IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) /. (/J 1.0 I.I I ■;£ 12.0 1.8 1-25 1.4 ||i.6 ■• 6" ► VQ 5# ^ 7 °% > ^>% y # /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 7: WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716) 87'i-4503 i CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which niay alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. □ D 1/ □ Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagee Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaurie et/ou pelliculie Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque Coloured maps/ Cartes g^ographiques en couleur Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Relie avec d'autres documents Tight binding may cause shadows or dis;ortion along interior margin/ La reliure serree peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int6rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es lors dune restauration apparaissent dans ie texte, pas lis, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont > et6 filmees. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exempiaire qu'il lui a 6X6 possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exempiaire qui sont oeut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la m^thode normale de filmage sont indiquds ci-dessous. I I Coloured pages/ Pages de couleur Pages damaged/ Pages endommag^es Pages restored and/oi Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul^es Pages discoloured, stained or foxei Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqu^es Pages detached/ Pages d6tach6es Showthroughi Transparence Quality of prir Qua!it6 in6gale de I'impression Includes supplementary materia Comprend du materiel supplementaire Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible I I Pages damaged/ I I Pages restored and/or laminated/ r~L. Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ I I Pages detached/ r~l Showthrough/ I I Quality of print varies/ I I Includes supplementary material/ I I Only edition available/ □ Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Les pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont dt6 film6es 6 nouveau de facon d obtenir la meilleure image possible. □ Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppl6mentaires; This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked balow/ Ce document est film6 au taux de reduction indiqud ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X y 12X 16X 20X 26X 30X 24X 28X 32X The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks to the generosity of: National Library of Canada L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la g^n^rositd de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back covjr when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfich'^ shall contain the symbol —»-( meaning "COhi TINUED"), or the symbol y (meaning "END"}, whichever applies. Les images suivantes ont 6t6 repruduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et de la nettet6 do l'exemplaire filmd, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprim^e sont filmds en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmds en commenpant par la premidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de chaque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signiti 'FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed a^ different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure arc filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Stre filmds d des taux de rdduction diffdrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour §tre reproduit en un seul ciichd, il est fi!m6 6 partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 mmY W 1 f • . T H. E. GbARKE & 60. 105 King Street West, Toronto, HAVE FULL LINES IN PICNIC BHgKETg, Dteighbours at the market yesterday. Your nephew is boycotted.' ' So much the better,' the obstinate banker declared. * He will be cured of his craze for farming ; and he will come back to the place I am keeping for him in the office.' ' God grant it ! ' the clerk said fervently. For the moment. Sir Giles was staggered. ' Have you heard something that you haven't told me yet ? ' he asked. ' No, sir. I am only bearing in mind something which — with all respect — I think you have forgotten. The last tenant on that bit of land in Kerry refused to pay his rent. Mr. Arthur has taken what they call an evicted farm. It's my finxi belief,' said the head clerk, rising and speaking earnestly, 'that the person who has addressed those letters to you knows Mr. Arthur, and knows he is in danger — and is trying to save your nephew (by mearts of your influence), at the risk of his own life.' Sir C iles shook his head. ' I call that a far-fetched interpreta- tion, Df inis. If what you say is true, why didn't the writer of those anonyi. ous letters address himself to Arthur, instead of to me ? ' ' I gav« it as my opinion just now, sir, that the writer of the letter knew Mr. Arthur.' prrvD rovE \ ' So vou did. And wliat of that '? ' Dennis stood to his guns. 'Anybody who is acquainttd with Mr. Arthur,' ho persisted, ' knows that (with all sorts of good (luahties) the young gentleman is headstrong and rash. If a friend told him he was in danger on the farm, that would be enough of itself to make him stop where he is, and bravu it ont. Whereas you, sir, are known to be cautious and careful, and farseeing and discreet.' He might have added : And cowardly and' obstinate, and narrow-minded and inflated by stupid self-esteem. But respect for his employer had blindfolded the clerk's observation for many a long year past. If one man may be born with the heart of a lion, another man may be bom with the mind of a mule. Dennis's master was one of the other men. ' Very well put,' Sir Giles answered indulgently. ' Time will show, if such an entirely imimportant person as my nephew Arthur is likely to be assassinated. That allusion to one of the members of my family is a mere equivocation, designed to throw me otf my guard. Bank, money, social influence, miswerving principles, mark ME out as a public character. Go to the police-office, and let the best man who happens to be ofif duty come here directly.' Good Dennis Howmore approached the door very unwillingly. It was opened, from the outer side, before he had reached that end of the room. One of the bank porters announced a visitor. ' Miss Henley wishes to know, sir, if you can see her.' Sir Giles looked agreeably surprised. He rose witli alacrity to receive the lady. s BUND LOVE III I ' HEN Iris Henley dies there will, in all probability, be Mends left who remember her and talk of her — and there may be strangers present at the time (women for the most part), whose curiosity will put questions relating to her personal appearance. No replies will reward them with trustworthy information. Miss Henley's chief claim to admiration lay in a remarkable mobility of expression, which reflected every chan^Te of feeling peculiar to the nature of a sweet and sensitive woman. For this reason, probably, no descriptions of her will agree with each other. No existing likenesses will represent her. The one portrait that was painted of Iris is only recognisable by partial friends of the artist. In and out of London, photographic likenesses were taken of her. They have the honour of resembling the portraits of Shakespeare in this respect — compared with one another, it is not possible to discover that they present the same person. As for the evidence offered by the loving memory of her friends, it is sure to be contradictory in the last degree. She had a charming face, a commonplace face, an intelligent face — a poor complexion, a delicate complexion, no complexion at all — eyes that were expressive of a hot temper, of a bright intellect, of a firm character, of an affec- tionate disposition, of a truthful nature, of hysterical Rensibility, of inveterate obstinacy — a figure too short ; no, just the right height ; no, neither one thing nor the other ; elegant, if you like — dress shabby : oh, surely not ; dress quiet and simple ; no, something more than that ; ostentatiously quiet, theatrically simple, worn with the object of looking imlike other people. In one last word, was this mass of contradictions generally popukr, in the time when it was a living creature ? Yes — among the men. No — not in- variably. The man of all others who ought to have been fondest of her was the man who behaved cruelly to Iris— her own father. And, when the poor creature married (if she did marry), how many of you attended the wedding ? Not one of us ! And when she died, how many of you were sorry for her ? All of us ! What ? no difference of opinion in that one particular ? On the contrary, perfect concord, thank God. Let the years roll back, and let Iris speak for herself, at the memorable time when she was in the prime of her life, and when a storr^y career was before her. BUND LOVE IV fEING Miss Henley's godfather, Sir Giles was a privileged person. He laid his hairy hands on her shoulders, and kissed her on either cheek. After that prefatory act of endearment, he made his inquiries. What extraordinary combination of events had led Iris to leave London, and had brought her to visit him in his banking-house at Ardoon ? * I wanted to get away from home,' she answered ; ' and having nobody to go to but my godfather, I thought I should like to see You.' ' Alone 1 ' cried Sir Giles. ' No —with my maid to keep me company.* * Only your maid, Iris ? Surely you have acquaintances among young ladies like yourself? ' 'Acquaintances— yes. No friends.' * Does your father approve of what you have done ? * * Will you grant me a favour, godpapa ? ' * Yes — if I can.' * Don't insist on my answering your last question.' The faint colour that had risen in her face, when she entered the room, left it. At the same time, the expression of her mouth altered. The lips closed firmly ; revealing that strongest of all resolutions which is founded on a keen sense of wrong. She looked older than her age : what she might be ten years hence, she was now. Sir Giles understood her. He got up, and took a turn in the room. An old habit, of which he had cured himself with infinite difficulty when he was made a Knight, showed itself again. He put h's hands in his pockets. 'You and your father have had another quarrel,' he said, stop- ping opposite Iris. ' I don't deny it,' she replied. - ' Who is to blame ? ' She smiled bitterly. ' The woman is al vays to blame.* ' Did your father tell you that ? ' My father reminded me that I was f.venty-one years old, last birthday — and told me that I could do as I liked. I understood him, and I left the house.' * You wiU go back again, I suppose ? ' * I don't know ' Sir Giles began pacing the room once more. His rugged face, 10 BUND LOVE telling its story of disaster and stru<^glc in early life, showed signs of disappointment and distress. ' Hugh promised to write to me,' he said, ' and he has not written. I know what that means ; I know what you have done to offend your father. My nephew has asked you to marry him for the second time. And for the second time you have refused.' Her face softened; its better and younger aspect revived. ' Yes,' she said, sadly and submissively ; ' I have refused him again.' Sir Giles lost his temper. ' "What the devil is your objection to Hugh ? ' he burst out. • My father said the same thing to me,' she replied, ' almost in the same words. I made him angry when I tried to give my reason. I don't want to make you angry, too.' He took no notice of this. * Isn't Hugh a good fellow ? ' he went on. ' Isn't he affectionate ? and kindhearted ? and honour- able ? — aye, and a handsome man too, if you come to that.' • Hugh is all that you say. I like him ; I admire him ; I owe to his kindness some of the happiest days of my sad life, and I am grateful — oh, with all my heart, I am grateful to Hugh 1 ' ' If that's true, Iris ' ' Every word of it is true.' * I say, if that's true — there's no excuse for you. I hate per- versity in a young woman ! Why don't you marry him ? ' ' Try to feel for me,' she said gently ; ' I can't love him.' Her tone said more to the banker than her words had expressed. The secret sorrow of her life, which was known to her father, was known also to Sir Giles. ' Now we have come to it a' last ! ' he said. ' You can't love my nephew Hugh. And you won't tell me the reason why, because your sweet temper shrinks from making me angry. Shall I men- tion the reason for you, my dear ? I can do it in two words — Lord Harry.' She made no reply ; she showed no sign of feeling at what he had just said. Her head sank a little ; her hands clasped themselves on her lap ; the obstinate resignation which can submit to anything hardened her face, stiffened her figure — and that was all. The banker was determined not to spare her. ' It's easy to see,' he resumed, ' that you have not got over your infatuation for that vagabond yet. Go where he may, into the vilest places and among the lowest people, he carries your heart along with him. I wonder you are not ashamed of such an attach- ment as that.' He had stung her at last. She roused herseif, and answered him. * Harry has led a wild life,' she said ; ' he has committed serious faults, and he may live to do worse tlian lie has done yet. To what degradation, bad company, and a bad bringing-up may yet lead him, I leave his enemies to foresee. But I tell you this, he has re- BUND LOVE II deeming qualities which you, and people like you, are not good Christians enough to discover. He has friends who can still appre- ciate him— your nephew, Arthur Mountjoy, is one of them. On, I know it by Arthur's letters to me I Blame Lord Harry as you may, I tell you he has the capacity for repentance in him, and one day — when it is too late, I dare say — he will "ihow it. I can never be his wife. We are parted, never in all likelihood to meet again. Well, he is the only man whom 1 have ever loved ; and he is the only man whom I ever shall love. If you think this state of mind proves that I am as bad as he is, I won't contradict you. Do we any of us know how bad we are ? Have you heard of Harry lately ? ' The sudden transition, from an earnest and devoted defence of the man, to an easy and familiar inquiry about him, startled Sir Giles. For the moment, he had nothing to say ; Iris had made him think. She had shown a capacity for mastering her strongest feelings, at the moment when they threatened to overcome her, which is very rarely found in a young woman. How to manage her was a problem for patient resolution to solve. The banker's obstinacy, rather than his conviction, had encouraged him to hold to the hope of Hugh's marriage, even after his nephew had been refused for the second time. His headstrong goddaughter had come to visit him of her own accord. She had not forgotten the days of her childhood, when he had some influence over her — when she bad found him kinder to her than her father had ever been. Sir Giles saw that he had taken the wrong tone with Iris. His anger had not alarmed her ; his opinion had not influenced her. In Hugh's interests, he determined to try what consideration and indulgence would do towards cultivat- ing the growth of her regard for him. Finding that she had left her maid and her luggage at the hotel, he hospitably insisted on their removal to his own house. 'While you are in Ardoon, Iris, you are my guest,' he said. She pleased him by readily accepting the invitation — and then annoyed him by asking again if he had heard anything of Lord Harry. He answered shortly and sharply: 'I have heard nothing. What is your last news of him ? ' ' News,' she said, * which I sincerely hope is not true. An Irish paper has been sent to me, which reports that he has joined the secret society — nothing better than a society of assassins, I am afraid — which is known by the nau^e of the Invincibles.' As she mentioned that formidable brotherhood, Dennis How- more returned from the police - ofiice. He announced that a Sergeant was then waiting to receive instructions from Sir Giles. ' mm 13 BUND LOVE |BIS rose to go. Her godfather courteously stopped her. ' Wait here,' he said, ' until I have spoken to the Sergeant, and 1 will escort you to my house. My clerk will do what is necessary at the hotel. You don't look quite satisfied. Is the arrangement that I have proposed not agree- able to you ? ' Iris assured him that she gratefully acceded to the arrangement. At the same time, she confessed to having been a little startled, on discovering that he was in consultation with the police. ' I remember that we are in Ireland,' she explained, ' and I am foolish enough to fear that you may be in some danger. May I hope that it is only a trifle ? ' Only a trifle I Among other deficient sensibilities in the strange nature of Iris, Sir Giles had observed an imperfect appreciation of the dignity of his social position. Here was a new proof of it ! The temptation to inspire sentiments of alarm — not unmingled with admiration — in the mind of his insensible goddaughter, by exhibit- ing himself as a public character threatened by a conspiracy, was more than the banker's vanity could resist. Before he left the room, he insliructed Dennis to tell Miss Henley what had happened, and to let her judge for herself whether he had been needlessly alarmed by, what she was pleased to call, ' a mere trifle.' Dennis Howmore must have been more than mortal, if he could have related his narrative of events without being influenced by his own point of view. On the first occasion when he mentioned Arthur Mountjoy's name. Iris showed a sudden interest in his strange which story took him by surprise. * You know Mr. Arthur ? ' he said. * Enow him I ' Iris repeated. ' He was my playfellow when we were both children. He is as dear to me as if he was my brother. Tell me at once— is he really in danger ? ' Dennis honestly repeated what he had already said, on that subject, to his master. Miss Henley, entirely agreeing with him, was eager to warn Arthur of his position. There was no tele- graphic communication with the village which was near his farm. She could only write to him, and she did write to him, by that day's post — having reasons of her own for anxiety, which forbedi^ her to show her letter to Dennis. Well aware of the devoted friendship which united Lord Harry and Arthur Mountjoy — and bearing in mind the newspaper report of the Irish lord's rash BLIND LOVE »3 HMOciatton with the InvincibleH - her fears now identified the noble vagabond as the writer of the anonynQous letters, which had so seriously excited her godfather's doubts of his own safety. When Sir Giles returned, and took her with him to his house, he spoke of his consultation with the Sergeant in terms which in- creased her dread of what might happen in the future. She was a dull and silent guest, during the interval that elapsed before it would be possible to receive Arthur's reply. The day arrived — and the post brought no relief to her anxieties. The next day passed with- out a letter. On the morning of the fourth day, Sir Giles rose later than usual. His correspondence was sent to him from the office, at breakfaHt-tinie. After opening one of the letters, he dispatched a messenger in hot haste to the olice. ' Look at that,' he said, handing the letter to Iris. * Does the assassin take me for a fool ? ' She r^d the lines that follow : ' Unforeseen events force me, Sir Giles, to run a serious risk. I must speak to you, and it must not be by daylight. My one hope of safety is in darkness. Meet me at the first milestone, on the road to Garvan, when the moon sets at ten o'clock to-night. No need to mention your name. The password is : Fidelity.^ * Do you mean to go ? ' Iris asked. ' Do I mean to be murdered ! ' Sir Giles broke out. ' My dear child, do pray try to think before you speak. The Sergeant will represent me, of course.' ' And take the man prisoner ? ' Iris added. ' Certainly ! ' ' With that startling reply, the banker hurried away to receive the police in another room. Iris dropped into the nearest chair. The turn that the affair had now taken filled her with unutter- able dismay. Sir Giles came back, after no very long absence, composed and smiling. The course of proceeding had been settled to his complete satisfaction. Dressed in private clothes, the Sergeant was to go to the mile- scone at the appointed time, representing the banker in the darkness, and giving the password. He was to be followed by two of his men who would wait in concealment, within hearing of his whistle, if their services were required. * I want to see the rufiiaii when he is safely handcuffed,' Sir Giles explained; 'and I have arranged to wait for the police, to-night, at my office.' There was but one desperate way that Iris could now discern of saving the man who had confided in her godfather's honour, and whose trust had already been betrayed. Never had she loved the outlawed Irish lord — the man whom she was forbidden, and rightly forbidden, to marry — as she loved him at that moment. Let the risk be what it might, this resolute woman had determined that the Sergeant should not be the only person who arrived at the mile- stone, and gave the password, There was one devoted friend to \ \ 14 fl/JND LOVE Lord Harry, whoiii she could alwayH trust - nd that friend wm herpelf. Sir Gile8 withdrew, to look after his busiiiess at the bank. She waited until the clock had struck the servants' dinner hour, and then ascended the stairs to her godfather's dressing-room. Opening his wardrobe, she discovered in one part of it a large Spanish cloak, and, in another part, a high-crowned felt hat which he wore on his country excursions. In the dark, here was disguise enough for her purpose. As she left the drossing-room, a measure of precaution occtirred to her, which she put in action at once. Telling her maid that she had some purchases to make in the town, she went out, and asked her way to Garvan of the first respectable stranger whom she met in the street. Her object was to walk as far as the first milestone, in daylight, so as to be sure of finding it again by night. She had made herself familiar with the different objects on the rdad, when she returned to the banker's house. As the time for the arrest drew nearer, Sir Giles became too restless to wait patiently at home. He went away to the police- ofKce, eager to hear if any new counter-conspiracy had occun*ed to the authorities. It was dark soon after eight o'clock, at that time of the year. At nine the servants assembled at the supper-table. They were all downstairs together, talking, and waiting for their meal. Feeling the necessity of arriving at the place of meeting, in time to keep out of the Sergeant's way, Iris assumed her disguise as the clock struck nine. She left the house without a living creature to notice her, indoors or oiit. Clouds were gathering over the sky. The waning moon was only to be seen at intervals, as she set forth on her way to the milestone. BLIND LOVE n EE wind rose a little, and the rifts in the clouds began to grow broader as Iris gained the high road. For a while, the glimmer of the misty mooiUight ht the way before her. As well as she could gueKs, she had passed over more than half of the distance between ihe town and the milestone be- fore the sky darkened again. Objects by the wayside grew shadowy and dim. A few drops of rain began to fall. The milestone, as she knew - thanks to the discovery of it made by daylight — was on the right-hand side of the road. But the dull-grey colour of the stone was not easy to see in the dark. A doubt troubled her whether she might not have passed the milestone. She stopped and looked at the sky. The threatening of rain had passed away : signs showod them- selves which seemed to promise another break in the clouds. She waited. Low and faint, the sinking moonlight looked its last at the dull earth. In front of her, there was nothing to be seen but the road. She looked back — and discovered the milestone. A rough stone wall protected the land on either side of the road. Nearly behind the milestone there was a gap in this fence, partially closed by a hurdle. A half-ruined culvert, arching a ditch that had run dry, formed a bridge leading from the road to the field. Had the field been already chosen as a place of concealment by the police ? Nothing was to be seen but a footpath, and the dusky line of a plantation beyond it. As she made these discoveries, the rain began to fall again ; the clouds gatliered once more ; the moonlight vanished. 4 „.i r^'^L. 16 fi/JA^n lovF. Hill lii! IliH!! Il'i w At the same moment an obRtacle prcson^ed itHelf to her niindt which Iris had thus far failed to foroRoe. Lord Harry might approach the milontone by three different ways: that i« to say— by the road from the town, or by the road from the open country, or by way of the field and the culvert. How could she so place herself as to be sure of warning him, before he foil into the hands of the police ? To watch the three means of approach in the obscurity of the night, and at one and the same time, was impossible. A man in this position, guided by reason, would in all probabiUty have wasted precious time in trying to arrive at the right decision. A woman, aided by love, conquered the diOiculty that confronted her in a moment. Iris decided on returning to the milestone, and on waiting there to be discovered and taken prisoner by the police. Supposing Lord Harry to be punctual to his appointment, he would hear voices and movements, as a necessary consequence of the arrest, in time to make his escapo. Supposing him on the other hand to be late, the f)olice would bo on the way back to the town with their prisoner : le would find no one at the milestone, and would leave it again in safety. She was on the point of turning, to get back to the road, when something on the dark surface of the field, which looked like a darker shadow, became dimly visible. In another moment it seemed to be a shadow that moved. She ran towards it. It looked like a man as she drew nearer. The man stopped. ' The password,' he said, in tones cautiously lowered. ' Fidelity,' she answered in a whisper. It was too dark for a recognition of his features ; but Iris knew him by his tall stature — knew him by the accent in which he had asked for the password. Erroneously judging of her, on bis side, as a man, he drew back again. Sir Giles Mountjoy was above the middle height ; the stranger in a cloak, who had whispered to him, was below it. ' You are not the person I expected to meet,' he said. ' Who are you ? ' Her faithful heart was longing to tell him the truth. The temptation to reveal herself, and to make the sweet confession of her happiness at having saved him, would have overpowered her discretion, but for a sound that ivas audible on the road behind them. In the deep silence of the time and place, mistake was im- possible. It was the sound of footsteps. There was just time to whisper to him : ' Sir Giles has betrayed you. Save yourself.' • Thank you, whoever you are ! ' With that reply, he suddenly and swiftly disappeared. Iris remembered the culvert, and turned towards it. There was a hiding-place under the arch, if she could only get down into the dry ditch in time. She was feeling her way to the slope of it with her BUND LOVE f7 f to her niiad* ihree different r by the ro»d \ the culvert. Dg him, before hree means of uid the same all probability ight decision, lat confronted waiting there ipposing Lord aar voices and st, in time to to be late, the leir prisoner: >ve it again in le road, when looked like a [lent it seemed looked like a ed. )ut Iris knew vhich he had on bis side, as as above the pered to him, ueet,' he said. truth. The confession of rpowered her road behind take was im- has betrayed peared. Iris There was a I into the dry ►f it with her feet, when a heavy hand Hoiked her by the arm ; and a remolute voice said : • You are my prisoner.' She was led back into the road. The man who had got her blew a whistle. Two other men joined him. ' Show a light,' he said ; * and let's see who the fellow is.' The shade was slipped aside from a lantern : the light fell flill on the prisoner's face. Amazement petrified the two attendant policemen. The pious Catholic Sergeant burst into speech : ' Holy Mary 1 it's a woman ! ' I>id the secret societies of Ireland enrol women ? Was this a modem Judith, expressing herself by anonymous letters, and bent on assassinating a tinancial Holofemes who kept a bank ? What account had she to give of herself? How came she to be alone in a desolate field on a rainy night ? Instead of answering these ques* tions, the inscrutable stranger preferred a bold and brief request. ' Take me to Sir Giles ' — was all she said to the police. The Sergeant had the handcuffs ready. After looking at the prisoner's delicate wrists by the lantern-light, he put his fetters back in his pocket. 'A lady -and no doubt about it,' he said to one ol his assistants. The two men waited, with a mischievous interest in seeing what he would do next. The list of their pious officer's virtues included a constitutional partiality for women, which exhibited the merciful side of justice when a criminal wore a petticoat. ' We will take you to Sir Giles, Miss,' be said— and offered his arm, instead of offering his handcuff's. Iris understood him, and took his arm. She was silent — imaccountably silent as the men thought —on the way to the town. They heard her sigh : and, once, the sigh sounded more like a sob ; little did they suspect what was in that silent woman's mind at the time. The one object which had absorbed the attention of Iris had been the saving of Lord Harry. This accomplished, the free exercise of her memory had now reminded her of Arthur Moimtjoy. It was impossible to doubt that the object of the proposed meeting at the milestone had been to take measures for the preservation of the young man's life. A coward is always more or less cruel. The proceedings (equally treacherous and merciless) by which Sir Giles had provided for his own safety, had delayed — perhaps actually prevented — the execution of Lord Harry's humane design. It was possible, horribly possible, that a prompt employ- ment of time might have been necessary to the rescue of Arthur firom impending death by murder. In the agitation that over- powered her, Iris actually hurried the poUce on their return to the town. Sir Giles had arranged to wait for news in his private room at the office— and there he was, with Dermis Howmore in attendance to receive visitors. i8 PUND rovR The Sergeant went into the banker's room alone, to make his report. He left the door ajar ; Iris could hear what passed. ' Have you got your prisoner ? ' Sir Giles began. ' Yes, your honour.' • Is the wretch securely handcuffed '? ' ' I beg your pardm, sir, it isn't a man.' ' Nonsense, Sergeant ; it can't be a boy.' The Sergeant confessed that it was not a boy. • It'B a woman,' he said. ' What 1 ! ! • ' A woman," the patient officer repeated — ' and a young one. She asked for You.' ' Bring h«r in.' Iris was not the sort of person who waits to be brought in. She walked in, of her own accord. I BLIND LOVE 19 bo make his sed. I a woman,' young one. ht in. She VII OOD Heavens 1 ' cried Sir Giles. ' Iris ! With my cloak on 1 ! With my hat in her hand 1 1 ! Serfjeant, there has been some dreadful mistake. I'his is my god- daughter—Miss Henley." * We found lier at the milestone, your honour. The young lady and nobody else.' Sir Giles appealed helplessly to hio goddaughter. ' What does this mean ? ' Instead of answering, she looked at the Sergeant. The Sergeant, conscious of responsibility, stood his ground and looked at Sir Giles. His face confessed that the Irish sense of humour was tickled : but he showed no intention of leaving the room. Sir Giles saw that Iris would enter into no explanation in the man's presence. ' You netuln't wait any longer,' ho said. ' What am I to do, if you please, with the prisoner '? ' the Ser- geant inquired. Sir Giles waived that unnecessary question away with his hand. He was trebly responsible — as knight, banker, and magistrate into the bargain. ' I will be answerable,' he replied, ' for producing Miss Henley, if called upon. Good night.' The Sergeant's sense of duty was satisfied. He made the mili- tary salute. His gallantry added homage to the young lady under the form of a bow. Then, and then only, he walked with dignity out of the room. * Now,' Sir Giles resiuued, ' I presume I may expect to receive an explanation. What does this impropriety mean ? What were you doing at the milestone ? ' * I was saving the person who made the appointment with you,' Iris said ; ' the poor fellow had no ill-will towards you — who had risked everything to save your nephew's life. Oh, sir, you com- mitted a terrible mistake when you refused to trust that man ! ' Sir Giles had ant'.tpated the appearance of fear, and the reality of humble apologies. She had answered him indignantly, with a heightened colour, and with tears in her eyes. His sense of his own social importance was wounded to the quick. ' Who is the man you are speaking of ? ' he asked loftily. ' And what is your excuse for having gone to the milestone to save him — hidden under my cloak, disguised in my hat ? ' ' Don't waste precious time in asking questions ! ' was the ^^espe- rate reply. ' Undo the harm that you have done already. Your help — oh, I mean what I say ! may yet preserve Arthur's life. Go to the farm, and save him.' Sir Giles's anger assumed a new form, it indulged in an elaborate 02 \\ ill 20 BUND LOVE mockery of respect. He took his watch from his pocket, and con* suited it satirically. ' Must I make an excuse ? ' ne asked with a clumsy assumption of humility. ' No I you must go.' * Permit me to inform you, Miss Henley, that the last train started more than two hours since.' ' What does that matter ? You are rich enough to hire a train.' Sir Giles, the actor, could endure it no longer ; he dropped the mask, and revealed Sir Giles, the man. His clerk was summoned by a peremptory ring of the bell. * Attend Miss Henley to the house,' he said. ' You may come to your senses after a night's rest," he continued, turning sternly to Iris. * I will receive your excuses in the morning.' In the morning, the breakfast was ready as usual at nine o'clock. Sir Giles foimd himself alone at the table. He sent an order to one of the women-servants to knock at Miss Henley's door. There was a long delay. The housekeeper pre- sented herself in a state of alarm ; she had gone upstairs to make the necessary investigation in her own person. Miss Henley was not in her room ; the maid was not in her room ; the beds had not been slept in ; the heavy luggage was labelled — * To be called for from the hotel.' And there was an end of the evidence which the absent Iris had left behind her. Inquiries were made at the hotel. The young lady had called there, with her maid, early on that morning. They had their travelling-bags with them ; and Miss Henley had left directions that the luggage was to be placed under care of the landlord until her retuiii. To what destination she had betaken herself nobody knew. Sir Giles was too angry to remember what she had said to him on the previous night, or he might have guessed at the motive which had led to her departure. ' Her father has done with her already,' he said ; ' and I have done with her now.' The servants received orders not to admit Miss Henley, if her audacity contemplated a return to her godfather's house. BLIND LOVE %t ookec, and con* le asked with a the last train )ugh to hire a he dropped the was summoned Henley to the r a night's rest," e your excuses at nine o'clock, knock at Miss lusekeeper pre- pstairs to make Benley was not is had not been jailed for from hich the absent ady had called 'hey had their left directions landlord until herself nobody ad said to him motive which h her already,' vants received ioutemplated a vin N the afternoon of the same day, Iris arrived at the village situated in the near neighbourhood of Arthur Mountjoy'a farm. The infecti£>n of political excitement (otherwise the hatred of England) had spread even to this remote place. On the steps of his little chapel, the priest, a peasant himself, was haranguing his brethren of the soil. An Irishman who paid his landlord was a traitor to his country ; an Irishman who asserted his free birthright in the land that he walked on was an enlightened patriot. Such was the new law which the reverend gentleman ex- Eounded to his attentive audience. If his brethren there would like im to tell them how they might apply the law, this exemplary Christian would point to the faithless Irishman, Arthur Mountjoy. * Buy not of him, sell not to him; avoid him if he approaches you; starve him out of the place. I might say more, boys — you know what I mean.' To hear the latter part of this effort of oratory, without uttering a word of protest, was a trial of endurance under which Iris trembled. The secondary effect of the priest's address was to root the conviction of Arthur's danger with tenfold tenacity in her mind. After what she had just heard, even the slightest delay in securing his safety might be productive of deplorable results. She astonished a barefooted boy, on the outskirts of the crowd, by a gift of sixpence, and asked her way to the farm. The little Irishman ran on before her, eager to show the generous lady how useful he could be. In less than half an lour, Iris and her maid were at the door of the farm-house. No such civilised inventions appeared as a knocker or a bell. The boy used his knuckles instead — and ran away when he heard the lock of the door tvurned on the inner side. He was afraid to be seen speaking to any living creature who inhabited the ' evicted farm.' A decent old woman appeared, and inquired suspiciously ' what the ladies wanted.' The accent in which she spoke was unmis- takably English. When Iris asked for Mr. Arthur Mountjoy the reply was : * Not at home.' The housekeeper inhospitably at- tempted to close the door. ' Wait one moment,' Iris said. * Years have changed you ; but there is something in your face which is not quite strange to me. Are you Mrs. Lewson ? ' The woman admitted that this was her name. ' But how is it that you are a stranger to me ? ' she asked distrustfully. .Ml" m. I II h 22 BLIND LOVE ' Jt you have been long in Mr. Mountjoy's service,' Iris replied, • you may perhaps have heard him speak of Miss Henley ? ' Mrs. Lewson's face brightened in an instant; she threw the door wide open with a glad cry of recognition. ' Come in, Miss, come in ! Who would have thought of seeing you in this horrible place ? Yes ; I was the nurse who looked after you all three — when you and Mr. Arthur and Mr. Hiigh were play fellows together.' Her eyes rested longingly on her favourite of bygone days. The sensitive sympathies of Iris interpreted that look. She prettily touched her cheek, inviting the nurse to kiss her. At this act of kindness the poor old woman broke down ; she apologised quaintly for her tears : * Think, Miss, how I must re- member that happy time — when you havg not forgotten it.' Shown into the parlour, the first object which the visitor noticed was the letter that she had written to Arthur lying imopened on the table. ' Then he is really out of the house ? ' she said with a feeling of relief. He had been away from the farm for a week or more. Had he received a warning from some other quarter ? and had he wisely sought refuge in flight ? The amazement in the housekeeper's face, when she heard these questions, pleaded for a word of explanation. Iris acknowledged without reserve the uiotives which had suggested her journey, and asked eagerly if she had been mistaken in assuni- VD^ that Arthur was in danger of assassination. Mrs. Lewson shook her head. Beyond all doubt the young master was in danger. But Miss Iris ought to have known his nature better than to suppose that he would beat a retreat, if all the land-leaguers in Ireland threatened him together. No ! It was his bold way to laugh at danger. He had ^ft his farm to visit a friend in the next county ; and it was shrewdly guessed that a young lady who was staying in the house *vas the attraction which had kept him so long away. 'Anyhow, he means to come back to- morrow,' Mrs. Lewson said. ' I wish he would think better of it, and make his escape to England while he has the chance. If the savages in these parts must shoot somebody, I'm here — an old woman that can't last much longer. Let them shoot me.' Iris asked if Arthur's safety was assured in the next county, and in the house of his friend. ' i can't say. Miss ; I have never been to the house. He is in danger if he persists in coming back to the farm. There are chances of shooting him all along his road home. Oh, yes ; he knows it, poor dear, as well as I do. But, there I — men like him are such perverse creatures. He takes his rides just as usual. - No ; he won't listen to an old woman like mo ; and, as for friends to advise him, the only one of them that has darkened our doors is a scamp who had better have kept away. You may have heard teU of him. The old Earl, his wicked father, used to be called by a bad name. And the wild young lord is his fatlier's true son.' BUND LOVE »3 )/ Ilris replied, nley?' she threw the >ught of seeing ho looked after ugh were play- er favourite of iterpreted that I nurse to kiss 3ke down ; she )w 1 nuust re- ten it.* visitor noticed g unopened on ith a feeling of nore. Had he had he wisely sekeeper's face, of explanation, had suggested iken in assuni- bt the youn^' kve known his ttreat, if all the No ! It was farm to visit a d that a yoiuig ion which had come back to- 'k better of it, hance. If the here — an old me.' ixt county, and ise. He is in ire are chances ; he knows it, him are such mal. ' No ; he ends to advise ors is a scamp rd teU of him. y a bad name. ' Not Lord Harry ? ' Iris exclaimed. The outbreak of agitation in her tone and luannei* was silently noticed by her maid. The houst'.eeper did not attempt to conceal the impreosion that had been produced upon her. ' I hope you don't know such a vagabond as that ? ' she said very seriously. • Perhaps you are thinking of his brother — the eldest son — a re- spectable man, as I have been told ? ' Miss Henley passed over these questions without notice. Urged by the interest in her lover, which was now more than ever an interest beyond her control, she said : ' Is Lord Harry in danger, on accoimt of his friend ? ' ' He has nothing to fear from the wretches who infest our part of the country.' Mrs. Lewson replied. ' Report says he's one of themselves. The police — there's what his young lordship has to be afraid of, if all's true that is said about him. Anyhow, when he paid his visit to my master, he came secretly like a thief in the night. And I heard Mr. Arthur, while they were together here in the parlour, loud in blaming him for something that he had done. No more, Miss, of Lord Harry 1 I have something particular to say to you. Suppose I promise to make you comfortable — will you please wait here till to-morrow, and see Mr. Arthur and speak to nim ? If there's a person living who can persuade him to take better care of himself, I do believe it will be you.' Iris readily consented to wait for Arthur Mountjoy's return. Left together, while Mrs. Lewson was attending to her domestic duties, the mistress noticed an appearance of pre- occupation in the maid's face. ' Are you beginning to wish, Bhoda,' she said, ' that I had not brought you to this strange place, among these wild people ? ' The maid was a quiet amiable girl, evidently in delicate health. She smiled faintly. ' I was thinking. Miss, of another nobleman besides the one Mrs. Lewson mentioned just now, who seems to have led a reckless life. It was printed in a newspaper that I read before we left London.' * Was his name mentioned ? ' Iris asked. ' No, Miss ; I suppose they were afraid of giving offence. He tried so many strange ways of getting a living — it was almost like reading a story-book.' The suppression of the name suggested a suspicion from which Iris recoiled. Was it possible that her maid could be ignorantly alluding to Lord Harry. ' Do you remember this hero's adventures ? ' she said. ' I can try. Miss, if you wish to hear about him.' The newspaper narrative appeared to have produced a vivid impression on Rhoda's mind. Making allowance for natural hesi- tations and mistakes, and difficulties in expressing herself correctly, she repeated with a singularly clear recollection the substance of what she had read. BUND LOVE w{ ill \ I'iii I IX HE principal characters in the story were an old Irish nobleman, who was called the Earl, and the yoimgest of his two sons, mysteriously distinguished as ' the wild lord.' It was said of the Earl that he had not been a good father ; he had cruelly neglected both his sons. The younger one, badly treated at school, and left to himself in the holidays, began his adventurous career by running away. He got employment (under an assumed name) as a ship's boy. At the outset, he did well ; learning his work, and being liked by the Captain and the crew. But the chief mate was a brutal man, and the young runaway's quick temper resented the disgraceful infliction of blows. He made up his mind to try his luck on shore, and attached himself to a company of strolling players. Being a handsome lad, with a good figure and a fine clear voice, he did very well for a while on the country stage. Hard times came ; salaries were reduced ; the adventurer wearied of the society of actors and actresses. His next change of life presented him in North Britain as a journalist, employed on a Scotch newspaper. An unfortunate love affair was the means of depriving him of this new occupation. He was recognised, soon afterwards, serving as assistant steward in one of the passenger steamers voyaging between Liverpool and New York. Arrived in this last city, ho obtained notoriety, of no very respectable kind, as a * medium ' claiming powers of supernatural communication with the world of spirits. When the imposture was ultimately dis- covered, he had gained money by his unworthy appeal to the meanly prosaic superstition of modern times. A long interval had then elapsed, and nothing had been heard of him, when a starving man was discovered by a traveller, lost on a Western prairie. The ill-fated Irish lord had associated himself with an Indian tribe — had committed some offence against their laws — and had been deliberately deserted and left to die. On his recovery, he wrote to his elder brother (who had inherited the title and estates on the death of the old Earl) to say that he was ashamed of the life that he had led, and eager to make amendment by accepting any honest employment that could be offered to him. The traveller. who had sr.ved his life, and whose opinion was to be trusted, declared that the letter represented a sincerely penitent state of mind. There were good qualities in the vagabond, which only wanted a little merciful encouragement to assert themselves. The reply that he received BUND LOVE as m old Irish youngest of rwhere. Mrs. 38 his house- g in Ireland. (8 became an ) her room. e of the place, rthiir ; it sug- •ous stand in the air ; the pt»-'-o.pe ? tary i^intness , her head out ide up to the •oom's livery a tall man )r acquainted BLIND LOVE HKIJK was the Irish lord - at the very time when Iris was most patiently re- signed never to see him more, never to think of him as her hus- l)nn d again — reminding her of the first days of their love, and of their «■ ",j miitual confession of it I ' ,'-F' Fear of herself kept Ifer behind the curtain ; while interest in Lord Harry de- tained her at the window in ^^^^ hiding. T'r -*^^*:wH»',^Wwl(fflMBW!r way hack to thn hoUHO, nhe hm'anie oonnoionH of the VHHhnt'HH of the act into which ))(>r own generous inipnlHe had he trayed her. If Hhe and Lord Harry ha<( met, ooidd Hhe have denied the tender interent in him wliich her own j'ondiict wiMild then have re\eidedV Wouhl lie not have he(>n juHtilled in coiichidinK thai Hhe had pardoned the orrorH and the vi(M>H of hiH life, and that he nvif^ht without impropriety remind her of their en^'ii^enu'iit. and elaini her hand in niarrin^e? She trenihled an hIi(> tlion^lit of tlie eoiiceHHionH which he mif,'ht have wruiif,' from ln'r. ' Never more.' slie determnied, ' whall my own folly be aiiHwerahh' for it, if he and 1 meet a^aitt.' She ha«l returned to MrH. TjewRon, and had read over liuf letter to Artlnn% when the farm clock, etrikinf,' the ho>:r, reminded them that it was time to retire. They Hiept hadly that ni^ht. At Ri\ in the uiornin^. um* of the two lahoin'erH who had re maincd faithful t*) Arthm- wuh Hcnt away on I'orHehack with th«^ hourtckceper'R reply, and with orders to wait for an auHwer, Allow- ing time for ^ivin^ the horse a rest, the nuiii might be expected to return before uooou '1! nt.iNn r.ovR XI |T waH n fhie Hiiimhiny day ; Mih. fiOWHorrH H{)irits began to itiiprdvo. ' I liavo iilwiiyH lu-M tlm f»»'liof,' the worthy old wniiiiiri corifoHHod, ' that hri^^ht weather hririgH |/oo(l Ihii luck d, ' that l)ri({lit weather hririgH ^ooi of roiuHo nrovided tho day in not a Friday. Thii ig WodneHdny. Cheer up, MiHH.' The iiieH8en>,'er rottirned with j^ood nowH. Mr. Arthur had been as merry an iiHual. He had inado fun of another letter of good advice, received without a signature. 'But MrH. FjewHcui inuBt have her way,' he said. ' My love to the old dear I'll start two hours later, and be hack to dinner at five.' • Where did Mr. Arthur give you that ineHHage ? ' Iris inquired. 'At tho stablen, MisH, while I was nutting up the horse. The men about were all on the broad grin when they heard Mr. Arthur'! message.' Still in a morbid state of mind, Iris silently regretted that the message had not been written, instead of being delivered by word of mouth. Here, again, she (like the wild lord) hud been afraid of listeners. The hours wore slowly on until it waH jiast four o'clock. Iris could endure the suspense no longer. 'It's a lovely afternoon,' she said to Mrs. Lowson. ' Let us take a walk along the road, and meet Arthur.' To this proposal the housekeeper readily agreed. It was nearly five o'clock when they reached a place at which a by-road branched off, through a wood, from the highway which they had hitherto followed. Mrs. Lowson found a seat on a felled tree. ' We had bettor not go any farther,' she said. Iris asked if there was any reason for this. There was an excellent reason. A few yards farther on, ih« high road had been diverted from the straight lino (in the interest of a large agricultural village), and was then directed again into its former course. The by-road through the wood served as a short cut, for horsemen and pedestrians, irom one divergent point to the other. It was next to a certainty that Arthur would return by the short cut. But if accident or caprice led to his preferring the high- way, it was clearly necessary to wait for him within view of both the roads. Too restless to submit to a state of passive expectation, Iri« proposed to follow the bridle path through the wood for a littl* way, and to return if she failed to see anything of Arthur. ' You are tired,' she said kindly to her companion : ' pray don't mov*.* ''Iii.i.i,! 33 BLIND LOVE II! ! I "1 H i I I i Mrs. LewBon looked needlessly uneasy : * You mif^ht lose your- self, Miss. Mind you keep to the path ! ' Iris followed the pleasant windings of the woodland track. In the hope of meeting Arthru: she considerably extended the length of her walk. The white line of the high road, as it passed the farther end of the wood, showed itself through the trees. She turned at onP'3 to rejoin Mrs. Lewson. On her way back she made a discovery. A ruin which she had not previously noticed showed itself among the trees on her left hand. Her curiosity was excited ; she strayed aside to examine it more closely. The cnmabling walls, as she approached them, looked like the remains of an ordinary dwelling-house. Age is essential to the pictm'esque effect of decay : a modern ruin is an unnatural and depressing object — and here the homd thing was. As she turned to retrace her steps to thf> road, a man walked out of the inner space enclosed by all that was left of the dismantled house. A cry of alarm escai)e(I her. Was she the victim of destiny, or the sport of chance ? There was the wild lord whom she had vowed never to see again : the master of her heart — perhaps the naaster of her fate ! Any other man would have been amazed to see her, and would have asked how it had happened that the English lady presented herself to him in an Irish wood. This man enjoyed the delight of seeing her, and accepted it as a blessing that was not to be ques- tioned. ' My angel has dropped from Heaven,' he said. ' May Heaven be praised ! ' He approached her ; his arms closed round her. She struggled to free herself from his embrace. At that moment they both heard the crackle of breaking underwood among the trees behind them. Lord Harry looked round. ' This is a dangerous place,' he whispered ; ' I'm waiting to see Arthur pass safely. Submit to be kissed, or 1 am a dead man.' His eyes told her that he was truly and fearfully in earnebt Her head sank on his bosom. As he bent down and kissed her, vhree men approached from their hiding-place among the trees. They had no doubt been watching him, under orders from the murderous brotherhood to which they belonged. Their pistols were ready in their hands — and what discovery had they made ? There was the brother who had been denounced as having betrayed them, guilty of no worse treason than meeting his sweet- heart in a wood 1 ' We beg your pardon, my lord,' they cried, with a thoroughly Irish enjoyment of their own discomfiture — and bmrst into a roar of laughter — and left the lovers together. For the second time. Iris had saved Lord Harry at a crisis in his life. ' Let me go ! ' she pleaded faintly, trembling with superstitious fear for the first time in her experience of herself. He held har to him as if he would never let her go again. ♦ Oh, my Sweet, give me a last chance. Help me to be a better man t You have only to will it, Iris, and to make me worthy of you.' His arms suddenly trembled round her, and dropped. The at lose your- id track. In . the length of )d the farther he turned at hich she had 3 on her left examine it 1 them, looked is essential to nnatural and an walked out e dismantled im of destiny, horn she had —perhaps the er, and would ady presented the delight of t to be ques- said. 'May 3he struggled ey both heard behind them, ae whispered ; e kissed, or 1 and fearfully nt down and -place among under orders mged. Their ery had they ced as having ag his sweet- ey cried, with re — and burst I'ov the second BLIND LOVE 33 silence was broken by a distant sound, like the report of a shot. Ha looked towards the farther end of the wood. In a minute more, the thump of a horse's hoofs at a gallop was audible, where the bridle- path was hidden among the trees. It came nearer — nearer—the creature burst into view, wild with fright, and carrying an empty saddle. Lord Harry rushed into the path and seized the horse as it swerved at the sight of him. There was a leather pocket attached to the front of the saddle. ' Search it ! ' he cried to Iris, forcing the terrified animal back on its haunches. She drew out a silver travellinj^-flask. One glance at the name engraved on it told him the terrible truth. His trembling hands lost their hold. The horse escaped ; the words burst from his lips : ♦ Oh, God, they've killed him • * THK END OF THE PROLGGUl superstitious I again. * Oh, better man! of you.' ropped. The ll^lll I !H!llii f" i i Vv :l i II i.lll m^ !'i 1,11111,! m 34 i?/./A^/? ZOPS THE STOBY FIRST PERIOD CHAPTER I THE SOUR FRENCH WINE HILE the line to be taken by the new railway between Culm and Everill was still under discussion, the engineer caused some difference of opinion among the moneyed men who were the first Directors of tlip Company, by asking if they proposed to include among their Stations the little old town of Honeybuzzard. For years past, commerce had declined, and population had decreased in this ancient and curious place. Painters knew it well, and prized its mediaeval houses as a mine of valuable material for their art. Persons of cultivated tastes, who were interested in church architecture of the fourteenth century, sometimes pleased and flattered the Re-^or by subscribing to his fund for the restoration of the tower, and the removal of the accumulated rubbish of hundreds of years from the cr^'pc. 8mall speculators, uoi otherwise in a state of insanity, settled themselves in the town, and tried the desperate experiment of opening a shop ; spent their little capital, put up the shutters, and disappeared. The old market-place still showed its list of market-laws, issued by the Mayor and Corporation in the prosperous bygone times; and every week there were ffwer end fewer people to obey the laws. The great empty enclosur;- hj<-ui.ed more cheerful, when there was no market held, and when the h:. /g of the town played in the deserted place. In the last warehoiibi' It.'ft in a state of repair, the crane was generally idle ; the windows were mostly shut up ; and a solitary man represented languishing trade, idling at a half-opened door. The muddy river rose and fell with the distant tide. At rare intervals a collier discharged its cargo on the mouldering quay, or an empty barge took in a load of hay. One bold house advertised, in a dirty window, apartments to let. There was a lawyer in the town, who had no occasion to keep a clerk ; and there was a doctor who hoped to sell his practice for anything that it would fetch. The directors of the new railway, after a stormy meeting, decided on offering (by means of a Station) a last chance BLIND LOVE 35 lilway between in, the engineer \ the moneyed Company, by 18 the little old lopulation had [s knew it well, e material for ssted in church pleased and restoration of sh of hundreds wise in a state the desperate tal, put up the till showed its loratioTi in the ere ft ";' • imd closur- < /J:ed len tht; hi.yfj of warehoub? It'ft windows were uishing trade, and fell with d its cargo on d of hay. One to let. There keep a clerk; e for anything after a stormy a last chance > li of revival to the dying town. The town had not vitality enough left to be grateful ; the railway stimulant produced no effect. Of all his colleagues in Great Britain and Ireland, the station-master at Honeybuzzard was the idlest man — and this, as he said to th» iinemployed porter, through no want of energy on his own part. Late on a rainy autumn afternoon, the slow train left on« traveller at the Station. He got out of a first-class carriage ; h« carried an umbrella and a travelling-bag; and he asked his way to the best mn. The station-master and the porter compared notes. One of them said : ' Eviv'sntly a gentleman.' The other added : ' What can he possibly want here ? ' Th^ stranger twice lost his way in the tortuous old streets of the town before he reached the inn. On giving his orders, it appeared that he wanted three things : a private room, something to eat, and, while the dinner was being cooked, materials for writing a letter. Answering her daughter's questions downstairs, the landlady described her guest as a nice-looking man dressed in deep mourning. * Young, my dear, with beautiful dark brown hair, and a grand beard, and a sweet sorrowful look. Ah, his eyes would tell anybody that his black clothes are not a mere sham. Whether married or single, of course I can't say. But I noticed the name on nis travelling-bag. A distinguished name in my opinion — Hugh Mountjoy. I wonder what he'll order to drink when he has his dinner ? What a mercy it will be if we can get rid of another bottle of the sour French wine I ' The bell in the private room rang at that moment ; and the landlady's daughter, it is needless to say, took the opportunity of forming her own opinion of Mr. Hugh Mountjoy. She returned with a letter in her hand, consumed by a vain longing for the advantages of gentle birth. * Ah, mother, if I was a young lady of the higher classes, I know whose wife I should like to be ! ' Not particularly interested in sentimental aspirations, the landlady asked to see Mr. Mountjoy's letter. The messenger who delivered it was to wait for an answer. It was addressed to : ' Miss Henley, care of Clarence Vimpany, Esquire, Honeybuzzard.' Urged by an excited imagination, the daughter longed to see Miss Henley. The mother \^as at a loss to understand why Mr. Mountjoy should have troubled himself to write the letter at all. ' If he knuws the young lady who is staying at the doctor's house,' she said, • why doesn't he call on Miss Henley ? ' She handed the letter liack to her daughter. * There 1 let the ostler take it ; he's got nothing to do.' ' No, mother. The ostler's dirty hands mustn't touch it— I'll take the letter myself. Perhaps I may see Miss Henley.' Such was the impression which Mr. Hugh Mountjoy had innocently pro- duced on a sensitive young person, condemned by destiny to the barren sphere of action afforded by a country inn I The landlady herself took the dinner upstairs — a first course of mutton chops and potatoes, cooked to a degree of imperfection If II 11' I :! i: I liinii ■I ■ I ;i 3« BUND LOVE only attained in an P^nf^Hsh kitchen. The sour French wine waa still on the good woman's nihid. ' What would you choose to drink, sir? ' she asked. Mr. Mountjoy beenied to i'eel no interest in what he might have to drink. ' We have some French wine, sir.' * Thank you, ma'am ; that will do.' When the bell rang again, and the time came to produce the second course of cheese and celery, the landlady allowed the waiter to take her place. Her experience of the farmers who frequented the inn, and who had in some few cases been induced to taste the wine, warned her to anticipate an outbreak of just anger from Mr. Mountjoy. He, like the others, would probably ask what she ' meant by poisoning him with such stuff as that.' On the return of tho waiter, she put the question : ' Did the gentleman complain of the French wine ? ' ' He wants to see you about it, ma'am.' The landlady turned pale. The expression of Mr. Mountjoy's indignation was evidently reserved for the mistress of the house. • Did he swear,' she asked, ' when he tasted it ? ' ' Lord bless you, ma'am, no ! Drank it out of a tiuubler, and — if you will believe me — actually seemed to like it.' The landlady recovered her colour. Gratitude to Providence for having sent a customer to the inn, who could drink sour wine with- out discovering it, was the uppermost feeling in her ample bosom as she entered the private room. Mr. Mountjoy justified her antici- pations. He was simple enough — with his tumbler before him, and the wine as it were under his nose — to begin with an apology. ' I am sorry to trouble yon, ma'am. May I ask where you got this wine ? ' * The wine, sir, was one of my late husband's bf>d debts. It was all he could get from a Frenchman who owed him money.' ' It's worth money, ma'am.' ' Indeed, sir ? ' ' Yes, indeed. This is some of the finest and purest claret that I have tasted for many a long day past.' An alarming suspicion disturbed the serenity of the landlady's mind. Was this extraordinary opinion of the wine sinceve ? Or was it Mr. Momitjoy's wicked design to entrap her into praising her claret and then to imply that she was a cheat by declaring what he really thought of it ? She took refuge in a cautious reply : ' You are the first gentleman, sir, who has not foimd fault witi» it.' ' In that case, perhaps you would like to get rid of the wine ? ' Mr. Mountjoy suggested. The landlady was still cautious. ' Who will buy it of me, sir ? ' • I will. How much do you charge for it by tha bottle ? ' It was, by this time, clear that he was not mischievous — only a little crazy. The worldly-wise hostess took advantage of that circumstance to double the price. Without hesitation, she said : ' Five shillings a bottle, sir.' BUND LOVE 17 eiich wine was choose to drink, nterest in what nch wine, sir.* to produce the owed the waiter who frequented ;ed to taste the an^er from Mr. ask what she On the return leman complain Mr. Mountjoy's ss of the house. ), tumbler, and — Providence for ; sour wine with- • ample bosom as .ified her antici- before him, and m apology. £ where you got d debts. It was money.' arest claret that f the landlady's lie sincere ? Or into praising her eclaring what he 8 reply : bund fault with Often, too oflen, the irony of circumstances brings together, on ihis earthly scene, the opposite types of vice and virtue. A lying landlady and a guest incapable of deceit were looking at each other across a narrow table ; equally unconscious of the immeasurable moral gulf that lay between them. Influenced by honourable feel- ing, innocent Hugh Mountjoy lashed the landlady's greed for money to the full-gallop of human cupidity. ' I don't think you are aware of the value of your wine,' he said. • I have claret in my cellar which is not so good as this, and which costs more than you have asked. It is only fair to offer you seven- and-sixpence a bottle.' When an eccentric traveller is asked to pay a price, and deliber- ately raises that price against himself, where is the sensible woman — especially if she happens to be a widow conducting an unprofit- able business — who would hesitate to improve the opportunity ? The greedy landlady raised her terms. ' On reflection, sir. I think I ought to have ten shillings a bottle, if you please.' ' The wine may be worth ic,' Mountjoy answered quietly ; ' but it i". more than I can afford to pay. No, ma'am ; I will leave you to find some lover of good claret with a longer purse than mine.' It was in this man's character, when he said No, to mean No. Mr. Mountjoy's hostess perceived that her crazy customer was not to be trifled with. She lowered her terms again with the headlong hurry of terror. ' You shall have it, Sir, at your own price,' said this entirely shameless and perfectly respectable w oman. The bargain having been closed under these circumstances, the landlady's daughter knocked at the door. ' I took your letter myself, sir,' she said modestly ; ' and here is the answer.' (She had seen Miss Henley, and did not think much of her.) Mountjoy offered the expression of his thanks, in words never to be forgotten by a sensitive young person, and opened his letter. It was short enough to be read in a moment ; but it was evidently a favourable reply. He took his hat in a hurry, and asked to be shown the way to Mr. Vimpany's house. i of the wine ? ' ^ it of me, sir ? ' ^ bottle ? ' schievous — only vantage of that ition. she said : I ! 'Illl 'I ■in m i :i 38 BLIi\D LOVE ' i 11 li i:;:; 1 1 l;|| I '' ■ ill lliiliri ' " i 1,1 I IP: I Hi CHAPTER n Till'; MAN SHE REFUSED OUNTJOY had decidfd on travelling to Honey- buzzard, as soon as he heard that Miss Henley was staying with strang- ers iu that town. Having had no earlier opportu- nity of preparing her to see him, he had conside- rately written to her from the inn, in preference to presenting himself unex- pectedly at the doctor's house. How would she receive the devoted friend, whose proposal of mar- riage she had refused for the second time, when they had last met in London ? The doctor's place of residence, situated in a solitary bj-stveet, com- manded a view, not per- haps encouraging to a gentleman who followed the medical profession : it was a view of the church- yard. The door was opened by a woman -ser- vant, who looked suspici- ously at the stranger. Without waiting to be questioned, she said her master was out. Mountjoy mentioned his name, and asked for Miss Henley. The servant's manner altered at once for the better ; she showed him into a small drawing-room, scantily and cheaply furnished. Some poorly-framed prints on the walls (a little out of place perhaps in a doctor's house) represented portraits of famous actresses, who had been queens of the stage in the early part of the present BLIND I.GVE 39 had rtecidf d ig to Honey- i soon as he Miss Henley \ with strang- Dwn. Having her opportu- paring her to had conside- i to her from •reference to mself unex- the doctor's ' would she voted friend, sal of mar- i refused for le, when they n London ? 