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THE NETHER MILLSTONE





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She came slowly down the steps and stood between the two men.
(Page 32.) Frontispiece


THE
NETHER MILLSI ( ) N. . .
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LITTLE, IROWN, AND COM: ANY

1947


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THE -
NETHER MILLSTONE
BY
FRED M. WHITE
AUTHOR OF
“THE SLAVE of sILENCE,” “THE CRIMson BLIND,”
“THE WEIGHT OF THE CROWN,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1907
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THE NEW YORK
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Copyright, 1905,
BY WARD, LOCK, AND COMPANY.
Copyright, 1907, -
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All Rights Reserved
Published September 1907
3printers
B. J. PARKHILL & Co., BosTON, U. S. A.


f
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "The Caste of Vere de Verb" i
II. Dashwood Hall 8
III. Horace Mayfield ,14
IV. A Leaf from the Past ,20
V. The Sacrifice , 27
VI. A Cruel Misunderstanding 32
VII. The Only Way 39
VIII. Found! 46
IX. The Parting Guest 52
X. Skin Deep 59
XI. The Dowager Lady Dashwood 65
XII. Lady Dashwood Sees a Ghost 72
XIII. Desecration! 79
XIV. A Fierce Temptation 86
XV. Not Quite Too Late 93
XVI. The Unfinished Word ioo
XVII. Breathing Time 107
XVIII. A Flaming Sword 113
XIX. A Guardian Angel 120
XX. Half Told 126
XXI. Vincent Dashwood 134
XXII. Who Did It? „ . 140
XXIII. The Silver Clue . 147
XXIV. A Fresh Calamity 154
XXV. Pride or Prejudice 161
XXVI. In Reckless Mood 167
XXVII. A Warning 173
XXVIII. Moral Force 179
XXIX. Strategy 185
XXX. The Heir of the House 192
XXXI. Under Which Lord? 198
%


CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
XXXII. Must This Thing Be? . . '. „ » M . . 205
XXXIII. A Rebel Against Fate ........ 211
XXXIV. Mistress of Herself .......... 218
XXXV. A Friend in Need 225
XXXVI. Connie Colam 232
XXXVII. The Unexpected Happens 239
XXXVIII. The Mystery Deepens 246
XXXIX. Homeless 253
XL. In Peril 260
XLI. The Lesson of Adversity ......... 267
XLII. The Courage of Despair 274
XLIII. Getting Nearer . . . 280
XLIV The Dreary Way 287
XLV. The Walls of Pride 294
XLVI. The Head of the House ....... 301
XLVII. "How Long, How Long!" 308
XLVIII. Face to Face! 315
XLIX. A Bolt From the Blue 322
L. Hard Put To It 328
LI. Cold Comfort 335
LII. The Spider's Web 342
LIII. The Web Tightens 348
LIV. "Eyes Clearer Grown" 355
LV. Not Dead 362
LVI. Found! 369
LVII. A Clean Breast of It .... 376
LVIII. "The King is Dead" 383
LIX. "Long Live the King!" ........ 390
LX. Open Confession . . . . ;.> . K M . . 397
.


.v


THE
NETHER MILLSTONE
CHAPTER I
"THE CASTE OF VEKE DE VEBE"
THERE were tears in the girl's eyes — tears of fu-
tile anger and despair. The danger was so great,
and yet safety was so near. If only the black horse
would stumble or swerve, if only she could work the
bit into that iron mouth and bring him to a standstill
altogether. Her gloves were cut to ribands now; the
blue veins stood out on the slender white wrists.
And still the horse flew on down the rocky path lead-
ing to the lych-gate. He would charge through the
gate into the green old churchyard beyond, but no
longer with his rider fighting for life on his back. The
arch of the lych-gate would sweep her from the saddle
with a blow that would crush the life out of her. Mary
Dashwood could see that plainly enough; she knew that
she had only a few more minutes to live.
She set her teeth and blinked the welling tears from
her proud blue eyes. She was not afraid — no Dash-
wood was ever afraid — but the pity of it! She saw
the great beeches rising on either side of the path, she
saw the blue sky beyond, the song of the birds came to
1


2 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
her ears. And she was only twenty-two, and life waa
very dear to her.
The moment was coming ever nearer. The black
horse was thundering along the straight downward
path; the lych-gate was in sight. Mary discarded the
idea of throwing herself from the saddle; she would
have only been dashed to pieces on the rocks on either
side of the road. She had been warned, too, not to take
the black horse. She bent low to escape an overhang-
ing bough; her hat was swept away; the shining chest-
nut hair began to stream from her shapely head.
There was a crackling of sticks in the wood on the
right; surely, a hundred yards or so ahead, a face
looked over the high fence, the figure of a man was hold-
ing on to the overhanging bough of an oak tree. Mary
Dashwood wondered if the man realised her danger.
Perhaps he did, for he crooked a leg over the bough
and hung arms downward over the roadway. He was
saying something in a smooth, firm voice.
"Pull to the side of the road," said the voice. It
almost sounded like a command. "Drop the reins and
clear your stirrup as you near me. And have no fear."
The big horse thundered on. Despite her peril,
Mary did not fail to notice how strong and brown and
capable the stranger's hands looked. ... It was
all done so quickly and easily as to rob the episode of
romantic danger — two hands, warm and tender, and
yet firm as a steel trap, grasped the girl's slender wrists,
she was floated lightly from the saddle, and in the next
instant she was swaying dizzily on her feet in the road.
The pride and courage of the Dashwoods availed noth-
ing now — it was but a mere woman who fell almost
fainting by the roadside.


"THE CASTE OF VERE DE VERE" 3
She opened her eyes presently to the knowledge that
a strong arm was supporting her. A bright blush
mounted to her proud, beautiful face. The colour
deepened as she saw the look, half admiration, half
amusement, on the face of her rescuer.
"Mr. Darnley," she stammered. "I — I hardly
expected to see you here. A little over two years ago,
in Paris, you saved my life before."
"It is good to know that you have not forgotten it,"
Ralph Darnley murmured. "And yet the coincidence
is not so strange as it seems. I did not come to these
parts moved by any unaccountable impulse — I simply
had business here. And I was told that a walk through
the park would repay me for my trouble. As I was
making a start out, through a copse I saw your predica-
ment and hastened to your assistance. A handy tree
did the rest . The only strange part of the affair is that
you should be here, too."
"Nothing strange about that," the girl smiled, M see-
ing that the Hall is my home."
It was a commonplace statement of facts, and yet
the words seemed to hurt Ralph Darnley as if
they had been lashes to sting him. The honest open
brown face paled perceptibly under its tan hue.
A dozen emotions changed in those clear brown
eyes.
"I — I don't quite understand," he remarked.
"When we met in Paris two years ago, Miss Mary
Mallory"
"Quite so. Mary Dashwood Mallory. But, you
eee, the head of the family was alive then. He died
nearly two years ago without any children, in fact, his
only son died years ago somewhere abroad — it was a


4 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
rather sad story — and my father came into the title
and estates. He is Sir George Dashwood now. You
can quite see why he changed his name."
"Of course. Only you can see that I could not pos-
sibly know this. What a grand old place it is, and
what a grand old house! You must have grown very
fond of it."
"I love it," Mary Dashwood cried. The look of
haughty pride had faded from her face, leaving it re-
fined and beautiful. "I love every stick and stone of
it, it is part of my very life. You see, I have prac-
tically lived here always. As my father was in the
Diplomatic Service, and my mother died young, it was
necessary for somebody to look after me. I spent my
childhood here with old Lady Dashwood, who has now
gone to the dower house — such a wonderful old
body!"
But Darnley did not appear to be listening. He
made an effort to recover himself presently. He was
like a man who dreams.
"I can quite appreciate your feelings," he said
quietly. "I understand that the Dashwoods have ruled
here for three hundred years. It is a fine estate; they
tell me the heirlooms are almost priceless. And yet I
am sorry."
The girl looked sharply up at the speaker.
"Why should you be sorry?" she demanded.
"Because it is the end of a dream," Darnley said.
"I rather gathered in Paris that your father was poor.
The fact levelled things up a little. It is just possible
that you may remember our last evening together in
Paris."
"I recollect," Mary said, the delicate colour flushing


"THE CASTE OF VERE DE VERE" 5
her cheeks again. "But I thought that we had closed
that chapter finally, Mr. Darnley."
"No. That chapter can never be closed for me. I
loved you from the first moment that we met, and I
shall go on loving you till I die. I asked you to be
my wife, and you refused me. The future mistress
of Dashwood could not stoop to the son of a Californian
rancher, though I happened to be an English gentle-
man by birth. I hope I took your refusal quietly,
though it was a great blow to me. There can be no
other woman for me, Mary."
"I am sorry," the girl said, "but see how impossible
it is. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned, perhaps it
is the fault of my bringing up. That like must mate
with like has always been the motto of the Dashwoods.
These new people, with their wealth and noise and os-
tentation can never cross the threshold of Dashwood
Hall. My father is fond of finance, but he never
dreams of bringing his City friends here."
Darnley smiled to himself. He recollected the days
in Paris, when Mary's father had been hand-in-glove
with many a dubious French financier.
"We are wandering from the point," he said. "In
any case your strictures do not touch me, for I have
no money. My poor father left me comfortably off,
as he thought, but my mine of silver is ruined now,
ruined by a firm of City swindlers whom I was fool
enough to regard as honest men. It was a very bad
thing for me when I came in contact with Horace May-
field."
It was the girl's turn to start guiltily. The beautiful
face flushed once more.
"I know Mr. Mayfield," she said. "He is the only


6 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
one of my father's business friends who comes here.
We make an exception in his favour, because he is so
well connected. Frankly, I do not like him, but I
thought that he"
"That he is a cold-blooded and calculating rascal to
the core," Darnley said. "I trusted him, and he left
me almost penniless. Many people will tell you I am
saying no more than what is actually true. And, be-
cause I am poor, I came down here thinking to find a
little something that belonged to my people years ago.
And so I met you, Mary, and discovered that I love
you with the same old pure affection, that will go on
burning in my heart till I die. It may strike you as
strange that a poor man should speak to Miss Dashwood,
of Dashwood, like this. Mind you, I am young, and
strong, and able, and I shall come into my kingdom
again. And love is worth all the rest; it is better far
than money, or position, or pride of birth. If I could
hear you say that you cared for me now! You are so
beautiful; behind all your pride the woman's heart beats
true enough. May God grant that you meet the right
man when the time comes! I would give you up to
him willingly and shake his hand on it. But to think
of your being the wife of some brainless nonentity, of
some brutal ruffian who has nothing but an old title to
cover his moral wickedness, why the thought is unbear-
able. Mary, I think I could find it in my heart to kill
that man."
The words came slowly and clear as cut steel. Calm
as he was, Darnley's tones vibrated with passion. He
drew the girl towards him, and laid his hands on her
shoulders so that he could look down into the fathom-
less lake of her blue eyes. Strange as it was, Mary


* THE CASTE OP VEKE DE VEBE" 7
Dashwood did not resent that which would have been
insolent familiarity in anybody else. There was some-
thing so strong and dominating about this man; she
thrilled with a strange tenderness and pride in the
knowledge that he loved her. True, on his own con-
fession, he was penniless, but then he treated the loss
of his money in a way that only a strong man could as-
sume.
"I love you, dear," he said, very gently and tenderly.
"I love you, Mary, and no words could say more. I
shall live to see the ice and pride melt from your heart,
I shall live to see the beautiful womanhood within you
blossom like a rose. The day will come when you will
be prouder far to own a good man's heart than you will
be to call yourself a Dashwood. You may frown, but
I feel certain that my words will come true. And,
meanwhile, I am afraid that there is no hope at all for
me, my dear."
"It is impossible," Mary said coldly. Yet her voice
trembled and tears came to her eyes. "Oh, I know that
you are a good man and true, but you must make allow-
ances for me. And besides, love is only a name to me.
I owe my life to you, and believe me, I am too grateful
for words. And if the time should ever come — oh,
how selfish I am. Look at your arm. It is bruised
and bleeding. It must have happened when you lifted
me from the saddle. You must come up to the house
and have it attended to at once."
"I don't think —" Darnley hesitated; "yes I will.
It's really nothing. Let me catch your horse for you
and we will walk across the path together."


DASHWOOD HALL 9
dream of carving; from their frames dead and gone
Dashwoods looked down. There was oak carving every-
where, the ceilings were panelled, in the stained glass
windows masses of flowers stood. Ralph would have
stopped to admire it all, but Mary hurried him on.
"We will go into the breakfast-parlour," she said.
"Then I will endeavour to show you that I can be use-
ful as well as ornamental. Excuse me one moment —
I must get rid of these torn gloves. Ring the bell,
please, for Slight, the butler, and ask him for warm
water and towels."
Ralph laid his hand on the bell as Mary flitted away.
The old butler came presently, a thin little man, pink
and white, the embodiment of what an old servant
should be. Ralph gave his directions clearly enough,
but the man stood there shaking from head to foot.
There was joy and terror and amazement on his face;
the tears gathered in his rheumy eyes.
"Mr. Ralph!" he whispered, " Mr. Ralph come back
from the grave! Come back after all these years!
What will the master say if he knows? I'm dreaming,
that's what is the matter; I've gone off my head or I'm
dreaming. And after forty years!"
The speaker came forward tremblingly and touched
Ralph's hand. Apparently the contact with warm flesh
and blood reassured him, for the pink apple bloom came
back to his cheek.
"The same and yet not the same," he went on.
"Stands to reason as forty years must make a deal of
difference. But you are Mr. Ralph over again all the
same. I loved him, sir. I mourned for him like a
child of my own. I taught him to ride; I taught him
to use a gun. I had to stand between him and Sir


10 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Ralph 'when the crash came. And you are his son as
sure as there is a Heaven above us."
"Not quite so loud," Ralph said. "Pull yourself
together, Slight. I take it you are old Slight about
whom my father talked so often. He did not forget
you, Slight. On his deathbed he gave me a message
for you."
"And so my dear Mr. Ralph is dead. Dear, dear.
What shall I call you, sir?"
"You are to call me nothing for the present," Ralph
said. "I am Mr. Darnley, Slight, and you are to be
discreet and silent. I had quite left you out of my
calculation when I came here to-day; in fact, I had
forgotten all about you. It never occurred to me that
you would discover the likeness to what my father was
forty years ago. I will ask you to meet me this even-
ing, say, at half-past ten at the lodge-gates, for I have
much to say to you."
"And, meanwhile, is nobody to know anything about
you, sir?"
"Not a soul. The present head of the house never
saw my father. The only one likely to recognize me
would be the dowager Lady Dashwood, who is at the
dower house. I am placing myself and my happiness
entirely in your hands, my faithful old Slight, and I
ask you not to betray me. Rest assured that it will
all come right in time. Meanwhile, I have hurt my
arm, and I require towels and soap and hot water."
Slight went his way with the air of a man who
dreams. He came back presently, followed by Mary
Dashwood. She dressed Darnley's arm skilfully
enough. The touch of her fingers was soft and sooth-
ing. She was a tender and feeling woman now, with-


DASHWOOD HALL 11
out the slightest suggestion of cold pride on her face.
"I think that is all," she said quietly. "How brave
and strong you are: how little you make of your cour-
age. And yet few could have done what you did for
me to-day. But I am forgetting that my father will
be glad to see you. Let us go to the library."
A tall figure rose from a mass of papers heaped on
a table. Here in the library was the same restful air
of calm repose, the same patrician silence that brooded
over everything like the spirit of the place. A flood
of sunlight, tempered by the amber and blue of the
stained glass windows filled the room; the rays centered
upon the tall figure with the thin white face and grey
hair, standing by the table.
"My daughter has been telling me everything, Mr.
Darnley," Sir George said. "It was well and bravely
done of you. ... I am glad to see you in my
house."
Darnley murmured something appropriate; he hoped
that the expression of his face was not betraying his
emotions. For the change in Sir George since they had
last met was startling. The old, jaunty, easy manner
was gone, the straight figure was lost, the iron-grey hair
was white as snow. There were deep lines of care and
suffering graven on the pleasant face, a suggestion of
fear, or fright, or remorse. This was a man who car-
ried some secret in his heart. Darnley felt that he
would have passed Sir George in the street unrecog-
nized. And yet the man appeared to possess everything
that made life worth living. Ralph ventured to offer
some suitable comment on the house and the beauty of
the surroundings. A look of infinite sadness overcame
the features of Dashwood for the moment. The slen-


12 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
der fingers clutched as if at something unseen, as the
fingers of a drowning man might clutch at a straw.
"Yes, it is perfect enough," he said dreamily. "A
perfect house in a perfect setting. And Mary loves it
even more than I do. It seems almost impossible to
connect this place with sin and suffering and the sordid
cares of life — what is it, Slight 8"
"A telegram for you, Sir George," the old butler
murmured. "Is there any reply, sir?"
Sir George murmured that there was no reply. He
dropped the telegram in an unconcerned way upon the
table, but his hand was shaking again, and his features
looked terribly white and worn.
"From Horace Mayfield," he said huskily. "He
is coming down to-day, on a rather important piece of
business, and will probably stay the night. By the way,
Darnley, it would give me great pleasure if you would
dine with us this evening."
Ralph would have refused. It would have been an
exquisite pleasure to spend a long summer evening with
Mary in that delightful old house, but then it seemed
impossible to be under the same roof as Horace May-
field. It appeared strange that that handsome, plaus-
ible, well-bred scoundrel should be a friend of Dash-
wood. Ralph was framing a courteous refusal when
he became conscious that Mary was regarding him with
a pleading glance. Her face was weary and anxious-
looking, her eyes were alight with an appeal for help.
She was asking Ralph to come, and yet she did not
want her father to see how eager she was.
"I shall be delighted," Ralph answered. "Half-
past seven, I think. And now I must be going."
Ralph turned away into the great dim hall followed


DASHWOOD HALL 13
by Mary. A ray of sunlight fell upon her beautiful
face and grateful blue eyes.
"That was very good of you," she murmured. "Mr.
Darnley, Ralph, if I should want a friend in the near
future, I feel assured that I can rely upon you."
"I love you with my whole heart and soul," Ealph
replied. "And some day you will give that love to me.
I would give my life for you, if necessary, and you
know it."


CHAPTER III
HORACE MAYFIELD
THE cloth had been drawn in the old-fashioned way,
so that the candles in the ancient silver branches
made pools of brown light on the polished mahogany
of the dining table. Here were palms and flowers,
feathery fronds, rays of light streaking the sides of
blushing grapes and peaches with the downy bloom
on them. The candle rays glistened sombrely on deep
ruby red wines in crystal decanters; the table was as a
bath of silver flame in a background of sombre brown
shadows. A noiseless servant or two, gliding about,
ministered to the wants of the guests. How peaceful,
how restful and refined it all was, Ralph thought, the
only jarring note being the person opposite him, a clean-
shaven, hard-featured man with a glass screwed in his
left eye. And what a hard, firm mouth he had. He
was quite at his ease, too, in Dashwood's presence; he
chatted with glib assurance to the man whom he had
robbed as deliberately as if he had picked his pocket.
Actually he had met Ralph in the drawing-room an hour
before, with a smile and a proffered hand, as if they
had been two men taking up the threads of a desirable
acquaintance.
Ralph's fingers had itched to be at the throat of the
man, but he had to smile and murmur the ordinary po-
lite commonplaces. .He shut his teeth together now as
14


|Page 15
sked him not to be too long.”
She playfully a
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^THS NKW ^'«*K
PUBLIC U-'MP.V


HOKACE MAYFIELD 15
he noted Mayfield's insolently familiar, not to say
caressing, manner towards Mary Dashwood. Sir
George looked on and smiled in a pained kind of way.
He reminded Balph unpleasantly of a well-broken dog
in the presence of a harsh master. It was almost pa-
thetic to see how Dashwood hung on any word of May-
field. Surely there was some guilty knowledge between
the two, some powerful hold that Mayfield had on his
host. It was with a feeling of relief that Ralph saw
Mary rise at length. He opened the door for her, and
she playfully asked him not to be too long, it was so
lovely a night.
"I'll come with you now," Ralph answered. "I
don't care to smoke, and I never touch wine after din-
ner. I fear Sir George wants to talk business, which
seems to me to be a desecration on an evening like this.
Shall we go outside?"
"I think it would be nice," Mary said. "No, I
shall not need a wrap."
She stepped through the double French window that
led to the lawn. The full light of the moon flashed
on her ivory shoulders and played in gilded shadows
on her hair. As she looked upwards, Ralph could catch
the exquisite symmetry of her face. A desire to speak
possessed him, a desire to tell the girl strange and won-
derful things. Here was his heart's object standing
pale and beautiful by his side; he had only to stretch
out his hands and the flowers were his for the plucking.
It only needed a few words and the whole situation
would be changed. But Ralph was silent, he was too
strong and masterful a man for that. What he won he
would win by sheer merit, by intrinsic worth alone.
He could have purchased the kisses and caresses for


16 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
which his heart hungered, but he knew that they would
be no more than Dead Sea fruit on his lips.
"You are very silent," Mary said at length. "What
are you thinking about?"
"About you," Ralph said boldly. "I was thinking
how beautiful you looked with the fuller moonlight on
your face. It is only when you recollect that you are
Miss Dashwood, of Dashwood Hall, that I like your ex-
pression least. And you are not always happy."
"What do you mean by that?" Mary asked. There
was a startled look in her eyes. "Why should I not be
happy?"
"Why, indeed! But the fact remains that you are
not. I do not want to appear inquisitive, but there is
a worm in the heart of the rose somewhere. Mary,
why do you allow your father to ask Mayfield here
when you dislike him so much? Though you are ex-
clusive and can show your pride, yet you allow that
man to be insolently familiar with you. He laid his
hand on your arm to-night, and I could have struck him
for it. It is not as if you cared for him"
"Oh, no, no," Mary said with a shudder. "I de-
test him. He is so cold and calculating, you cannot
chock him off. I thought that when I refused to marry
him"
"Ha! I expected something of the kind. Mayfield
is not the man to take ' No' for an answer once he has
set his heart upon a thing. I told you before that he
was a scoundrel, and I am in a position to prove it.
Not that the fellow has done anything to bring himself
within the grip of the law — your City rascal is too
clever for that. And your father is afraid of him; he
watches him as a dog watches his master. If he is in


HOEACE MAYFIELD 17
the power of that man he must get out without delay.
He must raise money on the,property"
"He can't," Mary said sadly. "My father has not
taken me into his confidence. But you can see how
much he has aged and altered lately, and you looked
quite shocked when you met this morning. I don't
know what it is, but I feel that some evil is impending
over him. That is why I asked you to be my friend.
You see my father is not really a rich man. He has
the income of this fine estate, it is true. I believe he
could get rid of Horace Mayfield if he could raise
money on the property, but that is impossible. Old Sir
Ralph, my great uncle, had a serious quarrel with his
wife — that is the present dowager Lady Dashwood,
you understand. It must have been all Sir Ralph's
fault, for she is the dearest old lady. The heir to the
property took the side of his mother when the separation
came, and left Dashwood Hall, declaring that he would
never see the place again. There is only one man liv-
ing who knows the whole facts of the case, and that is
Slight. But his lips are sealed. The old man loved
young Ralph Dashwood as if he had been his own child.
Ralph the younger went off to America, and has never
been heard of again. That was forty years ago. When
old Sir Ralph died two years ago, and my father came
into the property, no will could be found. So my
father, being next of kin, succeeded to the property and
the rents of the estate. It is a settled estate, and each
possessor has only what is called a life-interest in it.
Now it is just possible that some day an heir will turn
up. It is more than likely that young Ralph Dashwood
married in America, and left a family. Or he may be
still alive, and is waiting to claim, for his son, that


18 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
which he declined to touch himself. Most people know
this, and that is why my father could never raise a
penny on the family property. If he could, he would
not long remain under the heel of Horace Mayfield.
Oh, if we could only find a way!"
"I begin to understand," Ralph said thoughtfully.
"If old Sir Ealph had died leaving a will, things might
have been very different. Is that what you mean?"
"Partly. Sir Ralph died leaving a good deal of
ready money. That will no doubt come to us in time,
but for the present we cannot touch it in the absence of
proof of the death of the youngest Ralph Dashwood.
I mean the one who went to America. Old Lady Dash-
wood says she is sure that her husband did leave a will,
and that he had divided all his money, with certain pro-
visions. If that will could be found, we should be in a
position to get rid of Mayfield. What a hateful thing
this money is, and what misery it seems to bring every-
body. But I am afraid that I am very selfish and ex-
acting. Why should I worry you with our troubles?"
"My shoulders are broad, and I have very few of my
own," Ralph smiled. "Indeed, I am more interested
than you imagine. As I told you to-day, I am a poor
man, thanks to one who is a guest here at the present
moment. But, still, don't forget the fable of the mouse
and the lion. I may find a means of freeing you from
the net yet. But here come the others."
Mayfield emerged from the window on to the lawn.
His cigar seemed to pollute the sweet-scented night;
he was talking loudly to Sir George.
"We shall know presently," he said. "The worst of
living buried in the country is that one is out of touch
with telegrams and telephones. I told my secretary to


HOEACE MAYFIELD 19
wire directly he heard from Worham and his partner."
"Don't let us talk about it," said Sir George in a
voice that shook a little. "Let us enjoy the beauty of
the night ... I began to wonder what had be-
come of you, Darnley. So you and Mary have been
communing with Nature together. You will have a
cigar before you go?"
Darnley declined the offer. He did not care to stay
any longer in Mayfield's presence. And it was getting
on to half-past ten, when he had promised to meet
Slight. He made his excuses and passed across the
lawn in the direction of the avenue. At the end of the
rose garden he paused to look back.
He saw the picture of the grand old house standing
out in the moonlight; he could see Mary, pale and silent,
a dainty figure in white and amber. He saw Mayfield
bend familiarly to her, and the girl draw coldly away.
There was a fierce tumult in his heart, a desire to go
back and proclaim his story. He could stretch out a
hand, and put an end to all that without delay. But he
preferred to wait. He was going to win Mary, and
wear her like a white rose on the shield of a knight.
He was going to bend down the barrier of her pride,
and win her for himself alone, as himself, and not as a
man who had the advantages of fortune on his side.
These thoughts filled his mind as he walked down the
avenue. He knew that he had far to go before the goal
was in sight. He almost walked over a figure standing
just inside the lodge gates, and his thoughts came
tumbling to earth again.
"I beg your pardon, Slight," he said. "I was miles
away just now. Let us sit on this tree stump in sight
of the old house and talk things over."


CHAPTER IV
A XEAF FEOM THE PAST
THE old man stood there in the moonlight, his face
agitated and his lips quivering.
"I can hear the master's voice again," he murmured.
"Time seems to have gone back with me. It is as if
you had come like a ghost from the grave, Mr. Ralph.
And it was close here that your father stood, after the
great quarrel, and swore that Dashwood Hall should
see him no more. . . . And so you have come back
to claim your own, sir?"
"I must be very like my father, or what my father
was like forty years ago," Ralph said thoughtfully.
"Sit down, Slight, please don't stand looking at me
like that. I did not expect to be recognized in this way,
and I am not here to claim my own, at least, not in the
fashion that you mean. My father chose deliberately
to forfeit his inheritance. My grandfather gave him
the chance of coming into his own again. But he al-
ways refused, as you know, Slight. And now Sir
George Dashwood reigns in his stead."
"The estate, the title — everything is yours, Sir
Ralph," Slight said doggedly.
"No, no. Forty years ago there was a great up-
heaval here. It was a quarrel that could never be
patched up or healed. At the bottom of it was family
pride, the accursed kind of pride that stifles every feel-
20


A LEAF FROM THE PAST 21
ing of humanity and turns hearts into flints as hard as
the nether millstone. The upshot of that quarrel was a
permanent separation between my grandfather and the
present dowager Lady Dashwood; it drove my father
into exile. It broke the heart of one of the best and
truest women that ever lived. And all this to keep from
so-called contamination the blood of the Dashwoods.
Before my father went away he took steps to make his
sacrifice complete. He executed a deed cutting off the
entail of the estate, so that the late Sir Ralph could do
what he pleased with it."
"I don't quite understand that, Sir Ralph," Slight
said.
"Don't address me by that title," Darnley replied.
"Let me explain. Most people believe that a family
estate like ours cannot be left elsewhere. But if the
heir likes to execute a deed for the purpose of cutting
off the entail as it is called, why, the holder for the
time being can do what he likes with the property. My
father did this with his eyes wide open, and you wit-
nessed the deed, Slight."
"I recollect it," Slight said slowly. He made the
admission grudgingly. "It was my task to deliver it
into the hands of old Sir Ralph. If I had only
known!"
"You would have destroyed it. You would have
carried your loyalty to my father so far. But the deed
was delivered to my grandfather and subsequently he
made his will. For twenty years there was silence be-
tween father and son, a silence which was broken at
length by the father, who wrote to the son and asked
him to return. Then Sir Ralph wrote once more to
my father and said that he would give the latter twenty


22. THE NETHER MILLSTONE
years to decide. He had made a will at the same date
as that of the second letter, leaving everything to my
father, provided that within twenty years of that date
he claimed his patrimony. If the date passed, then
everything was to go to the man nominated in that will.
I need not say that the man so indicated was Sir George
Dashwood. In other words, if I make no sign for six
months, the property becomes his irrevocably. I can
claim the property as my father's heir, and I can pro-
duce that will as proof of my claim."
"But the will was never found," Slight said eagerly.
"We looked for a will everywhere."
"It was hidden away. In old Sir Ralph's last letter
to my father he explained the hiding-place. I have
only to let Sir George know where the will is, and he
is safe. For the will directs the finder to the repository
of the deed cutting off the entail, so that Sir George
can prove his claim then to everything. At present he
has no more than the income of the estate, and I have
ascertained that he has many old debts to pay off. In
addition to this he is under the thumb of a scoundrel."
"Ay, that he is," Slight muttered. "We servants
learn a great deal more than you gentlemen give us
credit for. That Mayfield means mischief. They say
that he's rich. But riches don't content him. He
wants to marry Miss Mary. And she can't bear the
look of him. If only he can ruin Sir George, his path
will be clear. Miss Mary would break her heart if she
had to leave this place. From a child she was brought
up here, she loves every stick and stone. And she was
always led to believe that some day it would belong to
her, because her father was the last of the old race, see-
ing that we all regarded Master Ralph as dead and


A LEAF FROM THE PAST 23
buried. And Miss Mary had dreams of being mistress
here some day, and, maybe, dreams, too, of a good hus-
band and children of her own. Ay, it's a terrible
weapon this Mayfield has in his hands."
"So it seems," Ralph replied. "I know the rascal
well, for he ruined my father two years ago. Mind
you, at that time, I had never heard of Dashwood Park.
I was merely the son of a Mr. Darnley who had done
well silver mining in California. Mayfield came to us
in London and we trusted him, trusted him to such an
extent that nearly all we had passed into his hands.
It was only on his death-bed that my father told me
everything, told me what my birthright was, and how I
could secure it, if I did not wait too long. So I came
down here to look about me, and to my surprise I found
that I had met Miss Mary before in Paris. Is she a
favourite here, Slight?"
"Ay, indeed she is, sir," Slight replied. There was
a ring of passionate sincerity in his speech. "We all
love her dearly. Strangers think that she is cold and
distant. It may be so. But we all know the heart of
gold that beats under that placid breast. It is in times
of sickness and trouble that we know of the angel in
our midst. I'm not denying that Miss Mary is tainted
with the curse of family pride. But still. . . .
Ah, sir, if you ever looked out for a wife, why there is
the very one for you. You the head, and she the
mistress. It would be a happy day for me."
"That is just what I mean," Ralph said quietly.
"Slight, I have been in love with your mistress for two
long years. And I am going to marry her some day.
But I have my own idea and my own way of leading
up to that happiness. She must care for me for my


.24 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
own sake, and not because I am Sir Ralph Dashwood, of
Dashwood Hall, and she a — pauper. No, no. My
lady shall stoop to me, she shall tell me with her own
sweet lips that a good man's love is worth all the pride of
place, worth a dozen old families and a score of houses
like this. Then she shall know everything, but not be-
fore."
"And that will be too late," sighed Slight. "Be-
fore that Mr. Mayfield will have ruined Sir George, and
Miss Mary will marry him to save the old house. She
would make any sacrifice and face any degradation for
the sake of her pride. Though every fibre of her body
may call out against the pollution of that man's touch,
she would smile at him before the world and pretend to
be happy. It's a dangerous experiment, Mr. Ralph,
and don't you try it. I haven't lived in the world for
nigh on four-score years for nothing. If you love Miss
Mary, and if she comes to care for you, she'll care none
the less because you are master of this good old place.
And if her father is ruined"
"My good Slight, her father is not going to be
ruined. Unless I am greatly mistaken, he is exceed-
ingly anxious to be rid of Horace Mayfield. I presume
it is a mere matter of money, and for the sake of argu-
ment call it £50,000. Sir George owes Mayfield that
sum. In the present circumstances he could not hope to
repay it. A disgraceful bankruptcy may follow, a
criminal collapse even, for Mayfield would not hesitate
where his desires and interests are concerned. But
suppose I could show Sir George a way to get this
money? In that case he could rid himself of that
scoundrel at any sacrifice. I have only to let Sir George
know where the will is hidden and he is free."


A LEAF FROM THE PAST 25
"It would be wrong, sir, cruelly wrong to yourself,"
Slight cried. "You could never appear after that and
claim your own. Sir George would be no more than an
innocent impostor. And you, the real master of Dash-
wood, would be compelled to earn your bread."
"I don't see it exactly," Ralph smiled. "My father
never intended to claim his inheritance. He cut him-
self off from England deliberately. And after all these
years, would it not be a cruel thing to deprive Miss
Mary of a home which she has come to regard as her
own? But I have made up my mind, Slight, and noth-
thing shall deter me from it. You may call me a vis-
ionary and a dreamer if you like, but my hands are
strong and capable, and I have been taught to use my
head. I want you to be discreet and silent; I want you
to be my witness when the time comes. I should not
have taken you into my confidence, but that you recog-
nized me at once. All day I have been wandering
about the dear old place. I have studied all its ancient
beauties. We can't wonder that Miss Mary has come
to regard it as part of her life. It has cost me more
than a passing effort to restrain my covetousness."
Ralph stifled a sigh as he looked about him. He
could see the fine old house clear cut against the sky;
in the park the oaks and beeches hung like great sen-
tinels guarding the home of the ages. And it was so
still and peaceful, so suggestive of all that is worth
having in life. A cry from somewhere broke the
perfect silence, the bleat of a sheep from distant pas-
tures.
"It shall be as you wish, sir," Slight said at length.
"I could never refuse your father anything, and I can
refuse you nothing when you look at me out of the past


26 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
with his eyes. But sorrow and trouble will come of
this; you mark my words."
"No, no," Ralph cried as he rose to his feet. "True
and sterling happiness, the death and destruction of the
family pride which has been our curse for many gen-
erations. I am going my own way to work and you are
going to help me. Now come and show me the big
window in the staircase that my father used when he
wanted to leave the house late at night to visit poor
Maria Edgerton, the child-wife, the child of the people,
who was killed by our family pride as surely as if she
had been murdered. My mother was a good woman,
Slight, she had her husband's respect and affection, but
his heart was always with the girl who suffered so much
to become his wife. I hope that her grave has never
been neglected, Slight."
"No, sir," Slight said huskily. "We have seen to
that — her ladyship and myself between us. That is
the window, sir, the big stained glass one with the light
behind it. You can get up on to the leads with the aid
of the ivy. At the bottom of the window is a brass
knob. If you press it, the window opens inwards, and
there you are. But I hope you don't need to burgle
your own house, seeing that you are a welcome guest
there. And, as I was saying just now"
The speaker paused, for the soft, rich silence of the
night was broken by a cry. The long drawing-room
window leading to the lawn was still open; the lamp-
light flooded on pictures and china and flowers. A
figure came to the window, a tall figure with upraised
hands and hair wild and dishevelled.
"You scoundrel," the figure cried. *'' You have done
this to ruin m& I"


CHAPTEE Vi
THE SACEIFICE
THE speaker's tones rang out with passionate vehe-
mence. He stumbled down the steps, into the
garden, and repeated his accusation loudly. It all
seemed strangely out of place there, Ralph thought; it
was no spot for sordid emotions, and angry passions.
The words rang clear and loud to the startled vault of
heaven; a blackbird started from her nest and flew
across the lawn with nervous twitter. Then another
figure came from the drawing-room, the trim, im-
maculate figure of Horace Mayfield.
"For goodness' sake, control yourself Dashwood,"
he said curtly. "There is nothing in the world to
make all this ridiculous fuss about. It is all the for-
tune of war. We tried to get the best of these fellows,
and they looted us instead. It was no fault of mine
that these cablegrams miscarried. My manager has
sold me — a thing that sometimes happens in the City.
All we have to do is to pay and look pleasant."
"But I can't pay, and you know it. Nobody under-
stands the tenure on which I hold the property better
than you do. If I wait for the money, what hap-
pens?"
"I am afraid it will be very awkward," Mayfield
said. "People will refuse to believe that you have been
a victim of a fraud. They will actually regard the
27


28 THE NETHEE MILLSTONE
fraud as your own. Whereas, if you pay up cheer-
fully, nothing can be said. Personally, I am all right.
I kept my name out of the business so that you could
have all the credit. Unfortunately, you will get all the
blame as well. There may not be a prosecution; of
course, it is not an easy matter to get the Public
Prosecutor to interfere in these cases. The only thing
for it is to take the bull by the horns and get out of all
by paying."
Sir George laughed in a bitter kind of way. He
stood with his back to the house, facing the man who
had brought all this about. He seemed to be almost
beside himself with fury. The whole man was trans-
formed.
"I have no money," he said, "and you know it.
You have deliberately brought me to this pass for pur-
poses of your own. You have traded upon my love of
gambling to get me into your hands. And I might
have been happy and comfortable here. I was getting
rid of my millstone of debt so nicely when you came
along once more. But for you, I should not stand here
now outside my own home, an honoured house for
three centuries, a ruined and desperate man with a
vision of a prisoner's dock before me. You are a rich
man"
"Possibly, Dashwood. At any rate, I am in a po-
sition to find money. But there is no kind of friend-
ship or sentiment when one comes to business. You
are not a child that you can accuse me of luring you to
your ruin. Still, I am not disposed to take offence. I
will undertake to settle the matter for you in time.
But you must have a joint guarantee and I want an-
other person to become security for you. You under-


THE SACRIFICE 29
stand what I mean. If Miss Mary will be so good as
to give me her word"
A sudden cry of passion broke from the older man.
He seemed to lose all control of himself. He dashed
forward and smote Mayfield with fury on the mouth.
The latter staggered back a thin streak of blood trickling
from his under lip.
There was no outbreak, no display of passion, on the
part of Mayfield. He was surprised and shaken by the
impetuosity of the attack, but he stood there calmly, as
he wiped the blood from his face. His features might
have been carved out of solid marble, and the full light
of the moon heightened the effect. In spite of his
knowledge of the man, Ralph could not but admire him
at that moment. One who could keep his feelings un-
der such control would prove a dangerous foe.
It was a strange, weird scene altogether, terrible and
repulsive by very force of contrast. The environment
was so quiet and peaceful, so exalted and refined.
Ralph stood as if rooted to the spot. He saw Sir George
advance again, he saw the hand upraised once more.
All the pride of rank and place had fallen from the
man; he was transformed for the moment to a savage.
Then Mayfield caught the uplifted arm and held it in a
grip like a vice.
"You will gain nothing by this," he said quietly.
"You seem to forget that I am a guest under your
roof. Would you alarm your servants, would you have
them know what their master is, when all his passions
are aroused? Come, sir, this is not what one has a
right to expect from the owner of Dashwood Park.
You owe me an apology"
The words were lost on Sir George. He wrenched


30 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
himself free, he turned and faced the house with up-
lifted arms. The demon of anger still possessed him.
"I owe you nothing," he cried. "But for you I
should be one of the happiest men alive. If I had been
content to pay off old debts by degrees nothing would
have happened. But I listened to you, with what re-
sult you know. You are a trickster and a cheat, a liar
and a knave. You have laid a trap for me, and I have
tumbled into it with my eyes open. What you mean to
say in as many words is this — unless I can procure the
sum of £50,000 in a few days I stand every chance of a
criminal prosecution. You know exactly how I am
situated, you know that I am helpless."
"You are not in the least helpless," Mayfield said
sternly. "To a certain extent the fault is mine, and I
am prepared to do all that is in my power. You have
only to say the word and the money is yours. Promise
me that your daughter shall become my wife, get her to
say the word, and the situation is absolutely changed.
I neither admit nor deny your accusations. You could
not prove them — a jury would give a verdict against
you, if you tried to do so. And if Miss Mary does me
the honour to become my wife"
"Never," Dashwood cried. "Never in this world.
Our women only wed honourable men."
"Is that really so? And what manner of man will
the world call you if I fail to come to your assistance?
Control yourself — listen to me for a moment. Do you
realise what will happen to you if I go away without
coming to some understanding? The police will come
here and arrest you, it may be when you are entertain-
ing friends. They will take you away, with handcuffs
on your wrists. You will stand in the dock charged


THE SACRIFICE 31
with a vulgar conspiracy to defraud innocent share-
holders, and the charge will he proved. And if you
ever come out of gaol again, it will be as a broken and
dispirited man. It will be useless, when it is too late,
to look for any consideration from me. I am not likely
to forget the blow you dealt me just now. And, whilst
you are raving like a lunatic, we might be settling the
matter comfortably over a cigar. You are a man of
the world; at least you will be once more when this fit
of midsummer madness has passed. Explain every-
thing to your daughter if you like, put any face upon it
that you please. Agree to my conditions and you can
sleep in peace to-night, and every other night, for the
matter of that. Listen to the voice of reason, and I
will forget the treatment I have had at your hands."
But Sir George was not listening. Apparently a ter-
rible struggle was going on in his breast. He could
see now, how neatly and cleverly he had been trapped,
he could see that he had no remedy against the man who
had schemed for this position. And he was innocent
himself of anything dishonourable. And now to give
his daughter to this man! The mere idea was horrible.
The meanest hound on the estate was far better off than
Sir George at this moment.
"Do your worst," he shouted. His voice rang out
on the startled silence. "Do your worst. If I could
kill you now, I would do so. You are not fit to live,
your presence is an insult to any honest man. I can
see nothing, I am going blind. ..."


CHAPTER VI
A CRUEL MISUNDERSTANDING
SIR GEOEGE clasped his hands to his eyes; every-
thing for the moment had faded from his sight.
The blood was rushing wildly through his head; there
was a din like the clang of hammers in his brain. He
was beside himself with grief and passion. His voice
uprose again and broke the stillness of the night hor-
ribly. What were his title and his old family worth
now? It was all as nothing, in the presence of this
threatened calamity.
"Mary, Mary," he cried, "come to me. Come,
whilst I have the strength left to tell you the truth.
To-morrow I shall be too weak, to-morrow I shall not
dare to give all this up. Come, and tell him that you
will have none of him."
The speech ended in a yearning scream. It was a
strange setting for so peaceful a scene. Ralph Darn-
ley made a step forward, with the impulse to interfere,
strong upon him. Then a figure came between the
light and the window, and Mary appeared. She stood
there, tall and stately in her white dress; her eyes were
filled with stern disapproval. She came slowly down
the steps and stood between the two men. She did not
fail to notice Mayfield's cut lip and the spot or two of
blood on his gleaming shirt front.
32


A CRUEL MISUNDERSTANDING 33
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked.
"Father, you don't mean to say"
"Ay, but I do," Dashwood said doggedly. "I struck
him. Would that I had killed him! There would be
far less disgrace for the family in the end. I struck
him, and he took it quietly like the cur and craven that
he is!"
"I hardly think that I deserve that," Mayfield said.
"Whatever my failings may be, you will not find a lack
of physical courage amongst them. Sir George has
been very unfortunate in his speculations, and he chooses
to blame me for it. We only got the news late to-night.
A man in whom we trusted has played the knave, and
Sir George is likely to suffer for it. To put the mat-
ter quite plainly, unless your father can find a very
large sum of money in a few days he will probably be
prosecuted. One can make any allowance for his feel-
ings in the circumstances, but that is no reason why he
should accuse one of deliberately laying a plot to ruin
him. As to the assault upon me, why let it pass. In
the excitement of the moment"
"Pardon me," Mary said quietly, " I heard my name
mentioned. My father's voice was raised so loudly that
I could not help hearing something of what passed.
You did me the honour to say that I might avert the
catastrophe."
"That is so," Mayfield retorted in the same self-con-
tained manner. "In certain circumstances I am pre-
pared to stand by your father. I can say that it is a
misunderstanding so far as he is concerned, and that I
am prepared to take over the venture as it stands, and
pay everybody who has lost confidence in it . I could
write to the Press and vindicate the honour of the man
3


34 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
who stood in the light of prospective father-in-law to
me."
The girl's face whitened in the moonlight. Ralph
could see the heaving of her breast. She had taken in
the situation like a flash of inspiration. There was
none of the grinning triumph of the successful rogue
on Mayfield's face; it was all being quietly and de-
corously done, but the grip of iron was there all the
same, the iron hand in the velvet glove. Mary essayed
to speak, but words failed her for the moment. Sir
George stood between the man and his prey with tremb-
ling hands outstretched as if to keep them apart. His
lips opened, he gabbled something too incoherent for
understanding, then he collapsed like a heap of black
cloth on the grass. Something seemed to snap in his
brain, then a blank came over him.
Mary forgot everything else in the dictates of hu-
manity. With a cry she knelt on the grass by the side
of the stricken man. Ralph came forward, slowly fol-
lowed by Slight. It seemed natural that he should be
there at that moment. Mary turned towards him in-
stantly. Here was the friend in need that she so sorely
prayed for.
"It is some kind of seizure," she said. "My father
had one two years ago in Paris. He was warned then
to avoid any undue excitement. Will you please help
me to carry him to his room? Slight, call a groom up
and send him to Longtown for a doctor."
"No occasion," Mayfield remarked. "Give me the
key of the stables, and I will take my car into Long-
town and bring the doctor back with me. It will take
less time."
It was a weary two hours that passed before the doc«


A CEUEL MISUNDERSTANDING 35
tor arrived. Still, his account was a fairly cheerful one
when it came. It was merely a case of rest and quiet-
ness and careful nursing. Sir George had fallen into a
kind of troubled sleep.
Ralph turned to go. Mayfield had volunteered to
take the doctor home again. Slight was sitting with
his master till Mary was ready to return. She stood
by the window leading to the lawn; that means of exit
was as good as any other, Ralph said.
"What were you doing outside to-night?" the girl
asked keenly.
"We will go into that another time," Ralph sug-
gested. "I did not mean to listen, but I heard every-
thing. Did I not tell you that Mayfield was a vil-
lain?"
"I have felt it before now. Without any apparent
cause for it, I have detested that man. And he has
always acted as if he had only to say the word and I
would consent to be his wife. On two occasions I have
refused him. To think that men should be such vil-
lains where innocent girls are concerned! Of course,
he has led my father into a terrible position, and my
hand is to be the price of his freedom. Ralph, I am so
dreadfully, horribly afraid of that man! How wonder-
fully he must have controlled himself when my father
struck him! And how cleverly he insinuated that he
might be allowed to appear as my future husband. I
tell you I would give up everything to be free of this
tangle. What is my pride, what is my home here, so
long as the happiness of a lifetime is at stake I"
"That is a lesson that I have tried to teach you be-
fore," Ralph said quietly. "Mary, I love you. The
time will come when you will love me. If ever you


36 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
needed a friend in your life, you need one at this mo-
ment. I could show you a way out, but after that I
should never dare to claim my reward, because the ob-
ligation in your eyes would be too great. I want you
to care for me for my own sake. Still, you need have
no anxiety. Within the next few hours Mayfield will
be powerless to harm you."
"Ralph, you speak in enigmas. I pray you to be
plain. Can't you trust me?"
"My dear, in this matter I cannot trust anybody; by
Heaven, I can hardly trust myself. Ah, if you only
knew how I love you and how great the temptation is!
But the reward that I am working for will be all the
sweeter when the time comes. Go sleep now with a
calm mind, for I pledge my honour that things shall
be as I say."
Mary's two hands had fluttered out to Ralph. She
was moved by the deep sincerity of his words, for a
broken smile, half respect and half affection, quivered
on her face. With an impulse that he could not resist,
Ralph drew the girl to him and laid his lips on hers.
Then, with a sigh, he put her from him and turned
towards the window.
"There," he said, " I ask no pardon for my audacity.
I could not help it. And that kiss was as pure as if
it came from your mother's lips."
"The first from any man," Mary murmured, a pink
flush on her face. "You are a good man, Ralph, and it
is a pity I did not meet you before the curse of the
family pride fell upon me. Good night, and God bless
you for all your kindness to me."
The window closed and the blind fell, the lights in
the house began to vanish one by one, and still Ralph


A CRUEL MISUNDERSTANDING 37
lingered there on the grass. He saw Mayfield return,
he saw the last ray extinguished, save for the solitary
glow in Sir George's bedroom. A clock over the stables
struck the hour of two, and still Ralph stood there
oblivious of the flight of time.
He was thinking of the dramatic scene of the even-
ing. More than once he mourned his lost opportun-
ities. He had all the strings in his own hand, the
game was entirely his, and he felt, too, that in spite
of her fateful pride, Mary was beginning to care for
him. If not, why had she taken his kiss so sweetly
Ralph had only to proclaim his identity, he had merely
to prove his title to the estate, and at once he would
be in the position to free the present occupier of Dash-
wood Hall of his peril. And Mary would not refuse
to marry the man whose blood was as pure as hers.
But Ralph had made up his mind what to do. He
would win her love as Ralph Darnley, afterwards the
truth could be told. Why not to-night? he asked him-
self. There was no time like the present. He would
go and find the will, he would let Sir George know
where it was.
The house was still now, and Ralph knew the way
- He was in the long corridor presently,
here was the old oak dower-chest and the panel below
it. Here was the spring by which the panel was re-
leased. The thing was ridiculously easy.
Ralph pressed in the spring and the panel came
away. Within it was a long manuscript written on
thick white paper. Ralph thrilled as he read the
endorsement. Beyond doubt, here was the will of his
grandfather, Sir Ralph Dashwood. All this was quite
plain in the moonlight. It only needed now to put


38 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the will at the bottom of the dower-chest and write a
letter to Sir George anonymously, and tell him where
to seek for it. And Ralph had only to be silent hence-
forth, and the deception would pass for all time.
Verily Mayfield's triumph was likely to be a very short
one, and . . .
Somebody was speaking to Ralph: Mary, with her
hair over her shoulders, and a candle in her hand.
Her face was cold and set, her eyes filled with stern
displeasure.
"Thief in the night," she said. "What is the mean-
ing of this, Mr. Darnley?"


