Sue arriving with that wallet in her hand, which contained securities and grants to the value of five hundred thousand pounds. A brief interlude with her a few words of perfunctory affection, a few assurances of good faith, and he, as her princely husband, would vanish from her can forever. He meant to go abroad immediately, this very night if possible, prudence and caution could easily be thrown to the winds once the negotiable securities were actually in his hands. What he could convert into money he would do immediately, going to Amsterdam first, to withdraw the sum standing at the bank there on deposit, and for which anon he would possess the receipt. After that the sale of the grant of monopolies should be easy of accomplishment. Sir Marmaduke had boundless faith in his own ability to carry through his own business. He might stand to lose some of the money, perhaps prudence and caution might necessitate the relinquishing of certain advantages, but even then he would be rich and passing rich, and he knew that he ran but little risk of detection. The girl was young, inexperienced, and singularly friendless, Sir Marmaduke felt convinced that none of the foreign transactions could ever be directly traced to himself. He would be prudent, and Europe was wide, and he meant to leave English grants and securities severely alone. He had mused and pondered on his plans all day. The evening found him half-exhausted with nerve strain, febrile, and almost sick with the agony of waiting. He had calculated that Sue would be free towards seven o'clock, as he had given Aditha strict injunctions to keep discreetly out of the way, whilst at a previous meeting in the park it had been arranged that the young girl should come to the cottage with the money on the evening of her twenty-first birthday, and there hand her fortune over to her rightful lord. Now Sir Marmaduke cursed himself and his folly for having made this arrangement. He had not known, when he made it, that Richard would be back at Acle then. Adam, the smith, never came home before eight o'clock, and the old Quakeress herself would not have been much in the way. Even now she had shuffled back into her kitchen, leaving her ill-humored lodger to puff away at the malodorous weed as he chose, but Richard might return at any moment, and then Sir Marmaduke had never thought of that possible contingency. If Richard Lambert came face to face with him, he would of assurity pierce the disguise of the Prince and recognize the man who had so deeply wronged poor, unsuspecting Lady Sue. If only a kindly fate had kept the young man away another twenty-four hours, or better still, if it led the despairing lover's footsteps to the extremist edge of the cliffs. Sir Marmaduke now paced the narrow room up and down in an agony of impatience. Nine o'clock had struck long ago, but Sue had not yet come. The wildest imaginings run riot in the schemer's brain. Every hour, nay, every minute spent within was fraught with danger. He thought his broad-brimmed hat determined now to meet Sue in the park, to sally forth at risk of missing her, at risk of her arriving here at the cottage when he was absent, and of her meeting Richard Lambert, perhaps, before the irrevocable deed of gift had been accomplished. But the suspense was intolerable. With a violent oath Sir Marmaduke pressed the hat over his head and strode to the door. His hand was on the latch, when he heard a faint sound from without, a girl's footsteps timorous yet swift, along the narrow, flagged path which led down the tiny garden gate. At next moment he had thrown open the door, and Sue stood before him. Anyone but a bold and unscrupulous schemer would have been struck by the pathos of the solitary figure which now appeared in the tiny doorway. The penetrating November drizzle had soaked through the dark cloak and hood, which now hung heavy and dank round the young girl's shoulders. Framed by the hood, her face appeared preternaturally pale. Her lips were quivering, and her eyes, large and dilated, had almost a hunted look in them. Oh, the pity and sadness of it all! For in her small and trembling hands she was clutching, with pathetic tenacity, a small brown wallet which contained a fortune worthy of a princess. She looked eagerly into her husband's face, dreading the scowl, the outburst of anger or jealousy may have, which of late, alas, he had so oft greeted her arrival. But as was his want, he stood with his back to the lighted room, and she could not read the expression of that one cyclops-like eye, which tonight appeared more sinister than ever beneath the thick parochay and broad-brimmed hat. I am sorry to be so late, she said timidly. The evening repast at the court was interminable, and Mistress de Chevasse full of gossip. Yes, yes, I know, he replied, am I not used to seeing that your social duties oft make you forget your husband. You are