'r's place of uated in a tveet, com- 5W, not per- iging to a lo followed rofession: it the church- door was woman -ser- Ited suspici- 3 stranger, was out. Henley, she showed 1 furnished, ace perhaps resses, who ihe present century. The few books, too, collected on a little shelf above the chimney-piece, were in every case specimens of dramatic literature. ♦ Who reads these plays ? ' Mountjoy asked himself. • And how did Iris find her way into this house ? ' While he was thinking of her, Miss Henley entered the room. Her face was pale and careworn ; tears dimmed her eyes when Moimtjoy advanced to meet her. In his presence, the horror of his brother's death by assassination shook Iris as it had not shaken her yet. Impulsively, she drew his head down to her, with the fond familiarity of a sister, and kissed his forehead. ' Oh, Hugh, I know how you and Arthiu: lovj>d each other I No words of mine can say how I ffiel for you.' ' No worda are wanted, my dear,' he answered tenderly. * Your sympathy speaks for itself.' He led her to the sofa and seated himself by her side. * Your father has shown me what you have written to him,' he resumed ; ' your letter from Dublin and your second letter from this place. I know what you have so nobly risked and suffered in poor Arthur's interests. It will be some consolation to me if I can make a re- turn — a very poor return. Iris — for all that Arthur's brother owes to the truest friend that ever man had. No,' he continued, gently interrupting the expression of her gratitude. * Your father has not, sent me here — but he knows that I have left London for the express purpose of seeing you, and he knows why. You have written to him dutifully and affectionately ; you have pleaded for pavdim and re- conciliation, when he is to blame. Shall I venture to tell you how he answered me, when I asked if he had no faith left in his own child? " Hugh," he said, " you are wasting words on a man whose mind is made up. I will trust my daughter when that Irish lord is laid in his grave — not before." That is w, reHection on you. Iris, which I cannot permit, even when your father casts it. He is hard, he is unforgiving; but be must, and shall, be conquered yet. I mean to make him do you justice; I have come here with that purpose, and that purpose only, in view. May I speak to you of Lord Harry ? * ' How can you doubt it I ' * My dear, this is a delicate subject for me to enter on.' ' And a shameful subject for me ! ' Iris broke out bitterly. 'Hugh! you are an anj^'el, b^y comparison with that man — how debased I must be to love him— liow unworthy of your good opinion ! Ask me anything; you like ; have no mercy on me. Oh,' she cried, with reckless contempt for herself, ' why don't you beat me ? I ueserve it ! ' Mountjoy was well enough acquainted with the natures of women to pass over that passionate outbreak, instead of fanning the flame in her by reasoning and remonstrance. ' Your father will not listen to the expression of feeling,' he continued; • but it is possible to rouse his sense of justice by tho 91 m Hit! ] ^ li'ii 1 I Wi mm ilTllPiillill !i 40 nriNP LOVE expression of facts. Help me to speak to him more plainly of Lord Harry than you could sptJik in your letters. I want to know what has happened, from the time when events at Ardoon lu'ought you and the young lord together again, to the time when you left him in Ireland after my brother's death. If I seem to expect too much of you, Iris, pray remember that I am speaking with a true regard for your interests.' In those words, he made his generous appeal to her. She proved herself to be worthy of it. Stated briefly, the retrospect began with the mysterious anony- mous letters which had been addressed to Sir Giles. Lord Harry's explanation had been offered to Iris gratefully, but with some reserve, after she had told him who the stranger at the milestone really was. ' I entreat you to pardon me, if I shrink from entering into particulars,' he had said. 'Circumstances, at the time, amply justified me in the attempt to use the banker's political influence as a means of securing Arthur's safety. I knew enough of Sir Giles's mean nature to be careful in trusting him ; but I did hope to try what my personal influence might do. If he had possessed a tenth part of your courage, Arthur might have been alive, and safe in England, at this moment. I can't say any more ; I daren't say any more ; it maddens me when I think of it ! ' He abruptly changed the subject, and interested Iris by speaking of other and later events. His association with the Invincibles — inexcusably rash and wicked as he himself confessed it to be — had enabled him to penetrate, and for a time to defeat secretly, the murderous designs of the brotherhood. His appear- ances, first at the farmhouse and afterwards at the ruin in the wood were referable to changes in the plans of the assassins which had come to his knowledge. When Iris had met with him he was on the watch, believing that his friend would take the short way back through the wood, and well aware that his own life might pay the penalty if he succeeded in warning Arthur. After the terrible discovery of the murder (committed on the high road), and the escape of the miscreant who had been guilty of the crime, the parting of Lord Harry and Miss Henley had been the nest event. She had left him, on her return to England, and had refused to consent to any of the future meetings between them which he besought her to grant. At this stage in the narrative, Mountjoy felt compelled to ask questions more searching than he had put to Iris yet. It was possible that she might be trusting her own impressions of Lord Harr3% with the ill-placed confidence of a woman innocently self- deceived. ' Did he submit willingly to your leaving him ? ' Mountjoy said. ' Not at first,' she replied. Bl.I.VD LOVE 41 ;)lainly of Lord i to know what 1 })rought you you left him pect too much a true regard to her. She erious anony- ris gratefully, he stranger at ne, if I shrink umstances, at the banker's fety. I knew trusting him ; fht do. If he r might have can't say any en I think of ssted Iris by ion with the self confessed me to defeat His appear- ruin in the sassins which 1 him he was he short way m life might r. After the ?h road), and be crime, the e next event, id refused to m which he pelled to ask yet. It was ions of Lord locently self- I » Mountjoy ' Has he released you from tliat rash engiij,'«'nK'nt, of some years since, which pled},'ed you to marry him ? ' • No.' ' Did he allude to the engagement, on this occasion ? ' • He said he held to it as the one hope of his life.' 'And what did you say ? ' • I miplored him not to distress me.' • I*id you say nothing more positive than that ? ' 'I couldn't help thinking, Hugh, of all that he had tried to do to save Arthur. But I insisted on leaving him — and I have left huu.' • Do you remember what he said at parting ? ' • He said, " While I live, I love you." ' As she repeated the words, there was an involuntary change to tenderness in her voice which was not lost on Mountjoy. ' I must be sure,' he said to her gravely, ' of 's\ liat I tell your father when I go back to him. Can I declare, witli a safe con- science, that you will never see Lord Harry again ? ' ' My mind is made up never to see him again.' She had an- swered firmly so far. Her next words were spoken with hesitation, in tones that faltered. 'But I am sometunes afraid,' slie said, •that the decision may not rest with me.' ' What do you mean ? ' ' I would rather not tell you.' • That is a strange answer. Iris.' • I value your good opinion, Hugh, and I am afraid of losing it.' ' Nothing has ever altered my opinion of you,' he replied, ' and nothing ever will.' She looked at him anxiously, with the closest attention. Little by little, the expression of doubt in her face disappeared; she knew how he loved her — she resvolved to trust him. ' My friend,' she began abruptly, ' education has done nothing for me. Since I left Ireland, I have sunk (I don't know how or why) into a state of superstitious fear. Yes ! I believe in a fatality which is leading me back to Lord Harry, in spite of myself. Twice already, since I left home, I have met with him ; and each time I have been the means of saving him — once at the milestone, and once at the ruin in the wood. If my father still accuses me of being in love with an adventurer, you can say with perfect truth that I am afraid of him.- I am afraid of the third meeting. I have done my best to escape from that man ; and, step by step, as I think I am getting away. Destiny is taking me back to him. I may be on my way to him here, hidden in this wretched little town. Oh, don't despise me I Don't be ashamed of me 1 ' ' My dear, I am interested— deeply interested in you. That there may be some such influence as Destiny in our poor mortal lives, I dare not deny. But I don't agree with your conclusion. What Destiny has to do witli you and with me, neither you nor I can pretend to know beforehand. In the presence of that great .1 IHI' 4a ni iNn LOVE luystery, huinimity inuHt Hubiuit to be i^'norant. Wait, Iris- wait ! ' She answered him with the simplicity of a docile child : ' I will do anything you tell me.' Momitjoy was too fond of her to say more of Lord Harry, for th.at day. lie was canifnl to load the talk to a topic which might bo trusted to provoke no agitiitiiig tlioughts. Finding Iris to all appearance establislied in the doctor's house, ho was naturally anxious to know something of the person who must have invited her — the doctor's wife. il^'; 41 liih !i Jll ! i II I) /.IN/) /.OVE 4.1 Wait, Iris- child : ' I will >rd Harry, for ! which might n^' Iris to all tvas naturaUy ; have invited ciiAiTP^.R in THI* HK 111 11 I ii I ,11 i ' Ii 44 iPA/A^Z) lor^ Vimpany revived her, but as it turned out, only for a while. She fell into another fainting fit ; and my travelling-coiupiinion began to look anxious. There was some dilliculty in restoring Uhoda to her senses. In dread of another attack, I determined to stop at the next station. It looked Kuch a poor i)lace, when we got to it, that I hesitated. Mrs. Vimpany persuaded me to go on. The next station, she said, was her station. "Stop there," she sug- gested, " and let my husband look at the girl. I ought not perhaps to say it, but you will find no better medical man out of London." I took the good creature's advice gratefully. What else could I do ? • * What would you have done,' Mountjoy inquired, ' if Rhoda had been strong enough to get to the end of the journey ? ' ' I should have gone on to London, and taken refuge in a lodg- ing—you were in town, as I believed, and my father might relent in time. As it was, I felt my lonely position keenly. To meet with kind people, like Mr. Vimpany and his wife, was a real blessing to such a friendless creature as I am — to say nothing of the advantage to llhoda, who is getting better every day. I should like you to see Mrs. Vimpany, if she is at home. She is a little formal and old fashioned in her manner — biit I am sure you will be pleased with her. Ali ! you look round the room ! They are poor, miserably poor for persons in their position, these worthy friends of mine. I have had the greatest ditti^^'Uty in persuading them to let me contribute my share towr the household expenses. They only yielded when I threate o go to the inn. You are looking very serious, Hugh. " Is it possible that you see some objection to my staying in this house ? ' The drawing-room door was softly opened, at the moment when Iris put that question. A lady appeared on the threshold. Seeing the stranger, she turned to Iris. ' I didn't know, dear Miss Henley, that you had a visitor. Pray pardon my intrusion.' The voice was deep ; the articulation was clear ; the smile presented a certain modest dignity which gave it a value of its own. This was a woman who could make such a commonplace thing as an apology worth listening to. Iris stopped her as she was about to leave the room. 'I was just wishing for you,' she said. ' Let me introduce my old friend, Mr. Mountjoy. Hugh, this is the lady who has been so kind to me — Mrs. Vimpany.' Hugh's impulse, under the circumstances, was to dispense with the formality of a bow, and to shake hands. Mrs. Vimpany met this friendly advance with a suavity of action, not often seen in these days of movement wHhout ceremony. She was a tali slim woman, of a certain age. A.iu had so cleverly improved her com- plexion that it almost looked like nature. Her cheeks had lost the plumpness of youth, but her hair (thanks again perhaps to Art) showed no signs of turning grey. The expression of her large dark eyes — placed perhaps a little too near her high aquiline nose — a while. She ipaiiion began rin^ Khoda to led to stop at 1 we got to it, > go on. The 3re," she sug- ht not perhaps it of London." Iiat else could ' if Rhoda had }' fuge in a lodg- r might relent ily. To meet 'e, was a real say nothing of day. I should She is a little 1 sure you will m ! They are these worthy ' in persuading |he household go to the inn. that you see moment when jhold. Seeing visitor. Pray r ; the smile a value of its commonplace ed her as she ^ for you,' she ntjoy. Hugh, impany.' dispense with Vimpany met often seen in as a tali slim ved her com- s had lost the rhaps to Art) her large dark uiline nose — PT JNn TOVE 45 'claimed admiration from any person who was so fortunate as to i come within their range of view. Her lianda, long, yellow, and ' pitiably thin, were used with a grace which chocked to some extent their cruel betrayal of her age. Her dress had seen better days, but it was worn with an air which forbade it to look actually shabby. The faded lace that encircled her neck fell in scanty folds over her bosom. She sank into a chair by Hugh's side. ' It was a great pleasure to me, Mr. Mountjoy, to ofler my poor services to Miss Henley ; I can't tell you how happy her presence makes me in our little house.' The compliment was addressed to Iris with every advantage that smiles and tones could offer. Oddly artificial as it undoubtedly was, Mrs. Vimpany's manner produced nevertheless an agreeable impression. Disposed to doubt her at first, Mountjoy I found that she was winning her way to a favourable change in his opinion. She so far interested him, tliat he began to wonder what her early life might have been, wlien slie was young and handsome. SHe looked again at the portraits of actresses on the walls, and the ! plays on the bookshelf — and then (when she was speaking to Iris) he stole a sly glance at the doctor's wife. Was it possible that this ! remarkable woman had once been an actress ? He attempted to put the value of that guess to the test by means of a complimentary allusion to the prints. ' My memory as a playgoer loesn't extend over many years,' he began ; ' but I can appreciate the historical interest of your beautiful prints.' Mrs. Vimpany bowed gracefully — and dumbly. Mountjoy tried again. ' One doesn't often see the famous actresses of past days,' he proceeded, 'so well represented on the walls of an English house.' This time, he had spoken to better purpose. Mrs. Vimpany answered him in words. ' I have many pleasant associations with the theatre,' she said, 'first formed in the time of my girlhood.' Mountjoy waited to hear something more. Nothing more was said. Perhaps this reticent lady disliked lookmg back through a long interval of years, or perhaps she had her reasons for leaving Mountjoy's guess at the truth still lost in doubt. In either case, she deliberately dropped the subject. Iris took it up. Sitting by the only table in the room, she was in a position which placed her exactly opposite to one of the prints — the magnificent portrait of Mrs. Siddons as The Tragic Muse. ' I wonder if Mrs. Siddons was really as beautiful as that ? ' she said, pointing to the print. ' Sir Joshua Reynolds is reported to have sometimes flattered his sitters.' Mrs. Vimpany's solemn self-possessed eyes suddenly brightened; the name of the great actress seemed to interest her. On the point, apparently, of speaking, she dropped the subject of Mrs. Siddons as she had dropped the subject of the theatre. Mountjoy was left to answer Iris. 'We are none of us old enough,' he reminded her, 'to decide wsm \iii\m\\ ! \> 111 i I I'lllli 'In \ lllllllllll ' I i ! 46 BUND LOVE whether Sir Joshua's brush has been guilty of flattery or not.' He turned to Mrs. Vimpany, and attempted to look into her life from a new point of view. ' When Miss Henley was so fortunate as to make your acquaintance,' he said, ' you were travelling in Ireland. Was it your first visit to that unhappy country ? ' ' I have been more than )nce in Ireland.' Having again deliberately disappointed Mountjoy, she was as- sisted in keeping clear of the subject of Ireland by a fortunate interruption. It was the hour of delivery by tne afternoon-post. The servant came in with a small sealed packet, and a slip of printed paper in her hand. ' It's registered, ma'am,' the woman annoimced. ' The postman says you are to please sign this. And he seems to be in a hurry.' She placed the packet and the slip of paper on the table, near the inkstand. Having signed the receipt, Mrs. Vimpany took up the packet, and examined the address. She instantly looked at Iris, and looked away again. ' Will you excuse me for a moment ? ' saying this she left the room, without opening the packet. The moment the door closed on her. Iris started up, and lurried to Mountjoy. *0h, Hugh,' she said, ' I saw the address on that packet when the servant put it on the table ! ' ' My dear, what is there to excite you in the address ? ' ' Don't speak so loud ! She may be listening outside the door.' ' Not only the words, but the tone in which they were spoken, amazed Mountjoy. 'Your friend, Mrs. Vimpany ! ' he exclaimed. ' Mrs. Vimpany was afraid to open the packet in our presence,' Iris went on : ' you must have seen that. The handwriting is familiar to me ; I am certain of the person who wrote the address.* ' Well ? And who is the person ? ' She whispered in his ear : 'Lord Harry ' 111' III II ' i 11 I i BUND LOVB 47 jT or not.' He ) her life from >rtiinate as to ig in Ireland. J, she was as- )y a fortunate ,fternoon-post. sHp of printed ' The postman i in a hurry.' the table, near ipany took up itly looked at • a moment ? ' cket. p, and uirried t packet when BBS?' side the door." were spoken, le exclaimed. our presence,' andwriting is the address.' CHAPTER IV THB OAME : MOUNTJOY LOSES s URPRISE silenced Hugh for the moment. Iris understood the look that he fixed on her, and answered it. ' I am quite sure,' she told him, ' of what I say.' Mountjoy's well-balanced mind hesitated at rushing to a conclusion. ' I am sme you are con- vinced of what you tell me,' he said. 'But mistakes do HiiMprr^mi f%\ L _ /ji*^ sometimes happen in form- ll^lfinPI J^V \ -^i/x^ ing a judgment of hand- writing. In the state of excite- ment that now possessed her. Iris was easily irritated ; she was angry with Hugh for only supposing that she might have made a mistake. He had himseli, 1:8 she re- minded him, seen Lord Harry's handwriting in past days. Was it possible to be mistaken in those bold thickly -written characters, ^ with some of the letters so "" quaintly formed? 'Oh, Hngh, I am miserable enough as it is,' she broke out ; ' don't distract me by disputing what I know ! Think of a woman so kind, 80 disinterested, so charming — the very opposite of a false creature — think of Mrs. Vimpany having deceived me 1 ' There was not the slightest reason, thus far, for placing that interpretation on what had happened. Mountjoy gently, very gently, remonstrated. ' My dear, we really don't know yet that Mrs. Vimpany has been acting under Lord Harry's instructions. Wait a Uttle before '■9 f :d.ii!il!il!li 1 in, , i llllllll 1 I !i I III ill ! ! Mr if'' llplilllii ! I ibl!!!! :|!lllj|; ill vMm ill' : .♦« BLIND LOVE you suspect your fellow-traveller of offering her services for the purpose of deceiving you.' Iris was angry with him again : * Why did Mrs. Vimpany never tell me she knew Lord Harry ? Isn't that suspicious ? ' Mountjoy smiled. ' Let me put a question on my side,' he said. ' Did you tell Mrs. Vimpany you knew Lord Harry ? ' Iris made no reply ; her face spoke for her. ' Well, then,' he urged, ' is your silence suspicious ? I am far, mind, from saying that this may not be a very unpleasant discovery. Only let us be sure first that we are right.' With most of a woman's merits, Miss Henley had many of a woman's faults. Still holding to her own conclusion, she asked how they could expect to be sure of anything if they addressed their inquiries to a person who had already deceived them. Mount) oy's inexhaustible indulgence still made allowances for her. ' When Mrs. Vimpany comes back,' he said, * I will find an opportunity of mentioning Lord Harry's name. If she tells us that she knows him, there will be good reason in that one circum- stance, as it seems to me, for continuing to trust her.' ' Suppose she shams ignorance,' Iris persisted, ' and looks as if she had never heard of his name before ? ' ' In that case, I shall own that I was wrong, and shall ask you to forgive me.' The finer and better nature of Iris recovered its influence at these words. ' It is I who ought to beg pardon,' she said. ' Oh, I wish I could think before I speak : how insolent and ill-tempered I have been ! But suppose I turn out to be right, Hugh, what will you do then ? ' ' Then, my dear, it will be my duty to take you and your maid away from this house, and to tell your father what serious reasons there are ' He abruptly checked himself. Mrs. Vimpany had returned ; she was in perfect possession of her lofty courtesy, sweetened by the modest dignity of her smile. ' I have left you, Miss Henley, in such good company,' she said, with a gracious inclination of her head in the direction of Mount- joy, ' that I need hardly repeat my apologies — unless, indeed, I am interrupting a confidential conversation.' It was possible that Iris might have betrayed herself, when the doctor's wife had looked at her after examining the address on the packet. In this case Mrs. Vimpany's allusion to ' a confidential conversation' would have operated as a warning to a person of experience in the by-ways of deceit. Mountjoy's utmost exertion of cunning was not capable of protecting him on such conditions as these. The opportunity of trying his proposed experiment with Lord Harry's name seemed to have presented itself already. He rashly seized on it. ' You have interrupted nothing that was confidential,' he hastened to assure Mrs. Vimpany. ' We have been speaking of a reckless young gentleman, who is an acquaintance of ours. If what I hear BLIND LOVE 49 ervices for the V^impany never IS?' 1 my side,' he Harry ? ' Iris .,' he ui'ged, ' is lying that this us be sure first lad many of a iion, she asked bhey addressed I them. allowances for ' I will find an If she tells us at one circura- and looks as if d shall ask you Its influence at e said. ' Oh, I L ill-tempered I ugh, what will ind your maid serious reasons Mrs. Vimpany lofty courtesy, pany,' she said, tion of Mount- s, indeed, I am rself, when the address on the a confidential to a person of tmost exertion h conditions as cperiment with f already. He al,' he hastened g of a reckless If what I hear is true, he has already become public property ; his adventures haM found their way into some of the newspapers.' Here, if Mrs. Vimpany had answered Hugh's expectations, sIk ought to have asked who the young gentleman was. She merely listened in polite silence. With a woman's quickness of perception, Iris saw that Mountjoy had not only pounced on his opportunity prematurely, but had spoken with a downright directness of allusion which must at once have put such a ready-witted person as Mrs. Vimpany on her guai.d. In trying to prevent him from pursuing his unfortunate experiment in social diplomacy, Iris innocently repeated Mountjoy's own mis- take. She, too, seized her oi)portunity prematurely. That is to say, she was rash enough to change the subject. ' You were talking just now, Hugh, of our friend's adventures,' she said ; ' I am afraid you will find yourself involved in an adven- ture of no very agreeable kind, if you engage a bed at the inn. I never saw a more wretched-looking place.' It was one of Mrs. Vimpany 's many merits that she seldom neg- lected an opportunity of setting her friends at their ease. 'No, no, dear Miss Henley,' she hastened to say; 'the inn is really a more clean and comfortable place than you suppose. A hard bed and a scarcity of fm'niture are the worst evils which your friend has to fear. Do you know,' she continued, addressing herself to Mountjoy, ' that I was reminded of a friend of mine, when you spoke just now of the young gentlemnn whose adventures are in the newspapei'S. Is it possible that you referred to the brother of the present Earl of Norland? A handsome young Irishman — with whom I first became acquainted many years since. Am I right in supposing that you and Miss Henley know Lord Harry ? ' she asked. What more than this could an unprejudiced mind require ? Mrs. Vimpany had set herself right with a simplicity that defied suspicion. Iris looked at Mountjoy. He appeared to know when he was beaten. Having acknowledged that Lord Harry was the young gentleman of whom he and Miss Henley had been speaking, he rose to take leave. After what had passed. Iris felt the necessity of speaking privately to Hugh. The necessary excuse presented itself in the remote situation of the inn. ' You will never find j'our way back,' she said, 'through the labyrinth of crook*»f' ..creets in this old town. Wait for me a minute, and I will be y >ar guide.' Mrs. Vimpany protested. ' My dear I let the servant show the way.' Iris held gaily to her resolution, and ran away to her room. Mrs. Vimpany yielded with her best grace. Miss Henley's motive could hardly have beeji plahier to her, if Miss Henley had confessed it herself. ' What a charming girl I ' the doctor's amiable wife said to Mountjoy, when they were alone. ' If I were a man, Miss Iris is just the young lady that I should fall in love with.' She looked s !i!li 50 BUND LOVE 'irilli'li iil i^iililllli iii! I:r ! \ ^ :l! 1"" 'l^llliill! Ill I i II !i I II significantly at Mountj.oy. Nothing came cf it. She went on: ' M. 88 Henley must have had many opportunities of being married ; but the right man has, I fear, not yet presented himself.' Once more htr eloquent eyes consulted Mountjoy, and once more nothing came of it. Some women are easily discouraged. Impenetrable Mrs. Vimpany was one of the other women ; she had not done with Mountjoy yet— she invited him to dinner on the next day. • Our early hour is three o'clock,' she said modestly. * Pray join us. I hope to have the pleasure of introducing my husband.' Mountjoy had his reasons for wishing to see the husband. As he accepted the invitation, Miss Kenley returned to accompany him to the inn. Iris put the inevitable question to Hugh as soon as they were out of the doctor's house — ' What do you say of Mrs. Vimpany now ? ' • I say that she must have been once an actress,' Mountjoy answered ; ' and that she carries her experience of the stage into private life.' • What do you propose to do next ? ' ' I propose to wait, and see Mrs. Vimpauy's husband to-morrow.* ♦Why?' 'Mrs. Vimpany, my dear, is too clever for me. If— observe, please, that I do her the justice of putting it in that way — if she is really Lord Harry's creature, employed to keep watch on you, and to iiiform him of your next place of residence in England, I own that she has completely deceived me. In that case, it is just possible that the husband is not such a finished and perfect humbug as the wife. I may be able to see through Mm. I can but try.' Iris sighed. * I almost hope you may not succeed,' she said. Mountjoy was puzzled, and made no attempt to conceal it. * I thought you only wanted to get at the truth,' he answered. ' My mind might be easier, perhaps, if I was left in doubt,' she suggested. ' A perverse way of thinking has set up my poor opinion against yours. But I am getting back to my better sense. I believe you were entirely right when you tried to prevent me from rushing to conclusions ; it is more than likely that I have done Mrs. Vimpany an injustice. Oh, Hugh, I ought to keep a friend — I who have so few friends— when I have got one 1 And there is another feeling in me which I must not conceal from you. When I re- member Lord Harry's noble conduct in trying to save poor Arthur, I cannot believe him capable of such hateful deceit as conseniing to our separation, and then having me secretly watched by a spy. What monstrous inconsistency! Can anybody believe it? Can anybody account for it ? ' ' I think I can account for it. Iris, if you will let me make the attempt. You are mistaken to begin with.' • How am I mistaken ? ' • You shall see. There is no such creature as a perfectly consis- tent human being on the face of the earth— and, strange as it may seem to you, the human beings themselves are not aware of it. m lUrXD LOVE 5» She went on! >eing married ; imself.' Once B more nothing Impenetrable not done with i day. iestly. ' Pray my husband.' husband. As Bcompany him 1 they were out npany now ? ' 58S,' Moimtjoy the stage into ad to-morrow.* If— observe, ivay — if she is h on you, and Ingland, I own ise, it is just srfect humbug an but try.* ,' she said, jonceal it. * I leered. in doubt,' she yr poor opinion Iter sense. I ivent me from ave done Mrs. friend — I who ere is another "When I re- poor Arthur, as conseniing hed by a spy. eve it? Can oae make the fectly consis- ige as it may aware of it. The reason for this curious state of things is not far to seek. How can people who are ignorant— as we see everyday — of their own characters be capable of correctly estimating the characters of others ? Even the influence of their religion fails to open their eyes to the truth. In the Prayer which is the most precious possession of Christendom, their lips repeat the entreaty that "they may not be led into temptation — but their minds fail to draw the inference. If that pathetic petition means anything, it means that virtuous men and women are caT)able of becoming vicious men and women, if a powerful temptation puts them to the test. Every Sunday, devout members of the congregation in church — models of excellence in their own estimation, and in the estimation of their neighbours— declare that they have done those things which they ought not to have done, and that there is no health in them. Will you beheve that they are encouraged by their Prayer-books to present this sad exposure of the frailty of their own admirable characters ? How inconsistent — and yet how entirely true ! Lord Harry, as you rightly say, behaved nobly in trying to save my dear lost brother. He ought, as you think, and as other people think, to be consistently noble, after that, in all his thoughts and actions, to the end of his life. Suppose that temptation does try him— such temptation, Iris, as you innocently present — why doesn't he offer a superhuman resistance ? You might as well ask. Why is he a mortal man ? How inconsistent, how improbable, that he should have tendencies to evil in him, as well as tendencies to good ! Ah, I see you don't like this. It would be infinitely more agreeable (wouldn't it?) if Lord Harry was one of the entirely consistent characters which are sometimes presented in works of fiction. Our good English readers are charmed with the man, the woman, or the child, who is introduced to them by the kind nove'' t as a being without faults. Do they stop to consider whether this is a true picture of humanity ? It would be a terrible day for the book if they ever did that. But the book is in no danger. The readers would even fail to discover the falseness of the picture, if they were presented to themselves as perfect characters. " We mustn't say so, but how wonderfully like us 1 " There would be the only impression produced. I am not trying to dishearten you ; I want to encourage you to look at humanity from a wider and truer point of view. Do not be too readily depressed, if you find your faith shaken in a person whom you have hitherto believed to be good. That person has been led into temptation. Wait till time shows you that the evil influence is not everlasting, and that the good influence will inconsistently renew your faith out of the very depths of your despair. Humanity, in general, is neither perfectly good nor perfectly wicked : take it as you find it. Is this a hard lesson to learn ? Well 1 it's easy to do what other people do, under similar circumstances. Listen to the unwelcome truth to-day, my dear ; and forget it to-morrow.' They parted at the door of the inn. lii'iiii' 5a BUND LOVE mmm 1 I .J. 'I i 'lllllilliiil Pl'' .||{illl! I I i i I CHAPTER V THE GAME : MOUNTJOY PLAYS A NEW CARD R, VIMPANY (of the College of Surgeons) was a burly man, heavily built from head to foot. His bold round eyes looked straight at his fellow-creatures with an expression of impudent good humour; his whiskers were bushy, his hands were big, his lips were thick, his legs were solid. Add to this a broad sunburnt face, and a grey coat with wide tails, a waistcoat with a check pattern, and leather riding-gaiters— and no stranger could have failed to mistake IMr. Vimpany for a farmer of the old school. He was proud of the false impression that he created. ' Nature built me to be a farmer,' he used to say. ' But my poor foolish old mother was a lady by birth, and she insisted on her son being a professional man. I hadn't brains for the Law, or money for the Army, or morals for the Church. And here I am a country doctor — the one representative of slavery left in the nineteenth century. You may not believe me, but I never see a labourer at the plough that I don't envy him.' This was the husband of the elegant lady with the elaborate manners. This was the man who received Mount] oy with a ' Glad to see you, sir,' and a shake of the hand that hurt him. ' Coarse fare,' said Mr. Vimpany, carving a bi^' joint of beef; ' but I can't afford anything better. Only a pudding to follow, and a glass of glorious old sherrj'. Miss Henley is good enough to excuse it — and mj wife's used to it — and you will put up with it, Mr. IMountjoy, if you are half as amiable as you look. I'm an old- fashioned man. The pleasure of a glass of wine with you, sir.' Hugh's first experience of the ' glorious old sherry ' led him to a discovery, which proved to be more important than he was dis- posed to consider it at the moment. He merely observed, with some amusement, that Mr. Vimpany smacked his lips in hearty approval of the worst sherry that his guest had ever tasted. Here, plainly self-betrayed, was a medical man who was an exception to a general rule in the profession — here was a doctor ignorant of the difference between good wine and bad ! Both the ladies were anxious to know how Mountjoy had passed the night at the inn. He had only time to say that there was nothing to complain of. when ^Tr. Vimjiany burst into an explosion of laughter. * Oh, but you must have had something to complain of 1 ' said the BLIND LOVE 53 ::!ARD )n8) was a burly is bold round eyes ith an expression cers were bushy, were solid. Add t'ith wide tails, a -gaiters— and no y for a farmer of pression that he ed to say. ' But and she insisted ains for the Law, And here I am ,very left in the it I never see a ith the elaborate oy with a ' Glad Viim. i^' joint of beef; Hf to follow, and good enough to put up with it, ok. I'm an old- ith you, sir.' Qxc^ ' led him to han he was dis- observed, with s lips in hearty r tasted. Here. m exception to a ignorant of the itjoj- had passed that there was nto an explosion a.iu of ! ' said the ig doctor. • I would bet a hundred, if I cotild afford it, that the dlady tried to poison you with her sour French wine.' ' Do you speak of the claret at the inn, after having tasted it ? ' ountjoy asked. ' What do you take me for ? ' cried Mr. Vimpany. ' After all I ve heard of that claret, I am not fool enough to try it myself, I an tell you.' Mountjoy received this answer in silence. The ^octor's ignorance and the doctor's prejudice, in the maiter of wine, had started a new train of thought in Hugh's mind, v/hich threatened ierious consequences to Mr. Vimpany himself. There was a pause at the table ; nobody spoke. The doctor saw condemnation of his rud'-^ncss expressed in his wife's face. He made a rough apology to Mountjoy, who was still preoccupied. ' No offence, I hope ? It's in the nature of me, sir, to speak my mind. If I could fawn and flatter, I shor^ ' '.a,ve got on better in my profession. I'm what jihey call a roagh diamond. No, offence, I say ? ' V ' None whatever, Mr. Vimpany.' ^ ' That's right ! Try another glass of sherry.' I Mountjoy took the sherry. Iris looked at him, lost in surprise. It was unlike Hugh to be terested in a stranger's opinion of wine. It was unlike him to ink wine wliich was evidently not to his taste. And it was si)ecially unlike his customary courtesy to let himself fall into ihought at dinner-time, when there were other persons at the table. IW'as he ill ? Impossible to look at him, and not see that he was in perfect health. What did it mean ? f Finding Mountjoy inattentive, Mr. Vimpany addressed himself to Iris. ' I had to ride hard, Miss Henley, to get home in time for dinner. Inhere are patients, I must tell you, who send for the doctor, and ihen seem to think they know more about it than the very man ^hoi:.' they have called in to cure them. It isn't he who tells 4hem what their illness is ; it's they who tell him. They dispute about the medical treatment that's best for them, and the one thing they are never tired of doing is talking about their symptoms. ^t was an old man's gabble that kept me late to-day. However, e Squire, as they call him in these parts, is a patient with a, long lurse ; I am obliged to submit.' ' A gentleman of the old school, dear Miss Henley,' Mrs. Vim- ipany explamed. ' Immensely rich. Is he better ? ' she asked, turning to her husband. I ' Better ? ' cried the outspoken doctor. ' Pooh ! there's nothing le matter with him but gluttony. He went to London, and con- lulted a great man, a humbug with a handle to his name. The 'amous physician got rid of him in no time — sent him abroad to oil himself in foreign baths. He came home again worse than iver, and consulted poor Me. I found him at dinner — a perfect feast, I give you my word of honour ! — and the old fool gorging imself till he was black in the face. His wine, I should have said. ■Hi !i '1! i!ii 54 BLTNn LOVE Hi I II was not up to the mark; wanted body and flavour, you know, Ah, Mr. Mountjoy, this seems to interest you; reminds you of the landlady's wine— eh? Well, sir, how do you think I treated the Squire ? Emptied his intirm old inside with an emetic — and there he was on his legs again ? Whenever he overeats himself he sends for me ; and pays liberally. I ought to be grateful to him, and I am. Upon my soul, I beli'^ve I should be in the bankruptcy court but for the Squire's stomach. Look at my wife ! She's shocked at me. We ought to keep up appearances, my dear? Not I ! When I am poor, I say I am poor. When I cure a patient, I make no mystery of it ; everybody's welcome to know how it's done. Don't be down-hearted, Arabella ; nature never meant your husband for a doctor, and there's the long and the short of it. An- other glass of sherry, Mr. Mountjoy ? * All social ceremonies — including the curious English custom which sends the ladies upstairs, after dinner, and leaves the gentle men at the table — found a devoted adherent in Mrs. Vimpany, She rose as if she 'lad been presiding at a banquet, and led Miss Henley affectionately to the drawing-room. Iris glanced at Hugh. No ; his mind was not at ease yet ; the preoccupied look had not left nis face. Jovial Mr. Vimpany pushed the bottle across the table to his guest, and held out a handful of big black cigars. ♦ Now for the juice of the grape,' he cried, ' and the best cigar in all England 1 ' He had just filled his glass, and struck alight for his cigar, when the servant came in with a note. Some men relieve their cense of indignation in one way, ard some in another. The doctor's form of relief was an oath. ' Talk about slavery ! ' he shouted. * Find me such a slave in all Africa as a man in my profession. There isn't an hour of the day or night that he can call his own. Here's a stupid old woman with an asthma, who has got another spasmodic attack — and I must leave my dinner-table and my friend, just as we are enjoying ourselves. I have half a mind not to go.' The inattentive guest suddenly set himself right in his host's estimation. Hugh remonstrated with an appearance of interest in the case, which the doctor interpreted as a compliment to himself: ' Oh, Mr. Vnmpany, humanity 1 humanity 1 ' ' Oh, Mr. Mountjoy, money ! money 1 ' the facetious doctor answered. ' The old lady is our Mayor's mother, sir. You don't seem to be quick at taking a joke. Make your mind easy ; I shall pocket my fee.' As soon as he had closed the door, Huj,h Mountjoy uttered a devout ejaculation. 'Thank God I' he said — and walked up and down the room, free to think without interruption at last. The subject of his meditations was the influence of intoxication in disclosing the hidde:n weaknesses and vices of a man's character by exhibiting them just as they are, released from the restraint which he exercises over hin^splf Avhpu he is sober. That there was Rf.IXn LOVE 55 vour, you kno^, minds you of tht ink I treated the metic — and there treats himself he grateful to him, n the bankruptcj my wife ! She's ances, my dear? n I cure a patient, to know how it's never meant your 9 short of it. An- English custom leaves the gentle- 1 Mrs. Vimpany. uet, and led Miss glanced at Hugh, )ied look had nut s the table to liis d the best cigar in '.ox his cigar, when |eve their cense of 'he doctor's forua shouted. • Find irofession. There lis own. Here'6 mother tpasmodic my friend, just ae Dt to go.' ght in his host's nee of interest in ment to himself: facetious doctor , sir. You don't ind easy ; I shall ountjoy uttered a 1 walked up and at last. ce of intoxication man's character om the restraint That there wai [a weak side, and probably a vicious side, in Mr. Vimpany's nature it was hardly possible to doubt. His blustering good humour, his [audacious self-conceit, the tones of his voice, the expression in his 1 eyes, all revealed him (to use one expressive word) as a humbug. Let drink subtly deprive him of his capacity for self-concealment, and the true nature of his wife's association with Lord Harry might sooner or later show itself — say, in after-dinner talk, under skilful management. The right method of entrapping him into a state of intoxication (which might have presented serious difficulties under other circumstances) was suggested, partly by his ignorance of the difference between good wine and bad, and partly by Mountjoy's knowledge of the excellent quality of the landlady's claret. He had recognised, as soon as he tasted it, that finest vintage of Bordeaux, which conceals its true strength — to a gross and ignorant taste — under the exquisite delicacy of its flavovu:. Encourage Mr. Vimpany by means of a dinner at the inn, to give his opinion as a man whose judgment in claret was to be seriously consulted — and perir^it him also to discover that Hugh was rich enough to have been able to buy the wine— and the attainment of the end in view would be simply a question of time. There was certainly the chance to be reckoned with, that his thick head might prove to be too strong for the success of the experiment. Mountjoy determined to try it, and did try it nevertheless. Mr. Vimpany returned from his medical errand, thoroughly well satisfied with himself. ' The Mayor's mother has reason to thank you, sir,' he announced. ' If you hadn't hurried me away, the wretched old creatiure would have been choked. A regular stand-up fight, by Jupiter, between death and the doctor ! — and the doctor has won ! Give me the f reward of merit. Pass the bottle.' He took up the decanter, and looked at it. * Why, what have you been about ? ' he asked. * I made up my mind that I should want the key of the cellar when I came back, f and I don't believe you have drunk a drop in my absence. What I does it mean ? ' 'It means that I am not worthy of your sherry,' Mountjoy answered. ' The Spanish wines are too strong for my weak diges- tion.' Mr. Vimpany burst into one of his explosions of laughter. ' You miss the landlady's vinegar — eh ? ' ' Yes, I do ! Wait a minute, doctor ; I have a word to say on my side— and, like ^ou, Imean v/hat I say. The landlady's vinegar is some of the finest Chateau Margaux I have ever met with — thrown away or ignorant people who are quite unworthy of it.' The doctor's natural insolence showed itself. ' You have bought this wonderful wine, of course ? ' he said satirically. ' That,' Mountjoy answered, ' is just what I have done.' For once in his life, Mr. Vimpany's self-sufficient readiness of speech failed him. He stared at his guest in dumb amazement. WITT'T^'^ 'I '%W' m I 56 ni.lND LOVE m ii 'm'ii lillllh ! !■ jiill 1 1 m»\ mm '111 iiliiiili iiiii ( >n this occasion, Mountjoy improved the opportunity to good ]mr- pose. Mr. Vinipany accepted with tlie utniOHt readineBs an invita- tion to dine on the next day at the inn. Bnt he made a condition. ' In case I don't agree with you about that Chtiteau — what-you- call-it,' he said, ' you won't mind my sending home for a bottle of sherry ? * The next event of the day was a visit to the most interesting monument of antiquity in the town. In the absence of the doctor, caused by professional engagements, Miss Henley took Mountjoy to see the old church -and Mrs. Vimpuny accompanied them, as a mark of respect to Miss Henley's friend. When there was a chance of being able to speak contidentially, Iris was eager in praising the doctor's wife. ' You can't imagine, Hugh, how agreeable she has been, and how entirely she has con- vinced me that I was wrong, shamefully wrong, in thinking of her as I did. She sees that you dislike her, and yet she speaks so nicely of you. " Your clever friend enjoys your society," she said; " pray accompany me when I take him to see the church." How unselfish!" Mountjoy kept his own counsel. The generous impulses which sometimes led Iris astray were, as he well knew, beyoijd the reach of remonstrance. His own opinion of Mrs. Vimpany still pro- nounced steadily against her. Prepared for discoveries, on the next day, which might prove too serious to be trifled with, he now did his best to provide for future emergencies. After first satisfying himself that there was nothing in the pre- sent state of the maid's health which need detain her mistress at Honeybuzzard, he next completed his preparations by returning to the inn, and writing to Mr. Henley. With strict regard to truth, his letter presented the daughter's claim on the father under a new point of view. Whatever the end of it might be, Mr. Henldy was requested to communicate his intentions by telegraph. Will you receive Iris ? was the question submitted. The answer expected was : Yes or No. lity to good imr- liness an invita- mde a condition, teau — what-you- for a bottle of le BUND LOVE 57 rao8t interesting ce of the doctor, ■ took Mountjoy mied thoni, as a kk confidentially, u can't imagine, 'ely she has con- L thinking of her 3t she speaks so tciety," she said; I church." How } impulses which )eyoijd the reach npany still pro- icoveries, on the led with, he now thing in the pre- i her mistress at J by returning to regard to truth, her tmder a new Mr. Henldy was raph. Will you answer expected Ye us CHAPTER VI THK GAMK ; MOUNTJOY WINS qilR. HENLEY'S telegram arrived at the inn the next morning. He was willing to receive his daughter, but not unre- servedly. The message was characteristic of the man : s— on trial.' Mountjoy was not shocked, was not even sur- irised. He knew that the successfiU speculations, by means of hich Mr. Henley had accumulated his wealth, had raised against im enemies, who had spread scandalous reports which had never een completely refuted. The silent secession of friends, in whose delity he trusted, had hardened the man's heart and embittered s nature. Strangers in distress, who appealed to the rich retired erchant for help, found in their excellent references to character worst foi-zn of persuasion that they could have adopted, 'aupers without a rag of reputation left to cover them, were the )bject3 of charity whom Mr. Henley relieved. When he was asked justify his conduct, he said : ' I have a sympathy' with bad cha- racters — I am one of them myself.' With the arrival of the dinner- hour the doctor appeared, in no very amiable humour, at the inn. ' Anotlier hard day's work,' he said ; * 1 should sink under it, if I hadn't a prospect of getting rid of my practice here. London — fer the neighbourhood of London — there's the right place for a man like Me. Well ? Where's the wonderful wine ? Mind ! I'm Toni-Tell-Truth ; if I don't like your French tipple, I shall say so.' The inn possessed no claret glasses ; they driuik the grand wine in tumblers as if it had been vin ordinaire. Mr. Vimpany snowed that he was acquainted with the formali- Ities proper to the ceremony of tasting. He filled his makeshift jlass, he held it up to the light, and looked at the wine severely ; le moved the tumbler to and fro under his nose, and smelt at it igain and again; he paus( d and reflected ; he tasted the claret as uautiously as if he feared it might l)e poisoned ; he smacked his ^ips, and emptied his glass at a draught ; lastly, he showed some consideration for his host's anxiety, and pronounced sentence on the sWuie. ' Not so good as you think it, sir. But nice light claret ; clean id wholesome. I hope you haven't given too much for it ? ' Thus far, Hugh had played a losing game patiently. His Ill ''ftp if i;':'l ' ! I ,if;:!;iii!i IHIinifiiiiiiiii 'I 1 ii'l iinillllillll! Il''!.l iliiiii I M [[lit II I ! ilJlliil l;ti I 58 BI.INn T.OVF. reward liiul come ut lust. After wluit tliu doctor had just said to him, he saw the winiuiis curd safo in Ids own liuiid. The bad fl country town ; ; potatoes whoRe iluit would have nind of a child ; 18, oddly enough, 1 when we put it ine, would havo e woeful delicion. if that noble vin- at ; and still ho md still he unf(M' worse if possible ctor on board a my place ? 01 1, ;e worth listening,' It I Well, sir, tho •s; I wouldn't rd in-doors, and ask know what they nm send for tho understood my st me my place. ink of my wife ? fore ? My dear Is. I'll tell you y' wife picked up the stage ! Tho OSS. If you had have made youi' I a man who is en't I proved it \\\ it here. The , if they knew I 5's empty again. has always got '. say, Mountjoy. keep a secret ? gain. I thought am opening my knock that man e ? I apologise, own good wine. Mountjoy carefully humoured lim inlt-n'sUng guest. ' You were about to honour me,' he 8aid, * by takmg me into our confidence.' Mr. Vimpany stared in tipsy bewilderment, ountjoy tried again in plainer language : * You were going to tell e a secret.' This time, the doctor grasped the idea. He looked round cun- ingly to tho door. ' Any eavesdroppers ? ' he asked. ' Hush I liispor — this is serious — whisper! What was it 1 was going to 11 you ? What was tho socuot, old boy ? ' Mountjoy answered a little too roadily : ' I think it related to rs. Vimpany.' Mrs. Vimpany's husbiuid tiu-ew hinisolf back in his chair, matched a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket, and began to cry. Here's a false friend I ' the creature whimpered. ' Asks mo to nner, and takes advantage of my dependent situation to insult my ife. The loveliest of women, the sweetest of women, the innocent- j8t of women. Oh, my wife ! my wife ! ' He suddenly threw his llandkerchief to the other end of tho room, and burst out laughing. iHo 1 ho I Mountjoy, what an infernal fool you uiust be to take me leriously. I can act, too. Do you think I care about my wife ? 6ho was a fine woman once : she's a bundle of old rags now. But has her merits. Hush ! I want to know something; Have ou got a lord among your circle of acquaintance?' Experience made Mountjoy more careful; perhaps a little too fareful. He only said ' Yes.' ■ The doctor's dignity asserted itself. ' That's a short answer, fir, to a man in my position. If you want me to believe you, men- lion your friend's name.' Here was a chance at last ! ' His name,' Mountjoy began, ' is liord Harry ' i Mr. Vimpany lost his dignity in an instant. He struck his lieavy fist on tho table, with a blow that made the tumblers jump. \ ' Coincidence ! ' he cried. ' How wonderful — no ; that's not the ford — providential is the word — how providential are coincidences ! mean, of course, to a rightly constituted mind. Let nobody con- iradict me ! When I say a rightly constituted mind, I speak seri- <(|usly ; and a young man lite you will be all the better for it. Ilountjoyl dear Mountjoy! jolly Mountjoy! my wife's lord is yoiu: fcrd — Lord Harry. No ; none of your nonsense — I won't have any ^ore wine. Yes, I will ; it might hurt your feelings if I didn't iirink with you. Pass the bottle. Ha 1 That's a nice ring you've got on your finger. Perhaps you think it valuable ? It's nothing, pr; it's dross, it's dirt, compared to my wife's diamond pin! Ilhere's a jewel, if you like ! It will be worth a fortune to us when we sell it. A gift, dear sir ! I'm afraid I've been too familiar with you. Speaking as a born gentleman, I beg to present my respects, ind I call you "dear sir." Did I tell you the diamond pin was a 't ? It's nothing of the sort ; we are under no obligation ; my fe, my admirable wife, has earned that diamond pin. By regis- i BLIND LOVE tered post ; and what I call a manly letter from Lord Harry. Hei is deeply obliged (I give you the sense of it) by what my wife ha done for him ; ready money is scarce with my lord ; he sends family jewel, with his love. Oh, I'm not jealous. He's welcome love Mrs. Vimpany, in her old age, if he likes. Did you say that] sir '/ Did you say that Lord Harry, or any man, was welcome td love Mrs. Vrmpany ? I have a great mind to throw this bottle your head. No, I won't ; it's wasting good wine I How kin^ of you to give me good wine. Who are you ? I don't like dinina with a stranger. Do you know any friend of mine ? Do yoa know a man named Mountjoy ? Do you know two men name! Mountjoy ? No : you don't. One of them is dead : killed b| those murdering scoimdrels — what do you call them? Ei what ? ' The doctor's voice began to falter, his head dropped ; hj ^lumbered suddenly and woke suddenly, and began talking agaii suddenly. ' Would you like to be made acquainted with Lor Harry ? I'll give you a skotch of his character before I introduc| bim. Betvv een ourselves, he's a desperate wretch. Do you knoi| why he employed my wife, my admirable wife ? You will agrei with me ; he ought to have looked after his young woman himsel| We've got hi.s yoiuig woman safe in our house. A nice girl. Nol my style ; my medical knowledge certifies she's cold-bloodedj Lord Harry has only to come over here and find her. Why th devil doesn't he come ? What is it keeps him in Ireland ? Do yo know? I seem to have forgotten. My own belief is I've g( softening of the brain. What's good for softening of the brain There isn't a doctor living who won't tell you the right remedy- mne. Pass the wine. If this claret is worth a farthing, it's wort a guinea a bottle. I ask you in confidence ; did you ever hear such a fool as my wife's lord ? His name escapes me. No matter he stops in Ireland -hunting. Hunting what ? The fox ? Nothin so noble ; hunting assassins. He's got =!orne grudge against one. them. Means to kill one of them. A word in your ear ; they kill him. Do you ever bet ? Five to one, he's a dead man befor the end of the week. When is the end of the week ? Tuesda' Wednesday — no, Saturday— that's the beginning of the week— n it isn't— the beginning of the week isn't the Sabbath — Sunday, course — we are not Christians, we are Jews — I mean we are Je\v we are not Christians— I mean ' The clnret got the better of his tongue, at last. He mumble and muttered ; he sank back in his chair ; he chuckled ; he hi; cuj)ped ; he fell asleep. All and more than all that Mountjoy feared, he had now di; covered. In a state of sobriety, the doctor was probably one those men who are always ready to lie. In a state of intoxicatk the utterances of his drunken delirium might unconsciously betn the truth. The reason which he had given for Lord Harry's co: tinned absonce ui Ireland, could not be wisi'ly rejected us unwnit of belief. It was iu tlie reckless nature of the wild lord to pui i BLIND LOVE 6t [own life in peril, in the hope of revenging /\j-tliur Monntjoj- on the [wretch who had killed him. Taking this bad news for granted, was [there any need to distress Iris by communicating the motive which [detained Lord Harry in his own country ? Surely not I And, again, was there any immediate advantage to be gained by revealing the true character of Mrs. Vimpany, as a spy, and, worse Btill, a spy who was paid ? In her present state of feeling, Iris irould, in all probability, refuse to believe it. Arriving at these conclupions, Hugh looked at the doctor snoring id choking in an easy-chair. He had not wasted the time and jatience devoted to the stratagem which had now successfully Reached its end. After what he had just heard — thanks to the Waret — he could not hesitate to accomplish the speedy removal of ris from Mr. Virapany's house ; using her fatiher's telegram as le only means of persuasion on which it was possible to rely, [ountjoy left the inn without ceremony, and hurried away to Iris the hope of inducing her to return to London with him that ?ht. -rn- :iNlll i|i llijljljiliji i,i,„.,u, r|iii iiii I It ! Hh ill i' tfi BLIND LOVE |i llli!!i!;'i i! 'I! mk \ \ 'v^\\\M\ v^M i! 'i^ili i'l-iii:;;/!'.;! i'lll;!|i!ll !i CHAPTEE VII DOCTORING THE DOCTOB SKING for Miss Henley at the doctor's door, Hugh was informed that she had gone out, with her invahd maid, for a walk. She had left word, if Mr. Moimtjoy called in her absence, to beg that he would kindly wait for her retum. On his way up to the draw- ing-room, Mountjoy heard Mrs. Vimpany's sonorous voice occupied, as he sup- posed, in reading aloud. The door being opened for him, he surprised her, striding up and down the room with a book in her hand ; grandly de- claiming without anybody to applaud her. Af^er what Hugh had already heard, he could onlv conclude that reminiscences of her theatrical career had tempted the solitary actress to make a private appearance, for her owe pleasure, in one of tliose tragic characters to which her husband had alluded. She recovered her self-possession on Mountjoy'f appearance, with the case of a mistress of her art. ' Pardon nie. she said, holding up her book with one hand, and tapping it in- dicatively with the other : ' Shakespeare carries me out of myself. A spark of the poet's fire burns in the poet's humble servant. jMay I hope that I have made myself understood ? You look as if yon had a fellow-feeling for me.' Mountjoy did his best to fill the sympathetic part fissigned t( him, and only succeeded in showing what a bad actor he woulc have been, if he had gone on the stage. Under the sedative in fluence thus administered, Mrs. Vimpany put away her book, anc descended at once from the highest poetrj' to the lowest prose. ' Let us return to domestic events,' she said indulgently. ' Havt the people at the inn given you a good dinner '? ' 'The people did their best,' Moimtjoy answered cautiously. nUND LOVE 63 Miss Henley at .'s door, Hugb ,ed that she had ,vith her invahd walk. She had I Mr. Mo^mtjoy : absence, to beg d kindly wait for lyuptothedraw- Mountjoy heanl mny's sonorous ied, as he snp- iding aloud. The pened for huu, he r, striding up and 3om with a book id; grandly de- thout anybody tf ,rd, he could onlv i-eer had tenmpted nee, for her owr. lich her husbanu n on Mountjoy'f ft. ' Pardon me. ,nd tapping it in- rr.e out of mysell jle servant. iMay tou look as if yoi: c part fissigned t( d actor he wouk the sedative in vay her book, ani lowest prose. dulgently. 'Ha't 3d cautiously. 'Has my husband returned with you ? ' Mrs. \impauy went on. Mountjoy began to regret that he had not waited for Iris in the ttreet. He was obliged to acknowledge that the doctor had not > returned with hina. ' Where is Mr. Vimpany ? ' ' At the inn.' ' What is he doing there ? ' Mountjoy hesitated. Mrs. Vimpany rose p.gain into the regions of tragic poetry. She stepped up to him, as if he had been Macbeth, and she was ready to use the daggers. ' I imderstand but too well,' she declared in terrible tones. ' My wretched husband's vices are known to me. Mr. Vimpany is intoxicated.' Hugh tried to make the best of it. ' Only asleep,' he said. Mrs. Vimpany looked at him once more. This time, it was Queen Katharine looking at Cardinal Wolsey. She bowed with lofty courtesy, and opened the door. * I have occasion,' she said, ' to go out ' and made an exit. Five 1- uutes later, Mountjoy (standing at the window, im- patiently on the watch for the return of Iris) saw Mrs. Vimpany in the street. She entered a chemist's shop, on the opposite side of the way, and came out again with a bottle in her hand. It was •nclosed in the customary medical wrapping of white paper. Majestically, she passed out of sight. If Hugh had followed her tie would have traced the doctor's wife to the door of the inn. The unemployed waiter was on the house-steps, looking about |iim — with nothing to see. He made his bow to Mrs. Vimpany, And informed her that fche landlady had gone out. ' You will do as well,' was the reply. ' Is Mr. Vimpany here ? ' The waiter smiled, and led the way through the passage to the loot of the stairs. ' You can hear him, ma'am.' It was quite true ; Idr. Vimpany's snoring answered for Mr. Vimpany. His wife ilBcended the first two or three stairs, and stopped to speak again |o the waiter. She asked what the two gentlemen had taken to irink with their dinner. They had taken ' the French wine.' ; • And . lothing else ? ' The waiter ventured on a little joke. ' Nothing olee,' he said — *and more than eno( 'h of it, too.' ' Not more than enough, I suppose, for the good of the house,' llrs. Vimpany remarked. ' I beg your pardon, ma'am; the claret the two gentlemen drank is not charged tor in the bill.' ' What do ;• ou mean ? ' The waiter explained that Mr. Moimtjoy had purchased the ■^hole stock of the wine. Suspicion, as well as surprise, appeared fc Mrs. Vimpany's face. She'had hitherto thought it likely that Hiss Henley's gentlemanhke friend might be secretly in love with the young lady. Her doubts of him, now, took a wider range of iistrust. She went on up the stairs by herself, and banged the ioor of the private room as the easiest means of waking the sleeping i |j:|!;|i mil iJ.iii I'iPlI I lllllllilir liiii I I'll ,'' < I i;! Ill', iiiiiii ill I II ^4 BUND LOVE man. To tho utmost noise that she could make in this way, he was perfectly impenetrable. For a while she waited, looking at him across the table with unutterable contempt. There was the man to whom the religion of the land and the law of the land, acting together in perfect harmony, had fettered her for life I Some women, in her position, might have wasted time in useless self-reproach. Mrs. Vimpany reviewed her miserable married life with the finest mockery of her own misfortune. ' Virtue, ' she said to herself, ' is its own reward.' Glancing with careless curiosity at the disorder of the dinner- table, she noticed some wine still left in the bottom of her husband's glass. Had artificial means been used to reduce him to his present condition ? She tasted the claret. No ; there was nothing in the flavour of it which betrayed that he had been drugged. If the waiter was lo be believed, he had only drunk claret — and there he was, in a state of helpless stupefaction, nevertheless. She looked again at the dinner- table, and discovered one, among the many empty bottles, with some wine still left in it. After a moment of reflection, she took a clean tumbler from the sideboard. Here was the wine which had been an object of derision to Mr. Vimpany and his friends. They were gross feeders and drinkers ; and it might not be amiss to put their opinions to the test. She was not searching for the taste of a drug now ; her present experi- ment proposed to try the wine on its own merits. At the time of her triumphs on the country stage — before the date of her unlucky marriage — rich admirers had entertained the handsome actress at suppers, which offered every luxury that the most perfect table could supply. Experience had made her ac- quainted with the flavour of the finest claret — and that experience was renewed by the claret which she was now tasting. It was easy to understand why Mr. Mountjoy had purchased the wine ; and, after a little thinking, his motive for inviting Mr. Vimpany to dmner seemed to be equally plain. Foiled in their first attempt at discovery by her own prudence and tact, his suspicions had set their trap. Her gross husband had been tempted to drink, and to talk at random (for Mr. Mountjoy's benefit) in a state of intoxication 1 What secrets might the helpless wretch not have betrayed before the wine had completely stupefied him ? Urged by rage and fear, she shook him furiously. He woke ; he glared at her with bloodshot eyes ; he threatened her with his clenched fist. There was but one way of lifting his purbhnd stiipidity to the light. She appealed to his experience of himself, on many a former occasion : ' You fool, you have been drinking again— and there's a patient waiting for you.* To that dilemma he was accustomed; the statement of it partially roused him. Mrs. Vimpany tore off the paper wrapping, and opened the medicine- bottle which she had brought with her. H« stared at it ; he muttered to himself : ' Is she going to poison m« ? ' She seJ7ed hie head with one hand, and held the open bottl* n this way, he looking at him e land and the y, had fettered t have wasted d her miserable tune. 'Virtue,' : of the dinner- f her husband's Q to his present ( nothing in the ■ugged. If the t — and there he jred one, among in it. After a a the sideboard, derision to Mr. 8 and drinkers ; 1 the test. She present experi- tage — before the entertained the luxury that the made her ac- that experience ig. It was easy the wine; and, r. Vimpany to first attempt at ins had set their ink, and to talk intoxication 1 jetruyed before )d ly. He woke ; her with his his purbhnd nee of himself, been drinking that dilemma / roused him. d the medicine- going to poison the open bottle BLIND LOVE 6$ ♦o his nose. ' Your own prescription,' she cried, • for yourself and your hateful friends.* His nose told him what words might have tried vainly to say : he swallowed the mixture. ' If I lose the patient,' he muttered oracularly, ' I lose the money.* His resolute wife dragged him out of his chair. The second door in the dining-room led into an empty bed-chamber. With her help, he got into the room, and dropped on the bed. Mrs. Vimpany consulted her watch. On many a former occasion she had learnt what interval of re- pose was required, before the sobering influence of the mixture could successfully assert itself. For the pre&cnt, she had only to return to the other room. The waiter presented himself, asking if there was anything he could do for her. Familiar with the defective side of her husband's character, he understood what it meant when she pointed to the bedroom door. ' The old story, ma'am,* he said, with an air of respectful sympathy. * Can I get you a cup of tea?' Mrs. Vimpany accepted the tea, and enjoyed it thoughtfully. She had two objects in view — to be revenged on Mountjoy, and to find a way of forcing him to leave the town before he could com- municate his discoveries to Iris. How to reach these separate ends, by one and the same means, was still the problem which she was trying to solve, when the doctor's coarse voice was audible, calling for somebody to come to him. If his head was only clear enough, by this time, to understand the questions which she meant to put, his answers might suggest the idea of which she was in search. Rising with alacrity, Mrs. Vimpany returned to the bed-chamber. ' You miserable creature,' she began, ' are you sober now ? ' 'I'm as sober as you are.' ' Do you know,' she went on, ' why Mr. Mountjoy asked you to dine with him ? ' ' Because he's my friend.' ' He is your worst enemy. Hold your tongue ! 