Foxglove Manor, Volume III (of III). Robert W Buchanan

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СКАЧАТЬ you could not, dare not – that – ”

      “That what, pray?” I demanded coldly, seeing that she paused.

      “That you suspect – that you can believe – that – ”

      She paused again; then she added pleadingly —

      “Oh, George, you would never do me such a wrong!”

      “I have done you no wrong,” I replied. “You, on the other hand, have disobeyed me?”

      “How?”

      “I forbade you to entertain that man in my house.”

      “He came unexpectedly. Indeed, indeed, I wish he had not come.”

      She looked so pretty and so despairing, that I should have straightway forgiven her, had I not suddenly called to mind the conversation in the drawingroom. Women are strange creatures.

      At that moment, I am certain she fervently believed that she was innocent, and I cruel. And yet… I knew, by her humility and by her sorrow, that she partially reproached herself for having awakened my anger.

      “Let there be an end to this,” I said. “You must never speak to that man again.”

      “Never speak to him!” she repeated imploringly. “But he is our clergyman, and if I break with him there will be a scandal. Indeed, George, he is not as bad as you think him. He is very earnest and impetuous, but he is good and noble.”

      “What! do you defend him?”

      She did not reply.

      “You must choose between him and me; between the man whom you know to be a hypocrite, and the man who is your husband. If he comes here again, I shall deal with him in my own fashion; remember that! I spared him to-day, because I thought him too contemptible for any kind of violence. But I know his character, and you know it; that is enough. I shall not warn you again.”

      With these words, I walked to my den. There, once alone, I gave way to my overmastering agitation. I found myself trembling like a leaf; looking in a mirror, I saw that I was pale as a ghost.

      An hour passed thus. Then I heard a knock at the door.

      Enter Baptisto.

      “Well, what do you want?” I cried, angrily enough.

      Before I knew it he was on his knees, seizing and kissing my hand.

      “Senor, I know everything!” he cried. “I have known it all along. That was why I remained at home when you were away – to watch, to play the spy. Senor, give me leave! Let me avenge you!”

      I shook him off with an oath, for I hated the fellow’s sympathy.

      “You fool,” I said, “I want no one to play the spy for me. Stop, though! What do you mean? What would you like to do?”

      In a moment he had sprung to his feet, and flashed before my eyes one of those long knives that Spaniards carry. His eyes flashed with homicidal fire.

      “I would plunge this into his heart!”

      I could not help laughing, – a little furiously.

      “Put up that knife, you idiot! Put it up, I say! This is England, not Spain, and here we manage matters very differently. And now, let me have no more of this nonsense. Be good enough to go about your business.”

      He yielded almost instantly to my old mastery over him, and, with a respectful bow, withdrew. So ended the curious events of the day. I have set them down in their order as they occurred. I wonder if this is the last act of my little domestic drama? If not, what is to happen next? Well, we shall soon see.

      CHAPTER XXIX. HUSH-MONEY

      Mrs. Haldane had not exaggerated when, in her cross-examination of the vicar, she had described his intimate friendship to Miss Dove as the common talk of the parish. There beats about the life of an English clergyman a light as fierce, in its small way, as that other light which, according to the poet,=

      ````”… beats about the throne,

      ````And blackens every blot!”=

      Charles Santley was very much mistaken if he imagined that his doings altogether escaped scandal. As usual, however, the darkest suspicions and ugliest innuendoes were reserved for the lady; and before very long Edith Dove was the subject of as pretty a piece of scandal as ever exercised the gossips of even an English village.

      Now, the thing was a long time in the air before it reached the ears of the person most concerned. Tongues wagged, fingers pointed, all the machinery of gossip was set in motion for months before poor Edith had any suspicion whatever. Gradually, however, there came upon her the consciousness of a certain social change. Several families with which she had been on intimate terms showed, by signs unmistakable, their desire to avoid her visits, and their determination not to return them. One virtuous spinster, on whom she had expended a large amount of sympathy, not to speak of tea and sugar, openly cut her one morning at the post-office; and even the paupers of the village showed in their bearing a certain lessening of that servility which, in the mind of a properly constituted British pauper, indicates respect. Things were becoming ominous, when, late one evening, her aunt boldly broached the subject.

      Edith had taken her hat and cloak, and was going out, when the old lady spoke.

      “Where are you going so late? I hope – not down to the Vicarage?” Edith turned in astonishment.

      “Yes, I am going there,” she replied.

      “Then listen to my advice: take off your things and stay at home.”

      The tone was so decided, the manner so peculiar, that Edith was startled in spite of herself. Before she could make any remark, her aunt continued —

      “Sit down and listen to me. I mean to talk to you, for no one has a better right; and if I can put a stop to your folly, I will. Do you know the whole place is talking of you – that it has been talking of you for months? Yes, Edith, it is the truth; and I am bound to say you yourself are the very person to blame.”

      Almost mechanically, Edith took off her hat and threw it on the table. Then she looked eagerly at her aunt.

      “What do they say about me?” she cried.

      “They say you are making a fool of yourself; but that is not all. They say worse – horrible things. Of course I know they are untrue, for you were always a good girl; but you are sometimes so indiscreet. When a young girl is always in the company of a young man, even a clergyman, and nothing comes of it, people will talk. Take my advice, dear, and put an end to it at once!”

      Edith smiled – a curious, far-off, bitter smile. She was not surprised at her aunts warning; for she had expected it a long time, and had been rather surprised that it had not come before.

      “Put an end to what?” she said quietly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “You know well enough, Edith.”

      “Indeed I do not. If people talk, that is their affair; but I shall do as I please.”

      And she took up her hat again, as if to go.

      “Edith, СКАЧАТЬ