unjust, Ahmede, she rejoined. She entered the little parlor, and stood beside the table, making no movement to divest herself of her dripping cloak, or to sit down. For indeed did her husband show the slightest inclination to ask her to do either. He had closed the door behind her, and followed her to the center of the room. Was it by accident or design that as he reached the table he threw his broad-brimmed hat down with such an unnecessary flourish of the arm that he knocked over one of the heavy pewter candlesticks, so that it rolled upon the floor, causing the tallow candle to sputter and die out with a weird and hissing sound. Only one dim yellow light now illumined the room. It shone full into the pallid face of the young wife standing some three paces from the table, whilst Prince Ahmede, to Orleans, faced between her and the light, was once more in deep shadow. You are unjust, she repeated firmly, have I not run the gravest possible risks for your sake, and those without murmur or complaint, for the past six months, did I not compromise my reputation for you by meeting you alone of nights? I was laboring under the idea, my wench, that you were doing all that because you cared for me, he retorted, with almost brutal curtness, and because you had the desire to become the Princess de Orleans, that desire is now gratified, and he had not really meant to be unkind. There was of a truth no object to be gained by being brutal to her now, but that wallet which she held so tightly clutched acted as an irritant to his nerves. Never a very equable temperament, and holding all women in lofty scorn, he chafed against all parlangs with his wife, now that the goal of his ambition was so close at hand. She wentst at the insult, and the tears which she feign would have hidden from him rose involuntarily to her eyes. Ah, she sighed, if you only knew how little I care for that title of Princess, did you perchance think that I cared? Nay, how gladly would I give up all thought of ever bearing that proud appellation in exchange for a few more happy illusions such as I possessed three months ago. Illusions are all very well for a schoolgirl, my dear Suzanne, he remarked with a cool shrug of his massive shoulders, reality should be more attractive to you now. He looked her up and down, realizing perhaps for the first time that she was exquisitely beautiful, beautiful always, but more so now in the pathos of her helplessness somewhat perfectorily, because in his ignorance of women he thought that it would please her, and also because vaguely something human and elemental had suddenly roused his pulses, he relinquished his nonchalant attitude, and came a step nearer to her. You are very beautiful, my Suzanne, he said half ironically and with marked emphasis on the possessive. Again he drew nearer, not choosing to note the instinctive stiffening of her figure, the shrinking look in her eyes. He caught her arm and drew her to him, laughing a low mocking laugh as he did so, for she had turned her face away from him. Come, he said lightly, will you not kiss me, my beautiful Suzanne, my wife, my princess? She was silent, impassive, indifferent, so he thought, although the arm which he held trembled within his grasp. He stretched out his other hand, and taking her chin between his fingers he forcibly turned her face towards him. Something in her face, in her attitude, now roused a certain rough passion in him, may help the weary wailing during the day, the agonizing impatience, or the golden argacy so nearer to port, had strung up his nerves to fever pitch, irritation against her impassiveness in such glaring contrast to her glowing ardour of but a few weeks ago, mingled with that essentially male desire to subdue and to conquer, that which is inclined to resist, sent the blood coursing wildly through his veins. Ah, he said with a half sigh of desire, half of satisfaction, as he looked into her upturned face, the chaste blush of the bride is vastly becoming to you, my Suzanne. It acts as fuel to the flames of my love, since I can well remember the passionate kisses you gave me so willingly a while ago. The thought of that happy past gave her sudden strength, catching him unawares. She wrenched herself free from his hold. This is a mockery, Prince, she said, with the hymns, and meeting his half-mocking glance, with one of scorn. Do you think that I have been blind these last few weeks? Your love for me hath changed, if indeed it ever existed, whilst I, whilst you, my beautiful Suzanne, he rejoined lightly, are mine, irrevocably, irretrievably mine, because I love you, and because you are my wife, and owe me that obedience which you vowed to heaven that you would give me. That is so, is it not? There was a moment silence in the tiny cottage parlor now, whilst he, gauging the full value of his words, knowing by instinct that he had struck the right chord in that