1*11 explain what I mean diiectly House your memory, if you have got a memory left. I want to know what you and Mr. Mountjoy talked about after dinner.' He stared at her helplessly. She tried to find her way to Ins recollection by making suggestive inquiries. It was useless; he only complained of being thirsty. His wife lost her self-control. She was too furiously angry with him to be able to remain in the room. Recovering her composure when she was alone, she sent for soda-water and brandy. Her one chance of making him useful was to humour his vile temper ; she waited on him herself. In some degree, the drink cleared his muddled head. Mrs. Vimpany tried his memory once more. Had he said this ? Had he said that? Yes: lie tlionj^lit it likely. Had he, or had Mr. Mountjoy, mentioned Lord Harry's name ? A glimmer of intelli- 66 BUND LOVE 'I 11^; nil I I J liiiii' Mm. ilililjlllllij! !ilii|ii|!fl mi gence showed itself in his stupid eyes. Yes — and they had quar- relled about it: be ratlier thought he had thrown a bottle at Mr. Mountjoy's head. Plad they, either of them, said anything about Miss Henley ? Oh, of course ! AVhat was it ? He was unal! j to remember. Had his wife done bothering him, now ? ' Not quite,' she replied. ' Try to understand what I am going to say to you. If Lord Harry comes to us while Miss Henley is in our house ' ITe interrupted her : ' That's your business.' * Wait a little. It's my business, if I hear beforehand that liis lordship is coming. But he is quite reckless enough to take us by surprise. In that case, I want you to make yourself useful. It' you happen to be at home, keep him from seeing Miss Henley until 1 have seen her first.' ' Why ? • * I want an opportunity, my dear, of telling Miss Henley that I have been wicked enough to deceive her, before she finds it out for herself. I may hope she will forgive me, if I confess every- thing.' The doctor laughed : ' What the devil does it matter whether she forgives you or not ? ' ' It matters a great deal.' * Why, you talk as if you were fond of her ! ' •lam.' The doctor's clouded intelligence was beginning to clear; he made a smart reply : * Fond of her, and deceiving her — aha 1 ' ' Yes,' she said quietly, ' that's just what it is. It has grown on me, little by little ; I can't help liking Miss Henley.' ' Well,' Mr. Vimpany remarked, ' you are a fool ! * Ha looked at her cunningly. ' Suppose I do make myself useful, what am I to gain by it ? ' ' Let us get back,' she suggested, ' to the gentleman who invited you to dinner, and made you tipsy iPor his own purposes.' ' I'll bi'eak every bone in his skin I ' * Don't talk nonsense ! Leave Mr. Mountjoy to me.' * Do yon, take his part ? I can .tell you this. If I drank too much of that poisonous French stuff, Mountjoy set me the example, He was tipsy — as you call it — shamefully tipsy, I give you my word of honour. What's the matter now ? ' His wife (so impenetrably cool, thus far) had suddenly become excited. There was not the smallest fragment of truth in what he had just said of Hugh, and Mrs. Vimpany was not for a moment deceived by it. But the he had, accidentally, one merit — it sug- gested to her the idea which she had vainly tried to find over her cup of tea. ' Suppose I show you how you may be revenged on Mr. Mountjoy,' she said. 'AVell?' * Will you remember what I asked you to do for me, if Lord Harry takes us by surprise '? ' '• d they had quar- n a bottle at Mr. . anything about le was unaMj to v7 what I am going lisB Henley is in BUND LOVE 67 He produced his pocket-diary, and told her to make a memo- randum of it. She wrote as briefly as if she had been writing a telegram : ' Keep Lord Harry from seeing Miss Henley, till I havw seen her first.' ' Now,' she said, taking a chair by the bedside, ' you shall know what a clever wife you have got. Listen to me.' brehand that liis igh to take us by irself useful. If liss Henley until liss Henley that 3 she finds it out I confess every- matter whether ling to clear; he her — aha 1 ' It has grown on y.' )ol ! ' Ka looked iseful, what am I iman who invited rposes.' m 10 me. If I drank too t me the example, give you my word suddenly becoiut truth in what he lot for a moment tie merit — it sug- d to find over her ,y be revenged on for me, if Lord VS M BLIND LOVE m CHAPTER VIII HER FATHKK'S MESSAGE OOKING out of the drawing-room window, for the tenth time at least, Mountjoy at last saw Iris in the street, re- turning to the house. She brought the maid with her into the drawing- room, in the gayest of good spirits, and presented Rhoda to Mount- ' What a blessing a good long walli is, if we only knew it I ' she exclaimed. * Look at my little maid's colour ! Who would suppose that she came here with heavy eyes and pale cheeks ? Except that she loses her way in the town, whenever she goes out alone, we have every reason to congratulate ourselves on our residence at Honeybuzzard. The doctor is Rhoda's good genius, and the doctor's wife is her fairy godmother. Mountjoy's courtesy having offered the customary congratula- tions, the maid was permitted to retire ; and Iris was free to ex- press her astonishment at the friendly relations established (by means of the dinner-table) between the two most dissimilar men on the face of creation. ' There is something overwhelming,' she declared, ' in the bare idea of your having asked him to dine with you — on such a short acquaintance, and being such a man ! I should like to have peeped in, and seen you entertaining your guest with the luxuries of the hotel larder. Seriously, Hugh, your social sympathies have taken a range for which I was not prepared. After the example that you have set me, I feel ashamed of having doubted whether Mr. Vimpany was worthy of his charming wife. Don't suppose that I am un- grateful to the doctor ! He has found his way to my regard, after what he has done for Rhoda. I only fail to understand how he has possessed himself of //ozir sympathies.' So she ran on, enjoying the exercise of her own sense of humom' in innocent 'gnorance of ihe serious interests which she was deriding. Mountjoy tried to stop her, and tried in vain. * No, no,' she persisted as mischievously as ever, ' the subject is too interesting to be dismissed. I am dj'ing to know how you and your guest got through the dinner. Did he take more wine than was good for him ? And, when he forgot his good manners, did he 8«t it all right again by saying, " No offence," and passing the bottle ? ' BLIND LOVE 69 , for the tenth I the street, re- 1 the drawing- loda to Mount - knew it 1 ' she would suppose ? Except that I out alone, we \x residence at md the doctor's ary congratula- vas free to ex- established (by dissimilar men ed, ' in the bare on such a short to have peeped luxuries of the hies have taken ample that you er Mr. Vimpany that I am un- ny regard, after and how he has ense of humoiu vhich she was the subject is >w how you and more wine than manners, did he 3ing the bottle ? ' Hugh could endure it no longer. ' Pray eontroi your high •pirits for a moment,' he said. ' I have news for you from home.' Those words put an end to her outbreak of gaiety, in an instant. * News &om my father ? ' she asked. •Yes.' • Is he coming here ? ' ♦ No ; I have heard from him.' • A letter ? ' ' A telegram,' Mountjoy explained, ' in answer to a letter from me. I did my best to press your claims on him, and I am glad to say I have not ' otir lind feeling, your sense of justice, your consideration for others? ?oor Mrs. Vimpany ! ' ' What has Mrs. Vimpany to do with it ? ' Iris was indignant. ' What has Mrs. Vimpany to do with it ? ' she repeated. ' After that I owe to that good creature's kindness ; after I have pro- used to accompany her — she has so few happy days, poor soul ! — i>n excursions to places of interest in the neighbourhood, do you ex- act me to leave her— no ! it's worse than that— do you expect me throw her aside like an old dress that I have worn out ? And lis after I have so unjustly, so ungratefully suspected her in my ^wn thoughts ? Shameful ! shameful ! ' With some difficulty, Mountjoy controlled himself. After what 7'5 BLIND LOVE m ,|j!li| i' she bad just said, his lips were sealed on the subject of Mrs.Vixnpanj'i true character. He could only persist in appealing to her duty to her father. • You are allowing your quick tem'^er to carry you to strans;* extremities,' he answered. *lf I think it of more importance to hasten a reconciUation with your father than to encourage you to make excursions with a lady whom you have only known for a week or two, what have I done to deserve such an outbreak of anger? Hush! Not a word more now ! Here is the lady herself. As he spoke, Mrs. Vimpany joined them ; returning from her interview with her husband at the inn. She looked first at Iris, and at onco perceived signs of disturbance in the young lady's face. Concealing her anxiety under that wonderful stage smile, which affords a refuge to so many secrets, Mrs. Vimpany said a few word? excusing her absence. Miss Henley answered, without the slightest change in her friendly manner to the doctor's wife. The signs of disturbance were evidently attributable to some entirely unimpor tant cause, from Mrs. Vimpany's point of view. Mr. Mountjoy's discoveries had not been communicated yet. In Hugh's state of mind, there was some irritating influence in the presence of t^ mistress of the house, which applied the spur to his wits, He .aischievously proposed submitting to her the question in dispute between Iris and himself. ' It is a very simple matter,' he said to Mrs. Vimpany. ' Miss Henley's father is anxious that she should return to him, after an estrangement between them which is happily at an end. Do yoi; think she ought to allow any accidental engagements to preveni her from going home at once? If she requests yom: indulgence, under the circumstances, has she any reason to anticipate a re' fusal?' - Mrs. Vimpany's expressive eyes looked up, with saintly resig nation, at the dirty ceiling — and asked in dumb show what she had done to deserve the injury implied b}' a doubt ! ' Mr. Mountjoy,' she said sternly, ' you insult me by asking the question. 'Dear Miss Henley,' she continued, turning to Iris ' you will do me justice, I am sure. Am I capable of allowing mj own feelings to stand in the way, when your filial duty is con' cemed ? Leave me, my sweet friend. Go ! I entreat you, gc home 1 ' She retired up the stage — no, no ; she withdrew to the othei end of the room — and burst into the most becoming of all human tears, theatrical tears. Impulsive Iris hastened to comfort the personification of self-sacrifice, the model of all that was most un selfish in female submission. * For shame ! for shame 1 ' she whispered, as she passed Mountjoy, Beaten again by Mrs. Vimpany — with no ties of relationship t( justify resistance to Miss Herley ; with two women against him entrenched beliind the privileges of their sex — the one last sacri' BLIND LOVE 7« ofMrs.Vimpany'i ing to her duty to Ty you to Btrans[« )re. importance to encourage you to )nly known for a h an outbreak o( the latly herself. turning from her oked first at Iris. the young lady's stage smile, which y said a few word? thoutthe slightest 'ife. The signs of entirely unimpor- Mr. Mountjoy's bating influence in a applied the spur pting to her the Vimpany. ' Miss m to him, after ac t an end. Do yot: omenta to prevem 3 your indulgence :o anticipate a re' with saintly resig' lb show what she bt! i me by asking the , turning to Iris )le of allowing mj filial duty is coii' I entreat you, go drew to the othei ning of all humai id to comfort the that was most un for shame 1 ' she I of relationshii) tc >men against him he one last sacn '% % % I ^1 fice of his own feelings, in the interest s or Iris, that Hugh could make was to control the impulse which naturally urged him to leave the house. In the helpless position in which he had now placed himself, he could only wait to wee what course Mrs. Vim- pany might thiak it desirable to take. Would she request him, in her most politely malicious way, to bring his visit to an end ? No : she looked at him — hesitated —directed a furtive glance towards the view of the street from the window — smiled mysteriously — and completed the acrifice of her own feelings \\\ these words : ' Dear Miss Henley, let me help j'ou to pack up.' Iris positively refused. • No,' she said, ' I don't agree with Mr. Mountjoy. My father leaves it to mc to name the day when we meet. I hold you, my dear, to our engiigemeut — I don't leave an atfectioniite friend as I might leave a stranger.' Even if Mr. Moimtjoy communicated his discoveries to Miss llenley, on the way home, there would be no danger nmv of her believing him. Mrs. Vimpauy put her powerful arm round .ho 1,'enerous Iris, and, with infinite grace, thanked her by a kiss. ' Your kindness will make my lonely lot in life harder than liver to bear,' she murmured, ' when you are gone.' ' l!ut we may hope to meet in London,' Iris ronunded her ; • unless Mr. Vimpany alters his mind about leaving this place.' ' My husband will not do that, dear. He is determmed to try his luck, us he says, in London. In the meantime you will ^ive ine your address, won't you? Perhaps you will even promise to write to me '? ' Ins instantly gave her promise, and wrote down her address in London. Mountjoy made no attempt to interfei > : it was needless. If the maid had not fallen ill on the jouiuey, and if Mrs. Vim- pany had followed Miss Henley to London, there would have been little to fear in the discovery of her address — and there was little to fear now. The danger to Iris \viis not in what might happen while she was living under her fatlier's roof, but in what might happen if she was detained ' by plans for excursions) in Mr. Vim- pany's house, until Lord Harry might join her there. Eather than permit this to happen, Hugh (in sheer desperation) meditated chargiuf^ Mr>. Vimpany, to her face, with being the Irish lord's spy, and proving the accusation by challenging her to produce the registered letter and the diamond pin. While he Mas still struggling with his own reluctan e to inflict this degrading exposure on a woman, the talk between the two ladies canu to an end. Mrs. Vimpany returned again to the window. On this occasion, she looked out into the street — with her handkerchief (was it used as a signal?) exhibited in her hand. Iris, on her side, advanced to Mountjoy. Easily moved to anger, her natiu'e was incapable of sullen perseverance in a state of enmity. To see TTugh still patiently waiting — still riskhig the chaiu-e-i ii 7« HI.IND I.OVF. -If insult -dovotod to her, and forRivinp; lior -was at once a reproach that punished Iris, and a muto appeal that no tnie woman'N heart could resist. With tears in her eyes she said to him : ' There must be no coohiesH between you and nif*. I lost my temper, and spoke shame- fully to you. My dear, I am indeed sorry for it. You are never hard on me — you won't bo hard on me now ? ' She offored her hand to him. He had just raised it to his lips — when the drawing-room door was rouj^hly opened. They both looked roimd. The man of all others whom Hugh least desired to see was the man who now entered the room. The victim of ' light claret ' — privately directed to lurk in the street, until he saw a handkerchief fluttering at the window — had returned to the house ; primed with his clever wife's instructions ; ready and eager to be even with Mountjoy for the dinner at the iim. once A reproach e woman'n heart BUND LOVE 73 lere must he no nd spoke shame - You are never iRed it to his lips ned. They both 1 to see was the ' light claret ' — \ a handkerchief se ; primed with to be even with CHAPTER IX MR. VIMPANY ON INTOXICATION HERE was no unsteadincHP in the doctor's walk, and no flush on his face. He certainly did strut wlien he entered the room; and he hold up his houd witli dignity, wlieii he discovered Mountjoy. But he seemed to preserve )m|8 self-control. Was the man sober again already ? His wife approached him with her set smile ; the appearance of r lord and master tilled Mrs. Vimpany with jjerfectly-assumed otions of agreeable surprise. ^ 'This is an unexpected pleasure,' she said. ' You poldom favour with your company, my dear, so early in the evening ! Are there iwer patients in want of your advice than usual ? ' ■| ' You are mistaken, Arabella. I am here in the performance of a jpkinful duty.' J The doctor's language, and the doctor's manner, presented him Iris in a character that was new to her. What effect had ho oduced on Mrs. Vimpany ? That excellent friend to travellers in stress lowered her eyes to the floor, and modestly preserved ence. Mr. Vimpany pr iceeded to the performance of his duty ; %& painful responsibility seemed to strike him at first from a Ipedical point of view. I ' If there is a poison which undermines the sources of life,' he lemarked, ' it is alcohol. If there is a vice that degrades humanity, || is intoxication. Mr. Mountjoy, are you aware that I am looking § you ? ' I • Impossible not to be aware of that,' Hugh answered. ' May I why you are looking at me ? ' It was not easy to listen gravely Mr. Vimpany's denunciation of intemperance, after what had en place at the dinner of that day. Hugh smiled. The moral jesty of the doctor entered its protest. \ ' This is really shameful,' he said. ' The least you can do is to ffcke it seriously.' I ' What is it ? ' Mountjoy asked. ' And why am I to take it teriously ? ' Mr. Vimpany's reply was, to say the least of it, indirect. If such In expression may be permitted, it smelt of the stage. Viewed in Sonnection with Mrs. Vimpany's persistent assumption of silent mnility, it suggested to Mountjoy a secret understanding, of some Ifind, between husband and wife. - 74 BLfND LOVE f^wm lllliliil;l!liJi I >, I lil. I 'il: ill! ,i::.;'.. Ill 311' fife; III:! ia I ! 01 ill: iiiiii ' ir, ill ! it mm\ \ '111'' if ' What has become ot your conscience, sir ? ' Mr. Vimpany demanded. • Is that silent u:' niter dead within you ? After givina nib a bad dinner, do you demand an explanation ? Ha 1 you shall have it.' Having delivered himself to this effect, he added action to words. Walking grandlj' to the door, he threw it open, and saluted Mount- joy with an ironical bow. Iris observed that act of insolence ; her colour rose, her eyes glittered. ' Do you see what he has just done ? ' she said to Mrs. Vimpany. The doctor's wife answered softly : ' I don't understand it.' After a glance at her husband, she took Iris bj' the hand : ' Dear Miss Henley, shall we retire to my room ? ' Iris drew her hand away. ' Not unloss Mr. Mountjoy wishes it,' she said. ' Certainly not 1 ' Hugh declared. ' Pray remain here ; you presence will help me to keep my temper.' He stepped up to Mi. Vimpany. ' Have you any particular reason for opening that door ? ' he asked. The doctor was a rascal ; but, to do him justice, he was no cOr/ord. ' jiTes,' he said, ' I have a reason.' ' What is it, if yon please ? ' ' Christian forbearance,' Mr. Vimpany answered. ' Forbearance towards me ? ' Mountjoy continued. The doctor's dignity suddenly deserted him. ' Aha, my boy, you have got it at last ! ' he cried. ' It's pleasant to understand each other, isn't it ? You see, I'm a plain-spoken fellow ; I don't wish to give offence. If there's one thing more than another I pride myself on, it's my indulgence for human frailty. But, in my position here, I'm obliged to be careful. Upon my boul, I can't continue my acquaintance with a man who — oh, come 1 come 1 don't look as if you didn't understand me. The circumstances are against you, sir. You have treated me infamously.' ' Under what circumstances have I treated you infamously ? ' Hugh asked. ' Under pretence of giving me a dinner,' Mr. Vimpany shouted — * the worst dinner I ever sat down to ! ' His wife signed to hina to be silent. He took no notice of her. She insisted on being imjM-f, ood. 'Say no more!' she warned him, in a tone of command. The brute side of his nature, roused by JMountjoy's contemptuous composure, was forcing its way outwards ; he set his wife at defiance. ' Tuen don't let him look at me as if he thou^litl was in a stat'^ of intoxication I ' cried the furious doctor. • There c Mie man. Miss, who tried to make me tipsy,' he went on, actually addressing him- self to Iris. ' Thanks to my habits of sobrietj', he has been caught in his own trap. He's intoxicated. Ha, friend Mountjoy, have you got tbo right explanation at last ? There's the door, sir \ ' Mrs. Vimpany felt that this outrage was beyond endurance. If I If' BLIND LOVE 75 " Mr. Vimpany u ? After givina Ha ! you shall i action to words, i saluted Mount- if insolence ; her J has just done ? ' understand it.' he hand : ' Deai klountjoy wishes lain here; you tepped up to Mi . ning that door ? ' itice, he was no i. ed. 1. ' It's pleahiani I a plain-spoken one thing more ence for human e careful. Upon k man who — oh, stand me. The [me infamously.' )u infamously ? ' 'impany shouted 10 notice of her. B ! ' she warned ^'s contemptuous set his wife at I I was in a stat'^ c +he man, Miss, addressing him- has been caught untjoy,have you •r, sir \ ' \ endurance. If I % Bomething tv \ not' done to atone lor u, 2»iias Henley would be capable— h'3i ace, at that momenc, answered for her— of leaving the house witU Mr. Mountjoy. Mrs. Vimpany seized her husband indignantly by the arm. • You brute, you have spoilt everything I ' she said to him. ' Apologise directly to Mr. Mountjoy. You won't ? ' ' I won't I • ' Experience had taught his wife how to break him to her will. • Do you remember my diamond pin '? ' she whispered. He looked startled. Perhaps he thought she had lost the pin. ' Where is it ? ' he asked eagerly. ' Gone to London to be valued. Beg Mr. Mountjoy's pardon, or I will put the money in the bank — and not one shilling of it do you get.' In the meanwhile, Iris had justified Mrs. Vimpany's appre- hensions. Her indignatioi: noticed nothing but the insult offered to Hugh, i he was too seriously agitated to be able to speak to liim. Still admirably calm, his one anxiety was to compose her. ' Don't be afraid,' he said ; ' it is impossible that I can degrade myself by quarrelling with Mr. Vimpany. I only wait here to know what you propose to do. You have Mrs. Vimpany to think of.' ' I have nobody to think of but You,' Iris replied. ' But for me, you would never have been in this house. After the insult that has been offered to you— oh, Hugh, I feel it too I— 1 et us return to London together. I have only to tell Rhoda we are going away, and to make my preparations for travelling. Send for me from the inn, and I will be ready in time for the next > .in.' Mrs. Vimpany approached Mountjoy, leading .ler husband. ' Sorry I have offended you,' the doctor said. ' Beg your pardon. It's only a joke. No offence, I hope ? ' His servility was less endurable than his insolence. Telling him that he need say no mora, Mountjoy bowed to Mrs. Vimpany, and left the room. She retiirned his bow mechanically, in silence. Mr. Vimpany follo"/ed Hugh out — thinking of the diamond pin, and eager to open the house door, as another act of submission which might satisfy his wife. Even a clever woman will occasionally make mistakes; especially when her temper happens to have been roused. Mrs. Vimpany found herself in a false position, due entirely to her own imprudence. She had been guilty of three serious errors. In the first place she had taken it for granted that Mr. Vimpany's restorative mixture would completely revive the sober state of his brains. la the second place, she had tru;-ted him with her vengeance on the man who had found his way to her secrets through her husband's intemperance. In the third place, she had rashly assumed that the doctor, in carrying out her instructions for insulting Mountjoy, would keep within the liniits which she had prescribed to him, when she hit on the audacious idea of attributing his disgraceful conduct to the temptation offered by his host's example. Aa a con* Il hi:l 76 BLIND LOVE III I >ii III '111 Mi I iiiiiiiii ! Hii ^ i ill' aifei I, I I llllli !l!l;lii;i sequence of these acts of imprudence, kIhi had exposed herself to a misfortune that she honestly dreaded — the loss of the place which she had carefully maintained in Miss Henley's estimation. In the contradictory confusion of feelings, so often found in women, this deceitful and dangerous creature had been conquered — little by little, as she had herself described it — by that charm of sweetness and simplicity in Iris, of which her own depraved nature presented no trace. She now bpoke with hesitation, almost with timidity, in addressing the woman whom she had so cleverly deceived, at the time when they first met. * Must I give up all. Mis Henley, that I most value ? ' she asked. ' I hardly underptand you, Mrs. Vimpany.' ' I will try to make it plainer. Do you really mean to leave me this evenixig ? ' ' I do.' ' May I own that I um grieved to hear it? Your departure will deprive me of some happy hours, in your company.' ' Your husband's conduct leaves me no alternative,' Iris replied. ' Pray do not humiliate me by speaking of my husband ! I only want to know if there is a harder trial of my fortitude still to come. Must I lose the privilege of being your friend ? ' ' I hope I am not capable of such injustice as that,* Ins de^ clared. ' It would be hard indeed to lay the blame of Mr. Vimpany 's shameful behavioiir on you. I don't forget that you made him offer an apology. Some women, married to such a man as that, might have been afraid of him. No, no; you have been a good friend to me — and I mean to remember it.' Mrs. Vimpany's gratitude was too sincerely felt to be expressed with her customary readiness. She only said what the stupidest woman in existence could have said : * Thank you.' In the silence that followed, the rapid movement of carriage- wheels became audible in the street. The sound stopped at the door of the doctor's house. i! 3' W, i \i !.:■!, Ill i;!sii!ii BLIND LOVE n id herself to a e place which ation. In the a women, this ered— little by a of sweetness .tare presented ith timidity, in eceived, at the it value?' she ■an to leave me r departi;re will ve,' Iris replied. y husband! 1 brtitude still to id?' 8 that,' li-is de> fMr. Vimpany's you made him a man as that, ,ve been a good be expressed at the stupidest ent of carriage- stopped at the CHAPTER X THE MOCKERY OV DKCEIT AD Moimtjoy arrived to take Iris away, before her pre- parations for travelling were complete ? Both the ladies hurried to the window, but they were too late. The rapid visitor, already hidden from them under the portico, was knocking smartly at the door. In another minute, a man's voice in the hall asked for ' Miss Henley.' The tones — clear, mellow, and pleasantly varied here and there by the Irish aecent— were not to be mistaken byany one who had already hear them. The man in the hall was Lord Harry. In that serious emergency, Mrs. Vimpany recovered her pre- seace of mind. She made for the door, with the object of speaking to Lord Harry before he could present himself in the drawing-room. But Iris had heard him ask for her in the hall ; and that one circum- stance instantly stripped of its concealments the character of the woman in whose integrity she had believed. Her first impression of Mrs. Vimpany— so sincerely repented, so eagerly atoned for — h*cl been the right impression after all! Younger, lighter, and quicker tlian the doctor's wife, Iris reached the door first, and laid her hand c?i ihe lock. • Wait { jiinute,' she said. Mr J. Vimpany hesitated. For the first time in her life at a loss what to say, she could only sign to Iris t'" stand back, Iris refused to mo -e. She put her terrible question in the plainest words : : ' How does Lord Harry know th i I am in this house ? ' The wretched woman (listening intently for the sound of a step onwthe stairs) refused to submit to a shameful exposure, even now. To her perverted moral sense, any falsehood was acceptable, as a means of hiding herself from discovery by Iris. In the very face of detection, the skilled deceiver kept up the mockery of deceit. ' My dear,' she said, ' what has come to you ? Why won't you let me go to my room ? ' Iris eyed her with a look of scornful surprise. ' What next ? ' sb'i said. 'Are you impudent enough to pretend thet I have not found you out, 3'et ? ' Shefci desperation still sustained Mrs. Vimpany 's courage. She pilHyed her assumed character against the contemptuous incredulity i mm^ I \ iliiiii iliillfili; Hi I ; illillliliP !! bl. Mi\ 'liil'iiil,','' lir'ii^ii""' r« BLIND T.O of Iri3, as she had sometimes played her theatrical characte; against the hissing and hooting of a brutal audience. * MioS Henley,' she said, ' you forget youi'self ! ' ' Do you think I didn't see in your face,' Iris rejoined, ' that ?/f heard him, too ** Answer my question.' * What question ? ' * You have just heard it.' 'No!' * You false woman ! ' ' Don't forget, Miss Henley, that you are speaking to a lady.' ' I am speaking to Lord Harry's spy ! ' Their voices rose loud ; the excitement on either side had reach- 1 its climax ; neither the one nor the other was composed enough ■ notice the sound of the carriage-wheels, leaving the house Jiirii In the meanwhile, nobody came to the drawing-room door. M Vimpany was too well acquainted with the hot-headed Irish 1 not to conclude that he would have made hiiuself heard, and wm: have found his way to Iris, but for Some obstacle, below stairs, : which he was not prepared. The doctor's wife did justice to t doctor at last. Another person had, in all probability, heard Lo: Harry's voice — and that person might have been her husband. Was it possible that he remembered the service which she b asked of him ; and, even if he had succeeded in callmg it to mii. v-as his discretion to be trusted ? As those questions occurred her, the desire to obtain some positive information was more th: she was able to resist. Mrs. Vimpany attempted to leave the diT ing-room for the second time. But the same motive had already urged Miss Henley to actio Again, the younger woman outstripped the elder. Iris descend- the stairs, resolved to discover the cause of the sudden suspensic of events in the lower part of the house. il 1 1 J 1, 'i i! 1 il i 1 l;!ii^' 1 \\ liiiipii^ ! . m beatrical characte: ence. If!' 5 rejoined, ' that if BLWD LOVB 79 eaking to a lady.' her side had reach 5omposed enougli ng the house a^'a ig-room door. M )t-headed Irish I :lf heard, and wo; cle, below stairs, : e did justice to t. bability, heard Iv n her husband, fvice which she h a calling it to mil iiestions occurred btion was more tb: }d to leave the dra ss Henley to actio; ler. Iris descendt 3 sudden suspensii t i£ CHAPTEK XI MRS. VIMPANY'S farewell HE doctor's wife followed Miss Henley out of the room, aa far as the landing — and waited there. She had her reasons for plac- ing this restraint on herself. The position of the landing concealed her from the view of a person in the hall. If she only listened for the sovmd of voices she mij^ht safely discover whether Lord Harry was, or was not. still in the house. In the first event, it would be easy to interrupt his in- terview with Iris, before the talk could lead to disclosures which Mrs. Vimpany had every reason to dread. In the second event, theru would be no need to show herself. Meanwhile, Iris opened the dining-room door and looked in. Nobody was there. The one other room on the ground floor, situ- ated at the back of the building, was the doctor's consulting-room. She knocked at the door. Mr. Vimpany'a voice answered : ' Come in.' There e was alone, drinking brandy and ter, and smoking his big black cigar. Wliere is Lord Hja-ry ? ' she said. 'In Ireland, I suppose,' .Mr. Vimpany answered quietly. Iris wasted no time in making useless inquiries. She closed the door again, and left him„ He, too, was undoubtedly in the con. iipiracy to keep her deceived. How had it been done ? Where was the wild lord, at that moment '? Whilst she was pursuing these reflections in the hall, Ehoda came up from the servants' tea-table in the kitchen. Her mistresa iwiiil]'!'!: ^ i:l \iK\n I 80 BLIND LOVE gave her the necessary instruction for packing, and promised to help her before long. Mrs. Vimpai, s audacious resolution to dis- pute the evidence of her own senses, buII dwelt on Miss Henley's mind. Too angry to think of the embarrassment which an inter- view with Lord Harry would produce, after they had said their farewell words in Ireland, she was determined to prevent the doctor's wife from speaking to him first, and claiming him as an accomplice in her impudent denial of the truth. If he had been, by any chance, deluded into leaving the house, he would sooner or later discover the trick that had been played on him, and would certainly return. Iris took a chair in the hall. • ••••••• It is due to the doctor to relate that he had indeed justified his wife's confidence in him. The diamond pin, undergoingvaluation in London, still representor a present terror in his mind. The money, the money — he was tlic most attentive husband m England when he thought of the monev 1 At the time when Lord Harry's carriage stopped at his house-do' r, he was in the dining-room, taking a bottle of brandy from the cellaret in the sideboard. Looking instantly out of the windo\v, he discovered who the visitor was, and decided on consulting Iiis instructions in the pocket diary. The attempt was rendered useless, as soon as he had opened the book, by the unlucky activity of tl' servant in answerin'" the door. Her master stopped her in tb; hall. He was pleasantly conscious of the recovery of his cunninj; But his memory (far from active under the most favourable circum- stances) was slower than ever at helping him now. On the spur of the moment he could only call to mind that he had been ordered to prevent a meeting between Lord Harry and Iris. ' Show the gentle- man into my consulting-room,' he said. Lord Harry found the doctor enthroned on his professional chair, surprised and delighted to see his distinguished friend. The impetuous Irishman at once asked for Miss Henley. ' Gone,' Mr. Vimpany answered. ' Gone — where ? ' the wild lord wanted to know next. ' To London.' 'Byherself^' ' No ; with ^.x'r. Hugh Mountjoy.' Lord Harrj/ seized tha doctor by the shoulders, and shook him: ' You don't mean to tell me Mountjoy is going to marry her ? ' Mr. Vimpany feared nothing but the loss of money. The weaker end the older man of the two, he nevertheless followed the younj: lord's example, and shook him with right good-will. 'Let's see how you like it in your turn,' he said. ' As for Mountjoy, I don't know whether he is married or single — and don't care.' * The devil take your obstinacy ! When did they start ? ' ' The devil take your questions ! They started not long since.' ' Might I catch them at the station ? ' •Yes; if you go at once,' fiiii PLIh'D LOVE 8i , and promised to I resolution to dis- Dn Misa Henley's t which an inter- ey had said their d to prevent the biming him as an If he had been, le would sooner or a him, and woula ideed justified his m, still representei oney — he was tho ght of the monev I at his house -do'r, brandy from t'le it of the windoAv, on consulting his s rendered useless, ;ky activity of th lopped her in tb ry of his cunninf; 'avourable circuni- s. On the spur of id been ordered to ' Show the gentle- I his professional Lshed friend. The ey. w next. s, and shook him : 1 marry her ? ' mey. The weaker )llowed the younj: d-will. ' Let's see Mountjoy, I don't fc care.' hey start ? ' id not long since.' So the desperate doctor carried out his wife's instructionr. — irtthout remembering the conditions which had accompanied them. ' The way to the station took Lord Harry pr; it the inn. He saw Hugh Mountjoy through the open house door ;> vying his bill at the b»r, In an instant the carriage was stopiJed, and the two men (Mver on friendly terms) were formally bowing to each other. - • I was told I should find you,' Lord Harry said, ' with Miss Hinley, at the station.' ' Who gave you your information ? ' ': * Vimpany — the doctor.' ' ' He ought to know that the train isn't due at the station for an Nor yet.' # ' Has the blackguard deceived me ? One word more, Mr. Mbuntjoy. Is Miss Henley at the inn ? ' , 'No.' • Are you going with her to London ? ' J**I muet leave Miss Henley to answer that.' .' • Where is she, hir ? ' 'There is an end to everything, my lord, in the world we live vek: You have reached the end of my readiness to answer questions." The Englishman and the Irishman looked at each other : the Anglo-Saxon was impenetrably cool ; the Celt was flushed and angry. They might have been on the brink of a quarrel, but for Lord Harry's native quickness of perception, and his exercise of it at that moment. Wlien he had called at Mr. Vimpany's house, and had asked for Iris, the doctor had got rid of him by means of a lie. After this discovery, at what conclusion could he arrive ? The doctor was certainly keeping Iris out of his way. Reasoning in tMs rapid manner, Lord Harry let one offence pass, in his headlong eagerness to resent another. He instantly left Mountjoy. Again the carriage rattled back along the street ; but it was stopped before it jeached Mr. Vimpany's door. iLord Harry knew the people whom he had to deaJ with, and tom]niniod lici* as she ascended the .etairs. After a little hesitation, Lord Harry followed thom. Mrs. 'Vimpany turned on him when they reaclied the drawing-room Janding. ' Must I shut the door in s our face ? ' she asked. He was as pleasantly patient as ever : . ' You needn't take the troubl*» to do thsxt, my dear ; I'll only j»sk your leave to sit down and wait on the stairs. When you have done with Miss Henley, just call me in. And, by t e way, don't e alarmed in case of a little noise--»ay a heavy man tumbling [downstairs. If the blackguard it's your niiMfortune to be married Jto happens to show himself, I «hall be under the necessity of kick- ing him. That's all.' Mrs. Vimpany closed the door. She spoke to Iris respectfully, as she might have addressed a stranger occupying a higher rank in 'life than herself. ' There is an end, madam, to our short acquaintance ; and, as ewe both know, an end to it for ever. When we first met — let me tell the truth at last ! — I felt a malicious pleasure in deceiving you. After that time, I was surprised to find that you gi'ew on my liking, Can you understand the wickedness that tried to resist you ? It was useless ; your good influence has been too strong for me. ^Strange, isn't it ? I have lived a life of deceit, among bad people. What could you expect of me, after that ? I heaped lies on lies — ^^ would have denied that the sun was in the heavens — rather than find myself degraded in your opinion. Well ! that is all over — ^jUseless, quite useless now. Pray don't mistake me. I am not '^attempting to excuse myself; a confession was due to you; the confession is made. It is too late to hope that you will forgive me. If you will permit it, I have only one favour to ask. Forget me.' She turned away with a last hopeless look, which said as plainly as if in words : ' I am not worth a reply.' Generous Iris insisted on speaking to her. ' I believe you are truly sorry for what you have done,' she said; ' I can never forget that — I can never forget You.' She held "out her pitying hand. Mrs. Vimpany was too bitterly conscious of the past to touch it. Even a spy is not beneath the universal reach of the heartache. There were tears in the miserable womaji's eyes when she had looked her last at Iris Henley. % a2 TB BUND LOVE m^ ;.'i:' m I I'l: I I ■ lililiillillliiH. Ill ^%.s ■ 'i f''' 'f ' I I nil lii m !!!l|lii CHAPTEE XII LORD HARRY'S DEFENCE FTEB a short interval, the drat? ing-room door was opened agaii Waiting on the threshold, tb Irish lord asked if he migh come in. Iris replied coliU; ' This is not my house she said ; ' I must leav you to decide for youi self.' Lord Harry crosse the room to speak t her — and stoppeii There was no sign c relenting towards hiii in that dearh loved face. ''. wonder whethe: it would be \ relief to you, he suggested witl piteous humility, 't I went away ? ' It she had been ' 'v^**villllllll ^'^^^ *'° herself, shf would have said. Yea. yfmw'jBi Where is the woma: to be foimd, in her "WmmK^^^ place, with a hear hard enough to have MIK set her that example She pointed to a chair. m He felt her indiil gence gratefully. Fol- lowing the impuL of the moment, he attempted to excuse his conduct. . ' There is only one thing I can say for myself,' he confessed, "'■ didn't begin by deceiving you. "While you had your eye on m Iris, I was an honourable man.' This extraordinary defence reduced her to alienee. Wac theii another man in the world who would ha^ e pleaded for pardon i: that way ? ' I'm aft-aid I have not made myself understood,' b eaid. ' JMay I try again ? ' BLIND LOVE iterval, the drau was opened agak tie threshold, tl> ked if he migh s replied coUlh 1 is not my house aid; ' I must leav^ 10 decide for youi lOrd Harry crosse room to speak t and stopped e was no sign c: ting towards hiii in that dearly loved face. wonder whethe. it would be i relief to you, suggested witi oous humility, 'i: vent away ? ' le to herself, sb lere is the woma: ,ce, with a hear her that example felt her indul ving the impuls uct. . f,' he confessed, '. I your eye on mt ilence. Wat thei aded for pardon i: )lf understood,' b • If you pleas*. Tho vagaV>ond nobleman made a veHolute effort to explain him* ^wlf intelligibly, tins time : /: ' See now I We said good-bye, over there, in tlx^ poor old ioland. Well, indeed I meant it, when I owned that I was unworthy of you. I didn't contradict you, when you said you could never be my wife, gfter such a life as 1 have led. And, do remember, I submitted to your returning to England, without presuming to make a complaint. Ah, my sweet girl, it was easy to submit, while I could look at you, $nd hear the sound of your voice, and beg for that last kiss— and get it. Reverend gentlemen talk about the fall of Adam. What was that to the fall of Harry, when he was back in his own little fottage, without the hope of ever seeing you a^'am ? To the best of imy recollection, the serpent that tempted Eve was up a tree. I found the serpent that tempted Me, sitting waiting in my own arm- tiair, and bent on nothing worse than borrowing a trille of money, eed I say who she was ? I don't doubt that you think her a Iricked woman.' I Never ready in speaking of acts of kindness, on her own part, Iris answered with ^ome little reserve : ' I have learnt to think letter of Mrs. Vimpany than you suppose.' ' Lord Harry began to look like a happy man, for the lirst time •ince he had entered the room. ( ' I ought to have known it I ' he burst oiit. • Yours is the well- balanced mind, dear, that tempers justice with mercy. Mother .^impany has had a hard life of it. Just change places with her |pr a minute or so — and you'll understand what she has had to go ^ough. Find yourself, for instance, in Ireland, without the means 1^ take you back to England. Add to that, a husband who sends 3^u away to make money for him at the theatre, and a manager iotan Irishman, thank God I) who refuses to engage you — after )ur acting has filled his dirty pockets in past days — because your eauty has faded with time. Doesn't your bright imagination see all now ? My old friend Arabella, ready and anxious to serve Hie — and a sinking at this poor fellow's heart when he knew, if he See lost the trace of you, he might lose it for ever — there's the nation, as they call it on the stage. I wish I could say for myself #hat I may say for Mrs. Vimpany. It's such a pleasm-e to a ciever woman to engage in a little deceit — we can't blame her, can lie?' : Iris protested gently against a code of morality which included tile right of deceit among the privileges of the sex. Lord Harry Ijppped through her fingers with the admirable Irish readiness ; he i%reed with Miss Henley that he was entirely wrong. -'i ' And don't spare me while you're about it,' he suggested. ' Lay i}l the blame of that shameful stratagem on my shoulders. It was ^despicable thing to do. When I had you watched, I acted in a manner— I won't say unworthy of a gentleman ; have I been a gentleman since I first ran away from home ? Wliy, it's even beea IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A 4^ h 1.0 I.I lu ». la ^m 1(2.5 ,«o "^~ It^H "" lii 1 2.2 I 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" ► V] <^ /a ^/). ^ ■> // V c>/® /s^ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation ^ »■' V <>^ :\ \ °<«^>. 6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 il ll,' \ BLIND LOVE said my way of speaking is no longer the way of a gentleman ; and small wonder, too, after the company I've kept. Ah, well 1 I'm off again, darling, on a sea voyage. Will you forgive me now ? or will you wait till I come back, if I do come back ? Ood knows I ' He dropped on his knees, and kissed her hand. ' Anyway,' he said, • whether I live or whether I die, it will bo some consolation to re- member that I asked your pardon — and perhaps got it.' ' Take it, Harry ; I can't help forgiving you 1 She had done her best to resist him, and she had answered in those merciful words. The etTect was visible, perilously visible, as he rose from his knees. Her one chance of keeping the distance between them, on which she had been too weak to insist, was not to encourage him by silence. Abruptly, desperately, she made a commonplace inquiry about his proposed voyage. ' Tell me,' she resumed, ' where are you going when you leave England ? ' ' Oh, to find money, dear, if I can — to pick up diamonds, or to hit on a mine of gold, and so forth.' The fine observation of Iris detected something not quite easy in his manner, as he made that reply. He tried to change the subject : she deliberately returned to it. ' Your account of your travelling- {)lan8 is rather vague,' she told him. ' Do you know when you are ikely to return ? ' He took her hand. One of the rings on her fingers happened to be turned the wi'ong way. He set it in the right position, and dis- covered an opal. ' Ah ! the unlucky stone 1 ' he cried, and turned it back again out of sight. She drew away her hand. ' I asked you,' she persisted, ' when you expect to retm'n ? ' He laughed — not so gaily as usual. * How do I know I shall ever get back ? ' he answered. ' Some- times the seas turn traitor, and sometimes the savages. I have had so many narrow escapes of my life, I can't expect my luck to last forever.' He made a second attempt to change the subject. 'I wonder whether you're likely to pay another visit to Ireland ? My cottage is entirely at your disposal, Iris dear. Oh, when I'm out of the way, of course 1 The place seemed to please yoar fancy, when you saw it. You will find it well taken care of, I answer for that.' Iris asked who was taking care of his cottage. The wild lord's face saddened. He hesitated ; rose firom his chair restlessly, and walked away to the window ; returned, and made up his mind to reply. * My dear, you know her. She was the old housekeeper at His voice failed him. He was unable, or unwilling, to pronounce the name of Arthur's farm. Knowing, it is needless to say, that he had alluded to Mrs. Lew- son, Iris warmly commended him for taking care of her old nurse. At the same time, she remembered the imfriendly terms in which the housekeeper had alluded to Lord Harry, when they had talked of him. i; ; li ilill/ nj.TND LOVE «7 i answered in iiamond^, or to • Did you find no ditficult}-,' she asked, • in persuading Mrs. Lew. Bon to enter your service ? ' * Oh, yes, plenty of difficulty ; I found my bad cliaracter in my way, as usual.' It was a relief to him, at that moment, to talk ot Mrs. Lewson ; the Irish humour and the Irish accent both asserted themselves in his reply. • The curious old creature told me to my face I was a scamp. I took leave to remind her that it wai the duty of a respectable person, like herself, to reform scamps ; I also mentioned that I was going away, and she would be master and mistress too on my small property. That softened her heart towards me. You will mostly find old women amenab'e, if you get at them by way of their dignity. Besides, there was another lucky circumstance that helped me. The neighbourhood of my cottage has some attraction for Mrs. Lewson. She didn't say particularly what it was — and I never asked her to tell me.' ' Surely you might have guessed it, without being told,* Iris re- minded him. ' Mrs. Lewson's faithful heart loves poor Arthur's memory — and Arthur's grave is not far from your cottage.' ' Don't speak of him 1' It was said loudly, peremptorily, passionately. He looked at her with angry astonishment in his face. ' You loved him too I ' he Buid. * Can you speak of him quietly ? The noblest, truest, sweetest man that ever the Heavens looked on, foully assassinated. And the wretch who murdered him still living, free — oh, what is God's providence about ? — is there no retribution that will follow him ? no just hand that will revenge Arthur's death ? ' As those fierce words escaped him, he was no longer the easy, gentle, joyous creature whom Iris had known and loved. The furious passions of the Celtic race glittered savagely in his eyes, and changed to a grey horrid pallor the healthy colour that was natural to his face. ' Oh, my temper, my temper I ' he cried, as Iris shrank irom him. * She hates me now, and no wonder.* Ho staggered away from her, and burst into a convulsive fit of crying, dreadful to hear. Compassion, divine compassion, mastered the earthlier emotion of terror in the great heart of the woman who loved him. She followed him, and laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder. ' 1 don't hate you, my dear,' she said. • I am sorry for Arthur — and, oh, so sorry for You ! * He canght her in his arms. His gratitude, his repentance, his silent farewell were all expressed in a last kiss. It was a moment, never to be forgotten to the end of their lives. Before she could speak, before she could think, he had left her. She called him back, through the open door. He never returned ; he never even replied. She ran to the window, and threw it up — and was just in time to see him signal to the carriage and leap into it. Her horror of the fatal purpose that was but too plainly rooted in him — her conviction that he was on the track of the assassin, self devoted to exact the terrible penalty of Vlood for blood — ' w \M H9, BUND LOVE emboldened her to insist on being heard. ' Come back/ she cried. ' I must, I will, speak with you.' He waved his hand to her with a gesture of despair. ' Start your horses,' he shouted to the coachman. Alarmed by his voice and his look, the man asked where he should drive to. Lord Harry pointed furiously to the onward road. ' Drive,' he answered, * to the Devil 1 * THE END 07 THE FIRST PEBIOD II 91 :i::!i:':' hii> 1 . [ !■'!■ .11; J,|:i|,l m. kck,' she cried. iBpair. ' Start )d by his voice , Lord Harry answered, * to BUND LOVE 89 THE SECOND PERIOD CHAPTER XIII IRIS AT HOME LITTLE more than four months had passed, since the return of Iris to her father's house. Among other events which occurred, during the earhcr part of that interval, the course adopted by Hugh Mountjoy, when Miss Henley's suspicions of the Irish lord were first communicated to him, claims a foremost place. It was impossible that the devoted friend of Iris could look at her, when they met again on their way to the station, without perceiving the signs of serious agitation. Only waiting until they were alone in the railway-carriage, she opened her heart unreservedly to the man in whose clear intellect and true sympathy she could repose implicit trust. He listened to what she could repeat of Lord Harry's language with but httle appearance of surprise. Iris had only reminded him of one, among the disclosures which had escaped Mr. Vimpany at the inn. Under the irresistible influence of good wine, the doctor had revealed the Irish lord's motive for remaining in his own country, after the assassination of Arthur Mountjoy. Hugh met the only difficulty in his way, without shrinking from it. He resolved to clear his mind of its natural prejudice against the rival who had been preferred to him, before he assmued the respon- sibility of guiding Iris by his advice. When he had in some degree recovered confidence in his own imbiassed judgment, he entered on the question of Lord Harry's purpose in leaving England. Without attempting to dispute the conclusion at v/hich Iris had arrived, he did his best to alleviate her distress. In his opinion, he was careful to tell her, a discovery of the destination to which Lord Harry proposed to betake himself, might be achieved. The Irish lord's allusion to a new adventure, which would occupy him in searching for diamonds or gold, might indicate a contemplated pursuit of the assassin, as well as a plausible excuse to satisfy Iris. it was at least possible that the murderer might have been warned of his danger if he remained in England, and that he might have contemplated directing his flight to a distant country, which would ' ■ ' 7 90 BLIND LOVE iiii'll %}. ', ''' Tl'l'liil'- not only offer a bale rel'u<^'e, but also huld uul (iu itb mineral troasurosi a hope of gain. Assuming that these circumstances had really happened, it was in Lord Harry's character to make sure of his revenge, by embarking in the steamship by which the assassin of Arthur Mountjoy was a passenger. Wild as this guess at the truth undoubtedly was, it had one merit : it might easily be put to the test. Hugh had bought the day's newspaper at the station. He pro- posed to consult the shipping advertisements relating, in the first place, to communication with the diamond-mines and the goldfields of South Africa. This course of proceeding at once informed him that the first steamer, bound for that destination, would sail from London in two days' time. The obvious precaution to take was to have the Dock watched ; and Mountjoy's steady old servant, who knew Lord Harry by sight, was ihe man to em^^loy. Iris naturally inquired what good end could be attained, if the anticipated discovery actually took place. To this Mountjoy answered, that the one hope — a faint hope, he must needs confess— of inducing Lord Harry to reconsider his desperate purpose, lay in the influence of Iris herself. She must address a letter to him, announcing that his secret had been be- trayed by his own language and conduct, and decUring that she would never again see him, or hold any communication with him. if he persisted in his savage resolution of revenge. Such was the desperate experiment which Mountjoy's generous and imselfish devotion to Iris now proposed to try. The servant (duly entrusted with Miss Henley's letter) was E laced on the watch — and the event which had been regarded as ttle better than a forlorn hope, proved to be the event that really took place. Lord Harry was a passenger by the steamship. Mountjoy's man presented the letter entrusted to him, and asked respectfully if there was any answer. The wild lord read it — looked (to use the mes-^enger's own words) like a man cut to the heart- seemed at a loss what to say or do — and only gave a verbal answer : * I sincerely thank Miss Henley, and I promise to write when the ship touches at Madeira.' The servant continued to watch liiiu when he went on board the steamer ; saw him cast a look back- wards, as if suspecting that he might have been followed; and theu lost sight of him in the cabin. The vessel sailed after a long in- terval of delay, but he never reappeared on the deck. The ambiguous message sent to her aroused the resentment of Iris ; she thought it cruel. For some weeks perhaps to come, she was condemned to remain in doubt, and was left to endure the trial of her patience, without having Mountjoy at hand to encourage and console her. He had been called away to the south of France by the illness of his father. But the fortunes of Miss Henley, at this period of her life, had their brighter side. She found icubon to conjriatulute herself on tb« Hrr.VD I ovE 91 le aBsassin o! IS, it had one attained, if the reconciliation which imtl l)iuu^'ht her back to her lather. Mr. Henlev had received her, not perhaps with afr«ction, but certainly with kindness. * If we don't get in each other's way, we s'iall do very well ; I am glad to see j'ou again.* That was all he had said to her, but it meant much from a soured and selfish man. Her only domestic anxiety was caused by another failure in the health of her maid. The Doctor declared that medical help would be of no avail, while Rhoda Bonnet remained in London. In the country she had been born and bred, and to the country she must return. Mr. Henley's large landed property, on the north of London, happened to include a farm in the neighbourhood of Muswell Hill. AVisely waiting for a favourable o) portunity. Iris alluded to the good qualities which had made Khoda almost as much her fi'iend as her servant, and asked leave to remove the invalid to the healthy air of the farm. Her anxiety about the recovery of a servant so astonished Mr. Henley, that he was hurried (as he afterwards declared) into granting his daughter's request. After this concession, the neces- sary arrangements were easily made. The influence of Iris won the goodwill of the farmer and his wife ; Rhoda, as an expert and willing needlewoman, being sure of a welcome, for her own sake, in a family which included a number of young children. Miss Henley had only to order her carriage, and to be within reach of the farm. A week seldom passed without a meeting between the mistress and the maid. In the meantime, Mountjoy (absent in France) did not forget to I write to Iris. His letters offered little hope of a speedy return. The doctors [had not concealed from him that his father's illness would end fatally ; but there were reserves of vital power still left, which might prolong the struggle. Under these melancholy circumstances, [he begged that Iris would write to him. The oftener she could tell [him of the little events of her life at home, the more kindly oLo jwould brighten the days of a dreary life. Eager to show, even in a trifling matter, how grate full j' she [appreciated Mountjoy's past kindness. Iris related tlu. sitnple story [of her life at home, in weekly letters addressed to lier good friend. r telhng Hugh (among other things) of Rhoda's establishment it the farm, she had some unexpected results to relate, which had followed the attempt to provide herself with a new maid. Two young women had been successively engaged— each recom- lended, by the lady whom she had last served, with that utter isrpfjard of moral obligation which appears to be shamelessly on \e increase in the England of our day. The first of the two maids, lescribed as ' rather excitable,' revealed infirmities of temper which iggested a lunatic asylum as the only fit place for her. The 3cond young woman, detected in stealing eau-de-cologne, and sing it (mixed with water) as an intoxicating drink, claimed merci- I IT -^ m I'!, I ' " '! 'iii V'l 1^1 'I iM '''''iij M li||jj|!ii If: iiliSilil 92 HLIMJ LOyf- fill construction of her misconduct, on tlin j^round that she had bees niiriled by tiie example of her last mistress. At the third attempt to provide herself with a servant, Iris was able to report the discovery of a responsible person who told the truth— an unmarried lady of middle age. In this case, the young woman was described as a serviuu thoroughly trained in the performance of her duties, honest, sobor industrious, of an even temper, and unprovided with a 'follower in the shape of r. sweetheart. Even her name sounded favourably in the ear of a stranger — it was Fanny Mere. Iris asked how i servant, apparently possessed of a faultless character, came to bi in want of a situation. At this question the lady sighed, and acknow- ledged that she had ' made a dreadful discovery,' relating to tlir past life of her maid. It proved to be the old, the miserably old. story of a broken promise of marriage, and of the penalty paid as iisual by the unhappy woman. ' I will say nothing of my own feelings,' the maiden lady explained. ' In justice to the other female servants, it was impossible for me to keep such a person in my house ; and, in justice to you, I must most imwillingly stand in tin way of Fanny Mere's prospects by mentioning my reason for parting; with her.' ' If I could see the young woman and speak to her,' Iris said, 'I should like to decide the question of engaging her, for myself.' The lady knew the address of her discharged servant, and — with some appearance of wonder— communicated it. Miss Henlej wrote at once, telling Fanny Mere to come to her on the following day. When she woke on the next morning, later than usual, an event occurred which Iris had been impatiently expecting for some time l)ast. She found a letter waiting on her bedside table, side by siil. with her cup of tea. Lord Harry had written to her at last. Whether he used his pen or his tongue, the Irish lord's condnc' was always more or less in need of an apology. Here were the guiltv one's new excuses, expressed in his customary medley of frank con fession and flowery language : ' I am fearing, my angel, that I have offended you. You have toe surely said to yourself, This miserable Harry might have made me happy by writing two lines — and what does he do ? He seudsa message in words which tell me nothing. ' My sweet girl, the reason why is that I was in two minds whei; your man stopped me on my way to the ship. ' Whether it was best for you — I was not thinking of myself— « confess the plain truth, or to take rafuge in affectionate equivocation ' ; was more than I could decide at the time. When minutes art enough for your intelligence, my stupidity wants days. Well ! I sa» it at last. A man owes the truth to a true woman ; and you are; true woman. There you find a process of reasoning — I have bet: five days getting hold of it. ' But tell me one thing hrst, Brutus killed a man ; Charloi: Bl.IND LOVE 03 she had been mnt, Iris wao who told the as a serviini honest, sobcv ti a ' follower ,ed favourably asked how ;i ' er, came to bi i,andacknow- relating to tb( miserably old. )enalty paid as ijT of ray own le other female , person in uqv ;ly Stand in th( ison for parting er.'Iris said, '1 )r myself.' rant, and— witb Miss Henley ,n the following usual, an event T for some time ble, side by sidf r at last. 1 lord's conduct A were the guilty ley of frank con irou. You have light have made lo ? He sends « two minds whei: ng of myself-'f ate equivocatiou hen minutes ar* ays. WeUl Isa' i; and you are ng— I have ber man Chail Curday killed a man. One of the two victims was a fine tyrant, and the other a mean tyrant. Nobody blames those two historictii I assassins. Why then blame me for wishing to make a third ? Is a mere modem murderer beneath my vengeance, by comparison with 1 two classical tyrants who did their murders by deputy ? The man who killed Arthur Mountjoy is (next to Cain alone) the most I atrocious homicide that ever trod the miry ways of this earth. There is my reply I I call it a crusher. So now my mind is easy. Darling, let me make your mind easy I next. When I left you at the window of Vimpany's house, I was off to [the other railroad to find the murderer in his hiding-place by the Iseaside. He had left it ; but I got a trn jc, and wont back to London -to the Docks. Some villain in Ireland, who knows my purpose, mst have turned traitor. Anyhow, the wretch has escaped me. Yes ; I searched the ship in every corner. He was not on board, [as he gone onbefore me, by an earlier vessel ? Or has he directed lisHight to some other part of the world ? I shall find out in time, [is day of reckoning will come, and he, too, shall know a violent ieath ! Amen. So be it. Amen. ' Have I done now ? Bear with me, gentle Iris — there is a word lore to come. ' You will wonder why I went on by the steamship — all the way ^0 South Africa — when I had failed to find the man I wanted, on t>oard. What \.^a8 my motive ? You, you alone, are always my lotive. Lucky men have lound gold, lucky men have found liamonds. Why should I n(/t be one of them ? My sweet, lot us ^uppose two possible things ; my own elastic convictions would call lem two likely things, but ne> er mind that. Say; I come back a Reformed character ; there is yo\^r only objection to me, at once re- loved ! And take it for granted that I return with a fortune of my ^wn finding. In that case, what becomes of Mr. Henley's objection me ? It melts (as Shakespet re says somewhere) into thin air. low do take my advice, for onc( . Show this part of my letter to ^our excellent father, with my lo^e. I answer beforehand for the )nsequences. Be happy, my Lr.dy Harry — as happy as I am — and )ok for my return on an eaiiier day than you may anticipate. ^ours till death, and after. • Harry.' Like the Irish lord, Miss Henley was • in two minds,' while she )Be, and dressed herself. There were parts of the letter for which xe loved the writer, and parts of it for which she hated him. WTiat a prospect was before that reckless man — what misery, ^hat horror, might not be lying in wait in the dreadful future 1 If failed in the act of vengeance, that violent death of which he id written so heedlessly might overtake him from another hand. ■ he succeeded, the law might discover his crime, and the infamy expiation on the scaffold might be his dreadful end. She tiu'ned, 94 PI.IND 1.0 VE \\\ \\ I'lii ■I ! r \ I \ i' '■ '' ''k : 1: ill i 1 I ': f ' 1 1 Hhuddering, fruui the conteinplatiou of those hideous possibilities, and took refuge in the hope of his safe, his guiltless return. Even if his visions of success, even if his purposes of reform (how hope- less at his age !) were actually realised, could she consent to marry the man who had led his life, had written his letter, had contem- plated (and still cherished) his merciless resolution of revenge? No woman in her senses could let the bare idea of being his wife enter her mind. Iris opened her writing-desk, to hide the letter from all eyes but her own. As she secured it with the key, her heart sank under the return of a terror remembered but too well. Once more, the superstitious belief in a destiny that was urging Lord Harry and herself nearer and nearer to each other, even when they seemed to be most widely and most surely separated, thrilled her under the chilling mystery of its presence. She dropped help- lessly into a chair. Oh, for a friend who could feel for her, who could strengthen her, whose wise words could restore her to her better and calmer self! Hugh was for away ; and Iris was left to sutler and to struggle alone. Heartfelt aspirations for help and sympathy ! Oh, irony of cir- cumstances, how were they answered? The housemaid entered the room, to annoiince the arrival of a discharged servant, with a lost character. • Let the young woman come in,' ris said. Was Fanny Mere the friend wliom she had been lougnig for ? She looked at her troubled face in the glass — and laughed bitterly. BUND LOVE bilities, Even V hope- > marry jontem- ivenge ? his wife le letter key, her ioo well. } urf,'ing en when , thrilled ed help- tier, who ir to her IS left to ly of cir- l" entered it, with a nuy Mere ad at her 95 CHAPTER XIV TUU LADY'S MAID T was not easy to form a positive opinion of the young woman who now presented herself in Miss Henley's room. If the Turkish taste is truly reported as valuing' beauty in the female figure more than beauty in the female face, Fanny Mere's per- sonal appearance might have found, in Constan- tinople, 'the approvu) which she failed to re- ceive in London. Slim and well balanced, firm- ly and neatly made, she interested men who met her by accident (and sometimes even women), if they happened to be walking behind her. When they quickened their steps, and, p^ ■- sing on, looked back at her face, they lost all interest in Fanny from that moment. Painters would have described the defect in her face as ' want of colour.' She was one of the whitest of fair female human beings. Light flaxen hair, faint blue eyes with no expression in them, and a complexion which looked as if it had never been stirred by a circulation of blood, produced an eifect on her fellow-creatures in general which made them insensible to the beauty of her figure, and the grace of her movements. There was no betrayal of bad health in her strange pallor : on the contrary, she suggested the idea of rare physical strength. Her quietly re- spectful manner was, so to say, emphasised by an underlying self- possession, which looked capable of acting promptly and fearlessly m the critical emergencies of life. Otherwise, the expression oi I 9^ Bt.mn LovF i!, li ! W 'A *: :|t f , r.liB m '^^^m 1 1 uy;. ; oharncter in her fitcc wan PRHontinlly pnHHivo. FToro was a steady, rcHuIutu youii({ woiiiini, (iohscsmmI of ({luilitirs wliicli fuilud to show theinsolvos on the Hiii-t'iicu wiiethur good ([Utilities or \jA qualities experience ulono c(>\il(l dotonuiMe. Finding it inipoHsihIo. jii(leing well aware that he would insist on a meeting, she engaged to write again and propose an appointment. In making this conces- sion. Iris might have found it easier to persuade herself that she A as yielding to sheer necessity, if she had not been guiltily conscious iT a feeling of pler.sure at the prospect of seeing Lord Harry again, returning to her an innocent man. There was some influence, in tiiis train of thought, which led her mind back to Hugh. She i ('i,'retted his absence — wondered whether he would have proposed throwing her letter to the Irish lord into the fire— sighed, closed the I'iivelope, and sent the letter to the post. On the next day, she had arranged to drive to Muswell Hill, and i<> pay the customary visit to Rhoda. Heavy rain obliged her to w ait for a fitter opportunity. It was only on the third day that the sky cleared, and the weather was favourable again. On a sunshiny autumn morning, with a fine keen air blowing, she ordered the open carriage. Noticmg. while Fannj' Mere was helping her to dress, that the girl looked even paler than usual, she said, with her custo- mary kindness to persons dependent on her, ' You look as if a drive in the fresh air would do you good — you shall go with me to the farm, and see Rhoda Bennet.' When they stopped at the house, the farmer's wife appeared, attending a gentleman to the door. Iris at once recognised the local medical man. * You're not in attendance, I hope, on Rhoda Bennet ? ' she said. The doctor acknowledged that there had been some return of the nervous derangement from which the girl suffered. He depended mainly (he said) on the weather allowing her to be out as much as possible in the fresh air, and on keeping her free from all agitation. Rhoda was so far on the way to recovery, that she was now walking in the garden by his advice.. He had no fear of her, provided she was not too readily encouraged, in her present state, to receive visitors. Her mistress would be, of course, an BLIND LOVE «oS •xccption to this rule But even Miss Henley would perha[)8 do \\ ell not to excite the girl bj' prolonging her visit. There was one other suggestion which he would venture to make, while he had the opportunity. Rhoda was not, as he thought, warmly enough clothed for the time of year ; and a bad cold might be easily caught by a person in her condition. Irib entered the farm-houae ; leaving Fanny Mere, after what the doctor had said on the subject of visitors, to wait for her in the carriage. After an absence of barely ten minutes Miss Henley returned ; personally changed, not at all to her own advantage, by the intro- duction of a novelty in her dross. Slie had gone into the farm- house, wearing a handsome mantle of sealskin. When she came out again, the mantle had vanished, and there appeared in its place a connnon cloak of drab-coloured cloth. Noticing the expres- sion of blank amazement in the maid's face. Iris burst out laughing. ' How do you think I look in my new cloak '/ ' she asked. Fanny saw nothing to laugh at in the sacrifice of a sealskin mantle. ' I must not presume, Miss, to give an opinion,' she said gravely. ' At any rate,' Iris continued, ' you must be more than mortal if my change of costume doesn't excite your curiosity. I found Rhoda Bennet in the garden, exposed to the cold wind in this ugly flimsy thing. After wliat the doctor had told me, it was high time to assert my authority. I insisted on changing cloaks with Rhoda. She made an attempt, poor dear, to resist ; but she knows me of old — and I had my way. I am sorry you have been prevented from seeing her ; you shall not miss the opportunity when she is well again. Do you admii-e a fine view ? Ver;y well ; we will vary the drive on our return. Go back,' she said to the coachman, ' by Highgate and Hampstead.' Fanny's eyes rested on the shabby cloak with a well-founded distrust of it as a protection against the autumn weather. She ventured to suggest that her mistress might feel the loss (in an open carriage) of the warm mantle which she had left oi. Rhoda's shoulders. Iris made light of the doubt expressed by her maid. But by the time they had passed Highgate, and had approached the beginning of the straight road which crosses the high ridge of Hampstead Heath, she was obliged to acknowledge that she did indeed feel the cold. ' You ought to be a good walker,' she said, looking at her maid's firm well-knit figm'e. ' Exercise is all I want to warm me. Wha do you saj' to going home on foot ? ' Fanny was ready and willing to accompany her mistress. The carriage was dismissed, and they set forth on their walk. As they passed the inn called ' The Spaniards,' two women who were standing at the garden gate stared at Iris, and smiled. A few paces further on, they were met by an errand boy. He too looked at the young lady, and put his hand derisively to his head, with a I«'<^ A7/A7> f.OVF I r !