CHAPTER VII
THE ONLY WAY
A SENSE of blinding, unreasonable anger held
Ralph for the moment. He was doing noth-
ing wrong. He was acting entirely for the best, and
here he was taken under the most shameful conditions
—, a miserable, degraded thief in the night. From
the coldness of Mary's voice, from the scorn in her
eyes, he could read the reflection of her thoughts. And
yet he was acting from the highest and most honourable
motives. Surely no man was ever impelled by a loftier
idea of self-sacrifice.
"I ask what you are doing," Mary repeated.
"Do not tax my patience too far."
There was no mistaking the menace in those clear-
cut tones. Thus would the daughter of the house of
Dashwood address a buglar or other midnight intruder.
Ralph felt that she would have been not in the least
afraid to face a felon of that type; his face tingled as
he felt himself set down in the same category. He
cudgelled his brains for some plausible explanation
which should be anything but the right one. The edge
of the failing moon still left a shaft of pallid light
shining through the great stained glass window; it
flung into high relief the arms and motto of the family
of Dashwood. And those arms and that motto be-
39


40 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
longed to the man who stood there with the shamefaced
air of a boy caught in a fault.
"I am still waiting for you to speak," Mary went
on. "It is possible that there may be some explana-
tion of this amazing conduct of yours."
The cold, proud voice seemed to doubt it all the
same. And yet one word would have swept all the
clouds of suspicion away. Ralph knew that it lay in
his power to bring that white, haughty figure to her
knees; one inkling of the truth and the whole situation
was changed. For all this belonged to Ralph; Mary
was no more than an honoured guest in the house. Yes,
it all belonged to him, the grand old house, the match-
less pictures, the furniture from the time of Elizabeth,
the great sweeps of upland country, and the farms
lying snug under their red roofs.
A few words spoken, and what a difference there
would be! Those words meant that Ralph would have
held out his hands and asked Mary to come and help
him to reign here. Ay, and she would have come,
too. Her point of view would be entirely changed.
And she must love him. Indeed, he had more than a
feeling that she loved him now, without being aware
of the state of her affections. Her heart would so out
to him, and there would be peace and happiness for
evermore.
The temptation was great, so great that the beads
of perspiration stood out on Ralph's forehead. But
he crushed the temptation down; his pride came to
his assistance. No, when Mary came to love, she
should love the man for his own sake, she should tell
him so, and Dashwood should be as nothing in com-
parison.


THE ONLY WAY 41
"I came here to look for something," Ralph said at
length.
"Indeed! Judging by what you hold in your hand
I should say that you have found it. How did you
manage to obtain entrance to the house?"
"Quite a simple matter," Ralph replied. "I
climbed on to the leads outside the big window. By
pressing a knob outside, the window can be made to
open."
"Really! I have lived here practically all my life,
and I was not aware of that fact. For an absolute
stranger, your knowledge of the house is exceedingly
comprehensive. May I ask if you have found what
you were looking for?"
"I have," Ralph said huskily. "Permit me to re-
place it in the old chest. To-morrow, if your father
is well enough, I will see him and explain. I beg to
assure you that I have what criminal lawyers call a
perfect answer to the charge."
"And you ask me to believe this?" Mary burst out
passionately. "How do I know that you are not one
of those who are in league against us? How do I
know that your indignation against Horace Mayfield
is not all assumed?"
"How do you know that I am a gentleman?" Ralph
retorted. "You cannot explain why."
"Indeed I cannot," Mary said bitterly. "I
trusted you, I regarded you as a friend. I asked for
your assistance and you promised it to me. In my
heart I thanked God that I had a friend that I could
rely upon. Actually, you caused me to forget the
difference between our stations in life. And now!"
The girl paused, with something like tears in her


42 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
voice. She looked very sweet and womanly at that
moment, Ralph thought. He could afford to ignore
the suggestion of the social gulf between them. The
temptation to tell the truth came over him again, but
once more he fought the impulse and conquered it.
"In spite of your distressful pride, you are a very
woman," he said. "I am your friend and more than
your friend. For your sake, there is nothing that
I would not do. It is for your sake that I am here
to-night, strange as it may seem. A little time ago,
fate placed me in possession of certain information
closely touching on the fortunes of your house. Please
do not ask me to explain, for I cannot do so without
spoiling everything. Call me a sentimentalist, if you
like — perhaps the air of the grand old place has
affected me. Anyway, there it is. I came here
to-night to place you in possession of certain informa-
tion that would for ever have rid you of the hateful
presence of the man who calls himself Horace Mayfield.
I did not want to place you under any kind of obliga-
tion, so I chose this method"
"But why?" Mary exclaimed. "Why? Have
you not saved my life twice? Could a million obliga-
tions like this increase the burden of my debt of grati-
tude to you?"
"That is right," Ralph admitted. "Call me a
Quixote if you like. I am. The day will come when
your eyes will be no longer blind, when love will come
before everything. I have my own way of getting
my ends, and am too proud to rely upon anything
but myself. I am going to make you happy, and you
are going to be the mainspring of that happiness."
Ralph spoke almost with the spirit of prophecy upon
> V


THE ONLY WAY 43
him. It would all come right some day, but he little
dreamed of the trouble and tribulation that were near
at hand. All he could see now was that Mary's eyes
were growing dim and softer.
"My knowledge is going to save you," Ralph went
on. "But I did not wish you to know that I had any
hand in the business. As I said before, you must not
ask me to explain. I want you to give me your hand,
and to say that you regard me as being still beyond
suspicion. Oh, I know that it is a deal to ask. But
a long pedigree and the possession of a grand old house
are not necessary to the honour of a man. I admit
that I crept here like a thief in the night. If you
charged me, I should have nothing to say, my character
would be forever ruined. If you"
Balph paused, and his face flushed with annoyance.
A petulant voice calling for Mary broke the silence —
shuffling feet came along the corridor. Dishevelled
and dazed, Sir George Dashwood stood there, candle
in hand, looking from the glorious white figure with
the rippling golden hair to the faint outline of Darnley.
The old man was haggard and trembling, yet a certain
dignity sustained him.
"I have called you three times," he said. "I
needed you, my child. I woke up with my head better
and a raging thirst upon me. Then I thought that
I heard voices here and I came out. The situation,
Mr. Darnley, is singular. Permit me to remind you
that it is not the usual thing"
The speaker paused. He seemed to be struggling
for words to express his feelings.
"Quite so, Sir George," Ralph said eagerly. "I
— came back for something. I helped you into the


44 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
house after your illness overcame you. Forgive me if
I seem to have stayed a little too long in my anxiety to
be of assistance. If you will take my advice you will
go back to your room without delay."
Sir George muttered something to the effect that he
was very tired. He babbled about cool springs in the
woods, he accepted Mary's arm as a weary child might
do. It seemed almost impossible to believe that
this was the sprightly, gallant figure that Ralph had
known in Paris so short a time ago. But when Ralph
had gone by the way in which he had come, and once
more Sir George was in his bedroom, a change
came over him. He eagerly drank the soda-water that
Mary had procured for him.
"No, no," he cried, "tired as I am, I cannot sleep
yet. I was half asleep, I was between waking and
dreaming, and I was dying of thirst. I came out into
the corridor and saw you standing there with Ralph
Darnley. There were certain words that seemed to
be burned into my brain with letters of fire. You were
angry with him, and yet he was going to be a friend to
us. That was no common thief in the night, Mary.
What was it he found? What was it that was going
to rid us of the hateful presence of Horace Mayfield?
Don't tell me that I was dreaming, don't say that it
was all a cruel delusion on my part. The secret, the
secret, girl."
The words came like a torrent. Out of his white
and haggard face, Dashwood's eyes gleamed like rest-
less stars on a windy night. The clutch on the girl's
arm was almost painful in its intensity. Mary won-
dered why she was trembling so.
"Hush," she said. "You must sleep now, or you


THE ONLY WAY '45
'will be really ill again. Leave it till the morning,
when you will be better able to understand. I cannot
tell you now; indeed, I know no more than you do
yourself. But now you must go to sleep!"


CHAPTER VIII
FOUND!
SIR GEORGE lay back on the bed with weary eye-
lids closed. His last effort had cost him more
than he knew. Mary's will had conquered for the
moment, and he felt disposed to obey. All the same
the strange thread of logical reason was going on in
his mind. The only thing that could save him and
preserve the proud traditions of the Dashwoods must
be something in the way of papers or documents of
some kind. He lay there, allowing Mary to make him
comfortable for the night. He lay there long after
the girl had departed to her own room and the house
was wrapped in close slumber. But the quietness was
soothing to Sir George's brain. His mind was grow-
ing stronger and more logical; the dazed dream of
the scene in the corridor began to shape itself into
concrete facts.
What had Ralph Darnley been saying? Yes, it was
all coming back now. Darnley had learned certain
facts somewhere, bearing on the fortunes of the house
of Dashwood. Surely there was nothing so wildly im-
probable in this, seeing that Ralph Darnley had passed
the best part of his life in America. The late Ralph
Dashwood, the original heir to the property, had lived
in America, too. Of course, America was a large
continent, but that was no reason why Ralph Dash-
46


FOUND! 47
wood and Darnley's father should not have been friends.
Had not Ralph Darnley admitted that he had business
in the neighbourhood of Dashwood Hall? Perhaps
he had come to make money out of his information.
But then the young fellow, was a gentleman, and
would not stoop to that kind of thing.
Still, he knew there was no getting away from the
fact, for had not Dashwood heard it from the younger
man's lips? A means whereby it was possible to get
rid of Horace Mayfield for ever! The mere idea sent
the blood throbbing through the sick man's veins, and
brought him in a sitting position in bed. That meant
documents or papers of some kind; it could really
mean nothing else. Dashwood remembered vividly
now that Ralph had been standing by the old dower-
chest in the corridor and that he had had a paper in
his hand. So far as Dashwood knew, the old chest
had not been opened for years. It was by no means
a bad hiding-place. Perhaps
Slowly the sick man dragged himself to his feet.
He had promised Mary that he would lie quietly there
till the morning, but he could not find it in his heart
to keep that promise. Sleep was out of the question.
Dashwood looked at his watch to find that it was only
just half-past three, five hours before it would be time
to rise. It seemed like an eternity. And all the while
that fiend, Horace Mayfield, was sleeping under the
same roof. Suppose he had been listening to what was
going on. Suppose that he had had his suspicions
attracted to the dower-chest! The mere thought was
intolerable; it was impossible to lie there with such a
torture praying on his mind. And the house was as
still as death.


48 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Sir George lighted his candle, though the bright
summer dawn was creeping up from the east and the
birds were beginning to twitter outside in the garden.
The long corridor was getting pink and saffron with
the strengthening colour from the great window. And
under it lay the object of the sick man's search. Here
it was with the lid unfastened and a mass of papers on
the top. The first document was long in shape, neatly
folded, and bearing an endorsement in a legal hand.
The paper was yellow and faded, but the ink was quite
plain for the eye to read. Yes, here it was, right
enough, the yellow paper that meant happiness to all
and the full splendour of the house of Dashwood.
"How did he know, how did he discover it?" Sir
George muttered. "My hands are so shaky that I can
hardly hold the paper. The will of Sir Ralph Dash-
wood, dated 1877, and duly witnessed by the family
lawyer and his clerk. . . . Provided that for the
space of twenty years after this date my son Ralph does
not appear either by himself or by the heir or heirs
male of his body. . . . Ah, six months more and
the property comes to me absolutely! Strange that the
will should come to light so near to the time appointed
by Sir Ralph for — but that hardly helps me, seeing
that my danger is so close at hand. . . . What is
this? A deed executed by Ralph Dashwood the
younger cutting off the entail. ... I wonder
where that is? Perhaps the yellow sheet of parch-
ment lying by the side of the will . . . . By
Heavens it is! Oh, this is a direct interposition of
Providence to save the good old name from disgrace.
And this is what Ralph Darnley was looking for as
a pleasant surprise for me. Armed with these docu-


FOUND! 49
mentg, I can raise all the money necessary. I can
kick Horace Mayfield out of the house, I can"
The speaker staggered to his feet and pressed his
hands to his throbbing, reeling head.
He was nearer to collapse again than he knew.
He would have denied the fact that he was terribly
afraid of Mayfield, but it was true all the same. The
aim of the financier had never been quite hidden from
his eyes; for some time past he had an instinctive
knowledge of what Mayfield was after. His family
pride had bidden him to have no more of Mayfield,
but he had not listened. Proud as he was, he had not
hesitated to stoop to gambling transactions, with the
risk that he would not be able to pay his debts if he
lost. Surely he deserved a sharp lesson and a cruel
awakening.
But he was free now, fortune was on his side.
His great good luck sent him trembling from head
to foot like some amazed criminal who has been dis-
charged by a stupid jury. He would have to give up
nothing. He was still Sir George Dashwood with a
grand estate, and a house with a history of three hun-
dred years behind it. He would go to London to-mor-
row with those papers in his possession and his bank-
ers would be ready to accommodate him to any amount
in reason. He would pay the sum that Mayfield had
mentioned, and wash his hands of the whole transac-
tion. He would show the world how a country gentle-
man deals with these things. It never struck Dash-
wood that he was a feeble creature who had juggled
with the good name that he proposed to hold so highly;
he little realized the deep self-abnegation that had led
to this dazzling piece of good fortune.


50 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"Kick Mayfield out," he repeated, "after break-
fast. Let him see that I am not in the least afraid
of him; make him understand that we are little better
than strangers for the future. Ah, that will be a
triumph."
He hugged the papers to his breast, like a mother
with a child. There were weak and senile tears in his
eyes. He had lost nothing after all; the fine old house,
the wide and well-kept estate, the great timber in the
park and the deer there, were all his. He started as
the sound of a footstep fell upon his ears. It seemed
to him that somebody was creeping along the corridor.
Perhaps it was Mayfield, who had found out what had
happened. Mayfield was strong and unscrupulous, and
he might try to gain possession of those papers by force.
Sir George would have hidden himself, but it was too
late, and besides it was broad daylight now.
The first rays of the morning sun shone on the old
man as he stood there huddling those precious papers
to his breast. He might have been some clumsy thief
detected in the act. With a sigh of relief he recognized
the figure of Slight coming in his direction. The old
butler only looked a shade less distracted than his mas-
ter, and his eyes were drawn and haggard; obviously
he had not been to bed.
"What — what are you doing here?" Sir George
stammered. "Why are you spying upon me like this \
Why are you down so early?"
Slight made no reply. His gaze was fixed in a
dazed kind of way on the papers which Sir George
was still hugging to his breast. There was something
like horror in the old man's eyes. There might have
been the proofs of murder there.
V.


FOUND! 51
"So you've got them," he said in the voice of one
who talks to himself. "So he has carried out his
threat and they have passed into your possession.
Take and burn them, take and pitch them on the fire,
and watch them till the last ash has vanished. You
will be a happier man for it, Sir George, and a great
wrong will be averted."
"What does the man mean?" Sir George cried in
astonishment. "Slight, what are you talking about?
Say it all over again. If you are mad or drunk"
"Not mad," Slight said mournfully. He seemed
to have come to his senses suddenly. He spoke now as
one does when acting under a great restraint.
"Not mad, Sir George, and as to the other thing,
why. . . . But the secret is not mine. I prom-
ised solemnly not to open my lips. I have given you
the best advice one man can give another, but more
I dare not say. Burn them, burn them, burn them, for
the love of Heaven!"
Slight turned away and seemed to totter down the
corridor. The full light of the strong morning sun
was shining through the gold and crimson glories of
the great stained glass window now, the birds were
singing sweetly outside. The park grew fair and
green as the dew rolled back across the fields; the
garden blazed in the sunshine. Sir George saw all
this as he looked through his bedroom window. The
fierce joy and pride of undisputed possession were upon
him; everything was safe now.
"Slight is mad," he murmured. "What does that
old man know? What can he know? Let me put
these papers away where they will be safe. How shaky
I feel; how my head swims! If I could only get an
hour or two of sleep. . ."


CHAPTER IX
THE PABTING GUEST
THE big clock on the breakfast-room mantelpiece
was chiming the hour of ten as Sir George
came downstairs. He was a little later than usual,
and he apologized to his guest for his want of punctu-
ality with a courtly air. He was not accustomed to
country hours, he said; he doubted if he ever should
be. He made no allusion whatever to his last night's
quarrel, his manner was perfectly natural and easy.
If anything, there was a suggestion of bland patron-
age in his tone.
Mayfield glanced keenly at his host from time to
time. There was something here that he quite failed
to understand. He had expected to find Sir George
apologetic and rather frightened. On the contrary, he
was more like a bishop who entertains a curate than
anything else. And Mayfield could get nothing from
Mary, who sat at the head of the table, cold and stately,
yet serenely beautiful, in her white cotton dress. May-
field ground his teeth together and swore that Dash-
wood should pay for this before long. He held the
fortunes of the baronet in the hollow of his hand; his
passion for Mary was the more inflamed by her icy
coldness. It would be good to humble her pride in the
dust, to compel her to come to his feet and do his bid-
ding. All the same, Mayfield had made up his mind
52


THE PASTING GUEST 53
to have an explanation after breakfast. He smiled and
talked, though his anger was hot within him.
"Mr. Mayfield will want a time-table presently, my
dear," Sir George was saying in his most courtly man-
ner. "I am afraid that we have intruded too long
already on his valuable time."
"I have always time to spare for you," Mayfield said
with a snarling smile. "And Miss Mary need not
trouble about the time-table. You forget that I have
my car here which will get me to London by mid-day.
Before I go I should like to have a few words with
you, Sir George. You will pardon me for mentioning
it, but we left matters in rather an unsatisfactory con-
dition last night."
The little shaft passed harmlessly over Sir George's
head. He smiled blandly.
"To be sure we did," he said. "You are quite
right, we will settle things up before you go. What
do you say to a cigar on the terrace after breakfast?
No, you need not go, Mary. I have a reason for asking
you to listen to our business conversation. We had a
quarrel last night, when I regret to say I lost my
temper. Eor that exhibition of unseemly and vulgar
violence I sincerely beg your pardon, Mayfield. I
apologize all the more humbly because we are not likely
to meet very often in the future. Henceforth our busi-
ness transactions promise to be slender, for after this
week I am determined that the City shall not see me
again. You will quite see, Mayfield, that in future our
intercourse must cease. It is rather painful to talk
to a guest like this, but you will understand me."
Mayfield's face expressed his astonishment. He
wondered if Sir George had taken leave of his senses,


54 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
and deluded himself into the belief that he was the
possessor of a vast fortune. And yet the speaker was
absolutely calm and collected. What could possibly
have happened since last night to change him like this?
"Perhaps I am rather dense this morning," May-
field said slowly, "but I cannot follow you at all.
Yesterday I explained to you the position of affairs
fully. We had been deceived by a trusted servant of
mine, and you were called upon to pay £50,000. Fail-
ing this, you would perhaps have to face a criminal
charge. Unfortunately, your hold upon the estate is
so slender that it would not be possible for you to bor-
row any large sum of money. Not to speak too plainly,
your position was, and is, a desperate one. Partly
because I was in a measure instrumental in bringing
about this lamentable state of affairs, I offered to
advance you the money. In other words, I offered to
give you £50,000. It is true there was a condition,
but I merely allude to that in the presence of Miss
Dashwood."
Mary's face flamed. Her heart was heavy within
her. So far as she could see, this was the master of
the situation. He held the demons of Disgrace and
Bankruptcy at bay. What was the cherished posses-
sion of Dashwood worth so long as the shadow of dis-
honour lay across the threshold? Eor the sake of the
grand old home and the grand old name, Mary would
have to listen to Mayfield's proposal. She glanced
from him to the smiling face of her father, who had
risen from the table and produced his cigar case.
"Quite so," he said genially, "you are perfectly
correct. You made that proposal, and, like a cur, I
forgot myself and insulted you. I went so far as to


THE PARTING GUEST 55
say that you had planned deliberately to bring this
thing about. It was ruin on the one hand and the
sacrifice of my dear child on the other. Pray take
one of my cigars. There are chairs on the terrace, let
us continue our discussion there."
"Why go over the old ground again?" May field
asked impatiently. He flung himself into one of the
big basket chairs on the terrace. "Has there been any
material change in the position since last night? Not
a bit of it. If you could find this money"
"There is no if about it, my good Mayfield," Sir
George replied. "I can find the money. It will be
paid over to my creditors by the end of the week, and
I will take care to let the world know what a victim
I have been. The money will be paid."
A quick angry cry came from Mayfield's lips. The
mask had fallen from his face for the moment. His
disappointment was clear and hideous.
"What?" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Do you mean
to say that you have found the wi"
He paused and shut his lips together with a vicious
click. He was going to say too much. He glanced at
Sir George to see if the imprudent words had had any
effect on him, but the head of the Dashwoods seemed
to be immersed in his own pleasant thoughts. Only
Mary noticed, but it was not till many days afterwards
that she was to attach any significance to the speech.
"The money is going to be paid," Sir George went
on. "By the end of the week I shall have finished with
the City forever. I am not going to make any accusa-
tion, but in the clearing of my own name I shall not
give any heed to others. Amongst the ' others' I need
not say I am alluding to you."


56 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"And there I am kicked downstairs," Mayfield said
bitterly.
"If you like to put it so. I could speak a little more
freely if you were not my guest at the present moment.
But you quite understand me."
"Your patience will not be unduly taxed," May-
field said grimly. "If I am not mistaken there is my
car under the portico at this moment. But, before I go,
I have something to say. You will not forget your
personal obligation to me."
"A matter of £5,000. I assure you it had not
escaped my memory. By the end of the week"
"Quite so. By the end of the week. You wanted
that money badly at the time. I lent it you on the
condition that you allowed me to take a judgment for
the debt. I brought a friendly action against you to
recover the money, and you allowed judgment to go
by default. It is a little formula that is sometimes
gone through in the City, Miss Mary, to enable one or
more fortunate creditors to have the preference over
the rest . When I signed judgment I was in a position
to levy execution as it is called. That is another tech-
nical expression that means that I am in a position now
to place men in possession here and to hold everything
till the debt and costs are paid in full. In vulgar cir-
cles this is called 'having the bailiffs in.' It happens
with such people as struggling tradesmen and the like
who cannot pay their rent. It is held to be a terrible
disgrace amongst the poor. Common men come in and
take possession of the drawing-room, where they smoke
clay pipes and drink beer. Try to imagine a dirty crea-
ture of this kind with his feet on your Louis Quinze
furniture, Miss Mary. The very idea causes you to


THE PARTING GUEST 57
look pale and ghastly. And yet such things have hap-
pened, and history is always repeating itself."
The speaker paused and smiled, his words were hor-
ribly slow and grating. Mary laid her hand on her
heart as if some sharp fear thrilled her.
"Is — is it possible for you to do this thing?" she
asked.
"Indeed it is," said Mayfield with the same hard
smile. "I could do it to-day — as soon as I reach
town, in fact. Quite like a scene from a modern melo-
drama, is it not? Well, good-bye, Sir George; good-
bye, Miss Mary. I see my luggage is on the car and
my chauffeur is waiting. I will not intrude myself on
you any longer. When my slaves of the law, with their
clay pipes and dirty boots arrive, there will be no
necessity to ask them to have dinner at the same table
as yourself. Good-bye."
With a sign of his hand, Mayfield motioned to his
chauffeur. The great car came along with a fuss and
a clatter, and Mayfield sprang to the side of the driver.
He pulled off his hat with a gesture of mocking
humility and the car dashed away. Sir George sprang
up, but too late. The car was disappearing now in
a cloud of dust down the drive. With a face white
as death Mary turned to her father.
"Is this thing true?" she asked hoarsely. "Are
you still in that man's power? Is it quite impossible
for you to get the money to-day?"
"Quite," Sir George groaned. "I — I had forgotten
that judgment. I sbould have waited; I should not
have shown my hand so soon. But he will never do
it; he was dismayed to find my position so strong; he
merely meant to frighten me."


58 THE NETHEft MILLSTONE
"He will do it," Mary cried. "I saw it in his face,
in his wicked eyes. A disgrace like that would break
my heart, father. What is to be done to avert this
awful calamity? No sacrifice could be too great.
And I can think of absolutely nothing!"


CHAPTER X
SKIN DEEP
MART spoke as one who is moved to the very core of
her being. It was not merely a painful and un-
pleasant incident that faced her, but something in the
nature of a great and overwhelming tragedy. The
girl's pride was part of her being. She accepted it
naturally, as in the order of establishing things. Usually
she was brave enough. She would have encountered
any physical danger with coolness and courage, but
the mere suggestion of this outrage frightened her.
Well, she could look to her father for assistance.
He had behaved with great fortitude during the recent
interview with Mayfield; indeed, it might be said that
he emerged from the combat victoriously. Doubtless,
he could find some way out. The old blood had as-
serted itself before, and it could do it again.
"Why are you so silent?" Mary asked. "Tell me
what is to be done. A disgrace like that would be
horrible — after such contamination, Dashwood would
never be the same to me again. Father, you have found
a way?"
But Sir George made no reply. The bland and easy
dignity had vanished, the suave smile with which he
had greeted Mayfield was not to be seen. He had sud-
denly become a poor feeble wreck of a man again, and
59


60 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
he burst into senile tears. They were real tears, for
Mary could see them trickling down his face. She
trembled 'with an alarm and anger that she had never
felt before.
For tears formed no part of her woman's armour;
she left them to children and the fretful mothers of
the poor. In all the traditions of the house, there
was no mention of tears. Both men and women had
met their misfortunes with hard faces and dry eyes.
It had been left to Mary to be ashamed of a male Dash-
wood. Perhaps there was something in the bitter
scorn of her face that caused Sir George furtively to
remove the tell-tale drops.
"I'm not myself," he whined. "I have had a deal
of trouble and Mayfield is a great scoundrel. I had
to have that money hurriedly — a disastrous specula-
tion. If I had not been high up in the service of my
country, it would not have mattered so much. But
my creditors were pressing, and Mayfield offered to
help me. Of course, he wanted what he called security.
It seemed so natural when he explained to me. And
all the time he wanted to get me into his power."
"Oh, why go* over the same ground again?" Mary
cried. "Something must be done without delay.
Those horrible men must not come here."
"Perhaps it was only a threat on Mayfield's part,"
Sir George said feebly.
"It was nothing of the kind and you know it, father.
There was deadly malice in every word that he uttered.
And before then you had got the better of him. You
acted like a true Dashwood — I was proud of you.
And now you sit there, and, oh, I cannot bring myself
to say the hateful word. Why did you behave so nobly


SKIN DEEP 61
a little while ago, and so cowardly now? You seemed
to have found a way out."
"I had," Sir George whispered. "Last night you
left me in the depths of despair. I could not sleep, I
could think of nothing but what you told me about
Ralph Darnley. I wondered if perhaps he was secretly
my enemy. Then it occurred to me that he was look-
ing for some papers in that old chest . I could not
rest till I was satisfied; I also searched the old chest.
And what did I find? I found the late Sir Ralph
Dashwood's will and I found his unhappy son's deed
cutting off the entail. If no son of the second Ralph
turns up within the next six months, everything is
mine. You can understand how the full force of that
discovery overwhelmed me. Here was a way out of all
my difficulties. That is why I was in a position to face
Mayfield fearlessly this morning. Within a week at
the outside I could raise the money to be clear of him.
I had quite forgotten the smaller item. I should have
remembered it, I ought to have been smooth and smiling
before Mayfield's face until I was ready to be clear of
him for ever. And now he can strike me a deadly blow
before I am ready to meet it. Of course the inconven-
ience"
"Inconvenience! Can you speak of so disgraceful
a thing by such a name? Dearly as I love the old
house, I would rather see it and all its treasures burnt
to the ground. I could put the match to it myself."
Mary's voice rang out with passionate anger. Her
blue eyes blazed. There was no trace of exaggeration
in what she said, she would have been ready to carry
out her threat.
"It won't last long," Sir George muttered. "I'll


62 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
go to London to-morrow and take those papers with!
me. As soon as they have been verified, the bank will
advance me all I need. But business of this sort takes
time. People are very chary of parting with their
money unless it is well secured. Probably by the end
of the week"
"The end of the week! And the blow may fall
to-night! We must have that money now."
"Impossible, my dear child. I'm afraid you do not
appreciate the situation. When I came into the
property I was heavily in debt. I had to pay off those
debts; also I had to keep up the house in a way that
befitted the traditions of the family. The consequence
is that I am constantly overdrawn at my bank as far
as the people there allow it. They don't like it, be-
cause they feel that if anything happened to me, or
some son of young Ralph Dashwood came along, I
should find myself not in — er — a position to meet
all my liabilities. Therefore, to go to them to raise
this money would be worse than useless. I am afraid
that we shall have to put up with the inconvenience till
the end of the week, when those papers I found will
have been properly verified."
Mary restrained the passionate anger that flamed
within her. It was a cruel blow to find her father
so wanting in courage when the critical moment came.
He was prepared to sit down and weep, when hourly
the danger was drawing nearer. Instinctively Mary's
thoughts went out to Ralph Darnley. He would not
have taken the blow like this, though he had not the
good fortune to call himself a Dashwood. He would
be up and doing. Perhaps it would be as well to con-
sult him and ask his advice. She felt ashamed of her-


SKIN DEEP 63
self as the thought occurred to her. And yet she had
no other friend in the world. Despite her exalted po-
sition, Mary was a very lonely girl.
What was the use of all her pride? This splendid
isolation faded to ashes now that she was face to face
with the task before her. Evidently her father meant
to do nothing, he would submit tamely to the degrada-
tion and wait for it to pass.
There were dead and gone Dashwoods smiling, or
simpering, or frowning from the walls — soldiers and
statesmen, scholars, famous beauties, and not one of
them had ever seen the tainting of the family name.
It was left to Sir George to submit tamely to that.
Mary could see that his eyes were still wet.
"Something must be done," she said. "Are there
no jewels that one could turn into cash? Strange that
I have never given a thought before to the family
jewels! But surely in a family like ours there must
be historic diamonds and the like. Did I not hear once
from somebody that the Dashwood emeralds are unique?
I am told that it is no uncommon thing for great ladies
to take these jewels to men in London who advance
money on them. I have listened to such stories with
incredulity — I begin to see now why things like this
have to be done. Let me have them and I will go to
London this afternoon. My cheeks flame with shame
when I think of it; but I suppose there are harder
tests of one's endurance. Where are they, father \"
"They are not here," he said. "I believe there are
some magnificent heirlooms in the way of family gems,
but they are not in my possession. You see we are
merely a collateral branch of the old tree, so we have
nothing to do with the jewels. At present I under-


64 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
stand they are in the possession of the dowager Lady
Dashwood. They came to her as a matter of right
on her marriage, and I am told that she has retained
them ever since. If her son had lived and come to the
title and married, then his wife would have taken the
stones as a matter of right, being the wife of the reign-
ing head of the family. Whether or not they would
come to you on your marriage is another question.
Anyway, you would have the right of wearing them
after the dowager dies. But this is a matter about
which I know really nothing. As you are aware, my
dear, Lady Dashwood does not like me. For some
reason or another she has a violent prejudice against
me, and she never asks me to the dower house if she
can help it. Of course with you the thing is different
— she brought you up and regards you more or less as
her own child. It is just possible that she may tide
us over the difficulty."
"Which means that you will go and ask her," Mary
said eagerly.
"By no means, my dear," Sir George responded.
"I could not stoop to ask a favour of that kind from
any woman, however pressing the necessity. It seems
to me to be more a question between one woman and
anothor. Now from you, the request would seem quite
natural. If you care to undertake it"
But Mary heard no more. She could not trust her-
self to reply. Slowly and coldly she walked from the
room, her hands locked convulsively together. Truly
the family pride was a shattered reed to lean on, a
skin deep thing after all. And the strong capable face
of Ralph Darnley rose like a warm vision before her.


CHAPTER XI
THB DOWAGEB LADY DASHWOOD
THE silent moody dinner was over at length;
Slight was placing the dessert on the shining
mahogany. Mary rose presently and walked over to
the open window. Over the park the moon was gleam-
ing like a silver shield against the pallid sky; the deer
moved like ghosts in the pearly dew. It was more
sweet arid peaceful than ever, and yet Mary dwelt bit-
terly on the mockery of it all. What an enviable mor-
tal she appeared to be, and yet how little did she deserve
that envy. The hours had crept on and the thunder-
bolt had not yet fallen. Perhaps the blow would be
delayed till to-morrow, which was a soothing reflection,
for nothing had as yet been done, though Mary had
made up her mind to invoke the aid of Lady Dash-
wood. She had not been across to the dower house yet,
for Lady Dashwood had gone out on one of her rare
visits to a neighbour, and at seven o'clock had not re-
turned. There would be plenty of time afterwards,
and Mary stood by the window, drinking in the full
beauty of the night. She had made up her mind to
tell Lady Dashwood everything and throw herself upon
the elder woman's mercy. She turned to her father,
who was gently complaining to Slight of the quality
of the claret he was pouring out.
5 65


66 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I am going to the dower house now," the girl said
coldly. How could a man be so trivial at such a mo-
ment, she wondered. "I may be late, father."
Sir George murmured something in reply. He was
still absorbed in the contemplation of his glass. He had
evidently forgotten the importance of Mary's errand.
The girl was very chill and her heart very cold and
empty and lonely as she passed down the old elm
avenue and through a path leading by a great belt of
evergreens to the grounds of the dower house beyond.
It was a Tudor mansion a little older than the Hall
itself, and it boasted some wonderful gates and a rose
garden famous throughout the county. The whole
fagade of the house was covered with roses, too, and the
night air was heavy with their fragrance. The back
of the house looked on a green forecourt, and a long
conservatory led to a set of cloisters, which made a
deliciously cool spot in the hot weather. There Mary
usually found her aged relative, but she was in the
drawing-room to-night. She rose as the girl entered,
a tall figure with a mass of white hair done up in some
old fashion that was not without its charm. Lady
Dashwood's face was white as her hair, and it bore the
impress of some great and lasting trouble that never
would fade away on this side of the grave. Her eyes
had the same haunting care in them, the same sugges-
tion of remorse. A keen observer might have been
justified in regarding Lady Dash wood as a woman who
was being weighed down with the burden of a terrible
secret.
But her smile was sincere enough as Mary came for-
ward; her slim hands shook as she laid them on the
girl's shoulders and kissed her. Then she seemed to


THE DOWAGER LADY DASHWOOD 67
discern that something was wrong, for she sighed as
she looked into Mary's face.
"Sit down, dearest," she said tenderly. "It is very
good of you to come and see me so late. But there is
something the matter, Mary. I have not known and
loved you all these years without being able to read that
transparent mind of yours. What is it dear? You
know that I will do anything in the wide world to
save you from unhappiness."
"Dearest of foster mothers, I know it," Mary
whispered. She blinked away the rare tears that would
rise to her eyes. "It is selfish of me to come and worry
you at this time of night, but there is no help for it.
We are in great distress."
"Does that mean your father as well as yourself,
or rather that you are worrying about him? What
has he been doing now to cause you all this anxiety?
Something to do with those speculations over which
I have helped him more than once in the past."
"Have you?" Mary asked with a startled blush.
He never told me. He wrote to you"
"More than once, my dear. As heir presumptive
to the estate, I suppose he thought he had a right to
do so. But I am afraid that I can't help him again —,
at least, not just at present. But then I don't sup-
pose it is so very serious."
"It is disgrace," Mary said in a low voice. "It
means the intrusion of strangers, men sent down to
take what is called possession till the debt is paid. It
is a matter of £5,000, and it must be obtained at
once — before mid-day to-morrow. Perhaps I had
better tell you all about it, but it would break my heart
to see this disgrace fall on Dashwood. IjoaroaW tall
»> XKHHokk A.J


68 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
me that you will find me the money or the means to
get it!"
Lady Dashwood made no reply for a moment. A
still more ashen pallor crept over her white face. She
placed her hand to her heart as if to still some poignant
pain there, her rings shimmered and trembled in the
lamplight.
"Tell me everything," she said huskily. "My pun-
ishment is coming, my sin is finding me out at last."
"Your sin?" Mary cried. "If ever there was a
good woman in the world, you are one. I hate to hear
you speak like that, my more than mother. Surely
you must know how good and pure your life has always
been. And you talk like this! If there is any mys-
tery here, any secret that lies like a shadow over our
house"
"Was ever a great family without its trouble?"
Lady Dashwood asked. "You must not take my fool-
ish words quite so seriously, child. Perhaps by brood-
ing over them, one is apt to magnify troubles. So your
father has discovered this will and the deed by which
my unhappy boy cut himself off from his inheritance.
Strange that the papers should be found just now."
"Why?" Mary asked. "Why just now? Did you
know of their existence?"
But Lady Dashwood made no reply. She seemed
to be lost in a sea of troubled thoughts. Mary did
not repeat the question. After all, it mattered very
little either way. Lady Dashwood came to herself
with a start.
"But we have the present to think of,", she said.
"Your father will be able to do as he likes now, there-
fore the trouble caused by this hostile creditor is all


THE DOWAGER LADY DASHWOOD 69
the more to be deplored. He is some business man, I
presume?"
"Yes," Mary explained. "By birth a gentleman.
His name is Horace Mayfield."
A startled cry came from Lady Dashwood's lips,
the grey pallor was on her face again.
"Do you happen to know the man?" Mary asked.
"Oh, yes; I know him and his family. A bad man,
a hateful man. Never mention his name to me again.
Mary, he must be got rid of at all costs. I have no
great head for these things, but I see the necessity of
getting out of the hands of Horace Mayfield. As you
say, in a week's time it would not matter. As it is
the thing is urgent. Is it so utterly impossible to find
this money?"
"It is out of the question for us," Mary said halt-
ingly. Her face was burning now that she was com-
ing to the pith of her errand. "My father could not
place his hand on a fifth part of the sum. I racked
my brains to find the way out. Then it occurred to
me that there were certain people who lent money on
the security of jewels and valuable plate, and things
like that. I had never heard our family jewels men-
tioned, but I felt quite sure that they existed. My
father told me that they were in your possession, that
they belong to you so long as I remain single. Dear
mother, do you see what I mean? Do not put me to
the pain of having to speak more plainly. And it is
only for so short a time! By the end of the week
the stones will be in your hands again. I could go
up to London in the morning and take the jewels to
one of the big dealers who do business of this
kind. . . . The disgrace would be averted. I


70 THE KETHEH MILLSTONE
hate to come here with a proposal like this, but I can
think of no other way. You are not going to refuse
me this great favour?"
"You want me ... to lend you . . . my
jewels?" Lady Dashwood gasped. There was no trace
of anger or displeasure in her voice. She looked
strangely white and drawn, as if suddenly, years had
been added to her life. "How do you know I have
any ?»
'" I asked my father. No, he did not suggest it.
He told me that our family collection of stones was
a famous one; he said that everything was in your
possession. Then in shame and agony of spirit I
dragged myself here to ask you to do this thing. My
own proper pride held me back, my family pride urged
me on."
"The curse of the race," Lady Dashwood cried.
"The besetting sin of the family will ruin us all yet.
Heavens! the mischief that it has brought about
already. It made my wedded life a long intolerable
bondage, rendering me old before my time. It was
responsible for the great sin which caused my son to
leave home for ever. And yet I fed you on the family
pride, I held it before you day by day until you have
grown so cold and hard that I alone know of the kind
and generous heart that beats within you. . . .
But enough of this. You want me to lend you some
of my jewels. If I tell you I have none, what then?"
"My father told me that they were in your posses-
sion, Lady Dashwood."
"My child, you must not speak to me in that tone.
It hurts me dreadfully. Suppose the stones are gone,
suppose that I have parted with them one by one to


THE DOWAGER LADY DASHWOOD 11
preserve a fearful family secret! Suppose that I
parted with the last diamond yesterday! What would
you say if I told you that?"
Lady Dashwood had suddenly lost her reason. Mary
could see no other explanation for this extraordinary
speech. And yet the speaker looked guilty enough,
there was a shamed flush on her withered cheeks. She
rose from her seat and moved to the door.
"Wait a moment," she said. "I may find a way
yet. But my sin is going to find me out and my sac-
rifice shall be all in vain."


CHAPTER XII
I,ADY DASHWOOD SEES A GHOST
ITH faltering hesitation Lady Dashwood made
her way into the dark hall beyond the draw-
ing-room. She bore little resemblance to the grand
dame that her friends knew. In spite of her silks, her
laces and her flashing rings, she looked like the ordinary
woman who is suffering from the burden of a great
affliction. There were tears in her eyes as she walked
along. The house was strangely silent; no servants
were to be seen anywhere as Lady Dashwood reached
a door leading to the green forecourt with the cloisters
beyond. She stepped out into the moonlight slowly,
she passed across the garden under the brown stone
archway that led to the cloisters.
There she paused and looked about her furtively.
There was nothing to be seen but the shadows made by
the moonlight. Like a thief in the night Lady Dash-
wood crept along till she came at length to the end
of the cloisters, where there was a stairway leading
to some dilapidated apartment overhead. Once again
there was a pause, and after that the aged lady began
to climb the stairs. At the same time there came
the unmistakable sound of voices overhead.
Lady Dashwood started and almost lost her balance.
The sound was so unexpected, so utterly unlooked for.
72


LADY DASHWOOD SEES A GHOST 73
The voices were quite clear and distinct, too, on the
still air. Lady Dashwood had no desire to play the
eavesdropper, but it was impossible not to hear every-
thing. The one voice was low and pleasant, and yet
clear and commanding.
“I tell you it is impossible,” the pleasant voice said.
“You must allow me to conduct this business in my
own way. I have already given you my word that
everything will come out right in the long run. There
is still six months of the time to expire, remember, so
that you need do no violence to your conscience.”
“Yes, but you have not taken Lady Dashwood into
your calculations, sir,” the other voice said.
“Indeed I have, my good fellow. I have forgotten
nothing. Everything has been most carefully mapped
out. As Lady Dashwood is more or less of a recluse,
there is nothing to be feared from her. It will be a
very easy matter to keep out of her way.”
The listener fell back, clutching at her heart wildly.
She was compelled to lean against the brown walls of
the cloisters for support.
“I am dreaming,” she murmured. “I shall awake
presently and find myself in bed. I am getting old
and fanciful, and my mind is playing me strange tricks.
The owner of that voice has been dead for many years;
it is a mere chance resemblance. And yet it is as
real as if I had gone back over the wasted years. Is
it possible 22 -
The speaker paused. It seemed to her that the two
men overhead were coming down and she had no mind
to be caught listening. She turned away swiftly, her
slim ankle in its satin slipper gave a turn and a cry
of pain escaped her. A moment later and Slight was


74 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
by her side, looking at her with mingled sympathy
and suspicion.
"Your ladyship has hurt yourself," he said. "Per-
mit me to take you back to the house. What are you
doing here at this time in the evening?"
There was something almost masterful in the tone
of the question. In spite of the pain that she was
suffering, Lady Dashwood turned a cold displeased
eye on the speaker.
"You sometimes forget yourself, Slight," she said.
"It is a failing of old and privileged servants. Your
place is over at the Hall. What are you doing here?
You were ever a man to do strange things in a strange
way. Have you some secret here?"
"We have had many secrets together, my lady, and
we may take most of them to the grave with us," said
Slight coolly. "I have been too long a friend of the
family to be treated like this. And your ladyship must
just come back to the house at once. You are in
pain."
"Pain or not, I am not going back yet, Slight. I
came here for something that I had left in one of the
cloister chambers, and I heard your voice. I should
have thought little of that, for you are permitted to
come and go as you like. But you were not alone,
you had a companion with you. And I heard his voice,
too, Slight."
The withered old servant looked slightly confused.
Then his dry face grew hard and dogged.
"I am not going to deny it, my lady," he said. "A
— friend of mine, who"
"Is a gentleman. No mistake about that, Slight.
And the voice was so like that of my poor dead boy that


76 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Slight muttered something under his breath. In
reality he was objurgating Ralph Darnley for his care-
less imprudence in standing there with his face turned
to the dower house. Yet the old man's frame never
moved a muscle.
"What does your ladyship mean?" he asked. "I
can see nothing."
"That is because you are not looking in the right
direction, Slight. Over there by the laurels. Do you
dare to tell me that a man is not standing there? It is
my son Ralph come back from the grave! The fine
figure, the gracious open face, the determined eyes.
Has time stood still with him that he looks so young?
And yet it is forty years since. . . . Ralph,
Ralph, it is your mother who calls to you."
The words rang out with startling stillness in the
great cloister. The young man standing there started
and turned round. He had been absolutely lost in a
deep study, contemplating the old house. He came
tumbling down to earth again, and became conscious
of a white-haired, richly-dressed old lady who was
holding out a pair of arms in his direction. He could
see the pleading, loving look on her face, he noticed the
menace and anger in Slight's eyes. Without further
ado Ralph stepped back into the bushes, his feet mak*
ing no sound on the mosy turf. It was like the slow
diminishing of a dream.
"He has gone," Lady Dashwood cried. "I have
frightened him by my notice. Did you not see him,
Slight? Did you not observe the extraordinary like-
ness?"
"I saw nothing but a young man who was trespass-
ing," Slight said evasively. "Your ladyship is full of


liADY DASHWOOD SEES A GHOST 77
fancies to-night. You will laugh at yourself in the
morning."
Once more Lady Dashwood sighed impatiently. She
managed to drag herself back to the drawing-room
without the aid of Slight. She dropped into a chair
white and quivering, whilst Mary regarded her with
eyes filled with deep concern.
"Something has happened to you," she said.
"What is it 2 Can I do anything«"
"Nobody can do anything," Lady Dashwood whis-
pered. "Mary, I have seen a ghost. I not only saw
the ghost, but I heard the vision speak. And they
wanted to persuade me that it was an old woman's
foolish fancy. ... I meant to have done some-
thing for you to-night, but I forget what it is and where
I put it. I can think of nothing but my ghost. And
I want to be alone, my dear, you cannot think how
much I want to be alone! Ring for my maid now
and go. Don't think me unkind, my child. Come
back in the morning, and I will try to help you in the
way you need. Kiss me and say good-night."
Mary bent down obediently and kissed the faded,
unsteady lips. Her errand had been more or less of a
failure, but she could not pursue the subject now. She
could only ring the bell and depart as she had come.
To press the matter nearest her heart would have been
wanting in tact and delicacy. Very sorrowfully Mary
took her way across the park in the direction of the
Hall. She would come back and see Lady Dashwood
after breakfast, and then if she could get what she re-
quired, she would go to London at once and get mat-
ters settled by the family solicitor. She might be an
hour or two too late, but she had to risk that.


78 THE NETHEK MILLSTONE
The drawing-room windows were open; on the ter-
race in front Sir George was passing up and down with
a distracted air. Mary could see that his tie was
ruffled and that his hair had been stirred as if by a
high wind. He paused as the girl spoke to him.
"What is wrong?" she asked. "Has anything hap-
pened?"
"The very worst," Sir George groaned. "They
came soon after you had gone . . . three of them.
One in the servants' hall, one upstairs, and one in there,
the drawing-room. A foul man with a foul pipe.
Look and see the creature for yourself!"


CHAPTER XIII
DESECRATION
A FEELING of almost physical sickness held Mary
for the moment. She had dreaded this thing,
and at the same time she had hoped against it — it
had seemed almost impossible that such a calamity
could happen to Dashwood Hall. Mary would have
scoffed the idea that she regarded ordinary humanity
as different clay to herself, but it was so all the same.
It did not seem right that one in her station of life
should be called upon to suffer an indignity like this.
And yet here it was, blatant and hideous, and so
transparently vulgar! Mary knew the full significance
of the disaster; she had seen something of it, two years
before, in the house of one of the estate farmers who
had fallen into the hands of a money-lender. She
had seen the mother of the family bowed and distracted,
whilst a gin-soddened wretch sat in a priceless oak
chair and puffed some dreadful tobacco. And the man
had been quite insolent when Mary had spoken to him.
That was bad enough, but to have the same thing at
Dashwood was a thousand times worse. It seemed to
Mary that she could catch the reek of that vile tobacco
now. But something had to be done; it was useless
to stand there idle.
"Have you spoken to the people?" Mary asked.
"The servants"
79


80 THE NETHEB, MILLSTONE
"Are all in bed except old Slight," Sir George
whined. "Slight managed that. The other servants
don't know anything for the present."
"Well, that is something gained. I have been to
see Lady Dashwood. It was the most shameful mo-
ment of my life, but I managed to ask for the jewels.
No, I did not get them — I don't believe that Lady
Dashwood has them. I believe that she has some secret
trouble of her own; I begin to believe that there is
something terribly wrong with our family. There is
no hope from Lady Dashwood."
Sir George whined in a feeble kind of way. Mary's
heart overflowed with bitter contempt. This was the
head of the family, the man to be relied upon to up-
hold the traditions of a long line of glorious ancestors!
The girl steeled herself to face the inevitable; she
knew now that she would have to rely solely on her
own exertions. She passed through the open window
into the drawing-room, which would never be quite the
same to her again. Nothing appeared to be altered;
the soft shaded lamps were here, the mellow subdued
light playing on old furniture and pictures, and the
flowers artistically arranged in their priceless vases.
Surely sorrow and shame and humiliation would not
touch the picture with chill fingers!
There he was, lounging back on a Chippendale couch,
with his muddy boots on a hassock of Gobelin tapestry,
his sullen face half-ashamed and half-defiant. His pro-
fession would have been apparent to anyone who had
ever met one of the tribe before. Those men were of a
race apart, idlers and loafers, who can face sorrow and
suffering and the breaking up of homes without a spark
of human feeling. The man looked up at Mary's pale


DESECRATION 81
haughty face, with a certain dumb admiration in his
bleared eye.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Mary demanded. "Tell me that."
"It's all right," the object said, without removing
his pipe. "There's the docyment on that little marble
table. Suit of Mayfield and Co., £5,193 17s. 4d., debt
and costs. If you pay within seven days, all right; if
you don't then the auctioneer comes in. No use mak-
ing a fuss about it. Pay us and we go, don't pay us
and we stay. Treat us well, and we'll treat you well.
It isn't the first time I've been in swell houses like
this."
The man was so coolly, unconsciously insolent that
Mary could make no reply for a moment. It seemed
incredible that she, who had always had the reverence
of every man and boy in the village, could be treated
like this. Nothing seemed to pierce the creature's dull
hide.
"But you can't stay here," she said. "That is im-
possible. I suppose the idea is to see that nothing is
taken away. Nearly all the furniture belongs to the
family; most of the things are what are called heir-
looms. We could not dispose of them if we wanted to.
We could make you all comfortable in one of the empty
lodges."
"Won't do," the man on the sofa said huskily.
"Had that game tried on me lots of times. I sit up
here all night, whilst my mates get a rest. We take
it turn and turn about. Better keep your breath to
cool your porridge. You can go to bed now without
any fear of burglars. I'll see that nothing goes away
from here."
0


82 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Mary turned away, sore and helpless and sick at
heart. She, who despised tears so heartily in others,
felt like bursting into hysterical weeping now. The
humiliation was almost more than she could bear. She
would have welcomed any calamity that was likely to
overwhelm the old house and lay it in grey ashes at her
feet. Fiercely, angrily, she grasped her father by the
arm and led him from the room. Sir George trotted
along feebly, muttering in a small voice. He was as
useless as a woman in a storm at sea. He sat down in
the library with his hands folded in his lap, and looked
anxiously for any suggestion from Mary.
"Is there nothing you can do?" she demanded im-
patiently. Could this feeble, white-faced creature be
the same jaunty, debonnaire figure that had been so
popular in the Paris salons? Mary asked herself. "Is
there no way out of the difficulty?"
"I — I am afraid not," Sir George stammered. "I
am so dazed and confused that I can think of nothing.
Most unfortunate that business about Lady Dashwood
and the diamonds. Wonder what she has done with
them. Very selfish of her."
Mary suppressed a desire to scream. Ralph Darn-
ley flashed into her mind suddenly, and she wondered
why. Anyway she could not ask him to help her, even
if he had the means to do so. She had repelled his
advances more or less scornfully, and one does not bor-
row money from a man in conditions like that.
"Lady Dashwood is powerless to help us," she said
with an effort. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, she
has a sorrow far deeper than ours"
"Impossible," Sir George said testily. "You are
talking nonsense, my dear. What blow could be


DESECRATION 83
heavier or harder to bear than ours? But I trust that
we shall meet it with proper dignity. Nothing can de-
prive us of our dignity."
Mary laughed aloud. The echo of her mirth came
back mockingly in the silence and almost frightened
her. Heavens! was it possible that Sir George had no
idea of the pitiable figure he presented at that mo-
ment? He went on to suggest fortitude and calmness.
He had heard of the same thing happening in the castle
of a duke. Worse things had taken place in the cha-
teaux of the aristocracy in the French Revolution.
"Ay, but they knew how to live and die like gentle-
folk," Mary said bitterly. "I understand that you
are going to sit down and tamely submit to this thing?"
"My dearest child, how impetuous you are! There
is nothing else to do. By the end of the week I shall
have more than enough for all my needs. Still I think,
I think that there is a way to get out of the difficulty,
without anybody being any the wiser. The remedy,
however, lies in your hands. Of course, it requires a
certain amount of self-sacrifice on your part. I am
bound to confess that I could desire other channels for
the amelioration of the situation. Still, as I said be-
fore"
The voice was cringing and fawning; there was some-
thing mean and furtive on Sir George's face as he
spoke his polished periods. A certain sickness of heart
gripped Mary; she was conscious of a sensation of ab-
solute fear.
"Pray do not be diplomatic with me," she said. "I
have seen so much of that kind of thing in Paris.
What are you concealing from me?"
"Your tone is not filial," Sir George complained.