vibrating girlish heart, watched the subtle change in her face, from defiance and wrath, to submission and appeal. Yes, Ahmede, she murmured after a while, I owe you obedience, honour, and love, and you need not fear that I will fail in either, but you, she added with pathetic anxiety, you do care for me still, do you not? Of course I care for you, he remarked, I worship you, there, will that satisfy you? And now, he added, peremptorily, have you brought the money? The short interlude of passion was over, his eye had accidentally rested for one second on the leather wallet which she still held tightly clutched, and all thoughts of her beauty, of his power, or his desires, had flown out to the winds. Yes, she replied meekly, it is all here in the wallet. She laid it down upon the table, feeling neither anxiety nor remorse, he was her husband, and had a right to her fortune, as he had to her person, and to her thoughts and heart, and he wished, nor did she care about the money, as to the value of which she was, of course, ignorant. Her wealth, up to now, had only a meaning for her, as part of some noble scheme for the regeneration of mankind. Now she hoped, vaguely, as she put that wallet down on the table, then pushed it towards her husband, that she was purchasing her freedom with her wealth. Finally she realized that his thoughts had very quickly been diverted from her beauty to the contents of the wallet. The mocking laugh died down on his lips, giving place to a sigh of deep satisfaction. You were very prudent, my dear Suzanne, to place this portion of your wealth in my charge, he said, as he slipped the bulky papers into the lining of his doublet. Of course it is all yours, and I, your husband, am but the repository and guardian of your fortune, and now me thinks to be prudent for you to return to the court. Sir Marmaduke de Chevasse will be missing you. It did not seem to strike her as strange that he should dismiss her thus abruptly, and make no attempt to explain what his future plans might be, nor indeed what his intentions were with regard to herself. The intensity of her disappointment, the utter loneliness and helplessness of her position had caused a veritable numbing of her faculties and of her spirit, and for the moment she was perhaps primarily conscious of a sense of relief at her dismissal. Like her wedding in the dismal little church, this day of her birthday, of her independence, of her handing over her fortune to her husband for the glorious purposes of his selfless schemes, had been so very, very different to what she had pictured to herself in her girlish and romantic dreams, the sordidness of it all had ruthlessly struck her. For the first time in her intercourse with this man, she doubted the genuineness of his motives with the passing of her fortune from her hands to his. The last vestige of belief in him died down with appalling suddenness. It could not have been because of the expression in his eyes as he fingered the wallet, for this she could not see since his face was still in shadow. It must have been just instinct that and the mockery of his attempt to make love to her. Had he ever loved her, he could not have mocked, not now, that she was helpless and entirely at his mercy. Love once felt is sacred to him who feels mockery even of the ashes of love is an impossible desecration, one beyond the power of any man. Then if he had never loved her, why had he pretended? Why have deceived her with a semblance of passion? And the icy whisper of reason blew into her mental ear the ugly word, money. He opened the door for her, and without another word she passed out into the dark night. Only when she reached the tiny gate at the end of the flagged path did she realize that he was walking with her. I can find my way alone through the woods, she said coldly, I came alone. It was earlier then, he rejoined blandly, and I prefer to see you safely as far as the park. And they walked on side by side in silence. Overhead the melancholy drip of moisture falling from leaf to leaf, and from leaf to the ground, was the only sound that accompanied their footsteps. Sue shivered beneath her damp cloak, but she walked as far away from him as the width of the woodland path allowed. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and not to notice how she shrank from the slightest contact with him. At the park gate he paused, having opened it for her to pass through. I must bid you good night here, Suzanne, he said lightly. There may be foot-pads about, and I must place your securities away under lock and key. I may be absent a few days for that purpose, London, you know, he added vaguely. Then as she made no comment, I will arrange for our next meeting, he said, Anon, there will be no necessity to keep our marriage a secret, but until I give you permission to speak of it, to her better that you remain silent on that score. She contrived to murmur, as you will, and presently as he made no movement towards her, she said, good night, this time he had not even desired to kiss her. The next moment she had disappeared in the gloom. She fled as fast as she dared in the inky blackness of this November night. She could have run for miles or for hours away, away from all this sordidness, this avarice, this deceit and cruelty, away, away from him. How glad she was that darkness enveloped her, for now she felt horribly ashamed. Instinct too is cruel at times. It had been silent so long during the most critical juncture of her own folly. Now it spoke loudly, warningly, now that it was too late. Ashamed of her own stupidity and blindness, her vanity may have had alone led her to believe the passionate protestations of a liar, a liar, a mean cowardly schemer, but her husband for all that, she owed him love, honor, and obedience, if he commanded, she must obey, if he called, she must feign go to him. Oh, please, God, that she had succeeded in purchasing her freedom from him by placing five hundred thousand pounds in his hands, shame, shame that this should be, that she should have mistaken vile schemes for love that a liar's kisses should have polluted her soul, that she should be the wife, the bondswoman of a cheat. CHAPTER XXVIII. The cry rang out in the night close to her and arrested her fleeing footsteps. She was close to the ha-ha, having run on blindly, madly, guided by that unaccountable instinct which makes for the shelter of home. In a moment she had recognized the voice. In a moment she was beside her friend. Her passionate mood passed away, leaving her calm and almost at peace. Shame still caused her cheeks to burn, but the night was dark and doubtless he would not see. But she could feel that he was near her, therefore there was no fear in her. What had guided her footsteps hither she did not know. Of course he had guessed that she had been to meet her husband. There were no exclamations or protestations between them. She merely said quite simply, I am glad that you came to say good-bye. The park was open here, the nearest trees were some fifty paces away, and in the ghostly darkness they could just perceive one another's silhouettes. The mist enveloped them as with a shroud. The damp cold air caused them to shiver as under the embrace of death. It is good-bye, he rejoined calmly. May have that I shall go abroad soon, she said. With that man the cry broke out from the bitterness of his heart, but a cold little hand was placed restrainingly on his. When I go, if I go, she murmured, I shall do so with my husband. You see, my friend, do you not, that there is not else to say but good-bye. And you will be happy, Sue, he asked. I hope so, she sighed wistfully. You will always remember, will you not, my dear lady, that wherever you may be there is always someone in remote Thanet who is ready at any time to give his life for you? Yes, I will remember, she said simply. And you must promise me, he insisted, promise me now, Sue, that if, which heaven forbid, you are in any trouble or sorrow, and I can do ought for you, that you will let me know, and send for me, and I will come. Yes, Richard, I promise, good-bye. And she was gone, the mist, the gloom, hid her completely from view. He waited by the little bridge, for the night was still, and he would have heard if she called. He heard her light footsteps on the gravel, then on the flagged walk. Then on came the sound of the opening and shutting of a door. After that silence, the silence of a winter's night, when not a breath of wind stirs the dead branches of the trees, when woodland and field and park are wrapped in the shroud of the mist, Richard Lambert turned back towards the village. Sue, married to another man, had passed out of his life forever. End of CHAPTER XXIX in life that fate, leading a traveller in easy gradients, upwards along a road of triumph, suddenly assumes a madcap mood, and with wanton hand throws a tiny obstacle in his way, an obstacle at times infinitesimal, scarce visible on that way toward success, yet powerful enough to trip the unwary traveller and bring him down to earth with sudden and woeful vigor. With Sir Marmaduke so far, everything had prospered according to his wish. He had invagled the heiress into a marriage which bound her to his will, yet left him personally free. She had placed her fortune unreservedly and unconditionally in his hands, and had, so far as he knew, not even suspected the treachery practiced upon her by her guardian. Not as soul had pierced his disguise, and the identity of Prince Amadei de Orleans was unknown even to his girl-wife. With the disappearance of that mysterious personage, Sir Marmaduke having realized Lady Sue's fortune could resume life as an independent gentleman. With this difference, that henceforth he would be passing rich, able to gratify