|; \\r ■ \ i Hlirill whiHtle uxptoHHivi* oi malicioiiN oiijoyinoMt. ' I nppoar (o aiuUHc tIjoHo poopio,' Iris Haiti. ' SVlmt (io iiwy h(k> in mo f ' Fanny unHWoroil with an «<(T()rl t»» proKcrvo her gravity, which was not quito HiuvM'ssl'nlly (lis;,Miistul : • 1 hrg your pardon, Miss; I think thoy notice \\w cnrioiiH contrast bctwoon your beautiful bonnet ami your shubby oloak.' IVrsons of oxt IImMj' t<>n»p(nt have a H(miho of ridicMilo, and a dread of it, nniut*'lli<;iiile to tluf it,' she asked shurply, ' lu'litre I nent away the earrinfje '.' llow can I walk hack, witli everybody lau},'hiiig at nie '! ' She pausetl relleeted a little — and led ihe way oil" the hiijh road, on the ri elump of (ir-treos which (MimmandH the fanunis view in that part of (lie Heath. 'There's but ono thintj to be doiu<.' she said, recovering' her good tenmer • ' we nnist miike my gitind bonne! suit itself (o my miser- able cloak. You will pull out the feath(>r and rip oil' the lace (and keep them for yoiirsell", if you like), and then 1 ought to look shabby enough from head to foot, I am sure I No ; not hen*; they may notice us from the road and what may the fools not do when they see you tearing the ornaments oil' n>y lunuu^t 1 Come down below the trees, where the ground will hide us.' They had ne.irly doscendod tho steep slope which leads to the valley, below tin* clump of tirs, when thoy were stopped by a terrible discovery. Close at thei. feet, in a hollow of tho grotmd, was stretched the insensible body of a num. Ho lay on his side, with his face turned away from them. An open razor had dropped close by him. Iris stooped over the prostrate man, to examine his faco. Blood flowing fi'om a frigluiul wound in his throat, was the lirst thing that she saw. Her eyes closed instinctively, recoiling from that ghastly sight. The uext instant sho opened them again, and saw his face- Dying or dead, it wns the face of Lord Marry. The shriek that burst from her, on nuiking that horrible dis- covery, was heard by two men who were crossing the lower heath at some distance. They saw the women, and ran to tlu^n. One of the men was a labourer : the other, better dressed, looked like a foreman of works. He was the first who arrived on the spot. ' Enough to frighten you out of your senses, ladies,' he said civilly. ' It's a case of suicide, I should say, by the look of it.' ' For God's sake, let us do something to help him 1 * Iris burst out. ' I know him 1 I know him I ' Fanny, equal to the emergency, asked Miss Henley for her handkerchief, joined her own handkerchief to it, and began to bandage the wound. ' Try if his piilse is beating.' she said quietly to her mistress. The foreman made himself useful by examining the suicide's pockets. Iris thought she could detect a faint flutter- i! ntiNn lovr her I to etly ling rter- 107 iiiK in the pulnu. ' Is theru 110 liouior living itoar ? ' nho cried, there no caniii^o to ho found in tliiH lutrriltlc placo ?' The foroinan had diHrovcrnd two lotli'iH. hiH road her own uttujo on ono of tlioin. 'I'lin otiior wan acl'lifmnrid ' To t ho person who may (ind my l>ody. Slio toro tlio onvolnpc upon. It contained ono of Mr. Vimpnny'H canlH, with tlinso (IcHiMsriifc words written on it in pencil : 'Take nio to tin* doctor'H a(hln>Hs, and lot liim hiiry mo, or diHHcct mo, wliiclievjT ho pleasoK." IriH Hhuwcd the card to llio foreman. ' Ih it near hrm ? ' who MHkcd. « V'cm, MinM ; we nii;^'ht ^!;et him to that, phicc in no tinM\ if ihrre waH a conveyance of any kind to h(t fouiul.' Still prrHcrvin^ her pr('K(>nd in \\w direction of "i'he SpaniaidH ' inn. ' We ini^ht get what w<» wiiMl> then),' she Huid. ' Sliall I ^o ? ' IriH signed to her l(» attitnd to the woinided man, and aHcetidod the sloping ground. Slut run on towardH lln^ road. The men, directed by l''ain)y, raisod the hody and hIdwIv lullowod hor, (Uverg- ing to an easier ancc-nt. Ah Iris rc^achcd tho road, a four-wheol cab pasHcd her. Without an instant'H Ix^Kitation, kIio chilled to the driver to stop, ilo pullod up Iiih liorKe. Shr confronted a Holitary gentlenuin, Hlarmg oul< of the window of the cah, and looking as if ho thought that a lady had taken a liberty with him. Iris allowed the outraged stranger no op|>ortunity of oxprcKHing his Bontiments. BroathlcBB as she was, hIio spoke (irHt. ' I'ray forgive me — you ar(! alone in the (wih -there in room for a gentlenuin. (hingcrously woinukd -he will bleed to death if we don't find help for him -the place is close by- oh, don't refuse me! ' She looked back, holding fast by the cab door, and saw Fanny and the men slowly api)roacliing. ' Bring him hen; I ' slie cried. ' Do nothing of the sort I ' shouted the gentleman in poHsession of the cab. But Fanny obeyed her mistress ; and the men obeyed Fanny. Iris turned indignantly to the merciless stranger. • I ask you to cio an act of Christian kindness,' she said. 'How can you, how dare you, hesitate ? ' ' Drive on I ' cried the stranger. ' Drive on, at your peril,' Iris added, on lier side. The cabman sat, siieni; and stohd, on the box, waiting for events. Slowly the men came in view, bearing Lord Harry, still insen- sible. The handkerchiefs on his throat were saturated with blood. At that sight, the cowardly instincts of the stranger completely mastered him. ' Let me out 1 ' he clamoured ; ' let me out I ' Finding the cab left at her disposal. Iris actually thanked him I He looked at her with an evil eye. ' I have my suspicions, I can tell you,' he muttered. ' If this comes to a trial in a court of law, I'm not going to be mixed up with it. Innocent people have been hanged before now, when appearances were against them.' He walked off; and, by way uf completing the revelation of his own meanness, forgot to pay his fare. If m I ^J Hi- 1^ It ii ^^i' i(>8 /i/./jv/> rorr On Mir point of Htni'tin^ tli(> lioi-Ht' to piirNun liiiii, (lio oabiunn wtiH olTrotunlly Htopood. IrJH Hhowed liiia n Hovoroigii. Upon thii hint (like Olhnllo) ho Rpnko. •All riKht, MiRH. 1 hvo your poor f^ontloinan is a-biooding. You'll tako caro — won't yon?— that ho tlooHu't Hpoil my ciiHhions.' The driver was not a ill-('oM(litioii(,'any box. ' Tho tools of my t ratio,' lio contimiod ; ' I'm goiiij? to BOW up his lonlsliip'B fhnmt.' Slmddoring as Bhe heard thoBO words, Iris luuricd out of tho room. Fanny followed her mistross up tho stairs. In hor own very difl'orent way, the maid was as unpoMotraltly oompoaod as Mr. Vimpany himself. *Thoro was a Roc'ond lottor found in tho gontlonian's pockot, Miss,' sho said. • Will you oxonso my rominding you that yoii have not read it yet.' Iris road tho linos tl.iit follow: •Forf^ivo mo, my doar, for tho last timo. My lottor is to say that I shall trouble you no moro in this world -and, as for the othor world, who knows? I brou^'lit sonio monoy back with mo, from tho ;;old(iolls. It was not oiii)n;,'h to bo oallod a fortune — I nuian tho sort of I'ortwno which ini;,'ht persuade your fathor to let you marry mo. Woll I horo in Kn^jlaiul, I had an opportunity of makin}^ ton tim(>s moro of it (Mi tho turf; aiul, lot me add, with private information of tho horses whioh I niii^dit certainly count on to win. 1 don't stop to ask by what crui-l ri)j,'uory I was tempted to my ruin. My money is lost; and, with it, my last hoi)e of n happy and harmless life with you ooni's to an ond. I dio, Iris doar, with the death of that lio)>o. Somothiuf,' in me sooms to shrink from suicide in tho uj,'ly }j;loom of great overgrown London. I prefer to make away with myself anumg the liolds. whore the groon will remind mo of doar old Ireland. When you think of me somotimes, say to yourself the poor wretch lovod mo — and perhaps tho oarth will lie lighter on llarry for those kind words, and the flowers (if ytni favour mo by planting a few) may grow prettier on my grave.' There it ondod. The heart of Iris sank as she read that melancholy farewell, expressed in language at once wild and childish. If he sm'vived his desperate attempt at self-ilestruction. to what end would it load ? In silence, tho woman who loved him put his letter back in her bosom. Watching her attentively — affected, it was impos- sible to say how, by that mute distress — Fanny Mere proposed to go downstairs, and ask once more what hope there might be for the wounded man. Iris knew the doctor too well to let the maid leave her on a useless errand. 'S^me nien might be kindly ready to relieve my suspense,' she said ; ' the man downstairs is not one of them. I must wait till he comes to me, or sends for me. But there is something I wisli to say to you, while we are alone. You have been but a short time in my service, Fanny. Is it too soon to ask if you feel some interest in me ? ' ' If I can comfort you or help you, Miss, be pleased to tell me how.' She made that reply respectfully, in her usual quiet manner ; her pale cheeks showing no change of colour, her faint blue eyes resting steadily on her mistress's face. Iris went on * hifcii TiLIND LOVE It nise, * If I agk yon to koop what lias tiappeiiud, un iliiu drutiiiiul dtiy, a secret from everybody, may I trust you— little as you know of mo — as 1 miRht have truHtod Rlioda U«nnot? ' * I promise it, Miss.' In nayinj? those few words, the unde> monstrativo woman soemod to think that she had said onouf^h. Iris had no alternative but to ask another favour. •And whatever curiosity yoti may f(!ol, will you be contimt to do mo a kindness — without wantinj,' an explanation ? ' g * It is my duty to respect my mistroHs's secrets ; I will do my duty.' No sentunent, no olTir of rospoctful sympathy; ap'Kitivo declaration of fiilolity, loft impenotninly to spoak for itsoii. Was the girl's heart hardened by the disaster which had darkened her life? Or was she the Hulnnissive victim of that inbred rcsorvo, which shrinks from the frank expression of foeliuf^, and lives and dies self'-imprisonod m it.s own secrecy? A third explanation, founded j)robal)ly on a steadier basis, was sii^f^ested by Miss Henley's remembrance of their first interview. Fatmy's nature had revealed a sonsitixe side, when she was first encouraj,'ed to liupo for a refu{?e from ruin followed perhaps by starvation and dealh. JudKni{i so far from experience, a soimd conclusion seemed to follow. When circumstances stronf^ly excited the girl, there was a dormant vitality in her that revived. At other times, when events failed to agitate her by a direct appeal to personal interests, her constitutional reserve held the rule. She could be impenetrably honest, steadily industrious, truly grateful — but the intuitive ex- pression of feeling, on ordinary occasions, was beyond her reach. After an interval of nearly half an hour, Mr. Vimpany made his appearance. Pausing in the doorway, he consulted his watch, and entered on a calculation which presented him favourably from a professional point of view. ' Allow for time lost in reviving my lord when he fainted, and stringing him up with a drop of brandy, and washing my hands (look how clean they are !), I haven't been more than twenty minutes in mending his tiiroat. Not bad surgery, Miss Henley.' * Is his life safe, Mr. Vimpany ? ' * Thanks to his luck — yes.' * His luck ? ' * To be sure ! In the first place, he owes his life to your finding him when yon did ; a little later, and it would have been all over with Lord Hai'ry. Second piece of luck : catching the doctor at home, just when he was most wanted. Third piece of luck : our friend didn't know how to cut his own throat properly. You needn't look black at me. Miss ; I'm not joking. A suicide with a razor in his hand has generally one chance in his favour — he is ignorant of anatomy. That is my lord's case. He has only cut throiigh the upper fleshy part of his throat, and has missed the larger blood vessels. Take my word for it, he will do well enough now ; thanks to you, thanks to me, and thanks to his own ignor- ance. What do you say to that way of putting it ? Ha I my brains .|i .»^,WV,J^J-SH«S'^ mi m i;h 113 BL/ND LOVE I II 11 'I lit ijf;l 5 ' > i n 5 ' J il&l uk. arc in good working order to-day ; I haven't been drinking any of Mr. Mounijoy's claret — do you take the joke, Miss Henley ? ' Chuckling over the recollection of his own drunken audacity, h© happened to notice Fanny Mere. ' Hullo t is this another injured person in want of me ? You're as white as a sheet, Miss. If you're going to faint, do me a favour — wait till I can get the brandy-bottle. Oh I it's natural to you, is it ? I see. A thick skin and a slow circulation ; you will live to be an old woman. A friend of yoiu-s, Miss Henley ? ' Fanny answered composedly for herself: ' I am Miss Henley's maid, sir.' ' What's become of the other one ? ' Mr. Vimpany asked. * Aye ? aye ? Staying at a farm-house for the benefit of her health, is she ? If I had been allowed time enough, I would have made a cure of Rhoda Bennct. There isn't a medical man in England who knows more than I do of the nervous maladies of women — and what is my reward ? Is my waiting-room crammed with rich people coming to consult me ? Do I live in a fashionable Square ? Have I even been made a Baronet ? Damn it — I beg your pardon, Miss Henley — but it is irritating, to a man of my capacity, to be completely neglected. For the last three daj's not a creature ha« darkened the doors of this house. Could I. say a word to you ? ' He led Iris mysteriously into a corner of the room. ' AbonA our friend downstairs ? ' he began. ' When may we hope that he will be well again, Mr. Vimpany?' ' Maybe in tliree weeks. In a month at most. I have nobody here but a sttipid servant girl. We ought to have a conipeteni nurse. I can get a thoroughly trained person fi'om the hospital ; but there's a little difficulty. I am an outspoken n^an. AMien I am poor, I own I am poor. My lord must be well fed ; the nurse must be well fed. Would you mind advancing a small loan, to provide beforehand for the payment of expenses ? ' Iris handed her purse to him, sick of tlie sight of Mr. Vimpany. ' Is that all ? ' she asked, making for the door. ' Much obliged. That's all.' As they approached the room on the ground floor, Iris stopped : her eyes rested on the doctor. Even to that coarse creature, the eloquent look spoke for her. Fanny noticed it, and suddenly turned her head aside. Over the maid's white face there passed darkly an expression of unutterable contempt. Her mistress's weakness had revealed itself — weakness for one of the betrayers of women ; weakness for a man ! In the meantime, Mr. Vimpany (liaving got the money) was ready to humour the enviable young lady with a well-filled purse. 'Do you want to see my lord befiro you go ? ' he asked, amused at the idea. ' Mind ! you mustn't disturb him I No talking, and no crying. Ready ? Now look at hiu).' There he lay on a shabby little sofa, in an ugly little room ; his eyes closed ; one helpless hand hanging down ; a stillness on his BUND LOVE 113 ghastly face, horribly suggestive of the stillness of death — there he lay, the reckless victim of his love for, the woman who had despe- rately renounced him again and again, who had now saved him for the third time. Ah, how her treacherous heart pleaded for him I Can you drive him away from you after this ? You, who love him, what does your cold-blooded prudence say, when you look at him now? She felt herself drawn, roughly and suddenly, back into the passage. The door was closed ; the doctor was whispering to her. ' Hold up. Miss I I expected better thuigs of you. Come ! come ! — no fainting. You'll find him a diC'arent man to-morrow. Pay us a visit, and judge for yourself.' After what she had suffered, Iris hungered for sympathy. ' Isn'u it pitiable ? ' she said to her maid as they left the house. * I don't know, Miss.' • You don't know ? Good heavens, are you made of stone ? Have you no such thing as a heart in you ? ' ' Not for the men,' Fanny answered. * I keep my pity for the women.' Iris knew what bitter remembrnncos made their confession in those words. How she missed Rhoda Bennet at that moment 1 v'.\> ij. . m-sfff-gh, 114 BL/ND LOVE r 'If, w > I 1 ' if-; If! \ ,^1^ \i'\ ' CHAPTER XIX MR. IIENLEY AT HOME g'OR a month, Monntjoy remained in his cottage on the shores of the Sol way Firth, superintending the repairs. His correspondence with Iris was regulai'ly continued; and, for the first time in his experience of her, was a cause of disappointment to him. Her rephes revealed an incomprehensible change in her manner of writing, which became more and more marked in each succeeding instance. Notice it as he might in his own letters, no explanation followed on the part of his correspondent She, who had so frankly confided her joys and sorrows to him in past days, now wrote with a reserve which seemed only to permit the most vague and guarded allusion to herself. The changes in the weather ; the alter- nation of public news that was dull, and public news that was interesting ; the absence of her father abroad, occasioned by doubt of the soundness of his investments in foreign securities ; vague questions relating to Hugh's new place of abode, which could only have proceeded from a preoccupied mind— these were the topics on which Iris dwelt, in wi'iting to her faithful old friend. It was hardly possible to doubt that something must have happened, which she had reasons — serious reasons, as it seemed only too natural to infer — for keeping concealed from Mountjoy. Try as he might to disguise it from himself, he now knew how dear, how hopelessly dear, she was to him by the anxiety that he suffered, and by thr jealous sense of injury which defied his self-command. His im- mediate superintendence of the workmen at the cottage was no longer necessary. Leaving there a representative whom he could trust, he resolved to answer his last letter-, received from Iris, in person. The next day he was in London. Calling at the house, he was informed that Miss Henley was not at home, and that it was impossible to say with certainty when she might return. While he was addressing his inquiries to the servant, Mr. Henley opened the library door. ' Is that you, Mountjoy ? ' he asked. ' Come in : I want to speak to you.' Short and thick-set, with a thin-lipped mouth, a coarsely-florid complexion, and furtive greenish eyes ; hard in his manner, and harsh in his voice ; Mr. Henley was one of the few heartless men, who are innocent of deception on the surface : he was externally a BUND LOVE rvant came back with a message. 'Miss Henley begs you ill excuse her. She will write to you.' Would this promised letter be like the other letters which he had received from her in Scotland ? Mountjoy's gentler nature reminded him that he owed it to his remembrance of happier days, and truer friendship, to wait and see. He was just getting into the cab, on his return to London, when a closed carriage, with one person in it, passed him on its way to Redburn Road. In that person he recognised Mr. Henley. As the cab-driver mounted to his seat, Hugh saw the carriage stop at Number Five. BUND LOVR lai CriVTTl'.H XXI THK PARTING WCENB HE evening had advanced, : ii*i the candles had just been lit in Moimt- joy's sitting-room at the hotel. His anxiety to hear from Iris had been doubled and trebled, since he had made the discovery of her father's visit to the doctor's house, at a time when it was im- possible to doubt that Lord Harry was with her. Hugh's jealous sense of wrong was now mastered by the nobler emotions which filled him with pity and alarm, when he thought of Iris placed be- tween the contending claims of two such men as the heart- less Mr. Henley and the reck- less Irish lord. He had re- mained at the hotel, through the long afternoon, on the chance that she might write to him speedily by the hand of a messenger — and no letter had arrived. He was still in expectation of news which might reach him by the even- ing post, when the waiter knocked at the door. ' A letter ? ' Mountjoy asked. ' No, sir,' the man answered ; ' a lady.' Before she could raise her veil, Hugh had recognised Iris. Her manner was subdued ; her face was haggard ; her hand lay cold and passive in his hand, when he advanced to bid her welcome. He placed a chair for her by the fire. She thanked him and declined to take it. With the air of a woman conscious of committing an intrusion, she seated herself apart in a corner of tlie room. W,, ;i' :•! m] w laa M/./jVD roj'r. • I have tried to write to yon, and I have not been able to do it. She said that with adoj^ged rosifjnation of tone and manner, bo un* like herself that Mountjoy looked at her in dismay. 'My friend,' she went on, ' your pity is all I may hope for ; I am no longer worthy of the interest you once felt in me.' Hugh saw that it would be useless to remonstrate. He asked if it had been his mi.ifortune to offend her. • No,' she said, ' you have not offended me.' ' Then what in Heaven's name does this change in you moan ? * ' It means,' she rsaid, as coldly as ever, ' that I have lost myself- respect; it means that my father has renounced me, and that you will do well to follow his examine. Have 1 not led you to bolieve that I could never be the wife of Lord Harry ? Well, I have de- ceived you — I am going to marry him.' ' I can't believe it. Iris ! I won't believe it 1 ' She handed him the letter, in which the Irishman had declared his resolution to destroy himself. Hugh read it with contempt. ' Did my lord's heart fail him ? ' he asked scornfully. ' He would have died by his own hand, Mr. Mountjoy * 'Oh, Iris— "Mr/ '" ' I will say " Hugh," if you prefer it — but the days of ottr familiar friendship are none the less at an end. I found Lord Harry bleed- ing to death from a wound in his throat. It was in a lonely place on Hampstead Heath ; I was the one person who happened to pass by it. For the third time, you see, it has been my destinj' to save him. How can I forget that ? My mind will dwell on it. I try to find happiness — oh, only happiness enough for me — in cheering my poor Irishman, on his way back to the life that I have preserved. There is my motive, if I have a motive. Day after day I have helped to nurse him. Day after duy I have heard him say things to me — what is the use of repeating thcra ? After years of resist- ance I have given way ; let that be enougli. My one act of discre- tion has been to prevent a quarrel between my father and Harry. I beg your pardon, I ought to have said Lord 'Harry. When my father came to the house, I insisted on speaking with him alone. I told him what I have just told yott. He said : " Think again before you make your choice between that man and me. If you decide to. marry him, you will live and die without one farthing of my money to help you." He put his w\atch on the table between us, and gave me live minutes to make up my mind. It was a long five minutes, but it ended at last. He asked me which he was to do — leave his will as it was, or go to his lawyer and make another. I said, " You will do as you please, sir." No ; it was not a hasty reply — you can't make that excuse for me. I knew what I was saying ; and I saw the future I was preparing for myself, as plainly as you see it ' Hugh could endure no longer the reckless expression of her despair. ' No 1 ' he cried, ' you don't see your future as I see it. Will you hear what I have to say, before it is too late ? ' ful if n/j.\n Lovh: 123 •It is too late already. But I will listen to you if you wish it.' • And, while you listen,' Mouutjoy added, ' you will acquit me of being influenced by a sellish motive. I have loved you dearly. Perhaps, in secret, I love you still. But, this I know ; if you were to remain a single woman for the rest of your life, there would bo no hope for Me. Do you believe that I am speakiiij? the truth ? ' ' You always speak the truth.' ' I speak in your interest, at least. You think you see your future life plainly — you are blind to your future life. You talk as if you were resigned to suffer. Are you re8if,'ned to lose your sense of right and wrong '? Are you resigned to lead the life of an outlaw, and — worse still— not to feel the disgrace of it ? ' • Go on, Hugh.' • You won't answer me ? ' • I won't shock you.' • You don't discourage me, my dear ; I am still obstinate in the hope of restoring you to your calmer and truer self. Let me do every justice to Lord Harry. I believe, sincerely believe, that his miserable life has not utterly destroyed in him the virtues which distinguish an honom*able man. But he has one terrible defect. In his nature, there is the fatal pliability which finds companion- able qualities in bad friends. In this aspect of his character, ho is a dangerous man— and he may be (forgive me !) a bad husband. It is a thankless task to warn you to any good purpose. A wife — and a loving wife more than another— feels the deteriorating in- fluence of a husband who is not worthy of her. His ways of think- ing are apt to become, little by little, her ways of thinking. She makes allowances for him, which he does not deserve ; her sense of right and wrong becomes confused ; and before she is aware of it herself, she has sunk to his level. Are you angry with me ? ' ' How can I be angry with you ? Perhaps you are right.' • Do you really mean that ? ' • Oh, yes.' ' Then, for God's sake, reconsider your decision I Let me go to your father.' ' Mere waste of time,' Ixis answered. ' Nothing that you can «ay will have the least effect on him.' ' At any rate,' Mountjoy persisted, ' I mean to try.' Had he touched her ? She smiled — how bitterly Hugh failed to perceive. ' Shall I tell you what happened to me when I went home to- day ? ' she said. ' I found my maid waiting in the hall — with everything that belongs to me, packed up for my departure. The girl explained that she had been forced to obey my father's positive orders. I knew what that meant — I had to leave the house, and find a place to live in.' ' Not by yourself, Iris ? ' ' No — with my maid. She is a strange creatm'e ; if she feels sympathy, she never expresses it. " 1 am your grateful servant, 124 BLIND t.OlE 'M i- f ii \'\\' m* 11^ i.;; lill: i MisH. Wheie you p;o, I f^o." That was all she said; I was not (lis;ii)p(jinti'il 1 mil {^cltiii^' iiscil to Fniiny More already. Mine is a iouoly lot- i II I it? I have acquaintances among the tow ladies who souietinies visit at my father's house, but no ricnds. My mother's family, as I have always been told, cast her off when she miuri(3il a man in tnule, with a doubtful ro))iilation. I don't oven kiu)w where my relations live. Isn't Lord Harry good enough for mo, lis I ;im now? When I look at my prospects, is it wonderful if I tallv like a desperate woman ? There is but one encouraging circunistiinco that I can see. This misplaced love of mine that overybod.v condenms lias, oddly enough, a \irtue that everybody must admire. 1 1 oilers a refuge to a woman who is alone in the woi'ld.' Mountjoy denied indignantly that she was alone in the world. ' Ts I here uny pnitection that a man can offer to a woman,' he asked. • which I am not ready and eager to offer to You ? Oh, Iris, wlui,i liavo I done to 'k>servo that you should speak of yourself as li-ieiidlcss in my hearing! ' Jle had touched her at last. Their tender charm showed itself once more in hor eyes and in her smile. She rose and ap- ])roaeliid him. 'AVliat excpiisito kindness it must be,' she said, 'that blinds a clever man like you to obstacles which anyone else can see 1 lvememl)er, dear Hugh, what the world would say to that protection which your true heart offers to me. Are you my near relation ? are you my guardian ? nre you even an old man ? Ah mo I you are only an angel of goodness whom I must submit to lose. I shall stiil count on your kindness when we see each other no more. Vou will pity me, when you hear that I have fallen lower and lower ; you will be sorry for me, when I end in disgracing myself.' ' Ev(ni tlieii.Iris, we shall not be separated. The loving friend Mho is neiir you now. will be your loving fi'iend still.' For the lir.st time in her life, she threA'her arms round him. In the agony of that farewell, she held him to her bosom. ' Good- l\ye, dear,' she said faintly- and kissed him. The next moment, a deadly pallor overspread her face. She ^taggered as she drew back, and dropped into the chair that she had just left. In the fear that she might faint, Mountjoy hurried out in search of a restorative. His bed-chamber was close by, at the end of the corridor ; and there were smelling-salts in his dress- ing-case. As he raised the lid, he heard the door behind him, the one door in the room, locked from the outer side. He rushed to the door, and called to her. From the farther end of the corridor, her voice reached him for the last time, repeat- ing the last melancholy word : ' Good-bye.' No renewal of the miserable parting scene ; no more of the heartache — Iris had ended it I BUM. LOVE I9S She at she lurried by, at dress- m, the CHAPTER XXII IHK FATAL WORDS |TTEN Mountjo.v luul vww^ Ibr tlio sorvnnt, nrr' the bed- room door liad been unlocked, it was toe line t) follow the fugitive. Hor cab was waitinj^' for her outside ; and the attention of the porter liad been distracted; at tlie same time, by a new arrival of travellers at the hotel. It i8 more or loss in the nature of all men who are wortliy ol the name, to take refiif^e from distress in action. Hu matnier in which she had left him ; it was her right, it was even hei duty to spare herself. All that he asked was to be informed of her present place of residence, so that he might communicate the result — in writing only if she preferred it — of his contemplated interview with her father. He addressed his letter to the care of Mi'. Vimpany, to be forwarded, and posted it himself. This done, he went on at once to Mr. Henley's house. The servant who opened the door had evidently received his orders. Mr. Henley was 'not at home.' Mountjoy was in no himaour to be trifled with. He pushed the man out of his way, and made straight for the dining-room. There, as his previous ex- perience of the habits of the liousehold had led him to anticipate, was the man whom he was determined to see. The table was laid for Mr. Henley's late dinner. Hugh's well-meant attempt to plead the daughter's cause with the father ended as. Iris had said it would end. After hotly resenting the intrusion on him that had been com- mitted, Mr. Henley declared that a codicil to his will, depriving his daughter absolutely of all interest in his property, had been legally executed that day. For a time, Mountjoy's self-control had resisted the most merciless provocation. All that it was possible to effect, by patient entreaty and respectful remonstrance, he had tried again and again, and invariably in vain. At last, Mr. Henley's ujibridled insolence triumphed. Hugh lost his temper — and, in leaving the heartless old man, used language which he afterwards remembered with regret. To feel that he had attempted to assert the interests of Iris, and that he had failed, was, in Hugh's heated state of mind, an irresis- tible stimulant to further exertion. It was perhaps not too late 12 • BIJNn LOVE ^^ . %\ ■ii' if' S: i'" ,1 fir- : !, ■"■' '■■\*t ' I'm ;i :p|fSi' yet to make another attempt to delay (if not to prevent) the marriage. In sheer desperation, Mountjoy resolved to inform Lord Harry that hifci union with ]\Iiss Henley would be followed by the utter ruin oi' her expectations from her father. Whether the wild lord only considered his own interests, or whether he was loyally devoted to the interests of the woman whom he loved, in either case the penalty to be paid for the marriage was formidable enough to make him hesitate. The lights in the lower window, and in the passage, told Hugh that he had arrived in good time at Eedburn Eoad. He found Mr. Vimpany and the young Irishman sitting togethey, in the friendliest manner, under the composing in.hience of tobacco. Primed, as he would have said himself, with only a third glass of grog, the hospitable side of the doctor's character was displayed to view. He at once accepted Mountjoy's visit as offering a renewal of friendly relations between them. ' Forgive and forget,' he said, ' there's the way to settle that little misunderstanding, after our dinner at the inn. You know Mr. Mountjoy, my lord? That's right. Draw in your chair, Moimtjoy. My professional prospects threaten me with ruin — but while I have a roof over my head, there's always a welcome for a friend. My dear fellow, I have every reason to believe that the doctor who sold me this practice was a swindler. The money is gone, and the patients don't come. Well ! I am not quite bank- rupt yet ; I can otfer you a glass of grog. Mix for yourself — we'll make a night of it.' Hugh explained (with the necessary excuses) that his object was to say a few v/ords to Lord Harry in private. The change visible in the doctor's mamier, when he had been made acquainted with this circumstance, was not amiably expressed ; he had the air of a man who inspected that an unfair advantage had been taken of him. Lord HaiTy, on his side, appeared to feel ijome hesitation in granting a private interview to Mr. Mountjoy. ' Is it about Miss Henley ? ' he asked. Hugh admitted that it was. Lord Harry thereupon suggested that they might be acting wisely if they avoided the subject. Moimt- joy answered that there were, on the contrary, reasons for ap- proaching the subject suflBciently important to have induced him to leave London for Hampstead at a late hour of the night. Hearing this, Lord Harry rose to lead the way to another room. Excluded from his visitor's confidence, Mr. Vimpany could at least remind Mountjoy that he exercised authority as master of the house. 'Oh, take him upstairs, my lord,' said the doctor; ^you are at home under my humble roof 1 ' The two young men faced each other in the barely-fiirnished drawing-room; both suflBciently doubtful of tl. friendly result of the conference to abstain from seating themselves. Hugh came to the point, without wasting time in preparatory words. Admitting it- n/jNn LOVE 127 the room. t least )f the *you oished suit of me to itting that he had heard of Mibs He'iiu^'u eu<^ugumLnl, ho abked if Lord Harry was aware of */he disas:- o\is consequences to the young lady which would follow her manitige. The reply to this was frankly expressed. The Irish lord knew nothing of the consequences to which Mr. Mountjoy had alluded. Hugh at once enlightened him, and evidently took him completely by surprise. ' May I ask, sir,' he said, ' if you are speaking from your own personal knowledge ? ' ' I have just come, my lord, from Mr. Henley's house ; and what I have told you, I heard frora his own lips.' There was a pause. Hugh was ah-eady inclined to think that he had raised an obstacle to the immediate celebration of the mar- riage. A speedy disappointment was in store for him. Lord Harry was too fond of Iris to be influenced, in his relations with her, by mercenary considerations. ' You put it strongly,' he said. * But let me tell you, Miss Henley is far from being so dependant on her father — he ought to be ashamed of himself, but that's neither here nor there — I say, she is far from being so dependent on her father as you seem to think. I am not, I beg to inform you, without resources which I shall offer to her with all my heart and soul. Perhaps you wish me to descend to particulars ? Oh, it's easily done ; I have sold my cottage in Ireland.' * For a large sum — in these times ? ' Hugh inquired. * Never mind the sum, Mr. Mountjoy — let the fact be enough for you. And, while we are on the question of money (a disgusting question, with which I refuse to associate the most charming woman in existence), don't forget that Miss Henley has an income of her own ; derived, as I miderstand, from her mother's fortune. You will do me the justice, sir, to beHeve that I shall not touch a farthing of it.' * Certainly I But her mother's fortune,' Mountjoy continued, obstinately presenting the subject on its darkest side, * consists of shares in a Company. Shares rise and fall — and Companies some- tmies fail.' ' And a friend's anxiety about Miss Henley's affairs sometimes takes a mighty disagreeable form,' the Irishman added, his temper beginning to show itself without disguise. ' Let's suppose the worst that can happen, and get all the sooner to the end of a con- versation which is far fi-om being agreeable to me. We'll say, if you like, that Miss Henley's shares are waste paper, and her pockets (God bless her !) as empty as pockets can be, does she run any other risk that occurs to your ingenuity in becoming my wife ? ' ' Yes, she does 1 ' Hugh was provoked into saying. ' In the case you have just supposed, she runs the risk of being left a destitute widow — if you die.' He was prepared for an angry reply — for another quarrel added, on that disastrous night, to the quarrel with Mr. Henley. To his astonishment. Lord Harry's brightly-expressive eyes rested on him If Mm IS' pi $ 1 (^t.:. U" B li'i^i M- :'«f 128 BT.TND LOVE with a look of uiirijuled distress and alarm. ' God forgive me I ' he paid to himsell, ' I nevei: thought of that! "What am I to do? what am I to do ? ' Mountjoy observed that deep discouragement, and failed to understand it. Here was a desperate adventurer, whose wanderings had over and over again placed his life in jeopardy, now apparently over- come by merely having his thoughts directed to the subject of death ! To place on the circumstances such a construction as this was impossible, after a moment's reflection. The other alternative was to assume that there must be some anxiety burdening Lord Harry's mind, which he had motives for keeping concealed — and here indeed the true explanation had been found. The Irish lord had reasons, known only to himself, for recoiling from the contem- plation of his own future. After the murder of Arthur Mountjoy, he had severed his connection with the assassinating brotherhood of the Invincibles ; and he had then been warned that he took this step at the peril of his life, if he remained in Great Britain after he had made himself an object of distrust to his colleagues. The discovery, by the sesrot tribunal, of his return from South Africa would be followed inevitably by the sentence of death. Such was the tei'rible position which Mountjoy's reply had ignorantly forced him to confront. His fate depended on the doubtful security of his refuge in the doctor's house. While Hugh was still looking at him, in grave doubt, a new idea seemed to spring to life in Lord Harry's mind. He threw off the oppression that had weighed on his spirits in an instant. His manner towards Mountjoy changed, with the suddenness of a flash of light, from the extreme of coldness to the extreme of cordif^lity. ' I have got it at last 1 ' he exclaimed. ' Let's shake hands. My dear sir, you're the best friend I have ever had ! ' The cool Englishman asked : ' In what way ? ' ' In this way, to be sure ! You have reminded me that I can provide for Miss Henley — and the f ooner the better. There's our friend the doctor down-stairs, r^riy to be my reference. Don't you see it ? ' Obstacles that might prevent tiif ■^a Triage Mountjoy was ready enough to see. Facilities that might . asten the marriage foimd his mind hard of access to new impressions. ' Are you speaking seriously ? ' he said. The Irishman's irritable temper began to show itself again. • Why do you doubt it ? ' he asked. ♦ I fail to understand yon,' Mountjoy replied. Never — as events were yet to prove— had words of such serious import fallen from Lord Harry's lips as the words that he spoke next. ' Clear your mind of jealousy,' he said. ' and you will understand me well enough. I agree with you that I am bound to provide for my widow — and I mean to do it by insuring my life' THE E,ND OF THE SECOND PERIOD i BLIND LOVE 189 TIIIBB PERIOD CHAPTER XXIII NEWS OF IRI3 FTER his interview with the Irish lord, Mountjoy waited for two days, in the expectation of hearing from Iria. No reply arrived. Had Mr. Vimpany failed to forward the letter that had been entrusted to hun ? On the third day, Hugh wrote to make inquiries. The doctor returned the letter that had been confided to his care, and complained in his reply of the ungrateful manner in which he had been treated. Miss Henley had not trusted him with her new address in London ; and Lord Harry had suddenly left Redburn Road ; bidding his host goodbye in a few lines of commonplace apology, and nothing more. Mr. Vimpany did not deny that he had been paid for his medical services ; but, he woivld ask, was nothing due to fiiendship ? Was one man justified in enjoying another man's hospitality, and then treating hnn like a straniTer ? ' I have done with them both — and I recommend you, my iluar sir, to follow my example.' In those terms the angry (and sober) doctor exjjressed his sentiments, and offered his advice. Mountjoy laid down the letter in despair. His last poor chance of preventing the marriage depended on his being still able to communicate with Iris — and she was as completely lost to him as if she hau taken flight to the other end of the world. It might have been possible to discover her by follow- ing the movements of Lord Harry, but he too had disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. The precious hours and days were passing — and Hugh was absolutely helpless. Tortured by anxiety and suspense, he stUl lingered at the hotel in London. More than once, he decided on giving up the struggle, and returning to his pretty cottage in Scotland. More than once, he deferred taking the journey. At one time, he dreaded to hear that Iris was married, if she wrote to him. At another time, he felt mortified and disappointed by the neglect which her silence implied. Was she near him, or far from him ? In England, or out of England ? Who could say I After more weary days of waiting and suffering a letter arrived, ftddressed to Mountjoy in a strange handwrit' ig, and bearing the «30 BLIND LOVE im WK I! if«T- If!"' It. w: ■ ■ I, > J' T.k. post-mark of Paris. The signature revealed that his correspondent was Lord Harry. His first impulse was to throw the letter into the fire, unread. There could be little doubt, after the time that had passed, of the information vhat it would contain. Oould he endure to be told of the marriage of Iris, by the man who was her husband ? Never I There was something humiliating in the very idea of it. He arrived at that conclusion — and what did he do in spite of it ? He read the letter. Lord Harry wrote with scrupulous politeness of expression. He regretted that circumstances had prevented him from calling on Mr. Mountjoy, before he left England. After the conversation that had taken place at Mr. Vimpany's house, he felt it his duty to inform Mr. Mountjoy that he had insured his life — and, he would add, for a sum of money amply, and more than amply, sufficient to provide for his wife in the event of her surviving him. Lady Harry desired her kind regards, and would write immediately to her old and valued friend. In the meantime, he would conclude by re- peating the expression of his sense of obligation to Mr. Mountjoy, Hugh looked back at the first page of the lettei, in search of the writer's address. It was simply, ' Paris.' The intention to prevent any further correspondence, or any personal communica- tion, ( juld hardly have been more plainly implied. In another moment, the letter was in the fire. In two days more, Hugh heard firom Iris. She, too, wTote regretfully of the sudden departure from England ; adding, however, that it was her own doing. A slip of the tongue, on Lord Harry's part, in the course of conversation, had led her to fear that he was still in danger from political con- spirators with whom he had imprudently connected himself. She had accordingly persuaded him to tell her the whole truth, and had thereupon insisted on an immediate departure for the Continent. She and her husband were now living in Paris ; Lord Harry having firiends in that city whose influence might prove to be of great importance to his pecuniary pvosptcts. Some sentences followed, expressing the writer's grateful reu^embrance of all that she had owed to Hugh in past days, and her earnest desire that they might still hear of each other, from time to time, by correspondence. She could not venture to anticipate the pleasure of leceiving a visit from him, under present circumstances. But, she hoped that he would not object to write to her, addressing his letters, for the present, to post-restante. In a postscript a few words were added, alluding to Mr. Vimpany. Hugh was requested not to answer any inquiries which that bad man might venture to make, relating to her husband or to herself. In the bygone days, she had been thankful to the doctor for the care which he liad taken, niodically sjjeaking, of Ehoda Bennet. But, since that time, his behaviour to his wife, and the opinions which he had expressed in faniilar conversation with Lord Harry, rn BLIND LOVE I3« He bving [great >wed, had light She visit it he k the had convinced her that he was an unprincipled person. All further communication with him (if her influence could prevent it) must come to an end. Still as far as ever from feeling reconciled to the marriage, Mountjoy read this letter with a feeling of resentment which dis- inclined him to answer it. He beheved (quite .erroneously) that Iris had writ.tftn to him under the superintendence of her husband. There were certain phrases which had been, as he chose t-:* suspect, dictated by Lord Harry's distrust— jealous distrust, perhaps— of his wife's friend. Mountjoy would wait to reply, until, as he bitterly expressed it. Iris was able to write to him without the assistance of her master. Again he thought of returning to Scotland — and, again, he hesitated. On this occasion, he discovered objections to the cottage which had not occurred to him while Iris was a single woman. The situation was soUtary; his nearest neighbours were fishermen. Fjre and there, at some little distance, there were only a few scattered houses inhabited by retired tradesmen. Further away yet, there v.as the country-seat of an absent person of distinction, whose health suffered in the climate of Scotland. The lonely life in prospect, on the shores of the Solway, now daunted Mountjoy for the first time. He decided on trying what society in London would do to divert his mind from tlie burdens and anxieties that weighed on it. Acquaintances whom he had neglected were pleasantly surprised by visits from their rich and agreeable young friend. He attended dinner parties ; he roused hope in mothers and daughters by accept- ing invitations to balls ; he reappeared at his club. Was there any relief to his mind in this ? was there even amusement ? No ; he was acting a part, and he found it a hard task to keep up appear- ances. After a brief and brilliant interval, society knew him no more. Left by himself again, he enjoyed one happy evening in London. It was the evening on v/hich he relented, in spite of himself, and wrote to Iris. >^> ' lany. bad kself. the met. lions larry, ■ S ,. i »34 BLIND LOVE m CHAPTER XXIV LORD HARRY'S HONEYMOON HE next day, Hugh receiveu a visit from the last person in the little world of his acquaintance whom he ex- pected to see. The lost Mrs. Vimpany presented her- self at the hotel. She looked unnaturally older since Mountjoy had last seen her. Her artificial complexion was gone. The discarded rouge that had once overlaid her cheeks, through a long succession of years, had left the texture of the skin coarse, and had turned the colour of it to a dull yellowish tinge. Her hair, once so skilfully darkened, was now permitted to tell the truth, and revealed the sober coloiaring of age, in gray. The lower face had fallen away in substance ; and even the penetrating brightness of her large dark eyes was a little dimmed. All that had been left m her of the attractions of past days, owed its vital preservation to her stage training. Her suave grace of movement, and the deep elocutionary melody of her voice, still identified Mrs. Vimpany— disguised as she was in a dress of dull brown, shorn without mercy of the milliner's hideous improvements to the figure. * Will you shake hands with me, Mr. Mountjoy ? ' Those were the first words she said to him, in a sad subdued manner, on entering the room. ' "Why not ? ' Hugh a-^ked, giving her his hand. 'You can have no very favom-able remembrance of me,' she answered. 'But I hope to produce a better impression — if you can spare me a little of your time. You may, or may not, have heard of my separation from my husband. Anyway, it is need- less to trouble you on the subject ; you know Mr. Vimpany; you can guess what I have suffered, and why I have left him. If he comes to you, I hope you will not tell him where Lady Harry IB' Hugh interposed : ' Pray don't speak of her by that name I Call her "Iris," as I do.' A faint reflection of the old stage-smile trembled on Mrs. Vim- pany's worn and weary face. •Ah, Mr. Mountjoy, I know whom she ought to have married! The worst enemy of women is their ignorance of men — and they only learn to know better, when it is too late. I try to be hopeful for Iris, in the time to come, but my fears conquer me.' She paused, sighed, and pressed her open hand on her bosom ; BLIND LOVE 133 Vim- bosom ; nnoonsciously betraying in that action some of tlie ineradicabl* training of the theatre. ' I am aknost afraid to say that I love Iris,' she resumed ; ' but this I know ; if I am not so bad as I once was. I owe it to that dearest and sweetest of women ! But for the days that I passed in her company, I might never have tried to atone for my past life by works of mercy. When other people take the way of amendment, I wonder wnether they find it as hard to follow, at first, as I did ? ' ' There is no doubt of it, Mrs. Vimpany —if people are sincere. Beware of the sinners who talk of sudden conversion and perfect happiness. May I ask how you began your new life ? ' ' I began unhappily, Mr. Mount) oy — I joined a nursing Sister- hood. Before long, a dispute broke out among them. Think of women who call themselves Christians, quarrelling about churches and church services — priest's vestments and attitudes, and candles and incense ! I left them, and went to a hospital, and found the doctors better Christians than the Sisters. I am not talking about my own poor self (as you will soon see) without a reason. My experience in the hospital led to other things. I nursed a lady through a tedious illness, and was trusted to take her to some friends in the south of France. On my return, I thought of staying for a few days in Paris — it was an opportunity of seeing how the nurses did their work in the French hospitals. And, oh, ii was far more than that ! In Paris, I found Iris again.' ' By accident ? ' Hugh asked. ' I am not sure,' Mrs. Vimpany answered, ' that there are such things as meetings by accident. She and her husband were among the crowds of people on the Boulevards, who sit taking their coffee in view of the other crowds, passing along the street. I went by, without noticing chem. Slie saw me, and sent Lord Harry to bring me back. I have been with them every day, at her invitation, from that time to this ; and I have seen their life.' She stopped, noticing that Hugh grew restless. ' I am in doubt,' she said, ' whether you wish to hear more of their life in Paris.' Momitjoy at once controlled himself. ' Go on,' he said quietly. ' Even if I tell you that Iris is perfectly happy ? ' ' Go on,' Hugh repeated. ' May I confess,' she resumed, ' that her husband is irresistible — not only to his wife, but even to an old woman like me ? After having known him for years at his worst, as well as at his best, I am still foolish enough to feel the charm of his high spirits and his delightful good-humour. Sober English peo'plu, if they saw him now, would almost think him a fit subject to be placed under restraint. One of his wild Irish ideas of expressing devotion to his wife is, that they shall forget they are married, and live the life of lovers. When they dine at a restaurant, he insists on having a private room. He takes her to public balls, and engages her to dance with him for tho I' FT ! W m' 1 1 «5|l1 li' 134 AY. /AY) /.OFi? whole evening. When she stays at home and is a little fatigued, he sends me to the piano, and whirls her round the room in a waltz. " Nothing revives a woman," he says, "like dancing with the man she loves." When she is out of breath, and 1 shut up the piano, do you know what he does ? He actually kisses Me — and says he is expressing his wife's feeling for me when she is not 'jkble to do it herself! He sometimes dines out with men, and come? back all on fire with the good wine, and more amiable than ever. On these occasions his pockets are full of sweetmeats, stolen for " his angel " from the dessert. "Am I a little tipsy ? " he asks. "Oh, don't be angry ; it's all for love of you. I have been in the highest society, my darling ; proposing your health over and over and over again, and drinking to you deeper than all the rest of the company. You don't blame me ? Ah, but I blame myself. I was vncong to leave you, and dine with men. What do I want with the society of men, when I have yoiir society ? Drinking your health is a lame excuse. I will refuse all invitations for the future that don't include my wife." And — mind 1 — he really means it, at the time. Two or three days later, he forgets his good resolutions, and dines with the men again, and comes home with more charming excuses, and stolen sweetmeats, and good resolutions. I am afraid I weary you, Mr. Mountjoy ? ' ' You surprise me,' Hugh replied. ' Why do I hear all this of Lord Harry ? ' Mrs. Vimpany left her chair. The stage directions of other days had accustomed her to rise, when the character she played had anything serious to say. Her own character still felt the animating influence of dramatic habit : she rose now, and laid her hand im- pressively on Mountjoy's shoulder. ' I have not thoughtlessly tried your patience,' she said. * Now that I am away from the influence of Lord Harry, I can recall my former experience of him : and I am afraid I can see the end that is coming. He will drift into bad company ; he will listen to bad advice ; and he will do things in the future which he might shrink from doing now. When that time comes, I fear him 1 I fear him I ' ' When that time comes,' Hugh repeated, ' if I have any influence left over his wife, he shall find her capable of protecting herself. Will you give me her address in Paris ? ' * Willingly — if you will promise not to go to her till she really needs you ? ' * Who is to decide when she needs me ? ' * I am to decide,' Mrs. Vimpany answered ; ' Iris writes to me confidentially. If anything happens which she may be unwilling to trust to a letter, I believe I shall hear of it firom her maid.' ' Are you sure the maid is to be relied on ? ' Mountjoy inter- posed. ' She is a silent creature, so far as I know anything of her,' Mrs. Vimpany admitted ; ' and her manner doesn't invite confidence. But I have spoken with Fanny Mere ; I am satisfied that she is true to her mistress and grateful to her mistress in her own strange wa it. on or tim unc I :<> BUh^n T.OVE I3S way. If Iris is in any danger, I shall not be left in ignorance of it. Does this incline you to consult with me, before you decide on going to Paris ? Don't stand on ceremony ; say honestly, Yes or No.' Honestly, Hugh said Yes. He was at once trusted with the address of Iris. At the same time, Mrs. Vimpany undertook that he should know what news she received from Paris as soon as she knew it herself. On jhat understanding they parted, for the time being. I inter- her,' ence. he is anga 1.^6 BUND LOVE m '7.1. CHAPTER XXV THK nOCTOR IN DIFFICUTiTIES LOWLY the weeks ijussed. Strictly Mrs. Vimpany kept Ml,, — t*i her promise. P^^^JI' When she heard from Iris the letter was always sent to Hugh, to be returned after he had read it. Events in the lives of the newly-married pair, many of which pointed to the t'lid that Mrs. Vimpany saw and dreaded, were lightly, sometimes jestingly, related by the young wife. Her blind belief in her husband, sincerely asserted in the earlier part of the correspondence, began to betray, in her later letters, signs of self delusion. It was sad indeed to see that bright intelligence rendered incapable of con- ceiving suspicions, which might have occm'red to the mind of a child. When the latest news from Paris followed, in due course, Mount- joy was informed of it by a note from Mrs. Vimpany expressed in these terms : ' My last letter from Iris is really no letter at all. It simply encloses a circular, with her love, and asks me to send it on to you. If it is in your povver to make inijuiries in the right quarter, I am sure you will not hesitate to take the trouble. There can be little doubt, as I think, that Lord Harry is engaged in a hazardous speculation, more deeply than his wife is willing to acknowledge.' The circular announced the contemjjlated publication of a weekly newspaper, printed partly in English, and partly in French, having its chief otlice in Paris, and being intended to dispute the advantages of a European circulation with the well-known Continental journal called ' Galignani's Messenger.' A first list of contributors included names of some notoriety in the literature of England and the litei-a- ture of France. Speculators who wished to know, in the first place, on what secmity they might reckon, were referred to the managing committee, represented by persons of importance in the financial worlds of London and Paris. Being in a position to mpke the inquiries which Mrs. Vimpany had suggested, Hugh received information which verified the state- ments contained in the circular, and vouched for the good faith of those persons who were concerned in directing the speculation. So far, so good. But, when tlie question of success was next discussed, the au- thorities consulted shook their Mise heads. It was impossible to an RTjyD LorE 137 fiay what losses might not be sufTcrod, and whrd sums of mouoy might not be required, before tlie circulation of tin; new journal would justify the hope of succors. This opinion Hugh communi- cated to Mrs. Vimpany; Iris was informed of it by that day's post. A longer time than usual elapsed before any further news of Lord Harry and his wife was received by Mountjoy. ^Vhen he did at last hear again from ^Mra. Vimpany, she forwarded a letter from Iris dated from a new address, in the suburb of Paris called Passy. From motives of economy (Iris wrote) her husband had der-ided on a change of residence. They were just established in their now abode, with the advantages of a saving in rent, a pretty little garden to cultivate, and purer air to breathe than tuo air of Paris. There the letter ended, without the slightest allusion to the forthcoming newspaper, or to the opinion that had been pronounced on the prospect! of success. In forwarding this letter, Mrs. Vimpany wrote on the blank page as fellows : ' I am sorry to add that some dis(iuieting news of my husband has reached me. For the present, I will say no more. It is at least possible that the report may not be worthy of belief.' A few days later the report was confirmed, under circumstances which had certainly not been foreseen. Mr. Vimpany himself arrived at the hotel, on a visit to Mountjoy. Always more or less superior to the amiable weakness of modesty, the doctor seemed to have risen higher than ever in his own estimation, since Hugh had last seen him. He strutted ; he stared confidently at persons and things ; authority was in his voice when he spoke, and loftj' indulgence distinguished his manner when he listened. ' How are you ? ' he cried with a grand gaiety, as he entered the room. ' Fine weather, isn't it, for the time of year ? You don't look well. 1 wonder whether you notice any change in me ? ' 'You seem to be in good spirits,' Hugh replied, not very cordially. * Do I carry my head high ? ' Mr. Vimpany went on. ' When calamity strikes at a man, don't let him cringe and cry for pity — let him hit back again ! Those are my principles. Look at me. Now do look at me. Here I am, a cultivated person, a member of an honourable profession, a man of art and accomplishment — stripped of every blessed thing belonging to me but the clothes I stand up in. Give me your hand, Mountjoj'. It's the hand, sir, of a bankrupt.' * You don't seem to mind it much,' Mountjoy remarked. * Why should I mind it '^ ' asked the doctor. ' There isn't a medical man in England wl has less reason to reproach him- self than I have. Have I wasted money in rash speculations ? Not a farthing. Have I been, fool enough to bet at horse races ? My worst enemy daren't say it of me. What have I done then ? ^ 'mRS* ' ir 13S filJXD I.OVE %^ * til " I' I" .' i ,1 I I havu tuilud allor viiUiu liiai'u what I luivo dune. Oh, there*! nothing to hiiigh ut ! When a doctor tries to be the medical friend of humanity ; when he only asks leave to cure disease, to soothe pain, CO preserve life isn't that viitne ? And what is my reward ? I sit at home, waiting for my suffering fellow-creatures; and the only fellow-creatnicK who come to me are too poor to pay. I have gone ray rounds, calling on the rich patients whom I bought when 1 bought the practice. Not one of them wanted me. Men, women, and children, were all inexcusably healthy — devil take them ! Is it wonderful if a man becomes bankrui)t, in such a situation as mine ? By Jupiter, I go farther than that ! I say, a man owes it to himself (as a protest against undesc rvcd neglect) to become a bankrupt. If you will allow me, I'll take a chair.' He sat down with an air of impudent independence and looked roimd the room. A little cabinet, containing licpieurs, stood open on the sideboard. Mr. Vimpany got up again. ' May I take a friendly liberty ? ' he said - and helped himself, without waiting for per- , mission. Hugh bore with this, mindful of the mistake that he had com- mitted in consenting to receive the doctor. At the same time, he was sufficiently irritated to take a friendly liberty on his side. He crossed the room to the sideboard, and locked up the liqueurs. Mr. Vimpany's brazen face flushed deeply (not with shame) ; he opened his lips to say something worthy of himself, controlled the impulse, and burst into a boistf is laugh. He had evidently some favour still to ask. ' Devilish good ! ' j -xoko out cheerfully. • Do you reuiember the landlady's clarot ? Ha I you don't want to tempt me this time. Well ! well ! to return to my bankruptcy.' Hugh had lieard enough of his visitor's bankruptcy. • I am not one of your creditors,' he said. Mr. Vimpany made a smart reply : * Don't you be too sure of that. Wait a little.' 