Little Novels. Wilkie Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ am not responsible for what you observed in Kensington Gardens. If your time is of any value, pray don’t let me detain you.”

      Dismissed in those terms, Mr. Rayburn took Lucy’s hand and withdrew. He had just reached the door, when it was opened from the outer side. The Lady of Kensington Gardens stood before him. In the position which he and his daughter now occupied, their backs were toward the window. Would she remember having seen them for a moment in the Gardens?

      “Excuse me for intruding on you,” she said to the landlady. “Your servant tells me my brother-in-law called while I was out. He sometimes leaves a message on his card.”

      She looked for the message, and appeared to be disappointed: there was no writing on the card.

      Mr. Rayburn lingered a little in the doorway on the chance of hearing something more. The landlady’s vigilant eyes discovered him.

      “Do you know this gentleman?” she said maliciously to her lodger.

      “Not that I remember.”

      Replying in those words, the lady looked at Mr. Rayburn for the first time; and suddenly drew back from him.

      “Yes,” she said, correcting herself; “I think we met—”

      Her embarrassment overpowered her; she could say no more.

      Mr. Rayburn compassionately finished the sentence for her.

      “We met accidentally in Kensington Gardens,” he said.

      She seemed to be incapable of appreciating the kindness of his motive. After hesitating a little she addressed a proposal to him, which seemed to show distrust of the landlady.

      “Will you let me speak to you upstairs in my own rooms?” she asked.

      Without waiting for a reply, she led the way to the stairs. Mr. Rayburn and Lucy followed. They were just beginning the ascent to the first floor, when the spiteful landlady left the lower room, and called to her lodger over their heads: “Take care what you say to this man, Mrs. Zant! He thinks you’re mad.”

      Mrs. Zant turned round on the landing, and looked at him. Not a word fell from her lips. She suffered, she feared, in silence. Something in the sad submission of her face touched the springs of innocent pity in Lucy’s heart. The child burst out crying.

      That artless expression of sympathy drew Mrs. Zant down the few stairs which separated her from Lucy.

      “May I kiss your dear little girl?” she said to Mr. Rayburn. The landlady, standing on the mat below, expressed her opinion of the value of caresses, as compared with a sounder method of treating young persons in tears: “If that child was mine,” she remarked, “I would give her something to cry for.”

      In the meantime, Mrs. Zant led the way to her rooms.

      The first words she spoke showed that the landlady had succeeded but too well in prejudicing her against Mr. Rayburn.

      “Will you let me ask your child,” she said to him, “why you think me mad?”

      He met this strange request with a firm answer.

      “You don’t know yet what I really do think. Will you give me a minute’s attention?”

      “No,” she said positively. “The child pities me, I want to speak to the child. What did you see me do in the Gardens, my dear, that surprised you?” Lucy turned uneasily to her father; Mrs. Zant persisted. “I first saw you by yourself, and then I saw you with your father,” she went on. “When I came nearer to you, did I look very oddly—as if I didn’t see you at all?”

      Lucy hesitated again; and Mr. Rayburn interfered.

      “You are confusing my little girl,” he said. “Allow me to answer your questions—or excuse me if I leave you.”

      There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She put her hand to her head.

      “I don’t think I’m fit for it,” she answered vacantly. “My courage has been sorely tried already. If I can get a little rest and sleep, you may find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have reasons for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you tomorrow? Or write to you? Where do you live?”

      Mr. Rayburn laid his card on the table in silence. She had strongly excited his interest. He honestly desired to be of some service to this forlorn creature—abandoned so cruelly, as it seemed, to her own guidance. But he had no authority to exercise, no sort of claim to direct her actions, even if she consented to accept his advice. As a last resource he ventured on an allusion to the relative of whom she had spoken downstairs.

      “When do you expect to see your brother-in-law again?” he said.

      “I don’t know,” she answered. “I should like to see him—he is so kind to me.”

      She turned aside to take leave of Lucy.

      “Good-by, my little friend. If you live to grow up, I hope you will never be such a miserable woman as I am.” She suddenly looked round at Mr. Rayburn. “Have you got a wife at home?” she asked.

      “My wife is dead.”

      “And you have a child to comfort you! Please leave me; you harden my heart. Oh, sir, don’t you understand? You make me envy you!”

      Mr. Rayburn was silent when he and his daughter were out in the street again. Lucy, as became a dutiful child, was silent, too. But there are limits to human endurance—and Lucy’s capacity for self-control gave way at last.

      “Are you thinking of the lady, papa?” she said.

      He only answered by nodding his head. His daughter had interrupted him at that critical moment in a man’s reflections, when he is on the point of making up his mind. Before they were at home again Mr. Rayburn had arrived at a decision. Mrs. Zant’s brother-in-law was evidently ignorant of any serious necessity for his interference—or he would have made arrangements for immediately repeating his visit. In this state of things, if any evil happened to Mrs. Zant, silence on Mr. Rayburn’s part might be indirectly to blame for a serious misfortune. Arriving at that conclusion, he decided upon running the risk of being rudely received, for the second time, by another stranger.

      Leaving Lucy under the care of her governess, he went at once to the address that had been written on the visiting-card left at the lodging-house, and sent in his name. A courteous message was returned. Mr. John Zant was at home, and would be happy to see him.

      IV.

      MR. RAYBURN was shown into one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel.

      He observed that the customary position of the furniture in a room had been, in some respects, altered. An armchair, a side-table, and a footstool had all been removed to one of the windows, and had been placed as close as possible to the light. On the table lay a large open roll of morocco leather, containing rows of elegant little instruments in steel and ivory. Waiting by the table, stood Mr. John Zant. He said “Good-morning” in a bass voice, so profound and so melodious that those two commonplace words assumed a new importance, coming from his lips. СКАЧАТЬ