The Story of Charles Strange. Vol. 3 (of 3). Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ house. And I shall not tell you where the lodgings are, Charles: you might be swooping down upon me to carry me away as Mephistopheles carried away Dr. Faustus."

      After supplying him with money, with a last handshake, whispering a last injunction to be cautious, I left the triangle, and left him within it. The next moment found me face to face with the burly frame and wary glance of Mr. Policemen Wren. He was standing still in the starlight. I walked past him with as much unconcern as I could muster. He turned to look after me for a time, and then continued his beat.

      It gave me a scare. What would be the result if Tom met him unexpectedly as I had done? I would have given half I was worth to hover about and ascertain. But I had to go on my way.

      "Can you see Lord Level, sir?"

      It was the following Saturday afternoon, and I was just starting for Hastings. The week had passed in anxious labour. Business cares for me, more work than I knew how to get through, for Lennard was away ill, and constant mental torment about Tom. I took out my watch before answering Watts.

      "Yes, I have five minutes to spare. If that will be enough for his lordship," I added, laughing, as we shook hands: for he had followed Watts into the room.

      "You are off somewhere, Charles?"

      "Yes, to Hastings. I shall be back again to-morrow night. Can I do anything for you?"

      "Nothing," replied Lord Level. "I came up from Marshdale this morning, and thought I would come round this afternoon to ask whether you have any news."

      When Lord Level went to Marshdale on the visit that bore so suspicious an aspect to his wife, he had remained there only one night, returning to London the following day. This week he had been down again, and stayed rather longer—two days, in fact. Blanche, as I chanced to know, was rebelling over it. Secretly rebelling, for she had not brought herself to accuse him openly.

      "News?" I repeated.

      "Of Tom Heriot."

      Should I tell Lord Level? Perhaps there was no help for it. When he had asked me before I had known nothing positively; now I knew only too much.

      "Why I should have it, I know not; but a conviction lies upon me that he has found his way back to London," he continued. "Charles, you look conscious. Do you know anything?"

      "You are right. He is here, and I have seen him."

      "Good heavens!" exclaimed Lord Level, throwing himself back in his chair. "Has he really been mad enough to come back to London?"

      Drawing my own chair nearer to him, I bent forward, and in low tones gave him briefly the history. I had seen Tom on the Monday and Tuesday nights, as already related to the reader. On the Thursday night I was again at the trysting-place, but Tom did not meet me. The previous night, Friday, I had gone again, and again Tom did not appear.

      "Is he taken, think you?" cried Lord Level.

      "I don't know: and you see I dare not make any inquiries. But I think not. Had he been captured, it would be in the papers."

      "I am not so sure of that. What an awful thing! What suspense for us all! Can nothing be done?"

      "Nothing," I answered, rising, for my time was up. "We can only wait, and watch, and be silent."

      "If it were not for the disgrace reflected upon us, and raking it up again to people's minds, I would say let him be re-taken! It would serve him right for his foolhardiness."

      "How is Blanche?"

      "Cross and snappish; unaccountably so: and showing her temper to me rather unbearably."

      I laughed—willing to treat the matter lightly. "She does not care that you should go travelling without her, I take it."

      Lord Level, who was passing out before me, turned and gazed into my face.

      "Yes," said he emphatically. "But a man may have matters to take up his attention, and his movements also, that he may deem it inexpedient to talk of to his wife."

      He spoke with a touch of haughtiness. "Very true," I murmured, as we shook hands and went out together, he walking away towards Gloucester Place, I jumping into the cab waiting to take me to the station.

      Mrs. Brightman was better; I knew that; and showing herself more self-controlled. But there was no certainty that the improvement would be lasting. In truth, the certainty lay rather the other way. Her mother's home was no home for Annabel; and I had formed the resolution to ask her to come to mine.

      The sun had set when I reached Hastings, and Miss Brightman's house. Miss Brightman, who seemed to grow less strong day by day, which I was grieved to hear, was in her room lying down. Annabel sat at the front drawing-room window in the twilight. She started up at my entrance, full of surprise and apprehension.

      "Oh, Charles! Has anything happened? Is mamma worse?"

      "No, indeed; your mamma is very much better," said I cheerfully. "I have taken a run down for the pleasure of seeing you, Annabel."

      She still looked uneasy. I remembered the dreadful tidings I had brought the last time I came to Hastings. No doubt she was thinking of it, too, poor girl.

      "Take a seat, Charles," she said. "Aunt Lucy will soon be down."

      I drew a chair opposite to her, and talked for a little time on indifferent topics. The twilight shades grew deeper, passers-by more indistinct, the sea less bright and shimmering. Silence stole over us—a sweet silence all too conscious, all too fleeting. Annabel suddenly rose, stood at the window, and made some slight remark about a little boat that was nearing the pier.

      "Annabel," I whispered, as I rose and stood by her, "you do not know what I have really come down for."

      "No," she answered, with hesitation.

      "When I last saw you at your own home, you may remember that you were in very great trouble. I asked you to share it with me, but you would not do so."

      She began to tremble, and became agitated, and I passed my arm round her waist.

      "My darling, I now know all."

      Her heart beat violently as I held her. Her hand shook nervously in mine.

      "You cannot know all!" she cried piteously.

      "I know all; more than you do. Mrs. Brightman was worse after you left, and Hatch sent for me. She and Mr. Close have told me the whole truth."

      Annabel would have shrunk away, in the full tide of shame that swept over her, and a low moan broke from her lips.

      "Nay, my dear, instead of shrinking from me, you must come nearer to me—for ever. My home must be yours now."

      She did not break away from me, and stood pale and trembling, her hands clasped, her emotion strong.

      "It cannot, must not be, Charles."

      "Hush, my love. It can be—and shall be."

      "Charles," she said, her very lips trembling, "weigh well what you are saying. Do not suffer the—affection—I must speak fully—the implied engagement that was between us, ere this unhappiness came to my knowledge and yours—do not suffer it to bind you now. It is a fearful disgrace to attach to my poor СКАЧАТЬ