his ambition, to cut a figure in the world as he chose. Fortune which had been his idol all his life now was indeed his slave. He had it, he possessed it, it lay snug and safe in a leather wallet inside the lining of his doublet. Sue had gone out of his sight, desirous apparently, of turning her back on him forever. He was rich and free. The game had been risky, daring beyond belief, yet he had won in the end. He could afford to laugh now at all the dangers, the subterfuges, the machinations which had all gone to the making of that tragic comedy in which he had been the principal actor. The last scene in the drama had been successfully enacted, the curtain had been finally lowered, and Sir Marmaduke swore that there should be no epilogue to the play. Then it was that fate, so well-named the Wanton Jade, shook herself from out the torpor in which she had wandered for so long beside this kentish squire. A spirit of mischief seized upon her and whispered that she had held this man quite long enough by the hand and that it would be far more amusing now to see him measure his length on the ground. And all that fate did in order to satisfy this spirit of mischief was to cause Sir Marmaduke to forget his tinderbox in the front parlor of Mistress Martha Lambert's cottage. A tinderbox is a small matter, an object of infinitesimal importance when the broad light of day illumines the interior of houses or the baskets of a park, but it becomes an object of paramount importance when the night is pitch-dark and when it is necessary to effect an exchange of clothing within the four walls of a pavilion. Sir Marmaduke had walked to the park gates with his wife, not so much because he was anxious for her safety, but chiefly because he meant to retire within the pavilion, there to cast aside for ever the costume and appurtenances of Prince Amidae de Orleans and to reassume the sable-colored doublet and breeches of the round-head squire, which, proceeding he had for the past six months invariably accomplished in the lonely little building on the outskirts of his own park. As soon, therefore, as he realized that Sue had gone, he turned his steps towards the pavilion. The night seemed additionally dark here under the elms, and Sir Marmaduke searched in his pocket for his tinderbox. It was not there. He had left it at the cottage and quickly recollected seeing it lying on the table at the very moment that Sue pushed the leather wallet towards him. He had mounted the few stone steps which led up to the building, but even whilst he groped for the latch with an impatient hand he realized how impossible it would be for him, anon, to change his clothes in the dark, not only to undress and dress again, but to collect the belongings of the Prince to Orleans subsequently for the purpose of destroying them at an early opportunity. Groping about an inky blackness might mean the forgetting of some article of apparel, which if found later on might lead to suspicion or even detection of the fraud. Sir Marmaduke dared not risk it. Late he needed and light he ought to have, the tinderbox had become of paramount importance, and it was sheer wantonness on the part of fate that she should have allowed that little article to rest forgotten on the table in Mistress Lambert's cottage. Sir Marmaduke remained pondering in the darkness and the mist for a while, his own doublet and breeches, shoes and stockings were in the pavilion, would he ever be able to get at them without a light? No, certainly not, nor could he venture to go home to the court in his present disguise and leave his usual clothes in this remote building. Prying suspicious eyes such as those of Master Hymn of Praise busy, for instance, might prove exceedingly uncomfortable and even dangerous. On the other hand, would it not be ten thousand times more dangerous to go back to the cottage now and risk meeting Richard Lambert face to face? And it was Richard whom Sir Marmaduke feared. He had therefore almost decided to try his luck at dressing in the dark and was once more thumbling with the latch of the pavilion door, when through the absolute silence of the air there came to his ear through the mist the sound of a young voice calling the name of Sue. The voice was that of Richard Lambert. The coast would be clear then, Richard had met Sue in the park. No doubt he would hold her a few moments in conversation. The schemer cared not what the two young people would or would not say to one another. All that interested him now was the fact that Richard was not at the cottage and that therefore it would be safe to run back and fetch the tinderbox. All this was a part of fate's mischievous prank. Sir Marmaduke was not afraid of meeting the old Quakerus nor yet the Surly Smith. Richard being out of the way he had no misgivings in his mind when he retraced his steps towards the cottage. It was close on eight o'clock then, in