'Do you mean,' Mountjoy asked, ' that you have come here to borrow money of me ? ' * Time —give me time,' the doctor pleaded : ' this is not a matter to be dispatched in a hurry ; this is a matter of business. You will hardly believe it,' he resumed, ' but I have actually been in my present position, once before.' He looked towards the cabinet of hqueurs. * If I had the key,' he said, ' I should like to try a. drop more of your good Curacoa. You don't see it ? ' * I am waiting to hear what your business is,' Hugh rephed. Mr. Vimpany's pliable temper submitted with perfect amia- bility. * Quite right,' he said ; ' let us return to business. I am a maa who possesses great fertility of resource. On the last occa- sion when. my creditors pounced on my property, do you think I was discouraged ? Nothing of the sort ! My regular medical prac- tice had broken down under nie. Very well — I tried my luck as a quack. In plain English, I invented a patent medicine. The one fi RI ixn LOVE 139 re to itter will my )inet irop ua- a a- Jik I |rac- is a lone tiling wanting' was laoney unuugii lu udvutiibu it. False friends buttoned np their pockets. You see ? ' * Oh, yes ; 1 see.' ' In that case,' Mr. Vinipauy continued, ' you will not be sur- Srised to hear that I draw on uiy resources again. You have no oubt noticed that we live in an age of amateurs. Amateurs write, paint, compose music, perform on the stage. I, too, am one of the accomplished persons who have taken possession of the field of Art. Did you observe the photogi'aphic portraits on the walls of my din- ing-room ? They are of my doing, sir — whether you observed them or not. I am one of the handy medical men, who can use the photograph. Not that I mention it generally ; the public have got a narrow-minded notion that a doctor ought to be nothing but n doctor. My name won't appear in a new work that I am contem- plating. Of course, yoii want to know what my new work is. I'll tell you, in the strictest confidence. Imagine (if you can) a series of superb photographs of the most eminent doctors in England, with memoirs of their lives written by themselves ; published once a month, price half-a-crown. If there isn't money in that idea, there is no money in anything. Exert yourself, my good friend. Tell me what you think of it ? ' ' I don't understand the subject,' Mountjoy replied. * May I ask why you take me into your confidence ? ' * Because I look upon you as my best friend.' * You are very good. But surely, Mr. Vimpany, you have older friends in your circle of acquaintance than I am.' ' Not one,' the doctor answered promptly, * whom I trust as I trust you. Let me give you a proof of it.' ' Is the proof in any way connected with money ? ' Hugh in- quired. ' I call that hard on me,' Mr. Vimpany protested. ' No un- friendly interruptions, Mountjoy ! I offer a proof of kindly feeling Do you mean to hurt me ? ' * Certainly not. Go on.' ' Thank you ; a little encouragement goes a long way with me. I have foimd a bookseller, who will publish my contemplated work, on commission. Not a soul has yet seen the estimate of expenses. I propose to show it to You.' * Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany.' ' Why quite needless ? ' * Because I decline lending you the money.' * No, no, Mountjoy 1 You can't reallj' mean that ? ' * I do mean it.' •No!' * Yes ! ' The doctor's face showed a sudden change of expression — a sinister and threatening change. ' Don't drive me into a comer/ he said. ' Think of it again.' Hugh's capacity for controlling himself gave way at last. p t-Kj 140 BLJND LOVE * Do you presume to threaten me '? ' he said. ' Unilerstaiid, if you please, that my mind is made up, and that nothing you can say or do will alter it.' With that declaration he rose from his chair, and waited for Mr. Vimpany's departure. The doctor put un his hat. His eyes rested on Hugh, with a look of diabolical malice : ' The time is not far off, Mr. Mountjoy, when you may be sorry yon refused me.' He said those words deliberately — and took ]'is leave. Eeleased from the man's presence, Hugh found himself strangely associating the interests of Iris with the language — otherwise beneath notice — which Mr. \'inipany had used on leaving the room. In desperate stvaits for want of money, how would the audacious bankrupt next attempt to fill liis empty purse ? If he had, by any chance, renewed liis relations with his Irish friend — and such an event was at least possible — his next experiment in the art of raising a loan might take him to Paris. Lord Harry had already ventured on a speculation which called for an immediate outlay of money, and which was only expected to put a profit into his pocket at some future period. In the raea iwhile, his resources in money had their limits ; and his current expenses would make imperative demands on an ill-filled purse. If the temptation to fail in his resolution to respect iiis wife's fortune was already trying his fortitude, what better excuse could be offered for yielding than the necessities of an old friend in a state of pecuniary distress ? Looking at the position of Iris, and at the complications which threatened it, from this point of view, Mountjoy left the hotel to consult with Mrs. Vimpany. It rested with her to decide whether the circumstances justified his departure for Paris. :k 1 1 W\. '1 ii ■ 1 I.J^ BLIND LOVE 141 CHAPTER XXVI lONDON AND PAEI8 NFORMED of all that Hugh could tell her relating to hia interview with her husband, Mrs. Vimpany un- derstood and ap- preciated his fears for the future. She failed, however, to agree with him that he would do well to take the journey to France, under present cir* cumstances. 'Wait a little longer in London,' she said. ' If Iris doesn't write to me in the next few days there will be a reason for her silence ; and in that case (as I have already told you) I shall hear from Fanny Mere. You shall see me when I get a letter from Paris.' On the last morning in the week, Mrs. Vimpany was announced. The letter thft,t she brought with her had been written by Fanny Mere. With the pen in her hand, the maid's remarkable character expressed itself as strongly as ever : — ' Madam, — I said I would let you know what goes on here, when I thought there was need of it. There seems to be need now. Mr. Vimpany came to us yesterday. He has the spare bedroom. My mistress says nothing, and writes nothing. For that reason, I send you the present writing. — Your humble servant, F.' Mountjoy was perplexed by this letter, plain as it was. ' It seems strange,' he said, ' that Iris herself has not written to you.- She bus never hitherto concealed her opinion of Mr. Vimpany.* i '■:'\. 142 /IIJA'P LOVE ' She is concealing it now,' Mr. Vimpany's wife replied gravely. • Do yoii know why ? ' ' I am afraid I do. Iris will not hesitate at any sacrifice ot herself to please Lord Harry. She will give him her money when he wants it. If he tells her to alter her opinion of my husband, she will obey him. He can shake her confidence in me, whenever he pleases; and he has very likely done it already.' * Surely it is tiiae for me to go to her now ? ' Hugh said. * Full time,' Mrs. Vimpany admitted — 'if you can feel sure of yourself. In the interests of Iris, can you imdertake to be cool and careful ? ' ' In the interests of Iris, I can undertake anything.' • One word more,* Mrs. Vimpany continued, ' before you take your departure. No matter whether appearances are for him, or against him, be always on your guard with my husband. Let me hear from you while you are away ; and don't forget that there is an obstacle between you and Iris, which will put even your patience and devotion to a hard trial.' ' You mean her husband ? ' ' I do.* There was no more to be said. Hugh set forth on his journey to Paris. |l Ml ! On the morning after his arrival in the French capital, Mount] oy had two alternatives to consider. He might either write to Iris, and ask when it would be convenient to her to receive him — or he might present himself unexpectedly in the cottage at Passy. Re- flection convinced him tha^ '^is best chance of placing an obstacle in the way of deception would be to adopt the second alternative, and to take Lord Harry and the doctor by surprise. He went to Passy. The lively French taste had brightened the cottage with colour : thi. fair white window curtains were tied with rose-coloured ribbons, the blinds were gaily painted, the chimneys were ornamental, the small garden was a paradise of flowers. When Mountjuy rang the bell, the gate was opened by Fanny Mere. She looked at him in grave astonishment. • Do the> expect you ? ' she asked. ' Never mind that,' Hugh answered. ' Are they at home ? • • They have just finished breakfast, sir.' ' Do you remember my name ? ' • Yes, sir.' • Then show me in.* Fanny opened the doc; of a room on the ground floor, and announced : ' Mr. Mouutjoy.' The two men were smoking ; Iris was watering some flowers in the window. Her colour instantly faded when Hugh entered the room. In doubt and alann, her eyes questioned Lord Harry. He was in his sweetest state of good-humour. Urged by the genial impulse of the moment, he set the example of a cordial reception. * This is an agi'eeable surprise, indeed,' he said, shaking hands with W\ BLIND LOIR »43 Mountjoy in his easy amiable way. ' It's kiud ut you to come and see UB.' Believed of anxiety (evidently when she had not expected it), Iris eagerly followed her husband's example : her face recovered its colom", and brightened with its prettiest smile. Mr. Vimpany stood in a coruijr ; his cigar went out : his own wife would hardly have known him again — he actually presented an appearance of embarrassment ! Lord Harry burst out laughing : ' Look at him Iris 1 The doctor is shy for the f'rst time in his life.' The Irish good-humour was irresistible. The young wife merrily echoed her husband's laugh. Mr. Vimpany, observing the friendly reception offered to Hugh, felt the necessity of adapting himself to circum- stances. He came out of his corner with an apology : * Sorry I misbehaved myself, Mr. Mountjoy, when I called on you in London. Shake hands. No offence — eh ? ' Iris, in feverish high spirits, mimicked the doctor's coarse tones when he repeated his favourite form of excuse. Lord Harry clapped his hands, dehghted with his wife's clever raillery : ' Ha I Mr. Mountjoy, you dr-n't find that her married life has affected her spirits ! May I hope that you have come here to breakfast? The table is ready as you see ' * And I have been taking lessons, Hugh, in French ways of cooking eggs,' Iris added ; ' pray let me show you what I can do.' The doctor chimed in facetiously : * I'm Lady Harry's medical referee ; you'll find her French delicacies half digested for you, sir, before you can open your mouth: signed, Ckrence Vimpany, member of the Collego of Surgeons.' Remembering Mrs. Vimpany's caution, Hugh concealed his distrust of this outbreak of hospitable gaiety, and made his excuses. Lord Harry followed, with more excuses, on his part. He deplored it — but he was obliged to go out. Had Mr. Mountjoy met with the new paper which was to beat ' Galignani ' out of the field ? The * Continental Herald ' — there was the title. ' Forty thousand copies of the first number have just flown all over Europe ; we have our agencies in every town of importance, at every jpoint of the compass ; and, one of the great proprietors, my dear sir, is the humble individual who now addresses you.' His bright eyes sparkled with boyish pleasure, as he made that an- nouncement of his own importance. If Mr. Mountjoy would kindly excuse him, he had an appointment at the office that morning. ' Get your hat, Vimpany. The fact is our friend here carries a case of consumption in his pocket ; consumption of the piurse, you under- stand. "^ j-m going to enrol him among the contributors to the newspaper. A series of articles (between ourselves) exposing the humbug of physicians, and asserting with fine satirical emphasis the overstocked state of the medical profession. Ah, well 1 you'll be glad (won't you ?) to talk over old times with Iris. My angel, show our good friend the " Continental Herald," and mind you keep him here till we get back. Doctor, look ahve 1 Mr. Mount- joy, au revoir.' They shook hands again heartily. As Mrs. Vimpany had confessed, there was no resisting the Irish lord. But Hugh's strange experience of that morning was not at an end, yet. w 144 BUND LOVE Tt' jf CHAPTER XXVII THE BRIDE AX HOME EFT alone with the woman whose charm still held him to her, cruelly as she had tried his devotion by her marriage, Mountjoy found the fluent amiability of the husband imitated by the wife. She, too, when the door had hardly closed on Lord Harry, was bent on persuading Hugh that her marriage had been the happiest event of her life. ' Will you think the worse of me,' she began, * if I own that I had httle expectation of seeing you again ? ' ' Certainly not, Iris.' ' Consider my situation,' she went on. ' "When I remember how you tried (oh, conscientiously tried !) to prevent my marriage — how you predicted the miserable results that would follow, if Harry's life and my life became one — could I venture to hope that you would corne here, and judge for yourself? Dear and good friend, I have nothing to fear from the result ; your presence was never more welcome to me than it is now ! ' Whether it was attributable to prejudice on Mountjoy's part, or to keen and just observation, he detected something artificial in the ring of her enthusiasm ; there was not the steady light of truth in her eyes, which he remembered in the past and better days of theur companionship. He was a lictle — just a little — irritated. The temptation to remind her that his distrust of Lord Harry had once been her distrust too, proved to be more than his frailty could resist. ' Your memory is generally exact,' he said; ' but it hardly serves you now as well as usual.' ' What have I forgotten ? ' ' You have forgotten the time, my dear, when your opinion was almost as strongly against a marriage with Lord Harry as mine.' Her answer was ready on the instant : ' Ah, I didn't know him then as well as I know him now ! ' Some men, in Mountjoy's position, might have been provoked into hinting that there were sides iio her husband's character which she had probably not discovered yet. But Hugh's gentle temper — ruflfled for a moment only — had recovered its serenity. Her friend was her true friend still ; he said no more on the subject of her marriage. BLIND LOVE 145 ' Old habits are not easily set aside,' he reminded her. ' I have been so long accustomed to advise you and help you. that I find myself hoping there may be some need for my services still. Is tiiere no way in which I might relieve you of the hateful presence of Mr. Vimpany ? ' - * My dear Hugh, I wish you had not mentioned Mr. Vimpany.* Mountjoy concluded that the subject was disagreeable to her. ' After the opinion of him which you cx;jressed in your letter to me,' he said, ' I ought not to have spoken of the doctor. Pray for- give me.' Iris looked distressed. ' Oh, you are quite mistaken ! The poor doctor has been sadly misjudged ; and I ' — she shook her head, and sighed penitently — ' and, I,' she resumed, ' am one among other people who have ignorantly wronged him. Pray consult my hus- band. Hear what he can tell you — and you will pity Mr. Vimpany. The newspaper makes such large demands on our means that we can do Uttle to help him. With your recommendation he might find some employment.' ' He has already asked me to assist him. Iris ; and I have refused. I can't agree with your change of opinion about Mr. Vimpany.' ' V/hy not ? Is it because he has separated from his wife ? ' • That is one reason, among many others,' Mountjoy replied. ' Indeed, indeed you are wrong ! Lord Harry has known Mrs. Vimpany for years, anrl v>d says— I am truly sorry to hear it — that the separation is her fault.' Hugh changed the subject again. The purpose which had mainly induced him to leave England had not been mentioned yet. Alluding to the ne "paper, and to the heavy pecuniary demands made by the preliminary expenses of the new journal, he reminded Irie that their long and intimate friendship permitted him to feel some interest in her affairs. ' I won't venture to f; impress an opinion,' he added ; ' let me only ask if Lord Harry's investments in this speculation have compelled him to make some use of your little fortune ? ' ' My husband refused to touch my fortime,' Iris answered. * But ' — She paused, there. ' Do you know how honourably, how nobly, he has behaved ? ' she abruptly resumed. ' He has insured his life : he has burdened himself with the payment of a large sum of money every year. And all for me, if I am so unfortunate (which God forbid 1) as to survive him. When a large share in the news- paper was for sale, do you think I could be ungrateful enough to let him lose the chance of making our fortune, when the profits begin to come in ? I insisted on advancing the money — we almost quarrelled about it — but, you know how sweet he is. I said : " Don't distress me " ; and the dearest of men let me have my own way.' Mountjoy listened in silence. To have expressed what he felt would have been only to mortify and offend Iris. Old habit (as he had said) had made the idea of devoting himself to her interests the f:^ 140 ni f^rn r.ovE lji,H i W^' -> ujjpennoKt idea in his mind. He asked if the money had all been rfpent. Hearing that some of it was still left, he resolved on making the attempt to secure the remains of her fortune to herself. ' Tell me,' he said, ' have you ever heard of such a thing as buying an annuity ? ' She knev^r nothing about it. He carefully explained the method by which a moderate sum of money might be made to purchase a sufficient income for life. She offered no objection, when he pro- posed to write to his lawyer in London for the necessary particulars. But when he asked her to tell him what the sum was of which she might be still able to dispose, Iris hesitated, and made no reply. This time, Hugh arrived at the right conclusion. It was only too plain to him that what remained of her money represented an amount so trifling that she was ashamed to mentis . it. Of the need for heli)ing her, there could be no doubt now; and, as for the means, no difficulties presented themselves to Mountjoy — always excepting the one obstacle likely to be offered by the woman herself. Experience warned him to approach her delicately, by the indirect way. ' You know me well enough,' he said, ' to feel sure that I am incapable of saying anything which can embarrass you, or cause a moment's misunderstanding between two old friends. Won't you look at me. Iris, when I am speaking to you ? ' She still looked away from him. ' I am afraid of what you ir# going to say to me,' she answered coldly. ' Then let me say it at once. In one of your letters, written long since — I don't suppose you remember it — you told me that I was an obstinate man when I once took a thing into my head. You were quite right. My dear, I have taken it into my head that you will be as ready as ever to aceep*; my advice, and will leave me (as your naan of business) to buy the annuity ' She stopped him. ' No,' she cried, ' I won't hear a word more I Do you think I am insensible to years of kindness that I have never deserved? Do you think I forget how nobly you have forgiven me for those cruel refusals which have sadden ^^d your life ? Is it possible that you expect me to borrow money of You ? ' She started wildly to her feet. ' I declare, as God hears me, I would rather die than take that base, that shameful advantage of all your goodness to me. The woman never lived who owed so much to a man, as I owe to you — but not money I Oh, my dear, not money 1 not money ! ' He was too deeply touched to be able to speak to her — and she saw it. ' What a wretch I am,' she said to herself; ' I have made his heart ache ! ' He heard those words. Still feeling for her — never, never for himself! — he tried to soothe her. In the passion of her self- reproach, she refused to hear him. Pacing the room from end to end, she fanned the fiery emotion that was consuming her. NoWt PUVn LOVE ii; she reviled herself in language that broke through the restraints b\- whioh good breeding sets its seal on a woman s social rank. And now, again, she lost herself more miserably still, and yielded with hysteric recklessness to a bitter outburst of gaiety. 'If you wish to be married happily,' she crfed, • never be as fond of any other woman as you have been of me. We are none of us worth it. Tjaugh at us, Hugh — do anything biit believe in us. We all lie, my friend. And I have been lying — shamelessly ! shame- lessly 1 ' He tried to check her. ' Don't talk in that way. Iris,' he said sternly. She laughed at him. ' T..lk ? ' she repeated. • It isn't that ; it's a confession.' * I don't desire to hear your confession.' • You must hear it — you have drawn it out of me. Come ! we'll enjoy my humiliation together. Contradict every word I said to you about that brute and blackguard, the doctor — and you will have the truth. What horrid inconsistency, isn't it ? I can't help myself; I am a wretched, unreasonable cveature ; I don't know my own mind for two days together, and all through my husband — I am so fond of him ; Harry is delightfully innocent ; he's like a nice boy ; he never seemed to think of Mr. Vimpany, till it was settled between them that the doctor was to come and stay here — and then he persuaded me — oh, I don't know how!— to see his friend in quite a new light. I believed him — and I believe him still — I mean I would believe him, but for you. Will you do me a favour? I wish you wouldn't look at me with those eyes that won't lie ; I wish you wouldn't speak to me with that voice which finds things out. Oh, good Heavens, do you suppose I would let you think that my husband is a bad man, and my marriage an unhappy one ? Never ! If it turns my blood to sit and eat at the same table with Mr. Vimpany, I'm not cruel enough to blame the dear doctor. It's my wickedness that's to blame. We shall quarrel, if you tell me that Harry is capable of letting a rascal be his friend. I'm happy; I'm happy; I'm happy I— do you under- stand that ? Oh, Hugh, I wish you had never come to see me ! ' She burst into a passionate fit of weeping, broken down at last under the terrible strain laid on her. ' Let me hide myself I ' was all that Iris could say to her old friend — before she ran out of the room, and left him. I: bt I4« BUND LOVE •iM^^-.- ■ i CHAPTER XXVIII THE MAID AND THE KEYHOLE DEEPLY as she had grieved him, keenly as he felt that his worst fears for her threatened already to be realised, it was characteristic of Moiintjoy that he still refused to despair of Iris — even with the husband's influence against him. The moral deterioration of her, revealed in the false words that she had spoken, and in the deceptions that she had attempted, would have justified the saddest misgivings, but for the voluntary confession which had followed, and the signs which it had shown of the better nature still struggling to assort itself. How could Hugh hope to encourage that effort of resistance to the evil influences that were threatening her — first and foremost, among them, being the arrival of Vimpany at the cottage ? His presence kept her in a state of perpetual contention, between het own wise instincts which dis- trusted him, and her husband's authoritative assertions which re- commended him to her confidence. No greater service could be rendered to Iris than the removal of this man— but how could it be accomplished, without giving offence to her husband ? Mountjoy's mind was still in search of a means of overcoming the obstacle thus presented, when he heard the door open. Had Iris recovered her- 83lf ? or had Lord Harry and his fri(md returned ? The person who now entered the room was the strange and silent maid, Fanny Mere. * Can I speak to you, sir '? ' ' Certainly. What is it ? ' ' Please give me yom* address.* ' For your mistress ? ' « Yes.' * Does she wish to "Trite to me ? * 'Yes.' Hugh gave the strange creature the address of his hotel in Paris. For a moment, her eyes rested on him with an expression of steady Borutiny. She opened the door to go out — stopped — considered — came back again. * I want to speak for myself',' she said. ' Do you care to hear what a servant has to say '? ' Mouitjoy replied that he was ready to hear what she had to BUND LOVE UP nay. She at once tteppeci up to him, and a(1rlrp88ed him in these words : • I thmk you are fond of my mistress ? ' An ordinary man might have resented the famihar manner in which she had expressed herself. Mountjoy waited for what wa» still to come. Fanny Mere abruptly went on, with a nearer ap- proach to agitation in her manner than she had shown yet : ' My mistress took me into her service ; she trusted me when other ladies would have shown me the door. "When she sent for ine to see her, my character was lost ; I had nobody to feel for me, nobody to help me. She is the one friend who held out a hand to me. I hate the men ; I don't care for the women. Except one. Being a servant I mustn't say I love that one. If I was a lady, I don't know that I should say it. Love is cant ; love is rubbish. Tell me one thing. Is the doctor a friend of yours ? ' ' The doctor is nothing of the kind.' ' Perhaps he is your enemy ? ' *I can hardly say that.' She looked at Hugh discontentedly. ' I want to get at it,' she said. * Why can't we understand each other ? Will you laugh at me, if I say the first thing that comes into ray head ? Are you a good swimmer ? ' An extraordinary question, even from Fanny Mere. It was put seriously — and seriously Mountjoy answered it. He said that he was considered to be a good swimmer. ' Perhaps,' she continued, 'you have sa ed people's lives.' ' I have twice been so fortunate as to save lives,' he replied. 'If you saw the doctor drowning, would you save him? 1 wouldn't ! ' ' Do you hate him as bitterly as that ? ' Hugh asked. She passed the (question over without notice. ' I wish you would help me to gel at it,' she persisted. ' Suppose you could rid my mistress of that man by giving him a kick, would you up with your foot and do it ? ' ' Yes — with pleasure.' ' Thank you, sir. Now I've got it. Mr. Mountjoy, the doctor is the curse of my mistress's life. I can't bear to see it. If we are not relieved of him somehow, I shall do something wrong. When I wait at table, and see him using his knife, I want to snatch it out of h:s hand, and stick it into him. I had a hope that my lord might tu'^ 1 him out of the house when they quarrelled. My lord is too wicked himself to do it. For the love of God, sir, help my mistress — or show me the way how I ' Mountjoy began to be interested. ' How do you know,' he asked, ' that Lord Harry and the doctor have quarrelled ? ' Without the slightest appearance of embarrassment, Fanny Mere informed him that she had listened at the door, while her master and his friend were talking of their secrets. She had also taken an opportunity of looking through the keyhole. ' I suppose, sir,' said »';-, 4. V '50 BTINn lOVR . %' I r 9.! this curious woman, Ktill K{)caking quite resi)eotfalIy, ' you have never tried that way yourself? ' ' Certainly not ! ' ' Wouldn't you do it to serve my mistross ? ' ' No.' ' And yet, you're fond of her! You are a merciful one — the only merciful one, so far as I know -among men. Perhaps, if you were frightened about her, you might be more ready with your help. I wonder whether I can frighten you ? Will you let me try ? ' The woman's faithful attachment to Iris pleaded for her with Hugh. ' Try, if you like,' he said kindly. Speaking as seriously as ever, Fanny proceeded to describe her experience at the keyhole. What she had seen was not worth re- lating. What she had heard proved to be more important. The talk between my lord and the doctor had been about raising money. They had different notions of how to do that. My lord's l)lan was to borrow what was wanted, on his life-insiu-ance. The doctor told him he couldn't do that, till his insurance had been going on for three or four years at least. ' I have something better and bolder to propose,' says Mr. Vimpany. It must have been also something wicked — for ho whispered it in the master's ear. My lord didn't take to it kindly. ' How do you think I could face my wife,' he says, ' if she discovered me ? ' The doctor says : ' Don't be afraid of your wife ; Lady Harry will get used to many things which she little thought of before she married you.' Says my lord to that : ' I have done my best, Vimpany, to improve ray wife's opinion of you. If you say much more, I shall cor^ae round to her way of thinking. Drop it ! ' — ' All right,' says the doctor, ' I'll drop it now, and wait to pick it up again till you come to your last bank note.' There the talk ended for that day — and Fanny would be glad to know what Mr. Mountjoy thought of it. * I think you have done me a service,' Hugh replied. ' Tell me how, sir.' ' I can only tell you this, Fanny. You have shown me how to relieve your mistress of the doctor.' For the first time, the maid's impenetrable composure com- pletely failed her. The smouldering fire in Fanny Mere flamed up. She impulsively kissed Mountjoy 's hand. The moment her lips touched it she shrank back : the natural pallor of her ftice became whiter than ever. Startled by the sudden change, Hugh asked if she was ill. She shook her head. ' It isn't that. Yours is the first man's hand I have kissed, Bince ' She checked herself. ' I beg you won't ask me about it. I only meant to thank you, sir ; I do thank you with all my heart — I mustn't stay here any longer.' As she spoke the sound of a key was heard, opening the lock of the cottage-door. Lord Harry had returned. BUND I.OVB i5» low to com- lamed it her face iHugh tisBsd, (about limy )ck of CHAPTER XXIX THE CONQUEST OF MR. VIMPAWT THE Irish lord came in — with his medical friend sulliily in atten- dance on him. He looked at Fanny, and asked where her mistress was. ' My lady is in her room, sir. Hearing this, he turned sharply to Mountjoy. On the point of speak- ing, he seemed to think better of it, and went to his wife's room. The maid followed. 'Get rid of him now,' she whis- pered to Hugh, glancing at the doctor. Mr. Vim- pany was in no very approachable humour — standing at the window, with his hands in his empty pockets, gloomily looking out. But Hugh was not disposed to neglect the oppor- tunity ; he ven- tured to say : ' You don't seem to be in such good spirits as usual.' that Mr. Mountjoy would not be particularly cheerful, in his place. My lord had taken The doctor gruffly expressed his opinion IM fil.TND KOVK him to the office, on the distinct understnndiny that he was to earn % little pocket-monev by beconiiiij,' one of tlie contribntovs to the newK Eaper. And how had it ended V The editor had declared that his st of writers was full, and bc^'j^ed leave to suggest that Mr. Vimpany should wait for the next vacancy. A most impertinent proposal I Had Lord Harry — a proprietor, remember — exerted his authority ? Not he I His lordship had dropped the doctor ' like a hot potato,' and had meanly submitted to his own servant. What did Mr. Mountjoy think of such conduct as that ? Hugh answered the question, with his own end in view. Paving the way for, Mr. Vimpany's departure from the cottage at Passy, he made a polite offer of his services. • Can't I help you out of your difficulty ? ' he said. ' Youl ' cried the doctor. 'Have you forgotten how you received me, sir, when I asked for a loan at your hotel in London ? ' Hugh admitted that he might have si)oken hastily. ' You took me by surprise,' he said, ' and (perhaps I was mistaken, on my side) I thought you were, to say the least of it, not particiilarly civil. You did certainly use threatening language when you left me. No man likes to be treated in that way.' Mr. Vimpany's big bold eyes stared at Mountjoy in a state of bewilderment. ' Are you trying to make a fool of me ? ' he asked. * I am incapable, Mr. Vimpany, of an act of rudeness towards anybody.' ' If you come to that,' the doctor f?toutly declared, * I am in- capable too. It's plain to me that we have been misunderstanding each other. Wait a bit ; I want to go back for a moment to that threatening language which you complained of just now. I was sorry for what I had said as soon as your door was shut on me. On my way downstairs I did think of turning back and making a friendly apology before I gave you up. Suppose I had done that ? ' Mr. Vimpany asked, wondering internally whether Mountjoy was foolish enough to believe him, H"gh advanced a little nearer to the design that he had in view. ' You might have found me more kindly disposed towards you,' he said, * than you had anticipated.' This encouraging reply cost him an effort. He had stooped to the unworthy practice of perverting what he had said and done on a former occasion, to serve a present interest. Kemind himself as he might of the end which, in the iiiterests of Iris, did really appear to justify the means, he still sank to a place in his own estimation which he was honestly ashamed to occupy. Under other circumstances his hesitation, slight as it was, might have excited suspicion. As things were, Mr. Vimpany could only discover golden possibilities that dazzled his eyes. 'I wonder whether you're in the humour,' he said, 'to be kindly disposed towards me now ? ' It was needless to be careful of the feelings of such a man as to BUND LOVE 153 ,'ed was I view, you,' kd to le on 3lf as jpear lation )ight only jnder )osed m as this. * Suppose you had the money you want in your pocket,' Hugh •uggested, ' what would you do with it ? ' ' Go ))ack to London, to be sure, and publish the first number of that work of mine I told you of.' ' And leave your friend, Lord Han-y ? ' ' Wliivt ;]f()od is my friend to me ? He's nearly as poor as I am — he St lit for me to advise him — I put him up to a way of filling lioth om- jiorkets, and he wouldn't hear of it. What sort of a friend do you call that ? ' I'ay him and get rid of him. There was the course of i)roceeduig BUg^,'ested by the private counsellor in Mountjoy's bosom. • Have you got the publisher's estimate of expenses ? ' he asked. The doctor instantly produced the document. To a rich man the eum retiuircd was, after all, trifling enough. Mountjoy sat down at the writnig-tuble. As ho took up a pen, Mr. Vinipany's protuberant eyes looked as if they would fly out of his head. ' If I lend you the money ' Hugh began. ' Yes '? Yes ? ' cried the doctor. ' I do so on condition that nobody is to know of the loan but ourselves.' *0h, sir, on my sacred word of honour ' An order on Mountjoy's bankers in Paris for the necessary amount, with some- thing added for travelling expenses, checked Mr. Vimpany in full career of protestation. He tried to begin again : ' My friend ! my benefactor ' He was stopped once more. His friend and benefactor pointed to the clock. ' If you want the money to-day, you have just time to get to Paris before the bank closes.' Mr. Vimpany did want the money — always wanted the money ; his gratitude burst out for the third time : * God bless you ! ' The object of that highly original form of benediction pointed through the window in the direction of the railway station. Mr.- Vimpany struggled no longer to express his feelings — he had made his last sacrifice to appearances — he caught the train. The door of the room had been left open. A voice outside said : * Has he gone ? ' ' Come in, Fanny,' said Movmtjoy. * He will return to London either to-night or to-morrow morning.' The strange maid put her head in at the door. ' I'll be at the terminus,' she said, ' and make sure of him.' Her head suddenly disappeared, before it was possible to speak to her again. Was there some other person outside ? The other gerson entered the room ; it was Lord Harry. He spoke without is customary smile. *I want a word with you, Mr. Moimtjoy.' ' About what, my lord ? * 'f I i »54 nr iNP TO] I'. question beemed to confuse the Irishman. He And another He felt the That direct hesitated. ' About you,' he said, and stopped to consider. ' person,' he added mysteriously. Hugh was- constitutionally a hater of mysteries, need of a more definite reply, and asked for it plainly : ' Does your lordship associate that other person with me ? •Yes, I do.' * Who is the person ? • My wife.' BLIND LOVE ISS CHAPTER XXX SAXON AND CELT HEN amicable relations between two men hapjten to 1m in jeopardy, there is lea^c dan}j;er o*' an ensuing quairei if the friendly interconrse has been of ar :icial growth, on either side. In this case, the promptings of sell- interest, and the laws of politeness, have been animating influences throughout ; acting under conditions which assist the effort of selt- "ontrol. And for this leason : the man who has never really taken a high place in our regard is unprovided with those sharpest weapons of provocation, which make unendurable demands on human forti- tude. In a true attachment, on the other hand, there is an innocent familiarity implied, which is forgetful of ceremony, and blind to consequences. The affectionate freedom which can speak kindly without effort is sensitive to offence, and can speak harshly without restraint. When the friend who wounds us has once been associated with the sacred memories of the heart, hs strikes at a tender place, and no considerations of propriety are rowerful enough to stifle our cry of rage and pain. The enemies • , no have once loved each other are the bitterest enemies of all. Thus, the curt exchange ci question and answer, which had taken place in the cottage at Passy, between two gentlemen artificially friendly to one another, led to no regrettable result. Lord Harry had been too readily angry : he remembered what was due to Mr. Mountjoy. Mr. MoiTntjoy had been too thoughtlessly abrupt : he remembered what was due to Lord Harry. Tlie courteous Irishman bowed, and pointed to a chair. The well-bred Englislunun returned the polite salute, and sat down. Mylordbi'oke the silence that followed. ' _1„, ^ ^xjpe mai you will excuse me,' he began, 'if I walJv about the room? Movement seems to help me Avhen 1 am pu/./leii how to put things nicely. Sometimes I go round and round the subject, before 1 get at it. I'm afraid I'm going round and round, now. Have you arranged to make a long stay in Paris ? * Circumstances, Mountjoy answered, would probably decide him. ' You have no doubt been many times in Paris before this,' Lord Ha)'ry continued. ' Do you find it at all dull, now V ' Wondering what he could possibly mean, Hugh said he never 156 BLIND LOVE il 4 m Klk! nl -and waited for further enlightenment. The Irish found Paris dull- lord persisted : ' People mostly think Paris isn't as gay as it used to be. Not. such good pi i.ys and such good actors as they had at one time. The restaurants inferior, and society very much mixed. People don't stay there as long as they used. I'm told that Americans are getting disappointed, and are trying London for a change.' Could he have any serious motive for this irrelevant way of talking ? Or was he, to judge by his own account of himself, going round and round the subject of his wife and his guest, before he could get at it ? Suspecting him of jealousy from the first, Hugh failed — naturally perhaps in his position — to understand the regard for Iris, and the fear of offending her, by which her jealous husband was restrained. Lord Harrj' was attempting (awkwardly indeed !) to break off the relations between his wife and her friend, by means wli'' '• might keep the true state of his feelings concealed from both > :" them. Ignorant of this claim on his forbearance, it was Mountjoy's im- pression that he was boing trifled with. Once more, he waited for enlightenn^ent, and waited in silence. ' You don't find my conversation interesting ? ' Lord Harry remarked, still with perfect good-humour. 'I fail to seethe connection,' Mountjoy acknowledged, 'between what you ha\o said so far, and the subject on which you expressed your intention of speaking to nze. Pray forgive me if I appear to hurry you — or if you have any reasons for hesitation.' Far from being offended, this incomprehensible man really appeared to be pleased. ' You read me like a book ! ' he exclaimed. * It's hesitation that's the matter with mo. I'm a variable man. If there's something disagreeable to say, there are times when I dash at it, and times when I hang back. Can I offer you any refreshment '? ' he asked, getting away from the subject again, without so much as an attempt at concealment. Hugh thanked him, and declined. ' Not even a glass of wine ? Such white Burgundy, my dear sir, as you seldom taste.' Hugh's British obstinacy was roused ; he repeated his reply. Lord Harry looked at him gravely, and made a nearer approach to an open confession of feeling than he had ventured on yet. ' With regard now to my wife. Wlien I went away this mornmg with Vimpany -he's not such giuai company as he used to be ; soured by misfortune, poor devil ; I wish he would go back t(j London. As I was saying —I mean as I was about to say — I left you and Lady Harry together this morning ; two old friends, glad (as I supposed) to have a gossip about old times. When I come back, J find you left here aluue, and I am told that Lady Harry is in her room. What do I see when 1 get there ? I see the finest pair of eyes in the world : and the tale they tell me is. We liave beer crying. When 1 ask what may have liappeaed to actuunt for tuis BUND LOVE »57 reply, jach to l(>rniiig Ito be ; lack to -I left glad come larry is finest I'e been lor ttiia — "Nothmg, dear," is all the answer I get. What's the impression naturally produced on my mind ? There has been a quaiTel per- haps between you and my wife.' ' I fail entirely, Lord Harry, to see it in that light.' ' Ah, likely enough ! Mine's the Irish point of view. As an Englishman you fail to understand it. Let that be. One thing, Mr. Mount] oy, I'll take the freedom of saying at once. I'll thank yoTi, next time, to quarrel with Me.' ' Yon force me to tell you, my lord, that you are under a com- plete delusion, if you suppose that there has been any quarrel, or approach to a quarrel, bet\veen Lady Harry and myself.' ' You tell me that, on you^' word of honour as a gentleman ? ' ' Most assuredly ! ' ' Sir ! I deeply regret to hear it.' ' Which does your lordship deeply regret ? That I have spoken to you on my word of honour, or that I have not quarrelled with Lady Harry ? ' ' Both, sir I By the piper that played before Moses, both ! ' Hugh got up, and took his hat : ' We may have a better chance of understanding each other,' he suggested, ' if you will be so good as to write to me.' * Put your hat down again, Mr. Mountjoy, and pray ha^e a moment's patience. I've tried to like you, sir — and I'm boimd in candour to own that I've failed to find a bond of union between us. Maybe, this frank confession annoys you.' ' Far from it ! You are going straight to your subject at last, if I may venture to say so.' The Irish lord's good-humour had completely disappeared by this time. His handsome face hardened, and his voice rose. The outbreak of jealous feeling, which motives honourable to himself had hitherto controlled, now seized on its freedom of expression. His language betrayed (as on some former occasions) that associa- tion with unworthy companions, which had been one of the evil results of his adventurous life. ' Maybe I'll go straighter than 3'ou bargain for,' he replied ; ' I'm in two humours about you. My common-sense tells me that you're my wife's friend. And the best of friends do sometimes quarrel, don't they ? Well, sir, you deny it, on your own account. I find myself forced back on my oiher humour — and it's a black humour, I can tell you. You may be my wife's friend, my fine fellow, but you're something more than tliat. You have alw ays been in love with her — and you're in love with her now. Thank you for your visit, but don't repeat it. Say ! do we understand each other at last ? • ' I have too sincere a respect for Lady Harry to answer j'oti,' Mountjn'y said. 'Ac the same time, let me acknowledge my obliga- tions to your lordship. You have reminded me that I did a foolish thing when I called here without nn invitation. I agree with you that the sooner my mistake is set right the better." 158 BLIND LOVE He replied in those words, and left the cottage. On the way back to his hotel, Hugh thought of what Mrs. Vim- pany had said to him when they had last seen each other : * Don't forget that there is an obstacle between you and Iris which will put even your patience and your devotion to a hard trial.' The obstacle of the husband had set itself up, and had stopped him already. His own act (a necessary act after the language that had been addressed to him) had closed the doors of the cottage, and had put an end to futui'e nieetnigs between Iris and himself. If they at- tempted to conimuuicate by letter, Lord Harry would have oppor- tunities of discovering their correspondence, of which his jealousy would certainly avail itself. Through the wakeful night, Hugh's helpless situation was perpetually in his thoughts. There seemed to be no prespiit alternative before him but resignation, and a return to England. m \ ,^' i-7 > BUND LOVE 1S9 CHAPTER XXXI THE SCHOOL FOR HUSBANDS N v,he next day Mountjoy heard news of Iris, which was I l^SA I not of a nature to relieve his anxieties. He received a M^^J visit from Fanny Mere. fe^»»Jir4M j The leave-taking of Mr. Vimpany, on the previous evening, was the first event which the maid had to relate. She had been present when the doctor said good-bye to the master and mistress. Business in London was the reason he gave for going away. The master had taken the excuse as if he really believed in it, and seemed to be glad to get rid of his friend. The mistress expressed her opinion that Mr. Vimpany's return to London must have been brought about by an act of liberality on the part of the most generous of living men. ' Yov,r friend has, as I believe, got some money from nnxj friend,' she said to her husband. My lord had looked at her very strangely when she spoke of Mr. Mountjoy in that way, and had walked out of the room. As soon as his back was turned, Fanny had obtained leave of absence. She had carried out her intention of watching the terminus, and had seen Mr. Vim- pany take his place among the passengers to London by the mail train. Returning to the cottage, it was Fanny's duty to ascertain if her services were required in her mistress's room. On reaching the door, she had heard the voices of my lord and my lady, and (as Mr. Mountjoy would perhaps be pleased to know) had been too honourable to listen outside, on this occasion. She had at once gone away, and had waited until she should be sent for. After a long interval, the bell that summoned her had been rung. She had found the mistress in a siate of agitation, partly angry, and partly distressed ; and had ventured fo ask if anything unpleasant had happened. No reply was made to that inquiry. Fanny had silently performed the customary duties of the night-toilet, in get- ting my lady ready for bed ; they had said good-night to each other and had said no more. In the morning (that present morning), being again in attend- ance as usual, the maid had found Lady Harry in a more indulgent frame of mind ; still troubled by anxieties, but willing to speak of them now. She had begun by talking of Mr. Mountjoy : ♦ I think you like him, Fanny : everybody likes him. You will i6o BLIND LOVE be sorx'.y to hear that we have no prospect of seeing him again at the cottage.' There she had stopped ; something that she had not said, yet, seemed to be in her mind, and to trouble her. She was near to crying, poor soul, but stru^'Cfled against it. * I have no sister,' she said, ' and no friend who might be like a sister to me. It isn't perhaps quite right to speak of my sorrow to my maid. Still, there is something hard to bear in having no kind heart near one — I mean, no other woman to speak to who knows what women feel. It is so lonely here — oh, so lonely ! I wonder whether you understand me and pity me ? ' Never forgetting all that she owed to her mistress — if she might say so without seeming to praise herself — Fanny was truly sorry. It would have been a relief to her, if she could have freely expressed her opinion that my lord must be to blame, when my lady was in trouble. Being a man, he was by nature cruel to women; the wisest thing his poor wife could do would be to expect nothing from him. The maid was sorely tempted to offer a little good advice to this effect ; but she was afraid of her own remembrances, if she encouraged them by speaking out boldly. It would be better to wait for what the mistress might say next. Lord Harry's conduct was the first subject that presented itself when the conversation was resumed. My lady mentioned that she had noticed how he looked, and how he left the room, when she had spoken in praise of Mr. Mount- joy. She had pressed him to explain himself— and she had made a discovery which proved to be the bitterest disappointment of her life. Her husband suspected her ! Her husband was jealous of her I It was too cruel ; ii was an insult beyond endurance, an in- sult to Mr. Mountjoy as well as to herself. If that best and dearest of good friends was to be forbidden the house, if he was to go away and never to see her or speak to her again, of one thing she was determined — he should not leave her without a kind word of fare- well ; he should hear how truly she valued him ; yes, and how she admired and felt for him 1 Would Fanny not do the same thing, in her place ? And Fanny had remembered the time when she might have done it for such a man as Mr. Mountjoy. ' Mind you ^tay indoors this evening, sir,' the maid continued, looking and speaking so excitedly that Hugh hardly knew her again. * My mistress is coming to see you, and I shall come with her.' Such an act of imprudence was incredible. * You must be out of your senses ! ' Mountjoy exclaiiued. 'I'm out of myself, sir, if that's what you mean,' Fanny answered. 'I do so enjoy treating a man in that way I The master's going out to dinner — he'll know nothing about it — and,* cried the cool o jld woman of other times, ' he richly deserves it.' Hugh ret s )ned and remonsti ated, and failed to produce the slightest effect. His next effort was to write a few lines to Lady Harry, en- treating her to remember that a jealous man is sometimes capable BLIND LOVE <6i away le was )f fare- )W she be out iFanny The |-and,' it.' Lee the of acts of the meanest duplicity, and that she might he watched. When he gave the note to Fanny to dehver, she informed him re- spectfully that he had better not trust her. A person sometimes meant to do right (she reminded him), and sometimes ended in doing wrong. Rather than disappoint her mistress, she was quite capable of tearing up the letter, on her way home, and saying no- thing about it. Hugh tried a threat next : * Your mistress will not find me, if she comes here ; I shall go out to-night.' The im- penetrable maid looked at him with a pitying sm^'3, and answered : • Not you I ' It was a humiliating reflection — but Fanny Mere understood him better than he understood himself. All that Moimtjoy had said and done in the way of protest, had been really dictated by consideration for the young wife. If he questioned his conscience, selfish delight in the happy prospect of seeing Iris again asserted itself, as the only view with which he looked forward to the end of the day. When the evening approached, he took the precaution of having his own discreet and faithful servant in attendance, to receive Lady Harry at the door of the hotel, before the ringing of the bell could summon the porter from his lodge. On calm consideration, the chances seemed to be in favour of her es- caping detection by Lord Harry. The jealous husband of the stage, who sooner (or later) discovers the innocent (or guilty) couple, as the case may be, is not always the husband of the world outside the theatre. With this fragment of experience present in his mind, Hugh saw the door of his sitting-room cautiously opened, at an earlier hour than he had anticipated. His trustworthy representa- tive introduced a lady, closely veUed — and that lady was Iris. V fy, en. japable 162 BL/ATD LOVE CITAT'TER XXXII GOOD-BYE TO IRIS [ADY Harrj' lifted her veil, and looked at Mountjoy v ;;h sad entreaty in her eyes. ' Are you angry with me ? ' she asked. ' I ought to be angry with you,' he said. ' This is very imprudent, Iris.' 'It's\. orse than tliat,' she confessed. 'It's reckless and de- sperate. Don't say I ought to have controlled myself. I can't control the shame 1 feel when I think of what has happened. Can I let you go — oh, what a return for your kindness 1 — without taking your hand at parting ? Come and sit by me on the sofa. After my poor husband's conduct, you and I are not likely to meet again. I don't e .pect you to lament it as I do. Even your sweetness and your patience— so often tried — mxist be weary of me now.' ' If you thought that possible, my dear, you would not have come here to-night,' Hugh reminded her. ' While we live, we have the hope of meeting again. Nothing in this world lasts. Iris — not even jealousy. Lord Harry himself told me that ho was a variable man. Sooner or later he will come to his senses.' Those words seemed to startle Iris. ' I hope you don't think that my husband is brutal to me 1 ' she exclaimed, still resenting even the appearance of a reflection on her marriage, and still for- getting what she herself had said which jiistified a doubt of her happiness. ' Have you formed a wrong impression ? ' she went on. ' Has Fanny Mere innocently ? ' Mountjoy noticed, for the first time, the absence of the maid. It was a circumstance which justified him in interrupting Iris— for it might seriously affect her if her visit to the hotel happened to be discovered. ' I understood,' he said, ' that Fanny was to come here with you' ' Yes 1 yes 1 She ij waiting in the carriage. We are careful not to excite attention at the door of the hotel ; the coachman will drive up and down the street till I want him again. Never mind that ! I have something to say to you about Fanny. She thinks of her own troubles, poor soul, when she talks to me. and exaggerates a little without meaning it. I hope she has not misled you in speak- ing of her master. It is lase and bad of him, unworthj' of a gentle- man, to be jealous — and he has wounded me deeply. But, dear BLIND LOVE 163 it on. with ireful will J mind Ihinks jrates Ipeak- lentle- dear Hugh, his jealousy is a {?entle jealousy. I have heard of other men who watch their wives — who have lost all conlidcnco in them — who would even have taken away from me such a trifle as this.' She smiled, and showed to JMountjoy hor duplicate key of the cottage door. * Ah, Harry is above such de;^'i-adinf,' distrust as that ! There are times when he is as heartily asliamtd of his own weakness as I could wish him to be. I have seen him on his knees before me, shocked at his conduct. He is no hypocrite. Indeed, his re- pentance is sincere, while it lasts — only it doesn't last ! His jealousy rises and falls, like the wind. He said last ni^'ht (when the wind was high) : " If you wish to make nie the hap])icst creature on the face of the earth, don't eucoura;,'^ Mr. Mountjoy to remain in Paris ! " Try to make allowances for him ! ' ' I would rather make allowances, Iris, for you. Do you, too, wish me to leave Paris '? ' Sitting very near to him — nearer than hor husband miglit ha\ e liked to see —Iris drew away a little. • JJid you mean to be cruel, in saying that ? ' she asked. ' I don't deserve it.' ' It was kindly meant,' Hugh assured her. * If I can make your position more endurable by going away, I will leave Paris to- morrow.' Iris moved back again to the j)l.ace which she had already oc- cupied. She was eager to thank him (for a reason not yet mentioned) as she had never thanked him yet. Silently and softly she offered her gratitude to Hugh, by offering her cheek. The irritating in- fluence of Lord Harry's jealousy was felt by both of them at that moment. He kissed her cheek — and lingered over it. She was thf; iirst to recover herself. ' When you spoke just now of my position with my husband,' she said, ' you reminded me of anxieties, Hugh, in which you once shared, and of services which I can never forget.' Preparing him in those words for the disclosure which she had now to make. Iris alluded to the vagabond life of adventure which Lord Harry had led. The restlessness in his )iature which that life implied, had latterly shown itself again ; and his wife had traced the cause to a letter from Ireland, communicating a report that the assassin of Arthur Mountjoy had been seen in London, and was supposed to be passing under the name of Carrigeen. Hugh would understand that the desperate resolution to revenge the murder of his friend, with which Lord Harry had left England in the past time, had been urged into action once more. He had not concealed from Iris that she must be resigned to his leaving her .^br a while, if the report which had reached him from Ireland proved to be true. It would be useless, and worse than useless, to remind this reckless man of the danger that threatened him from the In\incibles, if he returned to England. In using her power of influencing the hus- band who still loved her, Iris could only hope to exercise a salutary restraint in her own domestic interests, appealing to him for indul- gence by careful submissioa to any exactions on which his capricious AI 2 l64 BUND LOVE '. ► ■, jealousy mip;ht insist. Would suii necessity ozcuse her, if sh* accepted Mount] oy's offer to leave Paris, for the one reason that her husband had-askod it of her as a favour ? Hugh at once understood her motive, and assured her of his sympathy. ' You may depend upon my returning to London to-morrow,' he said. ' In the meantime, is there no better way in which I can be of use to you? If your influence fails, do you see any of r chance of keeping Lord Harry's desperate ))urpose under control ■? ' It had only tluit day occurred to Iris Unit there might be some prospect of an encouraging result, if she could obtain the assistance of Mrs. Vimpany. The doctor's wife was well acquainted with Lord Harry's past life, when he happohod to be in Ireland; and she had met many of his countrymen with whom he hud associated. If one of those friends happened to be the ollicious p(;rson who had written to him, it was at least ))Ossible tliat Mrs. Vimpany's discreet interferenco might prevent his mi^f^hievous correspondent from writing again. Lord Harry, waiting for more news, would in this event wait in vain. He would not know where to go, or what to do next — and, with such a nature as his, the end of his patience and the end of his resolution were likely to come together. Hugh handed his pocket-book to Iris. Of the poor chances in her favour, the; last was to his mind the least hopeless of the two. * If you have discovered the name of your husband's correspon- dent,' he said, ' write it flown for me, and I will ask Mrs. Vimpany if she knows liim. I will make your excuses for not having written to her latelj'; and, in any case, I answer for her being ready to help you.' As Iris thanked him and wrote the name, the clock en the chimneypicce struck the hour. She rose to say farewell. With a restless hand she half-lowered her veil, and raised it again. ' You won't mind my crying,' she said faintly, trying to smile through her tears. ' This is the saddest parting I have ever known. Dear, dear Hugh — good-bye ! ' Great is the law of Duty ; but the elder law of Love claims its higher right. Never, in all the years of their friendship, had they forgotten thcmselvts as they forgot themselves now. For the first time her lips met his lips, in their farewell kiss. In a moment more, they remembered the restraints which honour imposed on them ; they were only friends again. Silently, she lowered her veil. Silently, he took her arm and led her down to the carriage. Ifc was moving away from them at a slow pace, towards the other end of the street. Instead of waiting for its return, they followed and overtook it. ' We shall meet again,' he whispered. She answered sadly : * Don't forget me. Mountjoy turned back. As he approached the hotel he noticed a tall man crossing from the opposite side of the street. Not two BUND LOVE i«S If Bh« at her of iiifi )rrow,' I can ■ otlior itrol ? • ) somf istancc f9, past t many if those to him, •ferenrn :? again. wait in t — and, end of [inces in e two. rrespon- impany written to help en the owered iig,' she saddest minutes after Iris wau on her way homo, her jealons husband and her old friend met at the hotol door. Lord Harry spoke first. ' I have been dining out,' he said, ' and I came hero to have a word with you, Mr. Mouutjoy, on my road home.' Hugh answered with formal politeness : ' Let me show your lordaliip the way to my rooms.' ' Oh, it's needless to trouble you,' Lord Harry declared. ' I have so little to say — do you mind walking on with me for a few minutes ? ' Mouutjoy silently complied. He was thinking of what might have happened if Iris had delayed her departure— or if the move- ment ol the carriage! had boen towards, instead of away from the hotel. In either case it had been a narrow escape for the wife, from a dramatic discovery by the In band. 'We Irishmen,' Lord Harry resumed, 'are not famous for always obeying the laws ; but it is in our natures to respect the law of hospitality. When you were at the cottage yesterday I was in- hospitable to my guest. My rude behaviour has vveigbed on my mind since — and for that reason I have come here to speak to you. It was ill-bred on my part to reproach you with your visit, and to forbid you (oh, cpiite needlessly, 1 don't doubt!) to call on mo agaiii. If I own tli!it 1 Imve no desire to propose a renewal of friendly in- tercourse between us, you will understand me, I am sure ; witli my way of thinking, the less we sey of each other for the future, ihe better it may be. But, for what I said when my temper ran away with me, I ask you to accept my excuses, and the sincere expression of my regret.' 'Your excuses are accepted, my lord, as sincerely as you have offered them,' Mouutjoy answered. ' So far as I am concerned, the incident is forgotten from this moment.' Lord Harry expressed his courteous acknowledgments. ' Spoken as becomes a gentleman,' he siiid. ' I thank you.' There it ended. They saluted each other; they wished each other good-night. ' A mere formality ! ' Hugh thought, when they had parted. He had wronged the Irish lord in arriving at that conclusion. But time was to pass before events helped him to discover his error. I noticed lot two (I Wi 166 BLIND LOVE CHAPTEE XXXIII Till. OKCRKE OF FATE O N his arrival in London, Mount joy went to the Nurses' Institute to inquire for Mrs. Vim- pany. She was again absent, in attondance on another patient. The address of the house (known only to the matron) was, on this occasion, not to be comnninicated to any friend who nuf,'ht make inquiries. A bad case of scarlet fever had been placed under the nurse's care, and the dangor of con- taf^ion was too serious to be trifled with. The events which had led to Mrs. Vimpany's present em- ployment had not occurred in the customary course. A nurse who had recently joined the Institute had been first engaged to undertake the case, at the express request of the suffering person — who was said to be distantly related to the young woman. On the morning when she was about to proceed to the scene of her labours, news had reached her of the dangerous illness of her motlier. Mrs. Vimpany, who was free at the time, and who felt a friendly interest in her young colleague, volunteered to take her place. Upon this, a strange request had been addressed to the matron, on behalf of BLIND LOVE 167 the flick man. He deninid to \w ' informed of it, if the new nurse waa an Irishwoman.' Hearing that she was an Englishwoman, he at once accepted her services, being himself (as an additional element of mystery in the matter) an Irishman I The matron's English prejudices at once assumed that there had been somo discreditable event in the man's life, which might be made a subject of scandalous exi)osure if he was attended by one of his own countrypeople. She advised Mrs. Vimpany to have nothing to do with the alUicted stranger. Tlio nurse answered that she had prouiised to attend on him — and she kept her promise. Moxmtjoy left the Institute, after vainly attempting to obtain Mrs. Vimpany's address, The one concession which the matron offered to make was to direct his letter, and send it to the post, if he would be content with that form of communication. On reflection, he decided to write the letter. Prompt employment of time might bo of imiH)rtance, if it was possible to prevent any furtlier communication with Lord Hurry on the part of his Irish correspondent. Using tlio name with whicli Iris had provided him, Hiigli wrote to inquire if it was familiar to Mrs. Vimpany, as the name of a person with whom slie had been, at any time, acciuainted. In this event, he assured her that an immediate consuUation between them was absolutely necessary in the interests of Iris. He added, in a postscript, that he was in perfect health, and that he liad no fear of infection — and sent his letter to the matron to be forwarded. The reply reached him late in the evening. It was in the hand- writing of a stranger, and was to this effect : ' Dear Mr. Moimtjoy, — It is iin])ossible that I can allow you to run the risk of seeing me while I am in my present situation. So serious is the danger of contagion in scarlet fever, that I dare not even write to you with my own hand on note-pa])er which has been used in the sick room. Tliis is no mere fancy of mine ; the doctor in attendance liere knows of a case in which a small piece of in- fected flannel conunuuicated the disease after an interval of no less than a year. I must trust to your own good sense to see the necessity of waiting, imtil I can receive you without any fear of consequences to j'ourself. In the meantime, I may answer your inquiry relating to the name couimunicated in j'our letter. I first knew the gentleman you mention some years since ; we were intro- duced to each other by Lord Harry ; and I saw him afterwards on more tlian one occasion.' Mount] oy read this wise and considerate reply to his letter with indignation. Here was the good fortune for which he had not dared to hope, declaring itself in favour of Iris. Here (if Mrs. Vimpany could be persuaded to write to her friend) was the opportunity offered of keeping the hot-tempered Irish husband passive and harmless, by keeping him without further news of the assassin of Artlmr Moimt- joy. Under these encouviiging circumstances the proposed cousul- PS?' I: rn? T [f, I It i68 BUND LOVE tatior which might have produced such excellent results had been rejected; thanks to a contemptible I'ear of infection, excited by a story of a. trumpery piece of flannel ! Hugh anatched up the unfortunate letter (cast away on the floor) to tear it in pieces and throw it into the waste-paper basket — and checked himself. His angry hand had seized on it with the blank leaf of the note-paper uppermost. On that leaf he discovered two little lines of print, presenting, in the customary form, the address of the house at which the letter had been written ! The writer, in taking the sheet of paper from the case, inust have accidentally turned it wrong side Uppermost on the desk, and had not cared to re-copy the letter, or had not dis- covered the mistake. Eestored to his best good-humour, Hugh resolved to surprise Mrs. Vimpany by a visit, on the next day, which would set the theory of contagion at defiance, and render valuable service to Iris at a crisis in her life. Having time before him for reflection, in the course of the evening, he was at no loss to discover a formidable obstacle in the way of his design. ^Vhether he gave his name or concealed his name, when he asked for Mrs. Vimpany at the house-door, she would in either case refuse to see him. The one accessible person whom he could con- sult in this difiiculty was his faithful old servant. That experienced man — formerly employed, at various times, in the army, in the police, and in service at a public school — obtained leave to make some preliminary investigations on the next morning. He achieved two important discoveries. In the flrst place, Mrs. Vimpany was living in the house in which the letter to his master had been written. In the second place, there was a page attached to the domestic establishment (already under notice to leave his situation), who \\as accessible to corruption by means of a bribe. The boy would be on the watch for Mr. Mount] oy at two o'clock on that day, and would ohow him where to find Mrs. Vimpany, in the room near the sick man, in which she was accustomed to take her meals. Hugh acted on his instructions, and found the page waiting to adn.f. Jim secretly to the house. Leading the way upstairs, the boy pointed with one hand to a ;^oor on the second floor, and held out the other hand to receive his i:.oney. While he pocketed the bribe, and disappeared, Mountjoy opened the door. Mrs. Vimpany was seated at a table waiting for T>er dinner. When Hugh showed himself she started to her feet wu)i a cry of alarm. ' Are you mad ? ' she exclaimed. ' How did you get here ? What do you want here ? Don't come near me ! ' She attempted to pass Hugh on her way out of the room. He caught her by the arm, led her back to her chair, and forced her to scat lierself ngain. 