84 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I did not mean to tell you; I was going to spare you
the pain. I thought perhaps you would agree with me
that patience was the best line to take. But I see that
you desire to strike a decisive blow; at any cost you
long to get those impossible creatures out of the house.
Our boats are not entirely burnt as you seem to imagine
— one slender plank of safety remains. Not to
elaborate the thing too much, I may say I have had a
note from Mayfield. I should like you to read that
note and consider its inner meaning carefully. May-
field has come down from London in his car to-night,
and is staying at his old fishing quarters at Swainson's
farm. He more or less apologizes for the course that he
has taken, and reminds me that friendship must not be
mixed up with business. He does not allude to the way
in which I so flagrantly assaulted him, which strikes
me as being generous on his part"
"But he has come here to gloat over our misfortune,"
Mary cried. "I see that my instinct did not play me
false when I estimated the man."
"There you go, there you go," Sir George said testily.
"I gather from the letter that Mayfield regrets his
precipitate action. But, on the other hand, he fears
to lose his money. He wants a substantial security for
it. He says in his letter, which is an exceedingly gen-
tlemanly one, that an amicable understanding is quite
easy. He suggests that if you like to send for him and
discuss the matter, he has no doubt that affairs may be
arranged."
Mary started forward and laid a hand upon her
heart. She was conscious of a fierce pain there, as if
the organ of her being had suddenly stopped its beat-
ing. So this was the way out! She had only to smile,


DESECRATION" 85
to raise one pink finger, and the horrid miasma in the
drawing-room would fade like some unspeakable nighfr-
mare. Mary dropped into a chair shaking in every
limb.


CHAPTER XVI
A FIEECE TEMPTATION
( i A ND so that is what you mean!" Mary said
a\. slowly when at length she had found sufficient
breath to speak. "Stripped of empty phrases and
diplomatic trappings, I am to make a bargain with
Horace Mayfield to save the honour and reputation of
our house."
"Let me point out to you that the thing can be done
to-night," Sir George whispered.
"Oh, I know that. That is why Horace Mayfield
is here. He has returned on purpose. He has care-
fully calculated the place where the wound is likely to
hurt most. He knows the full extent of my pride, my
idolatry for the old house and the old name. And I
am to make a bargain with him. I am to exchange
myself for freedom from the disgrace and humiliation.
And that is a course that you seriously suggest."
"I have not said so," Sir George muttered. He
held his head down. He could not meet the flashing
blue scorn in his child's eyes. "These things happen
every day. Look at Lady Cynthia Greig. She mar-
ried Newman the financier, who started life goodness
knows where. And she was supposed to be the proud-
est girl in London."
"Oh, I know. There was some whisper of a terrible
family scandal involving a deal of money. And the
86


A FIERCE TEMPTATION 87
last time I saw Cynthia, she looked like a beautiful
white statue. There was a fierce, hard gladness in her
voice when she told me that she was dying of consump-
tion. Yet, so far as I know, Mr. Newman is an honest
man."
"Does not the same remark apply to Horace May-
field I"
"Certainly not. I judge him from your own lips.
You declared that he had robbed you of a large sum of
money, that he had deliberately worked it so that it ap-
peared as if he had been defrauded by a dishonest
servant. And all this to get me in his power. And
you did not reply to that letter of Mr. Mayfield's with
the scorn that it deserved; you waited to hear what I
had to say about it."
Sir George protested mildly that he could do noth-
ing else. But Mary was not listening. She glanced
at the familiar objects about her; she passed over to
the window and pulled up the blind. The moon was
shining peacefully upon the rose garden and tinting
with silver glory the old gates beyond, as it had done
many times the last two hundred years. It all looked
so sweet and graceful, so refined and restful. No
shadow of disgrace had ever rested on the house before,
no slander had ever made a target of the house of Dash-
wood. And now the tongues of the whole county
would be wagging. The price to pay was a terrible
one, but Mary did not hesitate. It never occurred to
her that she was deliberately estranging the very pride
that she hugged so closely to her heart, that trouble and
misfortune could be borne with dignity and fortitude,
that the gossip of the idle mattered nothing. She
reached out a hand to her father, and he understood.


88 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
He took a note from his pocket and passed it over to
the girl. It was only a few lines that Mayfield had
written, but there was no mistaking their meaning.
Mary felt that the words had been written for her alone;
very clearly the issue had been thrown into her hands.
She crossed over to a table and began to write. She
was burning and trembling from head to foot; there-
fore she was surprised to see that her handwriting had
never been bolder and firmer. Without heading or
ending of any kind she wrote this message to May-
field:—
"It is getting late now, but it is not too late to talk
business to a business man. I am sending you this at
once, so that you may get it a little after eleven. If
you will be so good as to come over to-night we may
settle matters at once."
She read the letter aloud and folded it calmly. Sir
George nodded a sort of shamefaced approval. Under
his brows he had been watching Mary with the keenest
anxiety all the time. He knew that the girl's scruples
were justified; that he ought to have torn up Mayfield's
letter and treat it with the contemptuous silence that
it deserved. But he merely smiled and nodded his
head.
"I have done it," Mary said. "God knows the price
that I am likely to pay for my sacrifice, if the sacrifice
is worthy of the occasion. Where is Slight?"
Slight replied to the bell in person. His small red
face had an angry flush; his grey hair stood up all over
his head like a clothes brush.
"Take this over to Swainson's farm," Mary said, *t
"and wait for an answer. The letter is for Mr. May-
field, as you will see, Slight."


A FIERCE TEMPTATION 89
The old butler drew back a few paces. He regarded
the letter as if it had been something noisome to sting
him; his face grew obstinate and dark and almost
murderous. Slight was a fanatic in his way, as Mary
had noticed many times.
"Beg pardon, miss," he said doggedly, "but I re-
spectfully decline to do anything of the sort."
It was no time to argue with the old servant. And
Slight was something more than an ordinary butler;
he was a friend of the family. Despite his blunt re-
fusal, his manner was as respectful as the most exact-
ing could have wished. Then he seemed to forget
everything; his passion broke out and burst all bonds.
"I've been here for more than forty years," he said.
"I was bred and born on the estate, and on the prop-
erty I hope to die. I know the Dashwoods better than
they know themselves. It's all pride, pride, and noth-
ing else matters. And it's part of your pride, Miss
Mary, to make terms with Mayfield, who is one of the
greatest rascals that ever drew breath. You may be
surprised to hear me say this, but it's true. That man
has brought all this about. He's done it for his own
ends. He's waiting for you to own that he is master of
the situation, and he dictates his terms. And that he
shall some day come here and lord it over us is one of
them. And it's your pride in the old house that is
going to play into his hands. Don't you do it, Miss
Mary, don't you let that scoundrel come here. If it
happens" ,
"Silence," Mary cried. "Slight, you are forgetting
yourself."
"Maybe," Slight responded; "but I'm not forgetting
you. And I won't take that letter; not if I lost my


90 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
place for it. Besides, I've got something else to do.
I've got to save you from yourself if possible."
Slight turned quickly and left the room. With an
exclamation of annoyance, Sir George crossed the lawn
in the direction of the stables, with a view of calling
upon one of the helpers there. By the time he had
succeeded, Mary was ready with her letter. She looked
very white and stern and proud as she stood there in
the moonlight. The fading light fell upon her neck
and shoulders and turned them to ivory. A fitting
mistress for that grand old house, truly! She was like
one of Tennyson's cold and immaculate heroines, she
had a sort of fierce satisfaction in the knowledge that
she came without a pang to the altar of the family sac-
rifice. She was quite blind to her own insensate folly;
she would have been astonished to know that she was
doing a wrong thing.
"Please take this note to Swainson's Farm for me,
Walters," she said in her sweetest manner. "It has
been forgotten, and I am exceedingly sorry to give you
all this trouble. There is no occasion for you to wait
for an answer."
Walters stammered something to the effect that it
was a pleasure, and went his way. In the distance, old
Slight was stumping off across the park with evident
determination. A shade of annoyance crossed Sir
George's face.
"We must get rid of that fellow," he said. "Really,
the insolence of these family retainers is past all bear-
ing. You will see to this to-morrow, Mary 1"
Mary made no reply. She was not in the least angry
with old Slight. She understood the old man's feel-
ings exactly; she knew his love and affection for her.


A FIERCE TEMPTATION 91
Sir George's vapid attempts at conversation almost
drove her mad. She wanted to be alone to think. She
passed into the drawing-room, muttering that she had
forgotten something. The lamps were still burning,
the great bronze clock chimed the hour of twelve.
The dreadful object on the satin couch had fallen
asleep; his shock head was thrown back, and from his
lips came a long and regular snore. A poisonous scent
of foul tobacco filled the air. Surely no sacrifice would
be too great to get rid of this, Mary told herself. May-
field would come along presently like some malignant
fairy; he would wave his wand, and this terrible in-
vasion would disappear as if it had never been at all.
But Mayfield would demand his price. Of that
Mary had no doubt. For a long time now the girl had
known that he cared for her. He had made no effort
to disguise his feelings from the time that they had met
in Paris two years ago, when Mary was paying one of
her visits to her father in the French capital. And
Mayfield was of the class of men who always get their
own way. Sooner or later Mary would be absolute
mistress of Dashwood Hall, and it was no mean thing
for a man to have the chance of sharing such a home
with his wife.
But the cost of it all; the sacrifice entailed! From
the bottom of her heart Mary loathed and despised the
man who was plotting to make her his wife. She knew
him to be an utterly unscrupulous rascal, a fitting in-
strument to sway the dishonour of the Dashwoods. A
few days more of this unspeakable degradation and
Mayfield would be powerless. It was only a matter of
making the neighbours talk, of tittle-tattle at tea tables.
And in a few days it would all be forgotten. Other


92 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
people had gone through the same humiliation and had
come out of it as if nothing had happened, but they
were not Dashwoods. . . . A long snore came from
the figure on the couch, and the man stirred uneasily.


CHAPTER XVi
NOT QUITE TOO LATE
MARY seemed to flame from head to foot. The
momentary hesitation passed. No, it was quite
impossible to support this kind of thing for the best
part of a week; the thought of slanderous, wagging
tongues was unendurable. At any cost these creatures
must be removed; even the servants must know noth-
ing. So far as Slight was concerned, he was absolutely
to be trusted. Mary's mind was made up for good
and all.
Time was passing more quickly than she knew. As
she stood there the clock chimed the half-hour after
midnight. A few minutes later and Mary heard her
father calling her. She understood him to say that
Mayfield had arrived.
"Let him come here," the girl said independently.
"I am quite ready."
Sir George shuffled off again in the direction of the
library, where Mayfield stood on the mat before the
fireplace smoking a cigarette. There was not the slight-
est suggestion of triumph about him, his face was calm
and set. He looked like some under-secretary who is
about to read statistics to a House of bored listeners.
He had left his eye-glass behind him, so that the cynical
expression was absent.
"She's in the drawing-room," Sir George said. TTi'a
93


U THE NETHER MILLSTONE
manner was almost cringing. "She — she prefers to
discuss the matter with you alone. Perhaps she thinks
that you are more likely to listen to her than to me —
Mayfield."
"She's right there," Mayfield said almost brutally.
"It is a matter between ourselves. Sorry to put you
to all this inconvenience, Dashwood, but there was no
other way of teaching the lesson. But you need not
worry, half an hour will see the whole matter settled,
and even your servants will not be any the wiser. I ar-
ranged the thing so that you should have the maximum
of experience at the minimum of inconvenience."
Sir George muttered something to the effect that his
companion was very thoughtful. There was not an
atom of fight left in him, and he took no heed of any-
thing but his own personal comfort. The sooner May-
field and Mary came to an understanding and those cat-
tle were cleared out of the house, the better. After
that Sir George could go to bed.
Without undue haste or eagerness, Mayfield passed
into the drawing-room. There was just a sardonic
touch in his smile as he noticed the snoring hog on the
yellow satin lounge. He quite understood why a sight
like that could touch Mary's pride to the quick.
Strange what queer pawns in the game of life a clever
man had to use at times! Mary was standing in the
window-frame looking out into the night. Everything
seemed so still and peaceful; there was no jarring note
save the snore of the man in possession. Mayfield
just touched Mary on the arm and she turned. Her
face flushed for an instant, and then it became deadly
pale again.
"Not in there," she said, "I cannot breathe in the


NOT QUITE TOO LATE 95
house to-night. Do you know what I should have done
had this happened a century or two ago?"
Mayfield did not know, but he could give a pretty
shrewd guess as he glanced at the steely blue glitter in
Mary's eyes. A certain pride of possession thrilled
him.
"I think you know," Mary went on. "I should
have asked you here to discuss the matter, to appeal
to your better nature. And when I failed I should
have killed you first and myself afterwards. I could
do it now if I had the weapon to my hand."
Mayfield nodded. Far better to let Mary talk her-
self out, he told himself cynically. She was not the
sort of girl to yield without a struggle, she was no
frightened child to sue for terms. But in the letter she
had written to Mayfield she had sounded the note of sur-
render. He was here now as conqueror; to see her
walk out with all the honours of war. And surely she
was worth all the strategy if any woman was, the tall,
fair beauty with those flashing eyes and the skin of
alabaster glistening in the rays of the moonlight. A
prize worth the winning, a daughter of the gods, if ever
there was one.
"But these methods are out of date," Mary went on
in the same bitter strain. "I am told that they do
things in different fashion to-day. You have done me
the honour to ask me to share your future life and I
refused the offer."
"Why?" Mayfield asked. "My family is equally
as good as your own."
"I know it. But noblesse oblige. You are what
you are. And so you planned and plotted for this;
with diabolical cunning you saw where you could strike


96 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
me in a fatal spot. You came here to-night in a po-
sition to make your own terms."
"Not quite," Mayfield said quietly. "There is an-
other way for you. So far as I understand your father
is in a position to make his holding sure in a few days.
The house is large and the presence of a few guests,
however undesirable, makes little difference. It is, I
admit, not a nice thing to have one of the great un-
washed smoking shag tobacco in the drawing-room, but
it is only a matter of days. The matter is in your
hands for you to decide as you please. I am not going
to coerce you."
Mary laughed scornfully. The mirth sounded
harshly against the silence of the night; the man on
the satin cushions stirred and made a gurgling noise
in his throat. Mary's mood suddenly changed and she
shuddered. She was bitterly conscious of her com-
plete inability to do anything. She had expected May-
field to take his triumph openly; she was just beginning
to understand what a strong and dangerous foe he could
be.
"You know how to gloss it," the girl said. "But
there is going to be no tacit ignoring of the real truth
between you and me. You have brought this all about
to force my hand. You have calculated upon my pride
of race, and my pride of place. You know — nobody
better — what suffering this is likely to afford me.
And you are in a position to remove the pain and the
humiliation with the stroke of a pen."
"Yes, I could do that," Mayfield said, speaking as
if the suggestion threw an entirely new light on the
situation. "As a matter of fact the thing is absurdly
simple. I have only to send a telegram to my lawyer


NOT QUITE TOO LATE 97
— one of your servants could take it to Longtown and
despatch it even at this late hour. My lawyer could
come down by the morning mail, getting here before six
o'clock, and send those fellows packing. Then the in-
cident would be forgotten as one forgets an unpleasant
dream. You see, my resource is practically without
a limit. I can meet you in any way that you please."
"I have felt that for some time," said Mary coldly.
"And in return for this — kindness!"
"Surely there is no occasion for me to repeat my
conditions! Besides, 'conditions' is not a pretty word
to use in dealing with a lady. You will not find your
bonds irksome, you will not find in me a very exacting
lover. It can go out to the world that there is an en-
gagement between us and in due course a marriage
will follow."
Mayfield spoke quietly enough, but his looks belied
his tone. There was a fierce volcano under that placid
exterior, a strong, consuming passion, and a will to lead
Mary when once Mayfield had the power over her.
Some instinct told the girl this.
"It sounds prosaic enough," she said. "I suppose
I must take you at your word. And yet all the time
I know perfectly well that I am doing myself a great
wrong in the eyes of God and man. I am not so
strong as I think — I am not strong enough to place
my happiness before humiliation. I must have time
to think this over."
"Take as much time as you like. I will come again
to-morrow, if you please. You shall not throw it in
my teeth afterwards that I have hurried you in any
way."
Mary sighed helplessly. The man was so strong


98 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
and she was very, very weak. She might have gained
the full advantage of her pledged word and broken it
deliberately afterwards. It was the code of honour
that Mayfield would have possessed himself if he had
seen any advantage by so doing. "And suppose I
play you false?" Mary asked.
"You will never do that . I am not in the least
afraid; I trust you implicitly."
Mary turned back, baffled and defeated at every turn.
The night seemed to have grown suddenly chill, for she
shivered as she made her way into the drawing-room.
It wanted but a feather in the scale now, to make up
her mind for good and all. Her eyes were drawn by
magnetic attraction to the sprawling figure on the
cushions. The harsh note smote her like a thong.
"Look at him," Mayfield whispered, "does it not
fill you with pain? And there he is likely to remain
till the sight of him drives you beyond endurance.
One word from you and the loathsome episode is past.
Why do you not say the word and finish it?"
The words seemed to sink into Mary's soul. Ralph
Darnley flashed into her mind, but she put his image
resolutely aside. She pointed towards the door.
"You had better go," she said huskily, "go before
I change my mind again. You will find some tele-
gram forms in the silver case on the library table.
Need I say any more than that? You can come back
and show me what you have written."
Mayfield bowed and departed without showing the
faintest indication of his victory. Mary staggered
across to the window, with her hands to her dry, hot
head. A shadow seemed to rise from the gravel of
the terrace, a shadow with a white face framed in grey


NOT QUITE TOO LATE 99
hair, the form of Lady Dashwood, limping a little, but
otherwise strong and resolute.
"You have been there long?" Mary asked. "You
have been listening."
"Yes, yes," Lady Dashwood said in a strange thrill-
ing whisper, "listening, and waiting for my chance.
It is not too late yet, my child. Thank God, I am in
time. You must not do it, you must not heed, for the
sacrifice would be all in vain. Come, let me tell you
what I mean. You are not used to dealing with
scoundrels — I am!"
15631 :>B


CHAPTER XVI
THE UNFINISHED WOBD
MARY placed her hand to her head in utter be-
wilderment . The world seemed to have
changed in the last few hours. Hitherto, life at Dash-
wood had progressed on oiled springs, calm and peace-
ful. There was the regular decently appointed day,
with its routine of refined duties, the dinner and the
pleasant contemplation of placid evenings. Mary had
swung like a proud planet in the still atmosphere.
And now everything had passed into the wildest topsy-
turveydom.
Even Lady Dashwood had altered. The quiet, self-
contained woman, whose very restfulness had been one
of her greatest charms! The sweet expression of her
face had vanished; she looked aged and anxious, almost
fierce.
"What does it all mean?" Mary asked. "What has
come to everything and everybody? It seems almost
impossible to believe that here at Dashwood"
"Trouble comes; but trouble comes everywhere. It
enters the palace as easily as the cottage, my child.
And my fault, all of it. But come outside and talk to
me. Mary, you must have nothing to do with that
man!"
100


THE UNFINISHED WORD 101
"But how do you know?" Mary asked. "I — I
am not yet certain myself. Who could have told you
anything \"
"But you are certain, child. You had made up
your mind. The misery of your face tells me so. And
you sent a note to that man. Would you have done
so unless you had made up your mind to surren-
der?"
Mary looked down, and the red of shame flamed into
her face. Come what would, she could not turn to
either side and escape humiliation.
"Slight told me," Lady Dashwood went on. "He
came to me at once. My dear, you must not be angry
with old Slight. He worships the very ground you
walk on; he would lay down his life for you. And he
knows everything; I shrewdly suspect that he knows
even more than I do. Slight is something more than
a servant, he is a valued friend of the family. And
he came to me as I have said. He tells me that Horace
Mayfield has got his wicked fingers in here; that he
has plotted to make you his wife. That must not be,
Mary, that must never take place. Surely you can defy
that man, can order him out of the house."
"I could," Mary said slowly, "I am not afraid of
him. As yet I have not pledged my word. Still, I
am quite helpless. Look into the drawing-room and
see for yourself. . . . That is what we have to
put up with, three of them for the best part of a week.
By eight o'clock to-morrow morning the servants will
know everything; before the day is out we will be the
talk of the county. I could not show my face after
that. The degradation would make me old before my
time. It is not as if I cared nothing for Dashwood.


102 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
I love every stick and stone of it, the place is part of
my being. It was your house for nearly forty years.
Can't you understand my feelings?"
"I ought to," Lady Dashwood said bitterly. "It
was I who first fostered those feelings. I tended them;
day and night I watered them and fed them till they
grew like a plant. With the lesson of the past before
my eyes, I encouraged your pride. And now it is the
master passion of your life. Everything has to be
sacrificed to the old name and the old place. As for
me, I should not hesitate for a single moment."
"And never know the feeling of happiness again!"
Mary cried.
"Oh, my dear! happiness and I parted years ago.
The old never expect happiness; there are too many
ghosts, too many gaps, and too many memories. Peace
is the greatest possession that one can expect at my time
of life. And if you do this vile thing, then I shall
have to go down to the grave without it. I am a wicked
old woman; I am suffering now because I dare not tell
the truth; but rather than this wrong shall be done, I
will speak, though I made a death-bedside promise not
to do so. Suppose I told you that you have less right
at Dashwood than I have!"
The last words came with a fierce whisper that struck
a cold chill to Mary's heart. Had Lady Dashwood sud-
denly lost her reason? But that white quivering face
had no dull insanity upon it; the dark eyes were full
of horror but not of madness.
"What do you mean?" Mary asked.
"I — I cannot tell you. I was sorry to say as
much. Do you suppose that Horace Mayfield loves
you in the ordinary sense of the word i"


THE UNFINISHED WOED 103
"I believe he does, if that has anything to do with
the question."
"Dear child, that man is incapable of any such feel-
ing. Love is a sacred thing. Horace Mayfield is a
cold-blooded and designing scoundrel. Your beauty
may inflame him, but there is no love behind. He cal-
culates that it will be no bad thing to call this his
home. He plays upon your sinful pride as a master
plays the violin. He knows that you would do
anything, even to marrying him, to keep the scandal
away."
"It is the only way," Mary said; "Horace Mayfield
is too strong for us. What is that?"
Something stirred in the bushes close by, a crooning
song was but half audible.
"It is your old nurse, Patience," Lady Dashwood
explained. "She was sitting with me to-night when
Slight came over hot-foot with the news. Patience
has one of her lucid moods to-night. And Patience
knows everything. The secret is hers, too."
"I am tired of this mystery," Mary said; "why is
Patience Ray hiding there?"
A thin, bent figure emerged from the bushes; a dark
withered face in a frame of thin grey hair looked out.
It was an old woman, toothless and haggard, yet the
eyes were sharp and shrewd now. For some years
past the aged creature had been suffering from decay,
but there were moments when her wit was as sharp
and shrewd as ever.
"I couldn't stay away, dearie," the thin piping voice
said. "It was like a mercy that God gave me back
my mind to-night. The wicked old woman may do a
lot of good before she dies yet. Don't you do it, dearie.


104 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Tell him that the proper owner is coming back to Dash-
wood, and that your face is your only dowry. Because
I've seen the heir, as I knew that I should do before I
die."
"What is she talking about?" Mary asked in utter
astonishment. "Patience, explain yourself."
But the old woman shook her head and refused to
say any more. She muttered to herself something
about disgrace and the house of Dashwood.
"Smoke the rats out!" she cried shrilly and sud-
denly, "smoke them out! It is the only way to clear
Dashwood of such vermin. Put the match to the fag-
got and burn them out. That's what I would do if
I had my way. And to think that it should come to
this after all these years. Mistress, mistress, what a
couple of wicked old women we are."
"We are that," Lady Dashwood said mournfully.
She did not chide the wild speaker's words as Mary
had expected. "Our sin is going to find us out, Pa-
tience. Mary, I implore you to do what I ask you.
I implore you to spare me the pain of a full confes-
sion. Send the man about his business and have none
of him."
There was passionate entreaty in Lady Dashwood's
tone, so that Mary was troubled in more ways than
one. The heart pulled her one way, pride and reason
another. And behind it all was a haunting sense that
something was terribly wrong here. There was some
dreadful meaning underlying the wild words of old
Patience. As Mary stood there, cold and dispassionate
in the moonlight, Horace Mayfield emerged with a tele-
gram form in his hand.
"I have been some little time," he explained, "the


106 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Burn Horace Mayfield! Burn him and the other ras-
cals in a pile together!"
Mayfield started, he seemed as if about to say some-
thing, then apparently he changed his mind, and ig-
nored the speaker altogether.
"As you please," he said, "I shall be glad to have
your views on the matter."


CHAPTEE XVII
BREATHING TIME
i IT HAD no intention of seeing you," Lady Dash-
M. wood said. '" To think that you are the son of
my dearest friend! It is well that she died before
she knew. I came here to see Mary, because I knew
exactly how you had played on her feelings. For
purposes of your own, you have been diving into the
family history. Many things you have discovered, but
many things remain a secret to this day. Clever as
you are, you have no inkling of the shameful truth.
If I chose to speak now, I could disperse several of
your pleasant dreams. I took an oath by the bedside
of a dying man to say nothing, and I have regretted
my promise ever since. A promise like that is a sacred
thing; to break it is a deadly sin. Yet there are some
promises that God never intends one to keep. Mine is
one of them. So long as I alone suffer, it matters lit-
tle. But when others are to suffer for my silence, others
whom I love more than I love myself, then it is time
to break the vow and let the world know everything.
By my silence I doom yonder beloved child to lifelong
misery. If you cared for her"
"Pardon me," Mayfield interrupted, "that is what
I am trying to prove. My methods may not commend
themselves to you, but I hold that everything is fair in
love and"
107


108 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"Hold," Lady Dashwood cried; "you pollute the
word with your tongue. What can you know of love
in its better and higher sense? Would you be stand-
ing here to-night if Mary were a pauper instead of
heiress to Dashwood Hall?"
Mayfleld had no reply for the moment. Clever man
of the world as he was, the question found him dumb.
He could only fall back on the commonplace.
"Why put an impossible case?" he asked. "If it
comes to that, why are you here at all? Miss Mary
and myself have come to an understanding— the un-
derstanding will be complete as soon as I have dis-
patched this telegram. We are going to stifle the voice
of scandal between us. Where is the young footman
who was going to take the message to Longtown?"
"The message is not going to Longtown," Lady
Dashwood whispered hoarsely. "I can guess what
that message means to my beloved child. Mary, fetch
your father here. The hour has come when God tells
me that I may break my word and speak."
The flimsy telegram form crumpled in Mayfield's
grip. His face had turned deadly white with baffled
fury. He fought down the anger in his heart and
forced a smile to his lips.
"I am afraid we are all going too far," he said.
"Let us wait till the morning. Lady Dashwood gives
me no credit for magnanimity, I know. I am going
to prove that she wrongs me. After all, I have other
resources. There are other ways than this."
He tore up the telegram deliberately, and dropped
the fragments on the terrace. He must conciliate the
old woman at any cost. It would not be difficult, once
she had gone, to get Mary to pledge her word. Deep


BREATHING TIME 109
down in his heart, Mayfield was angrily wondering
what secret Lady Dashwood had to disclose. He could
tell by the expression of her face that it was something
dramatic. He turned to Mary who was regarding the
fragments of the telegram with anxious eyes.
"I am afraid I do not understand," she said, " I am
so worn out and tired that my brain seems incapable
of grasping anything. I thought that that telegram
was going to be the means of removing those men and
averting scandal. If there is any other way of sav-
ing our house from such a calamity"
"That can be managed," Mayfield smiled, "noth-
ing easier. Come with me a moment and I will show
you how it is done. Perhaps Lady Dashwood would
also like to see"
"No, I am. quite satisfied for the present," Lady
Dashwood said coldly. "Thank God, I have been able
to save the situation. I understand that you are stay-
ing at Swainson's Farm for to-night. As the farm is
on my way home, I shall be glad of your company so
far, as there is something that I wish to say to you.
I will wait for you at the bottom of the rose garden.
Come along, Patience."
The old bent woman muttered something and shook
her head. She stood there with her cunning, beady
eyes fixed on the noble fagade of the old house. There
broke from her a dry chuckle, as if her inmost thoughts
were not displeasing.
"You let me alone, my lady," she said. "It isn't
often as my mind is as clear and bright as it is to-
night. And don't you worry about Miss Mary. I'm
an old woman, and I'm not good for much, but I can
prevent that."


110 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
A haggard, shaking hand was pointed to the entrance
of the drawing-room where Mary's figure stood out un-
der the soft light of the shaded lamps. Then Patience
turned away and plunged into the bushes. Again and
again Lady Dashwood called softly, but no answer came.
It was peaceful and silent once more under the light of
the waning moon.
Mary had passed back into the drawing-room with
Mayfield. The girl's head was in a whirl. At the
same time she could not forget Lady Dashwood's warn-
ing and the strange hints she had dropped. Mayfield
had been impressed also, or he would not have been in
such haste to tear up the telegram. Why was he afraid
of Lady Dashwood? How could he tell that there was
something under the surface?
"Perhaps you had better explain to me," the girl
said. "The events of the past hour have puzzled
me. You went to the library to procure a telegram
form. You were going to send a message to your so-
licitor asking him to be here in the morning with
authority to remove those men. As they are your
creatures, is it not possible for you to get rid of
them?"
"No," Mayfield explained, "these people represent
the sheriff. My solicitor is acting for me in the mat-
ter, and there would be certain formalities to go through
before I could take matters out of his hands. But there
are ways of keeping such matters quiet that you little
dream of. . . . Wake up."
The snoring creature on the yellow cushions turned
over uneasily at a vigorous application of Mayfield's
foot and opened his eyes. He sat up presently and
demanded to know why he had been interferred with.


BREATHING TIME 111
There was no civility in the man's manner; he evi-
dently had no sympathy with misfortune.
"Speak in a proper manner," Mayfield said sternly.
"I happen to know that you will be out of this house in
a few hours. There is nothing to grin about, fellow.
I suppose that you would not have the slightest ob-
jection to earning £5?"
"So long as it's all right, mister," the other growled,
"but if you've got some little game on and think that
you are going to get me out of the house"
"Nothing of the kind. Do I look like that kind of
person?"
"Never can tell, mister. I've had the dodge tried
on with me by them what has handles to their names.
Still, there is no objection to hearing what you've got
to say."
"That is very nice and obliging of you," Mayfield
said grimly. "I am going to make no effort to under-
mine your virtue. We do not want the servants to
know who you are or what you are doing. There's
£5 cash for you if you can manage this. I'm told it is
often done. What do you suggest?"
As he spoke, Mayfield played thoughtfully with some
sovereigns. The big man grinned.
"Now you are speaking fair," he said. "If people
meet us all right and don't regard us as convicts or
bushrangers, why, we can meet other people. The three
of us have been in many a good house together. The
last time we came down to go over the place to give a
proper estimate for electric light. You've only got to
look wise and potter about with a foot rule and a note-
book, and there you are! We can pretend to be measur-
ing outside when the servants come down in the morn-


112 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
ing, and I daresay Sir George can arrange for our food
to be given us somewhere handy. Bless your life,
there's many a way of doing it, if you'll give me the
brass for the other two chaps and settle it at once."
Mayfield handed over a little pile of sovereigns and
the man shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen.
Mayfield smiled at the success of his errand.
"There," he said; " I fancy that is all right. Only
you must tell Sir George exactly what has happened
so that there is no confusion in the morning. Sir
George is thinking of having the electric light installed.
The men are here to take measurements. They will
keep the joke to themselves. You ought to be very
much obliged to me."
But no protestation of gratitude came from Mary's
lips. The light of a great scorn was still in her eyes.
"Lies and prevarication and deceit," she said. "I
seem to have found myself in a very network of false-
hood. The poorest girl on the estate is happier than
I am. It may be as you say, it may be that we shall
escape the tongue of scandal. But what are you going
to do — how long is the deception to go on i"
"That depends on yourself," Mayfield said coolly.
"You can defy me if you like, and take the conse-
quences. But it shall not be said that I have treated
you unfairly. That is why I am giving you another
night to think the matter over. Now go and tell Sir
George what has happened."
Mary turned on her heel and left the room without
another word. There was a sinister smile on May-
field's lips as he watched the girl's drooping figure.
"The thing will pass as far as she is concerned," he
muttered. "And now to tackle Lady Dashwood and
have matters out with her."


CHAPTER XVIII
A FLAMING SWOED
MAEY dragged herself as far as the library. Sir
George was pacing up and down the room, try-
ing to soothe his nerves with a cigar.
"What a time you have been!" he said impatiently.
"Why did you not return before, knowing how anxious
I should be? Mayfield came for a telegram form, so
I presume he has made matters right with you? Did
Walters take it?"
"So far as I know, Walters has gone back to bed,"
Mary explained. "The telegram was not sent, for
reasons best known to Mr. Mayfield. There is no oc-
casion to be angry. It was no fault of mine — and has
nothing to do with me. Mr. Mayfield suggested that
I should have another night to think it over. It is not
his code of honour"
"Code of honour! The fellow hasn't got one!
There is no trusting him! And now everybody will
know of this disgrace of ours."
"They won't. Mr. Mayfield has arranged all that.
He seems to be clever at this kind of thing. But per-
haps I had better explain."
The anger and irritation died out of Sir George's
face as he listened. He expressed no feeling of dis-
gust or abhorrence at the trick to be played upon his
household; on the contrary, a suppressed chuckle broke
8 113


114 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
from him, a chuckle instantly smothered as he noticed
the white scorn on Mary's face.
"I beg your pardon, my dear. Of course, it is all
very wrong, but in the circumstances, what else could
we do? I have not the slightest doubt that Mayfield
will make it all right to-morrow. And now we must go
to bed."
Mary turned aside and went wearily in the direc-
tion of the hall. Usually, she gave her father a warm
and dutiful kiss before retiring, but she really felt that
she could not do so to-night. She had always freely
expressed her contempt for tears as a woman's weapon
and as a solace in the hour of trouble. But the tears
rose to her eyes now as she thought of her father and
the sorry part he had played. It seemed almost in-
credible that the head of the house of Dashwood could
act so meanly.
And she herself! How much better was she behav-
ing in the hour of trial? The girl's face flamed as she
thought of it. In her heart of hearts she knew that
the proper thing would have been to face the matter
and see it out to the end. Yet her pride had impelled
her to make an appalling sacrifice to silence tongues
that did not matter in the least. What would Ralph
Darnley have thought of it all had he known? How
strange that Ralph should come into Mary's mind now,
she told herself, strange that she should revert to him
when danger threatened.
"You need not wait on me to-night, Kelly," Mary
told her maid. "It is so very late and I want to be
alone. Have you been asleep in my chair all this
time?"
The pretty little maid admitted that she had. She


A FLAMING SWOED 115
went her way presently and Mary began slowly to un-
dress. But tired as she was she felt that somehow sleep
to-night could not be for her. Usually, she dropped off
directly her head touched the pillow; the silence of the
old house was very soothing. But not to-night, for the
place seemed full of weird noises, the noises that the
invalid hears when pain prevents slumber. Mary lay
there, but she could not sleep. It seemed to her that
somebody was moving about the corridor. Surely she
heard a footstep, and something like the scratch of a
match.
Mary rose and slipped on a dressing-gown. Candle
in hand, she opened the door. And, surely enough, she
was not mistaken. A dark figure was there, a figure
that muttered and crooned, as if seeking something.
Mary approached the intruder.
"Patience!" she exclaimed, "what are you doing
here? And how did you get into the house? I
thought that you had returned to the dower house with
her ladyship."
Patience looked up and smiled in a weak, watery
kind of way. She was not in the least afraid, and
there was just a suggestion of slyness in her aged, faded
eyes.
"I forgot something, my dearie," she said. "There
was something that I made up my mind to do and then
I forgot clean about it. It was one of my good nights,
and my head was as clear as yours. Her ladyship told
me everything. But she didn't tell you everything be-
cause she dared not. Ay, we are two sinful old women
for certain."
"Never mind about that," Mary said soothingly,
"I daresay it will all come right in the morning. But


116 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
you should not have come here like this. You had
better lie down on the couch in my dressing-room and
go to sleep."
"But there was something that I wanted to do," the
old woman whined. "I thought of a way of saving
you, of saving everybody. And then it clean went out
of my head."
Patience wrung her hands and the tears stood in her
faded eyes. She appeared to be deeply distressed about
something. She stopped suddenly, and stood alert and
listening.
"Did you hear that?" she demanded. "They are
in the kitchen. All three of them together 1 I
saw them just now, but they did not see me. They
were laughing together, and one of them had gold,
which he was dividing with the rest. And they have
come here to bring disgrace on this noble house. And
there was I standing close by with a way to get rid of
them in my head. . . . There was something that
I wanted, and I couldn't find it. So I came to look,
and I forget what it was. Such a beautiful plan, too,
so very simple and yet perfect. My dearie, can't you
help me to think what it was? If you can only help
me we shall get rid of these men, and the trouble and
disgrace will vanish, never to return. It isn't often
that I get a good idea in this poor head of mine, and
to forget it like that is cruel, cruel!"
Patience wept a little, and began to wring her hands
again. Mary's old nurse had been in this state now
for some years, though there were times, for longer or
shorter periods, when she was in possession of all her
faculties. She was not in the least dangerous; as a
privileged old servant she had been allowed to wander


A FLAMING SWOKD 117
from one house to the other at her pleasure. But
Mary had never seen her so wild and excited before,
and the thing troubled her.
"What do you know of our trouble?" she asked.
"Her ladyship told me. It was something to do
with some money that Sir George owed to Mr. May-
field, and which those men had come to get. And her
ladyship could not help you, for Mr. Vincent has made
her sell all her jewels already."
Mary fairly started. Was it possible that she was
on the track of another family trouble, some new and
black disgrace of which she had hitherto known noth-
ing? It seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a
weak-minded old woman in this, and yet —
"Who is this Mr. Vincent that you speak of?"
Mary asked.
"Mr. Vincent — that is all I can tell you. He is
young and handsome, and yet so wicked and un-
scrupulous. And it is to prevent him from speaking
out that my lady has sold all her jewels. They are
not hers to sell, but they have been disposed of all the
same. I really do know who Mr. Vincent is, and why
he has such a hold over her ladyship, but something
gets in the way of my brain and I can't think what I
ought to say. And I'm so tired."
The old woman suddenly dropped into a chair and
began to whine like a child that has walked too far.
Mary was accustomed to these sudden changes and
knew how to humour them. She fairly lifted the old
woman from her seat and led her to the dressing-room.
Obedient as a child now, Patience lay down and closed
her eyes. A moment later and she had fallen into a
placid sleep. Mary regarded her with eyes of envy.


118 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"After all she is better off than I am," she mur-
mured, "and her troubles are nearly over. What a
blessing it is to be able to sleep when you want to!
And here am I on the brink of a fresh and darker mys-
tery than my own! I begin to understand now why
Lady Dashwood looks so haggard and worried. And
what does this Vincent know, who can blackmail my
poor old second mother in this way! All the family
jewels, over £30,000. Oh, how sad it is to be almost
without a friend in the world! And yet Ralph Darn-
ley promised me"
The colour rose to Mary's face as she pronounced
Ralph's name. It was the one reflection that sweetened
her thoughts as she lay on her bed waiting for the sleep
that would not come. She turned from side to side;
she could see by the saffron gleam on the blind that the
summer dawn was close at hand.
Then at last she fell off into a kind of fitful slumber
that was a mass of confused and hideous dreams. She
was in some vague, indefinite kind of trouble, tangled
up with a scheme of Mayfield's, and across a yawning
gulf Ralph Darnley was holding out his hands to save
her. And then it seemed to her that Ralph kissed her,
and that she did not in the least mind it. After that
they drifted apart again, and once more the baleful in-
fluence of Mayfield was uppermost. They were falling
together down a deep pit with flames at the bottom; the
fumes were so great that Mary could not breathe.
She woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for
breath. The whole thing had been so vivid that Mary
could not realise for a moment that she was sitting up
in bed. Yet there she was, with the early morning


A FLAMING SWORD 119
sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her
hand to her throat and fought for the breath that would
not come.
Surely there must be something wrong here! Why
was the room so insufferable, where did that stifling
air come from? Then a draught of air came from
somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled
with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. There was no
longer room for doubt. With a quick cry Mary sprang
from her bed, for the Hall was on fire!


CHAPTER XIX
A GUARDIAN ANGEL
THERE was no longer any question as to the house
being on fire. Very rapidly Mary proceeded to
don her clothing; her idea afterwards was to alarm the
house. The girl was not conscious of any feeling of
fear, though she was trembling from head to foot. She
had had but a poor night's rest, and the strain of the
previous day had tried her. And now as she huddled
into her clothing, she was conscious of a kind of relief,
the feeling that if the house was burnt down a way had
been found out of her troubles.
There was an emotion almost of gladness in the
thought. But the pride of race and place came back,
and Mary hastened to her task. Dashwood Hall must
be saved at any cost — the historic house must not be
allowed to perish. There were pictures and works of
art there that had almost a national interest.
Mary flung the door open and strode boldly into the
corridor, but she did not gain a yard before she was
driven back by a dense mass of suffocating smoke. The
corridor was filled with it, thick, black, and overpower-
ing. It was absolutely impossible to force a way
through that blinding cloud. Mary screamed at the
top of her voice, but no reply came. Already her braiu
began to reel, already her lungs almost ceased to work.
120


A GUARDIAN ANGEL 121
There was only one thing for it — to shut the door and
seek for some other exit.
Back in the bedroom the air was comparatively pure.
The window looked on to a green court with a high
hedge of clipped yew trees beyond. It was one of the
quietest and most shady rooms in the house, and Mary
had chosen it for that very reason. In the winter she
occupied another apartment. But its very quietness
frightened the girl now. As she looked out of the
small diamond casement in the great stone mullion, she
realised that it would be impossible for any grown
figure to squeeze through. She might have taken the
risk of jumping down on to the grass, but the bars of
the mullion window were too close together to permit
of the attempt. And already the draught from the
open window was drawing the smoke into the room.
Listening intently, Mary could hear the sound of
shouts and the tramping of feet; now, she caught the
echo of horses' hoofs as mounted messengers galloped
down the drive. She shouted aloud, but nobody ap-
peared to hear her. The thick high hedge of yews
seemed to smother her voice. It was dreadful to be
caught in a trap like that, but Mary resolved to meet
her fate bravely.
Probably the volume of smoke would cause uncon-
sciousness long before the dreaded fire reached its vic-
tim. There would be no pain or suffering. It seemed
to Mary that she had heard people speak of such things
before. Well, she would die alone, and nobody would
know how the end had come.
Not quite alone! Suddenly Mary remembered that
old Patience was in the dressing-room and looked
towards the couch there.


132 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
She rubbed her eyes in astonishment. Patience was
no longer there. Perhaps she had not been able to
sleep, probably she had aroused herself very early and
gone about her business. At any rate, she was not in
the dressing-room, and Mary felt glad of it. The hor-
ror of the situation was lessened by the absence of the
demented woman.
Greatly daring, Mary opened the window and
screamed for help once more. She could hear yells and
calls, and presently the steady throb of what she knew
to be an engine. But all the time the smoke was grow-
ing thicker and denser in the room. So far Mary
could not hear the crackling of flames, she was not
sensible of the fact that the room was getting any
warmer. There was always the hope that the fire
might be subdued before it got a good hold of the build-
ing. A great deal of timber had gone to the building
of Dashwood Hall, but the walls were of the most solid
masonry, and it was quite possible for the fire to burn
out a room or two without going any farther.
Something like an hour passed, an hour that seemed
like eternity. The shouting and the tramping and
the thudding were still going on. Then came a lull
for the moment, and it seemed to Mary that somebody
was calling her by name, somebody inside the house.
She waited a moment, thinking perhaps that it was
her excited fancy, but once more the call came, and
this time from the corridor.
Mary thrilled as she heard the voice. At last they
had discovered her absence. She opened the door and
called in reply. The smoke was thick as ever, but
there was no sign of flame. Out of the dense whirl-
ing mass a figure emerged and staggered breathlessly


A GUARDIAN ANGEL 123
into the bedroom. It was the figure of a man with his
handkerchief pressed to his mouth. He gasped for
breath and closed the door behind him. His face was
blackened and grimed with smoke, but Mary had no
difficulty in recognising Ralph Darnley.
"Again," she said unsteadily, "you are like a
guardian angel to me. This is the third time that you
have come to save my life. Had they forgotten me?"
"It was all a misunderstanding," Ralph gasped.
"In the confusion it was assumed that everybody was
out of the house. Somebody professed to have seen
you going off in the direction of the dower house.
My landlord woke me up, saying that the Hall was
on fire. And Lady Dashwood sent a message to ask
if you were all right, and then we understood. It
occurred to me that it would be impossible for you
to escape by way of the window, and whilst the rest
were discussing the best thing to be done, I made a
dash for it. The house is full of the most blinding,
suffocating smoke, but I can see no flames anywhere."
"And so you took your life in your hands like this
for me?" Mary faltered. There was something almost
of affection in the eyes which she turned on the stalwart
figure by her side. "I was actually thinking of you
at the very moment that you appeared. But how did
you manage to find the way to this wing so easily?"
"I suppose by instinct," Ralph said. The ques-
tion seemed to confuse him. "How brave and calm
you are! But we are wasting time here. Mary, there
is only one way for it. We shall have to fight our way
through that smoke. There is no other chance. It
will be quite a blindfold labour. But perhaps you
could pick your way"


124 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"In the dark, with my eyes shut," Mary cried.
"If I am to die, then at least I shall die in good com-
pany, with a brave, true man by my side. I shall
not perish alone."
"You will not perish at all," Ralph said between
his teeth. "You are reserved for a better and a
sweeter fate than that, my darling. Heaven is going
to rescue us for one another, despite your pride and
despite anything that Mayfield may do. But these
heroics are out of place in the face of the common
danger. You have water here and towels?"
"Plenty of both in the dressing-room," Mary said.
"What do you want them for?"
But Ralph made no reply. He had a stern task
before him, and no time to waste in words. He took
a couple of the largest towels and dipped them in
the water jugs. Then he wrung out the moisture and
wrapped the cold wet fabric round Mary's head.
After he had led her to the door, he did the same for
himself. Then he took Mary by the hand, and whis-
pered that she was to lead the way.
The task was no easy one, well as Mary knew every
inch of the house. She felt her way to the top of the
stairs at length, but her head seemed like bursting now.
Still, the pressure of Ralph's hand gave her courage.
With him by her side, she felt like daring anything.
As presently the air began to grow cooler and sweeter,
it seemed to Mary that she was conscious of the scent
of the roses.
Then the cloth was pulled from her face, and she
felt the full delight of her lungs again. A great
crowd had gathered on the lawn, the people burst into
a torrent of cheers. It was all like a dream to Mary.


A GUARDIAN ANGEL 125
She saw that Ralph was standing by her side breath-
less and triumphant.
"Do not crowd us like that," he said. "Please
let Miss Dashwood have as much air as possible.
Neither of us is the least hurt by the fire; indeed, so
far as I can see, this is no fire at all. Has anybody
a conveyance that will take Miss Dashwood as far as
the dower house? It is only a little way, but
still"
There were scores of people ready to comply with
the request . Then the crowd parted as if by a kind
of instinct, and Lady Dashwood appeared. She was
pale and breathless, but not for one moment did she
forget herself or her position.
"My dear child," she said, "you must come with
me at once. Fancy you being in that house all the
time and nobdy any the wiser! And they tell me that
a gentleman who is a stranger here volunteered for
your rescue in the bravest possible manner. If he
is here I should like to thank him warmly for"
"This is Mr. Ralph Darnley," Mary explained.
"He is not a stranger, for we met in Paris two years
ago. Let me introduce Mr. Darnley to you."
Ralph bowed and moved towards the hand that Lady
Dashwood held out to him. There were gracious
words on his lips.
"It is impossible to thank you," she said, "but if
you will come as far as the dower house with me, I
dare say that I shall be able to — to"
The words seemed to freeze as Lady Dashwood's
glance travelled over Ralph's face. Lady Dashwood
took a step forward and would have fallen if Ralph had
not put out an arm and supported her. Then there
was an awkward silence.