fact the tiny bell in a cold church struck the hour even as Sir Marmaduke lifted the latch of the little garden gate. The old woman was in the parlor, busy as usual, with her dusting cloth. Without heating her, Sir Marmaduke strode up to the table and pushing the crockery, which now littered it, aside he searched for his tinderbox. It was not there. With an impatient oath he turned to Mistress Martha and roughly demanded if she had seen it. She? What? She queried, shuffling a little nearer to him. I am somewhat hard of hearing as thou knowest. Have you seen my tinderbox? He repeated, with ever-growing irritation. Ah, yeah, the fog! She said, blandly, to his damp two of a truth. And hold your confounded tongue, he shouted, wrathfully, and try and hear me, my tinderbox. By what? I am a bit cursue for an old fool, swore Sir Marmaduke, who by now was in a towering passion. With a violent gesture he pushed the old woman aside and turning on her in an uncontrolled access of fury. With both arms upraised he shouted, If you don't hear me now I'll break every bone in your ugly body, where is my—it had all happened in a very few seconds, his entrance, his search for the missing box, the growing irritation in him which had caused him to lose control of his temper. And now, even before the threatening words were well out of his mouth, he suddenly felt a vigorous onslaught from the rear, and his own throat clutched by strong and sinewy fingers. And I'll break every bone in thy accursed body, shouted a hoarse voice close to his ear, if thou derest so much as lay a finger on the old woman. The struggle was violent and brief, Sir Marmaduke already felt himself overmastered. Adam Lambert had taken him unawares. He was rough and very powerful. Sir Marmaduke was no weakling, yet encumbered by his fantastic clothes. He was no match for the smith. Adam turned him about in his nervy hands like a puppet. Now he was in front and above him, glaring down at the man he hated, with eyes which would have searched the very depths of his enemy's soul. Thou damned foreigner, he growled between clenched teeth. Thou vermin, thou toad, thou on thy knees, on thy knees I say, beg her pardon for thy foul language. Now at once, dost hear, ere I squeeze the breath out of thee. Sir Marmaduke felt his knees giving way under him. This smith's grasp on his throat had in no way relaxed. Mistress Martha vainly tried to interpose. She was all for peace, and knew that the Lord liked not a fiery temper. But the look in Adam's face frightened her, and she had always been in terror of the foreigner. Without thought, and imagining that was her presence, which irritated the lodger, she beat a hasty retreat to her room upstairs, even as Adam Lambert finally succeeded in forcing Sir Marmaduke down on his knees, not ceasing to repeat the while. Her pardon, beg her pardon, my fine prince, lick the dust in an English cottage, thou foreign devil, or by God I will kill thee. Let me go, gasped Sir Marmaduke, whom the icy fear of imminent discovery gripped more effectually even, than did the village black smith's muscular fingers. Let me go, damn you! Not before I have made thee lick the dust, said Adam grimly, bringing one huge palm down on the elaborate parakea, and forcing Sir Marmaduke's head down, down towards the ground. Lick it, lick it, Prince of Orleans! He burst out laughing in the midst of his fury, at sight of this disdainful gentleman with the proud title, about to come in violent contact with a cottage floor. But Sir Marmaduke struggled violently still. He had been wiser, no doubt, to take the humiliation quietly to lick the dust and to pacify the smith. But what man is there who would submit to brute force without using his own to protect himself? Then fate at last worked her wanton will. In the struggle the fantastic parakea and heavy moustache of Prince Amidae de Orleans remained in the smith's hand, while it was the round head and clean shaven face of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, which came in contact with the floor. In an instant, stricken at first, dumb with surprise and horror, but quickly recovering the power of speech, Adam Lambert murmured, You, you, Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, oh my God! His grip on his enemy had, of course, relaxed. Sir Marmaduke was able to struggle to his feet. It had dealt him a blow as unexpected as it was violent. But he had not been the daring schemer that he was, if throughout the past six months, the possibility of such a moment as this had not lurked at the back of his mind. The blow, therefore, did not find him quite unprepared. It had been stunning, but not absolutely crushing. Even whilst Adam Lambert was staring with almost senseless amazement alternately at him, and at the bundle of false hair, which he was still clutching, Sir Marmaduke had struggled to his feet. End of chapter thirty