'Iris is in trouble,' he pleaded, 'and you can help her.' Ill J mi i. BLIND LOVR 169 ' The fever ! ' she cried, lieedlfss of what he hflfl said. ' Kpep back from me — the fever ! ' For the second time she tried to get out of the room. For tlie second time Hugh stopped her. ' Fever or no fever,' he persisted, • I have something to say to you. In two minutes 1 shall have said it, and I will go." In the fewest possible words he described the situation of Iris with her jealous husband. Mrs. Vimpany indignantly interrupted him. ' Are you running this dreadful risk,' she asked, ' with nothing to say to me that I don't know already ? Hur husband jealous of her ? Of course he is jealous of her ! Leave me — or I will ring for the servant.' ' King, if yon like," Hugh answered; ' but hear this first. My letter to you alluded to a consultation Ix tuc^en us, which might be necessary in the interests of Iris. Imagine her situation if you can ! The assassin of Arthur Mountjoy is reported to be in London; and Lord Harry has heard of it.' Mrs. Vimpany looked at him with horror in her eyes. 'Gracious God!' she cried, 'the man is here— under my care. Oh, I am not in the consj)iracy to hide the wretch ! I \\\e\s no more of him than yon do when I offered to nurse him. The names that have escaped him, in his delirium, have told mc the truth.' As she spoke, a second door in the room was o))ened. An old woman showed hcself for a moment, trembling with terror. ' He's breaking out agaii . lurso ! Help me to hold him ! ' Mrs. Vimpany instantly followed the womim into the bed-room. 'Wait and listen,' she said to Mountjoy — and left the door open. The (piick, fierce, muttering tones of a man in delirium were now fearfully audible. His maddened memory wms travelling back over his own horrible life. He put questions to himself; he answered himself: ' Who d)-ew the lot to kill the traitor ? I did ! I did ! Who shot him on the road, before he could get to the wood ? I did ! T did ! Arthur Mountjoy, traitor to Ireland. Set Miat on his tomb- stone, and disgrace him for ever. Listen, boys— listen ! There is a patriot among you. I am the patriot—preserved by ■' iierciful Providence. Ha, my Lord Harry, search the earth ami >earch the sea, the patriot is out of your reach ! Nurse ! What's that the doctor said of me ? The fever will kill him ? Well, what does that matter, as long as Lord Harry doesn't kill me? Open the doors, and let everybody' hear of it. I die the death of a saiiit — the greatest of all saints — the saint who shot Arthur ^Mountjoy. Oh, the heat, the heat, the burning raging heat ! ' The tortured creature burst into a dreadful cry of rage and pain. It was more than Hugh's resolution could support. He hurried out of the house. Ten days passed. Iris at Passy. A letter, in a strange han.lwriting, reached 170 BLIND LOVE The first part of the ietiur was devoted to the Irish desperado, whom Mrs. Vimpany had attended in his iUness. When she only knew him as a suffering fellow-creature she had promised to be his nurse. Did the discovery that he was an assassin justify desertion, or even excuse neglect ? No ! the nursing art, like the healing art, is rai act of mercy — in itself too essen- tially noble to inquire w^hether the misery that it relieves merits help. All that experience, all that intelligence, all that care could offer, the niu-se gave to the man whose hand she would have shrunk from touching in friendship, after she had saved his life. A time had come when the fever threatened to take Lord Ha^y's vengeance out of his hands. The crisis of the disease de- clared itself. With the shadow of death on him, the wretch lived through it — saved by his strong constitution, and by the skilled and fearless woman who attended on him. At the period of his 'convalescence, friends fiom Ireland (accompanied by a medical man of their own choosing) presented themselves at the house, and asked for him by the name under which he passed — Carrigeen. With every possible care, he was removed; to what destination had never been discovered. From that time, all trace of him had been lost. Terrible news followed on the next page. The subtle power of infection had asserted itself against the poor mortal who had defied it. Hugh Mountjoy, stricken by the man who had murdered his brother, lay burning under the scarlet fire of the fever. But the nurse watched by him, night and day. I' ' I BLIND LOVE 171 CHAPTER XXXIV MY lord's MIXD ERE, my old-vagabond-Vinipany, is an interesting case for you — the cry of a patient with a sick mind. Look over it, and prescribe for yom* wild Irish friend, if you can. Y011 will perhaps remember that 1 have never thovou!,'hly trusted j-ou, in all the years since we have known each other. At this later date in om* lives, when I ouf,dit to see more clearly than ever what an unfathomable man you are, am I rash enough to be capable of taking yoix into my confidence "? I don't know what I a)n going to do ; I feel like a man who has been stunned. To be told that the murderer of Arthur Mo jntjoy had been seen in London —to be prepared to trace him by his pakry assumed name of Carrigeen— to wait vainly for the next discovery which might bring him within reach of retribution at my hands — and then to be overwhelmed by the news of his illness, his recovery, and his disappearance : these are the blows which have stupefied me. Only think of it ! He has escaped me for the second time. Fever that kills thousands of harmless creatures has spared the assassin. He may yet die in his bed, and be buried; with the guiltless dead around him, in a quiet churchyard. I can't get over it ; I shall never get over it. Add to this, anxieties about my wife, and maddening letters from cvoditors — and don't expect me to wri*^'3 reasonably. What I want to know is whether your art (or whatever you call it) an get at my diseased mind, through my healthy body. You have more than once told me that medicine can do this. The time has come foi doing it. I am in a bad way, and a bad end may follow. M3' only medical fiiend, deliver me from myself. In any case, let me beg you to keep your temper while you read what follovv^s. I have to confess that the devil whose name is Jealousy has entered into me, and \6 threatening the tranquillity of my married life. You dislike Iris, I know — and she returns your hostile feeling towards her. Try to do my wife justice, nevertheless, as I do. I don't believe my distrust of her has any excuse — and yet, I am jealous. More unreasonable still, I am as fond of her as I was in the first days of the honeymoon. Is she as fond as ever of me ? You were a married man when I was a boy. Let me give you the 172 BLIMD LOVE i i' fc. - *x V !( \'-- w- t 'i W?i »( \' 1 si ^ S'^' -J r'' i. i kf"* means of forming an opinion by a narrative of hei conduct, under (what I admit to have oeen) very trying circumstances. When the first information reached Iris of Hugh Moiintjoy's dangerous illness, we were at breakfast. It struck ^^er dumb. She handed the letter to me, and left the table. I hate a man who doesn't know what it is to want money ; I hate a man who keeps his temper ; I hate a man who pretends to be my wife's friend, and who is secretly in love with her all the time. What difference did it make to me whether Hugh Mountjoy ended in living or dying ? If I had any hiterest in the matter, it ought by rights (seeing that I am jealous of him) to be an interest in his (leath. Well ! I declare positively that the alarming news from London spoilt my breakfast ! There is something about that friend of ^ay wife— that smug prosperous well-behaved Englishman — which seems to plead for him (God knows how !) when my mind is least inclined in his favour. While I was reading about his illness, I found myself hoping that he would recover - and, I give you my sacred ^ ird of honour, I hated him all the time ! My Irish frie A is mad — you will say. Your Irish friend, my dear fellow, does not dispute it. Let us get back to my wife. She showed herself again after a long absence, having something (at last) to say to her husband. ' I am innocently to blame,' she began, ' for the di'eadful mis- fortune that has fallen on Mr. Mountjoy. If I had not given him a message to Mrs. Vimpany, he would never have insisted on seeing her, and would never have caught the fever. It may help me to bear my misery of self-reproach and suspense, if I am kept informed of his illness. There is no fear of infection by my receiving letters. I am to write to a friend of Mrs. Vimpany, who lives in another house, and who will answer my inquiries. Do you object, dear Harry, to my getting news of Hugh Mountjoy every day, while Le is in danger ? ' I was perfectly willing that she should get that news, and she ought to have known it. It seemed to me to be also a bad sign that she made her request with dry eyes. She must have cried, when she first heard that he was likely to sink under an attack of fever. Why were her tears kept hidden in her own room ? When she came back to me, her face was pale and hard and tearless. Don't you think she might have for- gotten my jealousy, when I was so careful myself not to show it ? My own belief is that she was longing to go to liondon, and help your wife to nurse the poor man, and catch the fever, and die with him if he died. Is this bitter ? Perhaps it is. Tear it off, and light your pipe with it. Well, the correspondence relating to the sick man continued every day ; and every day — oh, Vimpany, another concession to my jealousy I— she handed the letters to me to read. I made excuses (we Irish are good . r, tixuf;, if we are good at nothing else), and d o it S( s 4.m. BLIND LOVE 173 declined to read the medical reports. One morning, when she opened the letter of that day, there passed over her a change which is likely to remain in my memory as long as I live. Never have I seen svich an ecstasy of happiness in any woman's face, as I saw when she read the lines which informed her that the fever was mastered. Iris is sweet and delicate and bright — essentially fascinating, in a word. But she was never a beautiful woman, until she knew that Mountjoy's life was safe ; and she will never be a beautiful woman again, unless the time comes when my death leaves her free to marry him. On her wedding-day, he will see the transformation that I saw — and he will be dazzled as I was. She looked at me, as if she expected nie to speak. ' I am glad indeed,' I said, * that he is out of danger.* She ran to me — she kissed me ; I wouldn't have believed it was iu her to give such kisses. ' Now I have your sympathy,' she said, ' my happiness is complete ! ' Do you tliiuk T was indebted for those kisses to myself, or to that other man ? No, no — here is an im worthy doubt. I discard it. Vile suspicion ihall not wrong Iris this time. And yet — Shall I go on, and write the rest of it ? Poor, dear Arthur Mountjoy once told me of a foreign author, who was in great doubt of the right answer to some tough question that troubled him. He went into his garden and threw a stone at a tree. If he hit the tree, the answer would be — Yes. If he missed the tree, the answer would be — No. I am going into the garden to imitate the foreign author. You shall hear how it ends. I have hit the tree. As a necessary consequence, I must go on and write the rest of it. There is a growing estrangement between Iris and myself — and my jealousy doesn't altogether account for it. Sometimes, it occurs to me that we are thinking of what our future relations with Mountjoy are likely to be, and are ashamed to confess it to each other. Sometimes — and perhaps this second, and easiest, guess may be the right one — I am apt to conclude that we are only anxious about money matters. I am waiting for her to touch on the subject, and she is waining for me ; and there we are at a dead- lock. I wish I had some reason for going to some other place. I wish I was lost among strangers. I should like to find myself in a state of danger, meeting the risks that I used to run in my vagabond days. Now I think of it, I might enjoy this last excitement by going back to England, and giving the Invincibles a chance of shooting me as a traitor to the cause. But my wife would object to that. Suppose we change the subject. You will be glad to hear that you know something of law, as well as of medicine. I sent instructions to my solicitor in London to raise a loan on my life-iusuiance. Wliat you said to me turns 174 ni.TND LOVE out to be rigl I can't raise a farthing, for three yoard to come, out of all the , Misands of pounds which I shall leave behind me when I die. Are niy prospects from the newspaper likely to cheer me after such a disappointment as this ? The new journal, I have the plea- sure of informing you, is much admired. When I inquire for my profits, I hear that the expenses are heavy, and I am told that I must wait for a rise in our circulation. How loug ? Nobody knows. I shall keep these pages open for a few days more, on the chance of something happening which may alter my present posi- tion for the better. My position has altered for the worse. I have been obliged to fill my empty purse, for a little while, by means of a bit of stamped paper. And how shall I meet my liabilities when the note falls due ? Let time answer the question ; for the present the evil day is put off. In the meanwhile, if that literary speculation of yom's is answering no better than my news- paper, I can lend you a few pounds to get on with. What do you say (on second thoughts) to coming back to your old quarters at Passy, and giving mo your valuable advice by word of mouth in- stead of by letter ? Come, and feel my pxilse, and look at my tongue — and tell me ^ ^w these various anxieties of mine are going to end, before we are any of us a year older. Shall I, like you, be separated "from my wife- at her request; oh, not at mine ! Or sliall I 1)0 locked up in prison ? And what will become of You ? Do you take the hint, doctor ? BLIND LOVE 175 CHAPTER XXXV MY lady's mind eyNTREAT Lady Harry not to write f, to me. Sho will be tempted to do BO, when she hears that tliore is {^oodhope of Mr. iVJountjoy's re- covery. But, even from that loving and generous heart, I must not accept expressions of gratitude which would only embarrass me. All that I have done, as a nurse, and all that I may yet i,< hope to do, is no more than an effort to make amends for my past life. Iris has my heart's truest wishes for her happiness. Until I can myself write to her without danger, let this be enough* In those terms, dearest of women, your friend has sent your message to me. My love respects as well as admires you ; your wishes are commands to me. At the same time, I may find some relief from the fears of the future thnt oppress me, if I cnn confide them to friendly ears. May I not harmlessly write to you, if I only write of my own poor self? Try, dear, to remember those pleasant days when you were staying with us, in our honeymoon time, at Paris. You warned me, one evening when we were alone, to be on my 176 BUND LOVE &.« II I w guard against any circumstancos which might excite my husband's jealousy. Since then, the trouble that you foresaw has fallen on me ; mainly, I am afraid, through my own want of self-control. It is so hard for a woman, when slie really loves a man, to understand a state of mmd which can make him doubt her. I have discovered that jealousy varies. Let me tell you what I mean. Lord Harry was silent and sullen (ah, how well I knew what that meant !) while the life of our poor Hugh was in jeopardy. When I read the good news which told me that he was no longer in danger, I don't know whether there was any change worth remarking in myself — but, there was a change in my husband, delightful to see. His face showed such sweet sympathy when he looked at me, he spoke so kindly and nicely of Hugh, that I could only express my pleasure by kissing him. You will hardly believe me, when I tell you that his hateful jealousy appeared again, at that moment. He looked sm-prised, he looked suspicious — he looked, I declare, as if he doubted whether I meant it with all my heart when I kissed him ! What incomprehensible creatures men are ! We read in novels of women who are able to manage their masters, f wish I knew how to manage mine. We have been gettuig into debt. For some weeks past, this sad state of things has been a biu'den on my mind. Day after day, 1 have been expecting him to speak of our situation, and have found him obstinately silent. Is his mind entirely occupied with other things ? Or is he unwilling to speak of our anxieties because the subject humiliates him ? Yesterday, I could bear it no longer. ' Our debts are increasing,' I said. ' Have you thought of any way of paying them ? ' I had feared that my question might irritate him. To my relief, he seemed to be diverted by it. ' The payment of debts,' he replied, ' is a problem that I am too poor to solve. Perhaps, I got near to it the other day.' I asked how. ' Well,' he said, ' I found myself wishing I had some rich friends. By-the-bye, how is your rich friend ? What have you heard lately of Mr. Mountjoy ? ' ' I have heard that he is steadily advaiicing towards recovery.' ' Likely, I dan? say, to return to France when he feels equal to it,' my husband remarked. * He is a good-natured creature. If he finds himself in Paris again, I wonder whether he will pay us another visit ? ' He said this quite seriously. On my side, I was too much as- tonished to utter a word. My bewilderment seemed to amuse him. In his own pleasant way he explained himself : ' I ought to have told you, my dear, that I was in Mr. Mount- joy's company the night before he returned to England. We had said some disagn-eeable things lo each other here in the cottage, while you were away in your room. My tongue got the better oi I V BLIND LOVE 177 my judgment. In short, I spoke rudely to our guest. Thinking over it afterwards, I felt that I ought to make an apolog}'. He received my sincere excuses with an amiability of manner, and a grace of language, which raised him greatly in my estimation.' There you have Lord Harry's own words I Who would suppose that he had ever been jealous of the man whom he spoke of in this way ? I explain it to myself, partly by the charm in Hugh's look and manner, wliich everyl^ody feels ; partly by the readiness with which my hiDAband's variable nature receives new impressions. I hope you agree with me. In any case, pray let Hugh see what I have writtf'U t(» you in this place, and ask him what he thinks of it.' KncouvKi'ed, as you will easily iinderstand, by the delightful fffospect of a reconciliation between them, 1 was eager to ^ake my first opportunity ol sjioaking freely of Hugh. Up to that time, it had been a hard tria hi kee]» to myself so much that was deeply interesting t»i my thoughts and ho])es. But my hours of disap- pointment w^/e not at an end yet. We were interrupted. A letter was brought to us — one of many, already received ! — insisting on immediate payment of a debt that had been too long unsettled. The detestable subject of our poverty insisted on claim- ing attention wheu there was a messenger out-^ide, waiting for my poor Harry's last French bank note. ' What is to be done ? ' I said, when we were left by ourselves again. My husband's composure was something wonderful . He laughed and lit a cigar. ' We have got to the crisis,' he said. * The question of money has driven us into a corner at last. My darling, have you ever heard of such a thing as a promissory note ? ' I was not quite so ignorant as he supposed me to be ; I said I had heard my father speak of promissory notes. This seemed to fail in convincing him. ' Your father,' he re- marked, ' used to pay his notes when they fell due.' I betrayed ray ignorance, after all. ' Doesn't everybody do the same ? ' I asked. He burst out laughing. ' W^e will send the maid to get a bit of stamped paper,' he said : ' I'll write the message for her, this time.' Those last words alluded to Fanny's ignorance of the French language, which made it necessary to provide her with written in- structions, when she was sent on an errand. In our domestic affairs, I was able to do this ; but, in the present case, I only handed the message to her. When she returned with a slip of stamped paper, Harry called to me to come to the writing-table. * Now, my sweet,' he said, ' see how easily money is to be got with a scratch of the pen.' • Note by Mrs. Vimpany. — I sLall certainly not he fooli-h enough to sliow what she has written to Mr. Mountjoy. Poor deluded Itxa ' Miserable fatal marriage ! •s BLIND LOVE % 1 looked over his Bhoulder. In less than a minute it was don© ; iind he had produced ten thousand francs on paper — in En>,'lish money (as he told nic), four hundred pounds. This seemed to be a liir<,'e loan ; I asked how he proposed to pay it hack. He kindly rcnnnded me that ho was a newspaper proprietor, and, as such, jiii^scssed of the moans of inspirin^j confidence in persons with iiioiHiy to spare. They could afford, it seems, to give him three months in which to arran^'c for repayment. In that time, as he thought, the profits of the new journal might come pouring in. He knew best, of course. We took the next train to Paris, and turned our bit of paper ■nto notes and gold. Never was there such a delightful companion as my husband, when he has got money in his pocket. After so much sorrow and anxiotj', for weeks past, that memorable afternoon Nvas like a glimpse of Paradise. On the next morning, there was an end to my short-lived en- joyment of no more than the latter half of a day. Watching her opportunity, Fanny Mere came to me while I was alone, carrying a thick letter in her hand. She held it before me with the address U})permost. • Please to look at that,' she said. The letter was directed (in Harry's handwriting) to Mr. Vimpany, at a publishing office in London. Fanny next turned the envelope the other waj'. • Look at this side,' she resumed. Tiie envelope was specially protected by a seal ; bearing a device (if my husband's own invention ; that is to say, the initials of his name (HaiTy Norland) surmounted by a star — his lucky star, as he ) aid me the compliment of calling it, on the day when he married me. I was thinking of that day now. Fanny saw me looking, with a sad heart, at the impression on the wax. She completely misinterpreted the direction taken by my thoughts. •Tell me to do it, my lady,' she proceeded ; * and I'll open the letter.' I looked at her. She showed no confusion. ' I can seal it up again,' she coolly explained, ' with a bit of fresh wax and my thimble. Perhaps Mr. Vimpany won't be sober enough to notice it.' • Do you know, Fanny, that you are making a dishonourable proposal to me ? ' I said. ' I know there's nothing I can do to help you that I won't do," she answ c red ; ' and you know why. I have made a dishonourable l)roposal— lave I ? That comes quite naturally to a lost woman like me. Shall I tell you what Honour means ? It means sticking at nothing, in your service. Please tell me to open the letter.' ' How did you come by the letter, Fanny ? ' ' My master gave it to me to put in the post.' 'Then, post it.' The strange creature, so full of contraries — so sensitive at one time, so impenetrable at another — pointed again to the address. BLmn LOVF 179 'When the master writes to that man,' she went on — 'a long letter (if you will i-.otioe), and a scaled letter— your ladyship ouyijt to see wluit is in ide it. I haven't a doubt niyselt' that tiiere's writing under this seal whifh bodes trouble to you. The spare bedroom is eini)ty. Do y(A\ want to ha\e the doctor for your visitor agam ? Don't tell me to post the letter, till I've opened it first.' ' I do tell you to post the letter.' Faimy submitted, so fur. But she had a now form of persuasion to try, before her reserves of resistance were exhausted. ' If tbe doctor comes bai'k,' she contiimed, 'will your ladysbi[) give me leave to go cut, whenever I ask for it ? ' This w.is sm-ely i»resumlng on my indulgence. 'Are you not expecting a little too much ? ' I suggested — not unkindly. ' If you say that, m\ lady.' she answered, 'I shall be obliged to ask you to suit yourself with another maid.' There was a tone of dictation in this, which I found beyond endurance. In my anger, I said : ' Leave me wlienever you like.' 'I shall leave you when I'm dead — not before,' was the reply that I received. 'But if you won't let me have my liberty without going away from you, for a time, I must go- for your sake.' (l''or my sake I Pray observe that.) She went on : ' Try to see it, my lady, as I do ! If we have the doctor with us again, I must be able to watch him.' ' Why ? ' ' BecavTse he is your enemy, as I believe.* ' How can he hurt me, Fanny ? ' ' Through your husband, my lady, if he can do it in no other way. Mr. Vimpany shall have a spy at his heels. Dishonourable ! oh, dishonourable again 1 Nevermind. I don't prete.ul to know what that villain means to do, if he and my lord get together again. But this I can tell you, if it's in woman's wit to circumvent him, here I am with my mind made up. With my mind made up 1 ' she repeated fiercely — and recovered on a sudden her customary character as a quiet well-trained servant, devoted to her duties. ' I'll take my master's letter to the post now,' she said. * Is there anything your ladyship wants in the tow o ? ' What do you think of Fanny Mere ? Ought I to have treated this last offer of her services, as I treated her proposal to open the letter ? I was not able to do it. The truth is, I was so touched by her devotion to me, that I could not prevail on myself to mortify her by a refusal. I believe there may be a good reason for the distrust of the doctor which possesses her so strongly ; and I feel the importance of having this faithful and determined woman for an ally. Let me hope that Mr. Vimpany's return (if it is to take place) may be delayed until you can safely write, with your own hand, such a letter of wise advice as I sadly need. m2 %. ^y «"^ -^^ ,,0. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 ."ri^ II I.I B25 45 If i;^ III 2.0 •- u 1.8 1.25 1-4 1 1.6 ^ 6" ► ^ v] <9 ^. /2 v: c^i ? o^ . ^> >s y^ Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WES1 MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 ^■v-. -^j> ^ 1 iV ^ iFo BUND LOVP. In the uicautiiuti, give my luve to Hugh, and say to this dear firiend all that I might have said for myself, if I had been near him. But take care that his recovery is not retarded by anxiety for me. Pray keep him in ignorance of the doubts and fears with which I am now looking at the future. If I was not so fond of my husband. I should be easier in my mind. This sounds contradictory, but I beheve you will understand it. For a while, my dear, good-bye. BUND LOVE itto CHAPTER XXXVI THE DOCTOR MEANS MISCHIEF N the day after Lord Harry's description of the state oi his mind reached London, a gentleman presented himself at the publishing office of Messrs. Boldside Brothers, and asked for the senior partner, Mr. Peter Boldside. When he sent in his card, it bore the name of ' Mr. Vimpany.' * To what fortunate circiunstance am I indebted, sir, for the honour of your visit '? ' the senior partner inquired. His ingra- tiating manners, his genial smile, his roundjy resonant voice, were personal advantages of which he made a merciless use. The literary customer who entered the office, hesitating before the question of publishing a work at his own e.'^^^pense, generally decided to pay the penalty when he encountered Mr. Peter Boldside. ' I want to inquire about the sale of my work,' Mr. Vimpany replied. ' Ah, doctor, you have come to the wrong man. You must go to ray brother.' Mr. Vimpany pi'otested. 'You mentioned the terms when I Hrst applied to you,' he said, ' and you signed the agreement.' ' That is in my department,' the senior partner gently explained. ' And I shall write the cheque when, as we both hope, your large profits will fall due. But our sales of works are in the department of my brother, Mr. Paul Boldside.' He rang a bell; a clerk appeared, and received his instructions : ' Mr. Paul. Good-morning, doctor.' Mr. Paul was, personally speaking, his brother repeated — with- out the deep voice, and without the genial suiilc. Conducted to the office of the junior partner, Mr. Vimpany found himself in the presence of a stranger, occupied in turning over the pages of a newspaper. When his name was announced, the publisher started, and handed his newspaper to the doctor. • This is a coincidence,' he said. ' I was looking, sir, for your . name in the pages which I have just put into your hand. Surely the editor can't have refused to publish your letter ? ' Mr. Vimpany was sober, and therefore sad, and therefore (again) not to be trifled with by a mystifying reception. ' I don't under- stand you/ he answered gruUly. ' What do you mean ? ' ' Is it possible that you have not seen last week's number of the • 1 82 BLIND LOVE paper ? ' Mr, Paul asked. ' And you a literary man I * He forth- with produced the last week's number, and opened it at the right place. ' Eead that, sir,' he said, with something in his manner which looked like virtuous indignation. Mr. Vimpany found himself confi'onted by a letter addressed to the editor. It was signed by an eminent physician, whose portrait had appeared i)i the first serial part of the new work — accompanied by a brief memoir of his life, which purported to be written by himself. Not one line of the autobiogi'aphy (this celebrated pwson declared) had proceeded from his pen. Mr. Vimpany had impudeutly published an imaginary memoir, full of false reports and scandalous inventions — and this after he had been referred to a trustworthy source for the necessary particulars. Stating these facts, the indig- nant physician cautioned readers to beware of purchasing a work which, so far as he was concerned, was nothing less than a fraud on the public. 'If you can answer that letter, ir,' Mr. Paul Boldsiae resumed, * the better it will bo, I can tell you, for the sale of your publication.' Mr. Vimpany made a reckless reply : ' I want to know how the thing sells. Never mind the letter.' ' Never mind the letter ? ' the junior partner repeated. ' A positive charge of fraud is advanced by a man at the head of his profession against a work which we have published — and you say, Never mind the letter.' The rough customer of the Boldsides struck his fist on the table. ' Bother the letter ! I insist on knowing what the sale is.' Still preserving his dignity, Mr. Paul (like Mr. Peier) rang for the clerk, and briefly gave an order. ' Mr. Vimpany's account,' he said — and proceeded to admonish Mr. Vimpany himself. ' You appear, sir, to have no defence of your conduct to offer. Our firm has a reputation to preserve. When I have consulted with my brother, we shall be under the disagreeable necessity ' Here (as he afterwards told his brother) the publisher was brutally interrupted by the author • ' If you will have it,' said this rude man, ' here it is in two words. The doctor's portrait is the likeness of an ass. As he couldn't do it himself, I wanted materials for writing his life. He referred me to the year of his birth, the year of his marriage, the year of this, that, and the other. Who cares about dates ? The public likes to be tickled by personal statements. Very well — I tickled the public. There you have it in a nutshell.' The clerk appeared at that auspicious moment, with the author's * account neatly exhib'ted under two sides : a Debtor side, which represented the expenditure of Hugh Mountjoy's money; and a Creditor si'le, which represented (so far) Mr. Vimpany's profits. Amount of these last : 3Z. 14s. 10c?. Mr. Vimpany tore up the account, threw the pieces in the face of Mr. Paul, and expressed his sentiments in one opprobrious word; • Swindlers I ' BLIND r.OVR tS The publisher said : ' You shall hear of us, sir, through our lawyer.' And the author answered : ' Go to the devil ! ' two he He the ■The -I lace Ird! Once out in the streets again, the first open door at which Mr. Vimpany stopped was the door of a tavern. He ordered a glass of brandy and water, and a cigar. It was then the hour of the afternoon, between the time of luncheon and the time of dinner, when the business of a tavern is generally in a state of suspense. The dining-room was empty when Mr. Vimpany entered it : and the waiter's unoccupied atten. tion was m want of an object. Having nothing else to notice, he looked at the person who had just come in. The deluded stranger was drinking fiery potato-brandy, and smoking (at the foreign price) an English cigar. Would his taste tell him the melancholy truth ? No ; it seemed to matter nothing to him what he was drinking or what he was smoking. ITow he looked angry, and now he looko 1 puzzled ; and now he took a long letter from his pocket, and read it in places, and marked the places with a pencil. ' Up to some mischief,' was the waiter's interpretation of these signs. The stronger ordered a second glass of grog, and drank it in gul)>s. and fell into such deep thought that he let his cigar go out. Evidently, a man in search of an idea. And, to all appearance, he found what Vie wanted on a sudden. In a hurry he paid his reckoning, and leit his small change and his unfinished cigar on the table, and was off before the waiter could say, • Thank you.' The next place at which he stopped was a fine house in a spacious square. A carriage was waiting at the door. The servant who opened the door knew him. ' Sir James is going out again, sir, in two minutes,' the man said. Mr. Vimpany answered : ' I won't keep him two minutes.' A bell rang from the room on the ground floor ; and a gentleman came out, as Mr. Vimpany was shown in. Sir James's stethoscope was still in his hand ; his latest medical fee lay on the table. ' Some other day, Vimpany,' the great surgeon said ; ' I have no time to give you now.' ' Will you give nie a minute ? ' the humble doctor asked. 'Very "well. What is it?' ' I am down in the world now. Sir James, as you know — and I am trying to pick myself up again.' ' Very creditable, my good fellow. How can I help you ? Come, come— out with it. You want something.' ' I want your great iiiune to do me a great service. I am going to France. A letter of introduction, from you, will open doors which might be closed to an unknown man like mytielf.' ' What doors do y lu mean ? ' Sir James asked. ' The doors of li o hospitals in Paris.' ' Wait a minute, Vimpany. Have you any particular object in view ? • 1 84 BUND LOVE ' A professional object, cf course,' the ready doctor answered. ' I have got an idea for a new treatment of diseases of the lungs ; and I want to see if the French have made any recent discoveries in that direction.' Sir James took up his pen — and hesitated. His iU-starred medical colleague had been his fellow-student and his friend, in the days when they were both young men. They had seen but little of each other since they had gone their different ways — one of them, on the high road which leads to success, the other down the byways which end in failure. The famous surgeon felt a passing doubt of the use which his needy and vagabond inferior might make of his name. For a moment his pen was held suspended over the paper. But the man of great reputation was also a man of great heart. Old associations pleaded with him, and won their cause. His companion of former times left the house provided with a letter of introduction to the chief surgeon at the Hotel Dieu, in Paris. Mr. Vimpany's next, and last proceeding for that day, was to stop at a telegraph-office, and to communicate economically with Lord Harry in three words : ' Expect me to-morrow.' BUND LOVE lis CHAPTER XXXVII THE FIRST QUARREL ^ARLY in the morning of the next day, Lord Harry received the doctor's telegram. Iris not having risen at the time, he sent for Fanny Mere, and ordered her to get the spare room ready for a guest. The maid's busy sus- picion tempted her to put a venturesome question. She asked if the person expected was a lady or a gentleman. ' What business is it of yours who the visitor is ? ' her master asked sharply. Always easy and good-humoured with his inferiors in general. Lord Harry had taken a dislike to his wife's maid, from the moment when he had first seen her. His Irish feeling for beauty and brightness was especially offended by the unhealthy pallor of the woman's complexion, and the sullen self- suppression of her manner. All that his native ingenuity had been able to do was to make her a means of paying a compliment to his wife. •Your maid has one merit in my eyes,' he said ; 'she is a living proof of the sweetness of your temper.' Iris joined her husband at tlie breakfast-table with an appear- ance of disturbance in her face, seldom seen, during the dull days of her life at Passy. ' I hear of somebody coming to stay with us,' she said. ' Not Mr. Vimpany again, I hope and trust '? ' Lord Harry was careful to give his ciistomary morning kiss, before he replied. ' Why shouldn't my faithful old friend come and see me again ? ' he asked, with his winning smile. ' Pray don't speak of that hateful man,' she answered, ' as your faithful old friend ! He is nothing of the kind. What did you tell me when he took leave of us after his last visit, and I owned I was glad that he had gone ? You said : " Faith, my dear, I'm as glad as you are." ' Her good-natui'ed husband laughed at this little picture of him- self. ' Ah, my darling, how many more times am I to make the same confession to my pretty priest ? Try to remember, without more telling, that it's one of my misfortunes to be a man of many tempers. There are times when I get tired to death of Mr. Vim- pany ; and there are times when the cheery old devil exercises fas- cinations over me. I declare you're spoiling the eyebrows that I admire by letting them twist themselves into a frown I After the trouble I have taken to clear your mind of prejudice against an an* IS6 BLIND LOVE fortunate man, it's disliciirtcninj,' to lind you so hard on the poor fellow's faults and so blind to his virtnos.' The timo had been when this remonstrance might have inllu- enced his wife's opinion. She passed it over without notice now. ' Does he come here by your invitaiioii ? ' she asked. • How else should he come here, my dear ? * She looked at her husband with doubt too plainly visible in her eyes. * I wonder what your motive is for sending for hin),' she said. Ifc was just lifting his teacup to his lips — he put it down again when he heard those words. ' Are you ill this morning? ' he asked. ' No.' ' Have I said anything that has offended you ? ' • Certainly not.' 'Then I must tell you this, Iris; I don't approve of what you have just said. It sounds, to my mind, unpleasantly like suspicion of me and suspicion oi" my friend. I see your face confessing it, my lady, at this moment.' ' You are half riglit, Harry, and no more. What you see in my face is suspicion of your friend.' ' I'^ounded on what, if you please ? ' ' Founded on what I have seen of him, and on what I know of him. When you tried to alter my opinion of Mr. Vimpany some time since, I did my best to make ray view j'our view. I deceived myself, for your .sake ; I i)ut the best construction on what he said and did, when he was staying here. It was well meant, but it was of no use. In a tiiousand different ways, while he was doing his best to win my favour, his true self was telling tales of him under the fair surface. Mr. Vimpany is a bad man. He is the very worst friend you could have about you ot any time and especially at a time when your patience is tried by needy circumstances.' 'One word, Iris. The more elocpient you ai'e, the more I admire you. Only, don't mention my needy cix-cumstances again,' She passed over the interruption as she had already passed over the remonstrance, without taking notice of it. ' Dearest, you are always good to me,' she continued gently. ' Am I wrong in thinking that love gives me some little influence over you still ? Women are vain — are they not ? — and I am no better than the rest of them. Flatter your wife's vanity, Harry, by attaching some importance to her opinion. Is there time enough, yet, to telegraph to Mr. Vimpany ? Quite out of the question, is it ? Well, then, if he must como here, do— pray, pray do consider Me. Don't let him stay in the house ! I'll find a good excuse, and take a bedroom for him in the neiglibourhood. Anywhere else, so long as he is not here. He turns me cold when I think of him, sleeping under the same roof with ourselves. Not with u% \ oh, Hcrry, not with UB ! • Her eyes eagerly searched lier husband's face ; she looked iliere nifsm r.ovE 187 Imping not for indulgence, she looked for conviction. No I be was still admir* ing her. ' On my word of honour,' ho burst out, ' you fascinate me. What an imagination you have got ! One of these days, Iris, I shiill be prouder of you than ever ; I shall find you a famous literary cha- raeter. I don't mean writing a novel ; women who can't even hem a handkerchief can write a novel. It's poetry I'm tlnnkinj,' of. Irish melodies by Lady Harry thnt beat Tom Moore. What a gift ! And there are fortunes nuide, as I have beard, by peojjle who sjioil fair white paper to some purpose. I wish I was one of them.' ' Have you no more to sav to me ? ' she asked. ' What more should there be ? You wouldn't have me take you seriously, in what you have just said of Vimpany ? ' ♦ Why not ? ' ' Oh, come, come, my darling ! Just consider. With a bedroom empty and waiting, upstairs, is my old Vimpany to be sent to (puirters for the night among strangers? I wouldn't speak harshly to you, Iris, for the whole world ; and I don't deny that the convivial doctor may be sometimes a little too foiul of his drop of grog. You will tell me, maybe, that he hasn't got on nicely with his wife ; and I grant it. There are n»)t many ))eople who set such a i)retty example of matrimony as we do. Poor hunumity- there's all that's to be said about it. But when you tell me that Vimpany is a bad man, and the worst friend I could possibly have, aiul so forth — what better can I do than set it down to your inuigination ? I've a pretty fancy, myself ; and I think I see my angel inventing poetical cha- racters, u]) among congenial clouds. What's the matter ? Surely, you haven't done breakfast yet ? ' ' Yes.' ' Are you going to leave me '} ' ' I am gomg to my room.' ' You're in a mighty hurry to get away. I never meant to vex you. Iris. Ah, well, if you must leave the table, I'll have the honoui' of opening the door for you at any rate. I wonder what you're going to do ? ' • To cultivate my imagination,' she answered, with the first out- break of bitterness that had escaped her yet. His face hardened. ' There seems to be something like bearing malice in this,' he said. ' Are you treating me, for the first time, to an exhibition of enmity ? What am 1 to call it, if it's not that ? ' 'Call it disappointment,' she suggested quietly, and left him. Lord Harry went back to his breakfast. His jealousy was up in arms again. ' She's comparing me with her absent friend,' he said to himself, ' and wishing she had married the amiable Mountjt)y in- stead of me.' So the first quarrel ended— and Mr. Vmipaiiy had been the caiise of it. here i88 BLIND LOVE CHAPTER XXXVra lOI ON PARLE FSAN^AIS |TIE doctor arrived in good time for dinner, and Bhook hands with the Irish lord in axcellent spirits. He looked round the room, and asked where my \a.([y was. Lord Harry's reply sng^'osted the presence of a cloud on the domestic horizon. He had been taking a long ride, and had only returned a few minutes since ; Iris would (as he sup- posed) join them immediately. The maid put the soup on the table, and delivered a message. Her mistress was suffering from a headache, and was not well enough to dine with the gentlemen. As an old married man, Mr. Vimpany knew what this meant ; he begged leave to send a comforting message to the suffering lady of the house. Would Fanny be good enough to say that ho had made inquiries on the subject of Mr. Mountjoy's health, before ho loft London. The report was still favourable ; there was nothing to complain of but the after-weakness wlaich had followed the fever. Oil that account only, the attendance of the nurse was still a matter of necessity. ' "With my respects to Lady Harry,' he called after Fanny, as she went out in dogged silence. • I have begun by making myself agreeable to your wife,' the doctor remarked with a self-approving grin. ' Perhaps she will dine with us to-morrow. Pass the sherry.' The remembrance of what had happened at the breakfast-table, that morning, seemed to be dwelling disagreoably on Lord Harry's mind. He said but little — and that little related to the subject on which he had already written, at full length, to his medical friend. In an interval, when the service of the table recpiired the attend- ance of Fanny in the kitchen, Mr. Vimpany took the opportunity of saying a few cheering words. He had come (he remarked) prepared with the right sort of remedy for an ailing state of mind, and he V/'ould explain himself at a fitter opportunity. Lord Harry ini- pati mtly asked why the explanation svas deferred. If the presence of the maid was the obstacle which c vised delay, it would bo easy to tell her that she was not wanted to wait. The wary doctor positively forbade this. He had observed Faimy, during his [)ieviou8 v sit, and had dis- covered that she seemeu to distrust him. The woman was sly and suspicious. Since they had sat down t > dinner, it was easy to see thi on be d0( th BUND LOVE 189 that she was linRcring in tho room to listen to tho convcrantion, on one pretence or another. If she was ti>lil not to wait, tlicro couKl be no doubt of her next i)r()ceotHnf,' : she would Hslcii outside tho door. • Take my word for it,' tlio doctor concluded, ' there are all the materials for a spy in Fanny Mere.' But Lord Harry was obstinate. C'liafnif,' under tho sense of his helpless pecuniary position, he was determined to hear, at once, what remedy for it Vimpany had discovered. • We can set that woman's curiosity at defiance,' he said. • How ? • • When you were learning your profession, you lived in Paris for some years, didn't you ? ' ♦All right I' • Well, then, you can't have entirely forgotten your French ? * The doctor at once understood what this meant, and answered significantly by a wink. He had found an opportunity (he said) of testing his memory, not very long since. U'inie had undoubtedly deprived him of his early mastery over the P'rench language ; but he could still (allowing for a few mistakes) make a shift to under- stand it and speak it. '•There was one thing, however, that he wanted to know first. Could they be sure that my lady's maid had not )icked up French enough to use her ears to some purpose ? Lord Hi rry easily disposed of this doubt. So entirely ignorant was the maid of the language of the place in which she was living, that 3he was not able to ask the tradespeople for the simplest article of household use, unless it was written for her in French before she was sent on an errand. This was conclusive. When Fanny returned to the dining- room, she found a surprise waiting for her. The two gentlemen had taken leave of their nationality, and were talking the language of foreigners. An hour later, when the dirmer-table had been cleared, the maid's domestic duties took her to Lady Harry's room to make tea. She noticed the sad careworn look on her mistress's face, and spoke of it at once in her own downright way. • I thought it was only an excuse,' she said, ' when you gave me that message to the gentlemen, at dinner-time. Are you really ill, my lady ? ' ' I am a little out of spirits,' Iris replied. Fanny made the tea. ' I can understand that,' she said to her- self, as she moved away to leave the room ; * I'm out of spirits my- self.' Iris called her back : * I heard you say just now, Fanny, that you were out of spirits yourself. If you were speaking of some troubles of your own, I am sorry for you, and I won't say any more. But if you know what my anxieties are, and share them ' ' Mine is the biggest share of the two,' Fanny broke out abruptly. ifX) Bl fND J.OIE * It {»()t's (i^'aiiist tlu' ^niin willi iiic to diHtresH yoii, my Imly ; hut \v<' lire l)('<,'iMiiinvf loudly, und you ou^'lit to know it. Tim doctor Imn bcMicri 1110 already.' Hoaten you already?' Iris repeated. 'Tell me plainly what you Mioan ? ' ■ Hero it is, if you please, as plainly as words can say it. Mr. \ inipany Iuih soniothiiif^ — Honiotliin;,' wicked, of course -to say to niv n)astor ; and ho won't let it pass his lips here, in the cottaf,'o.' ' Why not ? ' * Hecauso ho suspects me of I'stonin;,' at the door, and lookinj^ throuj,di the keyhole. I don't luiow, my lady, that ho doesn't oven suspect Yon. " I've learnt somethinpf in the course of my lif(!," ho says to my master ; " and it's a rule with mo to be careful of what 1 talk about indoors, when th(!re are women in the house. What are you goin^' to do to-morrow ? " ho says. My lord told him there was to bo a mooting' at the newspaper othce. The doctor says : " I'll go to Paris with you. The new8i)aper otlice isn't far from the Luxendiourj,' Gardens. When you have done your busi- ness, you will Mud me waitinj» at the j,'ate. What I have to toll you, you sliall hear out of doors in the (lOi'dons — and in an open l)art of them, too, where there are no lurking-places among the trees." My masier seemed to got angry at being put off in this way. "Wliat in it you have got to toll me?" lie saj's. "Is it anything like the projjosal you made, when you were on your last visit here ? " The doctor laughed. " To-niorrow won't be long in coming," he says. " I'aticnce, my lord — patience." There was no getting him to say a word more. Now, what am I to do ? How am 1 to get a chance of listening to him, out in an open garden, without being seen ? There's what I mean when I say ho has beaten me. It's you,my lady— it's you who will suffer in the end.' ' You don't know that, Fanny.' ' No, my lady - but I'm certain of it. And here I am, as help- less as yourself! ^Nfy temper has been quiet, since my misfortune ; it would be cpiiet still, but for this.' The one animating motive, the one exasperating influence, in that sad and secret life was still the mistress's welfare — still the safety of the generous woman who had befriended and forgiven her. She turned aside from the table, to liide her ghastly face. * Pray try to control yourself.' As Iris spoke, she pointed kindly to a chair. ' There is something that I want to say when you are composed again. I won't hurry you ; I won't look at you. Sit down, Fanny.' She appeared to shrink from being seated in her mistress's presence. ' Please to let me go to the window,' she said ; ' the air will help me.' To the window she went, and struggled with the passionate self 80 steadily kept under at other times ; so obstinately conquered now. ' What did you wish to say to me ? ' she asked. ' You have surprised — you have perplexed me,' Iris said. ' I /U.IN/) lOVE 191 rU'- le; ve, [till ,ho jle, ted len ks's lair elf led ain at a Iohs tu umler8tHiul how yoi, discovered what seems to have piissod hotwoon your muster and ^^r. Vnnpatiy. You don't surely hii'aii to toll me tl'at they talked of their private atTairs while you wer<' waiting,' at tahle ? ' ' I don't tell lies, my lady,' Faimy declared impulsively. ' They talked of nothiu},' else all throu^'h the dinner.' * IJefore ijoh ! ' Iris exclaimed. There was a pause. I'ear and shame confessed themselves furtively on the maid's colourless face. Silently, swiftly, she turnctd to the door. Had a slip of the tonj^nie hurried her into tlu) betrayal of 8omethin<,' which it was her interest to conceal ? ' Don't he alarmed,' Iris said compassioiuvtely ; ' I have no wish to intrude on your secrets.' With hur hand on the door, Fanny More closed it ajjain, and came hack. ' I am not so unj^rat* ful,' she said, 'as to have any secrets from You. It's hard to confess what may lower me in your j^ood opinion, but it must ho done. I have deceived your ladyship — and J am ashamed of it. 1 have deceived the doctor— and 1 j^'lory in it. INIy master and Mr. Vimpany thouf,'ht they were safe in speaking' FnMU'h, while I was waitinf^ on them. I know French as well as they do.' Iris could hardly believe what she heard. ' Do you really mean what you say ? ' she asked. ' There's that much good in me,' Fanny replied ; ' I always mean what I say.' ' Why did you deceive me ? Why have you been acting the part of an ignorant woman ? ' 'The deceit has been useful in your service,' the obstinat" maid declared. ' Perhaps it may be useful again.' ' Was that what you were thinking of,' Iris said, ' when you allowed me to translate English into French for you, and never told me the truth ? ' ' At any rate, I will tell you the truth, now. No : I was not thinking of you, when you wrote my errands for me in French — I was thinking again of some advice that was once given to me.' ' Was it advice given by a friend ? ' ' Given by a man, my lady, who was the worst enemy I have ever had.' Her considerate mistress understood the allusion, and forbade her to distress herself by saying more. But Fanny felt that atone- ment, as well as explanation, was due to her benefactress. Slowly, painfully she described the person to whom she had referred. He was a Frenchman, who had been her music-master during the brief period at which she had attended a sciiuol : he had promised her marriage ; he had persuaded her to elope with him. The little money that they had to live on was earned by her needle, and by his wages as accompanist at a music-hall. While she was still able to attract him, and to hope for the performance of his promise, he amused himself by teaching her his own language. "^Vhen he 193 BLIND LOVE f deserted her, his letter oi farewell contained, among other things, the advice to which she had alluded. ' In your station of life,' this man had written, * knowledge of French is still a rare accomplishment. Keep your knowledge to yourself. English people of rank have a way of talking French to each otlier, when they don't wish to be understood by their inferiors. In tlie course of your career, you may surprise secrets which will prove to be a little fortune, if you play your cards properly. Any- how, it is the only fortune I have to leave to you.' Such had been the villain's parting gift to the woman whom he had betrayed. She had hated him too bitterly to be depraved by his advice. On the contrary, when the kindness of a friend (now no longer in England) had helped 'her to obtain her first employment as a domestic servant, she had thought it might be to her interest to mention that she could read, write, and speak French. The result pioved to be not only a disnppointment, but a warning to her for the futiure. Such an accomplishment as a knowledge of a foreign language possessed by an Englishwoman, in her humble rank of life, was considered by her mistress to justify suspicion. Questions were asked, which it was impossible for her to answer truthfully. Small scandal drew its own conclusions — her life with the other servants became iinendurable — she left her sitiation. From that time, until the happy day when she met with Iris, concealment of her knowledge of French became a proceeding forced on her by her own poor interests. Her present mistress would undoubtedly have been taken into her confidence, if the opportunity had offered itself. But Iris had ne\er encouraged her to speak of the one darkest scene in her life ; and for that reason, she had kept her own counsel until the date of her mistress's marriage. Distrusting the husband, and the husband's confidential friend — for were they not both men ?— she had thought of the vile Frenchman's advice, and had resolved to give it a trial ; not with the degrading motive which he had suggested, but with thf vague presentiment of making a discovery of wickedness, threatening mischief under a French disguise, which might be of service to her benefactress at some future time. ' And I may still turn it to yo;ir advantage, my lady,' Fanny ventured to add, ' if you will consent to say nothing to anybody of your having a servant whc has learnt French.' Iris looked at her coldly and gravely. ' Must I remind you,* she said, ' that you are asking my help in practising a deception on my husband ? ' ' I shall be sent away,' Fanny answered, * if you tell my master what I have told you.' This was indisputably tru'i. Iris hesitated. In her present situation, the maid was the one friend on whom she could relv. Before her marriage, she would have recoiled from availing herself, imder any circumstances, of such services as Fanny's reckless gratitude had offered to her. But the moral atmosphere in which BUND LOVE >93 of nt she was living had begun, as Mrs. Vimpany had foreseen, to exert its baneful influence. The mistress descended to bargaining with the servant. ' Deceive the doctor,' she said, ' and I well remember that it may be for my good.' Bhe stopped, and considered for a moment. Her noble nature rallied its forces, and prompted her next words : • But respect your master, if you wish me to keep your secret. I forbid you to listen to what my lord may say, when he speaks with Mr. Vimpany to-morrow<' ' I have already told your ladyship that I shall have no chance of listening to what they say to each other, out of doors,' Fanny rejoined. ' But I can watch the doctor at any rate. We don't know what he may not do when he is left by himself, while my master is at the meeting. I want to try if I can follow that rogue through the streets, without his finding me rut. Please to send me on an errand to Paris to-morrow.' ' You will be running a terrible risk,' her mistress reminded her. ' if Mr. Vimpany discovers you.' ' I'll take my chance of that,' was the reckless reply. Iris consented. a, ms eh 194 BLIND LOVE CHAPTER XXXIX THE JIYSTKUY OF TIIE HOSPITAL N the next morning Lord Harry Ic", tho cottage, accompanied by the doctor. Alter a long absence, he returned alone. His wife's worst apiirehen- sions, roused by what Fanny had told her, were more than justified, by the change • which she now perceived in him. His eyes wore bloodshot, his face was haggard, his movements were feeble and slow. He looked like a man exhausted by some in- ternal conflict, which had vibrated between the extremes of anger and alarm. 'I'm tired to death,' he said ; ' get me a glass of wine.' 8he waited on him with eager obedience, and watched anxiously for the reviving effect of the stimulant. The little irritabilities which degrade humauity only prolong their mis- chievous existence, while the surface of life .stagnates in cuhn. Their annihilation follows when strong emotion stirs in the depths, and raises the storm. The estrangement of he day before passed as completely from the minds of the husband .' id wife — both strongly agitated— as if it had never existed. AU-m stering fear was busy at thdir hearts; fear, in the woman, of the unknown temptation which had tried the man; fear, in the man, of the tell-tale disturbance in him, which might BLIND LOVE 195 excite the woman's suspicion. Without ventixriii*,' to look at him, Iris said : ' I am afraid you have heard bad news '? ' Withoiat ven- turing to look at hor, Lord Harry answered : ' Yes, at the news- pa})er oflice.' She knew tliat he was deceiving her ; and he felt that she knew it. For awhile, they were both silent. From time tt) time, she anxiously stole a look at him. His mind remained absorbed in thought. There they were, in the same room — seated near each other ; united by the most intimate of human relationships- and yet how far, how cruelly far, a[)art ! The slowest of all laggard minutes, the minutes which are reckoned by suspense, followed each otlier tardily and more tardily, before there appeared the first sign of a change. He lifted his drooping head. Sadly, longingly, he looked at her. The unerring instinct of true love encouraged his wife to speak to him. ' I wish I could relieve your anxieties,' she said simply. ' Is there nothing I can do to help you '? ' ' Come here. Iris.' She rose and approached him. In the past days of the honey- moon and its sweet familiarities, he had sometimes taken her on his knee. He took her on his knee now, and put his arm round her. ' Kiss me,' he said. With all her heart she kissed him. He sighed heavily ; his eyes rested on her with a trustful appealing look which she had never observed in them before. ' Why do you hesitate to confide in me ? ' she asked. ' Dear Harry, do you think I don't see that something troubles you ? ' ' Yes,' he said, ' there is something that I regret.' •What is it?' * Iris,' he answered, 'I am sorry I asked Vimpany to come back to us.' At that unexpected confession, a bright flush of joy and pride oversj^read his wife's face. Again, the unerring instinct of love guided her to discovery of the truth. The opinion of his wicked friend must have been accidentally justified, at the secret interview of that day, by the friend himself! In tempting her husband, Vimpany had said something which must have shocked and offended him. The result, as she could hardly doubt, had been the restoration of her domestic influence to its helpful freedom of con- trol — whether for the time only it was not in her nature, at tliat moment of happiness, to inquire. After what you have just told me,' she ventured to say, 'I may own that I am glad to see you come home, alone.' In that indirect manner, she confessed the hope that friendly intercourse between the two men hiul come to an end. His reply disappointed her. ' Vimpany only remains in Paris,' he said, ' to present a letter of introduction. He will follow me home.' ' Soon ? ' she asked, piteously. •In time for dinner, I suppose.' She was still sitting on his o2 196 BLIND LOVE knee. His arm pressed her gently when he said his next words. ' I hope you will dine with us to-day, Iris ? ' ' Yes — if you wish it.' • I wish it very much. Something in me recoils from being alone with Vimpany. Besides, a dinner at home without you is no dinner at all.' She thanked him for that little compliment by a look. At the same time, her grateful sense of her husband's kindness was embittered by the prospect of the doctor's return. * Is he likely to dine with us often, now ? ' she was bold enough to say. * I hope not.' Perhaps he was conscious that he might have made a more positive reply. He certainly took refuge in another subject — more agreeable to himself. ' My dear, you. have expressed the wish to relieve my anxieties,' he said ; * and you can helj) me, I think, in that way. I have a letter to write — of some importance. Iris, to your interests as well as to mine — which must go to Ireland by to-day's post. You shall read it, and say if you approve of what I have done. Don't let me be disturbed. This letter, I can tell you, will make a hard demand on my poor brains — I must go and write in my own room.' Left alone with the thoughts that now crowded on her mind. Iris found her attention claimed once more by passing events. Fanny Mere arrived, to report herself on her return from Paris. She had so managed her departure fiom Passy as to precede Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany, and to watch for their arrival in Paris by a later train. They had driven from the railway to the newspaper office — with the maid in attendance on them in another cab. When they separated, the doctor proceeded on foot to the Luxembourg Gardens. Wearing a plain black dress, and protected from close observation by her veil, Fanny followed him, cautiously keeping at a sufficient distance, now on one side of thy street and now on the other. When my lord joined his friend, she just held them in view, and no more, as they walked up and down in the barest and loneliest part of the Gardens that they could find. Their talk having come to an end, they parted. Her master was the first who came out into the street ; walking at a great ra^e, and looking most desperately upset. Mr. Vimpany next appeared, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets, grinning as if his own villainous thoughts were thoroughly amusing him. Fanny was now more careful than ever not to lose sight of the doctor. The course which he pursued led them to the famous hospital called the H6tel Dieu. At the entrance she saw him take a letter out of his pocket, and give it to the porter. Soon afterwards, a person appeared who greeted him politely, and conducted him into the building. For more than an hour. Far ny waited to see Mr. Vimpany come out again, and waited in vain. What could he possibly want in a French hospital ? And .. hy had he remained in that foreign institution for BLIND LOVE l»7 for so long a time ? BatHed by these mysteries, and weary after much walking, Fanny made the best of her way home, and con- sulted her mistress. Even if Iris had been capable of enlightening her, the opportunity WAS wanting. Lord Harry entered the room, with the letter which he had just written, open in his hand. As a matter of course, the maid retired. 198 BLIND LOVE :!) CHAPTER XL DIRE NECESSITY [HE Irish lord had a word to say to his w'fe, before he submitted to her the letter which he had nist written. He had been summoned to a meetinf? of proprietors at the oflice of the newspaper, convened to settle the terms of a new subscription rendered necessary by unforeseen ex- penses incurred in the interests of the speculation. The vote that followed, after careful proliniinary consultation, authorised a claim on the purses of subsci'ibinj^ proprietors, which sadly reduced the sum obtained by Lord Harry's promissory note. Nor was this in- convenience the only trial of endurance to which the Irish lord was compelled to submit. The hope which he had entertained of assistance from the profits of the new journal, when repayment of the loan that he had raised became due, was now plainly revealed as a delusion. Ruin stared him in the face, unless he could com- mand the means of waiting for the ])')cuniary success of the news- paper, durinj^ an interval variously estimated at six months, or even at a year to come. ' Our case is desperate enough,' he said, • to call for a de- sperate remedy. Keep up your spirits. Iris — I have written to my brother.' Iris looked at him ijj dismay. * Surely,' she said, ' j'-ou once told me you had written to your brother, and he answered you in the cruellest manner through his lawyers.' ' Quite true, my dear. But, this time, there is one circumstance in our favour — my brother is going to be married. The lady is said to be an heiress ; a charming creature, admired and beloved wherever she goes. There must surely bo something to soften the hardest heart in that happy prospect. Read what I have written, and tell me what you think of it.' The opinion of the devoted wife encouraged the desperate hus- band : the letter was dispatched b.y the post of that day. If boisterous good spirits can nuike a man agi'eeable at the dinner-table, then indeed Mr. Vimpany, on his return to the cottage, played the part of a welcome guest. He was inexhausti- ble in gallant attentions to his friend's wife ; he told his most anmsing stories in his happiest way ; he gaily drank his host's line white Burgundy, and praised with thorough knowledge of the sub- o t( BLIND LOVE 199 le ject the succulent French dishes ; he tried Lord Harry with talk on politics, talk on sport, and (wonderful to relate in these days) talk on literature. The preoccupied Irishman was ecpially inac- cessible on all three subjects. When the dessert was placed on the table — still bent on aiakinf? himself agi'eeable to Lady Harry -Mr. Vimpany led the conversation to the subject of tloricultin-e. In the interests of her ladyship's pretty little garden, he advocated a com- |)lete change in the system of cultivation, and justified his revolu- tionary views by miscjuoting the published work of a great authority on gardening with sucli polite obstinacy that Iris (eager to confute him) went away to fetch the book. Tlie moment he had entra_)pod her into leaving the room, the doctor turned to Lord Harry with a sudden change to tlie imperative mood in look and manner. ' What have you been about,' he asked, ' since we had that talk in the Gardens to-day V Have you looked at yoiu: empty i)Uvso, and are you wise enough to take my way of filling it ? ' ' As long as there's the ghost of a chance left to me,' Lnfd Harry replied, ' I'll take any way of filhng my purse but yours.' ' Does that mean you have found a way ? ' ' Do me a favour, Vimpany. Defer all questions till the end of the week.' ' And then I shall have your answer ? ' ' Without fail, I promise it. Hush ! ' Iris returned to the dining-room with her book; and polilo Mr. Vimpany owned in the readiest manner that he liad been mi- taken. The remaining days of the week followed each otlier wearily. During the interval, Lord Harry's friend carefully preserved the character of a model guest — he gave as little trouble as possible. Every morning after breakfast the doctor went awiiy by the train. Every morning (with similar regularity) ho w.is iollowed by the resolute Fanny Mere. Pursuing his way through w iduly different quarters of Paris, he invariably stopped at apul)]ic building, invari- ably presented a letter at the door, iind was invariably asked to walk in. Inquiries, patiently persisiud in by the English maid, led in each case to the same result. The different public buildings were devoted to the same benevokn* purpose. Liice the Hotel Dieu, they were all hospitals; and Mr. Vimpany's oltject in visit- ing them remained as profound a mystery as ever. Early on the last morning of tho week the answer from Lord Harry's brother arrived. Hearing of it, Iris ran eagerly into lur husband's room. The letter was already scattered in fragments on the floor. What the tone of the Earl's inhuman \nswer had been in the past time, that it was again now. Iris put her arms round her husband's neck. 