CHAPTEK XX
HALF TOLD
THE meeting was quite an unexpected one for
Ralph. He had his own powerful reason for
not wishing to come in contact with Lady Dashwood,
but the thing was done now, and there was no help
for it. Ralph was the first to recover his self-posses-
sion. He saw that the colour was coming back to
Lady Dashwood's face, and that it was very far from
her intentions to make a scene. That would probably
come later.
"There seems to be no conveyance here," Mary
said. "And really it is not worth while to make all
this fuss about me. I am quite myself again and
capable of walking as far as the dower house with Lady
Dashwood. Meanwhile, there is other work to do."
The excitement of the moment had passed, and will-
ing hands were back once more at the task of putting
out the flames. Of the little group of principal actors
in the scene, nobody was more calm or more col-
lected now than Lady Dashwood.
"Perhaps we had better walk," she said. "We
can take the short cut through the shrubbery. And I
shall be very glad if Mr. Darnley will accompany us. I
presume, sir, that you have not had any breakfast?"
"I haven't," Ralph said. "Sir George has gone
over to one of the farms for his. If you will be so
126


HALF TOLD 127
good as to give me a mouthful of something, I will
come back here and do my very utmost to save the old
house. It would be a great pity to lose it."
"Indeed I am glad to hear that you are so anxious
about the place," Lady Dashwood said with a signifi-
cance that puzzled Mary, though it was by no means
lost on Ralph. "The Hall is one of the finest places
of its kind in England."
Ralph ate his breakfast in silence; Mary was silent
too and pleaded a headache. She had had no sleep,
she said, and was in need of rest. She ate little and
drooped like a lily over her plate. When at length
she rose, Ralph rose also.
"Please don't go yet," said Lady Dashwood in a
voice with a touch of command in it. "I will just
see that Mary is made comfortable, and then I should
like to have a word with you, sir. There are so many
willing workers at the Hall that one more or less
will make no difference."
Ralph bowed. Lady Dashwood would be glad if he
would go as far as the drawing-room. He waited there
till his hostess returned, proud and white, with a stern
expression in her eyes. She shut the door behind her
and pointed to a seat.
"Pray do not stand," she said. "We may be some
little time. Did I not understand my — Mary, to
say that you are Mr. Ralph Darnley?"
"That is quite correct," Ralph said quietly. "Miss
Mary made no mistake."
"Possibly not. The mistake is on your side. I
do not wish to seem in the least curious or impertinent,
but have you no other name?"
"For the present, none," said Ralph. "Will not


128 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
your ladyship oblige me by leaving matters just as
they are for the moment? My happiness, the happi-
ness of everybody, depends upon a complete and abso-
lute discretion. I did not desire to see you"
"No! I gathered that when I saw your face a
night or two ago in the shrubbery. The moon was
shining on your features, and it seemed to me that
I was face to face with a ghost. But let me show
you something, Mr. Darnley. It is a miniature of a
man whom I have not seen for nearly forty years, the
picture of my son. He left home for reasons which
I need not go into, I never looked on his face again.
I have never before shown the picture to anybody, but
I have my very good reasons for showing it to you.
What do you think of it?"
With trembling hands the old lady passed a minia-
ture in a small gold frame over to Ralph. He gazed
at the picture long and intently, with a flush on his
face and something that was very like moisture in his
eyes. He was silent for so long that Lady Dash-
wood felt constrained to speak.
"Well?" she asked. "I will try to restrain the
natural curiosity of my sex and not ask too many
questions. Did you ever see that face before?"
"You force me to reply," Ralph said slowly.
"You have the advantage over me, Lady Dash wood."
"Please do not call me Lady Dash wood. Oh, I am
not going to try to force your confidence; that will
come to me in time. Only you have not yet replied to
my question. I asked you if ever you have seen that
face before?"
"Many a time and oft," Ralph said. "Is it very
like me?"


HALF TOLD 129
"Like you! It is a speaking likeness. When I
came face to face with you to-day, it required all the
seventy years of my social training to keep me from
bursting into tears and throwing my arms about your
neck. And nobody recognised you! But I forget that
forty years have elapsed since my boy was in the midst
of us. And now tell me, why do you persist in call-
ing yourself Ralph Darnley?"
"I have never been known by any other name,"
Ralph replied. "Perhaps the time may come some
day when I — but we need not discuss that. Please
do not think me churlish or wanting in courtesy to you,
Lady Dashwood."
Lady Dashwood shook her head mournfully. Some-
thing like tears stood in her eyes.
"I have no right to ask anything," she said. "I
forfeited my right years ago. But, unless I am greatly
mistaken, you could call me by a sweeter name than
Lady Dashwood. My dear boy, I do not wish to pry
into your secrets — you could not act in anything but
a straightforward manner, I am certain. Your face
-tells me that. Nearly forty years ago I lost a son like
you. How like he was to you I have proved by show-
ing you that miniature. My son left Dashwood Hall
vowing that nobody should ever see his face again
there, and he kept his word. The blame was mine, and
only mine, but I have been terribly punished for my
treachery and deceit."
"I can hardly believe you guilty of those things,
Lady Dashwood."
"Oh, but I was. It was the cruellest wrong, and
he found me out. From that day to this I have known
no happiness. Why do I talk like this to a stranger?
9


130 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
I think you can guess. When I saw your face in the
cloister the other night it seemed as if God had for-
given my sin and given my son back to me. Is that
so?"
"This is very painful," Ralph stammered. "Will
you trust me and be patient?"
"I can be patient . I have been patient for forty
years. And your face speaks for you. Go on."
"There is little more for me to say," Ralph resumed.
"For the present I can tell you nothing. If the son
you speak of came back to-morrow not a soul would
recognise him but you."
"And old Slight," Lady Dashwood said meaningly.
"Pray do not forget him."
"And old Slight. Quite true. And I am the
image of the Ralph Dashwood who left his home nearly
forty years ago. There were reasons, therefore, why
I did not desire to meet you, Lady Dashwood, till the
time was ripe. But circumstances were too strong
for me; sooner or later it had been my hope that —
that"
"I begin to understand," Lady Dashwood said as
Ralph hesitated. "For the present you desire to be
just Ralph Darnley. But the deception cannot con-
tinue for long."
"For long enough," Ralph smiled. "Let me con-
fide in you to a certain extent, Lady Dashwood. I am
a sentimental man as my father was before me."
"I know he was," Lady Dashwood said absently.
"If he had not been, my punishment might have been
less — but I am assuming too much. Please go on."
"lam a lonely man. My mother died early, and
my father and myself were thrown a great deal to-


HALF TOLD 131
gether. We spent most of our time in California,
'where the population is not great. Yon can under-
stand how it was that I became so retrospective. And
when I came to hear of the mystery that my father had
kept till the end, I began to have dreams of my own.
'I began to see myself the master of a lovely place,
like Dashwood Hall, for instance. . . . You see
that I am speaking from my heart to you now, and I
know that you are going to respect my confidence and
sympathise with me."
^ "As long as you look at me with those eyes of —
yours," Lady Dashwood murmured. "We are going
to be great friends, thank God. But please go on."
"Well, I had my dreams of the kind of wife who
would make my home a Paradise for me, and two
years ago I met her in Paris. She was proud and
reserved and haughty, but all the same I knew that
my instincts had not played me false. The girl likes
me — of that I am certain. It sounds egotistical, but
I believe that she loves me without knowing it. Had I
told her of the fine old house and the good old name,
there would have been no obstacles in the way. But
I gave the curb to my inclinations, and my secret re-
mained untold. . . . For nearly two years I did
not see that girl, not till I came down here less than
a week ago. Can you guess who it is %"
"Mary," Lady Dashwood cried. "My dear, dear
Mary! And she does not know, she does not dream —
indeed, how should she? You want her to"
"To care for me, Balph Darnley. Mary has a ter-
rible curse, her family pride comes before her duty,
and even before her religion. It is the idol that she
has come to worship. Mind, I am by no means blind


132 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
to the girl's virtues; I should not love her as I do other-
wise. But I want to break down that family pride,
I want to show Mary and prove to her that it is a mere
nothing by the side of love and duty and common
humanity. That is why it is merely Ralph Darnley
who speaks to you to-day. When Mary owns her love
for Ralph Darnley, and holds that love better than
her pride of race, then I can speak. It may be that
there is a hard lesson to be learned first, but I shall not
shrink from that."
"That is how your — my son used to speak," Lady
Dash wood murmured. "So gentle and firm, and yet
so kind and considerate! You are going to make
Mary happy despite herself."
"That is my intention," Ralph went on. "Look
how she is acting now. Sir George has come within
the grip of a scoundrel. I am alluding to Horace
Mayfield. He has schemed out all this trouble and
disaster so as to get Mary in his power. The girl's
senseless pride has been Mayfield's strongest weapon.
You know all about those sheriff's men, of course.
Rather than have a whisper of the trouble spoken,
Mary is ready to marry Horace Mayfield and condemn
herself to lifelong misery and humiliation. It seems
almost incredible that a girl should be so frozen into
the ice of her family pride. But Mary is not going
to marry Horace Mayfield, she is destined for me. The
lever to remove the stone from the path is mine, and
I shall know how to use it when the time comes.
Already I have so brought it about that Sir George
can be free of Mayfield in the course of a few days,
but there is still Mary to deal with. I do not quite
see my way clearly with her, but fate may play into


HALF TOLD 133
my hands and find me an instrument which"
Ralph paused hurriedly, for another man came nois-
ily into the room. He was rather like Ralph as
regards figure and feature and trick of expression, but
his face was effeminate, and his very black eyes a little
shifty and sinister. In dress and manner he had the
air of a gentleman, but at the same time there was a
suggestion of loudness and hardness about him that
belied the description. He did not see Ralph, for he
advanced noisily into the room.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," he said.
"Why are you hiding here, old lady?"


CHAPTER XXI
VINCENT DASHWOOD
RALPH'S face grew stem as he stared at the
intruder. The new-comer returned the stare
with insolent audacity. The pleased and softened ex-
pression had left Lady Dashwood's features, she looked
white and anxious, and Ralph could see that her hands
were trembling. It was quite evident that she was
greatly afraid of the man with the cold black eyes.
"Beg pardon," the newcomer muttered. "Didn't
know you were engaged. Friend of yours?"
"Mr. Ralph Darnley," Lady Dashwood said. "A
very old friend of the family, or, at any rate his father
was. Let me introduce you to Mr. Vincent Dash-
wood."
"I have heard of you," said Ralph, with a queer
vibration in his voice. "I understand that one time
your father had some idea of claiming the succession
to the property. I have heard my father speak of your
branch of the family."
Dashwood muttered something that Ralph could not
quite follow.
"We could tell a different story, the old lady and
self," he went on suggestively. "I shall have a pleas-
ant surprise for Sir George some of these days. I'm
only waiting for some papers from the other side and
134


VINCENT DASHWOOD 135
I shall move. My father married a Californian lady,
you see, and they are pretty careless there in their keep-
ing of records. Still, it is only a matter of time."
"That is very strange," Ralph said grimly. "My
father also married a Californian lady. Oh, you need
not look so uncomfortable; I am not likely to interfere
with your claim. Indeed, I may be in a position to
assist you a little later."
Just for the moment there was a queer grey tint on
Vincent Dashwood's face. He seemed to be horribly
frightened about something. But the expression
passed, and his old saturnine look returned. Ralph
was smiling, too, as if something amused him. Lady
Dashwood glanced from one to the other furtively,
as if she feared some outbreak of violence. There was
no means of reading Ralph's thoughts from the expres-
sion of his face, or Dashwood would not have been
standing there so utterly at his ease. For he was a
scoundrel of the vilest type, the class who do not hesi-
tate to blackmail women.
"Well, I'll just go and look round till you have
finished with the gentleman," Dashwood said airily.
"Then mind that you are ready for our little business,
old lady. I've got to be in London this evening, and
no mistake about it. By the way, the Hall is in the
hands of the firemen and police, but I'm told that no
great damage has been done."
The speaker swaggered from the room with his hands
in his pockets, whistling as he went. Ralph's expres-
sion grew stern and hard.
"So this is one of the crosses that you have to bear,"
he said. "At the risk of being curious, I must ask
you a question. Is this the man for whose sake you


136 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
have been raising money on the family jewels? How
long has it been going on?"
Lady Dashwood clasped her hands and the tears
came into her eyes.
"Nearly two years," she whispered. "Thank God,
you have come to me, for my strength would not have
borne the burden much longer. Nobody knows any-
thing; nobody suspects but Slight. And he pretended
to be my grandson. We were both utterly deceived.
He knows everything, he told me all about the original
quarrel, he had letters which I had written from time
to time to your — to my son. And he is an infamous
scoundrel. He desired me to keep his presence and
his claim a secret, and for the credit of the family
I did so. The few who know him think he comes
from the Yorkshire side of the house. He traded on
my fears; he knew what I thought of him. And when
he had drained me of thousands, and in sheer despair
I pressed him to push on his claim, he always pleaded
that he could not get certain papers — his mother's
marriage certificate, I think it was. Mind you, I be-
lieved in him implicitly; with all the sacred private
information he had, I could do nothing else. And
Slight also was equally deceived. He has had nearly
everything of mine that he could lay his hands on.
You see that I am powerless to protest; if I had forced
him to speak, there would only have been a scandal.
He has been getting bolder lately or he would not have
spoken so freely to you just now. And directly I saw
your face to-day I knew at once that it had all been
a hideous mistake. You will free me from that man,
Ralph?"
"Not quite yet," Ralph replied. "You must play
k
v


VINCENT DASHWOOD 137
your part a little longer. If, as you say, you have
nothing more to bestow, you need not be afraid of him.
That man has given me a new idea for bringing about
the object that I have most closely at heart. I am go-
ing to make use of him, if necessary. If it is not
necessary, then I shall make very short work of Mr.
Vincent Dashwood. But before that you must tell
me everything. Mind, I say everything as regards my
— your son's marriage with Maria Edgerton. I be-
lieve that marriage was the cause of all the mischief."
"Indeed it was," Lady Dashwood said. Her voice
was filled with the deepest sadness. "What will you
think of me when you hear of the part I played in
that unhappy affair? But I cannot tell you now, I
am unfit to go into the matter at present. The shock
of meeting you has been almost more than I can bear.
Come and dine with me here on Saturday night, and
I will tell you everything. My dear Ralph — if I
may call you so in private — is it possible that your
coming is the augury of a happier time for me? Hap-
piness I won't ask for, but I should like to go down to
the grave in peace."
"It shall be no fault of mine if you do not," Ralph
replied. "I have planned out my scheme and I am
going through with it to the end. There may be
troubles and trials to come, but everything is going
to end happily for us all. Good-bye."
Ralph held out his hand, but Lady Dashwood drew
him down to her chair.
"Give me a kiss, my bonny boy," she whispered.
"It may be as well for us to keep up the formality
and play the drama till the time comes, but it is no
harm to kiss an old woman and let her look into the


138 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
eyes that she has seen in her dreams for forty weary
years. God bless you, Ralph, and prosper your
schemes, for nothing you do will be wrong."
Ralph went on his way presently through the shrub-
bery in the direction of the Hall. A great crowd of
people still lingered there, but the police had kept
almost intact the trim lawn and the beds of brilliant
flowers. Inside the house were a posse of police and
a few firemen from Longtown. In the stable yard the
scarlet fire engine glittered in the sun. So far as it
was possible to see, no great harm had been done.
Nobody was allowed in the house except the firer
men and police, an inspector informed Ralph, who had
asked for Sir George. None of the structure had been
much damaged, none of the furniture had suffered any-
thing except from smoke and water. There was just
a suspicion that one of the great beams under the hall
floor was still smouldering, and the firemen were going
to stay until they were absolutely sure on the point.
"Most extraordinary thing, Darnley," Sir George
said. "There seemed to be nothing but smoke.
Slight will tell you that there was nothing but smoke.
At the present moment an expert in this kind of things
is making an examination with a view to discovering
the cause of the outbreak. Nuisance to have these
people here, but it can't be helped."
"Better these, Sir George, than Mr. Mayfield's
friends," Slight croaked. "At any rate, we have got
rid of them for the present. If somebody set the house
afire on purpose, they could not have done us a better
turn, seems to me."
Slight spoke loudly as a man in a kind of uniform
came up. He touched his cap to Sir George, and


VINCENT DASHWOOD 139
looked fixedly at the old butler. Evidently he had
overheard what was said.
"Many things more unlikely than that," he said.
"Sir George, I think that I have discovered the origin
of the mischief, if you will kindly come this way."
"Of course I was joking," Slight said indignantly.
"You don't suppose that I mean to imply that the
fire was anything but an accident, Mr. Sayers?"
"All the same it was no accident," the official said
grimly. "If you will come this way, I will prove
to you that the fire was a wicked and deliberate act on
the part of somebody."


WHO DID IT? 141
that this is the work of an incendiary. I can hardly
believe that it is."
The inspector led the way to the Hall. So far as
the eye of a novice could judge, it was here that the
fire had burst out. The floor was black and scarred
and a few beams were still hot from the effects of the
flames. The floor was littered with some crisp ashes.
"Now I want to call your attention to this, Sir
George," the inspector said. "Nothing has been de-
stroyed here, nothing but the floor and a portion of
the ceiling. There must have been a very fierce blaze
here, and yet there is nothing for the flames to feed
on. Then where did all those crisp short ashes come
from? See what a pile there is of them! What was
it that burnt here so fiercely?"
"It certainly is a strange thing," Sir George mur-
mured.
"Very strange, sir.* There was nothing left on the
hall floor last night, I suppose? No packing cases or
anything of that kind, Sir George?"
"There was not," Slight exclaimed. "I can answer
for that, nothing whatever."
"Which renders my suspicions all the more cer-
tain," the official went on. "The short crisp ashes
represented straw, a large bundle of straw dumped
down on the floor and set fire to by some person or
other. Please look at this."
The speaker stooped down and gathered up a hand-
ful of the crisp ashes, smoothing them out on the
palm of his hand. At intervals there were yellow
shining specks in the grains.
"Will you kindly look closely?" he said.
"Amongst the charred mass you can plainly see specks


142 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
of straw that have escaped the fire. It seems to me
an amazing thing that anybody could carry straw
into the house like this without being found out. But
there it is, and there is an end of it. You are quite
sure as to the straw, Sir George?"
"Quite," Dashwood muttered. "Most amazing.
We did not go to bed till very late, which makes it
all the more remarkable. It must have been prac-
tically daylight before the miscreant could have begun
to work."
'. "It certainly is a novelty," the Inspector replied,
"but I want to convince you fully that I am right in
my conclusion. You will see that parts of the ashes,
very minute parts, are plastered together as if they were
wet. Also you will see that the floor has been burnt
in a kind of channel nearly as far as the door. It is
only a narrow channel, but at the same time it is per-
fectly well defined. Now, what caused the floor to
burn in that erratic manner? I am going to tell you.
Let us follow that track up as far as the door. There
is a large stone with little cracks at the side into which
a liquid of some kind has fallen or run rather."
The speaker bent down and rolled a scrap of paper
into the moisture which lay shining in the crack of the
stone. Then he handed the paper to Sir George.
"Will you kindly smell that, sir," he asked, "and
tell me what you make of it?"
"No trouble at all about that," Dashwood ex-
claimed; "the stuff is paraffin beyond a doubt."
"Precisely. The straw was dumped on the floor
and then saturated with paraffin. If the straw was
slightly damp, that would account for the dense quan-
tity of smoke. The paraffin ran into little ripples over


WHO DID IT? 143
the floor, which accounts for the strange track of the
flames. But we can ascertain that to a certainty."
A question or two being asked, it was discovered
that a large can of petroleum, was missing from one
of the tool-sheds. A little later the empty tin was
discovered in one of the flower-beds. The discussion
was at its height when Mary appeared. She looked
very pale and shaky, otherwise she maintained her self-
possession. But as she listened to the strange story it
seemed to Ealph Darnley that she was disturbed about
something. The pallor of her face became more
marked, her eyes filled with something like fear. Did
the girl know anything about it, Kalph asked himself?
If not, why did she appear to be so strangely moved
by the plain recital? The thought was ignoble and
unworthy, but Ralph could not free himself from it
altogether. He drew Mary a little apart from the
rest; he could see that she was trembling with some
strong emotion.
"The old house has had a very narrow escape," he
began. "' All Horace Mayfield's carefully prepared
plans were very nearly in vain. If the house had
been destroyed"
"I — I did not look at it in that light," Mary stam-
mered. "As you say, nothing could have mattered
had the house perished. Where are those men now?"
"I don't know. It does not in the least matter.
As things stand at present, the police will not permit
anybody to be in the house except one or two like our-
selves. Until their investigations are complete and
they have gathered all their evidence, nobody will be
permitted to sleep in the house. The men you speak
of will be treated just like anybody else. It seems as


WHO DID IT? 145
"and you know it. I am not insinuating anything of
the kind. But you know quite well who the culprit
is."
Suddenly Mary's manner changed. She grew quiet
and docile. Ralph could see that her lips were
trembling, and that she found it hard to keep back the
tears.
"Forgive me," she whispered. "Think how hard
I am tried, how hard it all is for me. If I were a
man I should probably take a more rational view of
the case. Remember how my whole heart and soul
are wrapped up in this house. I could fight to save it
from contamination as a mother would try to shield an
erring son. If I lost it I should die!"
"You would not," Ralph said. "If, by any trick
of fortune, Dashwood Hall passed out of your posses-
sion, it would be the very best thing that ever hap-
pened to you. If you had to go out into the world to
get your own living it would be the making of your
character. It would bring out all the natural nobility
of your nature — you would look back to the past with
remorse. Of that I am certain."
"Indeed," Mary said coldly. "Perhaps you would
like to bring that misfortune about?"
"I should," Ralph retorted. "If I could be cruel
to be kind like that, I should not hesitate for a moment.
But we are getting a long way from the point. I said
that if you had no hand in this business, you know who
did it."
"I have my suspicions. But, until I can verify
them, it would be wrong to speak. Even if I knew
for certain, I should hesitate to tell anybody what I
had discovered. One thing I can promise you — the
10


146 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
attempt will not be made again. . . • What are
those people so excited about? Have they made some
fresh discovery? Let us go and see."
Sir George and the Inspector were closely examining
some shining object that the latter held in the palm
of his hand. There was a grim look on Slight's face.
"What is it?" Rlaph asked. "What is the latest
sensational development of the mystery?"
"This, sir," the Inspector exclaimed. "We have
found this match-box under the burnt straw."


CHAPTER XXIII
THE SILVEB CLUB
THE silver match-box was a peculiar one and quite
out of the common run of such things. It had
a spring lid deeply engraved with a hunting scene, in
the centre of the medallion a pair of initials were
ingeniously woven together in small stones. The
Inspector asked Sir George if he could identify it as
part of the family property.
"Never saw it before," Dashwood said promptly.
"I am certain that the thing does not belong to any-
body in my house. What do you make the initials
to be?"
"' y.D.' or 'D.V.', sir, the Inspector said. "That
is perfectly plain. Now does anybody know a per-
son who bears those initials? I should say that the
matches are of foreign make, for they are flat, wooden
ones, such as one rarely sees in this country. The first
thing we have to do is to find out who is this 'V.D.'
or - D.V.' is. He seems to have dropped his match-
box into the fire. Probably, the blaze startled him by
its suddenness. But I don't suppose we shall find
much difficulty in proving who the owner is."
Sir George shook his head: evidently the puzzle was
utterly beyond him. Slight crossed over to one of the
windows as if the whole subject had ceased to interest
him. He made a sign to Ralph and the latter joined
147


148 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the old servant. He could see that Slight was sup-
pressing a certain excitement.
"What is the matter?" he asked. "Have you
solved the problem?"
"No, Mr. Ralph, I've only made it worse," Slight
whispered. "I know quite well who that box belongs
to, for I've seen it in his possession a score of times,
to say nothing of the initials. Did you not meet a
Mr. Vincent Dashwood at the dower house to-day?"
Ralph started in his turn. Vincent Dashwood's
initials were on that box surely enough. And, that
being the case, what did Mary know of the man? Was
she shielding the man who gave out more or less
directly that he was the proper owner of Dashwood
Hall? Mary was not the girl to show any clemency
to an impostor, and if, on the other hand, she did
not regard him as an impostor she would be the last
person to pretend to a position that she had no right
to occupy. But Slight would know.
"I did meet that man you name, but I can't under-
stand how you came to know it so soon," Ralph said.
"A tiger, if I ever saw one, Slight. And he let me
know pretty clearly that he had more than a passing
claim to a deal that other people are enjoying. Is Mr.
Vincent Dashwood pretty well known to people here,
Slight?"
"Not to anybody but her ladyship and myself,"
Slight replied. "Mind you, I can't make out whether
he's an impostor or not; at least, I was very uncertain
in my mind until you came along, sir. He claims
to bo the son of the late Ralph Dashwood and he has
proofs that would satisfy any court in England; and
anyone except me. As yet he can't produce the cer-
V v


THE SILVER CLUE 149
tificate of marriage of his mother and father. But he
has any number of private papers,— letters from her
ladyship to her son and all the rest of it, to say noth-
ing of being familiar with the place. He didn't
want to make a fuss about his claim; he wanted to
have it quite plain first. He's been here for a long
time."
"Blackmailing Lady Dashwood, I suppose? The
fellow is too cowardly to claim the property out and
out. In that case he would either have to substantiate
his claim or run the risk of a long term of imprison-
ment if he failed. And, meanwhile, Lady Dashwood
displays a weakness that is almost criminal. She half
doubts this rascal, and yet at the same time she allows
him to take the proceeds of the disposal of the family
jewels. Half of the weakness is dictated by the dread
of Miss Mary finding out the truth. If there are other
reasons"
"Ay, there are other reasons, Mr. Ralph," Slight
said in a broken voice. "If you only knew every-
thing, you would pity her ladyship. She has kept
this secret as well as she has kept the rest. Miss
Mary knows nothing; she was meant to know nothing."
"And now she will know everything, everybody will
know everything. The story of the match-box will
have to be told, and the owner will have to explain
how it came here and who he is. You should have
known better, Slight, than try to keep a secret like
this. Sooner or later the explosion was bound to come.
What are you going to do about it now?"
"I'm not going to do anything, sir," Slight said
bluntly. "It is not for me in my position to push
myself forward. Let the police hunt the matter up


150 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
for themselves. If Mr. Vincent Dashwood likes to
lie low it makes no difference to us."
Ralph smiled at the suggestion. It was so like the
policy of the house to leave things to chance like this.
In a vague way, Ralph began to see that Fate was play-
ing into his hands. He would let the rod fall. He
would be cruel to be kind. As to the rest, it was in
Mary's hands; all would depend upon how she behaved
for the next day or two. It all stood out clearly
in Ralph's mind now like the thread of a connected
story.
"I'll go as far as the dower house," he said thought-
fully. "I should like to say a few words to Mr.
Vincent Dashwood. Am I likely to find him there?"
"You are that, Mr. Ralph," Slight snapped.
"When he isn't spending the money that does not be-
long to him, he is generally to be found not far from
her ladyship. And this game has been going on for
the last two years. I'm an old man, and hope I know
my position in the place to which God has called me,
but I've come very near to shooting that man more
than once. Calls himself a Dashwood, and he has all
the papers to prove himself a Dashwood, and yet he
is no more a chip off the old block than I am. And
yet you can't trip him up in anything, only in one
way."
"And what is that?" Ralph smiled.
"Well, he wasn't astonished to see you, sir. He
pretends to be the son of the late Ralph Dashwood,
and, as such must have a pretty good idea of his father's
physical appearance. Now you are the very image of
what Mr. Ralph used to be. And this Vincent does
not comment upon your likeness to my late young mas-


THE SILVER CLUE 151
ter. Why don't you step in, sir, why don't you step
in and drive the blackguard away?"
"All in good time," Ralph replied. "You may
rest assured that I shall speak out to some purpose
when I am ready. Now I'll go as far as the dower
house. I take it that the family will sleep there to-
night."
Ralph crossed the lawn thoughtfully in the direction
of the dower house. He understood the footman
to say that her ladyship was somewhere in the gar-
den.
Lady Dashwood was found at last, seated under a
spacious cedar tree, which was one of the ornaments
of the garden. She was not alone, for Vincent Dash-
wood was by her side. The man seemed to be hot and
angry about something, and it was evident that Lady
Dashwood had been weeping. A quick anger possessed
Ralph, and it was all he could do to refrain from lay-
ing hands on this impostor, who was causing such
trouble and misery here. A few words and the bubble
would be pricked. Still, there was always the great
plan before Ralph's eyes, the plan of his life with which
nothing must interefere. He would have withdrawn
now, only Lady Dashwood caught sight of him and
beckoned him to her side. Vincent Dashwood scowled
openly at the intruder.
"I was just coming over to see you," Ralph said.
"You will be pleased to hear that the fire has done no
particular damage, nothing that a little soap and water
and some paint can't put right . But for the present
the police and the fire people prefer that the house
should not be used. As to the servants"
"They can all come here," Lady Dashwood said.


152 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I will go over and see Sir George without delay.
But, seeing that the house is all right, why do the
authorities interfere in this unreasonable way?"
"They think that they have made an important dis-
covery," Ralph explained. "They are under the im-
pression that the fire is not an accident, and, really,
I have been converted to the same opinion. It seems
almost incredible, but somebody brought a lot of straw
into the house and set it on fire, after saturating the
mass with paraffin. There is no doubt about the straw,
for fragments of it can be seen in the ashes, and dis-
tinct traces of paraffin can be found. Had not the
floor and the walls been as hard as iron, a great tragedy
might have taken place. But, to make matters cer-
tain, the police found a silver match-box with a mono-
gram in the ashes."
"The blackguards!" Vincent Dashwood cried.
"I'm glad of that. Let us hope that the box will lead
to the discovery of the culprit."
"That is not quite likely," Ralph said drily. "I
came over here on purpose to get at the bottom of that
match-box business. It is rather a novelty in the way
of a box, for I have seen it — even the matches are
original. The monogram on it is 'V. D.,' which hap-
pens to be your initials, Mr. Dashwood. To go
further, old Slight says the box is yours. Can you
account for this strange happening?"
Dashwood started and changed colour. He plunged
his hands into his pockets apparently in search of some-
thing he was unable to find.
"I've lost it," he cried. "There is no denying the
fact, Mr. Darnley, that I had just the kind of box
you describe. It is possible that I dropped it, and the


THE SILVER CLUE 153
culprit picked it up. I should hardly be likely —
to"
The speaker paused, and Ralph filled in the rest of
the speech for him.
"I perfectly understand," he said drily. "It is
hardly likely that Mr. Vincent Dashwood would go
out of his way to destroy a property which sooner or
later he looks forward to enjoying as his own. I
think that is what you mean to convey?"


chapter xxm
A FRESH CALAMITY
DASHWOOD nodded sulkily. He had a vague
idea that Ralph was making fun of him in some
way. Still, he was understood to say that such was
his precise meaning. Lady Dashwood rose and walked
off in the direction of the house; she had to see to the
comfort of her expected visitors.
"I hope you will dine with us to-night, Mr. Darn-
ley," she said. "Just Sir George and Mary, with
Vincent here — nothing more than a quiet family
party."
"Too quiet and too family for me," Dashwood mut-
tered. "You can count me out. Besides, I have the
most important business in London to-night."
Lady Dashwood looked relieved. There was no mis-
taking the expression of her face as she turned away.
Dashwood noticed it, and his face flushed dully. He
made a motion to follow, but Ralph laid a strong hand
upon his arm.
"One moment, if you please," he said, "I should
like to have a few words with you on the subject of
that match-box. The police are pretty certain to ask
you a great many questions concerning it, as you can
see for yourself?"
"Let 'em ask," growled Dashwood, "it's nothing
154


A FRESH CALAMITY 155
to do with me. I dropped that box, and the chap who
set fire to the house picked it up."
"But suppose that chap, as you call him, hap-
pened to see you hanging about the house at a very
early hour in the morning, a groom or somebody of
that kind, who was prepared to swear to your identity?
What then, my dear sir?"
Ralph was only drawing a bow at a venture; he
was really working out a little theory of his own, but
the arrow went home to the feather. Dashwood's face
turned to a dull grey; he seemed to be utterly un-
nerved for the moment.
"Look here," he blustered presently, "what do you
think you are likely to gain by asking me all these
prying questions? Suppose I was hanging about the
place last night. What then? Isn't it natural?
Can't you understand the interest I take in my own
property? You don't suppose that I should be likely
to burn down a house of my own that contained some
fifty thousand pounds worth of artistic treasures?"
"Your logic is too strong for me," Ralph smilingly
admitted. "As the claimant to the property and the
title you are hardly likely to destroy the house. But
there is one thing that puzzles me — if things are as
you say, why do you not press your claim?"
"Because I am short of a certain document. It is
rather an important document for it happens to be my
mother's marriage certificate. But I am informed
that the proper will comes into my possession soon, and
then I can move. Till that time I have decided to let
sleeping dogs lie."
"Meaning that Sir George is to remain in blissful
ignorance, I presume?"


156 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"That's about it. Let him make the best of his
reign. And that stuck-up daughter of his! She'll
get her face to the grindstone before she is much older.
Besides, there is another matter. Lady Dashwood has
to be considered."
With difficulty Ralph disguised his contempt. A
fine consideration the speaker had for Lady Dashwood!
He was trading cunningly on her weakness and her
desire to avoid scandal. It was his cue to pretend
that he did not care to take any steps during the life-
time of the unhappy old lady. He had stripped her
pretty well of all she had, without any risk to him-
self. So long as the golden stream flowed he need
never fear.
Directly he came to make his claim he would be asked
searching questions and would have to satisfy keen legal
minds ef the honesty of his proofs. Meanwhile, he
preferred to blackmail an innocent old lady who was
too ill and broken down to protest. Ralph read the
fellow like an open book, but he was going to make uso
of him later, if needs be. Therefore it was that he
disguised his feelings now.
"That sounds very creditable," he said. "It is very
good of you to consider Lady Dashwood's feelings in
this way. I hope she is correspondingly grateful."
"She isn't anything of the kind," Dashwood pro-
tested. "She fairly hates me. Every bit of affection
that she has is centred on Sir George Dashwood's girl.
Everything must be made smooth for Mary. Maybe
her pride will have a bit of a dash before long. I
don't know why I am telling you all these things,
except that you seem a good sort. For all I know to
the contrary, you may be a police spy inquiring into


A FKESH CALAMITY 157
my past . All the same, I don't think the old lady
would stoop to that kind of thing."
"You are quite right," Ealph said drily. "I'm
sure she couldn't. I must be going now. I shall not
have the pleasure of seeing you at dinner to-night?"
Dashwood winked significantly. There were better
attractions elsewhere. The air seemed to be all the
sweeter and purer after he had gone. Very slowly and
thoughtfully Ralph made his way across the fields in
the direction of his temporary abode. Fate seemed
determined to place all the threads in his hands; every-
thing was arranging itself just as he could have
wished. His plan of action became quite clear and
plain. There were certain circumstances to be taken
into consideration, more particularly the way that
Mary would act in the future. And Vincent Dash-
wood would be an important pawn in the game. By
the time that it became necessary to dress for dinner
Ralph had worked it all out
.
He walked across the fields in the direction of the
dower house. It was a lovely night, clear and bright,
with no breath of air stirring. Ralph could see the
red gables of the Hall beyond the noble elms and
beeches, and a pleasant picture rose before his eyes.
He could see himself as master of the place with Mary
by his side — not the Mary of the proud, cold face
and haughty eye, but another Mary, soft and beautiful,
as she emerged chastened and purified from the furnace
of the family pride. There would be trouble and
humiliation first, but it should all come about, or
Ralph would know the reason why.
He was still debating the matter as he reached the
dower house and a well-trained footman took him as


158 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
far as the drawing-room. The blinds were not down
yet, so that the room was filled with the saffron glory
of the sunset. It was all so refined and homelike, so
different to anything that Ralph had ever seen before.
It was the thing that Ralph had dreamt of, the home-
life that had occupied much of his waking dreams. It
lay before him now, but there was much to be done
first.
Lady Dashwood came stately and smiling into the
room. The look in her eyes was warm and affectionate
as Ralph took her hand. Mary was not down yet, she
explained, but the girl was dressing for dinner, and
she was much better for a long sleep. Then Mary
came into the room, serene and calm, with a flush on
her beautiful face as she caught sight of Ralph.
"You have heard all the good news?" she asked.
"The Hall has not been in the least damaged by the
fire. My father ran in to tell me a little time ago,
and he has gone back, preferring to dress at home. I
understand that we shall be back home on Saturday."
"So I am told," Ralph replied. "It has been a
great inconvenience, of course, but it most opportunely
rid you of very undesirable visitors. By the time that
Saturday comes you will be in a position to defy
them."
"Indeed, I hope so," Mary said, with the deep
flush still on her face. "My father intends to bring
those documents so marvellously recovered here with
him to-night, and to-morrow he will take them to Lon-
don. Mr. Mayfield is a clever man, but circumstances
have been too strong for him this time. Mr. Darnley
you are our good fairy; without you I have not the
least idea what we should have done."


A FRESH CALAMITY 159
"Don't be so sure of that," Ralph, smiled. "The
fairy of my time always seemed to want something in
return for past favours, and you may find that I am
keeping very closely to precedent. But is not Sir
George very late?"
A big clock over the carved oak mantel chimed the
hour of eight. Lady Dashwood shook her head, and
explained that one must make allowances just now.
There would be no great harm done if the dinner
waited for five minutes. It was all the same to Ralph,
who asked nothing better than to sit in that perfect
atmosphere and contemplate the beauty of the girl be-
fore him. He had to wait some time for the prize, but
he knew that it would fall into his fingers at last.
There was one short cut to victory, but he wasn't going
to take that way. He watched the sunshine playing
on Mary's face, he seemed to see clean through the
mask of pride to the pure white soul below.
"I am going to ask you a question," the girl said.
"You have never told me what was your business here,
except that you had lost your money and that you had
come into these parts to pick up something from the
wreck. Is everything gone, Mr. Darnley?"
"Everything," Ralph smiled, "save honour. My
father trusted Horace Mayfield, and the result is that
when I leave here I shall have to get my living. I
don't quite know what I am going to do, but I am
strong and capable and steady. I may say"
"Here is Sir George at last," Lady Dashwood ex-
claimed. "What a hurry he seems to be in. Mary,
my dear, will you please to ring the bell and tell Sed-
don we are ready for dinner. . . . Why"
Sir George had come hurriedly into the room. The


160 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
white tie had come unfastened and hung in two
streamers down his shirt front, but he did not seem
to notice it. His face was as white as his tie; his
forehead was damp with moisture.
"I've lost them," he cried; "stolen out of my
desk! All those precious papers! And now I am
more in the power of that scoundrel Mayfield than
ever! I —I"
He dropped into a chair and burst into a flood of
maudlin, senile tears.


CHAPTER XXV
PBIDE OB PBEJUDICE
RALPH'S first feeling was one of contempt. It
was almost incredible that a man of Sir
George's position could behave in so childish and weak
a fashion. Here was the diplomatist who had been
so popular in Paris, so bland and dignified, assuming
the role of a silly girl who had lost some foolish orna-
ment. For the time being he had cast his manhood
entirely behind him. He sat on the couch with the
tears streaming down his cheeks, great sobs burst from
his chest.
"Gone!" he wailed. "Absolutely vanished. I
locked them up in a desk last night, or the night before,
and now they have disappeared. Don't tell me they
have not been stolen, because I know better. Besides,
nothing else is disturbed. And those papers were there
to prove my absolute claim to Dashwood Hall. With
those documents in my possession I could have raised
as much money as I needed. I could have returned
here in a day or two and rid myself of that scoundrel,
Mayfield, for ever. He meant to cover me with
ignominy and disgrace, but the fire prevented that.
And now he has managed to get those papers stolen."
"That is impossible," Ralph cried. "He did not
know of their existence."
"Why not! How can you prove that he didn't
"161


162 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
know? He i8 one of the cleverest scoundrels in the
world. He gets to know everything, and he was ac-
tually under my roof on the very night that the papers
were so marvellously recovered. It is just possible
that he was spying about all the time."
"It does not seem at all probable," Lady Dashwood
said in a faint whisper.
"Oh, yes, it does," Sir George replied. "I'm quite
ready to argue it out either way. We will admit that
Mayfield didn't know till later, till the next morning,
in fact, when I told him what had happened, and prac-
tically ordered him out of the house. He saw at once
then that he no longer held me in his grip; he wanted
nobody to tell him that those precious papers were close
at hand. He made up his mind to obtain possession
of them without delay. Therefore, he invented the
idea of the fire — a fire that would cause a deal of
smoke and confusion and yet not do much harm. Un-
der cover of the fire he stole the papers."
Ralph was listening with a kind of painful tolera-
tion of the snuffling speaker. A startling idea came
into his mind now. He glanced at Lady Dashwood,
who seemed to read his thoughts. In the light of their
especial knowledge, facts pointed to quite another in-
dividual as the culprit. If the fire had been the work
of an incendiary, then that criminal was undoubtedly
Vincent Dashwood, whose matchbox had been found in
the ashes. Vincent Dashwood had palpably been un-
easy when the missing match-box had been mentioned,
he was still more uneasy at Ralph's suggestion that
he had been hanging about Dashwood Hall within an
hour or so of the outbreak. Was there some deep and
powerful reason why Vincent Dashwood desired to see


PRIDE OK PREJUDIOE 163
the old house burnt to the ground? Was it to bury
some secret in the ashes?
The more Ralph pondered over this, the deeper the
mystery became. He could see quite clearly how May-
field's scheme would benefit by possession of those pa-
pers. What he could not fathom was what Vincent
Dashwood had to gain by a disastrous fire. He would
go into this without taking anybody into his confidence,
Ralph thought. There was yet another danger that
struck much closer at the root of his happiness — the
position in which Mary stood in the face of this ca-
tastrophe.
He glanced across at the girl, who stood on the far
side of the drawing-room with the light of the shaded
lamps on her face. He could see that her features
were pale and drawn, that there was a hunted, haunted
look in her eyes. It was quite evident that she fully
appreciated the danger of the situation. And yet the
feeling uppermost in her mind was the feeling of bit-
terness and sorrow for the sorry part her father was
playing.
"I should like to understand the position fully,"
she said. "What difference does the loss of
those papers imply? Cannot you do without them,
father?"
"I am helpless, my dear," Sir George groaned. "I
am the head of the family, and the man who enjoys the
revenue of the estates, and I shall probably continue to
do so until I die. But for the next six months or so
I could not raise a penny on the property, not till the
time mentioned in the late owner's will expires, when
I become legally possessed of everything, even though
a direct heir of Ralph Dashwood appears. Then I can


164 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
borrow as much money as I please. Now, I am abso-
lutely at the mercy of Horace Mayfield."
The pallor on Mary's face deepened; hope faded
from her heart. She was in the toils again and made
no attempt to disguise the fact. It was quite imma-
terial to her who had those papers, so long as they were
gone.
"Let me make the position quite clear," she went on,
in a hard, level voice. "Let us revert to the con-
dition of affairs existing before those papers were
found; let us assume that they never existed at all.
You owe a very large sum of money, father, a sum
that it is impossible for you to pay. If you fail to
raise the amount, which we may take for granted, some-
thing like disgrace and dishonour falls on you. That
is not your fault, I know, but other people will not
think so, and the head of the house of Dashwood will
stand before his fellow men stamped as little better
than a felon. Is that so %"
"That is the way in which the world will regard
it," Sir George groaned.
"Quite so, father. You can't find the money, and
nobody will find it for you. As I know already, it is
useless to appeal to Lady Dashwood."
"Quite, my dear," Lady Dashwood murmured. "I
would give anything to avert the disgrace, but I have
nothing. I am a wicked old woman, and my sins are
finding me out. I have parted with everything, even
to my jewels, to keep a certain secret, and I see now
that the sacrifice is going to be all in vain."
Mary turned and laid a soothing hand on the speak-
er's arm. There was something sweet, almost affec-
tionate in the action.


PRIDE OR PREJUDICE 165
"A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," she
said bitterly. "After all there is a way out of the
trouble, there has been a way out all along. Our bless-
ing in disguise in the matter seems to be Mr. Mayfield.
We will ignore for the moment that he has himself
brought the situation about for his own ends. The
fact remains that he can keep the disgrace away. He
has offered to avert the catastrophe at a price. I am
the price. By saying one simple word everything is
changed. And in six months, you, my father, are mas-
ter of Dashwood absolutely. I have only to say, 'Yes,'
and the thing is done. It is a simple little word, which
has been the cause of untold misery to thousands of
poor girls. But, after all, there have been greater
sacrifices for less satisfactory results. And now let us
go into dinner."
The girl spoke quietly enough, but nothing could dis-
guise the bitterness and scorn that rang in every word.
It was all very wrong, it was dictated by motives clearly
open to question, but in spite of everything, it seemed
to Ralph that he had never admired Mary more than
he did at that moment. He knew of the anguish of
disappointment and despair that filled her cup to over-
flowing; he could realise the difference that the last
half-hour had made to her outlook on life; he knew
how much she hated and despised the man to whom
she was once more tied by the hands of Fate.
He knew also that filial love and affection had noth-
ing whatever to do with the fatal resolve. It was fam-
ily pride that was the mainspring of the action. Mary
stood there, proud and defiant now, with the lamplight
streaming on her face, and Ralph knew now that the
time was coming for him to act. The lesson would


166 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
have to be learned, the bread of affliction must be eaten
to the last sour crust.
"Will Mr. Darnley please to ring the bell?" Mary
went on evenly. "We shall have the servants wonder-
ing what is the matter. It is already half-past eight,
and punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues at the
dower house. If you will look into the mirror opposite,
father, you will see that your tie is all disarranged.
. . . Give me your arm, Mr. Darnley?"
There was not a trace of any emotion now about
Mary. She watched her father rearranging his tie with
a critical air; she began to discuss the flowers on the
dinner table as if nothing had happened out of the
common. She bore the brunt of the conversation all
dinner time, for the others were strangely silent.
From time to time Mary flashed a challenge from her
eyes to Ralph, as if defiantly ignoring his views. And
yet she dreaded her next meeting with Darnley. She
knew him to be poor and friendless, she believed him
to be of no particular family, but still she valued his
good opinion deeply. She would have denied that if
it had been put to her directly, but in her heart of
hearts she could not disguise the true state of her feel-
ings.
"Why are you looking at me so?" she said.
"Was I?" Ralph asked. "I had no idea that my
looks betrayed me so badly. But I will discuss the
matter with you when we are alone."
It was an audacious speech, but it sounded quite
naturally from Ralph's lips. Mary could feel the
colour rising to her cheeks; she felt annoyed that she
could not better control her feelings. For the rest
of the meal she was silent like the rest, and said no more
till Lady Dashwood gave the signal for departure.


CHAPTER XXVI
II* RECKLESS MOOD
ONCE 'the ladies had departed, Sir George bright-
ened visibly. He reached out eagerly for the
claret and drank two glasses rapidly. Ralph declined
the decanters, and also the cigar that his host handed
him. He contented himself with a cigarette; he re-
plied more or less vaguely to Sir George's idle chatter.
It seemed almost incomprehensible to him that a father
could sacrifice a daughter to a scoundrel like Mayfield,
and accept the situation as if it had been the most
natural thing in the world.
"I feel bound to have a few words with you, Sir
George," he said presently. "More by accident than
anything else I seem to have been dragged into your
family secrets. We will not go into the reason why I
was in a position to render you a service a night or two
ago. It is unfortunate that that service should have
proved useless, but it is more than probable than those
papers will turn up again."
"Never," Sir George said emphatically. "May-
field will take care of that. He knows that so long as
he holds the papers I am quite in his power. He will
lend me the money to put me right in the comfortable
assurance that at the expiration of six months it will
come back to him again. Take him all in all, Mayfield
167


168 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
is perhaps the most clever scoundrel that I have ever
come across, which is saying a great deal."
"You are convinced that Mayfield is a finished
scoundrel, then?"
"My dear fellow, what other conclusion could I come
to? His every action proves it. He has worked this
thing out in the most cold-blooded way. The fellow
ought to be hounded out of society and kicked out of
every respectable house. No club should tolerate him.
He's a rascal clean through."
There was honest indignation ringing in every word
that Sir George said. Ralph listened with cynical
amusement.
"And yet you are going to give your only child as
a hostage to the man who has planned your social
ruin," he said. "You are going to sell your daughter,
and the price is to be the silence of a scoundrel! Good
heavens, man, can't you realise the enormity of your
crime! To save yourself from unpleasantness, you per-
mit your daughter to give herself up to a lifetime of
horror and degradation. Is this a specimen of your
family pride? You are so fond of the race, so pas-
sionately attached to it, that you are paving the way for
that rascal Mayfield eventually to succeed you as the
head of the house! If you do this thing you will be
judged for it, as sure as we are face to face at this
moment. If you permit it, then you are a greater
rascal by far than even Mayfield is."
Ralph's words rang out clear and true, his voice
vibrated with anger. A dull flush mounted to the face
of the elder man, a feeble anger filled his eyes.
"I can't permit you to speak to me like this," he
protested. "I — I must be the best judge of what is


IN RECKLESS MOOD 169
right and proper for my child. And Mary is pretty
certain to have her own way in the end. My good fel-
low, you speak as if Mary's future was in your special
keeping. Anybody would think that you had fallen in
love with the girl."
"I have," Ralph said calmly. "I love Mary with
my whole heart and soul. I can see the beauties of
her mind as clearly as I can see the beauty of her face
under that crust of pride and arrogance. It will be
my task to remove the husk so that the flower can be
seen in all its loveliness. It may not trouble you much,
it may be no particular satisfaction to you, but Mary
is not going to marry Horace Mayfield. When the
time comes, Mary will marry me. But I fear that
there is a time of humiliation and suffering and poverty
before her first, poverty in which you will have your
share, Sir George. It rests practically in the girl's
own hands; she can take up the sunshine of the future
when she chooses."
"The fellow's mad," Sir George muttered. "Clean
mad. My dear Darnley, you are talking the most
abject nonsense. On your own confession you are
a poor man; you have lost everything as I did by
trusting to that scoundrel. I mean to Mayfield,
who"
"Precisely. We both know that man to be what he
is. And in spite of what you know, you are going to
let your daughter marry him and give her your bless-
ing. Truly the family pride of which you boast is a
poor thing! You are prepared to commit a crime to
support it. Now tell me your honest opinion — do
you suppose for a moment that Mayfield would marry
Mary if she came to him empty-handed?"


170 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Sir George shook his head; he was man of the world
enough to see Ralph's point.
"I don't think he would," he said. "Mayfield is
sufficient of a business man to know the value of money.
Of course he's fond of the girl, which is quite natural.
But I fail to see what your question has to do with the
matter."
Ralph was not blind to the hopelessness of his task.
Truly it is difficult to know the real standard of even
one's closest friend. Up to a certain point, Ralph had
regarded Sir George as an honourable man, who would
have shrunk from any act calculated to pain or harm
any fellow creature. Dashwood would probably have
protested himself that such was the case. And yet here
he was, prepared to sacrifice his only child on the altar
of his sinful selfishness.
A bitter contempt filled Ralph; he would have liked
to turn on this man and tear him to tatters with sharp-
edged words. Were all people alike when it came to
the test ? Ralph wondered. He half rose from his seat,
and then sat down again. It was impossible to quarrel
with Mary's father; there was nothing to gain by such
a course. And Sir George seemed to divine little of
what was passing in the mind of his young companion.
The elder man had regained his equanimity now.
He was sure that Mary would do what he called the
right thing. It was rather a nuisance, and so forth,
but then it was absurd to imagine that any girl could
imperil the good name of such a family as the Dash-
woods. As Sir George sipped his wine, he caught sight
of his own head and shoulders in a" Florentine mirror
on the far side of the room, and, unconsciously almost,
set his tie straight. It seemed incredible to Ralph that


IN" RECKLESS MOOD 171
the man could think of such things at such a moment.
But there it was. Sir George poured out for himself
another glass of wine.
"I can see that you are vexed," he said in his
polished easy way. "As a friend of ours you naturally
would be. In addition, you are naturally prejudiced
against our friend, Horace Mayfield. So am I, but we
must make the best of it. After all, -there are many
standards of honour. Mayfield is a business man; he
has been trained to methods which are not in accordance
with our views. All is fair in love and war, he would
argue. We must not be too hard on our fellow crea-
tures, Darnley."
"The fellow is a scoundrel," Ralph said hoarsely.
"He is bad to the very core of his being. He would
never see the inside of Dashwood Hall again if you
could be free of him. And when I think of your
daughter as that man's wife"
Ralph paused. He was unable to proceed. His
quick imagination travelled on ahead of him; he could
picture Mary's future in the darkest colours. He
knew only too well the fire and force and passion that
lay under the cold exterior. He could guess at the
unspeakable humiliation to come from Mayfield's very
touch. And this would go on not for days, but for
years. And Mary would never murmur, she would con-
fide in nobody, she would hug the galling chains to her
breast until the canker entered the heart of the flower
and killed it . . .
But Dashwood was talking again. Ralph was so
lost in his own gloomy thoughts that he had some diffi-
culty in picking up the thread.
"And there is another thing, my dear fellow," Sir


172 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
George murmured. "You will excuse my saying so,
but you are taking on yourself a little too much. Mary
owes her life to you on two different occasions. I am
sure that we are both of us exceedingly grateful to you.
And you have proved yourself to be a real friend in
other ways. Still, that does not give you the right to
harp upon this topic quite so freely. When Mary mar-
ries Mayfield"
"She never will do so," Ralph cried, forgetting him-
self for the moment. "Rest assured that this hateful
marriage will never take place. You may look sur-
prised, but wait and see. I have not finished with May-
field yet. After this evening is over, and I have heard
Miss Dashwood's decision for the last time"
"I decline to discuss the matter any further, really
I do," Sir George protested. "My dear fellow, your
remarks are in bad taste. As a gentleman, you must
see that such is the case. I must ask you to change the
subject."
Ralph placed a firm bridle upon his tongue. He
had almost forgotten himself; he had come very near
to betraying the great secret.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "As you say, I am
going too far. I shall not err in that way again, but
will leave you in peace to your cigar and your claret.
Perhaps I shall be able to get some music in the draw-
ing-room. The quietude of this house fascinates me,
all the more because I have not been accustomed to this
kind of thing."
Sir George smiled in a benign manner.
"I can understand your feelings," he said. "By all
means leave me to my cigar. It has been a very dis-
turbing evening."


CHAPTER XXVII
A WARNING
RALPH crossed the great hall in the direction of
the drawing-room. He had made up his mind
what to do. So far as he could judge, the blow would
have to fall before long. When once Mayfield had an
inkling of the truth, Ralph felt pretty sure that Mary
would be no longer under the necessity of submitting to
his persecutions. Mayfield posed as a rich man, and
indeed he seemed to have the command of money when
he needed it, but Ralph had reason to know that there
was a deal of tinsel mixed up with the gold. If it
could be proved to Mayfield that Mary was no longer
an heiress he would refuse to carry out his part of the
contract . He would recognise at once that the whole
scheme was a failure, and his cautious philosophy would
do the rest.
There were two ways of getting rid of Mayfield, the
first being for Ralph to declare his own identity. But
by doing so he would go far to defeat his darling am-
bition of winning Mary's love on his own merits. Still,
he had been prepared to run this risk if Mayfield's
persecutions continued. But now Pate had placed in
his hands another weapon by which it was possible to
be rid of Mayfield and carry on the love campaign at
the same time. Whether this alternative would have
173


174 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
to be used without delay depended on Mary. Ralph
meant to see her now and force her to say what she
was going to do. There was no time like the present.
In the silence and the moonlight this thing should be
done.
Just for a moment it seemed to Ralph that the draw-
ing-room was empty. There were the shaded lamps
throwing a subdued light on the old furniture and the
panelled walls. Ill at ease as he was, Ralph was con-
scious of the refined, soothing air of the place. Then
a gentle voice called him, and he crossed to a distant
corner of the room where Lady Dashwood was seated.
Her face was white and troubled.
"My dear lad," she whispered, "I felt certain that
you would come to me. Sir George cares nothing so
long as he has his comforts. Mary is out of the room;
she has gone up to see old Patience, so that you can
speak freely. This is a terrible catastrophe; it places
that poor child absolutely in the grip of the scoundrel.
She recognises that; she is prepared to bow to the in-
evitable. You have only to look into her face to see
what she is going to do. And I am to blame for the
whole miserable crime."
"My dear Lady Dashwood, how could you possibly
avoid it?"
"Oh, you will know some day when the truth is told.
Ah, if you had a bare idea of what a miserable, wicked
old woman I am. . . . But there is no occasion to
go into that here. The question is, can you help me,
can you do anything to prevent this thing? I used to
pride myself on the fact that I had a great deal of in-
fluence over Mary. But when it comes to a question
of family pride, I am helpless. Still, this marriage


A WARNING 175
must be prevented at any cost. If you will not speak
out, I shall be compelled to do so."
"There is no occasion," Ralph said. "I pray you
to leave me to do this in my own way. Mary will never
become the wife of Horace Mayfield."
A murmur of relief came from the aged listener.
Her face cleared somewhat, but the tears were still dim
in her eyes. At the same time, Ralph's words were a
great comfort to her. She laid her fingers on his hand
lovingly.
"I like to hear you speak like that," she whispered.
"It reminds me of your — of my dear son. Ralph,
are you sure that you can carry out your boast?"
"Quite, Lady Dashwood. As surely as I am stand-
ing here before you, I can prevent this hateful mar-
riage. I can prevent it even if Mary tries to thwart
me. But I must have her decision from her own lips
first. I am going to be very cruel to be very kind in
the long run. And whatever happens, I am going to
ask you to trust me implicitly. Even if things look
very dark for us all, you are not to lose your faith.
Remember, if events seem to point to the triumph of
one who is hateful to you, it is all being done with one
end in view. Now promise."
"My dear boy, I promise freely. When you look
at me with those brown eyes and speak to me with that
voice from the other side of the grave, I could promise
you anything. I feel that you have come to save me;
that my life is destined to end in peace. But I am
afraid that Mary is going to suffer yet."
"Oh, she is," Ralph said almost sternly. "It is
good for her that she should suffer. But I shall have
no fear for the result after she is tried in the furnace.


176 .THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Maybe I am no better tban a Quixotic fool, but I have
my aim clear before me. And now I must see Mary
for some moments alone."
"I will send her to you," Lady Dashwood murmured
as she rose from the chair. "Ralph, you fill me with
new hope and courage. I feel that I am going to do
some good with the remainder of my life yet. But
do not be too hard on the child, remember that she is
more or less what I have made her. And may she
listen to the voice of reason!"
It was a little time later that Mary came in. She
looked white and weary; her eyes had a metallic gleam
in them. All the same, she flushed under Ralph's
steady gaze. She murmured something to the effect
that she had no idea Lady Dashwood was not there.
"Never mind about Lady Dashwood for the pres-
ent," Ralph said. "In fact, I asked her to leave us
together for a time. I have something important to
say to you, Mary. Come out on the terrace with me."
It was not so much a request as a command and Mary
felt the hot blood rising to her face. And yet she could
not decline coldly with Ralph's eyes on hers. He
seemed to possess some magnetic influence over her.
Without a word they passed side by side out on to the
terrace.
It was a perfect night, with a full moon swinging
high overhead. In the distance the silver light played
on the roofs and chimneys of the Hall. Ralph stood
in rapt contemplation of the scene for a moment.
"It is absolutely perfect," he said. "A good old
house in a grand old English landscape. And for three
hundred years a Dashwood has reigned here. Truly
a thing to swell the heart with honest pride. No won-


A WARNING 177
der you are fond of it, Mary; no wonder you would
make any sacrifice to retain possession of it. But the
price is too heavy. To-morrow you must send Horace
Mayfield about his business."
"It is too late," Mary said coldly. "I have made
up my mind. Other women have made far heavier
sacrifices than this. And I shall get used to it."
"Never! You are not going to do it. I will not
permit you to commit this sin."
The girl's face blazed with anger, then her cheeks
grew white again. She would have liked to turn upon
Ralph with passionate scorn, but her sense of truth
and justice held her back. For what he said she knew
to be dreadfully, hopelessly true.
"Yes, a sin," Ralph said quietly. "The deliberate
violation of a sacrament. You will go to the altar with
a lie on your lips, your whole life will be a lie. To
my mind, one of the most horrible things is the sight
of a young girl who has married an old man for the
sake of his money. To me it is hideous. And your
sin will be worse than that, far worse. Picture it,
think of it, Mary, before it is too late."
The girl's head drooped, in spite of her pride and her
courage, the tears streamed down her face, her frame
was shaken by passionate sobs.
"Too late," she said. "Oh, I cannot draw back."
"Because you sacrifice everything to your foolish
pride," Ralph replied. "I see that it is quite useless
for me to plead any longer. Therefore, I must take
my own way to prevent your wasting your life in this
fashion. Would Horace Mayfield care for you if he
heard that you had lost your fortune?"
"The question is needless," Mary whispered. "Of
course he wouldn't."
12


178 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"Let us argue the matter out from that point of
view, then. Say that a merciful Providence interferes
to prevent this sin of yours. You lose your fortune.
Mind, there are many less likely things than this.
Your fortune takes wings and flies away. You are
free from Mayfield, and also you lose the Hall. What
would you do then?"
"But you are picturing an almost impossible case.
Such a thing is not the least likely."
"Indeed, it is. The late heir to the estate vanished
and never returned. There was a violent quarrel, the
facts of which are only known to Lady Dashwood. Her
son died far away without even communicating with
his relatives again. So far as we know, he may have
left a son behind him. He may have told that son
everything or nothing. But suppose that son finds out
the truth. What is to prevent his coming back and
claiming everything? He would get the title as a mat-
ter of course; he would get the estates also if he puts
in an appearance before another six months have gone
by. If this happens, you are no better than a pauper,
Mary. What do you say to that?"
"I do not believe in the existence of the man."
"No, but I do. Mary, that young man lives. He
will declare himself and bring in his proofs before
many days are over. He is the instrument chosen by
Providence to prevent this deliberate sin of yours.
Your reign at Dashwood is over; within a few days
you will be as poor as — as myself. Thank God, we
shall save you yet."
A little cry came from the girl's lips and she stood
like a white statue in the moonlight.


CHAPTER XXVIII
MORAL FORCE
IT was some time before Mary spoke again. Ralph
wondered if she had any inkling of the real truth.
He had perhaps said a little too much, and perhaps, on
the other hand, he had not said quite enough. Suppose
that Mary jumped to the immediate conclusion that he
was the heir. What then? She would ask him the
question point blank, and he would be compelled to
speak the truth.
But Mary's perception was at fault for once. As
her eyes sought Ralph's face it was evident that she
had not the remotest idea who he was. And this was
just as it should be, from Ralph's point of view.
For he was doing what the world would call a foolish
and Quixotic thing. He loved this girl with his whole
heart and soul; he knew that she was the one woman
for him. But not yet; until that sinful pride was
humbled in the dust there would be no happiness for
Mary. Her character would have to be cleansed and
purified in the fire of adversity first. Ralph knew
quite well what noble qualities lay under that mask of
pride and ice.
He could have called the girl his; he knew it. He
had only to proclaim his identity, and Mary Dashwood
would have asked no better fate than to become the wife
179


180 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
of the head of the family; she might have given her
heart into the bargain.
But Ralph would have none of it that way. Mary
should come to him and sue for pardon; she should
proclaim in all sincerity that love was best of
all. She should feel that there was something far bet-
ter than being mistress of Dashwood Hall. Then the
truth might be told and the old order of things re-es-
tablished.
All this Ralph had worked out in his mind as a
novelist works out a plot. And Fate had played into
his hands. A stern, hard time was coming for Mary,
but it would be the making of her in the end. Ralph
could see it all in his mind's eye as he stood by Mary's
side and looked into her troubled eyes.
"I don't understand," she said slowly. "I am
afraid that I am not so hard and resolute as I believed
myself to be. And things have moved so rapidly
lately, that I am dazed. First comes the knowledge
that my father is — is"
The girl hesitated and broke down. Ralph com-
pleted her sentence for her. It sounded harsh and un-
kind, but the lesson had to be learned.
"Is not the man you took him for," Ralph said.
"His family pride is not a durable article. To play
his part properly he should have coldly and politely
told Mayfield to do his worst, and ordered him out of
the house. That is the course one has a right to expect
from the head of the house of Dashwood. But, alas,
for the weakness of poor human nature! Your father
knows Mayfield to be an abandoned scoundrel, and yet
he makes a compact with him. A bargain is arranged
between them, and you are the price to be paid, Mary.


MORAL FORCE 181
And, upon my word, your pride seems to me to be as
hollow a thing as that of your father."
"That is false," Mary cried passionately. "I am
sacrificing everything for the honour of the house."
"Not from my point of view. As I said before,
you are committing a great and deadly sin with your
eyes open. At the altar you are prepared to soil your
lips with a horrible perjury. You are going to promise
to love, honour, and obey the man whose very presence
makes you shudder. But, fortunately, there is no need
for that. To all practical purposes you have ceased to
be mistress of Dashwood, and when Mayfield knows
this, he will dismiss you as a mere incident in his
career. The new heir will take possession of the title
and the property."
"I am glad we have got back to him again," Mary
said coldly. "Your personal remarks are exceedingly
distasteful to me. Who is the man you speak of?"
"Vincent Dashwood. Did you not guess it before?
Has it never occurred to you that he had some powerful
motive that kept him here all this time? You must be
aware how Lady Dashwood dislikes him"
"Oh, yes, yes. Several times lately I have asked
who the man was, but I could not succeed in getting a
satisfactory reply. I knew that Lady Dashwood was
afraid of the man. He is not a bit like a gentleman,
but seeing that he was a Dashwood, I have always been
more or less civil to him."
"He does not think so," Ralph said with a smile.
"In fact, he thinks that you have treated him very
distantly and haughtily. He hinted to me that he was
going to make you pay for it later. Still, a most ob-
jectionable creature."


182 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I seem to be surrounded with them lately," Mary
said bitterly. "But why all this mystery and secrecy?
If the man is the person he claims to be, why did
he not make his identity known long ago? Oh, he
is an impostor, defrauding Lady Dashwood. So
long as he can get money out of her he will do noth-
ing."
"Perhaps Lady Dashwood will enlighten us on that
point," Ralph said. "I may say that in California I
knew the late Ralph Dashwood very well. Had I not
done so, I should not have been here on private business
to-day"
"Then you know if the late heir to the property had
a son %" Mary interrupted.
"Certainly he did. And Vincent Dashwood claims
to be Ralph's son. If he can prove this, then he takes
the estates and the title. I have talked the matter over
with him, and I gather that he is waiting for one par-
ticular document before claiming the property. The
document is his mother's marriage certificate. You
may say that that is easy to obtain. Not so in Cali-
fornia, where records of that class are not kept so
rigidly as they are here. Lady Dashwood will tell you
that the young man came with the strongest proofs of
his identity, letters that she had written to her son,
and other papers of that kind. He knows all the sec-
rets of the House. Lady Dashwood never catches him
tripping."
"Very strange!" Mary said. "And yet he makes
no claim!"
"For the reason that I told you. He led me to un-
derstand that he is loth to disturb existing arrange-
ments during the lifetime of her ladyship. On the


MORAL FORCE 183
whole, I regard this as an exceedingly fortunate busi-
ness for you!"
"Fortunate?" Mary exclaimed. "An incident that
renders my father and myself penniless!"
"Yes. It prevents you becoming the wife of Hor-
ace Mayfield. Directly he hears of this thing he will
turn his back on you for ever. He is too much a man
of the world to waste time in idle regrets; he will look
out for another to take your place. On the whole, it
seems to me that Fate has been very kind to you."
"Indeed." Mary's voice was very cold, her face
colder stilL "You seem to be glad."
"I am glad. I am rejoiced to find that Providence
is not going to allow you to wreck your happiness and
imperil your future in this way. Nothing could please
me better than to see you dependent upon your own
exertions for a living. You will be all the better for
it; it will cleanse and purify you. And then you will
discover that the best thing in the world for a good
woman is a good man's love. It is my love for you,
Mary, that makes me take this view of things, that im-
pels me to rejoice in the fact that you are nearer to
me to-night than you have ever been before. And
some day you will own it."
"Never!" Mary cried passionately. "Oh, you
make me hate you, you make me forget how much I
owe you. I could never become your wife."
Ralph smiled. There was something very soothing
in the sweetness of the night. Many a time afterward
that scene rose up before his mind.
"You shall be my wife," he said in tones of quiet
power. "The scales will fall from your eyes and you
will ask me to forgive you. Oh, my dear, I know the


184 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
beauty of your true nature better than you know it
yourself. I can see it all before me as clearly as if I
were endowed with the gift of prophecy. We all have
our lesson to learn, and it is no fault of yours that the
lesson has come so late. And when my confession has
followed yours, we shall know the meaning of true hap-
piness, but not before."
As if he had said the final word, Ralph turned in
the direction of the house. A world of passionate
scorn, defiance, anger trembled on Mary's parted lips.
How dare this man, how dare any man, talk to her like
this? And yet at the same time the girl was fully
aware of the power and masterful purpose behind
Ralph's words. She was glad in her inmost heart to
know that he cared for her so much. After all, Mary
had her dreams of love and romance like other girls.
She was dimly conscious of the sweet and tender
womanhood that underlay her pride and ice. And she
knew that no scorn or invective could turn Ralph from
his purpose.
"Very well," she said resignedly. "You are a
strong man, and I am a weak woman. I daresay you
imagine yourself to be paying me a compliment. But
I should put that dream aside if I were you, for it is
never likely to come true."
"It is no dream," Ralph smiled. "Nor is the hap-
piness so very far off. Now let me take you back to
the house again, for it is getting late."
As Mary slipped her hand under the proffered arm,
a gentle sigh escaped her. She wondered why she
could not be angry with this man, why every word of
his thrilled her and filled her with such happiness as
could not be expressed in words.


CHAPTER XXIX
STBATEGY
MEANWHILE the police were pushing on their in-
vestigations into the causes leading up to the fire
at Dashwood Hall with great energy. The clue of
the match-box was held to be an important one, and now
that the owner of the toy had been discovered, important
developments were expected. In the interim, Vincent
Dashwood returned from London, having forgotten all
about his loss. It was brought back to his mind with
unpleasant force after luncheon the following day by
a visit from the inspector of police.
Dashwood was lounging at the table, smoking a ciga-
rette. Lady Dashwood sat opposite to him, her slim
hands folded in her lap. She was looking white and
worn; her eyes seemed to seek her companion in weary
misery.
"I don't see what you have to complain of," Dash-
wood was saying. "I've done everything to please
you. Here I am, a kind of mystery in the house, living
more or less on your bounty, whilst all the time I might
have been Sir Vincent Dashwood, with a fine property
behind me. And any time I want a few pounds you
grumble."
"That is not a true statement of the case," Lady
Dashwood said in her resigned way. "You told me
you could do nothing till you received the certificate
185


186 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
of your father's marriage. As to the rest, I accepted
you implicitely as my grandson. After the proofs that
you placed in my hands, I had no alternative."
"Much as you would have liked one," Dashwood
sneered.
"Yes, if you will force me to speak plainly. Many
a time I have prayed that a child of my son's should
be sent to me. But you are not in the least like your
father. He was wild and headstrong, and he never
forgave the shameful way we treated him, but he was a
gentleman."
"Meaning that I'm not one, eh? Well, hard words
break no bones. For the sake of peace and quietness,
I've kept my claim from everybody but you; to please
you I have suppressed the truth till I can get that
certificate. And in return you promised me that I
should not suffer. And now you refuse me a paltry
£500."
"I have not refused it you. I have not the money.
And you have had all my jewels, jewels valued at nearly
£30,000. In my weakness and folly I parted with the
property which does not belong to me. £30,000 in the
space of a year! Where has the money gone?"
"Now if that isn't just like a woman," Dashwood
growled. "I daresay those stones were valued at the
sum you mention, but to get that for them is a different
matter. To be candid, I pawned your gems for less
than a third of that money. And when I tried to raise
a further loan on the same security, I was met with a
pointblank refusal. So you see, I have not been so
very extravagant after all."
Lady Dashwood sighed bitterly. She was getting
used to vulgar scenes like this. And yet there was hope


strategy; 187
that before long she would be freed from the blood-
sucker. She watched him now as he sat sprawling in
his chair, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a price-
less Sevres dessert dish. How could she ever have
taken him for her grandson, she wondered? Why
had she been so weak and feeble?
A servant entered at the same moment with an in-
timation to the effect that somebody desired to see Mr.
Dashwood. The gentleman was waiting in the dining-
room. A dull flush of annoyance came over Dashwood's
face.
"Some meddling creditor," he muttered. "A Lon-
don tradesman, who has managed to get my address
from somewhere. Good-bye to all peace if once my re-
treat has got known. Tell the man to call again,
Charles. I can't see him."
"Begging your pardon, sir," the footman said re-
spectfully, "it is not a tradesman, and he said he must
see you on the most important business. The gentle-
man is Inspector Drake, the head constable from Long-
town."
Dashwood's teeth clicked together; his face turned
to a dull ashen hue. He had been suddenly stricken
by some mortal fear; he could not disguise the fact
from Lady Dashwood. Her heart sank within her as
she glanced fearfully at the white set face on the other
side of the table. She wondered what new disgrace
was here.
"I — I'll come in a minute," Dashwood muttered
thickly. "This room is so hot that it makes one feel
quite faint. Charles, give me a glass of brandy from
the sideboard. A large glass without water. Ah!"
The white face resumed a little of its colour and


188 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the teeth ceased to chatter as the potent spirit got in
its work. With an uneasy swagger, Dashwood crossed
over to the door, but his heart was beating thick and
fast and there was a great lump in his throat that he
could not quite succeed in swallowing. But the in-
spector of police knew nothing of this as he responded
curtly enough to Dashwood's insolent salutation.
"And what can I do for you?" the latter asked.
"This is a very inconvenient hour for me."
"Very sorry for that, sir," the official said coolly.
"But my duty is plain. I should like to have a few
words with you as to the fire at Dashwood Hall."
A strange sense of relief, almost of exultation, came
over the listener. He could breathe more freely now;
all his swagger came back to him. The visit of the
officer had nothing to do with any episode out of a
dark and dubious past.
"What can I tell you about that?" he asked. "I
know nothing of it."
"Well, it's like this, sir," Drake proceeded to ex-
plain. "We have established beyond all shadow of a
doubt that the fire was not caused by accident. Straw
was laid deliberately on the floor of the hall, and as de-
liberately soaked in petroleum. We found the rest of
the straw, and also we found the empty drum of oil,
which had been taken from one of the outhouses. All
this must have happened in the early hours of the morn-
ing. It was a very good thing that the timbers of the
house are so sound, or nothing could have saved the
place. As it is, the fire burnt itself out."
"But what has all this got to do with me?" Dash-
wood asked impatiently.
"Half a minute, sir. I was merely telling you that


STRATEGY 189
this was the work of an incendiary. Once having es-
tablished the fact, we will get to business. We searched
in the ashes, and we were so fortunate as to find this."
Drake held up the familiar match-box and handed
it to Dashwood. He looked just a little uneasy, but
there was no suggestion of guilt about him.
"We found this peculiar match-box in the straw,
sir," Drake went on. "The theory is that it was
dropped by somebody who was connected with the fire.
Suppose that the culprit was disturbed, or perhaps the
sudden blaze was so fierce that the box fell and could
not be recovered. I want to know if you have seen
this box before?"
Dashwood turned the silver toy over in his hands for
a moment. There was nothing to be gained by con-
cealing the truth.
"I understand your insinuation," he said. "As a
matter of fact, that box belongs to me, and, as I dare say
you are aware, my initials are engraved upon it. The
box is a novelty in its way; I bought it some years ago
in America. Do you mean to say that this was found
in the ashes of the fire?"
"It was, sir. I picked it up myself. The butler,
Slight, recognised it as belonging to you. Now you will
see why I came to you."
"Oh, of course. So your beautiful intelligence sug-
gests that I had some hand in that fire. If you only
knew the true position of affairs, you would know that
I am the very last person in the world to want any-
thing to happen to the Hall. But that is a detail which
we may come to presently. Meanwhile, I am prepared
to accept the responsibility of calling myself the owner
of the box. I must have been careless enough to drop


190 THE NETHER MI1LSTOXE
it and somebody picked it up — the somebody who tried
to set fire to the Hall . I'm afraid that I can't tell you
any more than that."
"All the same, I'm afraid I must go a little farther,
sir," Drake said. "That box is yours and it was found
in the ashes of the fire. It appears that some time be-
fore the fire broke out one of the servants at the Hall
was called up to take a message to Mr. Mayfield, who is
staying in a farmhouse not far from here. The serv-
ant's name is Walters. He went back to his quarters
over the stables, and as it was a fine night and he did
not feel in the least sleepy, he sat by the open window
and smoked a cigarette. He says that a little before
two — close to the time when the fire broke out — he
saw somebody come from the direction of the house and
cross the lawn. The figure was moving rapidly, and
apparently desired to escape observation. When Wal-
ters was asked if he could recognise the figure in ques-
tion, he said positively that he could. I asked him to
give it a name, and, to make a long story short, he said
it was you, sir."
There was no mistaking the dry suggestiveness in
Drake's manner. He was not in the least apologetic
now, he made his statement with the air of a man who
is sure of his ground. Dashwood changed colour
slightly.
"This is ridiculous," he cried. "The idea that I
should have any motive for destroying the old house
is out of the question. If you knew who I really
am"
"That is not the point, sir. The question is were
you there?"
"Yes, I was," Dashwood said in a kind of sullen


STRATEGY 191
desperation. "I was out at that hour. The best thing
I can do is to come as far as the Hall and have it out
with Walters. I see that the time has come when I
must tell the truth."


CHAPTER XXX
THE HEIR OF THE HOUSE
SIR GEORGE DASHWOOD sat in the Gothic
library at Dashwood Hall bewailing his hard
fate in a manner which would have been called peevish
in a less distinguished man. He wanted to know when
he was going to get back the full possession of his
house again; he desired to be informed why Horace
Mayfield had not been to see him. He did not appear
to be listening to what Mary had to say. Also he was
full of the fact that the more or less mysterious Vincent
Dashwood had made a dastardly attempt to reduce the
old house to ashes.
"You don't seem to understand," Mary said with
some impatience. She was standing in the window of
the library with the sunshine full on her face.
Through the great mullion, with its crested devices, she
could see the deer in the park beyond. "You do not
seem to comprehend that this is a blessing in disguise.
So far as I can see, the house is not a bit the worse for
what might have been a terrible disaster. I am bound
to confess that I don't like Mr. Dashwood, but at the
same time I am quite sure that he had nothing to do
with the fire — the fire which prevented anybody from
knowing of the disgrace that had fallen upon us."
"No thanks to that young man," Sir George grum-
bled. "I tell you he was responsible for the fire. His
'
192


THE HEIR OF THE HOUSE 193
match-box was found there. Walters saw him by the
house. Why Lady Dashwood doesn't get rid of the
fellow passes my comprehension."
"But I have just been trying to explain to you, only
you won't listen," Mary responded with some show of
impatience. "There are the most powerful reasons
why Mr. Vincent Dashwood does not desire the destruc-
tion of the house. Mr. Darnley told me all about it
last night. Vincent Dashwood claims to be the son
of Ralph Dashwood."
Sir George started as if something had stung him.
He had been so wrapped up in his own selfishness up
to now that he had no ears for anything else. Mary's
statement almost overpowered him. Many things sud-
denly became plain to the baronet's understanding.
He rose to his feet and paced up and down the room
in terrible agitation.
"Is this really a fact?" he demanded. "I cannot
believe it, and yet, and yet, I have met that fellow a
good many times, and the oftener I see him, the more
does he impress me unfavourably. I see now that there
must have been some powerful reason why Lady Dash-
wood should tolerate the man. But why did she not
tell us at once, why did she go on feeding him with
money? for I can now quite see why she was not in a
position to do me a favour the other night. If what
you say is correct, Mary, then we are little better than
beggars. Still, the reason for all this mystery"
"Is not so strange when one comes to understand,
father. It appears that Ralph Dashwood married an
American lady somewhere in the wildest part of Cali-
fornia. There has been a great difficulty in finding the
marriage certificate. Lady Dashwood is quite con-
13


194 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
vinced that the man we are speaking of is her grand-
son."
Sir George broke out into feeble winnings, he grew
almost tearful. And as he became weak and senti-
mental, so did Mary grow harder. If this crowning
blow had to fall, then nobody should hear a word of
weakness from her. For her part she could have fought
this man, even if it had left her penniless before the
world. She clenched her teeth upon her lip to keep
down the rising tide of bitter reproaches. Then she
turned to see that Vincent Dashwood, together with In-
spector Drake, had entered the room. The former
looked heated and indignant, for he had been giving a
piece of his mind to the policeman.
"I am glad to find you here, Sir George," he shouted.
"The police are making all kinds of accusations against
me. They say, forsooth, that I have tried to burn the
house down, and all because a match-box of mine was
found in the ashes. I suppose I am not the first man
in the world who has lost a match-box. And I've been
telling Drake here that I have every reason that the
house should not be injured."
"So my daughter informs me," Sir George replied
in the same whining voice. "Seeing that you claim to
be the son of Ralph Dashwood"
The other man laughed defiantly. All the same he
could not meet the glance that Mary turned upon him.
His bold eyes were turned to her face, then they dropped
as if looking for something on the floor.
"I'm very sorry," Drake put in, "but this is a
serious matter. The finding of that box, the mere fact
that Mr. Dashwood was seen here at the hour of the fire,
all make it necessary for me to take certain steps"


THE HEIR OF THE HOUSE 195
"I must speak," Vincent Dashwood broke out. "I
did not mean to proclaim the truth, because I was not
ready to do so. And there was Lady Dashwood to be
considered. Still, as I see that Mr. Drake is prepared
to go to the extreme length of arresting me for the al-
leged act of arson, I am compelled to declare the truth
for my own protection. Drake tells me that he has
lived in the adjacent town of Longtown all his life, so
he must be more or less acquainted with the family of
Dashwood. He knows, for instancej that Mr. Ralph
Dashwood left here forty years ago, and that his friends
have seen nothing of him since. I suppose that state-
ment is not too much for your intelligence, Drake?"
"I am quite aware that you are quoting facts, sir,"
Drake said grimly.
"Very well. I'm glad to hear that you believe some-
thing I say. It is not generally known, but it will be
clearly established before long that Mr. Ralph Dash-
wood married an American lady, by whom he had one
child, a son. To go farther, I may say that that son
now stands before you. I am the only son of Ralph
Dashwood, born in lawful wedlock, as Lady Dashwood
perfectly well knows, and therefore the property be-
longs to me. There is no such person really as Sir
George Dashwood; as a matter of fact, Sir Vincent
Dashwood — in other words, myself — is head of the
family and owner of the place. There is only one
proof necessary, and that I hope to have in my hands
in a few days. I allude to the certificate of my par-
ents' wedding. And now, Mr. Drake, after hearing
all this, can you suggest that I should gain anything
by burning this house down? If I had had an im-
pulse in that direction, I could easily have waited for


196 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
an opportunity of committing that folly in a safer
fashion."
Drake was bound to admit that the astounding
revelations made all the difference in the complexion
of the case. Sir George Dashwood listened with a dark
look on his face. Mary turned to the door to see that
Ralph Darnley was standing there. The mere knowl-
edge of his presence seemed to support and comfort her
in this trying hour. Yet she did not feel the poignant
sorrow and sense of loss as keenly as she should.
"Mr. Darnley will tell us if this is true," she cried.
"Lady Dashwood will tell you so, at any rate,"
Ralph responded. "I have taken the liberty of listen-
ing to what this gentleman had to say. It so happens
that I can throw considerable light on the story. As I
told you last night, I knew the late Ralph Dashwood
very well, though I had not the honour of meeting the
man who claims to be his son. Perhaps Mr. Dash-
wood will reply to a few of my questions. Will he tell
me, for instance, in what part of California his mother
lived?"
"Certainly I will," Vincent Dashwood replied with-
out the slightest hesitation. "It was in Jackson
County; I understand the town was Courville."
"I should say that is perfectly correct," Ralph said.
"In fact, I have every reason to know that it is cor-
rect. And the name of your mother?"
"Alice Montrose. But where the wedding took
place, I can't say just now."
"That is also correct," Ralph went on in the same
solemn way. "I am in a position to prove that Alice
Montrose was the wife of Ralph Dashwood. It is the
legal verification of the marriage that you seek?"


THE HEIR OF THE HOUSE 197
"That's it," Dashwood cried eagerly. "Once that
is in my possession, the rest is easy. As I said be-
fore, I did not desire to proclaim my identity just yet
for several reasons. But I have been compelled to
speak for the sake of my honour. And if you, Mr.
Darnley, who seem to know so much, can help me to
discover that particular document, I shall be eternally
grateful to you. Anything that I can do for you by
way of reward"
"I shall make use of you, no doubt," Ralph replied.
"Your claim appears to be a very strong one, and every-
thing is going in your favour. So far all you say as
to the marriage of Ralph Dashwood and Alice Mont-
rose has been correct . You are in urgent need of the
certificate. Let me make the dramatic situation com-
plete by presenting you with the paper that you most
desire. If you will look at this long slip of paper, you
will see that it is a copy, certified, of the marriage in
question. As you seem to be the person most entitled
to the paper, it is with pleasure that I place it in your
hands."
Vincent Dashwood's face turned from grey to red,
and then to deadly white. Then he suddenly burst
out into a hoarse whoop of triumph and he danced
round the room with every manifestation of extravagant
joy. He would have shaken hands with Ralph, only
the latter did not seem to see the trembling moist palm
extended to him.
"Is this real?" Sir George groaned, "or is it all
some hideous dream?"
"It is real enough," Ralph said. "It is a case of
'the King is dead, long live the King.' Pray allow me
to offer you my congratulations, Sir Vincent."


UNDER WHICH LORD? 199
She was going to lose them all — the pictures and the
gardens, the horses in the stables, and the very deer that
loved her. What the future held for her, Mary had
not considered. She brought herself back to the pres-
ent with an effort; she became aware that Vincent
Dashwood was speaking.
"This — this is really extraordinary," he cackled.
"Like a scene from a play. I had my own good rea-
sons for not proclaiming my identity for the present,
but you all see that circumstances have been too strong
for me. And then at the critical moment Mr. Darnley
comes along with that paper. How it came into his
possession"
"That is easily explained," Ralph said in his grave
way. "It was given to me by Mr. Ralph Dashwood
in circumstances that I need not go into here. Prim-
arily, the certificate was to have been forwarded to the
solicitors of this estate."
"Quite so, quite so," Dashwood said loftily.
"Really, it doesn't matter. The point is that my
proofs are now complete. My idea was to do nothing
and say nothing till Lady Dashwood — my grand-
mother — had become resigned to the change in the con-
dition of affairs. It is perhaps natural that the good
lady should look coldly on me and that all her affec-
tion should be for Mary here. And I am bound to
say that Mary has not treated me with the friendliness
that I could have wished."
Hot words rose to the girl's lips, but she checked
herself with an effort. Doubtless the new heir was
doing his best to be agreeable, perhaps he did not know
how offensive he was.
"But I am not going to be vindictive," he resumed.


200 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"It is only natural that you should feel a little sore
and hurt. One doesn't turn out of a snug crib like
this without turning a hair. As a matter of fact, there
is no reason why you should go at all, at least, not for
some time to come. I don't suppose I shall ever marry
— I'm not that kind of chap. There is no reason why
Mary and the old gentleman and myself shouldn't
be very snug here together. Mr. Dashwood wants
little more than the run of his teeth at his time of
life."
Mary's cheeks flamed at the unconscious humiliation.
She was being offered a home as a pauper and a de-
pendent; it was infinitely worse than going into a work-
house. Mary had never dreamed of being humbled
and crushed in the dust like this. Before she could
reply, Slight looked into the doorway, his dry, red face
screwed up into the semblance of respect. He an-
nounced Horace Mayfield in a loud voice.
Mayfield came in, glass in eye, serene and self-
confident, his hard mouth looking more like a steel
trap than ever. The quiet triumph in his eyes was
not lost on Mary; she did not fail to note the gleam
of possession as he glanced at her. There was cold
consolation in the knowledge that after all Mayfield
was powerless to hold her soul and body in thraldom
any longer.
"I beg your pardon," Mayfield said, "I seem to be
intruding on a family conference or something of
that kind. Slight did not tell me, though I have
every reason to believe that he was listening outside the
door. What are you doing here?"
The question was flung headlong at Vincent Dash-
wood, who had started and changed colour as May-


UNDER WHICH LORD? 201
field came in. Evidently these two knew one another,
for Mayfield was rudely contemptuous, Dashwood
cringing yet defiant. Was there yet another vulgar
mystery here? Mary wondered wearily.
"Perhaps I had better explain," Ralph said.
"This, Mr. Mayfield, is an unexpected, but neverthe-
less dramatic situation. Let me present you to Sir
Vincent Dashwood, only son and heir of the late
Ralph Dashwood, who died some time ago. Sir Vin-
cent had some natural hesitation in declaring his iden-
tity; he was loth to upset existing arrangements. We
must all respect proper feeling of that kind. One
reason Sir Vincent had for keeping his personality a
secret was the fact that he lacked the legal proof of
his parent's marriage. By a fortunate chance I was
able to supply the omission. Still, we need not go
into that. The fact remains that Sir Vincent has
now established his claim, as the family solicitors will
admit without unnecessary delay. Unhappily, this
new condition of affairs makes it very awkward for
Sir George — I mean, Mr. George Dashwood. By this
cruel stroke he finds himself practically a pauper.
And on Miss Dashwood the blow falls with the same
heavy weight. The heiress becomes dependent upon
the charity of the head of the family."
As Ralph spoke his eyes were fixed on Mayfield's.
He was searching keenly for any sign of anger or
emotion. But Mayfield did not betray himself.
There was a red spark in his eyes and the big veins
stood on his forehead, but nothing further. And as
Ralph proceeded a faint smile grew at the corners of
the cruel mouth.
"This is exceedingly interesting," he said, "and to


202 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
think that Sir Vincent should have kept this from so
old a friend as myself."
There was mocking bitterness in the speech and
Dashwood fairly writhed under it. He seemed to
hang in a kind of agony on the next word. His sigh
of relief as Mayfield turned from him was not lost on
Mary. Mayfield turned abruptly to the girl.
"This will make a great difference to you," he said.
"For my own part, I am disappointed at the strange
turn of affairs. Still, I am philosophic enough to
take my chances. In reality I came here to say
good-bye to you. I will not see you for some time to
come."
The whole thing was so cool, so icily audacious,
that Mary had no words for reply. This man had
accepted the change in the situation with instant readi-
ness, there was not so much as a shade of regret in his
voice. Mary had gone out of the sphere of his affec-
tion, and he was prepared to drop her like an old
glove. The blood flamed into her face at this fresh
humiliation; the pride of the family was serving her
badly now. Her trembling hands went out to Ralph.
He saw what was passing in her mind.
"Take me away from here," she whispered. "Take
me out into the fresh air or I shall die. What have
I done to deserve this degradation? And get my
father to come, too. Has he lost all his manhood that
he stays here?"
They went out into the sunshine and the air at
length, and Dashwood was alone with Mayfield. The
latter closed the door and lighted a cigarette. There
was a grim ferocity in his eyes that caused Dash-
wood to turn sick.


UNDER WHICH LORD? 203
"So you've done it, you rascal," Mayfield muttered.
"I daresay you will tell me that your hand was more
or less forced. Perhaps it was. And yet if I raise
my little finger you will pass the next ten years of
your life in gaol."
"Don't," Dashwood said with difficulty, "don't talk
like that. The cards were all of them literally forced
on me. Why should you mind?"
"Why should I mind? Why, man alive, you have
'queered my pitch' as some of your dissolute com-
panions would say. I was going to marry Mary
Dashwood, the great heiress, everything was ready to
my hand. A little later and the thing would have
been accomplished. Only one thing bothered me — I
am at my wit's ends for some ready money, which I
must have before long. And, as things stand at pres-
ent, Mary Dashwood could not raise anything on her
expectations. But I was going to play the bold game
and risk everything, even my liberty, on this stake. I
was never more surprised in my life than when that
fellow Darnley explained the situation. I nearly gave
you away."
"I saw that," Dashwood said hoarsely, "my heart
was in my mouth. It was very good of you to re-
member an old pal who"
"Old pal be hanged," Mayfield cried. "I'd have
betrayed you fast enough had it been to my interest
to do so. I saw my game like a flash. They are going
to let you into the thing without a fight. But not for
very long, my boy, so you had better make the most
of your time. As Sir Vincent Dashwood you are all
right, you can play ducks and drakes with the estate
if you please; in fact, you are going to start with a


204 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
mortgage of £50,000. That sum of money you will
pay over to me."
"What for?" Dashwood asked uneasily. "Why
should I do it?"
"Call it what you like. Call it blackmail. But I'm
going to have it all the same."


CHAPTER XXXII
MUST THIS THING BE?
MR. GEORGE DASHWOOD staggered into the
hall at the dower house with an exaggeration
of grief that filled Mary with contempt. The de-
throned head of the house seemed to have no thought
for anything but himself. His eyes were filled with
tears, his voice was weak and tremulous with selfish
emotion.
"This is dreadful," he moaned. "Really, I had
expected something better at your hands, Darnley.
Still, I suppose you are merely here to fulfil a promise
to Ralph Dashwood. Most selfish of a man to keep
in the background all these years and then spring a
mine on one like this. And here am I, at my time of
life, with nothing to fall back on, not even a pension,
for I commuted mine when I left the Service. Still,
that young fellow did not behave at all badly. Don't
forget, my dear that he offered us the free use of the
Hall for the present, at any rate. And he said that
he was not a marrying man. Well, if you play your
cards properly, Mary"
Mary turned her face away and hid her hot cheeks
in a great bowl of dewy roses standing on the hall
table. It was no use, she could not keep the tears
back any longer. This was the crowning humiliation
of an unspeakable day. For her father to deal her
205


206 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
this blow in the presence of the one man whose re-
spect she valued so highly was the refinement of
cruelty. She rushed from the hall with choking words
to the effect that she must go and tell Lady Dashwood
everything.
"What's the matter with the girl now?" Dash-
wood asked peevishly. "Not one word of sympathy
has she uttered. Children have no feelings nowadays,
Darnley. I suppose she was angry about the new
head of the house. What better arrangement could
be made? It would settle all the difficulties at once,
especially now Mayfield is out of the way. I thought
that our young friend put it very nicely."
"Did you?" Ralph responded coldly. "I may
not be a judge of these matters, but I fail to see how
you could accept that invitation. Of course, a few
days' residence at Dashwood to get your personal be-
longings together would be another matter."
"But what am I to do?" Dashwood asked feebly.
"I am an old man, I have been accustomed to the best
of everything all my lifetime, and here I am cut off
from all my pleasures and not a penny to call my own.
I can't starve, my good fellow, and I couldn't stay here
with Lady Dashwood; she gets on my nerves terribly.
What am I to do? Really, I feel in absolute need of
a cigar and glass of champagne. It is not my habit
to drink at this time of the day, but my condition calls
for it."
Dashwood crept away with many a sigh and groan,
and Ralph was left to his own by no means pleasant
thoughts. He had deliberately struck the blow, and
now that it had fallen, he was inclined to be dismayed
at the result. It was very hard upon this feeble old


MUST THIS THING BE? 207
man, it was very hard upon Mary, but Ralph steeled
himself for the fray. Things were going to be worse
yet, the lily was going to pine upon the stem. Still, it
would never do now to become infirm of purpose, let
the consequences be ever so bad. Yet> if the worst
came to the worst, it would be easy to sweep away the
whole network of intrigue and fraud by the raising of
a finger. It was necessary that Mary should learn
her lesson to the last letter. That the girl would fight
hard against her misfortunes Ralph did not need to
be told. That she would refuse to eat the bread of
charity at another person's expense he was perfectly
sure. He was still debating the problem when Mary
entered the hall again. Her face was very white;
there were dark rings under her blue eyes, which were
now swollen with tears. The girl flushed as she saw
the sympathy in Ralph's face.
"Do not think me weak," she pleaded. "I am find-
ing out that I am only human after all. I have
always despised tears, but the pain at my heart was
so great that tears brought the only cure for it. But
I did not come here to talk about myself. I have been
telling Lady Dashwood everything, and she has ex-
pressed a desire to see you. What have you done
with my father?"
"He has gone to the dining-room. He declared that
exhausted nature required a stimulant in the form
of champagne. I am afraid that you will not find
your father much use to you in the dark hours to
come, Mary."
"I'm afraid not," Mary sighed, "but won't you go
and see Lady Dashwood? She is upstairs in her sit-
ting-room. Of course, she is upset; in fact, she has


208 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
been saying all sorts of strange things which are be-
yond my comprehension. Why has she taken such
a strange fancy to you, I wonder?"
But Ralph did not appear to be listening. There
was every prospect of a painful interview before him.
He passed up the stairs to the pleasant room looking
orer the gardens which Lady Dashwood had made her
own. She signed for the door to be shut; as Ralph
came towards her, she advanced with both hands out-
stretched.
"You will guess why I sent for you," she said.
"Mary has been telling me everything. So the man
who calls himself Vincent Dashwood has made a bold
move at last."
"He really didn't," Ralph smiled. "But had we
not better sit down? My dear grandmother, you are
going to become a party to the conspiracy. Let us
no longer keep up the pretence of not knowing the
relationship in which we stand to each other."
Lady Dashwood extended a shaking hand, and Ralph
touched it with his lips.
"Perhaps I had better make a full confession," he
said. "I am your grandson. I knew that you would
recognise me by the likeness to my father. Old
Slight did so at once and very nearly betrayed me.
I had forgotten Slight. I pledged him to secrecy, I
had nobody to fear but you, and it seemed to me that
it was quite easy to keep out of your way. But cir-
cumstances were too strong for me. Then I saw that
you were going to respect my wishes and I was safe.
Forty years have gone by since my father left the
Hall, so that nobody was likely to guess my identity."
"Yes, but who is this Vincent Dashwood?" Lady


MUST THIS THING BE? 209
Dashwood asked. "Oh, I am not quite so foolish
over that man as you may think. He came here and
declared himself to me. He had the most absolute
documentary evidence. He had many of the letters
which I had written to your father — letters to which
I never received any reply. Old Slight was more mis-
trustful, and submitted the claimant to a rigid cross-
examination. The man was not to be shaken in a
single detail. We were bound to accept his state-
ments. But one proof was lacking, the certificate of
his parents' marriage. He desired to have his claim
kept quiet till that proof was forthcoming. This was
after Mary and her father came into possession. You
can imagine my distress and grief, seeing that I loved
Mary so, and I hated the intruder in proportion. He
preyed upon my weakness, he seemed to read me like
an open book. If you had not appeared, he would
have gone on blackmailing me till the end. But when
that man came face to face with you, I knew that he was
an impostor, that he had never seen my son Ralph.
And now he has decided to play the bold game, seeing
that nothing more is to be expected from me."
"Not quite that," Ralph explained. "Fate played
into my hands. The man was more or less forced
to disclose his identity. Let me tell you all about the
match-box. . . . Now you see exactly how it is."
"But this is monstrous," Lady Dashwood cried,
"you have only to speak and the wicked scheme col-
lapses. You will not let this go on, Ralph?"
"For the present, grandmother. For the present
we are going to say nothing. A little time before my
father died he told me who I was. We had lost our
money, but that did not matter as my father was pro-
vided for here. When I came to find out how the
U


210 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
land lay, to my surprise I discovered that the only
woman I could ever care for was installed at the Hall
as mistress. I had no idea that this was going to
happen when I met Mary two years ago in Paris.
Her father had not assumed the family name then.
And when I came face to face with Mary and held her
in my arms, I knew that the old love was stronger than
ever. And here was a solution. Those people were
occupying my place, the place that belonged by birth
to me, Sir Ralph Dashwood. If I had proclaimed and
asked Mary to marry me, she would have consented.
She would have regarded it as her duty to do so.
But that is not the marriage of my dreams. Perhaps
I am romantic: I want Mary to marry me, me, plain
Ralph Darnley, for love of me, and deem the family
pride well lost for a good man's affection. It is the
living, breathing woman I want, not the lovely mis-
tress of that family who puts the pride of the Dash-
woods in front of everything else. Suffering and
trouble and poverty shall be her portion. She shall
go out into the world and see what noble souls are
there who rise superior to fierce temptation though
they have no family pride to boast of. Then, when
the scales have fallen from Mary's eyes, and she sees
as I do, then will I ask her to share my life with me.
My dream is to come back here with a bride who deems
love and pity and sympathy to be far above the steady
sentiment that says, 'I am a Dashwood, and the rest
are as dirt under my feet.' You see what I mean,
don't you? And that is why I am asking you to help
me in the matter. Let this little imposter strut his
passing hours on the stage; let him be our puppet. I
shall know how to punish him when the time comes."