'Oh, my poor love, what is to be done ? ' He answered in one reckless word : * Nothing 1 ' ' Is there nobody else who cm help us ? ' she asked. ' Ah, well, darling, there's perhaps one other person still left.' 200 PI.IND LOVE t ' Who JH tho porsdn ? ' ' Who Hlioiild it h(! hut vour own doar self? Slio h)oko(l at him in unnr coming enterprise '? — venturesome villainy, w'hich might ruin ^()u in your wife's estimation. Do you sec our situation now, as it ically is '? Very well. Pass the bottle, and drop the subject for tiie present.' The next morning brought with it an event, which demolished tlie doctor's ing(>nious arrangemeiit for the dismissal of Iris from tlie scene of action. liord and Lady Harry encountered each other accidentally on the stairs. Distrusting herself if she ventmud to look at him, Iris turned her eyes away from her husband. He misinterpreted the action as an expression of contempt. Anger at once inclined him to fol- low Mr. Vimpany's advice. He opened the door of the dining-room, empty at that moment, and told Iris that he wished to speak withher. ^^'hat his villainous friend had suggested that he should say, on the subject of a separa- tion, he now rei)eated with a repellent firmness which he was far from really feeling. The acting was bad, but the effect was pro- duced. For the first time, his wife spoke to him. ' Do you really mean it ? ' she asked. BLIND LOVE 203 The tone in which she sjiid thoso words, Hiidly and ref?rotfnlIy tclliiif? its talo of Mnt'ontrolliible surprise; the tender rciuombrance of past happy days in her eyes ; the (juivcrinf? j)iiin, exjjressivo of wounded love, that parted her lips in the olfort to breathe freely, touched his heart, try as he niif»ht in the wretched pride of the moment to conceal it. He was silent. ' If you are weary of our married life,' she contimied, • say so, and let us part. I will go away, without entreaties and without re}»' <)ac}ieH. Whatever pain I may feel, ijoa shall not see it I ' A I)assinf; tlush crossed her face, and left it pale af,'ain. She trembled under the consciousness of returninfj love — the blind love that had so cru(My misled her 1 At a moment when she most needed firm- ness, her heart was sinkir.^ • she resisted, strng^ded, recovered h(!r- self. Quietly, and even lirmly, slie claimed liis decision. * Does your silence mean,' slie asked, ' that you wish me to leave you '? ' No man who had loved her as tenderly as her husband had loved her, could have resisted that touchinj; self-control. lie answered his wife without uttering a word— he held out his arms to her. The fatal reconciliation was accomplished in siloice. At dinner on that day Mr. Vimpany's bold eyes saw a new sight, and Mr. Vimpany's rascally lips indul},'ed in an impudent smile. My lady appeared aji;ain in her place at the dinner-table. At the customary time, the two men were left alone over their wine. The reckless Irish lord, rejoicinjjf in the recovery of his wife's tender regard, drank freely. Understanding and despising him, the doctor's devilish gaiety indulged in facetiou;? reminiscences of his own married life. ' If I could claim a sovereign,' he said, 'for every quarrel between Mrs. Vimpany and myself, I put it at a low average when I declare that I should be worth a thousand pounds. How does your lordship stand in that matter ? Shall we say a dozen breaches of the mar- riage agreement up to the present time ? ' ' Say two— and no more to come ! ' his friend answered cheer- fully. ' No more to come I ' the doctor repeated. ' My experience says plenty more to come ; I never saw two people less likely to submit to a peaceable married life than you and my lady. Ha ! you laugh at that ? It's a habit of mine to back my opinion. I'll bet you a dozen of champagne there will be a (puirrel which parts you two, for good and all, before the year is out. Do you take the bet ? ' ' l>one 1 ' cried Lord Harry. ' I propose my wile's good health, Vimpany, in a bumper. She shall drink confusion to all false prophets in the first glass of j'our champagne ! ' The post of the next mornmg brought with it two letters. One of them bore the postmark of London, and was addressed to Lady Harry Norland. It was written by Mrs. Vimpany, and it contained a few lines added by Hugh Mountjoy. ' My strength is slow in returning to me ' (he wrote) ; ' but my kind and devoted 804 BLIND LOVE nurflo says that all dan^^cr of infoction is at an end. Tou may writo a{,'ain to your old iriond if Lord Harry Hnos no objection, as harmlessly as in the happy paHt time. My weak hand begins to trenible already. How glad I shall bo to hoar from you, it is, happily for mo, quite needless to add.' In her delight at receiving this good news Iris impulsively assumed that her husband would give it a kindly welcome on his side ; she insisted on reading the letter to him. He said coldly, ' I am glad to hoar of Mr. Mountjoy's recovery ' — and took up the newspaper. Was this unworthy jealousy still strong enough to master him, even at that moment ? His wife had forgotten it. Why had he not forgotten it too ? On the same day Iris replied to Hugh, with the confidence and affection of the bygone time before her marriage. After closing and addressing the envelope, she found that her small store of postage stamps was exhausted, and sent for hor maid. Mr. Vimi)any happened to pass the open door of her room, while sho was asliing for a stamp ; he heard Fanny say that she was not able to accom- modate her mistress. ' Allow me to make myself useful,' the polite doctor suggested. He produced a stamp, and fixed it himself on the envelope. When he had proceeded on his way downstairs, Fanny's distrust of him insisted on expressing itself. ' He wanted to find out what person you have written to,' she said. ' Let mo nuike your letter safe in the post.' In five minutes more it was in the box at the office. While these trifling events were in course of progress, Mr. Vimpany had gone into the garden to read the second of the two letters, delivered that morning, addressed to himself. On lier return from the post-office, Fanny had opportunities of observiiig him while she was in the greenhouse, trying to revive the perisliing flowerri — neglected in the past days of domestic trouble. Noticing her, after ho had read his letter over for the second time, Mr. Vimpany sent the maid into the cottage to say that he wished to speak with her master. Lord Harry joined him in the garden — looked at the letter — and, handing it back, turned away. The doctor followed him, and said something which seemed to bo received with objection. Mr. Vimpany persisted nevertheless, and apparen^^^Iy carried his point. The two gentlemen consulted the railway time-table, and hurried away together, to catch the train to Paris. Fanny Mere returned to the conservatory, and absently resumed her employment among the flowers. On what evil errand had the doctor left the cottage ? And, why, on this occasion, had he taken the master with him ? The time had been when Fanny might have tried to set these questions at rest by boldly following the two gentlemen to Paris ; trusting to her veil, to her luck, and to the choice of a separate carriage in the train, to escape notice. But, although her ill-judged fo C( on lea no( mg BLTND LOVE ao5 d ie Id 1g Id intorforeiice with the doiuoKtic. uflairs of Lady Harry had been f()r<,'iven, she had not been received af^'.iiii into favour iinrescrvodly. Conditions were imposed, which forbade her to express any opinion on her master's conduct, and which imperatively ordered nor to h'ave the protection of her miBtrcs? —if protection was really needed in his lordship's competent hands. 'I gratefully appre- ciate your kind intentions,' Iris had said, with her customary tenderness of rej^ard for the feelings of others ; 'but 1 never wish to hoar again of Mr. Vimpany, or of the strange suspicions which lie seems to excite in your mind.' Still as gratefully devoted to Iris as over, Fanny viewed tho change in my lady's way of think- ing ;is one of tho deplorable results of her return to her hu8l)aiul, and waited resignedly for the coming time when her wise distrust of two unscrupulous men woiUd be justilied. Condemned to inaction for the present, Lady Harry's maid walked irritably up and down the conservatory, forgetting tho tlowers. Through tho open back door of the cottage the cheap clock in the hall poured its harsh little volume of sound, striking the hour. * I wonder,' she said to herself, ' if those two wicked ones have found their way to a hospital yet V ' That guess happened to have hit the mark. The two wicked ones were really approaching a hospital, well known to tho doctor by more previous visits than one. At tho door they were met by a French physician, attached to the institution— the writer of the letter which had reached Mr. Vimpany in the morning. This gentleman led the way to the official department of the hospital, and introduced the two foreigners to the French authorities assembled for the transaction of business. As a medical man, Mr. Yimpany's claims to general respect and eontidence were carefully presented. He was a member of the English College of Surgeons; he was the friend, as well as the colleague, of the famous President of that College, who had intro- duced him to the chief surgeon of the H6tel Dieu. Other introduc- tions to illustrious medical persons in Paris had natiu:ally followed. Presented under these advantages, Mr. Vimpany announced his discovery of a new system of treatment in diseases of the lungs. Having received his medical education in Paris, he felt bound in gratitude to place himself under the protection of ' the princes of science,' resident in the brilliant capital of France. In that hospital, after much fruitless investigation in similar institutions, he had found a patient suffering from the form of lung disease, which offered to him the opportunity that he wanted. It was impossible that he could do justice to his new system, unless the circumstances were especially favourable. Air more pure than the air of a great city, and bed-room accommodation not shared by other sick persons, were among the conditions absolutely necessary to the success of the experiment. These, and other advantages, were freely offered to him by his noble friend, who would enter into any explanations 1^^ s^ 206 BUM) LOVE might think it necesyary to which the authorities then present demand. The explanations having been offered and approved, there was ii general move to the bed occupied by the invalid who was an object of professioTMii interest to the I'^nglish doctor. The patient's ii;Ml|N the eveniii}^ of that day Fanny Mere, entering the dinin{»- I ifeVu room with the coflee, found Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany M^yj^ alone, and discovered (as soon as she opened the door) ■•^ ■'^ 1 that they changed the language in -which they were talk- iiig from English to French. She continued to linger in the room, apparently occupied in setting the various objects on the sideboard in order. Her master was speaking at the time; he asked if the doctor had succeeded in finding a bed-room for himself in the neighbourhood. To this Mr. Vimpany replied that he had got the bed-room Also, that he had provided himself with something else, which it was equally impor- tant to have at his disposal. ' I mean,' ho proceeded, in his bad French, ' that I have found a photographic apparatus on hire. We are ready now i'or the appearance of our interesting Danish guest.' ' And when the man comes,' Lord Harry added, ' what am I to say to my wife '? How am I to lind an excuse, when she hears of a hospital patient who 1 taken possession of your bed-room at the cottage — and has done it with my permission, and with you to attend on him ? ' The doctor sipped h.'s coffee. ' We have told a story that has satisfied the authorities,' he said coolly. ' Repeat the story to your wife.' ' She won't believe it,' Lord Hg^rry replied. Mr. Vimpany waited until he had lit another cigar, and had quite satisfied himself that it was worth smoking. ' You have yourself to thank for that obstacle,' he resumed. ' If you had taken my advice, your wife would have been out of orur way by tliis time. I suppose I must manage it. If you fail, leave her ladyship to me. In the meanwhile, there's a matter of more im- portance to settle first. W« shall want a mirse for our poor dear invalid. Where are we to find her ? ' As he stated that difiiculty, he finished his coffee, and looked about him for the bottle of brandy which always stood on the dinner- table. In doing this, he happened to notice Fanny. Convinced that her mistress was in danger, after what she had already heard, the maid's anxiety and alarm had so completely absorbed her that she had forgotten to play her part. Instead of still busying herself at the sideboajrd, she si ood with her back to it, palpably listening. F^ BLIND LOVE 209 had \l I way her im- Idear :)ked Iner- hced lard, Ithat rself ling. Cunning Mr. Vimpany, possessing hituself of the brandy, made a request too entirely api)ropriate to ox( ite suspicion. ' Sonio fresh cold water, if you pi ase,' was all tliat he said. The moment that Fanny left the room, the doctor adch'osHcd his friend in English, with his eye on the door: 'News for you, my boy 1 We are in a pretty pickle — Lady Harry's maid understands French.' ' Quite impossible,' Lord Harry declared. ' We will put that to the test,' Mr. Vimpany answered. * Watch her when she comes in again.' ' What are you going to do.' ' I am going to insult her in French. Observe the result.' In another minute Fanny returned with tbe fresh water. As she placed the glass jug before Mr. Vimpany he suddenly laid his hand on her arm and looked her straiglit in the face. ' Vous iious avez mis dedans, drolesse I ' he said. ' Vous entendcz le Fran(;ai8.' ' An imcontrollable look of mingled rage and fear made its plain confession in Fanny's face. She had been discovered; she had heard herself called ' drolesse ' ; she stood before the two men self- condemned. Her angry master threatened her with instant dis- missal from the house. The doctor interfered. ' No, no,' he said ; ' you mustn't dcja-ive Lady Harry, at a moment's notice, of her maid. Such a clever maid, too,' he added with his rascally smile. ' An accomplished person, who understands French, and is too modest to own it 1 ' The doctor had led Fanny through many a weary and un- rewarded walk when she had followed him to the hositit.i.ls ; he had now inflicted a deliberate msult by calling her ' drolesse ' ; and he had completed the sum of his offences by talkmg con- temptuously of her modesty and her mastery of the French lan- guage. The Avoman's dett tation of him, which imder ordinary circumstances she might have attempted to conceal, was urged into audaciously asserting itself by the strong excitement that now possessed her. Driven to bay, Faimy had made up her mind to discover the conspiracy of which Mr. Vimpany was the animating spirit, by a method daring enough to be worthy of the doctor himself. * My knowledge of French has told me something,' she said. • I have just heard, Mr. Vimpany, that you want a nurse for your invalid gentleman. With my lord's permission, suppose you try Me ? ' Fanny's audacity was more than her master's patience could endure. He ordered her to leave the room. The peace-making doctor interfered again : * My dear lord, let me beg you will not be too hard on the young woman.' He turned to Famiy, with an effort to ' k indulgent, which ended in the ' lu English : * You have taken ua in, you juile I You unJerstand French,' iio fUJXn LOVR ■"I ' I' if? rpftupoamnoo of hia raRcally Hinilo. ' Thank yon, my nt. ' Arc yo»i mad ? ' h(> aHkcd. ' Ttdl me sonuMlnnj,' iirst.' the «loctor rojoin(>d. 'Is tluM'o any I'ln^l'slt blood in ytuu' family?' iiiM'd Harry answcnvl with a hurst of patriotic fcc^lin^ : ' I rcj^rct to say tny family is aihdltM'alcil in that miitnu'r. My f(ran(hnotlud this extract from tho pa{i;e of family hisl ory wUl> a, cooinc^ss iui his owii. 'It's a relief to h(>ar that.' he said. ' Y- on may ho capable (hy the f:;randinolher'H side) of swallowini:: a doso of sound Mn^dish sense. I can hut try. at any rale. That woman is too l»old and too clever to he tr(>ated lik«> an ordinary H(>rvant I incline to believe that she is a spy in the employment of your wife. Whether I am rij^ht or wronj^ in ihis la.tt<>r case, the one way I can see t)f parmj; the cat's claws is to turn her into a nurse. Do you Ihid mad lUO now ' Madder than \>\\>x ! " '.Ml. you don't take after yonr ijrandmotlKM- ! Now lisliMi to nie. 1>»> we run the smalkvst risk, if l-'atmy tiiuls it her interest to betray us? Suppose wo ask ourselves what she Iims really found out. She knows W(> have }:[ot a sick man from a hospital comiii}^ here does she know what we want him for ? Not she ! Neith(r M-? (lis- luiy mo- ll »o I I. bio in ItoU ro- |h a It a nUND T.OVE 111 tiMiHt tlio iiK'dical aHHiHtdiico and tlio j^'radioiiH hoHpit/ility ofTorod to the poor |)aniHli naliciit; l)ut, hnf'oro lio lolt tlioiii, tlioy nuist also !)(' satiHru'd that lid would \m attcwidcd hy a ooinpctcnt nurH<». If tlic pcTHoM wlioin Mr. ViiiipaJiy propoHcd to (tiiiploy in tliiH capacity coidd 1)0 hroii^^lit to thn lioKpilal, it woidd \m OHtcomod a favour; and, if licr accoiuit of h(MK(»If HatiHl'idd tlio pliyHiciaii in rlmrt^o ol ()xl»yo'H caKi-, tlu) Dano niif^lit l)o niniovcMl to his now quartorH on tl 10 Hiin 10 day, 'I'lio next nioniintf wid tlio firnt in a H»!rioH of doitiCiHtic incidontH at tlio collni^'o, wliicli no prophetic int^'oimity could havo fuicHroii, Mr. Viiiijtjiny and l-'iiniiy More actually left I'asHy lo^oLlior, on tlniir way to I'arig, Ithe •ed Ithe P2 aia BLIND LOVE CHAPTEE XLIII FICTION : ATTEMPTED BY MY LORD HE day on which the doctor took his newly appointed nurse with him to the hospilal became an occasion associated with distressing recollections in the memory of Iris. In the morning, Fanny Mere had asked for leave to go out. For Bome time past this request had been so frequently granted, with such poor results so far as the maid's own designs were concerned, that Lady Harry decided on administering a tacit reproof, by means of a refusal. Fanny made no attempt at remonstrance ; she left the room in silence. Half an hour later, Iris had occasion to ring for her attendant. The bell was answered by the cook — who announced, in explana- tion of her appearance, that Fanny Mere had gone out. More dis- tressed than displeased by this reckless disregard of her authority, on the part of a woman who had hitherto expressed the most grate- ful sense of her kindness, Iris only said : ' Send Fanny to me as soon as she comes back.' Two hours passed before the truant maid returned. ' I refused to let you go out this morning,' Lady Harry said ; ' and you have taken the liberty of leaving the house for two hours. You might have made me undpistand, in a more becoming manner, that you intended to leave my service.' Steadily respectful, Fanny answered : ' I don't wish to leave your ladyship's service.' ' Then what does your conduct mean ? ' ' It means, if you please, that I had a duty to do — and did it.* • A duty to yourself? ' Iris asked. ' No, my lady ; a duty to you.' As she made that strange reply the door was opened, and Lord Harry entered '.he room. When he saw Fanny Mere he turned away again, in a hurry, to go out. ' I didn't know your maid was with you,' he said. 'Another time will do.' His permitting a servant to be an obstacle in his way, when he wished to speak to his wife, was a concession so entirely unbecoming in the master of the house, and so strangely contrary to his customary sense of what was due to himself, that Iris called him BLIND LOVE ai3 said; lours. Itnner, I leave lit.' Lord lirned was fen he |ming his him back in astonishment. She looked at her maid, who at once under- stood her, and withdrew. ' What can you po^,sil)ly lio tliinkinf^ of? ' she said to her husband, when tlicy were alone. Putting,' that question, she noticed an embarrassmont in hi.s manner, and an ap- pearance of confusion in his face, wliich ahiniitd her. ' Has some- thing happened ? ' she asked ; ' and is it so serious that you hesitate to mention it to me ? ' He sat down by her, and took her hand. The loving look in Ins eyes, which she knew so well, was not in them now ; they expressed doubt, and something with it which suggested an etfort at concilia- tion. ' I am fearing I shall surprise you,' he said. ' Don't keep me in suspense 1 ' she returned. ' What is it ? ' He smiled uneasily : ' It's something about Vimpany.' Having got as far as that, he stopped. She drew her hand away from him. •! understand now,' she said; •! nmst endeavour to control myself — you have something to tell me which will try my temper.' He held up his hands in humorous prc*est : ' Ah, my darling, here's your vivid imagination again, making mountains out of molehills, as they say 1 It's nothing half so serious as you seem to think ; I have only to tell you of a little change.' 'A little change ? ' she repeated. ' What change ? ' ' ^Vell, my dear, you see ' He hesitated and recovered him- self. ' I mean, you must know that Vimpany's plans are altered. He won't any longer occupy his bedi'oom in the cottage here. Iris looked inexpressibly relieved. ' Going away, at last i ' she exclaimed. * Oh, Harry, if you have been mystifying nie, I hope you will never do it again. It isn't like you ; it's cruel to alarm me about nothing. Mr. Vimpany's empty bedroom will be the most inter esting room in the house, when I look into it to-night.' Lord Harry got up, and walked to the window. As a sign of trouble in his mind, and of an instinctive effort to relieve it, the object of this movement was well-known to Iris. She followed him and stood by his side. It wab now plain to her that there was some- thing more to be told — and that he was hesitating how to confide it to his wife. * Go on,' she said resignedly. He had expected her to take his arm, or perhaps to caress him, or at least to encourage him by her gentlest words and her prettiest smiles. The steady self-restraint which she now manifested was a sign, as he interpreted it, of suppressed resentment. Shrinking, honestly shrinking, from the bare possibility of another quarrel, he confronted the hard necessities of further confession. ' Well, now,' he said, ' it's only this — you mustn't look into the empty bedroom to-night.' ♦Why not?' ' Ah, for the best of all good reasons I Because you might find somebody in there.' u >m 314 FyLlND LOVE 'I' % This reply excited her curioKily : her eyes rested on him ea^^erly. ' Some friend of yours ? ' slie asked. He persisted in an assumption of {?ood-hnniour, which betrayed itself as mere artifice in the chmisiest manner : ' I declare I feel as if I were in a court of justice, beinf^ cross-examined by a lawyer of skill and dexterity I Well, my sweet counsellor, no — not exactly a friend of mine.' Slie reflected for a moment. * You don't surely mean one of Mr. Vimpany's friends ? ' she said. He pretended not to have heard her, and pointed to the view of the garden from the window. ' Isn't it a lovely day ? Let's p[o and look at the flowers,' he suj^gested. ' Did you not hear what I said to you just now ? * she persisted. ' I beg your pardon, dear ; I was thinking of something else. Suppose we go into tlie garden ? ' When women have a point to gain in which they are interested, how many of them are capable of deferring it to a better opportunity ? One in a thousand, perhaps. Iris kept her place at the window, resolved on getting an answer. ' I asked you, Harry, whether the person who is to occupy our spare bedroom, to-night, was one of Mr. Vimpany's friends ? ' • Say one of Mr. Vimpany's patients — and you will be nearer the truth,' he answered, with an outburst of impatience. She could hardly believe him. ' Do you mean a person who is really ill ? ' she said. ' Of course I mean it,' he (laid ; irritated into speaking out, at last. ' A man ? or a woman ? ' ' A man.' ' May I ask if he comes from England ? ' ' He comes from one of the French hospitals. Anything more ? ' Iris left her husband to recover his good-humour, and went back to her chair. The extraordinary disclosure which she had extracted from him had produced a stupefying effect on her mind. Her cus- tomary sympathy with him, her subtle womanly observation of his character, her intimate knowledge of his merits and his defects, failed to find the rational motive which might have explained his conduct. She looked round at him with mingled feelings of per- plexity and distrust. He was still at the window, but he had turned his back on the view of the garden ; his eyes were fixed, in furtive expectation, on his wife. Was he waiting to hear her saj' something more ? She ran the risk and said it. ' I don't quite understand the sacrifice you seem to be making to Mr. Vimpany,' she confessed. ' Will you tell me, dear, what it means ? ' Here was the opportunity offered of following the doctor's advice, and putting his wife's credulity to the test. With her knowledge of Vimpany, would she really believe the story which had imposed on be, em do tioi the ULnvD r.ovE the stranffers wlio niaii,iL'f..l fi, u • 2»5 fJ- He „.e,™'„V , Sr if; '"T "■"' -"e "t , i?-;;;^ "'i^'h' '■on*; h'e'.;:; ■.:,;.' ^H- S^^ £ .'SsS'oTsr'r'^ «" -•'^' ■•emo,„ber one hin„ ,r °"^"''"' '" '•'='•1™. It wH If 1 '""'r'""! notl.inf, wo woi^t doV„ T""''""^ ""'' I «« oldS,?"''' "'" '' .vo„ fc^he wu. asked to believp fiA "^'^' ^^^^e anticinatorJ ' ^ I agree with you • sHp on ^^ ? '"^^'® '^J^o"* it.' "^ ' '® '""- «™„ge„, they walked silently 2l6 BLIND LOVE f^ido by Hide, and looked now and then at the collection of flowers and plants. Iris noticed a delicate fern which had fallen away from the Rnpi)()rt to which it had been attached. She stopped, and occupied herself in rostoi'iiif,' it to its ])l(ice. When she looked round again, lifter iittonding to the plant, her husband had disappeared, and Mr. Viuipany was waiting in his place. BUND LOVE ai7 CHAPTER XLIV fiction: improved by the doctor HEBE is Lord Harry ? * Iris asked. The reply startled her : ' Lord Harry leaves me to say to your ladyship, what he has not had resolution enou.i,']i to say for himself.' ' I don't understand j'ou, Mr. Vimpany.* The doctor pointed to the fern which had just been the object of L;!(ly Harry's care. ' You have been helping that sickly plant there to live and thrive,' ho said, ' and I have felt some curiosity in watching you. There is aii.itlier sickly plant, which I have undertaken to rear if the thing c;i.u be done. Mij gardening is of the medical kind — I can only carry it on indoors— and whatever else it may be, I tell you plainly, liko the outspoken sort of fellow lam, it's not likely to prove agree- al»lo to a lady. No offence, I hope ? Your humble servant is only trying to produce the right sort of impression — and takes leave to doubt his lordship in one particular.' ' In what particular, sir ? ' ' I'll put it in the form of a question, ma'am. Has my friend persuaded you to make arrangements for leaving the cottage ? ' Iris looked at Lord Harry's friend without attempting to conceal her opinion of him. ' I call that an impertinent question,' she said. * By what right do you presimie to inquire into what my husband and I may, or may not, have said to each other V ' ' Will you do me a favour, my lady ? Or, if that is asking too much, perhaps you will not object to do jiistice to yourself. Sup- pose you ti*y to exercise the virtue of self-control ? ' ' Quite needless, Mr. Vimpany. Pray understand that you are not capable of making me angry.' ' Many thanks. Lady Harry : you encourage me to go on. When I was bold enough to speak of your leaving the cottage, my motive was to prevent you from being needlessly alarmed.' Did this mean that he was about to take her into his confidence ? All her experience of him forbade her to believe it possible. But the doubts and fears occasioned by her interview with her husband had mastered her better sense ; and the effort to conceal from the doctor the anxiety imder which she suffered was steadily weakv^ning I ir 2l8 RLIND LOVE tho inflncnco of hor Hclf-rcsijcct. ' Why Hliould I bo alaniii'd? ' bHo askt'd, in tho vain hopo of ciicounij^'in^' liini to tell tho trutli. Tho doctor arrived iit a hasty cont'hiHion, on his side. Ikdiovinf,' that ho had Hhukcn her resolution, ho no lon«inf,' him in his bed. lie mi{;ht roam all o\er your cottitf^o when my back was turned. Or ho rnif^dit i)ay the debt of Nature- as sonubody calls it — with screamin;,' and swearing'. If you were within heariiif,' of him, I'm afraid you mif,dit bo terrified, aiul, with tlu^ best wish to bo useful, 1 couldn't guarantoo (if tho worst hai)i)ene(l) to keep him quiet. In your place, if you will allow me to adviso you ' Iris interrupted him. Instead of confessing tho truth, ho was impudently attemptinfj; to frierson whose nurse I am to be. A poor, feeble, polite creature, who ooked as if he couldn't hurt a fly — and yet I promise you he startled me I I saw a likeness, the moment I looked at him.' ' A likeness to anybody whom I know ? ' Iris asked. ' To the person in all the world, my lady, whom you know most nearly — a likeness to my master.' * What ! ' ' Oh, it's no fancy ; I am sure of what I say. To my mind, that Danish man's likeness to my lord is (if you will excuse my language) a nasty circumstance. I don't know why or wherefore — all I can say is, I don't like it ; and I sha'n't rest until I have found out what it means. Besides this, my lady, I must know the reason why they want to get you out of their way. Please to keep up your heart ; I shall warn you in time, when I am sure of the danger.' Iris refused to sanction the risk involved in this desi)erate design. ' It's ]iou who will be in danger ! ' she exclaimed. In her coolest state of obstinacy, Fanny answered : ' That's in your ladyship's service — and that doesn't reckon.' Feeling gratefully this simple and sincere expression of attach- ment. Iris held to her own opinion, nevertheless. ' You are in my service,' she said ; * I won't let you go to Mr. Vimpany. Give it up, Fanny ! Give it up ! ' ' I'll give it up, my lady, when I know what the doctor means to do — not before.' The assertion of authority having failed. Iris tried persuasion next. ' As your mistress, it is my duty to set you an example,' she resumed. ' One of us must be considerate and gentle in a dispute — let me try to be that ouo There can be no harm, and there may be some good, in consulting the opinion of a friend ; some person in whose discretion we can trust.' * Am I acquainted with the person your ladyship is thinking of ? ' Fanny inquired. ' In that case, a friend will know what we want of her by to-morrow morning. I have written to Mrs. Vimpany. ' ' The very person I had in my mind, Fanny I When may we expect to hear from her ? ' * If Mrs. Vimpany can put what she has to say to us into few words,' Fanny replied, ' we shall hear from her to-morrow by telegraph.' As she answered her mistress in those cheering words, they were startled by a heavy knock at the door of the room. Under similar cu'cumstances, Lord Harry's delicate hand would have been just loud enough to be heard, and no more. Iris called out sus- piciously : ' Who's there ? * The doctor's gross voice answered : ' Can I say a word, if you please, to Fanny Mere ? ' The maid opened the door. Mr. Vimpany's heavy hand laid hold of her arm, pulled her over the threshold, and closed the door , , . , i9Z/^z? LOVE W"l> them to 8uroer Tf ^*'" "* ^°me friemU ami u ' ,'""' had reoeLY f "'<">«> '« 'hiok over 1». ^,?'^"'«»' wUi the patienr "^-^ o.de„ u. p„,„e theTei^^ TorZ fe I fl 222 BLIND LOVE Wi I 'i i M CHAPTEE XLVI MAN AND WIFE OWAEDS evening, the Dane was brougbt to the cottage. A feeling of pride which for- bade any display of curiosity, strength- ened perhaps by an irresistible horror of Vimpany, kept Irif in her room. No- thing bnt the sound i/// '//, of footsteps, outside, %:%iQ\^ her when the "a suffering man was taken to his bed- chamber on the same floor. She was after- wards informed by Fanny that the doc- tor turned down the lamp in the corridor, before the patient was helped to ascend the stairs, as a means of preventing the mistress of the house from plainly seeing the stranger's face, and recof rising the living likeness of her husband. The hours advanced- -the bustle of domestic life sank into silence — everybody but Iris rested quietly in bed. Through the wakeful night the sense of her situation oppressed her sinking spirits. Mysteries that vaguely threatened danger made their presence felt, and took their dark way through her thoughts. The cottage, in which the first happy days of her mar- riage had been passed, might ere long be thg scene of some evil deed, provoking the lifelong separation of her husband and herself! Were these the exaggerated fears of a woman in a state of hysterical suspicion ? It was enough for Iris to remember that Lord Harry a mo morn: time thing previo the pi fine ai resent( those ( tionate have tr his con friend— and her him to J But She i id fore V ..1(1 a -••.■tea f ai iln-'iou setting ti in conten <^f the tri 'Ah,i n^museme .you had a he asked likeness b( Her ey person yoi 'lis recovei He tool J^i the com BLTND LOVE —why ? Thn r "^ -'■^ *^^ere was rpqli., ' .u^ ^°°® ^^8 best to listened in va,n r'n ^^ *^« ^'-^rl^ n orSlf'''^^"^ to be afraid of He was then belovv !? •^'' T^^^^ ^^ ^ bed a^ tii' hmf '""vl^^^ ^^ ^bat t^"n,rhav t' b":n*r^^^^ "^ "-- - d ^^ir'^r^* *^^ ^^i^^' previous ni^ht V/. l^r''^" ' ''^ ^^^ theatrical rw^.-V ^"^ "^^^ '^««t fi«e art of the actors rl!-"^ '^^*'i bis critical ann, f'''''^ °^ resented such nier?n ? ^*^"ie had been u-Ii on t^^ ''''''' ^ of the those earlier ami Sf ^"^"^^ ^^th serioSs 1 . ?' ^°"^^ bave tionatelv of Lr .1 '^^tter days, she wouldC '^'^' ^« this. In have tr ed aUfh.f ;"' *° ^« ^^eeivecUnto j r^- '1^?"^'^«^^ him affec his conf^ssion^^of ?o '"^^ ^'?"^^^"ess anj paS/^"^ V^e wouM friend-andThe woul/r'"^""^-^ ^-^^^rcised over hi^'^^K ^^1*° ^^"^ andherresoiuion f? V^ used the utmostTnH "" ^^ ^^^'^ vile him to his S;" *° ^^^--te the fatal felSLptS^f ^i^^ But Iris Henley was Ladv tt ^"^'''^S^ She was sinlnnglas M.{ ^^"^ ^o^' ^V^^^lSr±?-^^^^oISS^ Wd^ as Mountioy ^'-^^ted for herTh?'^"^^ °f interest n w 1 "^^^^^band'sleveh a^ aa:.ous deceit h! -^ ""'^'^^^^ him w u hfs T' '"^'^°- '^^ netting the san^e\n?rp T^^^^tiy offered he- tL ? """^^^^^^ ^^ incontemplatinnf-^^*''^'''tch his wife wIm-.k u ?PPortunity— he asked abrunti v • ^ """^'^ ^^hom the dorfn;' if^"^- ''*''- ^ave .'rrcC^r ^ '»"" '5e:„:S:% '^^- -. ..e .en the He took out hi, Vnnpany hopeful of 224 BLIND LOVE V f of the effect of his own impetuous temper on others, and of diflB- culties which he had experienced when circumstances rendered it necessary to keep his face in a state of disciphne. ' Oh, there's no reason for anxiety I ' he said, with an over-acted interest in examining his cigar. ' Mr. Oxbye is in good hands.' ' People do sometimes sink under an illness,' she quietly re- marked. Without making any reply he took out his matchbox. His hand trembled a little ; he failed at the first attempt to strike a light. 'And doctors sometimes make mistakes,' Iris went on. He was still silrnt. At the second attempt, he succeeded with the match, and lit his cigar. ' Suppose Mr. Vimpany made a mistake, she persisted. ' In the case of this strangei*, it might lead to deplorable results.' Lord Harry lost his temper, and with it his colour. ' What the devil do you mean ? ' he cried. * I might ask, in my turn,' she said, ' wliat have I done to pi-o- voke an outbreak of temper ? I only made a remark.' At that critical moment, Fanny Mere entered the room with a telegram in her hand. * For you, my lady.' Iris opened the telegram. The message was signed bj- Mrs. Vinipany, and was expressed in these words : ' You may feel it your duty to go to your father. He is dangerously ill.' Lord Harry saw a sudden change in his wife's face that roused his guilty suspicions. ' Is it anything about me '? ' he asked. Iris handed the telegram to him in silence. Having looked at it, he desired to hear what her wishes were. * The telegram expresses my wislies,' she said. ' Have you any objection to my leaving you ? ' ' None whatever,' he answered eagerly. ' Go, by all means.' If it had still been possible for her to hesitate, that reply would have put an end to all further doubt. She turned away to leave the room. He followed her to the door. * I hope you don't think there is any want of sympathy on my part,' he said. ' You are quite right to go to your father. That was all I meant.' He was agitated, honestly agitated, while he spoke. Iris saw it, and felt it gratefully. Slie was on the point of making a last appeal to his confidence, when he opened the door for her. 'Don't let me detain you,' he said. His voice faltered ; he suddenly turned aside before she could look at him. Fanny was waiting in the hall, eager to see the telegram. She read it twice and reflected for a moment. ' How often do things fit themselves to one's wishes in this convenient way ? ' she asked herself. ' It's lucky,' she privately decided — ' almost too lucky. Let me pack up your things,' she continued, addressing her mistress, 'while I have some time to myself. Mr. Oxbye is asleep.' A th ^LTND LOVE influence of hi J ; v^ -fTr'. ^^r the second Hrnn\ i"-' *^^ ^^cond departure by the -^^ '-^ * heavy heart Z' ^ ^^'^^««^«d the The dutfes of "tf"^''''^^' '^' ^^'P^^^d for her already looked r^lT^u^^ ^^^^ I can iind m hL "^^^'""^ ^^ bid ea«erf, readX I'elri!''^ ™'"'- »<> ^^n i' offM^^tb.'e':'\S theman wwTr'^ ""> " Wtte 'S;„t "* answered Wm .. we'-e they to meet again? And how? t S.«,™» aa6 BLIND LOVR 1% f m T CHAPTEE XI.VII THE PATIKNT AND MY LOHD HERE now reiat'.ined but one other per- son in Lord Harry's house- hold whose presence on the scene was an obstacle to be removed. This person was the cook. On condition of her immediate depar- ture (excused by alleged motives of economy), she received a month's wages from her master, ni ad- vance of the sum due to Lsr, and a written cha- racter which did am^le justice to her many good qualities. The poor woman left her employment with the heartiest expressions of gratitude. To the end of hisr days, she declared the Irish lord to be a nobleman by nature. Republican principles, inherited from her excellent parents, disinclined her to recognise him as a noble- man by birth. But another sweet and simple creature was still left to brighten the sinister gloom in the cottage. The good Dane sorely tried the patience of Fanny Mere. This countryman of Hamlet, as he liked to call himself, v/as a living protest against the sentiments of inveterate contempt and hatred, Wth which his nurse was accustomed to regard the men. "When pain spared him at intervals, Mr. Oxbye presented the bright blue eyes and the winning smile which suggested the resemblance to the Irish lord. His beardless face, thin towards the lower extremities, oompleted the likeness in some degree only. The daring expression 7n Vimpa obstin; had hi discov< of sorr offensi\ frightfu follow ;5 everlasl treat ! ' a child, angry ei you wer answerei know.' still, on persuadii nurse, if to be doi despised nourished inhabitan the tough niost amo claims the t^let a suspicion < their mind Careful enlighten \ ^vhich the doctor. Every ] ni the bed guest expre ' Mr. Ox Som&cin Pai".' Son; P -I might g BUND LOVE 337 r; now li'.ined one 3r per- Lord house - )resence lie was to be ■son was iondition fce depar- y alleged imy), she s wages in ad- di^e to en ^ha- aiLt)le ny good |r woman nt with ssions of lord to ed from a noble- |brighten le. This la living hatred, When |ght blue pe to the [•amities, Ipression I of Lord Harry, in certain emergencies, never appeared. Nm'sing him ciu-efull}-, on the severest principles of duty as distinguished fi'om inclination, Fanny found herself in the presence of a male human being, who in the painless intervals of his malady, wrote little poems in her praise ; asked for a few flowers from the garden, and made prettily arranged nosegays of them devoted to herself ; cried, when she told him he was a fool, and kissed her hand five minutes afterwards, when she administered his medicine, and gave him no pleasant sweet thing to take the disagreeable taste out of his mouth. This gentle patient loved Lord Harry, loved Mr. Vimpany, loved the furious Fanny, resist it as she might. On her obstinate refusal to confide to him the story of her life — after he had himself set her the example at great length — he persisted in discovering for himself that * this interesting woman was a victim of sorrows of the heart.' In another state of existence, he was offensively certain that she would be living with liim. ' You are frightfully pale, you will soon die; I shall break a blood-vessel, and follow you ; we shall sit side by side on clouds, and sing together everlastingly to accompaniment of celestial harps. Oh, what a treat ! ' Like a chUd, he screamed when he was in pain ; and, like a child, he laughed when the pain had gone away. When she was angry enough with him to say, ' If I had known what sort of man you were, I would never have undertaken to nurse you,' he only answered, * My dear, let us thank God together that you did not know.' There was no temper in him to be roused ; and, worse still, on buoyant days, when his spirits were lively, there was no persuading him that he might not live long enough to marry his nurse, if he only put the question to her often enough. "What was to be done with such a man as this ? Fanny believed that she despised her feeble patient. At the same time, the food that nourished him was prepared by her own hands — while the other inhabitants of the cottage were left (in the absence of the cook) to the tough mercies of a neighboiu'ing restaurant. First and fore- most among the many good deeds by wlrLh the conduct of women claims the gratitude of the other sex, is surely the manner in which they let an unfortunate man master them, without an unworthy suspicion of that circumstance to trouble the charitable serenity of their minds. Carefully on the Icok-out for any discoveries which might enhghten her, Fanny noticed with ever-increasing interest the eflect which the harmless Dane seemed to produce on my lord and the doctor. Every morning, after breakfast. Lord Harry presented himself in the bedroom. Every morning, his courteous interest in his guest expressed itself mechanically in the same form of words : ' Mr. Oxbye, how do you find yourself to-day? ' Somfccimes the answer would be : ' Gracious lord, I am suffering ipain.' Sometimes it was : ' Dear and admirable patron, I feel as |il I might get well again.' On either occasion, Lord Harry listened Q2 '0 !6, ^V 228 BUND LOVE without looking at Mr. Oxbye— said he was sorry to hear a bad account or glad to hear a good account, without looking at Mr, Oxbye— made a remark on the weather, and took his leave, without looking at Mr. Oxbye. Nothing could bo more plain than that his polite inquiries (once a day) were unwillingly made, and that it was always a relief to him to get out of the room._ So strongly waa Fanny's curiosity excited by this strange behaviour, that she ven- tured one day to speak to her master. ' I am afraid, my lord, you are not hopeful of Mr. Oxbye's re- covering ? ' ' Mind your own business,' was the savage answer that slie received. Fanny never again took the liberty of speaking to him ; but she watched him more closely than ever. He was perpetually restless. Now he wandered from one rooni to another, and walked "ound and round the garden, smoking incessantly. Now he went out riding, or took the railway to Paris and disappeared for the day. On the rare occasions when he was in a state of repose, he always appeared to have taken refuge in his wife's room ; Fanny's keyhole-observa- tion discovered him, thinking miserably, seated in his wife's chair. It seemed to be possible that he was ifretting after Lady Harry. But what did his conduct to Mr. Oxbye mean ? What was the motive which made him persist, without an attempt at conceal- ment, in keeping out of Mr. Vimpany's way? And, treated in this rude manner, how was it that his wicked friend seemed to be always amused, never offended ? As for the doctor's behaviour to his patient, it was, in Fanny's estimation, worthy of a savage. He appeared to feel no sort of interest in the man who had been sent to him from the hosj^ital at his own request, and whose malady it was supposed to be the height of his ambition to cure, When Mr. Oxbye described his symptoms, Mr. Vimpany hardly even made a pretence at listening. With a frowning face he ap- plied the stethoscope, felt the pulse, looked at the tongue — and drew his own conclusions in sullen silence. If the nurse had a favourable report to make, he brutally turned his back on her. If discouraging results of the medical treatment made their appearance at night, and she felt it a duty to mention them, he sneered as if he doubted whether she was speaking the truth. Mr. Oxbye's ine::haustible patience and amiability made endless allowances for his medical adviser. ' It is my misfortune to keep my devoted doctor in a state of perpetual anxiety,' he used to say ; ' and we all know what a trial to the temper is the consequence of unrelieved suspense. I believe in Mr. Vimpany.' Fanny was careful not to betray her own opinion by making any reply ; her doubts of the doctor had, by this time, become terrifying doubts even to herself. Whenever an opportunity favoured her, she vigilantly watched him. One of his ways of finding amusement, in his leisiu'e hours, was in the use of a photographic apparatus. He took little pictures of the rooms in BLIND LOVE 129 i bad t Mr. thout at his it was y was e ven- b's re- al she mt she estless. nd and riding. On the ppeared )bserva- '8 chair. ■ Harry, was the conceal- sated in }d to be the cottage, which were followed by view8 in the garden. These having come to an end, he completed the mystification of the nurse by producing a portrait of the Dane, while he lay asleep one daj after he had beer, improving in health for some little time [mnt. Fanny asked leave to look at the likeness when it had been ' pruited * from the net?ative, in the garden. He first examined it himself— and then deliberately tore it up and let the fragments tly away in the wind. * I am not satisfied with it,' was all the explanation he offered. One of the garden chairs hai)pened to be near him ; he sat down, and looked like a man in a state of torment under hia own angry thoughts. If the patient's health had altered for the worse, and if the ten- dency to relap.se had proved to be noticeable after medicine had been administered, Fanny's first suspicions might have taken a very serious turn. But the change in Oxbye — sleejjiug in purer air and sustained by better food than he could obtain at the hospital — pointed more and more visibly to a decided gain of vital strength. His hollow checks were filling out, and coloiu' was beghining to appear again on the pallor of his skin. Strange as the conduct of Lord Harry and Mr. Vimpany might be, there was no possibility, thus far, of connecting it with the position occupied by the Danish guest. Nobody who had seen his face, when he was first brought to the cottage, could have looked at him again, after the lapse of a fortnight, and have failed to discover the signs which promise recovery of health. i'anny 8 I''' 330 BL/ND LOVS CHAPTER XLVIII •the mistress and the maid* N the corresi)ondcnce secretly carried on between the mis- tress in London and the maid lit I'nssy, it was Fanny Mere's turn to write next. Slio decided on delaying her 31 reply until she luid once more given carelul consideration to tiie lirst letter received ironi Lady Harry, announcing her arrival in England, and a strange discovery that had attended it. Before leaving Paris, Iris had telegraphed instructions to Mrs. Vimpany to meet her at the terminus in London. Her first in- quiries were for her father. The answer given, with an appearance of confusion and even of shame, was that t.here was no need to feel anxiety on the subject of Mr. Henley's illness, llelieved on hear- ing this good news, Iris naturally expressed some surprise at her father's rapid recovery. She asked if the doctors had misunder- stood his malady when they belie\'ed him to be in danger. To this question Mrs. Vimpany had replied by making an unexpected con- fession. She owned that Mr. Henley's illness had been at no time of any serious importance. A paragra[)h in a newspaper had informed her that he was suflering from nothing worse than an sittack of gout. It was a wicked act to have exaggerated this report, and to have alarmed Lady Harry on the subject of her father's health. Mrs. Vimpany had but one excuse to oiler. Fanny's letter had filled hei with such unendurable doubts and forebodings that she had taken the one way of inducing Lady Harry to secure her own safetj' bj ^t once leaving Passy — the way by a false alarm. Deceit, so sin- cerely repented, so resolutely resisted, had tried its power of tempta- tion again, and had prevailed. ' When I thought of you at the mercy of my vile husband,' Mrs. Vimpany said, ' with your husband but too surely gained as an accomplice, my good resolutions failed me. Is it only in books that a true repentance never stumbles again ? Or am 1 the one fallible mortal creature in the world '? I am ashamed of myself. But, oh, Lady Harry, I was so frightened for you ! Try to forgive me ; I am so fond of you, and so glad to see you here in safety. Don't go back I For God's t.'ake, don't go back ! ' Iris had no intention of returning, while the doctor and his patient were still at Passy ; and she found in Mrs. Vimpany's com- ings BUND LOVE a3« this cou- aiiy (1 her gout, have Mrs. dhei taken tybj o sin- mpta- and,' as an s that lUble t, oh, e;l •tgo Id his com- passion good reason to forgive an offence couixnitted through devo- tion to herself, and atoned for by sincere regret. Fanny looked carefully over the next page of the letter, which described Lady Harry's first interview with Mr. Mountjoy since his illness. The expressions of happiness on renewing her relations with her old and dear friend confirmed the maid in her first impres- sion that there was no fear of a premature return to Passy, with the wish to see Lord Harry again as the motive. She looked over the later letters next — and still the good influence of Mr. Mountjoy seemed to be in the ascendant. There was anxiety felt for Fanny's safety, and curiosity expressed to hoar what discoveries she might have made ; but the only allusions to my lord concained ordinary inciuiries relating to the state of his health, and, on one occasion, there was a wish expressed to know whether he wat still on friendly terms with Mr. Vimpany. There seemed to be no vear of tempting her mistress to undervalue the danger of returning to the cottage, if she mentioned the cheering improvement now visible in Mr. 0.\l)ye. And yet Fanny still hesitated to trust her first impressiuna, even after they had been confirmed. Her own sad oxperionce re- minded her of the fatal influence which an unscruimlous muu can exercise over the woman who loves him. It was always po.ssililo that Lady Harry might not choose to confide the state of her feel- ings towards her husband to a person who, after all, only occu- pied the position of her maid. The absence, in her letters, of any expressions of affectionate regret was no proof that she was not thinking of my lord. So far as he was pei'sonally concernod, the Dane's prospects of recovery would appear to justify the action of the doctor and his accomplice. Distrusting them both as resolutely as ever, and determined to keep I-^ady Harry as long as possible at the safe distance of London, Fanny Mere, in writing her reply, preserved a discreet silence on the subject of ^Ir. Oxbye's health. aja BLIND LOVE to' OTTArr F,U XT,TX TIIK NI'K'K IS SKNT AWAY J- (>U liM\(' i('|>(>iitr(l Mild <'li!in;;(Ml yoiir miiitl, Vinipftny ? ' siiid I ,(»nl I l.inv. 'I voprnlcii V ' tin' (loclor repeated, with w linif^di. ' You tliink inc (•nj>M,l)l(> ol' tlml. «lo y<>" ''' ' ' The man is !,Mii\\ iiij; siroiifjei- imd licMcr cvcrv (lay. You iiii' f;»>in!i to himI\(> liiiu ic'covcr, after mII. I wiin atViiid ' lie oorrtictc'd himself * I tli«Mr';lit' tlu! word was the tnioi- -'that you wjiro go iui; to poison him.' ' You thoujjht 1 waH f^oin^' wo woro f;t)iiifi:, my lord to commit \\ stnjiid and a useless eriiiu'. And, with our el(>ver mirso pres ',, all the time watchiui; with the suspicious of a cat, aud noting i chauije in the symjttoms? No I couless his cnse has jai/zle hecause I did not anticipate this fa\om'aJde chau^'(>. \V(>11- it is all for tho hest. I'annv sees him j;row sti'on^,'(>r ev(>ry diiy what ever happens she can testify to th(> care with which th(> n>an has been treated. S() far sho thoui;ht she wotild have us in her power, and we have her.' ' You are mii;hty cl<>ver, Vmipany; hut somotinuis you uro too clever for nu\ and. perhaps, too (dever for yourself.' 'I,etnu> make myself ch iir(>r " oiMiscious of the nurso's sus- picions, he leamul lorward and whispenul : ' Fanny must <;o. Now is the time. The man is recoveriui,'. Tho nuin must go : the next patient will be your lordship himself. Now do you under- stand ? ' ' Partly.' * Knoui^h. If I am to act it is sutlicient for you to undorstand step by st(>p. 0\w suspicii>us nurse is to ^o. That is the next step. Leave me to act.' Lord Harry walked away, llo left tho thing to tho doctor. It hardly seemed to concern him. A dying mnv ; a conspiracy ; a fraud: — yet the guilty knowledge of all this gave him small uneasi- ness. He carried with him liis wife's last note: ' ^Tay I lu)po to tind on my return tlie man whom 1 have trusted and honom'ed '? ' His conscience, callous as regards the doctor's scheme, tilled him with remorse whenever — which was iifty times a day — he took this little rag of a note from his pocket-hook and read it again. Yes: she w ould always tind the nian, on her return -the man whom she mg, lU.lND I.OVE 233 too HUK- Now the d(>r- stop. It y ; fi oasi- )0 to Ml ? • him this ■Yes: she hnd tniRtod and linnoiiiod lln' Inttcr cliiiifin lin |)n.NHod ovor it Would |)((, orcoiiiMo llio Miirnn iiiiin : whrtlicr hIio would ntill ho aldo to tniHl ntid liniiDMi' liiiii tlwit •pin'^tioti ho did not put tn liirnRolf Aflcr (ill, llin docliir wiih nctiiij; nut ho, hiroHi'ir. And lio I'oMiondtoiod llui^li Monntjoy. Iiim would hn with hirii ' Mm num wIioho (ilTo('ti(»n wiih only ImMi^ht out in tlin Klron^or li;,dit liy hiw rrMpcft, liist dovolinii, luid \\v\ doliciicy. Hlio woidd hn in liirt nocioty : Hho W(»ulil midnv^tiuid tlirt truo nioaniiu; (d' JImh ro- H|Mwtand dolicdoy ; hIio would ii|i|ir(M'iii,to tlio drpth <»f Imh dovolion : hIic would confniHt lliiijli, tlio man hIio mij,'lit liavo marriod, with liiniHoir, tlio miin hIw rato and rccddoHH I Ho r('H(dvod to write to Frin: ho Hat down and poiirnd out hin hoart, hut not his conHcionco, t(» hor. 'Ah for (»ur Hoparation,' ho Raid, * f, and ordy f, am to hlamo. It Ih my own ahominahjo conchict that han caused it. (iivo mo your ))ar(lon, dearcHt IriH. 1 1' I have ma(hi it impoHHihlo for you to livo with mo, it in alno impoHHihh^ for mo to Hvo without yon. So am r puniHh(!(l. TIkOiouho in dull mid lonely; the lioiirH (Tawl, I know not how to kill tho time; my lilVi iH :■ iiiiHery and a hiirdon borauso you aro not with me. Yot f have no ri^jlit to (rompjain ; I oiif^dit to rejoico in thiiiKinj,' that you aro hii|ipy in hoirif^ relieved of my proHen(ro. My dear, I do not ank yon to como at prenj-nt' — ho romendiorod, indeod, that Imr arrival at thin jimcturo mi;,'ht he HorioiiHly awkward — * I cannot ank you to como hack yot, hut lot me have a little hope — lot mo feel that in tho HWoetneHH of your luituro you will helievo in my repentance, and lot mo look forward to a KperMly reunion in tho futiiro.' Wlien ho had written this letter, which he would hava done hotter to keep in his own hands for nwliihi, ho directed it in a feif^'ned hand to liiidy Harry Norland, caro of Iluf,'h Mountjoy, at tho lattor'H liondon hotel. Mountjoy would not know Iris's corres- liondont, and would c(!rtainly forward tho letter, lie calculated — with tho knowled^'o of her alToctionate and impulsive nature — that Iris would meet him half-way, and would return whenever he should 1)(* able to call her back. Ho did not calculate, as will be seen, on tho step which she actually took. The letter dispatched, he canui back to tho cotta{,'o happier — he would fjfet his wife aj^ain. He looked in at tho sick-room. The patient was sittinj? up, clmttiuf,' pleasantly ; it was the best day he had known; the doctor was sittinfj in a chair jjlacod beside the bed, and the nurso stood quiet, self-composed, but none the less watchful and suspicious. * You are goinpj on so well, my man,' Doctor Vimpany was say- ing, ' that we shall have you out and about a<,'ain in a day or two. Not quite yet, though —not qtiite yet,' he pulled out his stethoscope and made an examination with an immense show of professional interest. ' My treatment has succeeded, you see ' — he made a note 234 BUND LOVE or two in his pooktt-book — ' has succeeded,' h« repeated. ' They will have to ackuowleilge that.' ' Gracious sir, I am ffrateful. I have pfiven a great deal too much trouble.* ' A medical case can never give too much trouble — that is im- possible. Een.embcr, Oxbye, it is Science which watches at your bedside. You are not Oxbye ; you are a case ; it is not a man, it is a piece of machinery that is out of order. Science watches: she sees yon through and through. Though you are made of solid flesh and l)ones, and clothed, to Science j'ou are transparent. Her business is not only to read your symptoms, but to set the machinery right again.' The Dane, overwhelmed, could only renew his thanks. ' Can he stand, do you think, nurse ? ' the doctor went on. • Let us try — not to walk about much to-day, but to get out of bed, if only to prove to himself that he is so much better ; to make him understand that he is really nearly well. Come, nurse, let us give him a hand,' In tiie most paternal manner possible the doctor assisted his patient, weak, after so long a confinement to his bed, to get out of bed, and supported him while he walked to the open window, and looked out into tha garden. ' There,' ho said, ' that is enough. Not too much at first. To-morrow he will have to get up by himself. Well, Fanny, you agree at last, I suppose, that I have brought this poor man round ? At last, eh ? ' His look and his words showed what he meant. ' You thought that some devilrj' was intended.' That was what the look meant. ' You proposed to nurse this man in order to watch for and to dis- cover this devilry. Very well, what have you got to say ? ' All that Fanny h id to say was, submissively, that the man was clearly much better ; and, she added, he had been steadily improv- ing ever since he pame to the cottage. That is what she said ; but she said it without the light of con- fidence in her eyes — slie v»as still doulttful and suspicious. What- ever power the doctor had of seeing the condition of lungs and hidden machinery, he certainly had the power of reading this woman's thoughts. He saw. as clearly as if upon a printed page, the bewilderment of her mind. She knew that something was in- tended — something not for her to know. That the man had been brought to the cottage to be made tlie subject of a scientific experi- ment she did not believe. She had k)oked to see him die, but he did not die. He was mending fast; in a little while he would be as well as ever he had been in Iiis life. W hat liad the doctor done it for? Was it really -lossible that nothing was ever intended be- yond a scientific experiment, which had succeeded"? In the case of any other man, the woman's doubts would have been entirely removed; in Ihe case of Ih-. \impany these doubts remained. There are some men of whom notliing good can be believed, whether of motive or of action ; for if their acts seem good, their do BLIND LOVE 235 on- lat- md "Ithia ige, in- leen leri- he be )ne Ibe- lase \ed. red, leir motive must be bad. Many women know, or fancy they know, Buch a man — one who seems to them wholly and hopelessly bad. Besides, what was the meaning of the secret conveiKation and the widespread colloquies of the doctor and my lord ? And why, at first, was the doctor so careless about his patient ? • The time has come at last,' said the doctor that evening, when the two men were alone, * for this woman to go. The man is get- ting well rapidly, he no longer wants a nurse ; there is no reason for keeping her. If she has suspicions thei-e is no longer the least foundation for them ; she has assisted at the healing of a man des- perately sick by a skilful physician. What more? Nothing — positively nothing.' ' Can she tell my wife so much and no more ? ' asked Lord Harry. ' Will there be no more ? ' ' She can tell her ladyship no more, Itecause she will have no more to tell,' the doctor replied quietly. ' She would like to learn more ; she is horribly disappointed that there is no more to tell ; but she shall hear no more. She hates me : but she hates your lordship more.' ' Why ? ' ' Because her mistress loves you still. Such a woman as this would like to absorb the whole affection of her mistress in herself. You laugh. She is a servant, and a common person. How can such a person conceive an affection so strong as to become a passion for one so superior ? But it is true. It is perfectly well known, and there have been many recorded instances of such a woman, say a servant, greatly inferior in station, conceiving a desperate atl'ection for her mistress, accompanied by the fiercest jealousy. Fanny Mere is jealous — and of you. She hates you; she wants your wjfr> to hate you. She would like nothing better than to go back to her mistress with the proofs in her hand of such acts on your part — such acts, I say,' he chose his next words carefully, ' as would keep her from you for ev^r.' ' She's a devil, I dare soy,' said Lord Harry, carelessly. • What do I care i What does it matter to me whether a lady's maid, more or less, hates me or loves me ? ' ' There spoke the aristocrat. My lord, remember that a lady's maid is a woman. You have been brought up to believe, perhaps, that people in service p^e not men and women. That is a mistake — a great mistake. Fanny Mere is a woman — that is to say, an inferior form of man ; and tliere is no man in the world so low or so base as not to be able to do mischief. The power of mischief is givea to every one of us. It is the true, the only Equality of Man — we can all destroy. What ? a shot in tlie dark ; the striking ot a lucifer match ; the false accusation ; the false witness ; the de- famation of character ; — upon my word, it is far more dangerous to be hated by a woman than by a man. And this excellent and faithful Fanny, devoted to her mistress, hates you, my lord, even more '-he paused and laughed — ' even more than the charming 236 BUND LOVE Mrs. Vimpany hates her husband. Never mind. To-morrow we see the last of Fanny Mere. She goes ; she leaves her patient rapidly recovering. That is the fact that she carries away— not the fact she hoped and expected to carry away. She goes to-morrow and sho will never come back again.' The next morning the doctor paid a visit to his patient rather earlier than usual. He found the man going on admirably : fresh in colour, lively and cheerful, chatting pleasantly with his nurse. ' So,' said Dr, Vim]mny, after the usual examination and ques- tions, ' this is better than I expected. You are now able to get up. You can do so by-and-by, after breakfast ; you can di'ess yourself, you want no more help. Nurse,' he turned to Fanny, ' I think that we have done with you. I am satisfied with the careful watch you have kept over my patient. If ever you think of becoming a nm'se by profession, rely on my recommendation. The experiment,' he added, thoughtfully, ' has fully succeeded. I cannot deny that it has been owing partly to the intelligence and patience with which you have carried out my instructions. But I think that your ser- vices may now be relinquished.' ' When am I to go, sir ? ' she asked, impassively. * In any other case I should have said, " Stay a little longer, if you please. Use your own convenience." In your case I must say, •' Go to your mistress." Her ladyship was reluctant to leave you behind. She will be glad to have you back again. How long will you take to get ready ? ' ' I could be ready in ten minutes, if it were necessary.* * That is not necessary. You can take the night mail via Dieppe and Newhaven. It leaves Paris at 9*50. Give yourself an hour to get from station to station. Any time, therefore, this ever ing before seven o'clock will do perfectly well. You will ask his lordship for any letters or messages he may have.* ' Yes, sir,' Fanny replied. ' With your permission, sir, I will go at once, so as to get a whole day in Paris.' ' As you please, as you please,' said the doctor, wondering why she wanted a day in Paris ; but it could have nothing to do with his sick man. He left the room, promising to see the Dane again in an hour or two, and took up a position at the garden gate through which the nurse must pass. In about half an hour she walked down the path carrying her box. The doctor opened the gate for her. ' Good-bye, Fanny,' he said. ' Again, many thanks for your care and your watchfulness — especially the latter. I am very glad,' '■lO said, with what he meant for the sweetest smile, but it looked like a grin, ' that it has been rewarded in such a way as you hardly perhaps expected.' * Thank you, sir,' said the girl. * The man is nearly well now, and can do without me very well indeed.' * The box is too heavy for you, Fanny. Nay, I insist upon it : I shall carry it to the station for you.' |ir d ly BimD LOVE m It was not far to the station, and the box was not too heavy, but Fanny yielded it. * He wants to see me safe out of the station,' she thought. ' I will see her safe out of the i)lace,' he thought. Ten minutes later the doors of the salle d'attente were thrown open, the train rolled in, and Fanny was carried away. The doctor returned thoughtfully to the house. The time was come for the execution of his project. Everybody was out of the way. ' She is gone,' he said, when Lord Harry returned for breakfast at eleven. ' I saw her safely out of the station.' ' Gone ! ' his confederate echoed : ' and I am alone in the house with you and — and ' • The sick man — henceforth, yourself, my lord, yourself.' ajS BLIND LOVR n % CHAPTER L IN THE ALCOVE HE doctor was wrong. Fanny Mere did return, though he did not discover the fact. She went away in a state of mind which is dangerous when it pos- sesses a woman of deter- mination. The feminine mind loves to understand motives and intentions it hates to .be puzzled Fanny was puzzled Fanny could not under stand what had been in tended and what was now meant. For, first, a man, apparently dying, had been brought into the house — why ? Then the man beg' •' ""'" '" "''''"*''■ 'What does it „eau?. t' Ir;, 25« BI IND LOVl: ' It means, my love, that you have rutuinod to your husband.' He laid an arm round lior, and kissed hor again and again. ' You are my Harry I -living ! -my own Harry ? ' * Your own Harry, my darling. What else sliould I ho ? ' ' Tell mo then, wliat docs it mean — that picture — that horrid photograph? ' ' Tliat means nothing -.lothing — a freak — a joke of the doctor's. What could it mean ? ' He took it up. ' Why, my dear, 1 am living— living and well. What should this mean but a joko '? * Ho laid it on the tabic again, face downwards. But her eyes showed lliat she was not sMlisiicul. l\Icn do not make jokes on death : it is a sorry jest indeed to dn'ss up a man in grave-clothes, and make a photi)graph of him as of one dead. ' But you — you, my Iris ; you are here — tell mo how and why — and when, and everything '? Never mind that stupid picture : tell me.' ' I got yonr letter, Harry,' she replied. ' ^ly letter ? ' he repciited. ' Oh I my dear, you got m^' letter, and you siiw that your husband loved you still.' 