CHAPTER XXXIII
A BEBEL AGAINST FATEI
LADY DASHWOOD smiled through her tears.
She had eyes of affection for this tall, hand-
some, earnest man who paced up and down the room
now with the burning words on his lips. He was
moved to the very heart; it seemed to him that his
scheme was the only way. Lady Dashwood felt that
she could hesitate no longer.
"You are very eloquent, Ralph," she said, "and
whatever the faults of your scheme may be, you are
terribly in earnest. It is not for me to stand in the
way. God knows the family pride that I did so much
to foster has done harm enough. It drove your father
away from home, it came between me and my son
and my husband, and rendered all the best years of
my life a blank and a desolation. Some day, when
I have the courage, I will tell you why your father
left home, and the shameful. deceit that I put upon
him. And all to save the family dignity! And now
Mary is as hard as I ever was. Still, the good that
lies in that girl of mine''
"I know it," Ralph cried. "Mary's is, in reality,
a beautiful nature. But the fires will go out one by
one if the cinders are not cleared away, so that by the
time Mary comes to middle age she will be a cold and
distant woman with none to love her. This is why
211


212 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
I have practically turned her out of house and home.
Her proper pride will not permit her to be dependent
upon anyone; you may offer her a home here, but
she will never accept it. She will elect to go out into
the world and get her own living."
"Which she is not the least fitted to do, Ralph."
"Of course she isn't," Ralph exclaimed. "With
all her courage and pride and beauty, she has no equip-
ment to battle with the world. And yet it is the best
thing that could happen to her. She will realise her
own helplessness, she will come to acknowledge that
the typewriting girls and the shop assistants have
qualities and virtues that she does not possess. Oh,
those lovely blue eyes will come to see at last, the
mind come to learn that there is dignity in labour
and cheerfulness in the struggle that put family pride
to shame. And then Mary will be the bride for me,
the noblest and sweetest mistress that ever yet ruled
at Dashwood. You may laugh at me, grandmother,
but that is my dream. Wherever Mary is, I shall not
be far off, she will have a friend in me."
Lady Dashwood's tears were falling fast now. For
the first time she fully understood the breadth and
beauty of Ralph's scheme. It seemed hard that the
misfortune should fall upon Mary, and yet it was all
for the best. Still, tradition and training are not to
be put lightly aside, and the idea of Mary taking her
place with the working women of the county was a
vision that caused Lady Dashwood a pang.
"Let us hope that everything will turn out right,"
she murmured. "I will not betray your secret,
Ralph; I am an old woman, and you are a strong,
masterful man. Still, I shall be bound to offer Mary


214 THE INETHER MILLSTONE
this is from — er — Sir Wincent. I am bound to
confess that it is not at all a bad letter. Between our-
selves, the fellow is by no means a gentleman. Still,
that’s not quite his own fault, probably his mother was
quite a common sort of person. I beg your pardon,
Lady Dashwood.”
“We need not go into that,” Ralph said hastily.
“Sir Vincent has written to you —”
“Really quite a nice letter. He has a suggestion
to make. It appears that he is by no means disposed
to stay quietly here and live the life of a country
landlord. He does not care for sport to begin with,
in fact, he dislikes a rural life. And he seems to
think that marriage is — is not good enough. He
therefore proposes that Mary and myself should look
upon Dashwood as our present home, that Mary should
take her place as mistress there. Really, this gets us
out of a great difficulty. I have no money beyond a
pittance of a hundred or so a year, and Mary has noth-
ing whatever. As a sensible girl, she will accept this
offer.”
Ralph said nothing. It was not for him to per-
suade George Dashwood one way or another. He
rather despised the weak creature who had posed as the
head of the family. But Ralph could give a shrewd
guess at Mary’s answer.
Mary came back presently a little before tea-time.
She had been over at the Hall, she said, looking after
certain belongings of her own. The trace of tears
was still on her face, but her small mouth had a steely
purpose. She lay back in her chair in the great hall,
sipping her tea, and looking out into the garden be-
yond. Ever and again there came a yearning look in


A REBEL AGAINST FATE 215
her eyes. She said nothing, and vouchsafed no infor-
mation, when a footman brought her a telegram pres-
ently. With a guilty air her father placed Vincent
Dashwood's letter in her hand.
“I want you to read that, my dear,” he said blandly.
“To my mind, it is an admirable letter and the senti-
ments in it are beyond question; in fact, I may admit
that I was quite touched by it. The fellow is evi-
dently a gentleman at heart. I want you to read the
letter carefully and send a reply on behalf of both of
us.”
Dashwood spoke glibly enough, but he was obviously
ill at ease. He seemed to have lost all his dignity,
his haggard face looked almost mean as he glanced
furtively at Mary as she read the letter through, very
slowly. Her face grew hard and bitter, though some-
thing like a contemptuous smile flickered over her
lips.
“This is generosity indeed,” she said. “So the
beggars are to be offered a home, with board and lodg-
ing and perhaps wages. I am to be mistress of the
house where for two years I have had my own way,
in a house where you have been master. We are to
humble our pride and take the place of the house-
keeper and steward, to be polite to a man whom, from
the bottom of my heart, I loathe and despise. Oh,
the situation would be farcical but for the note of bit-
ter tragedy in it. So you want me to answer this
letter. So far as I am concerned I answer thus.”
With fierce energy Mary tore the letter across and
then across again, and flung the fragments amongst
the flowers on the great hearthstone.
“My dear,” Dashwood protested, “really, Mary.


A REBEL AGAINST FATE 217
said as she kissed the speaker. "Believe me, I am
not doing anything that is rash. And as to the rest, I
am going very soon indeed. In fact I expect to sleep
in London to-night."


CHAPTER XXXIYl
MISTEESS OP HEBSELF
IT was all working out now exactly as Ralph had
hoped and wished for. Never had he admired
Mary quite so much as he did at that moment. And
yet his heart smote him as he realised that after all
there was something akin to harshness in his action.
Still, the case would have been very much the same
had he declared his identity and proclaimed the fact
that he was the proper owner of Dashwood Hall.
Mary would in that case have remained in much the
same position, though the situation would have per-
haps lacked its present dramatic features. Mary stood
there with a proud look on her face; she was ready
to meet the world and conquer it single-handed. How
many bright strong young lives had set forth with the
same cheerfulness and failed! Still, it was a step in
the right direction, Ralph thought.
"Had you not better give the thing further con-
sideration?" he said. "In the ways of the world you
are little better than a child. Of your courage and
resolution there is no doubt. But there are other qual-
ities needed to make a living to-day. You must have
a good knowledge of some business or profession."
"I can paint," Mary said. "Many people have
told me that I should have made an artist if I had
had to earn my own living."
218


MISTRESS OF HERSELF 219
Ralph nodded grimly. He had seen several of the
girl's drawings. There was no necessity to point out
the vast difference between the best efforts of the ama-
teur and the finished work of the professional, tricks
of the trade learned frequently after years of bitter
struggling.
It seemed a pity to discourage Mary at the outset
of her career. And Ralph was not anxious for the
girl's success. He turned the situation over rapidly in
his mind.
"You can try," he said. "There is a friend of
mine, the daughter of a once famous general officer
who gets her living by working for the cheap illus-
trated papers. She has no great talent, but she man-
ages to get a living. If you like, I will write to her
and ask her to"
"It will be too late," Mary cried, "I am going to-
night. I could not stay here a day longer after what
has happened. The mere sight of the old house brings
the tears to my eyes and makes me feel weak and ir-
resolute. I have something like thirty pounds in
money and a little jewellery. And my maid has given
me the address of a respectable woman who lets lodg-
ings.
"Oh, I shall be happy enough when I am away
from here and have plenty of hard work to do. Only
the other day I was reading a story about a girl, like
myself, who went to London and began to work for the
magazines. It made a different creature of her; for the
first time in her life she was really happy."
"She made a large income from the start," Ralph
smiled, "and presently she had a great hit with an
Academy picture. Subsequently she married the edi-


220 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
tor — proprietor of a popular paper — and he bought
the old home for her?"
"You have read the story?" Mary asked.
"Indeed I haven't," Ralph replied. "There are
so many stories like that that I had no difficulty in
imagining the plot. Oh, if you only knew how differ-
ent the real is from the ideal! Still, I would not dis-
suade you from your ambition for a moment. It will
do you all the good in the world. But you shall not
go alone."
Mary glanced haughtily at the speaker. There was
an air of command, a suggestion of possession, about
the speech that the girl resented. Who was Ralph
Darnley that he should adopt this tone towards her?
And at the same time Mary knew that he was the
one friend she had, if she did not count Lady Dash-
wood.
It was a melancholy confession, but Mary had made
no friends. For the most part members of her own
sex did not like her, she was too cold and self-contained
for them. She did not enter into their sentiments and
pleasures. It had not been the girl's own fault so much
as the fault of her environment.
And now she was going out into the world alone
with a few pounds in her possession, and with not a
soul to give her a helping hand. There was something
very pathetic about it, Ralph, thought. She knew so
very little as to what lay before her.
"I wish you would wait till to-morrow," he mur-
mured.
"No," Mary said with a proud toss of her head.
"It is not the slightest use trying to break my resolu-
tion. I tell you I could not remain here, I could not


MISTRESS OF HERSELF 221
stay even with Lady Dashwood, knowing that my
father was sponging on the good nature of the man at
the Hall. It seems a dreadful thing to me"
"That is a most improper observation to make,"
Dashwood said peevishly. "A most impertinent re-
mark to address to a father."
"I am very sorry," Mary said penitently, "it
seemed the only word to use. And it does hurt me so
dreadfully to see how coolly you have cast your pride
aside. If you will come with me, father, I will work
for both. We should at any rate have the consolation
of knowing that we have done nothing to sully the
name of Dashwood."
The girl spoke pleadingly, with a yearning tender-
ness in her voice that Ralph had never heard before.
He was rejoiced to see the lesson of adversity work-
ing so soon. For his own part, he could not have re-
sisted that seductive invitation.
Certainly not," Dashwood replied. "Nothing of
the kind. I have no desire to make the acquaintance
of what people call apartments. I went to see a poor
friend of mine in apartments once. I saw his dinner.
Good heavens! what a repulsive mess it was. Served
up by a red-headed maid-of-all-work, with a black
smudge on her face. No, no, I prefer the graceful
hospitality of my friend — er — Sir Vincent Dash-
wood."
Mary turned in the direction of the door as if the
discussion were closed.
"I am disappointed," she said. "But there is noth-
ing to be gained by standing here talking over my de-
termination. I am going as far as the Hall to say
good-bye to some of the old servants, and hope to catch


222 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the 7.05 train to London. As I said before, I know
where to go when I reach my journey's end."
Mary passed out into the peaceful sunshine of the
garden. Lady Dashwood looked imploringly at Ralph,
who smiled in reply. From the bottom of his heart,
he was feeling for the girl, but he did not falter in
hia purpose. It was very brave of Mary, but at the
same time very pathetic. Ralph stole after the lonely
figure; he found her standing by the old sundial in the
garden. Her fingers were tracing idly over the quaint
inscription on the stone. Ralph could see that her
eyes were filled with tears.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" he
asked.
"I'm afraid not," Mary whispered. "And you are
the only friend I have, besides Lady Dashwood. I
have not the art of making friends: I never had sympa-
thy with the pastimes and pleasures of the ordinary
girl of my class; I did not feel lonely here, because it
was so lovely a place. Dashwood Hall was always suffi-
cient for me. And now when I come to leave it, it
breaks my heart to go. You will laugh at me perhaps,
but I have a strange feeling as if I had the whole
world to myself and that there was nobody else in it.
It is as if everybody had turned away from me. There
was even something that hurt me to-day in the way
that Mr. Mayfield let me know that I was free as far
as he was concerned. I dread the thought of living
by myself in London, the idea makes me tremble. I,
who have been so cold and proud, will have to approach
people and ask favours at their hands. I hope you
understand me; it is dreadful when nobody under-
stands me."


MISTKESS OF HERSELF 223
Ralph made no reply for a moment, he was afraid
to trust his own voice.
"You" are a very woman," he said at length. "With
your pride and your coldness there are the same im-
pulses and passions common to yourself and the mean-
est of us. As to this pride of yours, I regard it as a
hateful thing. What is a Dashwood living on a for-
tune that none of you have ever earned, compared with
the man or woman who has risen superior to circum-
stances and made an honoured name in the world?
The girl who goes out and gets her own living, or to
support a widowed mother, is far superior to you. But
I say these things loving you with my whole heart and
soul and being, and hope that some day I shall call
you my wife. I want to see all that harshness and
coldness of yours cast to the wind, I want to see your
face sweet in sympathy with poor humanity. But you
are not going the lonely way as you seem to imagine.
I am going to look after you; I will not be far away.
For the present my work is finished here, and there are
powerful calls that take me to London also in a day or
two. You will let me see you, Mary; you will let me
bring you and my young artist friend together?"
"I shall be glad indeed to see you," Mary cried,
holding out her hand with an impulse that she would
have found it hard to account for. "Oh, I am not
so strong and self-reliant that I need nobody to con-
fide in. The more my mind dwells on the future, the
more I seem to dread it. And you have been so good
and kind to me, I owe so much to you. I begin to see
that there are gentlemen in the world, though they
boast of no pedigree, and"
"Well, that is a good lesson learned," Balph smiled.


226 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
little finger. Thank God, there is no occasion for me
to stay at the Hall, for I've saved enough for my old
age, though I don't deny that it will be a wrench. And
to-morrow the whole lot of us are going to hand in our
resignation in a body."
"Indeed, you are not going to do anything of the
sort," Ralph said sternly. "Don't let me hear any
more of this folly. If you do go, you will not come
back again when this present head of the family has
gone his way, which will be only a matter of a few
months at the outside. I look to you to stop the silly
action, Slight. I have given you my word before that
this thing is not likely to be permanent. And when
you come to know everything, you will see how wisely
I have acted in the matter."
Slight's indignation cooled as quickly as it had
heated. He scratched his white head in some per-
perplexity. And the look he turned upon Ralph was
one of fatherly affection.
"How like your father you do speak, sir," he said.
"I suppose you must have your own way as he used
to. And if I hadn't been a wicked old rascal these
things would never have happened at all. My sin has
found me out sorely."
"I am getting tired of this," Ralph said impatiently.
"What sin are you alluding to? And Lady Dash-
wood is always harping on the same string. What
wickedness were you two up to in the old days 2 What
does it mean?"
"So her ladyship has not told you, sir?" Slight
asked in a whisper. "She never told you about the
old Squire and your father's first wife Maria Edger-
ton? She was the daughter of a farmer across the


A FRIEND IN NEED 227
valley. The most beautiful creature that I ever set
eyes on. Well, well, to think that you didn't know."
"I don't know," Ralph said. "My father never
spoke of his first wife. And yet I always felt that his
love for her was the passion of his life. He was a
good husband to my mother, but still — and now you
are going to tell me that story, Slight."
"Begging your pardon, sir, I'm not going to do any-
thing of the kind," Slight said shortly. "I couldn't
•dream of doing anything of the kind without her lady-
3hip)'s permission. You ask her, and she will tell you
everything; indeed you have the right to know. And
don't you worry about the servants at the Hall, be-
cause they will do exactly as I tell them. Make it
as soon as you can, sir, for the old place doesn't seem
the same without the lovely face and the blue eyes of
Miss Mary looking after us. I'm an old man, and for
over fifty years I've served the Dashwoods faithfully,
and it does seem rather hard to think that I shall have
to go on fawning and cringing to an impostor like the
man who calls himself Sir Vincent Dashwood. There
won't be much of the fine old cellar left if he stays here
any time, I can tell you."
"Patience, Slight," Ralph replied. "It is only a
matter of months. Here is Miss Mary coming down
the avenue. I shall look after her, I would not have
one hair of her head injured. And some day perhaps,
Slight, if the fates are good to me, you will be serving
me as you served my grandfather, with Miss Mary as
mistress of Dashwood by my side. That is my desire,
Slight, that is the one great ambition of my life,. Auij
you can keep that secret with the rest." '[
Ralph turned away and joined Mary aa atfe sjj .


A FRIEND IN NEED * 229
the parting. After all, the experiment was a cruel
one, it was not yet too late to save the situation.
Lady Dash wood was crying now; the dogcart stood
by the great stone porch; Dashwood fidgetted about in
a halfshamed kind of way, yet frowning disapproval
of the whole business.
"Really, we are making a deal of fuss about noth-
ing," he said. "Anybody would think that Mary was
being led away to instant execution, instead of be-
having in a way that makes me thoroughly ashamed of
her. It is my clear duty to exercise my parental au-
thority. As it is I am not going to do anything of
the kind. Mary shall have her lesson. She will very
soon get tired of playing the part of the unattached
female. She will be back in a week."
And this was Mary's farewell greeting as she drove
away from the dower house. She kept her face steady,
and looked neither right nor left, not that she could
see anything, for her eyes were blinded with tears.
Behind the tears, one vision stood out bright and clear
— the strong, reliant face of Ralph Darnley, the
warm pressure of whose grip still tingled on Mary's
fingers. It was good to know that she had one true
friend.
The station was reached at last, and Mary was alone.
She dismissed the dogcart; she did not want the groom
to see that she was going to travel third class. It was
rather a snobbish idea, and Mary despised herself for
it accordingly. The porter and the ticket officer looked
astonished as Mary asked the third-class fare to Vic-
toria. How little things seemed to remind her of what
had been!
"I am going third," she said firmly. "Will you


230 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
please to see that my two baskets are placed in the
luggage van, Gibbons?"
Gibbons touched his cap respectfully. It was the
last outward recognition of her social station that Mary
was destined to receive for some time to come. She
had a vague idea of a carriage to herself, where she
could have an hour or so to regain her composure. She
had never had any difficulty in this way when travelling
before. But first-class passengers, liberal towards the
guard, and third-class trippers, are different things, as
Mary speedily discovered. The train was very full,
so full that Mary was content at last to find herself
packed with nine other people in a stuffy compartment,
including a crying child and a surly workman, who
smoked a foul pipe and spat liberally on the floor.
One window was closed for the benefit of the fretting
infant and the poisonous atmosphere of the place
caused Mary to turn faint and giddy. Long before
she reached Victoria her head was aching, her temples
throbbing horribly.
Noblesse oblige! It was by no means a promising
start, but Mary was not going to take her hand from
the plough yet. And that dreadful journey could not
last for ever. Victoria was reached' at length, and it
was possible to breathe a little comparatively fresh air
again. Mary saw her two dress baskets placed on the
platform and looked at them in a helpless kind of man-
ner. Hitherto a maid or a footman had done all this
kind of thing for her. An impatient porter wanted to
know whether the boxes were to go on a cab or whether
they were to be left in the cloak room.
"Make up your mind, miss," he said rudely. "I
can't stand here all day."


A FRIEND IN NEED 231
"A four-wheeler," Mary gasped. "I — I'm sorry,
but my head aches so dreadfully that I can't even think
properly. Will you call a cab for me?"


CHAPTER XXXVI
CONNIE COLAM
THE porter summoned a cab gruffly and the baskets
were placed on top. Mary's proffered coppers
purchased a certain amount of civility so that the por-
ter asked the address. Mary gasped and stared in a
blank kind of way. She had absolutely forgotten the
address. She recollected now that she had left the card
on the hall table at the dower house. How she longed
from the bottom of her heart to be back there again in
that cool shadow. But the grimy face of the cabman
recalled her to her senses.
"I have stupidly left the address behind me," she
said. "I remember the street, and I daresay you can
inquire when you get there. I am very sorry"
"Miss Dashwood, I think," a cool, firm voice, with
a subtle suggestion of laughter in it, smote on Mary's
ears. "So you have forgotten the address. Not that
it matters in the least, for you are coming with me.
You haven't taken your room?"
"No," Mary stammered. She was utterly taken off
her dignity by the easy manner of the stranger. "I
had the address given me, the address of a respectable
woman near the British Museum who had apartments
to let. Unfortunately, I left the paper behind me.
But you will excuse me if I say that I have not the
pleasure"
232


CONNIE COLAM 233
"Oh, that is all right," the stranger said. "I'm a
friend of Ralph Darnley's. He sent me a very long
telegram to-day to a certain extent explaining the po-
sition of affairs, and asking me to meet you and place
my services at your disposal. Perhaps you have heard
Ralph speak of me, Connie Colam."
"Only to-day," Mary said; "and then he did not
allude to you by name. Still, it is very kind of you
to take all this trouble, especially for a stranger like
myself. How did you recognise me?"
"There were what the Americans call 'pointers' in
the telegram," Miss Colam laughed. "But please
get in or we shall have the cabman, abusive, and that
is a consummation decidedly not to be wished. Please
drive to 16, Keppel Terrace."
The ricketty vehicle got under way at length to
Mary's great relief. She laid her aching head back
against the dirty cushions, wondering if in the whole
weary world there was another girl as miserable and
heartsick as she was. She raised her hot lids presently
to the face of her companion. The critical edge was
already dulled, but in no circumstances could Mary
have disapproved of her companion. A very dainty
and refined face was Connie Colam's, with a pleasant
frank expression and a sensitive mouth. At the same
time she did not lack in certain suggestions of courage
and resolution.
"I hope you approve of me," she said demurely.
"I like your face, if that is what you mean," Mary
replied. "I shall be able to thank you presently for all
your spontaneous kindness. Meanwhile, I have the
most dreadful headache. After we have found my
rooms"


234 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"Oh, your rooms are found already. For the pres-
ent you are going to stay with me. We are going to
join forces. My late chum has gone to Paris for a
year, and you are going to occupy her bedroom. That
is all arranged."
Mary murmured something that was intended for
gratitude. She had always professed a profound con-
tempt for the helpless type of girl who lets things
drift, but she was letting herself drift now with her
eyes wide open. And though she was not prepared to
admit it, she was almost hysterically glad of the com-
panionship and sympathy of the stranger. As she
stood on the platform a little time before, the horrible
sense of desolation had gripped her, the awful feeling
of loneliness that comes to the friendless in London.
Yes, she was passionately glad of this companion.
She did not even desire to know whether Connie came
of a good family or not, her one idea now was to lie
down and get rid of a wretched wearing headache.
Where was her pride of race and station now? Where
were the force and courage that rose above circum-
stances and fought physical weakness under? Mary
was content to leave everything to her companion — the
paying of the cabman, the arranging of her boxes, the
setting out of her various treasures.
"Now you are going to lie down at once," Connie
said. "I'll bathe your head with Eau de Cologne,
and as soon as I have settled you comfortably, I'll make
you a cup of tea. It is one of my great accomplish-
ments. I make my own tea from my own private sup-
ply. You lie there and think of nothing."
Mary closed her aching eyes; the touch of those deft
kindly hands was very soothing. The air was full of the


CONNIE COLAM 235
faint scent, and gradually Mary dropped into a sleep.
It was an hour later before she opened her eyes again;
the stinging pain had gone. Connie stood by the side
of the bed with a cup of tea in her hand.
"You are better," she cried. "I can see that in
your eyes. And what beautiful blue eyes they are. A
little cold, perhaps, but they won't be so cold when they
have looked at the world through our spectacles. Now
drink your tea, and when you feel up to it you can
come and look at the sitting-room."
Mary was almost herself again when she entered the
sitting-room. It was a fairly large room, with a din-
ing-table in the centre and a large table, littered with
brushes and paints and panels, which stood in the win-
dow looking on to the street. A score of sketches in
black and white faced Mary. So far as she could see,
it was clever work, but not the kind that appealed to
her. The sketches partook of the light and frivolous
kind, some of them had more or less feeble jokes at-
tached.
"Are these yours?" Mary asked. "Are they
studies of some kind %"
"Not at all," Connie said cheerfully. "They are
translations from the Yankees. The originals are very
clear, but a little too trans-Atlantic for our stolid Eng-
lish taste. So I more or less copy them and my editor
adapts the jokes. I do six of them every week for The
Wheezer, which is a very useful commission for me."
"But that sounds like piracy almost," Mary ex-
claimed.
"Perhaps it is," Connie said in the same cheerful
.Way. "It is pretty easy work, and I get six shillings
Jg Rawing. That is an average of thirty-six shillings


236 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
a week. I know artists who have exhibited in the
Academy who are glad to accept such a commission.
It is better than working for the Razzle Dazzle any-
way."
Mary shuddered. In a way the Razzle Dazzle was
familiar to her. She had once caught one of the stable
boys deep in that appalling mass of bad printing and
worse literature.
"So you have actually worked for that paper?" she
managed to say.
"Oh, yes. Two shillings a drawing, and pay once
a month. Do you know that the Razzle Dazzle is a
property worth £10,000 a year? Their serials are im-
ported from America, and dressed up by hacks, who
get two shillings a column for their work. , The
Wheezer is far better than that. Besides, it is prac-
tice. Some day I hope to drop this kind of thing and
get regular commissions for the better-class weekly pa-
pers. The illustrating of stories in the sixpenny maga-
zines is the goal of my ambition."
All this was so frank and open that Mary could not
resent the tone of the speaker. And yet she paled at
the degradation of the class of labour.
"It must be very trying work for a lady," she said.
"I mean for a lady born."
"Perhaps it is," Connie said thoughtfully. "But
it is not so trying as your landlady in the room de-
manding her back rent, coupled with a threat that if
it is not paid to-morrow she will put your boxes into
the street. And that has happened to me more than
once, though my father was a general officer and my
mother the daughter of an archdeacon. I was quite
alone in the world then; I will never forget it. Try


CONNIE COLAM 237
to fancy what it means for a young friendless girl to be
turned into the streets of London! I dream of it at
night sometimes. . . . That afternoon I walked
into the office of the Bazzle and told one of the assistant
editors how I stood. It was like dragging the words
from me. And he gave me some work to do, and I sat
up all night over it. Soon after that I was carrying
just one solitary sovereign. But what a lot that little
coin meant to me! And that is why I have a tender
spot in my heart for that unspeakable old Bazzle. But
I don't know why I am worrying you with all these
sordid details."
"Go on," Mary said in a hushed, awed voice.
"You are opening up a new world to me. You are
making me feel ashamed of what I had hitherto re-
garded as an exemplary life."
"We'll go into that presently," Connie said. "I've
got to go and see a friend of mine who is ill. We take
her work and try to sell it . If it sells, well and good.
If not, we say that it has gone, and make up the money
amongst us. It sounds wrong, but it is meant in the
proper spirit. I shan't be long. Ring the bell and
ask the landlady to clear away."
Connie vanished from the room, apparently taking
all the sunshine with her, and Mary proceeded to ring
the bell. She wondered vaguely how many years it
was since she had entered that house. She did not
hear the landlady address her at first.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said. "Yes, I am
going to stay here for the present with Miss Colam.
You are Mrs. Speed. . . . Where have I seen you
before? Your face is so very familiar to me. It
brings back recollections of my early childhood. You


238 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
make me feel as if all this has happened before."
"I know the feeling, miss," the landlady said.
"But I don't suppose you have ever seen me. My
very early days were spent on the estate of Sir Ralph
Dashwood, of Dashwood Hall, Maybe you have heard
of it, miss?"
>


CHAPTER XXXVII
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
JUST for a moment Mary felt inclined to disclose
her identity. It warmed her heart and brought
tears to her eyes to hear this kind of voice from the
past. The wound of separation was too recent for
Mary not to feel it keenly. The woman's face was so
familiar, too; it reminded the girl oddly of somebody
else, somebody that she did not like, but to whom for
the moment she could not give a name.
Then Mary's pride came back to her and the natural
impulse to confide in the woman was crushed down.
"I suppose I made a mistake," she said. "After
all, it is not an uncommon thing to find chance like-
nesses to your friends in other people. You must find
London a great change after being brought up in the
country."
The woman sighed deeply and a look of pain came
into her eyes. It was evident that she had felt the
change far more cruelly than Mary had imagined.
The girl longed to ask further questions, but she re-
strained her curiosity. Nor could Connie Colam throw
any light on the subject after she returned. She knew
very little about Mrs. Speed, except that she was a
widow with a grown-up son, who had been a great
trouble to her. The son appeared occasionally, and
239


240 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Mrs. Speed always seemed to be in deep distress af-
terwards. Mary was still debating the matter in her
mind at bedtime. After breakfast the following morn-
ing there were more important matters to occupy her
attention.
"Now you are going to show me what you can do,"
Connie said cheerfully. "I take it that you have come
up here with a view to getting your own living. If
you have any money"
"You may get that idea out of your mind alto-
gether," Mary smiled. "I have a very few pounds
to keep me going for the present, and a little jewellery
to fall back upon. I have not been used to this kind
of life, and I shall probably find it trying at first.
But I am going to succeed. We have lost our position
socially and financially, and I would not be beholden
to those who have taken our place. I need not say
more than that."
"That is just as you please," Connie said somewhat
coldly. "I see you are terribly proud and reserved,
but you will grow out of that. And I like your face.
But please don't make up your mind that it is a very
easy thing for a girl to get her living in London.
When you come to know the inside of a pawnshop, and
share the last sixpence with a friend, you will be all
the sweeter and better for it. Now show me your
work."
Not without some pardonable pride, Mary displayed
her drawings. There were pretty landscapes in water
colours, studies of groups of flowers in oils, and the
like, all the conventional kind of stuff that girls pro-
duce at finishing schools under the eye of some discreet
and clever master. But they did not seem to impress


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 241
Connie, who handled them with some contempt.
Mary's sensitive face flushed.
"You do not seem to care for them," she said with
a challenge in her voice.
*" Oh, it isn't that," Connie replied. "It's the use-
lessness of the things. I daresay that a good many of
your friends have seriously advised you take up art as
a career."
"Two or three people," Mary protested, " who are in
a position to judge."
"Oh, I know all about that," Connie said without
ceremony. "It was just the same with me in the
happy days. My dear Mary, that pretty, pretty stuff
of yours is all very well to bring you in flattery from
bazaar managers, but the milk-stool school of art is no
good when you get into the market. Painters, real
painters, mind, not daubers like us, find colour work
dreadfully hard to sell. There isn't a dealer who
would give you five shillings for what you have there.
Could you do work like mine, for instance?"
"I'm afraid that I should not care to attempt it,"
Mary said coldly.
"There you go! Too vulgar for you, of course!
You would never get the price of your lodgings out of
your class of work, believe me. I know, because I
tried it myself. But you will need to have your les-
son like the rest of us, and I will give you the names
of a few of the most likely dealers in London. You
start off directly after breakfast and go the round of
them. I shan't be back to luncheon because I've got
an hour or two on one of the evening papers getting
out sketches of a fashion plate for a lady's page."
Mary grasped eagerly at the suggestion. She wanted
16


242 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
to prove that Connie was wrong. With her head high
and heart full of hope, she set off presently.
On the whole, it was a morning to be remembered.
It was hot and stuffy, and Mary was not accustomed
to the blistering, trying heat of London pavements.
She was tired and worn out and her head ached terribly
by the time she got back. Nor was there any difference
in the weight and contents of her portfolio.
Alas, for the blood of the Dashwoodsl It was all
the same to those flinty-hearted dealers. Mary might
have beeD the meanest beggar in London for all the re-
ception she met with. Struck by her distinguished ap-
pearance and haughty beauty, a cringing shop assistant
or proprietor would probably ask her business, but
what a change when the portfolio was produced! It
was the same in one shop after another, contemptuous
inspection, rude denial, a suggestion that the shopkeeper
had more rubbish already than he knew what to do
with. The tears were at the back of Mary's eyes now;
unconsciously her voice grew soft and pleading. One
dealer, a little kinder than the rest, did suffer the
drawings to be laid out before him.
"No use, my dear," he said with a sympathetic
familiarity that, strange to say, Mary could not bring
herself to resent. "Bless your soul, cheap lithographs
and German reproductions have driven them out of the
market. If you offered me the lot at half-a-crown each
I couldn't take them. It'll save you a lot of trouble
and disappointment if you put the whole batch on the
fire. Why should I buy that group of flowers for five
shillings when I can sell you a photogravure of Watts's
for half the money? Your work has been out of date
since the mid-Victorian period."


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 243
It was the same everywhere, not so kindly expressed.
At one o'clock Mary returned to her lodgings utterly
tired out and ready to cry in the bitterness of her dis-
appointment. How hard people were to one another,
she thought. It never occurred to her that this hard-
ness had been her own great besetting sin in the past.
She was even inclined to quarrel with Connie because
the latter's prophecy had come so cruelly true.
But Connie was not in yet, and therefore Mary had
to fight out her trouble alone. Still, she had learned
already a deeper and more important lesson than she
was aware of. She began to see that there was a world
beyond the narrow limit of the Dashwood horizon.
There were other men and women living in the world
quite as worthy of respect. Mary took her sketches
and dropped them one by one slowly into the empty
grate. Then she put a match to them and watched
them burn away to ashes. It was a full and complete
confession of failure, and Mary felt all the better for
it. She rang the bell for a glass of milk to drink with
her frugal meal that was already set out on the table.
Nobody came in reply to her ring. Mary was not
aware that it was an understood thing in a general
way that nobody rang the bell except at stated times
such as just after breakfast and the like. In houses of
that class the lodgers were expected to be away all day
more or less. Otherwise, they were really obliged to
look after themselves. After the third ring Mary went
downstairs to investigate.
So far as she could judge the house was deserted.
The dingy first floor smelt horribly of cheap, stale,
cigar smoke. The sordidness of the whole thing struck
Mary with peculiar and unpleasant force. It was all


24* THE NETHER MILLSTONE
so totally different to what she had been accustomed
to. She wondered where Mrs. Speed was to be found.
Then voices came from the dining-room, voices
raised in anger. A man and a woman there were
quarrelling violently. It seemed to Mary that the
man's voice was familiar to her, but she could not be
quite certain as yet.
She made up her mind to go down into the basement
— the dark, warm basement that seemed to reek with
the ghastly smells of bygone meals. Mary wondered
how people could live in an atmosphere like that. She
was standing in doubt at the head of the kitchen
stairs when from the dining-room she heard her own
name.
There was no mistaking the allusion to Dashwood.
Quite naturally Mary stood to listen. It was the man
in the dining-room who was speaking.
"I tell you I must have it," he said. "What rea-
son have you got to be fond of the name of Dashwood?
It never brought us any good. If Ralph Dashwood
had not been a fool, and you had played your cards
right, you might be living at the dower house now,
with a handsome income and a staff of servants to wait
upon you."
The woman made some kind of reply that Mary could
not quite catch, though she knew by the choke in the
voice that she was sobbing. The man resumed.
"I tell you I must have it," he said. "No use to
tell me that you haven't got the letters; for I have seen
them in your possession. It's a letter sent from Lady
Dashwood to her son and the date is 9th September,
1884. Now you make a note of that, please. If I
don't have it, I shall find myself in serious trouble.


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 245
What game am I playing? I'm playing for more
money than you ever dreamed of."
"Money!" the woman said bitterly, "that is always
your cry. But it has not prevented you from taking
all mine. And I owe three quarters' rent, which has
to be paid to-morrow. If it isn't paid to-morrow, I
shall be sold up and turned into the street."


CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE MYSTEBY DEEPENS
NO reason to tell Mary now that it was Mrs. Speed
who was speaking. She recognised the tired,
faded voice by this time. But the other voice was still
more familiar.
"That's bad," the man was saying, "why didn't
you let me know that things had got to this pass? I
daresay I could have helped you."
"No, you would have promised to," Mrs. Speed
cried, "and disappointed me at the last moment. All
my savings have gone into your pocket; you have
wheedled everything out of me till I haven't so much as
a penny left. And now you come here for more of
those letters! That you are up to no good I feel cer-
tain. I know by your dress and style that you have
had the command of money. What are you doing
there?"
"Never you mind," the man said sulkilv, "you'll
know all in good time. I'm playing for a big stake,
and for once in a way it has turned up trumps. Only
I want that particular letter. When I get the letter
I can answer certain questions. Give me ths letter,
and I'll pledge my word that within a week you shall
have all the money you require. Only you are to as"^
no questions, and you are not to jaove away from E@E?
mind that!"
246 .''«'''


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 247
"Oh, if I could get away from here!" Mrs. Speed
sobbed. "Give me a chance of earning my living,
and that is all I ask for. I'll ask the agent to give me
another week, though I am afraid he won't do it. I've
put him off too often."
It was perhaps wrong of Mary to stand listening,
but some fascination held her to the spot. She had
a strong desire to see who the man with the familiar
voice was.
"Then you are going to let me have the letter?"
he said.
"I suppose so," came the weary response. "Never
a thing yet that you made up your mind to have that
you didn't coax out of me. But the letters are hidden
in a box at the top of the house, and they will take
some finding. Come again to-morrow at the same time,
and I'll see what I can do for you. But if I consulted
my own inclination I should go and see Lady Dash-
wood and tell her everything. I am sick of this in-
trigue and mystery."
The man said something in a soothing kind of voice,
and then followed a sound like a kiss. Then a match
was struck, and the heavy, dense atmosphere became
impregnated with the smell of fresh tobacco, after
which the dining-room door opened and the man came
into the hall.
Mary walked swiftly back to the foot of the stairs.
Without being noticed now, she had a good view of the
man's face. She started, but managed to check the
exclamation that rose to her lips. No wonder that
the voice had been familiar to her. For she was
gazing at the dark, sinister features of Sir Vincent
Dashwood!


248 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
It was only for a moment, and then the front door
opened and the man swaggered out. Without trou-
bling any further about her milk, Mary crept up the
stairs again. She had plenty now to occupy her
thoughts. What was that man doing here, and what
letter was it that he was so anxious to obtain? And
why had he so powerful an influence over Mrs. Speed?
It was open to Mary to ask the question, but she de-
cided to do nothing of the kind.
After all, questions of this sort would be worse than
useless. They would only arouse the suspicion and
perhaps incur the curiosity of Mrs. Speed. Still, the
whole thing was a most extraordinary coincidence —
not quite so much of a coincidence perhaps if Mary
had looked into the mind of Ralph Darnley?
But as the girl could not do so, she had to figure
out the problem as best she could. She recalled vividly
to mind now the strange suggestions made by Lady
Dashwood as to a great sin in the past with which she
was intimately connected. And here, according to
Mrs. Speed, the latter was an accomplice either before
or after the fact. And why did the man who came
here in such urgent need of a certain letter require that
document, seeing that he had been accepted all around
as Sir Vincent Dashwood?
Mary was still pondering the problem when Connie
came back. The latter was her own bright and cheer-
ful self again, she had done a good morning's work,
and she had been paid for it to the extent of nearly a
sovereign. She was inclined to take a light view of
life. She made no allusion to the portfolio, for which
Mary was grateful.
"I am very hungry," she said. "How nice this


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 249
pressed beef is, and the lettuce, too! I have had better,
but as things go in London they are very good."
Mary was silent. The beef was stringy and a little
dry, the lettuce wilted and yellow. In her mind's eye
the girl could see the luncheon table of the dower house
at this particular moment; she could see the dusky,
cool room, with the breeze coming off the flowers in
the garden. She could see the snowy cloth and the
crystal and the salad, cool and refreshing in the great
silver bowl. There would be nectarines and peaches
too from the ripe south walls of the garden. The
whole atmosphere of it flooded Mary's soul and brought
the tears to her eyes.
"You are homesick," Connie said softly; " I used to
be the same at one time. And, of course, this luncheon
is not at all nice, only I like to pretend that it is.
But you shall tell me all about yourself when you come
to know me better. And you shall also tell me what
luck you had with the portfolio this morning."
"I had no luck at all," Mary said presently, "noth-
ing but slights and insults, rebuffs and bitter humilia-
tions. I might have been a servant girl for all the
civility I received. And even one man, who seemed
to have a heart in his breast, told me to come home and
burn the lot."
"Wherefore you bounced out of the shop indig-
nantly," Connie laughed.
"Indeed I didn't, I was too utterly crushed and
sorrowful for that. I crept here and made a bonfire
of my precious drawings, and I am ready to ask your
pardon for the cold way in which I accepted your good
advice this morning. There!"
It was a great deal for Mary to say, a confession


250 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
that she had failed, that she was utterly wrong, the
like of which she had never made before. Her face
was flushed now and her lips were all trembling. Con-
nie looked at her with undisguised admiration.
"You have won a greater victory than you know,"
she said quietly. "It is very hard for anyone brought
up as you have been to admit a failure. I had a letter
from Mr. Darnley this morning in which he told me a
good deal about you. I hope the day will come when
you will learn to appreciate Ralph Darnley properly."
"I think I do," Mary said, with the red mounting
to her cheeks. "He is a good man, and I owe him a
great deal — my life itself on two occasions. But he
— he did not quite understand."
"Didn't he?" Connie asked, her eyes dancing with
mischief, "he is an audacious man. He thinks that
he is good enough for any girl. And so he is, bless
him! Oh, you will learn your lesson in time, my dear.
And when you do, you will be one of the luckiest girls
in the world. To be the wife of a man like that, ah!"
"You think so highly of him as that?" Mary
asked.
"Ay, I do, indeed. Oh, how I could love that man
if only he cared for me! I could open my heart to
him to-morrow, and thank God fasting for a good man's
love. Fancy the sweet rest and peacefulness of it all,
fancy laying down the weary struggle, the fearful dread
of the needs of the morrow with the assurance that you
had that man to protect you! But your eyes will be
opened in time, you will come to see that love is the
best of all things."
Connie had dropped her voice almost to a whisper
and her dark eyes were moist . Then she seemed to


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 251
wipe away the tears with! a smile and was her sunny
self again.
"Please don't laugh at my sentimental manner," she
said. "Let us talk about you and your affairs. We
may take it for granted that you have abandoned all
idea of making a fortune out of the milk-stool order of
art. You feel quite sure that you could make notbing
of my kind of work."
"I should absolutely hate it," Mary shuddered.
"Please don't be offended."
"Oh, I am not in the least offended. I felt just
like you at first. Did you ever try your band at de-
signing? One or two girls I know do well at that."
Mary didn't know; as a matter of fact, she had
never tried her hand at anything of the kind; but she
was perfectly willing to try. A horrible feeling of
helplessness was growing upon her; she wondered what
she would have done if Fate and Ralph Darnley had
not thrown Connie and her together. For the next
hour or two she tried her hand at designs of various
kinds, only to feel that she made but a poor hand at the
business. By tea-time her head was aching terribly
and she dropped into the armchair with a sigh of
misery.
"They are pretty bad," Connie said in her candid
way; "we shall have to wait a little longer before we
find your proper vocation. For the present you will
have to fall back upon colouring cards — Christmas
cards, and post cards, and the like. That pretty
chocolate-box type of work of yours will do admirably
for that class of thing. You shall do a few specimen
cards to-morrow, and I'll give you the address of a
man who will commission more. Only it is terribly


252 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
hard, you will get paid at the rate of half-a-crown a
hundred."
Mary's heart sank within her. Half-a-crown a
hundred! At that rate it would be impossible for her
to make more than fifteen shillings a week. She
pointed out the fact to Connie, who agreed with a
cheerful nod.
"You have worked it out pretty accurately," she
said. "There are hundreds of girls who do it, and
the worst of the thing is that so many girls can earn
pocket-money that way who have no need to do any-
thing at all. It is the same with typewriting, the same
with everything. And, after all, it is quite possible
to live on fifteen shillings a week."


254 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Cameron is a lady, and a great friend of mine. This
commission is all that she has to live on. I happen
to know that last night she spent her last two shillings
on the peculiar tonic medicine that is needful to her.
Can't you imagine the poor girl's state of mind if those
drawings had been returned? What would you do if
you were the Recording Angel?"
Mary was silent. She had not looked at it in this
light before. The delicacy and tactfulness of it, the
fine self-abnegation, appealed to her strongly. With
Connie, time was money, every hour she wasted repre-
sented the loss of some necessary of life. And here
she was cheerfully spending her own golden minutes
bo that a poor invalid should not lack the peace of
mind necessary to her recovery. This was a practical
sermon for Mary, worked out to a womanly and logical
conclusion. If Ralph Darnley could have looked into
Mary's mind now he would have been pleased with the
success of his experiment.
"Oh, how good of you," she cried, "how womanly
and sweet! You are actually sacrificing yourself for
the needs of others. I should never have thought of it."
"I shouldn't at one time," Connie admitted frankly,
"but I was a spoilt child in those days, and gave no
heed to anybody but myself. And when I came to Lon-
don alone and penniless and friendless, it was Grace
Cameron who first held out a hand to me. And Grace
is capable of doing really good work. She is very
different from me. If she could only get into the
country for a time and regain her strength she would
be heard of. But that is impossible!"
"Why?" Mary asked. She was deeply interested
now. "Why can't she?"


256 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
V
I was bitterly wounded with a trick that Fortune had
played upon me; in my arrogance, I left home, though
one kind heart bleeds for me. I only had my narrow
point of view. And I hate this kind of thing, I could
cry aloud at the sordidness of it. I can't endure it
patiently as you do."
Connie laughed unsteadily. A mist crept into her
eyes.
"It is because I have schooled myself," she said.
"It is so weak to complain. But there are times when
I should like to die and make an end of it all."
Again Mary had nothing to say. She was learning
to plumb the depths of her own selfishness by com-
parison with others. She was beginning dumbly to
understand what Ralph Darnley must think of her.
And yet he had made no secret of his love and affection.
She was strangely silent as she walked along with Con-
nie in the darkness of the evening. They came at
length to a mean little street leading off Tottenham
Court Road, and before a fairly respectable house there,
Connie stopped. Presently Mary found Lerself shak-
ing hands with a tall, thin girl, who gave her the
strange impression that her new acquaintance was made
of some fragile china. Her clear skin was deadly pale,
and the dark eyes seemed to burn in the face like som-
bre flames. The slender, frame was racked now and
then by distressing fits of coughing.
Yet there was a subtle strength and power about the
girl that appealed to Mary. Here was a girl after
her own heart, one who would struggle to the end, and
if she had to die she would fall in her tracks without
a murmur.
Yet everything was against her. She had no natural


HOMELESS 257
advantages like Mary. There was more shame for the
latter. Hitherto she had lived entirely for herself;
her bounties had been dispensed with a haughty
hand.
She had never dreamed of a kingdom inhabited by
such brave, pure souls as these. Despite the shabby
little sitting-room it was impossible to mistake Grace
Cameron for anything but a lady. She had a smile
of sweet sympathy as Connie made the necessary in-
troduction, and spoke of Mary as another of the elect
who had come into the arena.
"You have my sympathy," the girl said with a
pleasing smile, "I could wish a woman foe of mine no
harder fate. Anybody can see that you have not been
used to this kind of thing — you are too recently a
commander to know the bitterness of being commanded
by the canaille we frequently have to deal with. We
cannot all meet our misfortunes as cheerfully as Connie
does. But you will learn your lesson in time. Tell
me, have you heard anything as to those last drawings
of mine?"
"I have the money for them at any rate," Connie
said without looking at the speaker. "Mr. Scudamore
was very kind."
Grace Cameron drew a deep breath of relief, a wave
of pink rose to her cheeks.
"They were dreadful," she whispered. "But I
was so ill on Monday and Tuesday that I had to drag
myself to the work. My hand shakes terribly still,
and I have some kind of a commission that I must
finish to-morrow. It is a design for the cover of a new
penny weekly. I have the scheme sketched out, but
I am afraid that I shall not be able to finish it. And
17


258 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
I know that my mother is in great need of a few
pounds. How hard it is to be like this."
The last few words rang out passionately. Connie
patted the speaker's shoulder.
"Don't despair," she said, "give me the rough de-
sign and I will put in the colour. Take at least five
hours! Well, what of that. Give us some supper
presently — it matters little what time we get home in
the morning. Mrs. Grundy has no terrors for the true
and tried children of Bohemia."
Connie's cheerfulness seemed to be unflagging and
unfailing. She had no great aptitude for the brush,
but she had the great gift of patience. The hours
wore on, supper came and went, and presently a clock
somewhere struck the hoar of two. Then at last Con-
nie held up the coloured design in triumph.
"There," she cried, "I guess they will be satisfied
with that . I wish I had some of your boldness and
originality, Gracie. I think we've done it this time.
What a shame it is that good stuff should go for so
little money! And now I really must be off. Mary
looks tired to death. I'll post this for you, if you
like.*
Mary was tired and worn out, but she was not think-
ing of herself as she dragged along by Connie's side.
She had learned a great deal in the last four-and-twenty
hours.
In a vague, disturbed way she felt ashamed of her-
self. She did not notice the little cry that broke
from Connie as they stood before the house where their
rooms were. The place was all in pitch darkness, a
litter of straw lay before the door. As Connie applied
her latchkey and pushed back the door the house


HOMELESS 259
sounded curiously hollow. Footfalls clanked on a bare
floor. Connie struck a match and held it aloft.
"The house is empty!" she cried, "the people have
gone. These things happen with the struggling poor
when they are threatened over their rent. Let us go
and see if they have packed our belongings in the con-
fusion."
The little sitting-room was empty of everything, the
bedroom the same; nothing was left.
"My writing-case!" Mary cried, "my purse, too, in
my box. And in the case — my jewels. Connie, Con-
nie, what will become of us?"


CHAPTER XL
IN PEEIL
CONNIE was the first to recover herself. She
knew far better than Mary how great the dan-
ger was, how great the need for coolness and judgment.
And she had been in dire straits like this before. She
held the flaring match above her head and looked
round the deserted room. On the mantelpiece stood
a fragment of candle stuck in the neck of a bottle, and
this Connie proceeded to light.
"Now we can go over the house and see if they have
placed our belongings anywhere," she said cheerfully.
"I have been in one or two strange predicaments, but
never anything quite so bad as this. Still, I am sure
that Mrs. Speed is an honest woman. It is more than
likely that she has placed our goods and chattels some-
where."
But though the house was searched from top to bot-
tom, nothing could be found. Mary did not give way,
though she was tired out and weary, and sinking for
the need of food. She had not yet lost her robust
country appetite; she had not brought herself down to
exist on weak tea and bread and butter, as Connie did.
"It is downright cruel," she cried. "That woman
knew that we should come back, that you are in the
habit of entering the house with a latch key. And to
260


262 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
of thing. He employs very rapid workmen, and He
uses vans with no name on the cover. The thing is
easily done in this stony-hearted town, where your
next door neighbour is a matter of indifference to
you.
"Mrs. Speed is in the new house waiting to receive
her goods. In the haste and cdnfusion everything is
packed, sent away. I have no doubt we shall get our
belongings back again."
"And meanwhile, we have lost everything," Mary
protested. "We have exactly what we stand up in.
And every penny of my money, to say nothing of my
jewels, has gone. We ought to go straight to the po-
lice."
"No," Connie said firmly. "A year or two ago I
should have done so without hesitation, but not now.
Ah, my dear I know how the poor live, how fierce are
their temptations. When the great Day of Judgment
comes God will be tender to His poor."
The fierce flame of Mary's anger died away, and a
feeling of shame succeeded it. She was forced to
recognise the many ways in which her companion was
the superior of herself. Should she ever grow soft and
sympathetic like that? Would her misfortunes render
her more lenient to the failings of others? And yet
Connie had said that she had been at one time the child
of hard selfishness.
"Perhaps you are right," Mary admitted. "But
what are we going to do? Where are we going to
sleep to-night? And have you any money?"
"Two shillings," Connie replied. "Two shillings
in my pocket, more by accident than anything else.
My bank has vanished with my tin box. We can't go


264 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Not on these bare boards. And I shall drop if I don't
have something to eat."
The dawn was breaking in through the shutterless
windows now — the red dawn of the summer day that
gives London an added touch of beauty. It would be
broad daylight before long. The presence of the light
gave Mary a new courage.
"It is useless to think of sleeping anywhere," Con-
nie said. Her face was pale and downcast, all the
colour had gone out of her eyes. Mary had not before
seen her friend on the verge of despondency, and the
knowledge spurred her to new efforts.
"Let us go for a walk before the place gets hot and
stuffy and full of struggling humanity. A London
crowd always makes me so sad —' it is awful to think
that every man and woman streaming past you is en-
gaged in the struggle for bread."
"Come out of this," Mary said hoarsely. "Let us
feel the sunshine. This is heart-breaking, nerve-de-
stroying work, but I am not sorry that I came. Let
us go and watch the sun rise, and if there is any place
where we can get something to eat"
There was, at the end of the Embankment, a coffee
stall, the leaden-eyed proprietor of which regarded the
girls without emotion. He had served all classes of
customers in his time, and these well-dressed girls, with
an unmistakable air of class about them, inspired him
with no curiosity. He filled up the thick cups of
muddy coffee and cut the stodgy bread and the de-
batable butter. It was hideous stuff altogether, but
Mary was astonished to find with what zest she was
devouring it . A flashy woman, terrible in her cheap
finery, staggered up and demanded tea. A man, un-


IN PERIL 265
mistakably a gentleman, with a well-cut suit of clothes,
partook of cocoa and a slice of bread. His coat collar
was turned up, and Mary surmised that this was to
hide the absence of a shirt. The girl was learning her
lesson with terrible swiftness. Another man, with a
bag in his hand, hurried up and breathlessly asked for
tea. His face was white and pink by turns, he looked
about him a furtive kind of way. From behind the
barrow a powerful figure shot out and grabbed at the
shoulder of the man with the bag. The latter showed
fight for a moment, then his white face broke into a
profuse shower of moisture.
"Better come quietly," the powerful man said.
"You can have a cab if you like, though it does not
matter much at this time of day. You've given me
a long chase."
The two vanished in the direction of the Strand,
where now the houses and spires were all golden in
the purple mists. Mary shuddered.
"What does that mean %" she asked. "Was —
was he some criminal?"
"That is it," Connie explained quietly. "And the
other man was a detective. Oh, it is a horrible place,
this London, if you come to see it from the under-
side. I long for millions of money to turn this city
into a paradise. You think I am always cheerful
and careless, but my two years here have left a mark
upon me that I will never get rid of. Let us walk
along the Embankment as far as Westminster, and
then strike West for the Park. I feel a perfect long-
ing for flowers and green grass. We will go through
Park Lane, and speculate as to what the millionaires
there are dreaming about — the people who have a


CHAPPTER XLI
THE LESSON OF ADVERSITY
HITHERTO Mary had been entirely dependent
upon her newly-found friend. She had come
up to London with the proud intention of making
her own living, a Dashwood ready to defy Fate and
overcome it from the first onset. On the contrary,
she had been a living example of the weakness of the
unemotional when confronted with the problem of
existence. If it had not been for Connie, she shud-
dered to think of what might have become of her by
this time. But there was stirring within her now
those high attributes and noble qualities that Ralph
Darnley had discovered behind the armour of selfish-
ness and ice of pride. It behooved her to act now that
Connie had failed.
That poor Connie's breakdown was only temporary
made very little difference. Mary must become the
head of the expedition now. She placed her arm
around the other girl's waist and kissed her tenderly.
Mary had never done such a thing in her life before.
She would have found it physically impossible. And
here it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
"You must not give way," she whispered. "Dear
Connie, you can't tell how much I admire and respect
you. We are going to be friends as long as we both
267


268 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
live. You have taught me more in the last two days
than I ever learned before."
"I shall be better presently," Connie sobbed. "I
am so tired. Let me put my head on your shoulder
and rest a little. Only don't let me go to sleep, as
we shall have some horrid policeman making us move
on, and I have not come quite to that."
The weary head fell back on Mary's shoulder and
the weary eyes closed. Five minutes later, and Con-
nie had passed into the land of dreams. It was not
much past three yet, and the Embankment was very
quiet, save for the passing of the wretched wanderers,
who seem to find nowhere rest for the soles of their
feet. There were evil-looking creatures, both men
and women, slouching along and hideous faces once
human leered at Mary, but the daylight seemed to take
all the audacity out of this. There were others, too,
who had fairer faces, and who turned aside with proper
respect as they saw the sleeping girl with her head on
Mary's shoulder. A policeman came along like the
head of the universe and paused before the seat.
"This isn't quite the thing," he said. "Hope
there's nothing wrong, miss?"
The man was gruff, but utterly sympathetic. Mary
took heart of grace. Fancy her the heiress of the
Dash woods, explaining the sordid situation to a Lon-
don policeman!
"We have had a great misfortune," she said.
"When we got back to our lodgings to-night our land-
lady had vanished, taking all her furniture along.
And everything of ours had vanished also; we could do
nothing till to-day. And my friend is so worn out
that she has fallen asleep, as you see."


270 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the pallid, hollow-eyed painter down there, and send
her back to her beloved work with an elastic step and
the light of health glowing in her brown, ambitious
eyes. Mary was beginning to understand what wealth
could do and what glorious privileges it possessed.
She began to understand what Ralph Darnley had been
thinking about her. Well, the time would come when
Ralph should learn his mistake. All these things, and
more, Mary dreamed of as she sat patiently there with
Connie's head on her shoulder. The latter stirred
presently, and opened her eyes to the glory of the
day. It was past seven now, and the greatest city in
the world was awake to the struggle for existence. It
was some little time before Connie's mind was clear
enough to grasp the situation.
"I have been asleep for three hours," she exclaimed.
"What an intolerable burden you must have found
me. Why didn't you wake me?"
"Perhaps I have been dreaming myself," Mary
smiled. "Anyway, I did not seem to notice. And
there was a policeman who was very kind. I was
watching the day break over the river, and it took me
back to the old home. It seemed to me, Connie, that
I had not been as frank with you as I might. Let
me tell you why I left home. It will be a new exper-
ience for me to have a girl friend to love and confide
in."
They sat for an hour longer, and Mary told her
story. She was surprised at the ease and fluency with
which the narrative came from her. And she was
surprised, too, to find how much better she felt for
the telling.
"Oh, well, nothing can deprive us of the pleasures


THE LESSON IN ADVERSITY 271
of memory," Connie said. "I like to dream of the
old home sometimes, though there is a deal of pain
with the joy in it. And you have the consolation of
knowing that you can go back when you like, and find
a real loving welcome waiting you in the bargain."
"I shall never really go back under present condi-
tions," Mary said. "But I see now that this is no
reason why I should not visit my dear Lady some-
times. Wouldn't it be a glorious thing to have a nice
holiday down there! To take you with me for a fort-
night, to take Grace also, and leave her with Lady
Dashwood till she was quite herself again. Now I
know that you have been scheming and planning for
a long time to get a real chance for Grace. If I told
Lady Dashwood she would never hestitate for a mo-
ment — it would be as good as done. That is the plan
I have in my mind."
Connie caught at Mary and, heedless of passers-by,
kissed her affectionately.
"An angel unawares," she said with an unsteady
laugh. "That is what you are. Oh, my dear, you
must not put these temptations in my way, you must
not try to make me discontented with my lot. Eor
two years I have not seen a green field, or caught a
sight of the sea. It is two years since I was so
extravagant as to go to Hastings for the day. I took
my lunch and passed the whole afternoon in the glen
at Fairlight.
"I met a doctor there, he was just recovering from
a dangerous illness — such a nice fellow! And it
seemed the most natural thing in the world that we
should tell our story to one another. I wonder if I
shall see that young doctor again?"


272 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I wonder," Mary laughed. "But what are we
going to do now?"
"Have a proper breakfast at a place I know of,"
Connie said. "Then we are going to sit on the grass
in the Park, and you will have a sleep whilst I look
after you. Grace does not get up till about mid-day,
so we won't bother her just yet. Perhaps she will be
able to find us another lodging. My dear Mary, your
white face is quite a reproach to me. Let us go to
breakfast at once."
The breakfast was plain, but good, and eaten in a
clean room, which was something. Then the two wan-
dered into the Park, given over at this hour to nurse-
maids and children, and under the shade of a tree
Mary lay down and closed her weary eyes. The
warmth was soothing. Mary found herself wondering
what they would have done had it been a wet
day. . . . Her mind began to wander now . .
. . she was back again in the garden at Dashwood,
she was rambling the summer woods with the breeze
in the old elms overhead. Then gradually the world
seemed to grow dark, and she slept.
The sun was high overhead when she came to her-
self again. She felt fresh and vigorous now, ready
for anything. Then the humorous side of the thing
struck her and she laughed. The idea of a Dash-
wood sleeping out all night like a common tramp!
And yet Mary did not quite realise how near the most
prosperous of us is to the workhouse. A trick of Fate,
misfortunes over money matters, a long illness, and
the thing is done. There are thousands of such in-
stances every year.
"Do you feel equal to moving yet?" Connie asked.


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
Astor, Lºnox AND
TILºº Hºt MDAT1&NS
R - L


THE LESSON" IN ADVERSITY 273
"My dear, I feel equal to anything." Mary cried.
"My courage has come back to me. And now what
do you propose to do next?"
"The next thing is to call on Grace and tell her of
our misfortunes. We must not repeat last night's ex-
periment if we can help it. Besides, there are those
drawings for the Wheezer which are promised for
to-morrow. They were all finished and lying on my
table when the catastrophe happened. I must get
them back to-day."
18


CHAPTER XLII
THE COUEAGE OF DESPAIR
GEACE CAMERON was making a pretence of
breakfast when Mary and Connie arrived.
Her pallid face was more flushed than usual, her cough
very distressing. But she had no thought for herself
directly the story came to be told.
"You poor dears!" she cried. "What a cruel mis-
fortune! To have lost everything in this way is
doubly terrible. Oh, if it were only possible for you
to stay here! The house is almost full up, and my
landlady is independent accordingly. I am expecting
every day that she will ask me to go — the breakfast
in bed and my late rising give a great deal of trouble.
There seems to be nothing that I can do."
"Oh, yes, there is," Connie said cheerfully. "You
can help us wonderfully. For the moment we are ab-
solutely penniless. Our idea is to take a bed sitting-
room together, for a few shillings a week, and restore
confidence, in lieu of personal belongings, by paying
the rent in advance. I want you to lend me a sov-
ereign for about a week."
"But my dear, I haven't got it," Grace said in
deep distress. "I only kept a few shillings out of
the money you gave me yesterday, the rest I posted to
my mother not an hour ago. If I had only known!
And I suppose you can't possibly draw any more
274


THE COURAGE OF DESPAIR 275
money from the Wheezer till the end of the week!"
"I might have done so," Connie said. "I had
the week's drawings finished. They must be in to-mor-
row or I shall certainly do no more work in that quar-
ter. They were all lying ready on my table when
I came round here last night."
"Oh, this is dreadful," Grace cried, with the tears
in her eyes. "If you had not returned here then,
this dreadful thing would never have happened. To
think that your kindness and goodness to me should
have produced a result like this! Oh, Connie, what
are you going to do, what can you do?"
"Oh, please don't," Connie said unsteadily. "It
was no fault of yours. I daresay we shall manage
to muddle through some way or another. It is a great
pity that so many of our circle are so hard up just
at present."
"And Miss Dashwood is as badly off?" Grace
asked.
"Please don't call me Miss Dashwood," Mary said.
"It makes me feel as if I were not one of you. Yes,
I am in the same boat. Still, I dare say'
Mary's voice trailed off into a whisper. An idea
had come to her. She was quite ready to humble her
pride now; she no longer shrank from the idea with
a pain that was almost physical. If the worst came to
the worst, she could telegraph to Lady Dashwood and
ask for a few pounds by wire. And yet that seemed
a weak thing to do, seeing that she had left the dower
house so short a time before, determined to make her
way in the world. But that would have to be done
before nightfall, unless
Unless! There was yet another way out of it. The


276 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
recollection of the dramatic scene between the so-called
Sir Vincent Dashwood and Mrs. Speed came with
vivid force to Mary. The man had come for some
important letter. What the letter was and what it
had to do with the Dashwood succession mattered noth-
ing at that moment. At any rate the letter was
needed, and Vincent Dashwood had promised to come
back for it. And Mary did not fail to remember now
what Mrs. Speed had had to say about the trouble she
was in over her rent. That trouble had culminated
with disastrous swiftness, and to save her furniture
the woman had vanished in the night.
With a mind full of her own troubles, she had
probably given no heed to Vincent Dashwood. But
it was necessary to his success that he should find
her.
No doubt he was hanging about now somewhere in
the locality of Keppel Terrace waiting for a sign. And
here was the desperate chance that Mary needed.
She, too, would spend the next few hours in the
neighbourhood of Keppel Terrace. Her mind was
made up and she resolved to act without delay. She
rose to her feet with a smile and made her way towards
the door.
"Where are you going?" Connie asked.
"I have a little idea of my own," Mary said. "I
can't tell you everything, because it is in a way mixed
up with my private affairs. But I think that I shall
be able to get everything back before we sleep to-night.
I am not going to be a helpless burden on you two
poor dear things. I want you to feel that you have
been entertaining the proverbial angel unawares. I
may not be back till late, but you need not be anxious.


THE COURAGE OF DESPAIR 277
After my experience of last night, I am not afraid of
anything."
"Let her go," Grace said, as Connie would have de-
tained the speaker. "She is anxious to do something,
and I feel that she will succeed."
Mary went down stairs with a firm, steady tread.
She was not in the least afraid now. Whatever she
lacked, there was no question of her courage. And
she was going off now on an errand of mercy and re-
lief. The knowledge thrilled her, she was conscious
of emotions and feelings now that she had never felt
before. The warm hot blood was coursing through
her veins; there was a gladness about her heart that
made her feel strangely young and buoyant. She
would have liked to meet Ralph Darnley now and tell
him many things that had not occurred to her before.
She was ashamed of the way that she had treated that
man. And he was good enough for her; as Connie had
said, he was good enough for any girl. What did
birth matter, what did anything matter, so long as the
man was good and true and the woman sweet and ten-
der? It came to Mary with a crushing force that the
Dashwood pride was a poor and feeble thing by com-
parison.
She was still turning these new sensations over in
her mind when she arrived at Keppel Terrace. The
empty house seemed to look at her with blank, mock-
ing eyes. For a long time she walked up and down
before the house. An hour, two hours, passed before
Mary noted anything to attract her attention. Then
she thrilled as she saw Vincent Dashwood come swag-
gering along the terrace. He paused at the step of
No. 16, and looked up at the house. Mary could see


278 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
his gesture of passion. As he stood there, evidently
nonplussed by his discovery, a boy came up to him and
handed him a card, which he read and then tore up.
Greatly daring, Mary came along the pathway.
She pulled her veil down and pretended to ring the
bell at No. 17. Her back was to Dashwood; she cal-
culated that he would not notice her, that she would
be the last person in the world he was likely to meet.
But Mary was trembling from head to foot.
"All right," she heard Dashwood say. "I sup-
pose the lady told you what I was like?"
"That's it sir," the boy said. "The lady knew
as you would come. She gave me a shilling for this
job. I've been hanging about here since dinner time."
"Well, here's another shilling for you," Dashwood
said in great good humour. "Tell the lady that you
delivered the card properly and that I'll call after
dark. As it happens, I know the address on the card
you gave me."
The boy went whistling off down the road and
Dashwood swaggered way. Here was a piece of luck
that Mary had not expected. She had made up her
mind to loiter about the street till she saw Dashwood,
provided that he had not come and gone already. But
she knew perfectly well that Dashwood and early
hours did not go together, and upon that fact she had
acted. Her idea was to follow the man, knowing that
sooner or later he was certain to look for Mrs. Speed.
But here was a piece of real good fortune on which
she had not reckoned at all. Dashwood had read the
address, and then, with his usual carelessness, had
torn up the card. Mary was off the doorstep as soon
as it was safe, and the pieces of torn card were in her


THE COURAGE OF DESPAIR 279
hand. She had only to put them together and the
address was here.
This was splendid! Here was a way of proving
to Connie and Grace Cameron that she was a friend
to be relied upon. Mary's heart warmed at the idea
of it. Her fingers trembled as she pieced the frag-
ments of the card together and read the address. It
was clearly set out in a neat handwriting.
No. 24 Hamerton Gardens, IS. W. — surely the new
house was some distance away. Mary had yet to
learn that these midnight flittings necessitated a change
of neighbourhood at a considerable distance as to local-
ity. A friendly policeman directed Mary into the
Strand, and another told her which 'bus to take. By
the time the girl arrived at her destination she had
fourpence in her possession.
But she did not care about that. She was on the
right track now, and if luck were dead against her she
could walk home. Here was Hamerton Gardens at
length, and the litter of straw and refuse before the
house testified to the fact that somebody had recently
occupied the house or left it. With a courage that
was all her own, Mary walked up the steps and rang
the bell. As nobody responded to the summons, she
opened the door and walked in. She had made no mis-
take, she recognised the umbrella stand at a glance.
There was no linoleum down in the hall as yet and the
stair carpets were rolled up on the floor.
Somebody crossed the hall and entered a little room
on the right. Mary fairly gasped as she noted the
tall figure in the grey silk. She wondered if she
could credit her eyes. For the tall figure in the grey
silk was Lady Dashwood!


CHAPTER XLIII
GETTING NEABEB
MARY drew back a moment to see what was going
to happen. She ought to have been utterly
taken by surprise at her discovery, but she felt no
emotion of that kind. She was past the feeling —
life had been too full of thrilling incidents during the
last few hours for that. It never occurred to the girl
that she had made a mistake. In an instant her mind
was made up. Very swiftly and silently she darted
after Lady Dashwood, and followed her into a room
at the back of the house. There was a grimy specimen
of the London charwoman on the floor, scrubbing the
dirty boards apparently in readiness for the laying of
a roll of linoleum that stood in one corner. A bottle
half filled with beer ornamented the mantelpiece, and
from this the worker on the floor frequently refreshed
herself, as her red face testified.
She looked up angrily as Lady Dashwood entered.
The intruder had to ask her question twice before she
drew a reply.
"Mrs. Speed isn't in," the woman said, "and if
she was, she would not care to see any visitors as yet.
We only moved in here last night, and not so much as
an odd man to help for love nor money, and me fit to
drop."
"I am sorry to hear that," Lady Dashwood said in
280


282 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
tired. She wondered what Lady Dashwood would say
when she heard last night's adventure.
"I am utterly worn out," she said frankly, "and
yet I am glad I came to London. You can't tell how
much good it is doing me. Strange as it may seem,
I am quite happy, and all the more so because I am
fighting for the good of other people. Hitherto, I
have never thought of anybody but myself. As you
know, I came up to London with an idea of getting my
own living. I was going to be very proud and inde-
pendent. I had a vague idea that being a Dashwood
would make the ground clear for me. I blush now to
think of my ignorance and folly. But I am wander-
ing from the point. You will recollect that Mr. Darn-
ley offered to ask a friend of his in London to assist
me.
"I refused the offer, of course, in my stupid way.
But Connie Colam met me at Victoria. What I
should have done without her, goodness knows. She
was kindness itself to me. And in a very short time
we became fast friends. Fancy me, me, giving my
heart to a girl who lives in Bloomsbury, and gets her
living by doing horrible drawings for a low-class
paper!"
"It seems strange," Lady Dashwood murmured,
"I hope that she is"
"My dear, Connie is a lady. Oh, if you only knew
how my eyes have been opened! And there is an-
other girl, a lady, too, called Grace Cameron. But
you are going to meet them and satisfy yourself that
I am not degrading the great house of Dashwood.
Grace Cameron is an invalid, and last night we stayed
at her house very late finishing some work for her.


GETTING NEARER 283
We did not get home till past two in the morning.
What do you think of that for a Dashwood?"
Lady Dashwood could not repress a smile. It
seemed very dreadful and unconventional, but there
was a glad, tender ring in Mary's voice that the elder
lady liked.
"We walked home through the streets at that hour,"
Mary went on, "and when we reached our rooms the
house was empty. Everything had gone! And that
brings me to the cause of my presence here at this mo-
ment. Our landlady was Mrs. Speed, the woman who
has just moved in here. She had got into trouble over
her rent; she was afraid that her furniture was going
to be sold up, and when we were out last night she
had taken everything away. No doubt the poor
woman was half distracted, but it was a cruel thing
to do with us. She might have given us a hint. She
might have left our belongings behind. But she
didn't and there we were bereft of everything that we
possessed in the world at two o'clock in the morning."
"Oh, my darling," Lady Dashwood cried, "what
did you do then?"
"There was nothing to do. We had very little
money and nowhere to go. So, as it was a fine night,
we slept on the Thames Embankment and breakfasted
at a coffee stall in the morning. Mary Dashwood
sleeping in the streets! Fancy it! To-day I discov-
ered where Mrs. Speed had gone, and I am here to de-
mand the return of our goods and chattels. But I
can quite understand why you are here."
"What do you mean?" Lady Dashwood faltered.
"Well, I will tell you. When I went to Mrs.
Speed's to share rooms with Connie I was struck by


284 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the appearance of the woman. It seemed to me that
I had seen her before, and in some strange way she
recalled my very early childhood. I seemed to recol-
lect the creature years and years ago sitting in your
boudoir and crying. She was wearing a black dress.
It is one of the fragments of memory that cling to one
long after the surrounding circumstances are forgot-
ten. I could not get rid of the feeling, and I asked
the woman about it. She said I must be mistaken,
because she came from a place called Dashwood, near
Dashwood Hall. I doubt if she knew my name. I
had my own reasons for not betraying my identity as
you can imagine, but when Mrs. Speed told me that
I knew that I was not mistaken. And knowing that
she came from the old place, I was not surprised to
see you here after all."
Lady Dashwood's agitation deepened. Mary could
see that she was greatly moved.
"The woman spoke the truth," the elder lady
whispered, "her people lived on the estate for many
generations. And for years I have lost sight of her.
I can't tell you the story, Mary, because it is not all
mine to tell. And this morning I received a telegram
from Mrs. Speed at this address saying that she was in
great trouble and asking for an interview. I did not
send any answer to the telegram because I decided to
come in person. When things are explained, they
always become more simple."
"Not in this case," Mary said boldly. "My dear,
I have found out something far more important than
that Mrs. Speed comes from Dashwood. I was going
to the kitchen to get a glass of milk yesterday morn-
ing when I heard what sounded like a quarrel in the


GETTING NEARER 285
dining-room between Mrs. Speed and some man. The
man's voice sounded so familiar to me that I stopped
to listen. He was after some letters, the name of
Dashwood was mentioned — one letter was of the
greatest importance. And then the man came out;
he did not see me, but I recognised him. Can you
guess who he was?"
Lady Dashwood made no reply for the moment.
Her face had grown very pale and her long, slim hand
shook so that the rings on her fingers shimmered in
the light.
"You had better tell me," she ventured to say at
length. "I fancy I can guess, though I had not ex-
pected treachery as black as this. The man was"
"Sir Vincent Dashwood. Oh, there is no mistake
about it. I saw him as plainly as I see you at this
moment. He had called at Keppel Terrace to threaten
and bully. It seems that he had had all Mrs. Speed's
savings. And he told her that if he could have that
particular letter he would let her have as much money
as she needed. She spoke then of the danger in which
she stood in regard to her rent . She was going to see
the agent of the property the same day. Probably he
would not wait any longer, and hence the sudden
flitting in the night. What does it all mean, Lady
Dashwood? Why should this Sir Vincent want that
letter? And how much longer are we all going to re-
main under the tyranny of that man?"
Lady Dashwood made no reply. There was a sound
of voices close by, and in one of them Mary recog-
nised the querulous tones of Mrs. Speed.
"Go and see her," Mary said, "I will wait here.
But please do not disclose my identity. And when


288 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
the seamy side of life than I have, says that this mid-
night flitting is quite usual with a certain class of
people. She gave me an experience of a friend of
hers, but in that case her belongings were left behind.
What did you suppose that we were going to do?"
The woman shook her head sullenly. With her
wider knowledge of the world she seemed to think that
she had an easy prey in Mary.
"I don't know," she said, " and I didn't care. I've
been too badly used by the world to have much sym-
pathy left for other people. And I had to move. The
agent told me that he was going to put an execution
in to-day, and I had no time to lose. I don't want to
keep your traps and things; I daresay they are here
somewhere. Come again in a few days' time, and I
will see what I can do for you. I'm busy now."
The speaker advanced half threateningly towards
Mary, with an intention of bustling her out of the
room. Mary's eyes flashed angrily as she stood be-
fore the door.
"Now listen to me," she said in clear, incisive
tones. "As a landlady of experience in such matters
you must know that it is almost impossible for Miss
Colam and myself to obtain other lodgings without
our boxes and things. Last night we slept out of doors
because we had nowhere to go. You think that be-
cause you live so far away from Keppel Terrace you
can do as you like. If I go from here now without
our belongings I shall at once see the agent of the Kep-
pel Terrace property and tell him where you are to be
found. I can easily get the address of the agent from
the people next door to your last house. I don't know
much about the law, but you can be punished for this


THE DREARY WAY 289
kind of thing, I feel quite certain. Now what are you
going to do?"
The battle was over almost as soon as it had begun.
The woman lost her threatening air and her face be-
came pleading. The easy tears fell from her cheeks.
"I'm sure I don't want to do anything wrong,"
she said, "only you don't know all the trouble and
anxiety that I've been put to. When I came to Lon-
don first I had money in the bank and a good house of
furniture, very different from the miserable sticks I
have about me now. I was doing well. Oh, you
think you know what trouble is and misery, but wait
till you see the son you have loved and slaved for
grow up to be a curse and a blight to you; I sacri-
ficed everything for that boy and he has ruined me.
He gets money from everybody, he has had all mine,
and I go on giving him more. He never comes near
me unless he wants something. If you knew every-
thing, you would be sorry for me."
Mary made no reply for the moment. She was
piecing the puzzle rapidly together in her mind. She
was wondering what the connection was between the
erring son and the man who called himself Sir Vincent
Dashwood. She would have asked a question or two,
but it did not seem discreet to do so at this moment.
"At present I need all my sympathy for Miss
Colam and myself," Mary said coldly. "You will be
good enough to find our boxes. There is a desk of
mine that I need, a little desk in a leather case. I
shall be glad to know that it is safe."
"I think I saw it a little while ago," Mrs. Speed
said eagerly. She seemed quite anxious to make
amends now. "I fancy it was in one of the bed-
19


290 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
rooms. I hope you will believe me, miss when I tell
you that I had clean forgotten all about you two young
ladies. You see, I had to get away at a moment's
notice. There was the house to find and the van to
arrange for. One way and another I was fairly
worked off my feet. H you'll come along with me
now, I'll see what I can do for you. There's a great
pile of boxes upstairs."
Most of the missing boxes were identified at last,
but they were more or less buried under a great heap
of things. Mary gave a sigh of relief to find that
the precious writing-case was intact and the lock un-
broken. And there was a box of hers on the top of
the pile, and in that she knew was all that she would
require for a day or two. If she could get that away
she would be able to supply Connie with what was
necessary in the way of linen. And it would be as
well to leave the rest until she had procured fresh
lodgings.
"Get your woman to call a cab," she said, " I'll take
this box with me and the others can remain till we are
ready for them. Directly we have somewhere to go
I will send you a telegram with the address, and you
will give our belongings to one of the carriers."
"You may depend on that, miss," Mrs. Speed said
eagerly, "I'm sorry this happened, I am indeed. If
I had only thought of it I would have given you a hint
before. Now I'll go and see if I can get a cab for
you."
The cab was procured at length and the precious
box hoisted on the top. Lady Dashwood was patiently
waiting at the end of the road. The cab pulled up,
and Mary hailed her friend eagerly. A great weight
/
A


THE DREARY WAY 291
had fallen from her mind, she could see the way clear
for the future now. If misfortune dogged her, she
had made up her mind to go back to the dower house.
But now she was spared that blow to her pride.
She wondered, with a tender smile on her lips, if
Ralph Darnley would call this the proper kind of
pride. In her mind Mary decided that he would.
It would be possible now to arrange to stay for the
present under the same roof with Grace Cameron.
Then Mary remembered with dismay that her ready
cash had been locked up in a box, and that the box
in question was not on the top of the cab. Not that
she was afraid of anything happening to the money;
still, money was urgently needed.
The jewels were safe anyway — they reposed in the
cab on the seat opposite to Mary. And Lady Dash-
wood was seated by her side. The girl was in high
spirits: tired as she was, she was happier than she
had been for years. It came to her now that she had
an object in life, something definite to live for. She
was doing good in the world; her eyes had been opened
to the nobility of life as lived by the brave poor. What
a poor thing the Dashwood pride seemed by compar-
ison.
"You must know that I have been entirely suc-
cessful," Mary said gaily. Lady Dashwood had never
heard her speak in this tone of voice before. "I have
bearded the lioness in her den and actually got the bet-
ter of her. I am more than pleased with the success
of my scheme and the way in which I have worked
it out, Lady Dashwood. Please don't tell me that you
are going back home by an early train."
"I should like to go back at once and take you


292 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
with me, child," Lady Dashwood said. "You don't
know how lonely I am without you! And yet I am
quite sure that you are learning a valuable lesson in
these sordid surroundings."
Mary's face flushed with pleasure. A few days be-
fore she would have resented a suggestion like that
from Lady Dashwood or anybody else. Her mind
had been closed to everything, had been too proud to
learn. And now Lady Dashwood's remark was a com-
pliment.
"Yes," she said softly, "I am learning a great
lesson — the lesson of humanity. It is astonishing
how my mental vision has cleared already. I blush
with shame to think of the uselessness of my past life.
But you will come with me and see the dear com-
panions who have taught me this lesson?"
"I think I will," Lady Dashwood said, "I need
not get home till the last train. I have half promised
to dine informally with an old friend of mine in Strat-
ton Street. I shall have plenty of time to see your
friends. I am quite sure that they are ladies; you
could not be happy with them otherwise."
"Oh, they are," Mary cried, "and now I am go-
ing to tell you all about them and their hopes and
ambitions. Grace's story is quite a pretty romance
in its way. It will tell you all about her, so that you
need not betray your lack of knowledge."
Mary rambled on in a pleasant way until the cab
reached its destination. There was a pure, womanly
ring in her voice that Lady Dashwood noted with glad-
ness. She had always deemed Mary too hard and
cold, too unsympathetic to the weaknesses and failings
of other people. The elder lady's eyes were moist as


CHAPTER XLV
THE WALLS OF PBIDE
i ^XJOW I must get you to pay for the cab,"
i'II Mary went on in the same gay voice, "for
I haven't the money, at least, not in my pocket. You
will find the place very small and mean, but it is not
quite so bad as some of the cottages on the Dashwood
estate. If ever good fortune took me back there a3 mis-
tress I should do a great deal with the cottages on the
place. I begin to understand now how trying is the
lot of the poor. But I am dreaming again. Please
come this way."
Grace Cameron lay on a couch in the window get-
ting as much fresh air as possible. Towards her
Lady Dashwood looked with special interest, for Mary
had told Grace's story at some length. The girl
flushed as she noted the striking personality of her
visitor. She essayed to rise from the sofa.
"No, don't you move, my dear," Lady Dashwood
said. "Quite by accident I met Mary here, and she
insisted upon bringing me to see you both. I think she
has told me everything about you. And it was quite
natural that I should like to see you. So this is Connie
Colam. I think you are a couple of very brave girls."
And Lady Dashwood proceeded to kiss them both
in the most natural manner. She found her way into
their hearts at once.
294


THE WALLS OF PEIDE 295
"You are a darling," Connie said in her candid
manner. "It is good of you, Lady Dashwood. We
were eating our hearts out with anxiety when Mary
came in. And Mary looks quite the conquering hero,
I declare."
"Victory!" Mary cried, "my clever detective
scheme has been quite successful. I have brought all
we need with me, and the rest will follow on the de-
spatch of a telegram. I have had a long interview
with Mrs. Speed, and so far as I can see"
"I hope you gave her what she deserved," Connie
cried.
"I'm ashamed to say I didn't," Mary confessed.
"The poor woman appeared to be in distress. She
said that she had forgotten all about us, and I believed
her. It seems that she has a dissipated, selfish son
who has brought her to this pass — Lady Dashwood,
what is the matter?"
"The London heat always tries me like this," Lady
Dashwood murmured faintly, "I daresay I shall be,
quite myself when I have had a cup of tea. Connie
shall make it for me — Mary says that she has the
real art of tea-making. So this is the place where
you work. You look as if a good rest would do you
good, Grace."
Grace Cameron smiled wearily. It was one of her
bad days, and the heat had affected her. Her mind
was filled now with pictures of the sea breaking cool
over the rocks; she thought of deep woods where the
breeze played in the trees.
"I can't afford to rest," she said; "if I did not go
on working I should lose my reason. And I do hate
London so. Still, I have a mother more or less de-


296 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
pendent upon me, and for her sake I have to go on. If
I could manage to get into the country for a few
weeks I think I could regain strength. Connie is an
angel of goodness, but I can't let her do my work for
me much longer."
"That's sinful pride," Connie said with something
between a laugh and a sob. "What vexes her is that
her substitute is so poor a workman. Still, there is
a deal in what Grace says, and if she could be in the
country, not too far away from London, where"
Lady Dashwood glanced up and met Mary's plead-
ing eyes. She understood exactly what the girl meant
without asking a single question. She crossed over
to the couch and took Grace's thin white hand ten-
derly in her own.
"There is nothing easier," she said, "let me be the
fairy godmother. I am a very lonely old woman,
since Mary made up her mind that she would go out
into the world and earn her own living. I was very
sad about it at the time, but I am not so sad now.
Because the day is coming when Mary will return to
her old home, and be happier by far than she has ever
been before. Still, I am very lonely now, and I should
welcome some bright young face to gladden the whole
home and make life more tolerable to me. The dower
house is a grand old place, and any artist would soon
fall in love with it. Bring your work down there,
Gracie, come and live in the open air and forget your
anxiety for the future. When I looked at Mary just
now, her eyes asked me to do this thing. But I am
not doing it to please Mary so much as to please my-
self. It is very sefish of me. I know"
"Selfish!" Grace cried, "I could love you for


THE WALLS OF PRIDE 297
what you say. The mere thought of it makes my
heart beat all the faster. But for the sake of
others"
"Never mind the others," Connie cried, "go away
and get well. I dare not think what I should do if
I had the same opportunity. Go away and do your own
work. How can you have the face to stay here and
allow me to do your drawings for you? It is the most
selfish thing I ever heard of in my life, and I decline
to put up with it any longer. . . . Oh, my dear,
it is the very thing that I have been praying for.
Don't hesitate, Grace — think of your mother, of the
grand future. If I loved you less than I do"
The smile faded from Connie's face, she had hard
work to keep back the tears. Lady Dashwood's smile,
too, was watery and unsteady. She was glad to find
that Mary had fallen in with companions like these.
She could understand now why the girl had softened
and improved. Hitherto she had regarded Mary as
perfect, but this was a chastened and purified Mary
of whom she had never dreamed. She could see the
working of Grace's mind in her face.
"You are very good to me," the girl said slowly,
"everybody is good to me. I never knew how much
goodness there was in the world till my health began
to fail. It made me hard and bitter to see those friv-
olous society people roll by in their carriages, and
think that the money they wasted on one abandoned
toy would have sufficed to give me back the strength
I needed. Mary knows what I mean."
"I do, indeed," Mary said with a flush on her
face, "but I had to pay for my knowledge of my
selfish folly by the loss of everything that I held most


THE WALLS OF PRIDE 299
proud to ask her relation for any, which was quite
right. Unless, perhaps, Mary has recovered her purse,
in which case"
"Well, I haven't," Mary explained, "I forgot all
about it . Still, it is only a matter of a day or so, and,
meanwhile, I have something that will do quite as
well. I daresay Grace's landlady will find us a spare
bedroom."
"I believe there is such a thing in the house,"
Grace said dubiously, "but my landlady is by no
means a nice person, and she has done very well lately.
She is sure to ask to see your boxes, and if you tell
her the truth she will not believe you. Still, you must
find quarters somewhere for to-night, and it would do
no harm to have the woman up and see her."
The landlady came, hard of face and none too
pleasant of manner. She listened in grim disappro-
val. She did not wish to insinuate anything, but she
had suffered in the past. She attached a value to
the possession of personal belongings, she had little
faith in lodgers who came without them. To all this
Mary listened with a heightened colour and a rising
temper.
"I suppose a week, or say a fortnight's rent in ad-
vance would do for you?" she asked. "It seems the
likeliest arrangement for a woman of your stamp."
"Nothing better, miss," the woman retorted,
"money talks. Pay a sovereign on account, and I
shall have no more to say. Pay me, and I'll treat
you well; on the other hand"
"There is going to be no 'other hand,'" Mary re-
plied with her head in the air. "Perhaps you will
be so good as to change me a five-pound note?"


300 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
The woman gasped. She could not possibly do such
a thing.
"Very well," Mary went on, serene in her victory,
"you need not stay any longer. I'll go out and get
change, and let you have the sovereign without delay."
The woman vanished with a respectful salutation.
Mary crossed over to her writing-case.
"My education is growing apace," she laughed,
"my dearest Connie, will you be so good as to tell
me the way to the nearest pawn-broker's?"


CHAPTER XLVI
THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE
THE lights in the great silver candlesticks at the
dower house shed a soft radiance over the din-
ner-table where Lady Dashwood sat alone. It was not
yet dark, the saffron glow of the setting sun still strug-
gled with the candles. Most of the dishes had been
removed, and little remained but the peaches and the
nectarines and the great bloom tinted grapes in the sil-
ver baskets.
Lady Dashwood sat there alone. She had peeled
one of the russet and golden peaches, but the fragrant
luscious fruit lay neglected on her plate. Her mind
was far away from her surroundings.
The peacefulness of the night suited her more or less
painful meditations. The same spirit of refinement
and rest seemed to brood over the house; it seemed
hard to associate a place like that with misery. And,
perhaps, on the whole, Lady Dashwood was not alto-
gether unhappy.
She had more or less expected Ralph Darnley to
dinner, but he had declined at the last moment. He
had written to say that he might have the pleasure of
coming later, but even as to that he was not quite cer-
tain.
And so it came about that Lady Dashwood was
301


302 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
alone. She had plenty of food for thought . There
was yesterday's adventure, for instance, the finding of
Mary in that unexpected way, and the visit to Grace
Cameron's rooms.
Well, Lady Dashwood was not sorry that she had
been, she was not sorry either that Mary had made
up her mind to try her future in London. In some
subtle way Mary had vastly improved. She had
always shown a proper affection for Lady Dashwood,
she loved her passionately, but she had always been
somewhat reserved. She had not thought it right for
a Dashwood to be demonstrative like other people.
And she had cared very little for the sufferings of
other people.
And now all this was changed. Mary had made the
great discovery that she was only human after all,
and had begun to take an interest in sorrow, suffering
and gladness, and pleasure. Lady Dashwood was glad
of that. Her own life had been one of constant self-
repression. Perhaps that was all the more reason why
she longed for an open display of affection now.
She was pleased to find that Mary was learning her
lesson and that Ralph Darnley had been right. Ralph
had prophesied from the first that all Mary needed
was the fire of adversity to burn the alloy out of her
system, and leave nothing but the pure gold behind.
And his policy had been wonderfully successful.
But how much longer was this to continue? was the
question that Lady Dashwood asked herself.
How long before Ralph would declare himself, and
sweep away the blight that hung over Dashwood Hall
at the present moment. Already people were begin-
ning to talk, already the servants had strange tales to


THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 303
tell. Dubious men were staying at the Hall, a class
of beings quite unknown to that historic house.
Sir Vincent Dashwood was entertaining a party
at dinner to-night; he had brought his friends down
from London with him earlier in the day. As yet
nobody had called upon the new owner of Dash-
wood Hall, for people were holding aloof. They
wondered, too, why the deposed head of the house had
cared to stay on there. What Mary was actually do-
ing in London was not known to anybody outside the
home circle, but her action was approved of. Lady
Dashwood hoped that the present state of things was
not likely to last; she was going to ask Ealph to see
Mary and judge for himself whether the punishment
had not already gone far enough. Mary had had her
eyes opened and would never be her cold, proud self
again.
The peach was finished slowly, and Lady Dashwood
was thinking of rising from the table. This solitary
dining in state was a terrible trial to her. She had
reached the time of life when she craved for young
people to be about her. The house was very quiet, so
quiet that the loud clang of the front door bell fairly
startled Lady Dashwood. She placed her hand to her
heart in some alarm.
Surely something dreadful had happened 1 No
friend of the family would ever ring the bell like that.
It was, perhaps, a late telegram to say that Mary —
but the noisy voices in the hall did not suggest any
catastrophe. Two or three people were talking at once;
Lady Dashwood was sure she could smell tobacco smoke.
Somebody laughed in a loud, vulgar way. What could
it all mean?


THE HEAD' OF THE HOUSE 305
some difficulty in balancing himself. "It's all right,
grandmother. Mr. Dashwood did not want to come;
he said it wasn't quite the thing."
"I'm glad of that," Lady Dashwood said haughtily.
Her cold eyes swept over the figure of George Dash-
wood, who stood by the doorway a picture of confu-
sion. "Mr. Dashwood was right, and as to these
friends of yours"
"They're all right," the head of the house went on.
"Mr. Cotton and Mr. Newfell, my grandmother. Cot-
ton is something in the City, made a pile of money
there. When he isn't making money he spends his
spare time in going over old houses. I told him about
this one, and he is anxious to see it. It is just the
kind of place he wants to buy, and if he offers me a
fancy price for it, you will have to find somewhere else
to go, old lady."
Lady Dashwood stood there trembling. She had no
words to meet this unpardonable insult. And the
speaker was quite within his right. He was in a posi-
tion to sell the dower house if he chose. The head of
the family had that privilege, seeing that the little prop-
erty formed no part of the settled estate.
"I am afraid Lady Dashwood objects," the man
called Cotton said.
"Indeed I should, sir," Lady Dashwood replied.
"I am afraid I can't blame you so much as my — my
grandson for this unpardonable intrusion."
The City man flushed, but he had the grace to say
nothing. The head of the house fairly tingled.
"Insult be hanged," he cried, "what are you talk-
ing about? We only looked in just to give my friend
Cotton some idea of the place. I'm not anxious to sell.
20


306 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
It's a thirsty night, you fellows. Ring the bell, some-
body, and ask the butler for a whisky and soda."
"Better not," Cotton said, "it isn't quite the thing.
Besides, you have had enough already. I can see that
we ought not to have come here at all."
Lady Dashwood felt almost grateful to the speaker.
There was silence for a moment, and then from the hall
came the sound of Ralph Darnley's voice. Here was
somebody at any rate who could grapple with the situa-
tion. Forgetful of her real dignity, Lady Dashwood
turned away and crossed over to the hall. She was
shaking from head to foot now and the tears had gath-
ered in her eyes.
"You poor dear soul," Ralph whispered, as he kissed
the trembling lips. "Charles has been telling me all
about it He was so full of the matter that he almost
forgot himself. So you are already enjoying the fruits
of the change of proprietorship. Go back to the draw-
ing-room and compose yourself. I will soon get rid of
those men for you."
Ralph strode into the library. His fingers were
itching to be at the throats of the men. But that could
not be. He was so angry that his politeness was ex-
aggerated.
"Lady Dashwood is very sorry," he said, "but you
will have to excuse her to-night. She is not accus-
tomed to visitors, especially at this time in the even-
ing. Sir Vincent, your display of family affection is a
little too exuberant."
"I did not want to come, sir," Cotton said sulkily.
"Thank you; therefore you will not mind going.
Good-night, gentlemen. Good-night, Mr. Dashwood.
You will pardon me, I am sure. Well?"


THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE 307
For the head of the family sat sullenly in his
chair though the rest had got beyond the shadow of
the front door by this time. He looked up defiantly
at Ralph.


310 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"Everything. You have brought all this about
.
If it had not been for you, this disgraceful scene could
not have happened. For purposes of your own, you
have placed a puppet on the throne at Dashwood — a
disgraceful, drunken image, that is not worthy to be
called a man. Why do you do it?"
"I think you know perfectly well," Ralph said
gently. "I am very, very sorry; I could not have
foreseen anything like this. Won't you forgive me?"
All the hot, rebellious anger died out of Lady Dash-
wood's heart.
"I must, when you speak to me like that," she said.
"When you look at me with your father's eyes, and
speak to me with his voice, I could find it in me to
forgive you anything. But you must own that it is
very hard to bear, Ralph. When you came back here
like a figure from the grave, I began to hope that God
was going to be good to me in my declining years. I
have sinned heavily, but I have paid the penalty.
When I saw you that day at the fire I recognised you at
once, as Slight had done. My prayers had been an-
swered, and one of my flesh and blood had come back
to claim the old inheritance. And you had come to
free me from the hateful attentions of the impostor
who so grievously insulted me to-night. But you did
nothing of the sort; you tried to hide yourself from me
as if you were guilty of something shameful."
"But, my dear grandmother, I told you why," Ralph
protested. "I had to work out my life's romance in a
way that seemed best to me. And Fate played into my
hands — the little affair of the silver match-box forced
the so-called Dashwood to speak. Still, it will not be
for long. I saw the family solicitors yesterday — they


"HOW LONG, HOW LONG!" 311
are by no means disposed to let matters remain as they
are. Have you any idea as to the real identity of the
man who calls himself Sir Vincent Dashwood %"
"I had" Lady Dashwood said. "But I was certain
yesterday. I saw his mother. Oh, but yesterday was
a day of surprises."
"His mother," Ralph cried. "Is she still alive?
She was Agnes Edgerton, sister of my father's first
wife. Is not that so?"
"Absolutely correct, but I did not know it till yes-
terday; I thought that she was dead long since. I have
never heard a word of her since she left the village
seventeen years ago. And because she knew of my
crime, because she knew of the great sin that hangs
over the house, she wrote to me and asked me to help
her. It appears that she had been residing in London
at a place called Keppel Terrace, where she has tried
to live by letting lodgings."
"That much I know," Ralph said. "She wrote to
my father from time to time. What I did not know
is that she had a son. Please go on."
"It was a most pitiful letter she wrote me. She was
going to lose her home if she did not receive a certain
sum by a certain time. The letter came too late for me
to help. It was followed by a telegram asking me to
send the money to another address. Had you not come
into my life, had things been different, I should have
sent the money and thought no more about it. But
things came into my mind and a vague suspicion that
I felt bound to verify. I went to London yesterday
and I saw Mrs. Speed. She told me that it was her
son who had brought her to this pass. Of course, up to
that time I had no idea she had a son. I asked her


312 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
to show me his photograph, and she did so. You can
guess whose likeness it was?"
"I can guess now," Ralph said. "Of course, it was
the man who is at present master of Dashwood Hall
.
Did the woman know that?"
"Oh, dear, no. She has not the least idea. But
you can see now where the impostor got all his knowl-
edge, and how he came into possession of so many docu-
ments."
"Not quite," Ralph said, "I want a little light on
this particular spot."
"Well, that is easy. When your father fell in love
with his first wife, Maria Edgerton, they took the sis-
ter Agnes, now Mrs. Speed, into their confidence. She
received and kept all the letters, at least, she seems to
have kept the letters after Maria Edgerton died. Of
course, when the affair came to the ears of your grand-
father and myself we were terribly annoyed. Mind
you, I had nothing whatever to say against Maria
Edgerton. She was very good and beautiful, but very
simple indeed, and ignorant of the ways of the world.
We thought that we had put an end to the affair, but
we failed, and your father and Maria Edgerton were
secretly married. Even then we had hopes of hushing
up the scandal. Your father had to go away with his
regiment, and we persuaded his wife that he was dead.
I did that, and old Patience helped me. And so did
Slight — we were all in the disgraceful business.
Don't ask me why I did it; call it the curse of the fam-
ily pride if you like. We thought the woman would
go away and forget. Instead of that she pined and
died. When the news came to me I felt like a mur-
deress. I have never been the same woman again, I


"HOW LONG, HOW LONG!" 313
never shall be. And your father found it all out, he
came home, and there was a dreadful scene. He went
away declaring that he would never come home again,
and he kept his word. I dared not write to him di-
rectly, but sent my letters through Mrs. Speed. Now
you can understand how her son has come to be so well
posted in the secret history of our house. He must
have read and re-read those letters till he had them
by heart. But his mother did not know, she does not
guess. How much longer is this state of affairs to con-
tinue, Ralph?"
Ralph shook his head. These revelations came as
a surprise to him. And it was a very sad and very
dreadful confession that Lady Dashwood had made to
him.
"All that I have heard confirms me in my opinion
that I have acted for the best," he said. "I cannot
absolve you from blame, grandmother, indeed I cannot.
For the sake of the family pride, you have suffered this
remorse for nearly forty years. And yet, in the face
of it all, knowing that Mary was coming into the prop-
erty some day, you fostered the same spirit in her. I
love Mary, and the one great object in my life is to
make her my wife. But I wanted to be loved for my
own sake, and not for the sake of the family fetish.
My plan"
"Is succeeding," Lady Dashwood cried. "Nay, it
has succeeded already. Go and see Mary, call on her
and ascertain for yourself whether I am speaking the
truth or not. She has only been gone a few days, but
already the change has worked wonders. Put your
future to the touch, and you will not be disappointed.
Only end this dreadful state of affairs, turn that man


314 THE KETHER MILLSTONE
out of the Hall, let me see the place sweet and whole-
some again before I die."
Ralph hesitated. It was a tempting picture that
Lady Dashwood had drawn for him. But he could
not quite entertain the idea that already Mary had
changed her nature entirely, as a grub turns to a but-
terfly. At the same time Lady Dashwood's plea was
not one to be turned from lightly.
"I will see Mary," he said, "I will go to her to-
morrow. I must see Mrs. Speed also, for I have a
message to deliver to her from my father. You see, I
had no idea where to look for her. Patience my dear,
dear lady, patience. After the lapse of forty years you
will not mind waiting for a few days longer."


CHAPTER XLVIII
FACE TO FACE
< i"\^OTJ are getting on," Connie cried, "after a
JL time you will become a Radical. Already
you are fast forgetting the caste of Vere de Vere, es-
pecially after your visit to the pawnbroker's yesterday.
Tell me, did you feel very much afraid?"
"Well, no, I didn't," Mary laughed. "It was not
such a dreadful experience after all. You see, I had
the face of our landlady before my eyes. I tried to
think of nothing but the fact that we had another night
out of doors before us. I don't believe I even trem-
bled as I placed a diamond ring on the counter and
asked a loan of five pounds on it. Perhaps I was just a
little afraid of being given in custody on a charge of
dealing with stolen goods. Ah! the glow of satisfac-
tion when I found that money in my pocket! Will you
believe me, Connie dear, I was thinking nothing about
myself, but about you and Grace. And when I got
back here and saw your faces it was the happiest mo-
ment in my life."
Connie kissed the speaker affectionately. She was
genuinely touched, though she did not care to own it.
She pointed to the brushes and paints on the table.
"Well, don't be prodigal," she said. "I've man-
aged to get you five hundred cards to paint and they
315


316 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
will take you a whole week. And now I'll go and find
some fresh work to do. Thanks to Mrs. Speed's exit,
I have lost my Wheezer job. As the drawings were
not on time I've been told that I need not ask for any
more work. It is such a pity, because it was such reg-
ular, steady employment."
Connie spoke lightly, but Mary could see she felt it.
She painted on at her cards till nearly luncheon-time,
until her back ached and her fingers were almost too
stiff to hold a brush. But there was peace and con-
tentment in her heart, a feeling of happiness and glad-
ness that she had never felt before. She took a glass
of milk and a bun presently, and then put on her hat
to go as far as Mrs. Speed's. Though the promised
telegram had been sent, the necessary boxes had not
turned up yet. And Mary was getting anxious. She
would go and fetch the boxes; in the circumstances, the
luxury of a cab would be justified.
Mary swung along the street with a free step and a
sense of joyful elation. She had not gone far before
somebody touched her lightly on the shoulder. She
started and turned to find herself face to face with
Ralph Darnley. He looked bronzed and well. The
tan on his handsome face brought with it a whiff of
the country. There was no mistaking the genuine
pleasure that shone in his eyes as he held Mary's hand
in his.
"I called at your rooms," he said, "and they told
me that you had just gone out. I followed quickly
with wonderful luck. Where are you going?"
"Off to the wilds of North London," Mary laughed.
She felt a strange sense of gladness in the presence
of Ralph; a certain shy happiness possessed her. "Our


FACE TO FACE 317
late landlady went off with our boxes. We had to sleep
out the night before last."
"So Lady Dashwood told me," Ealph replied. "It
must have been a dreadful experience. And yet you
look very well and happy, Mary."
The girl laughed in a shy kind of way.
"I really believe I am," she confessed. "Mind you,
it was very dreadful at first. I felt so utterly lost and
sad that I very nearly came back and proclaimed my
defeat."
"At the expense of the family pride?" Ralph
laughed.
"Yes," Mary said quietly with a flush on her face.
"I am coming to the conclusion that the family pride
is a great mistake. It made me so cold and self-con-
tained. I never seemed to know what it was to have
sympathy for anybody. To be a Dashwood is a great
thing, of course. But there are far higher and nobler
aims. Those two girls I live with made me thoroughly
ashamed of myself. They are ladies who get their own
living by art work — but, of course, you know all about
Connie Colam. What a nature she has!"
"One of the noblest in the world," Ralph said
quietly. "Mary, I hoped that you would grow like
her. I hoped that her example would be a benefit to
you. With your beauty and her disposition, you would
be one of the most perfect women that God ever made.
Ah, the man will be lucky indeed who calls Connie
Colam his wife."
Mary assented warmly enough, and yet at the same
time she was conscious of just a tinge of passing jealousy
at the high praise of her friend. Ralph had told her
all along that he loved her, that there was no other girl


318 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
in the world for him. Had her coldness killed that
love? Then she told herself that it did not matter, see-
ing that the affection was not returned in the way that
Ralph meant. All the same, she could not rid herself
of the impression that such a thing would take all the
light out of her life, and leave her alone and desolate
indeed.
"Connie thinks very highly of you," she said
shyly.
"That is very good of her," Ralph replied with some-
thing like a sigh, "but we are too good friends ever to
care for each other in any other way. Still, she is
doing you good, Mary. There is something about you
that I can't describe, some subtle change for the better.
I never noticed till now that you had such a sweet and
tender smile and there is a thrill in your voice that
makes you pure and womanly. My experiment has
been a success."
"What experiment is that?" Mary asked inno-
cently.
"What am I saying?" Ralph laughed. "I have a
confession to make later, but it is not the time to go into
that. It is good to be by your side again, listening to
your voice. Now, tell me all that you are doing."
Mary did not need to be asked. She fairly bubbled
over with delight. The deep thrill that Ralph had
noticed in her voice touched him and caused a chord
to throb in response. It seemed almost impossible to
believe that this was the Mary of the old days, the
proud, distant creature whose head was in the clouds
contemplating the glory of the family. She was tender
and warm and confiding, and the flush on her face gave
the one thing needed to make her fair and radiant
A


320 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
The girl's face flushed crimson, but she bravely met
Ralph's eyes.
"Yes," she said frankly, "we were only talking
about it last night . Oh, I have gone a long way indeed
since I saw you last."
"That is good to hear. And when the right man
comes along you will not refuse him simply because he
does not have a long pedigree?"
"Please do not say too much about it," Mary pleaded.
"If you only knew how dreadfully ashamed you make
me feel! As if it mattered, as if anything mattered,
so long as the woman loved the man and he was worthy
of her affection. There, Ralph, do you need me to say
any more than that! A man does not need a long pedi-
gree or a fine estate to be a gentleman. But, really,
you are making me false to my creed, and I shall not
tell you anything else till I have seen Mrs. Speed. This
is the house. Will you wait outside \"
"Certainly not," Ralph said, "I have something to
say to Mrs. Speed as well as you. You will perhaps
be surprised to hear that she is an old friend of my
father's. Come along."
Mrs. Speed came up from the kitchen very hot and
very red, and inclined to be angry at being disturbed at
this time of the day. She began to explain volubly to
Mary why the boxes had not yet been sent off. In the
hall a man was calling for the landlady. She broke
off in her exclamations and stared at Ralph. She
seemed terribly agitated, her face grew white, her eyes
astonished, as Ralph held out his hand.
"A ghost!" she said, " a ghost from the grave. And
yet it could not be; after all these years, it is impossible
that the form of — well, what is it?"


FACE TO FACE 321
The man in the hall came swaggering into the room.
He glanced at Ealph, and would have vanished had not
the latter detained him.
"This is an unexpected meeting," he said. "I did
not expect to see you here so far away from home, Sir
Vincent Dashwood."
"Sir Vincent Dashwood!" Mrs. Speed cried.
"Then who, sir, are you, I'd like to know?"
21


CHAPTER XLIX
A BOLT FBOM THE BLUB
JUST for a moment it looked as if Ralph's pretty
scheme was destined to fall to the ground.
Naturally, Mary had the haziest idea of what was tak-
ing place. She could only see that the man whom she
knew as Sir Vincent Dashwood was looking most ter-
ribly uneasy and casting imploring glances at Mrs.
Speed.
It seemed strange that anybody should in any way be
craving the good favours of the faded-looking woman,
but such was the case. If she had had the so-called
baronet's life in her hands he could not have regarded
her with more entreaty. And, as to her part, Mrs.
Speed looked from one man to the other in a dazed
kind of way, as if she had not the slightest idea what
was taking place. Her face turned from red to white
and then to red again; she seemed to have some diffi-
culty with her breathing.
"I — I don't understand," she gasped. "You are
asking for me. It must be wrong to say that this gen-
tleman is Sir Vincent Dashwood."
Ralph had recovered his equanimity by this time.
His obvious course now was to prevent Mary from guess-
ing at the true nature of the situation. She must not
know yet. And she had been so sweet and frank and
candid with Ralph that not for the world would he have
322


A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 323
her know the trick that had been played on her, yet.
That confession would have to come at the proper hour,
with the proper setting, say the rose garden at the dower
house on a moonlight night.
"Nevertheless, I am quite correct," he said. "I as-
sure you that the gentleman who has just come in is no
other than Sir Vincent Dashwood, of Dashwood Hall.
As a matter of fact, I was in the fortunate position of
placing a valuable proof of his identity in his way.
But the matter has developed itself so recently that it
is possible few people know of the change."
"Sir Vincent Dashwood!" Mrs. Speed repeated, as
if the words had some fascination for her. "And so
he is Sir Vincent Dashwood. And who, sir, may you
be?"
The question came about in the form of a challenge.
Mrs. Speed moved a step forward as if to stand between
Ralph and the other man. There was just the sugges-
tion of protection in the movement. Ralph smiled in
reply.
"It does not much matter who I am," he said. "As
a matter of fact, my name is Ralph Darnley, and I
came to you with a message from the late Ralph Dash-
wood, who, at one time, was married to your sister."
"You knew him very well?" the woman asked in
the same dazed way.
"I knew him very well indeed," Ralph replied, "but
that we will go into presently. In the meantime, this
young lady desires a word with you. Perhaps you will
be so good as to settle with her first, my business will
keep till afterwards."
And Ralph moved off in the direction of the passage.
Dashwood could do no more than follow him in the


324 THE NETHER MILLSTOXE
circumstances. He looked restless and anxious and
whistled rather ostentatiously to cover his agitation.
"Upon my word you have made it very awkward for
me," he said. "I never dreamed of seeing you here.
Mrs. Speed is an old friend of yours, I presume."
"I have never seen her before to-day," Ralph said,
aroused by the eagerness of the question. "I came to
bring her a message as you heard. She appeared to be
surprised to see me, but not more than she was sur-
prised to hear of your new dignity."
"She didn't know it, you see," Dashwood explained.
"I — I haven't told her yet. She was very good to me
in my poorer days, and I am grateful for it. Still,
she knows the truth now, and there is an end of it.
Odd that I should find you mixed up like this with
quite a different phase of my life. Don't you think
BO?"
"Not at all; it is not in the least odd if you knew
everything. Still, it does not matter. You can afford
to disclose your identity now."
"But I can't," Dashwood replied, " those lawyer peo-
ple are making a great fuss. Anybody would think
that they had the title and estate to dispose of. All the
family recognise my position, nobody makes the least
objection, and yet those solicitors ask for all kinds of
additional proofs. I don't half like it."
Ralph made no reply. He knew all about the ob-
jection raised by the family lawyers and was in a po-
sition to enlighten Dashwood's mind to a painful de-
gree.
But all this would come in time; meanwhile, the
puppet must play his part in the comedy. Any further
conversation was cut short by the entrance of Mary. In


A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 327
"Very well," she said, "I will dismiss that con-
tingency from my mind. Notwithstanding, I should
dearly like to come back into my kingdom again. But
you need not be afraid that I should revert to the old
order of things. The change in me is permanent; the
old pride and coolness have gone; I have learned to
love and feel for my kind. Do you know what I would
do if the property were mine? I would turn the dower
house into a retreat for broken-down artists and authors
and the like, where they could regain their strength and
rest at no expense to themselves. Oh, I would do so
many things to render the lives of deserving people
happy."
Mary's cheeks glowed and her blue eyes sparkled with
a tenderness that Ralph had never seen in them be-
fore. There was soul in the girl's face now, the soft
expression without which woman's beauty counts for
nothing. And from the bottom of his heart Ralph was
glad. It was hard work to keep from Mary the fact
that the kingdom she so longed for was in her grasp.
"It does me good to hear you speak like that," he
said. "No, I must not come in, for I have a great deal
to do. Give my kind regards to Connie, and say that
I shall call the next time I am in town. I am very
anxious to see Miss Cameron also. But you say she is
coming down to the dower house on Saturday. Good-
bye."
Mary's hand lay in Ralph's for a moment and their
eyes met. And then the girl knew that Ralph still
loved her, and the knowledge thrilled her with a sud-
den happiness. She did not dare to stop and analyse
her feelings, but deep down in her heart she knew that
when the time came Ralph would have his own way.


CHAPTER t
HABD PDT TO IT
WITH a sigh of passionate relief Vincent Dash-
wood watched the cab drive away. He hardly
knew what he had to fear, and yet he discovered the fact
that he had got rid of some great danger. True, Ralph
Darnley had more or less betrayed his secret to Mrs.
Speed, but then that discovery might have been made
at any moment.
Dashwood called impatiently to the tenant of the
house. No reply came. He walked into the dining-
room muttering to himself. Mrs. Speed stood there by
the fireplace, her hands clasped convulsively together,
her face hard and grey. Once in his life Dashwood had
been in court and heard a woman sentenced to death.
It came back to him now that the face of the criminal
had looked exactly like Mrs. Speed's.
"What on earth is the matter with you?" he asked
brutally.
"Wait a moment," the woman said hoarsely. "I
was thinking, I was trying to get it all clear in my
brain. It seems impossible, altogether preposterous.
He told me that you were Sir Vincent Dashwood. He
wasn't mad, was he?"
"Perhaps not," Dashwood grinned, "but I shall
think you are if you go on like this. I didn't dare to
tell you at first because you do such foolish things.
328


HARD PUT TO IT 329
You are quite good enough to have written to the old
girl and told her everything. It is a very fortunate
thing that Lady Dashwood regards you as being no
longer in the world."
"Is it? Are you sure that Lady Dashwood thinks
me dead?"
"Of course she does. I got that out of her by ju-
dicious pumping. Now that Ralph Darnley has given
me away I can tell you the whole truth. I got sick of
plodding in the City on small pay and hard work. One
or two things you told me gave me an idea of the game.
I got hold of all those letters and things and learned
them by heart. Gradually, the whole story was mine.
Then I pretended to you that I had something to do in
the north. I didn't go north at all; I went down to
Dashwood and introduced myself to the old lady. She
asked me a lot of questions, and I replied to them satis-
factorily. Of course, she did not recognise me as the
boy I was when we left the parish seventeen years ago.
And she put old Slight on me, too. Well, I satisfied
old Slight, too, though at the first go-off he also re-
garded me as an impostor. Still, I hadn't the nerve
to go the whole thing, and pretended that I desired to
wait till the old lady was dead. And she was so much
in love with the girl who was here just now that she
allowed me to have my own way. It was only when I
looked like getting into trouble over a charge of burn-
ing the Hall down that I had to speak. And blest if
Ralph Darnley did not come forward and produce the
very marriage certificate that I needed. It was as easy
as falling off a house. Everybody gave way to me with-
out a struggle, I stepped into the estate and the title.
That is not more than a week ago. The only people


HARD PUT TO IT 333
her as an advocate for clemency as far as you are con-
cerned."
"What do you mean by that?" Speed asked eagerly.
"I will not tell you," Mrs. Speed said with some
show of firmness, "I have let you learn too much al-
ready. And the secret is not entirely mine. Now you
go your way, and let me hear from you how things are
going. But they can only go in one way. Badly as
you have used me, bad son as you are, I can't forget
that you are my son. It is no fine thing to be a woman
— men never suffer as we do."
Vincent Speed went away with a troubled mind and
an uneasy feeling that some disaster was hanging over
him. The more he thought over the disclosures of the
past hour, the more they puzzled him. Well, he would
have to struggle on a little longer, until he had a large
sum of money at his disposal. He drove down to Bed-
ford Row, where the office of the family solicitors was
situated, and sent in his card to the head of the firm.
The latter received him with somewhat cold politeness
— he would like to know what he could do for Sir
Vincent.
Speed went on to explain. But no response came
from the clean-shaven man on the far side of the table.
Mr. Morley shook his head.
"We can't do it," he said. "In the present circum-
stances it is impossible. Of course, we have many
clients who would be prepared to lend money on the
Dashwood property, but we are not yet satisfied as to —
er — the legal aspect of your claim. Till that point
is cleared up to our satisfaction, we must decline both
to arrange the mortgage or even to part with the deeds
relating to the property."


334 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
Speed protested, but protested in vain. And noth-
ing moved the iron-faced man from his purpose; he
might have been a statue for all he heeded those threats
and expostulations.


336 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
ashen and the fingers on his cigarette trembled visibly.
"So the ship has foundered," he said. "I've got
a shrewd idea as to the game that Darnley is playing.
I took that man for a fool. As a matter of fact, he is
the cleverest chap I ever came across. To be candid, I
did his father out of a lot of money. I played much
the same game with Sir George Dashwood. And it
seemed to me that Ralph Darnley was going to take it
lying down. He made no face; he took no proceedings.
And then it came upon me like a thunderbolt. At the
time he was working up a case against me. He put it
into the hands of the cleverest firm of criminal lawyers
in London. He arranged such a damning lot of facts
before me that I was bound to sacrifice everything to
save a prosecution. I scraped the money together from
all kinds of sources. I robbed other clients to get it.
At the moment all my speculations go wrong, of course.
I'm in a desperate hole, Speed; there isn't a man in
London who is in such a hole to-day. If I don't get
£30,000 by Monday I shall have to bolt — and there
is no safe place to bolt to nowadays. You will have to
get me this money on mortgage."
"But I can't," Speed protested. "I went to the
family lawyers just now, and they refused to have any-
thing to do with it. Said they were by no means satis-
fied as to my legal position. They went so far as to
declare they not only decline to raise money on the es-
tate, but they refuse to give up the deeds."
Something like a groan came from Mayfield's lips,
but his busy brain was working all the time. He saw
where the difficulty lay. With Ralph out of the way he
could, and would, crush Speed like a fly. He would
expose the impostor without mercy, and then things


338 THE NETHLR MILLSTONE
to the station with a resolve to return to Dashwood with-
out delay.
Everything seemed just the sam'e there; there was no
suggestion that anybody knew of the deceit which had
been practised on the old house. Even Slight appeared
to be more respectful than usual, but this was all pre-
arranged; Ralph had travelled down by the same train
as Speed, and Slight was fresh from an interview with
the man whom he called his master. It was after tea
that Speed went over to the dower house. His heart
was beating a little faster than usual; he felt his colour
come and go as Lady Dashwood came into the garden
with a basket and a pair of scissors in her hand. Her
greeting was cold and formal as usual; but Speed could
not detect any change in her manner.
"Let me hold the basket for you," he said graciously.
"You are going to get some roses?"
"Yes," Lady Dashwood replied, "I prefer to ar-
range my own flowers. And I have a young friend
coming to stay with me to-morrow, an acquaintance of
Mary's."
So far all was well, for the speaker did not refer to
Mary as Miss Dashwood; it was evident to Speed that
he was still regarded as one of the family. He won-
dered if Lady Dashwood had any idea as to his real
identity.
"I saw Mary to-day," he said. "She had been lodg-
ing with a woman I know, a Mrs. Speed. She has been
very unfortunate of late, and"
'" I know Mrs. Speed quite well," Lady Dashwood re-
plied. "Her father was a tenant on the estate many
years ago. And I have heard all about the misfortune.
In fact, I was in London yesterday, and called upon


COLD COMFORT 339
Mrs. Speed, who had written to me. What is the mat-
ter?"
"A thorn from one of the roses," Speed said in
some confusion, "in my finger."
He was staggered at the information delivered in
Lady Dashwood's quiet, level voice. Why had his
mother not told him? Why had she withheld this fact
from him? Perhaps she had forgotten it in the agita-
tion of the startling disclosures of the morning. But
Speed took fresh heart of grace from the news. That
Lady Dashwood was not talking at him he felt certain;
her voice was too matter of fact for that.
"That's a strange thing," Speed continued to say in
a fairly steady voice. "I did not know it before. Let
me get the roses for you from the top of the tree, they
are so much finer. Have you seen anything of Ralph
Darnley lately?"
"Not for a day or two," Lady Dashwood replied.
"He has been in London, but I believe that he is com-
ing back some time to-day, and I should not be surprised
if he came over here later."
As a matter of fact Ralph put in an appearance be-
fore the basket of roses was filled. If the suspicions of
Speed had been rocked to sleep, they were awakened
now, when he saw the way in which Lady Dashwood
smiled at the newcomer. There was real affection in
her glance; the pressure of her hand was warm and
clinging.
"So you have come back again," she said, "I have
quite missed you. And I have felt so lonely all
day. Won't you take pity on me and dine with me
to-night?"
Ralph expressed his gratification at the request.


COLD COMFORT 341
plan complete. Wire reply immediately.— MAY-
FIELD.” -
Speed chuckled to himself as he filled in the reply
form. If Mayfield had laid his plans after his own
fashion then success was bound to follow.


CHAPTER LII
THE SPIDER'S WEB
SPEED rose next morning with a sense of his dan-
gers and responsibilities. He had sat up late the
night before, thinking things over to the accompaniment
of much whisky and soda. Therefore, his head was
heavy and his eyes were dull as he crept down late to
breakfast. He was inclined to take the gloomiest view
of the situation; the cheerfulness of Mr. George Dash-
wood irritated him.
Whatever Dashwood's faults were, he did not num-
ber dissipation of that degrading kind amongst them.
He looked cheerful enough as he sat before the open
window reading the paper and smoking an after-break-
fast cigarette. He greeted Speed heartily.
"Why do you smoke here?" the latter growled.
"You know I can't stand the smell of tobacco before
I've had mv breakfast. Go outside and finish it."
v
"All right, my dear fellow," Dashwood said politely.
There was something almost cringing in his manner.
"Sorry to annoy you. Fine morning."
The speaker appeared anxious to please. He wanted
to ignore the unpleasant feeling that Speed despised
him. There was little chance now of burning incense
on the altar of family pride; Speed took care of that.
He was at no pains to conceal the fact that he regarded
Dashwood as a pensioner, dependent upon his bounty,
342


THE SPIDER'S WEB 343
and to be treated accordingly. Dashwood had fallen
a long way indeed when he accepted the hospitality of
his supplanter.
"What a confounded nuisance that old beggar is,"
he muttered, heedless of the fact that Slight stood by
the sideboard. "I shall have to get rid of him alto-
gether. If he had the spirit of a man he would not stay
here. And they talk of the pride of the Dashwoods.
Slight, why aren't there any curried eggs and some
devilled kidneys? Am I always to be telling you about
it? What a fine thing it is to be a pampered, lazy lout
of a man-servant. What are you gaping at?"
"The eggs are under the silver cover, sir," Slight re-
plied. "The kidneys are here over the spirit lamp,
sir. The rest of your remarks are unnecessary, sir."
"Oh, are they? Did you behave in this insolent way
in Sir Ralph's time?"
"Sir Ralph was a gentleman, sir. He knew how
to speak to his dependents."
"Oh, did he?" Speed roared, "I suppose I don't.
If I like to swear at my confounded flunkeys I'll do it.
They can take it out in extra wages. If this kind of
thing goes on we shall part, Slight."
"Very good, sir," Slight responded. "You have
only to say the word. You may be interested to hear
that only last night I had great difficulty in preventing
the whole of the servants from resigning in a body."
Speed had no more to say. He was half afraid of
a quarrel to the end with Slight. The latter knew too
much. The studied insolence that underlay his respect-
ful manner proved that. He moved about the room
now with the air of a man who is depriving himself of
the decencies of life. He poured out the coffee in a


344 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
lordly way, a8 if under protest. Speed made advances
towards conciliation.
"Mr. Mayfield is coming down to-night," he said,
"he will dine here and probably stay till to-morrow.
Tell the housekeeper this. Mr. Darnley will dine here
also. I should like the cook to be sure of something ex-
tra. I can leave you to see to the wines."
"Mr. Darnley dining here, sir?" Slight asked with
a rising inflection of voice. "Coming here to-night to
meet that — I mean, Mr. Mayfield?"
"Well, why not? Any objection to make, Slight?
Any little alteration to suit you? You have only to
mention it."
Slight muttered a hasty apology. He had come very
near to betraying himself. As he looked into Speed's
bloodshot eyes he saw something there that filled his
heart with a sudden fear. For the old man knew every-
thing; there was not a single move in the game with
which he was not acquainted.
But Speed had forgotten all about Slight and his
little slip. A small liqueur and a cigarette put him on
good terms with himself once more. It was a beautiful
day, too, with a soft breeze and brilliant sunshine.
Across the park the deer were moving in a dappled line;
the fine old gardens were looking their very best. As
Speed paced up and down the terrace one gardener and
another touched their hats to him. It filled him with a
feeling of pleasure — flattered self-importance. It was
worth the risk to be the head of a place like this, to
feel that it was all his own. And only two years be-
fore he had been the slave of the pen, the toady of a
sweating employer.
Speed felt that he could never give it up again. In


346 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
He looked drawn and worried, Speed thought, but there
was a grim determination in his eye that Speed liked.
Mr. Dashwood met Mayfield in the friendliest possible
manner. If he felt any disgust towards the newcomer
he disguised it very effectively He went off presently
under a strong hint that his host and Mayfield had
some important business to discuss. He was going as
far as Longtown, he said, and should not be back be-
fore dinner.
"That's the way to get rid of him," Speed said as
he lay back in his chair, a large cigar between his lips.
Slight had placed the wine on the table and vanished.
"What a useless old encumbrance he is about the house.
I shall have to get rid of him, Mayfield. When I wrote
my generous offer I hoped that Mary would come, too.
Those confounded servants want keeping in hand, and,
besides, nobody seems to care about calling here, so long
as there is nothing in the shape of a mistress about the
place."
"Everybody has been wise," Mayfield said cynically.
"Anyway, I am glad you have not got rid of old Dash-
wood yet. He is going to be a puppet in the play. We
shall be able to make a very effective use of him before
the day is out. Nothing happened yet, no kind of move
on the part of the foe, I suppose?"
"No," Speed explained, "nothing. I saw Lady
Dashwood last night. She treated me just in the same
way as usual, which is all the more strange if she knows
who I really am."
"I don't suppose for a moment that she knows who
you really are," Mayfield said. "She may know who
you are not — and that's her grandson. But if Darn-
ley was out of the way things would be quite different.


350 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
pockets empty. That would be a fortunate accident
for us."
"Yes," Speed said with chattering teeth, "it — it
would. But I don't quite"
"Oh, the rest is quite easy. I call to you directly
I fancy things are safe, and you come into the room
grumbling at the light. I only want you to answer a
question, and so prove that you have been in the room
all the time. We don't lose sight of one another after
that, not till everybody has gone to bed, when I slip
out and place the body so that it can be found to look
as if robbery had been the motive. Can you do it?"
Speed nodded without reply. The room had grown
suddenly dark, for a thunderstorm had come up from
the west. There was a lurid flash of lightning followed
by a clap of thunder, and then the rain came down in
torrents. It was only a matter of ten minutes before
the light came back again. Speed nodded once more.
"All right," he whispered, "I am a fairly power-
ful man, and physically, I have nothing to fear from
Ralph Darnley. Besides, you say he will not be in
a condition. . . . It's a dreadful thing to think
of, Mayfield, but I can't give this up. I really couldn't
go back to the old life of drudgery again. Only please
don't revert to the subject. Let us have another glass
of wine and forget all about it for the time being."
The afternoon wore on; evening came at length, and
presently with it, Ralph Darnley. He entered the big
dining-room where the others awaited him. His easy
manner changed as he caught sight of Mayfield. Just
for the moment he felt a desire to walk out of the room
and leave the house. He had not expected an insult
like this. But, on the other hand, he had asked no


THE WEB TIGHTENS 353
is necessary for me to get away early if I am to see
Lady Dashwood to-night."
"Don't go without a cigar," Mayfield urged as he
prpffered his case. "There are no finer cigars in the
world, though I say it myself. Do try one."
Ralph held out his hand for the case. It certainly
was an excellent cigar. There was something very
soothing about it. Mayfield followed Ralph into the
hall, only to return a moment later with the informa-
tion that the visitor had departed. Then came the
sound of a movement from behind the screen, followed
by what might have been a moan of pain.
"Poor chap," Mayfield said with ready sympathy.
"Now let me go on, Mr. Dashwood, and explain to
you what I meant about those South African shares.
I want to prove to you what a good thing they are,
if only you have the pluck to take them and hold
them."
"Provided that you've got the money," Dashwood
laughed, "but, as you are aware, I have no money;
fortune has been very unkind to me lately. Still, on
the other hand — but you do not seem to be listening
to me."
"I — I beg your pardon," Mayfield stammered, "I
am listening to something outside. Let us ask Sir Vin-
cent if his head is well enough to offer an opinion. I
say, Dashwood, would you mind coming here for a mo-
ment. Your relation here says"
"All right," came a little voice from behind the
screen, "I'm coming. Why can't you leave a fellow
alone? I declare I'm shaking from head to foot with
cold. Let us sit here out of the draught. . . . I'm
fairly stung with the cold,"
33


354 THE INETHER MILLSTONE
The speaker's teeth were chattering, his face was a
ghastly blue colour. And, for a long time afterwards,
nobody spoke besides Mr. George Dashwood!


CHAPTER LIV
"EYES CLEARER GBOWN"
i i T 'M glad she's gone," Connie exclaimed as the
JL cab drove away and the last nutter of Grace's
handkerchief had vanished. "Let us hope she will
have a happy time with Lady Dashwood. But why
didn't your dear relative fetch her as arranged? Why
that telegram? I hope there is nothing wrong at the
dower house?"
"Of course there is nothing wrong," Mary laughed.
"It is not like you to imagine things. What is the
matter with you this morning, Connie?"
Connie remarked tearfully that she did not know.
For once in a way she was on the verge of tears.
Perhaps she missed Grace, for her manner had changed,
directly the cab was gone.
"Now I am going to know all about it," said Mary.
"You are the dearest friend I have ever made as yet,
and it hurts me for you to keep a secret from me."
"What a change!" Connie said, a smile flashing
through her tears. "What has become of the cold,
reserved girl that I met some days ago at Victoria Sta-
tion? Well, I'll tell you what is the matter. You
know that I lost those sketches the night Mrs.
Speed went away and left us in the lurch. They were
badly needed, and I could not supply them. They had
355


^EYES CLEARER GROWN —" 359
Tt Nomads like ourselves are always changing quarters.
And here I am just as poor as I was that day at Fair-
light. I hope you can say more for your prospects,
Dr. Newcome?"
"I have been very fortunate," Newcome said gravely.
"A distant relative died and left me some money.
The money arrived just in time to enable me to buy
an exceedingly good practice. I was calling on a house
surgeon friend of mine at Charing Cross, when Miss
Colam came in. And I do hope she won't change her
lodgings again without letting me know."
There was no mistaking the significance of the last
few words. Clearly Connie had found the haven of
rest for which her tired soul at times longed for.
Mary remembered what she had said as to the man
to cling to for protection in the hour of need, and
what a blessed thing the man's love was for the lonely
and depressed. In her mind's eye Mary could see her-
self alone in those dingy lodgings, painting her post-
cards and waiting for, what? It was, perhaps natural
that the figure of Ralph Darnley should rise before her
now.
"I won't," Connie promised. "You will come and
see me again, Dr. Newcome?"
Newcome promised eagerly. He would be in town
again in a day or two. Would the girls dine with him,
and go to the theatre afterwards? He had an aunt
in London, who he was sure would join the party.
He would ask her to call on Connie.
"So this is an end of your trouble," Mary laughed,
when Newcome had departed. "It is quite plain to
me that you will very soon have the share of that prac-
tice at your disposal, dear. And if the happy expres-


“EYES CLEARER GROWN —” 361
“Mary, Mary, you love him. You love Ralph Darn-
ley like that!”
Mary’s eyes shone with a strange light. She flung
her hands above her head despairingly.
“I know it now,” she said, “now that it is perhaps
too late. Yes, ever since I first met Ralph I have
loved him with my whole heart and soul.”


364 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
was free now to give way to his feelings; he was no
longer under observation. He would have given ten
years of his life to recall the last half hour.
He sat there, gazing into space and making no effort
to remove his clothes. An hour passed; then there was
a tap on the door. Speed started violently; he was half
afraid that the arm of the law was groping for him
already. His face cleared a little as Mayfield came
in and closed the door very carefully.
"Well?" the latter said. "Are you getting over
it? I'm more than sorry I started this little business.
If Dashwood had had any power of observation he
would have seen that there was something worse than
illness lie matter with you to-night."
"It was awful," Speed groaned. "you would feel
just the same if you'd done it. All the time I was pre-
tending to be ill behind the screen, I was standing by
the open window. I heard Darnley say good-night to
you. I stood with the loaded stick in my hand. And
as he passed by the window under the veranda I
struck him down. . . . He fell stone dead without
a single groan. He lay there absolutely still. And
I would have forfeited all I had to recall those last few
moments. If you could have seen his face"
"Oh, never mind that," Mayfield said brutally.
"The thing is done and there is an end of it. And you
know perfectly well that you would do the same thing
again to-morrow. So he lies there in the verandah,
does he? What about the stick?"
"The stick is hidden in the laurel bushes. We can
burn that when there is time."
"To-night. Our work is not finished. Darnley
must not lie there. We shall have to carry him as


NOT DEAD 365
far as the drive. It is a bit risky, but the thing must
be done. Everybody has gone to bed now. Dashwood
and old Slight can testify that neither of us have been
out of the house since dinner time, so we are quite
safe."
"Let him lie where he is," Speed whispered, with
chattering teeth. "People will think that he came
back for something after we had gone to bed, and that
he had encounter with some prowling burglar. That's
just as good as your plan."
"No, it isn't," Mayfield said impatiently. "Mine
is much more artistic and reasonable. We have saved
our own necks; now we want to put suspicion upon
somebody outside. We've got to carry the body of
Ralph Darnley as far as the avenue; we've got to turn
out his pockets as if he had been robbed. We can bury
what he has on him and destroy the loaded stick at
the same time. Everybody has gone to bed. Come
along."
Speed protested and groaned. But it was all the
same to Mayfield. He contemptuously indicated the
brandy bottle, and suggested that Speed should derive a
little fleeting courage from it. Another strong dose
and Speed declared himself to be ready.
They crept down into the hall and from thence into
the darkened dining-room. In the hall Speed hastily
snatched a big Inverness cape from the stand. His
intention was obvious. He wanted to throw this over
the body. ... It lay there quite still under the
shelter of the verandah; outside the rain was gently
pattering on the grass. With half averted head, Speed
flung the cloak over the still black form.
He was heedless of the rain; both were heedless of


370 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
laughed at me. And to think that I should find him
dead like this."
"Perhaps he isn't dead," Walters suggested in a
whisper.
"Perhaps, not. You are a sensible young chap
Walters. He isn't dead, either. I can feel him breath-
ing. Good job it was a warm night. Good job, too,
he lay under a tree so that the wet couldn't get at him.
There's blood all over the back of his head. A nice
murderous crack he got there. And here am I dod-
dering like a silly old woman, whilst there is work to
be done. Go over to the corner of the wood yonder,
and pull up one of those gorsed hurdles there. Bo
sharp, boy.
Walters returned presently, dragging after him a
hurdle which was filled with gorse. And then on this,
with their coats and vests under his head, they laid
their unconscious burden. A faint groan broke from
Ralph; he opened his eyes for a moment.
"It's concussion of the brain, that's what it is,"
Slight said, with tears runing down his face freely.
"I've helped once or twice in the hunting field before
now. Just you get hold of the other end of the hurdle,
and start off on the left foot. We'll get Mr. Ralph
as far as the dower house and send for a doctor."
It was not far away to the dower house, the inmates
of which were speedily aroused. A little time later
and one of the footmen was riding for a doctor. They
made Ralph as comfortable as possible. Lady Dash-
wood came into the dining-room presently, where Slight
was waiting to see her.
"This is a very dreadful business, Slight," she said.
"Mr. Ralph was robbed and half murdered on his


372 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
for the best and keep the patient quiet. Well satis-
fied with his efforts, Slight returned to the Hall.
When he got back there he found that Mayfield had
already departed. Speed, restless and irritable, and
giving the impression that he had breakfasted on some-
thing potent, demanded to know where Slight had been.
Mr. Dashwood had not come down to breakfast yet.
"Where have you been gallivanting to?" Speed de-
manded imperiously. "I'll put a stop to this. Pack
up your traps and go. You'll not serve me any more."
"You never spoke a truer word than that,"
Slight said coolly. "I sha'n't serve you any more, for
the very good reason that you won't be here to serve.
If you raise a hand to me I'll break your head with
this hot water jug, old man as I am. I was out early
this morning looking for a murderer's work, and I
found it. It was I who found the body of Mr. Ralph,
and took it to the dower house. And he is not dead;
and what is more to the point he isn't going to die, you
cold-blooded assassin."
Speed's face turned a ghastly grey. His bluster
had left him.
"I know now how it was done," Slight went on.
"I guessed it all as soon as I heard that Lady Dash-
wood sent no message as to wanting to see Mr. Ralph
last night. The dodge was to get him to leave the
house and pass along the verandah. You shammed be-
ing ill, and pretended that the light was too strong for
you. That enabled you to lie and wait till Mr. Ralph
came along. Then you hit him with a loaded stick,
the one that used to hang in the gun room. James
missed that stick just now and told me so. And there
poor Mr. Ralph lay till everybody had gone to bed.


374 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
from blame. If he had spoken out in the first place,
all this trouble would have been saved. If he had said
openly, ' I am Sir Ralph Dashwood,' why"
"He isn't," Speed said feebly. "lam Sir Vin-
cent"
"Vincent fiddlestick," Slight cried shrilly. "Just
as if I didn't know who you were after seeing Sir
Ralph for the first time after his return. I was a
blind old fool not to have guessed from the start. I
might have known where you learned all the family
secrets. And when Sir Ralph came home my eyes were
opened. He would not let me say anything, for he
had his own reasons for concealing the truth for the
present . But I knew who you were when I spotted
who your mother was, Mr. Vincent Speed."
The wretched listener made no response. It was
hopeless to continue the fight in the face of such evi-
dence as this. Slight still held the hot water jug in
his hand, ready for anything in the shape of an assault,
but he need not have been alarmed.
"You are not so clever by half as you think you
are," Slight went on. "You have only been the cat's
paw of Mayfield all along. Me knew all about Sir
Ralph, though he may not have known my young mas-
ter's reasons for concealing his identity. If this mur-
der had been successful, and you had not been found
out, what would have happened? Mayfield would
have had you betrayed and kicked out of the house,
and Mr. Dashwood, as Sir George, would have como
into the title and estates again. And Mayfield would
have married Miss Mary. That was Mayfield's little
game as far as I can see it. I may be an old man,
but I'm not quite devoid of wit for all that. And


FOUND 375
that's why I am no longer in your service, and so you
can make the best of it."
Slight marched out of the room, feeling that he
had vindicated his position and his manhood. Speed
stood there gnawing his nails, sick at heart, fearsome
of every sound. He was a fugitive now, ready to fly,
eager to be away, but with no settled plan of action.
His one idea was to be off to London now and see May-
field.


CHAPTER LVII
A CLEAN BREAST OF IT
THERE were strange rumours in the air; the ser-
vants at the Hall were asking thrilling questions
in whispers. Nobody seemed to know anything but
Slight, who kept his counsel. Everything was going
to come right in a day or two; all they had to do was
to go about their business quietly. Late in the after-
noon it became known that Sir Vincent had vanished,
and within an hour or two, strange men with an air
of authority were calling at the Hall and asking ques-
tions. Mr. Dashwood had gone over to the dower house
to see what was really wrong. He found Lady Dash-
wood in the dining-room in deep discussion with the
family solicitor, Mr. Morley.
"What is all this I hear?" Dashwood asked. "The
new head of the family has vanished, and I'm told that
he and Mayfield tried to murder Ralph Darnley last
night . Slight has told me a great deal, but he will
not say anything as to the motive for the extraordinary
crime. He says he prefers to leave me to hear the
truth from Lady Dashwood."
"Or from me," Mr. Morley said grimly. "As I
have said all along, you have been the victim of a most
impudent imposter — the son of a woman called Speed.
Lady Dashwood has just been telling me the whole his-
tory of the painful case. I need not go into that at
376


A CLEAN BREAST OF IT 377
length, Mr. Dashwood, as it is a confidential matter.
She was a sister of the late Mr. Ralph Dashwood's
first wife, which accounts for many things that that
impudent imposter knew. I hear that the police have
taken out a warrant for the arrest of this Speed and
his companion in crime, Horace Mayfield. In any
case, they are not likely to trouble us again."
George Dashwood responded suitably. He hoped
that Mr. Ralph Darnley was in no danger. At the
same time he could not be blind to the fact that the
amazing change in the condition of affairs made a great
difference to his own position. He had suffered the
most from the machinations of the rascal who had so
deceived them all. Also, he could see now that he
was free for ever from the persecutions of Horace
Mayfield. He felt quite proud and self-important; his
position took definite shape before him.
"In that case," he said, "we revert to the old condi-
tion of affairs. As a matter of fact, I have never had
any occasion to drop the title to which"
"Pardon me, sir," Morley said drily. "You never
had any more right to it than the wretched criminal
who at the present moment is flying from justice. The
young man you know as Ralph Darnley is really Sir
Ralph Dashwood. Lady Dashwood has just given me
the most absolute proofs of his identity. Besides, just
before his death, the last Ralph Dashwood wrote to me
and explained everything. It was the new head of the
family who asked me to let Vincent Speed have his
lead for a time. I believe there was some quixotic
and sentimental reason to account for this conduct
on Sir Ealph's part. On that head Lady Dashwood
can speak more definitely than I can."


380 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"I am certain of it," Grace cried. "She will be dis-
pleased with us that we had forgotten. It is all go-
ing to come right, Lady Dashwood. Your dream is
coming true, and Mary will be a happy girl yet."
Lady Dashwood smiled as she reached for the tele-
gram forms. She wondered if it would be possible
for Mary to reach the dower house that night. Pres-
ently a cab crept along the drive; no doubt it was the
doctor coming to call once more. Then Grace gave a
cry of pleasure as the cab door opened and a slender
figure in black jumped out.
"She is here, Lady Dashwood," the girl exclaimed.
"Mary!" She must have heard. These things find
their way into London evening papers directly."
The door of the dining-room opened and Mary came
in. She was pale and agitated; she had her hand to
her heart. It was some time before she could speak.
She glanced from one to the other, as if not daring
to ask what was trembling on the tip of her tongue.
Her eyes filled with relief as she noted the welcome
on the faces of the others.
"He is better?'' she gasped. "He is not dead.
I — I was afraid to ask. Oh, if you only knew the
gnawing agony of the last hour! I saw it in one of
the evening papers. I flew down here as soon as possi-
ble. And how is he — how is Ralph?"
Deeply touched as she was, Lady Dashwood smiled.
She was glad to hear Ralph's name come so naturally
off Mary's tongue. It showed that she thought of him
by his Christian name.
"He is much better," she said. "The doctor gives
a very good report. And he is not in the least likely
to die this time."


A CLEAN BEEAST OF IT 381
"You might have let me know," Mary said reproach-
fully. "It would have saved a deal of anxiety. And
I am quite sure that in his heart you know that"
"You loved the man who is lying upstairs," Grace
said gently.
Mary's pale face flushed; a yearning look came into
her eyes.
"You have finished the confession for me," she
cried. "I did not know, I could not guess till I saw
that dreadful paper. And then it came to me that a
great blank would come into my life if Ralph died.
He said that I should learn my lesson, and I have
done so. It has not taken me long to learn the differ-
ence between the false and the true, and that love is
everything, and money and position are nothing by the
side of it. And then as if some veil had been lifted
from my eyes, I saw that I had cared for Ralph all
the time. He told me once that I should come to him
on my knees and ask forgiveness. I am ready to do it
now."
The girl's voice rose loud and clear; she looked very
sweet and womanly in her self-abnegation. She felt
all the better for her confession, as if a weight had
been lifted from her soul. Lady Dashwood would have
said nothing in reply, but the door opened at the same
moment and the nurse came in.
"Mr. Darnley is conscious, my lady," she said.
"He asked for you. It will do no harm if you see him
for one moment. He seems troubled to think that he
is in your room
Mary darted for the door. Before anybody could
interfere she was half-way up the stairs. In the dark-
ened room Ralph lay; he could catch the rustle of a


CHAPTER LViri
ME. GEORGE DASHWOOD was of opinion that
things at the Hall were not as they used to
be in the old days. In the first place he had been
compelled to walk up from the station after ordering
a trap to meet him on his return from Longtown, and
now he could see no sign of dinner. He had come
downstairs in a temper, and had looked into the dining-
room as he passed.
It was eight o'clock to the moment; there was no
sign of dinner. The banks of ferns and the great sil-
ver bowls of roses were there, but nothing else. Dash-
wood forgot for the moment that he was no longer
master of the house, and rang the bell. Slight came
in presently. He was still wearing his morning coat.
"What is the meaning of this \" Dashwood de-
manded. "I ordered a trap to meet me at the station
and no trap appears. Then I came back here to dinner,
of which I see no sign. Have the servants left the
house in a body?"
"No, sir," Slight replied. "We have had a try-
ing day. In the first place the police"
"Oh, the police, have they been here? Is there any
clue to the mysterious attack upon Mr. — er, Ralph
Darnley? I had to go into Longtown to-day; I did
383


384 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
not expect to get back here till late. If your master
has suddenly been called to town"
"He has vanished, sir," Slight said. "you may
not be so very much surprised to hear that he was at
the bottom of the attack on Mr. Ralph — leastways I'll
speak of him as Mr. Ralph for the present. In a
manner of speaking, it was I who found the whole thing
out. Perhaps it was foolish of me to do so, but I
couldn't help letting that rascal know all about it. He
went off in a great hurry this morning, and I for one
shall be very much surprised if we ever see him again.
In a manner of speaking, we are like a lot of servants
in bear cages — nobody to look after us or give any
orders. Me and the housekeeper are doing what we
can, sir, in the hopes that Lady Dashwood will come
over to-morrow and take charge. And that's why your
dinner is forgotten."
"We will let it pass," Dashwood said with great
magnanimity. "In the present extraordinary circum-
stances, I suppose that I cannot complain. If you
could get me some cold chicken and salad, Slight, I
dare say I could manage. And perhaps you will be
so good as to wait on me yourself, seeing that you are
so far in the confidences of the family. And perhaps
you will give me an idea of what has happened."
The salad and chicken were served presently, and
the meal together with the champagne, went far to
salve Dashwood's wounded dignity. A cigarette com-
pleted the process.
"Now tell me everything," he said. "Mind you,
you must be wrong as to our late host having anything
to do with the outrage on Ralph Darnley."
"Begging your pardon, sir," Slight replied.


"LONG LIVE THE KTKG!'* 391
fully to appreciate what is due to the family pride.
Still, as nobody knows that you have so far forgotten
yourself as to try to earn your own living, it does not
much matter. I suppose you have done nothing to be
ashamed of."
Mary replied with becoming meekness that she hoped
so. Only a little time before she would have flung
back the suggestion with passionate scorn. But lately
she had become more cheerful and gayer in her dispo-
sition. Still, the situation was not without its humor-
ous side. It was not for Mary to point out to her
father what a humiliating position he had occupied
when he had accepted the impostor's offer of a home at
the Hall. But as yet Mary knew nothing of the im-
postor's downfall, or the real story of the outrage on
Kalph. All that was to come. So George Dashwood
departed on his errand to Paris, and the mistress of
the dower house breathed more freely.
The nurse had gone now; her services were no longer
required. And to-morrow the doctor had told Ralph
that he could walk across the park if he liked. The
next day was a wet one, however, so there was no op-
portunity. The third day broke gloriously fine, and
Ealph came down to breakfast, a little pale and shaky,
but almost himself again. Lady Dashwood was read-
ing the paper with a grave face. It was not until the
meal was over that she drew Ralph aside.'
"I am going to speak freely to you," she said. "It
is a strange thing that you have never asked if we had
found anything out about your accident."
"I was waiting for you to speak," Ralph said. "As
for myself, I remember nothing. The night I was din-
ing at the Hall, Mayfield gave me a cigar. Almost as


392 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
soon as I reached the open air, I became so drowsy that
I could have fallen down and gone to sleep. A sud-
den pain darted through my head, and I recollected
no more till I came to myself here, and found that
Mary was on her knees by the side of my bed. Did
I dream that, or did Mary come then and say that she
loved me? It was only for a few minutes that I was
conscious."
"I have no doubt that that was real enough," Lady
Dashwood smiled tenderly. "Mary did rush up to
your room, and a fine scolding she got from the nurse
for it. But you can settle all that with our dear girl
later. Let us get one thing over at a time. You have
not the slightest idea who made that attack on you?"
Ralph confessed that such was the case, and Lady
Dashwood proceeded to enlighten him. She told Ralph
everything that she had gleaned for herself, and that
Slight had acquainted her with. Ralph's face was very
grave and stern as he listened to the story.
"A very pretty plot," he said. "I can see it all
quite clearly now. It was invented by Mayfield. It
never occurred to me till now that Mayfield guessed
who I was. You see he had seen my father. Very
lately Mayfield had been in dire need of money. I had
seen to that. He could guess why I stood aside and
let it appear as if Speed was the heir of the property;
he could see that I did this to save Mary, knowing that
I could stop it later and claim my own. But this gave
Mayfield a chance to blackmail Speed whilst he had a
grip on the family exchequer. After that was done,
Speed could go hang, as far as Mayfield was concerned.
The whole thing was spoiled by my chance meeting with
Speed in his mother's house. She could tell him who


"LONG LIVE THE KING!" 395
Ralph rose and kissed the speaker tenderly. He
quite understood her feelings.
"God grant that it may be as you say," he mur-
mured. "But I feel so anxious. And till now I have
been quite strong in the knowledge that I should win
Mary in the long run. She could never have married
Mayfield; I had only to declare myself, and that was
finished. But I saw the way to open the eyes of my
dear one, and I did it. Still, I wish it was all over, the
confession made, and my forgiveness freely offered.
By tea time I shall know."
It was a quiet but very happy little party that
gathered presently at the luncheon table. Mary was
soft and subdued; she had not forgotten the night of
her return, and the way in which she had knelt by
Ralph's bedside, and told him of her love. From that
day the subject had not been alluded to between them,
for Mary had rather avoided Ralph save in the presence
of others. But when she met his glance from time to
time, she knew that all was well, and that the sacrifice
she had made was the crowning blessing of her life.
"How sweet those roses are!" she said, as she
plunged her heated face into a bowl of blossoms. "I
used to smell those roses all the time I was in London.
Really, I pretended to be very independent and all that
kind of thing, but I'm afraid I should never have been
able to stand the life. I should have run down here,
and pretended that I was not well enough to return."
"Not you," Grace laughed. "Now, with me the
case is different. It is essential to good art that we
should have congenial surroundings. Do you know
that I have done three solid hours' work to-day with-
out feeling the least fatigue! If I had attempted such


396 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
a thing in London, I should have been knocked up for
a week."
"A few days have worked wonders in you," Ralph
said. "In honour of the occasion, we will go and have
tea at the Hall. Mary and myself will go and make
all the arrangements, and you can follow with Lady
Dashwood. What do you say, Mary?"
"We are trespassers," the girl said, with a laugh and
a blush. "Still, the owner is away, and I am quite
sure that Slight will give us a warm welcome."



'He had Mary's hand in his."
[.Page 3<)7


THI NEW YOKK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
anon, i.wwx and
T1LDIW FO»«DATiewg
« L


398 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
truer now. It was Connie who taught me that lesson,
I think. She pointed out to me what a good thing a
man's love was. And when I thought that I had lost
you, why, then I knew what my mind was. If I am
worth the taking, Ralph"
"My darling, you were always worth the taking,"
Ralph cried. "Even in the days of your pride I had
dreams of the sweet Mary that would like you to love
her, and behold, here she is! And you are prepared
to share the lot of a poor man without even a pedi-
gree?"
Mary swayed towards her lover, and he caught her
in his eager arms. The next minute her face was hid-
den on his breast, happy tears rolling down her
cheeks.
"Don't," she whispered. "Oh, please don't remind
me of that, Ralph. From the bottom of my heart I
love you; I must have loved you from the very first.
What does it matter what you are, so long as you are
what you are — a good man, with a kind heart for a
foolish girl like me? I am prepared to share your lot,
and go where you like, Ralph; anywhere you choose to
take me. We shall be very poor, I suppose, but that
does not matter. I am glad, glad that the day came
when I had to leave the Hall."
"And if you never return you will not regret it,
Mary?"
"No, Ralph, not with you by my side. And as to
poverty, why, it could not be worse than what I have
gone through lately. We shall be very poor, Ralph."
"Not so very poor," Ralph smiled. There was no-
body near to see them, so the girl's head rested happily
on Ralph's shoulder, his arm round her waist. "Dear-


402 THE NETHER MILLSTONE
"What happiness!" Mary whispered. "But a
different kind of happiness to the old. I shall hope a
little later to see the old Hall a different place to what
it has ever been before. I should like to build a charm-
ing house close by for the benefit of girls like my friends
Connie and Grace. I owe them more than I can ever
repay; indeed, I owe humanity in general a deep debt
of gratitude. You will let me have my own way over
this, Ralph, for I have set my heart on it."
"It shall be as you say, darling," Ralph whispered,
as he kissed the red lips tenderly. "For the honour
of the house, for now and evermore."
THE ENT>.





A Capital and Ingenious Mystery Taie
THE SLAVE OF SILENCE
By FRED M. WHITE
Author of " The Crimson Blind," "The Corner House," etc.
Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50
A combination of detective story, mystery, and romance
that will interest even the most blase of novel readers.
— Springfield ( Mass.) Union.
May be recommended to anyone who enjoys a swift,
dramatic, and ingenious mystery story, with the interest
of the reader gripped at the outset.— Buffalo Express.
Bubbles with intense interest from beginning to end.
Fully as good a story as "The Crimson Blind."— Brooklyn
Eagle.
The mysterious events which took place at the Royal
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Place, are [unfolded in this absorbing story. —Washington
Star.
There are times when a novel of the "shilling shocker *
type is more to be desired than much fine writing. This
is especially true if it is forcibly written and is well
printed. "The Slave of Silence" is such a novel. . . .
For genuine entertainment one cannot do better than to
read this book. — New York Times.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
254 Washington Street, Boston


Grips and Holds the Reader
THE LOST LEADER
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of " The Malefactor," etc.
Fully Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50
For his latest hero, Mr. Oppenheira has taken a modern
leader who has elected to stand aloof from the conflict of
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"The Lost Leader" is as fascinating a story of modern life
as novelist has yet conceived, and one that arrests the
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An admirably woven story. The reader will follow its
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The characters are all capitally drawn, and the story is
developed with all the skill and power of a born dramatist.
— The Northern Whig.
Full of originality and interest from first to last.
— London Daily Graphic.
A highly attractive story, with an ingenious plot and
daringly up-to-date. — Newcastle Daily Chronicle.
His stories thrill with human interest. — Milwaukee
Sentinel.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
854 Washington Street, Boston