'I coidd not keep away from you, H.'vrry, whatever had hap- pened. I stay^> 1 as long as I could. I tliought about you diiy and night. And at last I — 1 — I came back. Are you augrv with mo, Harry ? ' 'Angry? (lood God! my dearest, angry?' He kissed her passionately - not the less i)a,ssii)natcly thiit she had returned at a time so terrible. What was he to say to her ? How was ho to tell her ? While he showeri'd kisses on her ho was asking liimself these (pu>stions. When she found out when he should confess to her the whole truth — she would leave him again. Yet ho did not understand the nature of the woman wl\o loves. Ho helil her in his arms; his kisses pleaded for him ; they mastered her — she was ready to believe, to acce])(, to surrcinler even licr truth and honesty; and she was ready, thougli she knew it not, to become the accom- plice of a crime. Eather than leave her husband again, she would do everything. Y'^et, Lord Harry felt there was one reservation : ho might confess everything, except the nniviler of the Dane. No word of confession had passed the doctor's lips, yet he know too well that the man had been murdered ; and, so far as the man had been chosen for his resemblance to himself, that was perfectly useless, because the resemblance, tlioiigh striking at the lirst, had boon gradually disappearing as the man Oxbye grew better ; and was now, as we have seen, wholly lost after death. ' I have a great deal— a ^reat deal to tell you. dear,' said tho husband, holding both her hands tendcrl}'. ' You will have to be very pntient with me. You must make up your mind to be shocked at tirst. though I shall be able to convince you that there was reallv ni.tiiiiiL!' I'l-r to hi' done -nothing else at all.' Oh go on, Harry. Tell me all. Hide nuthinj n\scU' S3 to not or in was lesty; com- vould liiij^ht id tlie to bo )C'kcd was nrJND LOVE 253 * I will tell yoii all,' ho ropliod. ' First. whrr(< is thut poor iiiaii whom tho doctor brought hor« and I'^mniy nursed ? And whcro Ib I''n.iuiy ? ' * Tho poor man,' ho rcpliiMl cjirolcssly, ' mado ro riipid a recovery that he has got on his legs and gone awity -1 believe, to report himself to tho hosj)itMl whence ho came. Jt is a great triumph for the doctor, whoso new tr(>ii,tment is now proved t(, be buccc^ssIuI. lie will make a grand flourish of trinnpets about it. 1 dare say, if all ho claims for it is true, ho has taken a great step in tho treat- ment of lung dJHcMises.' Iris had no disease of tho lungs, and cousecpieutly cured very little for the scientilic aspect of the (piestion. ' Where is jny maid, then "} ' 'Fanny? She went away- let me see: to dny is Friday — on ^Vedn(>sda.y morning. It was no use keeping her here. Tlu^ nuui was well, ami sho was aiixi(Mis to get back to you. So she started on Wednesday morning, pro[)osing to take (lie night boat I'roin ])i(>ppe. She must have sto])p('(l somi^wliere on the wa,y.' * 1 supposo sho will go to see Mrs. Vimpany. I will send her a line there.' ' C(!rtainly. That will be sm'o to find her.' ' Well, Jlarry, is tlun-e anything else to t(dl me ? ' 'A great deal,' ho repea,ted. 'That jihotogrnph, Iris, which frightened you so much has been very carefully taken by Vimpany for a certain reason.' ' What reason ? ' 'There are occasions,' he rejdicd, 'when the very best thing that can ha|)pen to a iiKin is the belief that he is dead. Such a juncture of affairs has hai)i)ened to myself and to yon — at this moment. It is convenient -oven necessary — for me that the world should believe me dead. In point of f-'ct, I muf t be dead henceforth. Not for anything that 1 have done, or th.-u 1 arn afraid of — don't think tha.t. No ; it is for the sim[)le reason that I have no longer any money or any resources whatever. That is why I must be dead. Had you not returned in this unexpected manner, my dear, you would have heard of my death from the doctor, and he would havo left it to chance to lind a convenient opportunity of letting you know tho truth. I am, however, deeply grieved that I was so carelesg as to leave that photograph ujion the table.' ' I d<^ not understand,' she said. ' You pretend to be dead ? ' ' Yes. I »iii.s/ have money. I have some left — a very little. I viii.tt havo money; and, in order to get it, I must be dead.' ' How will that help ? ' ' Why, my dear, 1 am insured, and my insurances will be paid after my death ; but not before.' ' Oh ! must you get money— oven by a ' She hesitated. ' Call it a c Miipiracy, my dear, if you please. As there is nj other way v \atever left, I must get money that way.' •Oh, this is dreadful ! A conspiracy, Harry? a — a — fraud? ' |!i: Mr 2-4 HLIND LOVE * If you plonse. That is tho iiauio which hiwyers give to it.' •But oh, llniry ! — it is a crime. It is a thing for which men arc tried and fi)und guiUy nnd Rontcucod.' 'Certainly; if they arc found out. IVFeantimc, it is only the poor, ignorant, chnnwy fool who gets found out. \\\ the City these thnigs are done every day. Quite as a matter of course,' he added carel(^ssly. ' It is not usual for nuMi to take their wives into con- fidence, hut in tliis case I nnist take sow into coiifKhMico : I have no choice, as you will understand directly.' ' Tell nie, Harry, who first tliought of tliis way ? ' 'Vimiiany, of course. Oh I give him the credit where real cleverness is concerned. Vimpany suggested tho thing. Ho found me well-nigli as desperately hard up as ho is himself, lie suggested it. At fu'st, I confess, 1 did not like it. I refused to listen to any more talk about it. But, you see, when one meets destitution face to face, one will do anything — everything. Besides, as I will show you, this is not really a fraud. It is only an anticipation of a few years. However, there was another reason.' ' Was it to fnul tho money to meet the promissory note ? ' ' My dear, you may forget — you may resolve never to throw the thing in my teeth ; but my love for you will never sulfer me to forget that I have lost your little fortune in a doubtful speculation. It is all gone, never to be recovered again ; and this after I had sworn never to touch a farthing of it. iris ! '—ho started to his feet and walked about the room as one who is agitated by emotion — ' Iris I 1 could face imprisonment for debt, I could submit to pecuniary ruin, for that matter ; the loss of monej'^ would not cause me the least trouble, but I cannot endure to have ruined you.' ' Oh ! Harry, as if I mind. Everything that I have is yours. When I gave you myself I gave all. Take — use — lose it all. As you think, I should never feci reproach, far loss utter a word of blame. Dearest Harry, if that is all ' ' No ; it is tho knowledge that you will not even feel reproach that is my constant accuser. At my death you will get all bad: again. But I am not old ; I may live for many, many years to come. How can I wait for my own death when I can repair this wickedness by a single stroke ? ' ' But by another wickedness — and worse.' ' No- not another crime. Bemember that this money is mine. It will come to my heirs some day, as surely as to-morrow's sun will rise. Sooner or later it will be mine ; I will make it sooner, that is all. The Insurance Company will lose nothing but the paltry interest for the remainder of my life. My dear, if it is dis- graceful to do this I will endure disgrace. It is easier to bear than the constant self-reproach which I ieel when I think of you and of the losses I have inllicted upon you.' Again he folded her in his arms ; he knelt before her ; he wept over her. Carried out of herself by this passion. Iris made no more resistance. »5S it IS too In fn AI • 'm""''I, tll||lvin,r ,,(■ fl.o 1 "^ ,""'*'" ' ' Mrn oor rr 'f «'^"'I'lf tod.- " "' ^''" '^^"'^ man holow. rr ^**.y poor liaiTv Wlin* .1 n ^fow shaJl vvo .ont.io n \, ''{;;' /^'" !'•>? How shall we live? '^'>" would not Inavc i „ I "'""' ""^ ? ' worse tW^^^^^ ••'•'•''>' di.^ '"' '■ '"'* ''^'Jid "^"0 two coii82)irator8. Ml ill ii: ill : 2S6 BLIND LOVE CHAPTER LIV ANOTHER STEP HAVE left this terrible thing abou^' once too often already,' and Lord Hai'ry took it from the table. ' Let me put it in a ] lace of safety.' lie unlocked a drawer and opened it. ' I will put it here,' he said. ' Why ' — as if suddenly recollecting something — • •here is my will. I shall be leaving that about on the table next. Iris, my dear, I hiive left everything to you. All will be yours.' He took out the doeuniort. ' Keep it for me, Iris. It is yours. You may as well have it now, and then I know, in your careful hands, it will be quite safe. Not only is evarything left to you, but you are the sole executrix.' Iris took the will without a word. She understood, now, what it meant. If sho was the sole execiitrix she would have to act. If everything was left to her she would have to receive the money. Thus, at a single step, she became not only cognisant of the con- spiracy, but the chief agent and instrument to carry it out. This done, her husband had only to tell her what had to be done at once, in consequence of her premature arrival. He had planned, he told her, not to send for her— not to let her know or suspect anything of the truth until the money had been paid to the widow by the Insurance Company. As things had turned out, it would be best for both of them to leave Passy at once — that very evening — before her arrival was known hy anybody, and to let Vimpany carry out the rest of the business. He was quite to be trusted -he would do everything that was wanted. ' Already,' he said, ' the Office will have received from the (""octor a notification of my death. Yesterday evening he wrote to everybody — to my brother — confound him ! — and to the family solicitor. Every moment that I stay here increases the danger of my being seen and recognised — after the Office has been informed that I am dead.' ' Where are we to go ? ' ' I have thought of that. There is a little quiet town in Belgium where no English people ever come at all. We will go there, then we will take another name ; we will be buried to the outer world, and will live, for the rest of our lives, for ourselves alone. Do you agree ? ' ' I will do, Harry, whatever you think best.' ' It will be for a time only. When all is ready, you will hav« BLIND LOVE «57 Lava to Btep to the front — the will in your hand to be proved — to receive what is due to you as the widow of Lord Harry Norland. You v ill go back to Belgium, after awhile, so as to disarm suspicion, to be- come once more the wife of William Linville.' Iris sighed heavily. Then she caught her husband's eyes gathering with doubt, and she smiled again. ' In everything, Harr ,' she said, ' I am your sei*vant. When shall we start ? ' 'Immediately. I have only to write a letter to the doctor. Where is your bag ? Is this all ? Let me go first to see that no one is about. Have you got the will? Oh I it is here— yes— in the bag. I will bring along the bag.' He ran downstairs, and came up quickly. ' The nurse has returned,' he said. ' She is in the spare room." ♦ What nurse ? ' * The nurse who came after Fanny left. The man was better, but the doctor thought it wisest to have a nurse to the end,' he explained hurriedly, and she suspected nothing till afterwards. ' Come down quietly — go out by the back-door — she will not see you.' So Iris obeyed. She went out of her own house like a thief, or like her own maid Fanny, had she known. She passed through the garden, and out of the garden into the road. There she waited for her husband. Lord Harry sat down and wrote a letter. ' Dear Doctor,' he said, ' while you are arranging things outside an imp;:pccted event has happened inside. Nothing happens but the unexpected. My wife has come back. It is the most unex- pected event of any. Anything else might have happened. Most fortunately she has not seen the spare bedroom, and has no 'idea of its contents. ' At this point reassure yourself. ' My wife has gone. ' She found on the table your first print of the negative. The sight of this before she saw me threw her into some kind of swoon, from which, however, she recovered. ' I have explained things to a certain point. She understands that Lord Harry Norland is deceased. She does not understand that it was necessary to have a funeral ; there is no necessity to tell her of that. I think she understands that she must not seem to have been here. Therefore she goes away immediately. ' The nurse has not seen her. No one has seen her. ' She understands, further, that as the widow, heir, and execu- trix of Lord Harry she will have to prove his will, and to receive the money due to him by the Insurance Company. She will do this out of love for her husband. I think that the persuasive powers of a certain person have never yet been estimated at their true value. ' Considering the vital importance of getting her out of the place before she can learn anything of the spare bedroom, and of getting s «58 BUND LOVE me out of tho place before any messenger can arrive ^»*om the Londoji otl'ice, I think you will agree with me that I am right in leaving Passy — and Paris — with Lady Harry this very afternoon. 'You may write to ^Villialn Linvilhi, Poste-lCiKtante, Louvain, Belgium. I am sure I can trust you to destroy this letter. ' Louvain is a quiet, out-of-the-way place, where one can live quite sejjarated from all old friends, and very cheaply. 'Considering tlio small amount of money that 1 have left, I rely upon you to exercise the greatest economy. I do not know how long it may bo before just clahns are paid up — perhn])s in two months — ])erhap8 in six- but until things are settled there will be tightness. •At the same time it will not be difficult, as soon as Lady Harry goes to London, to obtain some kind of ailvance from the family solicitor on the strength of the insm'anco due to her from her late husband. ' I am sorry, dear doctor, to leave you alone over the obsequies t)f this unfortunate gentleman. You will also have, I hear, a good deal of correspondence with his fan •. You may, possibly, have to see them in England. All '^his >wa will do, and do very well. Your bill for medical attendance you will do well to send in to the widow. ' One word more. Fanny Mere, the maid, has gone to London; but she has not seen Lady Harry. As soon as she her.rs that her mistress has left London sliO will be back to Passy. She may come at any moment. I think if I were you I would meet her at the garden gate and send her on. It would be inconvenient if she were to arrive before the funeral. ' My dear doctor, I rely on your sense, your prudence, and your capability. — Yours very sincerely, 'Your English Frip:n'd.' He read this letter very carefull3\ Nothing in it he thought tho least dangerous, and yet something suggested danger. However, he left it ; he was obliged to caution and warn the doctor, and he was obliged to get his Mife away as quietly as possible. This done, he ])acked up his things and hurried off to the station, and Passy saw him no more. The next day the mortal remains of Lord Harry Norland were lowered into the grave. BLIND LOVE *59 II M the h'er, he tion, Ivere CHAPTER LV THE ADVENTURES OF A FAITHFUL MAID was about five o'clock on Saturday afternoon. The funeral was over. The unfurt'uiato youn^ Irish gentle- man was now lying in the cemetery of Auteuil in a grave purchased in perpetuity. His name, age, and rank were duly mscril^ed in the registers, and the cause of his death was vouched for by the English physician who had attended him at the r, ^uest of his family. He was accompanied, in going thi-ough the formalities, by the respectabU' woman who had nursed the sick man during his last seizure. I*]ve''ything was perfectly in ordex\ The physician was the only mourner at the funeral. No one was curious about the little procession. A funeral, more or less, excites no attention. The funeral completed, the doctor gave orders for i simple monument to bo put in memory of Lord Harry Norland, thus prematurely cut off. He then returned to the cottage, paid and dismissed the nurse, taking her address in case he should find an opportunity, as he hoped, to recommend her among his numerous and distinguished clientele, and proceeded to occupy himself in setting everything in order before giving over the key to the land- lord. First of all he removed the medicine bottles from the ctip- board with great care, leaving nothing. Most of the bottles he threw outside into the dust-hole ; one or two he placed in a fire which he made for the purpose in the kitchen : they were shortly redtxced to two or three lumps of molten glass. These contained, no doubt, the mysteries and secrets of science. Then he went into every room and searched in every possible place for any letters or papers which might have boon left about. Letters left about are always indiscreet, and the conseqttences of an indiscretion may be far-reaching and incalculable. Satisfied at last that the place was perfectly cleared, he sat down in the salon and contimi 3d his business correspondence with the noble family and the solicitors. Thus engaged, he heard footsteps outside, footsteps on the gravel, foot- steps on the doorstep. He got up, not without the slightest show of nervousness, and opened the door. Lord Harry was right. There stood the woman who had been his first nurse — the woman who overheard and watched -the woman who stispected. The suspicion and the intention of watching were legible in her eyes still. She had come back to renew her watch. H 2 r 'V afio BUND LOVE In her hand she cftrried hor box, which she had hipejed alon^ from the place where the omnibus had deposited her. She made as if she were fitcpping in ; but the biff form of the doctor barred the way. ' Oh 1 ' he said carelessly, • it is you. Who told you to come back ? ' • Is my mistress at home ? ' ' No ; she is not.' He made no movement to let hor pass. 'I will come in, ploaso, and wait for her.' He still stood in tho way. ' What time will she return ? ' • Have you hcaid from her ? ' •No.' • Did she leave orders that you were to follow her ? * • No ; none that I rofcivcd. I t1i()iif,dit ' 'Servants should never think. They should oboy.' • I know my duty, Dr. Vimpany, without learnmg it from you. Will you let me pass ? ' He withdrew, and she entered. ' Come m, by all moans,' he said, ' if you desire my society for a short time. I3ut you will not find your mistress here.' ' Not here I Where is she, then ? ' ' Had you waited in London for a day or two you would, I dare say, have been informed. As it is, you have had your journey for nothing.' ' Has she not been here ? ' ' She has not been here.' ' Dr. Vimpany,' said the woman, driven to desperation, * I don't believe you I I am certain she has been here. What have you done with her ? ' ' Don't you believe me ? That is sad, indeed. But one cannot always help these wanderings. You do not believe me ? Melan- choly tridy I ' ' You may mock as much as you like. Where is she ? ' • Where, 'indeed ? ' ' She left London to join his lordship. Where is he ? ' I do not know. He who would answer that question would be a wise rnan indeed.' • Can I see him ? ' ' Certainly not. He has gone away. On a long journey. By himself.' ' Then I shall wait for him. Here ! ' she added with decision. ' In this house I ' ' By all means.' She hesitated. There was an easy look about the doctor which she did not like. ' I believe,' she said, ' that my mistress is in the house. She must be in the house. What are you going to do with her? I believe you have put her somewhere.' BUND LOVE t«t •Indeed 1' ' You would do anythin)» I I will go to tha polioo.' ' If you please.' * Oh ! doctor, toll mo where she is I ' 'You aro a faithful servant : it is good, in these days, to find a woman so zealous on account of her inisiross. Como in, good and faitliful. Search the house all over. Como in— what are you afraid of? Put down your box, and go and look for your mistress. ' Fanny obeyed. She ran into tho house, oitenod the doors oC Hie salon and tho dining-room one after the other : no one was there. She ran up tho stairs and looked into her mistress's room : nothing was there, not even a ribbon or a hair-i)in. to show the recrnt presence of a woman. Slio looked into Lord Hurry's room. Nothing was there. If a woman leaves hair-pins about, a man leaves his toothbrush : nothing at nil was there. Then she threw open the armoiro in each room : notliing beliind the doors. She came downstairs slowly, wondering what it all m(;ant. 'May I look in tho spare room? ' she asked, expecting to bo roughly refused. ' By all means — by all means,' said the doctor, blandly. ' You know your way about. If there is anything loft belonging to your mistress or to you, pray take it.' She tried one more question. ♦ How is my patient ? How is Mr. Oxbye ? ' • He is gone.' ' Gone ? Where has he gone to ? Gone ? ' ' He went away yesterday — Friday. He was a grateful creature. I wish we had more such grateful creatines as well as more sucli faithful servants. He said something about finding his way to London in order to thank you properly. A good soul, indeed ! ' ' Gone ? ' she repeated. ' Why, on Thursday morning I saw him ' She checked herself in time. ' It was on Wednesday morning that you saw him, and he was then recovering rapidly.' * But he was far too weak io travel.' ' You may be quite certain that I should not have allowed him to go away unless he was strong enough.' Fanny made no reply. She had seen with her own eyes the man lying still and white, as if in death ; she had seen the new- nurse rushing off, crying that ho was dead. Now she was told iliat he was quite well, and that he had gone away! But it was no time for thought. She was on the point of asking where the new nurse was, but she remembered in time that it was best for her to know nothing, and to awaken no suspicions. She opened the door of the spare room and looked in. Yes ; the man was gone — dead or alive — and there were no traces left of his presence. The place was cleared up ; tiie cupboard stood with open doors, empty ; the bed was made ; the curtain pushed back ; the sofa was in its place against the wall ; |,|'.-, H: ;l„l,^ :02 BLIND LOVE 1* , * ! i ^ .'I 1 ' *, ^ the winddw stood open. Nothing in the room at all to show that there had been an occnpant only two days before. She stared blankly. The dead man was gone, then. Had her senses al- together deceived her ? Was he not dead, but only sleeping ? Was her horror only a tiling of imagination ? Behind her, in the hall, stood the doctor, smiling, cheerful. She renicml)ered that her ih'st business was to find her mistress. She was not connected with the Dane. She closed the door and returned to the hall. ' W' ell,' asked the doctor, ' have you made any discoveries ? You see that the house is deserted. You will jierhaps learn before long why. Now what will you do ? W'ill you go back to ^i-ondon ? * ' I must find her ladyship.' The doctor smiled. ' Had you come here in a different spirit,' he said, * I would have spared you all this trouble. You come, however, with sus- picion written on your face. You have always been suspecting and watching. It ma}- be :n a spirit of fidelity to your mistress; but such a spirit is not pleasing to other people, especially when there is not a single person who bears any resentment towards that mistress. Therefore, I have allowed you to run over the empty house, and to "^^atisfy j^our suspicious soul. Lady Harry is not hidden here. As for lord Harry- but you will hear in due time, no doubt. And now I don't mind telling you that I have her lady- shin's present address.' ^* Oh 1 What is it ? ' ' She appears to have passed through Paris on her way to Switzer- land two days ago, and h's sent here her address for the next fortnight. She has now, I su})pob:e, arrived there. The place is Berne ; the Hotel But how do I know that she wants you ? ' ' Of course she M'ants me.' ' Or of course you war.^. her ? Very good. Yours is the rr'spon- sibility, not mine. Her address is the Hotel d'Angleterre. Shall I write it down for you ? There it is. " Hotel d'Angleterre, Berne." Now you will not f'^rget. She will remain there for one fortnight only. After that, T cannot say wluh^r she may go. And, as all her things have been sent away, and 1 u,m going away, I am not likely to hear.' ' Oh ! I must go to her. I must find her ! ' cried the woman earnestly ; 'if it is only to make sure that no evil is intended for her.' ' That is your business. For my own part, I know of no one who can wish her ladyship any evil.' ' Is my lord with her ? ' • I don't know whether that is your business. I have already told you that he is gone. If you join your mistress in Berne, you will very soon find out if he is there as well.' Something in his tone made Fanny look iip quickly. But his face revealed nothing. ' What shall you do then ? ' asked the doctor. ' You must make up your mind quickly whether you will go back to England or whether you will go on to Switzerhmd. You cannot stay here, i^n BLIND LOVE 263 kian lor/ /ho K'OU [his [ng- ike or 3re, because I am putting together the hxst thhigs. and I shall give the landlord the key of the house this evening. All the bills are paid, and I am going to leave the place.' ' I do not understand. There is the patient,' she murmured vaguely. ' What does it mean ? I cannot understand.' ' My good creature,' ho replied roughly, ' what the devil does it matter to me whether you understand or whether you do not under- stand ■? Her ladyship is, as I have told you, at Lernc. If you please to follow her tliore, do so. It is your o-.vn all'air, not mine. If you prefer to go back to London, do so. Still — your own affair. Is there anything else to say ? ' Nothing. Fanny took up her box — this time the doctor did Kot offer to carry it for her. ' Where are y )u going ? ' he asked. ' What have 3'ou decided ? ' ' I can get round by the Chemin de Fer de Ccinture to the Lyons station. I shall take the first cheap train which will take me to Borne.' * Bon voyage I ' said the doctor cheerfully, and .;hut the door. It is a long journey from Paris to Berne e . eji for those who can travel first class and express — that is, it .si\ieen hours can be called a long journey. For those who have to joir alojig by third class, stopping at all the little country stations, it is a long aur ^-^dious journey indeed. The longest journey ends at last. The tr; m rolled slowly into the station of Berne, and Fanny descended with her box. Her wanderings were over for the present. She would find her mis- tress and be at rest She asked to be directed to the Hotel d'Angleterre. The Swiss guardian of the peace with the cocked hat stared at her. She repeated the question. ' Hotel d' Angleterre ? ' he echoed. ' There is no Hutol d'Angle- terre in Berne.' ' Yes, yes ; there is. I am the maid of a lady who is staymg at that hotel.' ' No ; there is no Hotel d' Angleterre,' he reported. • There is the Hotel Bernehof.' * No.' She took out the pa})er and showed it to him — ' Lady Harry Norland, Hotel d' Angleterre, Berne.' 'There are the Hotel de Belle Vue, the Hotel dii Fuucon, tlie Hotel Victoria, the Hotel Schweizevhof. There are the Hotel Schnidel, the Hotel Schneider, the Pension Shnkin.' Fanny as yet had no other suspicion than that the doctor had accidental^ written a v/rong name. Her mistress was at Bcnie : she would be in one of the hotels. Berne is not a large i»ljice. Very good ; she would go round to the hotels and incpiire. She did so. There are not, in fact, more than half a dozen liotels in Berne where an English lady could possibly stay. Fanny went to every one of these. No one had heard of any such lady; they showed ,,;> ■'' A; 264 BLIND LOVE li her the lists of their visitt)i's. She iiupiired at the post-office. No lady of that name had asked for leUers. She asked if there were any pensions, and -wont round tljcni all — uselessly. No other conclusion was possible. The doctor had deceived hor wilfully. To get her out of the w.v he sent her to JBerne. He would have sent her to Jericho if her purse had been long enough to pay the fare. She was tricked. She counted her money. There was exactly twenty-eight shil- lings and tojipence in her ])in'se. Slie went back to the cheapest (and dirli>.'St) of the pensions she had visited. She stated her case — she had missed miludy her mis- tress — she m>'s' stay until she should receive orders to go on, and money — \vould they take her in until one or the other arrived? Certainly. They would take her in, a five francs a day, payable every morning in advance. She made a little calculation— she had twenty-eight .and ten- pence ; exactly thirty-five francs — enough for seven days. If she wrote to Mrs. Vimpany at once she could get an answer in five days. She accepted the offer, paid her five shillings, was shown into a room, and was informed that the dinner was served at six o'clock. Very good. Here she could rest, at any rate, and think what was to be done. And first she wrote two letters — one to Mrs. Vimpany and one to Mr. Mountjoy. In both of these letters she told exactly what she had found : neither Lord Harry nor his wife at the cottage, the place vacated, and the doctor on the point of going av/ay. In both letters she told how she had been sent all the way into Switzerland on a fool's errand, and now found herself planted there without the means of getting home. In the letter to Mrs. Vimpany she added the re- markable detail that the man whom she had seen on the Thursday morning apparently dead, whose actual poisoning she tliought she had witnessed, was reported on the Saturday to have walked out of the cottage, carrying his things, if he Lad any, and proposing to make his way to London in o/dev to find out his old nurse. ' Make what you can out of that,' she said. ' I or my own part, I under- stand nothing.' In the letter which she wrote to Mr. Mountjoy she added a petition that he would send her money to bring her home. This, she said, her mistress she knew W(uild ^\'illingly defray. She posted these letters on Tuesday, and waited for the answers. Mrs. Vimpany wrote back by return post. * My dear Fanny,' she said, ' I have read your letter with the greatest interest. I am not only afraid that some villainy is afloat, but I am perfect', J sure of it. One can only hope and pray that her ladyship may be kept out of its influence. Yoi- will be pleased to hear that Mr. IMountjoy is 1 ettrr. As soon as he was sufficiently rrrcr^'^ ,1 ♦r* sliind the shock of violent emotion, I put Lady Harry's i BrrVD LOVE 265 letter into his hands. It \va.s will that I iiad kept it from him, fcr ho fell into such a violence of grief and indignation that T thought he would have had a serious relapse, " Can any woniiin.' ho r-iod, " be justified in going back to an utterly unworthy husl and until h9 has proved a complete change? What if she had rec-ci.fu a thousand letters of penitence ? Penitence should be shown by acts, not words : she should have waited." He wrote her a letter, which he showed nie. " Is there," he asked, " anything in the letter which could justly offend her? " I could find nothing. He told her, but I fear too late, that she risks degradation — perhaps worse, if there is anj'thing worse —if she persists in returning to her unworthy husband. If she refuses to be guided by his advice, on the last occa- sion on which he would presume to offer any device, he begged that she would not answer. Let her silence say — iAO. That was the substance of his letter. Up to the present moment no answer has been received from Lady Harry. Nor has he received po mtioh as an acknowledgment of the letter. What can be understood by this silence ? Clearly, refusal. ' You must return by way of Paris, though it is longer than by Basel and Laon. Mr. iMou.ntjoy, I knovv, will bend you tne money with Lady me, though girl 13 you want. He has told me as much. " I have done Harry," he said. " Her movements no longer concern 1 can never want interest in what she docs. But since the right to stick to her mistress, I will send her the money — not as a loan to be j^aid back by Iris, but as a gift from myself." ' Therefore, \ny dear Fann}, stop in Paris for one night at least, and learn wliat has been done if j'ou can. Find out the nurse, and ask her what really happened. With the knowledge that you already possess it will be hard, indeed, if we cannot arrive at the truth. There must be people who supplied things to the cottage — the restaurant, the yhuymacicn, the laundress. See them all — you know them already, and we will put the facts together. As for finding bor ]j. lyship, that will depend entirely upon herself. I shall expect you back in about a week. If ; lythmg happens here I shall be able to tell jou when you arrive. ' Yours atYectionately, ' L. ViMPANY.' This letter exactly coincided with Fanny's own views. The doctor was now gone. She was prett}' certain that he was not going to remain alone in the cottage ; and the suburb of Passy, though charming in many ways, is not exactly the place for a man of Dr. Vimpany's temperament. She would stay a day, or even two days or more, if necessary, at Passy. She would make those inquiries. The second letter, wiiich reached her the same day, was from Mr. Mountjoy. He told her what he had told Mrs. Vimpany: he would give her the money, because he recognised the spirit of fidelity which cuvsed Ft;/iiny to go tirst to Paris and then to Borne. .66 BLIND LOVE m But he could not pretend to any right to interference in the al'fah's of Lord and Lady Harry Norland. He enclosed a mandat postal for a liundred and twenty-five francs, which he hoped would be sufficient for her immediate wants. She started on her return-journey on the same day — namely, Saturday. On Sunday evening she was in a pension at Passy, ready to make those intjuiries. The first person whom she sought out was the rentier — the landlord of the cottage. He was a retired tradesman — one who had made his modest fortune in d charcuterie and had invested it in house property. 1^'anny told him that she had been lady's-maid to Lady Harry Norland, in the recent occu- pnncy of the cottage, and that siic was anxious t'^ know her present address. ' Merci, mon Dieu ! que LS(;ais-je V What do I know about it ? ' he replied. ' Tlic wife of the English milord is so much attached to her husband that she lea .es hmi in his long illness ' ' His long illness ? ' ' Certainly — Mademoiselle is not, perhaps, acquainted with the circumstances — his long illness ; and does not come even to see his dead body after he is dead.. There is a wife for you — a wife of the English fashion ! ' Fanny gasped. ' After he is dead ! Is Lord Harry dead ? When did he die ? ' 'But, assuredly. Mademoiselle has not heard? The English milord d'ed on Thursday morning, a week and more ago, of con- sumption, and was buried in the cemetery of Auteuil last Saturday. Mademoiselle appears astonished.' ' En etfet. Monsieur, I am astonished.' ' Already the tombstone is erected to the memory of the un- happy young man, who is said to belong to a most distinguished family of Ireland. Mademoiselle can see it with her own eyes in the cemetery.' ' One word more, Monsieur. If Monsieur would have the kind- ness to tell her who was the nurse of milord in his last seizure?' ' But certainly. All the world knows the widow La Chaise. It was the widow La Chaise who was called in by the doctor. Ah ! there is a man — what a man! What a miracle of srjience ! What devotion to his friend ! What admirable sentiments! Truly, the English are great in sentiments when their insular coldness allows them to speak. This widow can be found — easily found.' He gave Fanny, in fact, the nurse's address. Armed with this, and having got out of the landlord the cardinal fact of Lord Harry's alleged death, the lady's-maid went in search of this respectable widow. She found her, in her own apartments, a respectable woman indeed, perfectly ready to tell everything that she knew, and evi- dontly quite unsuspicious of anything wrong. She was ins 'lea to take charge of a sick man on the morning of Thuvsiviy . '~he wt»s told that he was a young Irish lord, dangerously ill of a pal, lona-.y li'. •■' •;'"' BI.TS'D T.OVr 267 di^oraci' ; the doctor, in fact, intbriued lier tliat his life hung b^' a thiead ..nd might drop at any moment, thoi,,'4'h on the other hand he -lad known such cases Imger on for many months. She arrived as she had been ordered, at midday : slie wa- taken into the sick- room by the doctor, who showed lier the patient placidly sleepaig on a sofa : the bed had been slept in, and was not yet made. After explaining the medicines which she was to administer, and the times when they were to be given, and telling her something abont liia diet, the doctor left her alone with the patient. ' He was still sleeping profonndly,' said the nurse. ' You are sure that he was sleeping, and not dead ? ' asked Fanny, sharply. ' Mademoiselle, I have been a nurse for many years. I know my duties. The moment the doctor loft me I verified his state- ments. I proved that the patient v/as sleeping by feeling his pulse and (jbserving liis breath.' Fanny made no rei)ly. She could hardly remind this respect- able person that after the doctor left her sh.e employed lioroeli \\x^\, by examining the cupboards, drawers, avmoirc^ and other things; that she then found a book with pictures, in which she read for a quarter of an hour or so ; that she then grew sleepy and dropped the book ' I then,' continued the widow, ' made arrangements against his waking that is to say, I drew back the curtains and turned over the sheet to air the bed' — O }.Iadanie ! Madame ! Surely this was needless ! — ' shook up the pillows, and occupied myself in the cares of a conscientious nurse until tlie time came to administer the first dose of medicine. Then I proceeded to awaken my patient. Figure yourself ! He whom I had left tranquilly breathing, with the regularity' of a convalescent rather than a dying man, was dead ! He was dead ! ' ' You are sure he was dead ? ' ' As if I had never seen a dead body before ! I called the doctor, but it was for duty only, for I knew that he was dead.' ' And then ? ' ' Then the doctor — who must also have known that he was dead — felt his pulse and his heart, and looked at his eyes, and declared that he was- dead. ' And then ? ' ' What then ? if a man is dead he is dead. You cannot restore him to life. Yet one thing the doctor did. He brought a camera and took a photograph of the dead man for the sake of his friends.' ' Oh ! he took a photograph of — of Lord Harry Norland. What did he do that for ? ' ' I tell you : for the sake of his friends.' Fanny was more bewildered than ever. V/hat on earth should the doctor want a photograph of the Dane Oxbye to show the friends of Lord Harry ? Could he have made a blunder as stupid ?68 BLIND r.ovr. as 16 was uncalled for? No one could possihlj mistake iliP dead face of that poor Dane for the dead face of Lord Harry. She had got all the information she wan tod- -all, in fact, thAt was of any use to her. One thing repaained. She would see the grave. The cemetery of Auteuil is not so large as Pere la Chaise, nor does it contain so many celebrated persons as the latter — perhaps the greatest cemetery, as regards its iUuKtrious dead, in the whole world. It is the cemetery of the better class. The tombs are not those of Immortals but of Respectables. Among them Fanny easily found, following the directions given to her, the tomb she was searching after. On it was written in English, ' Sacred to the Memory of Lord Harry Norland, second son of the ^Larquis of Malven.' Then fol- lowed the date and the age, and nothing more. Fanny sat down on a bench and contemplated this mendacious stone. ' The Dane Oxbye,' she said, ' was growing better fast when I went away. That was the reason why I was sent away. The very next day the doctor, tliinkiiig mc thr av/ay, poisoned him. I saw him do it. The nurse was told that he was asleep, and being left alone presently discovered that he was dead. She has been told that the sick man is a young Irish gentleman. He is buried under the name of Lord Harry. That is the reason I found the doctor alone. And my lady ? Where is she ? ' BLIND LOIE 269 CHAPTER LVI fanny's narrative ned to London. Partly, tlio slenderness of he no gooc yi"g HANNY returned resources j^'avo her no choice ; there \\;is to learn, and woul lonj^'er at Passy. She arrived with thirty shillingH left out of Mr. Monntjt)y'8. timely ,afift. She sought a cheap lodging, and found a rooni, among people who .seemed rcopectablo, which she could have for four and yiApence a week, with board at a shilling a day. This settled, she hastened to Mr. Mountjoy's hotel brimful of her news for Mrs. Vimpany. Everyone knows the disappointment when the one person in the world whom you want at the moment to see and to taUt with proves to be out. Then the news has got to be suppressed ; the conclusions, the suspicions, the guesses have to be postponed; the active brain falls back upon itself. This disappointment — ahuo-st as great as that at Berne- was experienced \)y Fanny Mere at the hotel. Mr. Monntjoy was no longer there. The landlady of the hotel, who knew Fanny, came out herself and told her what had hai)pened. ' He was better,' she said, ' but still weak. They sent him down to Scotland in Mis. Vimpany's care. He was to travel by cpiick or slow stages, just as he felt able. And I've got the address for you. Here it is. Oh ! and Mrs. Vimpany left a message. Will you, she says, when you write, send the letter to her and not to him ? She says, you know why.' Fanny returned tt) her lodging profoundly discouraged. She was filled with this terrible secret that she had discovered. The only man who cimld advise at this juncture was Mr. Mountjoy, and he was gone. And she knew not what had become of her mistress. What could she do '? The responsibility was more than she could bear. The conversation with the French nurse tirmly established one thing in her mind. The man wln) was buried in the cemetery of Auteuil with the name of Lord Harry Norland on a headstone, the man who had lingered so long with pulmonary disease, was the man whose dentil she had witnessed. It was Oxbye, the Dane. Of that there could be no doubt. Equally there was no doubt in hor 27c BlIS'D LOVE own mind that he had been poisjoncd hy the doctor— by Mrs, Vim- pany'e husband -in the proseiico and, to all appearance, with the consent and full knowledge of Lord Harry hiuisolf. Then her mis- tress was in the ))o\vev of these two men — villains who had now added ninrder to tlieh' other crimes. As for herself, she was alone, almost friendless ; in a week or two she would bo penniless. If she told her t;vl(\ wlmt mischief 111 i','! it she not do? If she was silent, what mischief mi,i4ht not follow "? She sat down to write to the only friend she had. But her trouble froze her brain. She had uot been able to put the case plainly. Words failed her. She was? not at any time fluent with her pen. She now found herself really unable to convey any intelligible account of what had happened. To state clearly all that she knew so that the conclusion should be obvious and patent to the reader would have been at all times ditlicult, and was now impossible. She could only confine herself to a siuiple vague statu) auJiL. ' I can only say that from all I have seen and heard I have reasons for believing that Lord Harry is not dead at all.' She felt that this was a feeble way of summing up, but she Avas not at the moment equal to more. ' \Vhen I write again, after I have heard from you, I will tell you more. To-day \ cannot. I am too much weighed down. I am afraid of saying too much. Besides, I have no money, and must look for work. I am not anxious, however, about my own future, because my lady will not forsake me. I am sure of that. It is my anxiety about her and the dreadful secrets I have learned which give me no rest.' Several days passed before the answer came. And then it was an answer which gave her little help. ' I have no good news for you,' she said. ' Mr. Mountjoy continues weak. Whatever your secret, I cannot ask you to communicate it to him in his present condition. He has been grieved and angry beyond all belief by Lady Harry's decision to rejoin her husband. It is hard to under- stand that a man should be so true a friend and so constant a lover. Yet he has brought himself to declare that he has broken off all friendly relations with her. He could no longer endure London. It was associated with thoughts and memories of her. In spite of his weak condition, he insisted on coming down here to his Scotch villa. Ill as he was, he would brook no delay. We came down by very easy stages, stopping at Peterborough, York, Durham, New- castle, and Berwick— at some places for o)ie night, and others for more. In spite of all my precautions, when we arrived at the villa he was dangerously exhausted. I sent for the local doctor, who seems to know something. At all events, he is wise enough to understand that this is not a case for drugs. Complete rest and absence from all agitating thoughts must be aimed at. Above all, he is not to see the newspapers. That is fortunate, because, I sup- pose. Lord Harry's death has been announced in them, and the thought that his former mistress is a widow might excite him very dangerously. You will now undrvstaud why I left that message at lUJND LOVE 271 the hotel for you, and why I have not shown him yonr letter. I told him, it is true, that you h;ul roturiied witl\put lintlin^' your mistress. •' Speak no more to me of Lady Harry," he replied irritably. So I ha\o said no more. As for money, I have a few pounds by me, uhich are at your service. You can repay me at some future time. I havetliought of one thing — that new Continental pajjer started by Lord ILarry. Wherever she may bt>. Lady Harry is almost sure to Bee that. Put an advertisement in it addrtssod to her, stating that you have not heard of her address, but that you your^olf will receive any letter sent to some post-oftice which you can lind. 1 think tliat sucli an adveitisoment will draw a reply Ir'MU her, unless ahe desires to remain in seclusion.' Fanny thought the suggestion worth adopting;. At"l»"" careful consideration, slie drew up an advortistMuent :- - ' Fanny M. to L 11 . I h;i\ e not been mblo to as-c irtaiii your address. Please write to me, at the Post 0«>ice, Hunter oUeec, London, W.C She paid for the insertion of this advertisement three times on alternate Saturdays. They told her tli it this would be a more likely way than to take three succt ssive Saturdays, Then, e'lcouraged by the feeling that something, however little, had been done, she resolved to sit down to write out a luirrative in which she would set down in order everytliing that had happened — exactly as it had happened. Her intense hatred and suspicion ofDr. Vimpany aided her, strange to say, to keep to the strictest lidelity as regards the facts. For it was not her desire to make up charges and accusations. She wanted to iind out the exact truth, ajid so to set it down that anybody who I'ead her statement would arrive at the same conclusion as she her- self had done. In the case of an eye-witness there are thousands of things which cannot be produced i)i evidence wliicli yet are most important in directing and conlirmiug suspicions. The attitude, the voice, the look of a speaker, the things which he conceals as well as the things which he reveals— all these are evidence. But these Fanny was unable to set down. Therefore it behoved her to be strictl,y careful. First, she stated how she became aware that there was some secret scheme under consideration between Lord Harry and the doctor. Next, she set down the fact that they began to talk French to each other, thinking that she could not understand them ; that they spoke of deceiving Lady Harry by some statement which liad already deceived the authorities ; that the doctor undertook to get tlio lady out of the house ; that they engaged herself as nurse to a sick man ; that she suspected from the bet,'inning that their design was to profit in some way by the death of this sick man, who bore a slight resemblance to Lord Harry himself. And so on, following the story as closely as she could remember, to tlie death of the Dane and her own subsequent conversation with the nurse. She was careful to put in the dates, day after day. When she had done all this — it took a good de d of time she bought a manuscript book and copied 272 RLIND LOVE it all out. This enabled her to remember two or three facts which had escaped her at the bc^'inninj^. Then she made another copy — thia time without names of people or place. The second copy she forwarded as a rcj^istered letter to Mrs. Vimpany, with a letter of which this was the conclusion : ' Considering,', therefore, that on Wednesday morning I left Lord Harry in i)erfoct health ; consider- ing that on the Thursday mornuig I saw the man who had been ill so long actually die - how, I have told you in the packet enclosed ; considering tluit the nurse was called in purposely to attend a patient who was stated to have long been ill there can be no doubt whatever that the body in the cemetery is that of the unfortunate Dane, Oxbye ; and that, somewhere or other, Lord Harry is aUve and well. ' What ha\e they done it for ? First of all, I suppose, to get money. If it were not for tlie purpose of getting money the doctor would have had nothing to do witli the conspiracy, which was his own invention. That is very certain. Your idea was they would try to get money oiit of tlie Insurance Ollices. I suppose that is their design. But Lord Harry may have many other secret reasons of his own for wishing to be thought dead. They say his life has been full of wicked things, and he may well wish to be considered dead and gone. Lots of wicked men would like above all things, I should think, to be considered dead and buried. But the money matter is at the bottom of all, I am convinced. What are we to do?' What could they do '? These two women had got hold of a tei'rihle secret. Neither of them could move. It was too big a thing. One cannot expect a woman to bring her own husband — however wicked a husband he may be^to the awful shame and horror of the gallo^vs if murder should be proved — or to a lifelong imprisomnent if the conspiracy alone should be ])rought home to him. Therefore Mrs. Vimpany could do nothing. As for Fanny, the mere thought of the pain she would inflict upon her mistress were Lord Harry, through her interference, to be brought to justice and an infamous sentence kept her quiet. Meantime, the announcement of Lt)rd Harry's death had beeJi made. Those who knew the family history spoke cheerfully of the event. 'Best thing he had ever done. Very good thing for his ])eople. One more bad lot out of the way. Dead, Su', and a very good thing, too. Married, I ]>elieve. One of the men who have done everything. Pit}' they can't write a life of him.' These were the comments made upon the decease of this young gentleman. Such is fame. Next day he was clean forgotten ; just as if he had never existed. Such is life. ^r^ -— PUXD LOVE ^73 CHAPTER LVII AT LOUVAIN [OTmany Enf:jlish tourists pfo out oftheir way to visit Lonvain. even thouLjh it has a Hotel de Ville surpassing,' even thiit of Brussels itself, and thouk\ 274 BUND LOVE after dark. For a mean nlusc wbolo idcn of life was motion, society, and action, this promised ill. Th-^ monotony was first broken by tho arrival of Hujijh'R letter, which was sent in with other documents from Puss}'. Iris read it ; she read it a<,'ain, trying to nnderstand exactly w but it meant. Then she tore it up. ' If he only laiew,' she said, ' lie would not have taken the trouble eve?! to write tiais letter. There is no answer, Hugh. There can be none — now. Act by your advice ? Hence- forth, I must act by order. I am a consjiirator.' Two days afterwards came ft letter from the doctor. He did not think it necessary to say anything about Fanny's appearance or her journey to Berne. 'Everything,' he wrote, ' has so far gone well. The world knows, through the papers, tliat Lord llarr^' is dead. There will be now only the business of claiming the money. For this purpose, as his widow is the sole heiress and executrix, it will be necessary for her to place the will and the policies of insurance in the hands of her husb.ind's lawyers, so tliat the will may be proved and the claims duly made. L'orms will have to be signed. The medical certiticate of death and the forms attesting the burial are already in tho lawyers' hands. The sooner the widow goes to London the better. She should write to announce her arrival, and she should write from Paris as if she had been staying there after her husband's deuth. ' I have only to remind you, my dear Linville, tliat you are in- debted to me in the sum of 2,0U0Z. Of course, I shall be very pleased to receive a cheque for this oum in full as soon as you have touched the amount due to you. I shall be m Paris, at the Hotel Continental, where you may address me. Naturally', there is no desire for concealment, and if the Insurance Companies desire any information from me I am always ready and willing to afford it.' Lord Harry gave this letter to his wife. She read it, and laid it open in her lap. « Must it be, Harry ? Oh ! must it be ? ' • There is no other woy possible, dear. But really, it is nothing. You were not at Passy when your husband died. You had been in London — you were in Brussels — anywhere ; when you arrived ifc was all over ; you have seen his headstone. Dr. Vimpany had him in his care ; you knew he was ill, liut you thought it was a trilling matter which time would cure ; you go to the lawyers and present the will. They have the policies, and will do everything else ; you will not even have to sign anything. The only thing that you must do is to get a complete rig-out of widow's weeds. Mind— there will not be the slightest doubt or (u.estion raised. Considering every- thing, you will be more than justified in seeing no one and going nowhere.' Hugh's letter breaking in upon her fool's paradise had awakened the poor woman to her better self ; she had gone so far with the fraud as to acquiesce in it; but she recoiled with horror and shame when tbj.8 active part was fo: sed upon her. ma BLIXD LOVE 275 ' Oh, Harry ! ' — she biirsf, into tears. ' 1 cuuuot — I cannot. Yoii ask me to be a liar and m thief — oh ! heavens ! — a vile thief I ' ' It is too late, Iris I We are all vile thieves. It is too late to begin cryinf,' now.' ' Harry ' — bho threw herself upon her knees — ' spare me 1 Let some other woman <::o, and call herself your widow. Then I will go away and hide myself." ' Don't talk nonsense. Iris,' he replied roiif,'hly. ' I tell you it is far too late. You should have thouglit of this before. It is now all arranged.' ' I cannot go,' she said. ' You must go ; otherwise, all our trouble may prove useless.' ' Then I will not go ! ' she declared, s])ringing to her feet. ' I will not degi'ade myself any further. I will not go ! ' Harry rose too. Hi' faced her for a moment. His ' eyes droi)ped. Even he remonilered, at tliat moment, how great must be the fall of a woman who would c nsont tc ploy such a part 1 ' You shall not go,' he said, ' unless you like. You can leave me to the consecpiences of my own acts— to my own degi'adation. Go back to Iilngland. In one tlung only s})are me. Do not tell what you know. As for me, I will forge a letter from you ' ' Forge a letter ! * ' It is the only way left open, giving the lawyers authority to act, and inclosing the will. What will happen next ? Dy whose hands the money is to reach me I know not yet. But you can leave me, Iris. Better that you should leave me — I shall only drag you lower.' • Why must you forge the letter ? Wliy not come with me somewhere- -the world is large !— to some place where j'ou are not known, and tlieve let us begin a new life '? We have not much money, but I can sell my watches and chains and rings, and we shall have enough. O Harry ! for once be guided -listen to me ! We shall find some humble manner of living, and we may be happy yet. There is no harm done if you have only pretended to be dead ; nobody has been injured or defrauded ' ' Iris, you talk wildly ! Do you imagine, for one moment, that the doctor will release me from my bavgaui ? ' ' What bargain ? ' ' Why — of course he was to be paid for the part he has taken in the business. W'ithout him it could never have been done at all.* ' You are to pay him some of the money,' she said, conscious that such agreements belonged to works of fiction and to police courts. ' Certainly I have to pay him a good large slice out of the money.' ' It is fifteen thousand pounds, is it not ? How much is to be paid to the — to the doctor ? ' ' We agreed that he was to have the half,' said Lord Harry, laughing lightly. ' But as I thought that seven thousand five z2 276 BLIND LOVE hundred pounds, was a sum of money which would probably turn his head and bring him to starvation in a year or two, I told him that the whole amount was four thousand pounds. Therefore he is to have two thousand i)ounds for his share. And quite enough too.' ' Treachery on treachery ! ' said his wife. ' Fraud on fraud 1 Would to God,' she added with a sigh, ' that you had never met this man ! ' * I daresay it would have been better for me, on the whole,' he replied. ' But tlien, my dear, a man like myself is always meeting people whom it would have been better not to have met. Like will to like, I supi)ose. Given the active villain and the passive consenter, aiul they are sure to meet. Not that I throw stones at the wortliy doctor. Not at all.' ' We cannot, Harry,' said his wife. ' We cannot, my dear. Bl^n cntciulu ! Well, iris, there is no more to be said. You know the situation completely. You can back out of it if you please, and leave me. Then I shall have to begin all over again a new conspiracy far more danj,'erous than the last. Well, I shall not drag you down with me. That is my reso- lution. If it comes to public degradation but it shall not. Iris, 1 promise you one thing.' For once lie looked as if he meant it. • Death before dishonoiu". Death without your name being mixed up at all, save witli pity for being the wife of such a man.' Again he coiKpieied her. Harry,' she snid, I will go.' BUND LOVE »77 CHAPTER LVIII OF COUIISK TliKV WITJ, I'.VY HREE days (Is a hansom cab (lro\ the offices 01 tiie very respcctauie tirin ot solicitors wno niannged the al'tairri of the Norland family. They had one or two other ^r.milies as well, and in si)ite of agricultural de- pression, they made a very good thing indeed out of a very comfort- able business. The cab contained a lady in deep widow's weeds. liady Harry Norland expected to be received with coldness and suspicion. Her husband, she knew, had not led the life expected in these days of a younger son. Nor had his record been such as to endear hiiu to his elder brother. Then, as may be imagined, there were other tremors, caused by a guilty knowledge of certain facts which might by some accident ' come out.' Everybody has tremors for whom something may ^ome out. Also, Iris had had no experience of solicitors, and was alraid of them. Instead of being received, however, by a gentlenuin as solenm as the Court of Chancery and as terrible as the Court of Assize, she found an elderly gentleman, of quiet, paternal manners, who keld both her hands, and looked as if he was weeping over her bereave- ment. By long practice this worthy person could always, at a moment's notice, assume the ap})earance of one who was weeping with liis client. ' M}' dear lady 1 ' he murmured. ' My dear lady 1 This is a terrible time for you.' She started. She feared that something had come out. ' In the moment of bereavement, too, to think of business.' ' I have brought you,' she replied curtly, ' my husband's — my late husband's — will.' 'Thank you. With your permission— though it may detain your ladyship — 1 will read it. Humph ! it is short and to the point. This will certainly give us little trouble. I fear, however, that, besides the insurances, your ladyship will not receive nmch.' ' Nothing. My husband was always a poor man, as you know. At the time of his death he left a small sum of money only. I am, as a matter of fact, greatly inconvenienced.' • Your ladyship shall be inconvenienced no longer. You must draw upon us. As regards Lord Harry's death, we are informed by Dr. Vimpany, who seems toliave been his friend as well as his medical adviser ' 278 BUND LOVE ' Hi. Vimpany had been living with him for some time.' — • that he had a souicwhat protracted ilhioss ? ' ' I was away from my huHl)and. I was staying here in London — on business — for some time before his death. I was not oven aware tliat lie was in any danger. When 1 lim'ricd back to Passy I was too late. My husljiind was — was already buried.' ' It was most unfortunate. And the fact that his lordship wan not on speaking terms with the members of his own family- pray understand that I am not expressing any oi)ini()n on the case — biU this I'act seems to render his end niore unhai)py.' ' Ho had Dr. Vimpany,' said Iris, in a tone which suggested to the lawyer jealousy or dislike of the doctor. ' Well,' he snid, ' it remains to pi'ove the will and to make our claims against the Insurance Ollicc. I have the policy here. His lordship was insmx'd in the lloyal Unicorn Life Insurance Company for the sum of 15,000/. We nmst not exjjcct to have this large claim satisfied quite innnodiatcly. Pcrliaps the otiice will take three months to settle. But, as I said bcfor", your ladyship can draw upon us.' ' You are certain that the Company will pay ? ' 'Assuredly. Why not'? They must pay.' ' Oh ! I thought that peihaps so large a sum ' ' My dear Madam' tlio man who administered so much real and personal property smiled — ' liftcen thousand pounds is not what we call a very large sum. Why, if an Insurance Company refused to pay a lawful claim it would cut its own throat — absolutely. Its vei'y existence depends upon its meeting all just and lawful claims. The death being proved it remains for the Company to pay the insurance into the hands of the person entitled to receive it. That is, in this case, to me. acting for you.' ' Yes — I see — but I thought that, perhaps, my husband having died abroad there might be dilliculty ' ' There mij^ht, if he had died in Centi'al Africa. But he died ia a suburb of Paris, under French law, which, in such matters, i* even more careful and exacting than our own. We have theotiicial papers, and the doctor's certiticate. We have, besides, a photo- graph of the unfortunate gentleman lying on his death-bed — this was well thought of: it is an admirable likeness — the sun cannot lie — we have also a photograph of the newly erected tombstone. Doubt ? Dear me, Madam, tliey could no more raise a doubt as to your husband's deatli than if he were buried in the family vault. If anything should reino^ e any ground for doubt, it is the fact that the only person who benefits by his deatli is youiself. If, on the other hand, he had been in the hands of persons who had reason to wish for his death, there might have been susi)icions of foul play, which would have been matter for the police — but not for an insurance company.' » ' Oh I I am glad to learn, at least, that there will be no trouble. I have no knowledge of business, and I thought that ' HLL\n LOVE 279 ' No — no — your ladyship need have no such ideas. In inct, X have already antici[iatcd your arrival, and have sent to the manager of the company'. He certainly went so far as to express a doubt as to the cause of death. Consumption in any form was not supposed to be in your husband's family, liut Lord Harry— ahem I — tried his constitution — tried his constitution, as I put it.* He had put it a little differently. What ho said was to the following effect — 'Lord Harry Norland, sir, was a devil. There was nothing he did not do. I only wonder that he has lived so long. Had I been told that he died of everything all together, I should not have been surprised. Ordinary rapid consumption was too simple for such a man.' Iris gave the lawyer her London address, obeyed him by draw- ing a hundred pounds, half of which she sent to Mr. William Lin- ville, at Louvain, and went home to wait. She must now stay in London until the claim was discliai'ged. She waited six weeks. At the end of that time she learned from her solicitors that the company had settleii, and that they, the lawyers, had paid to her bankers the sum of 15,000Z., being the whole of the insurance. Acting, then, on her husband's instructions, she sought another bank and opened an account for one W^illiam Linville, gentleman, residing abroad. She gave herself as a reference, left the usual signature of William Linville, and paid to his account a cheque for 8,000/. She saw the manager of her own bank, explamed that this large cheque was for an investment, and asked him to let her have 2,000/. in bank notes This sum, she added, was for a si)ecial pur- pose. The manager imagined that she was about to perform some act of charity, perhaps an expiatory work on behalf of her late husband. She then wrote to Dr. Vimpany, who was in Paris, making an appointment with him. Her work of fraud and falsehood was complete. ' There has been no trouble at all,' she wrote to her husband ; ' and there will not be any. The insurance company has already settled the claim. I have paid 8,000/. to the account of William Linville. My own banker— who knows my father — believes that the money is an investment. My dear Hairy, I believe that, unless the doctor begins to worry us— which he will do as soon as his money is all gone — a clear course lies before us. Let us, as I have already begged you to do, go straight away to some part of America, where you are certain not to be known. Y'^u can dye your hair and grow a beard to nuxke sure. Let us go away from every place and person that may remind us of the past. Perhaps, in time, we may recover something of the old peace and — can it ever be ? — the old self-respect.' There was going to be trouble, however, and that of a kind little expected, impossible to be guarded against. And it would be trouble caused by her own act and deed. s8o liUND LOVE CHAPTER LIX THE CONSFQUENCKS OF AN ADVERTISEMENT HE troul)lo was inado by Iris herself. In this way — She saw Fanny's advortiscnient. Her first impulse was to take her l)a(;k into lior service. But slie remem- bered the necessity for concealment. Slie must not place herself — she realised already the fact that she had done a thinji; which would draw upon her the ven<,'eance of the law — and her husband in the power of this woman, whose fidelity niij^ht not stand the shock of some fit of jealousy, raj^e, or revenge for fancied sliglit. She must henceforth l)e cut off altogether from all her old triends. She therefore answered the letter by one which contained no address, and which she posted with her own hand at the General Post Office. She considered her words carefully. She must not say too nmch or too little. ' I enclose,' she said, ' a bank note for ten pounds to assist you. I am about to travel abroad, but must, under existing circumstances, dispense with the services of a maid. In the course of my travels I expect to be in Brussels. If, therefore, you have anything to tell me or to ask of me, write to me at the Poste Restante of that city, and in ih ■ course of six months or so I am tolerably sure to send for the letter. In iact, I shall expect to find a letter from j^ou. Do not think that I have forgotten you or your faithful services, though for a moment I am not able to call you to my side. Be patient.' There was no address given in the letter. This alone was mys- terious. If Lady Harry was in London— and the letter was posted at the General I'ost Office — why should she not give her address "? If she was abroad, why should she hide her address ? In any case, why should she do withoxit a maid — she who had never been without a maid — to whom a maid was as necessary as one of her hands *? Oh I she could never get along at all without a maid. As for Iris's business in Lond thing ? " ' He turned white when the doctor told him that the man was going to die — that day, perhaps, or next day. When the doctor was pouring out tiie medicine he turned pale again and trembled. "While the doctor was taking the pli(nogiai)h he trembled again. I that he knew all along that the man was think, sir — 1 really think- PIIND LOrF ^^^i ue n ;e lis St \'y 3r ffoing to die, but when it came to the moiueut, he was afraid. If it had depended on him, Oxbye would be alive still.' ' He was a consenting? party. Weil ; for the moment both of you keep perfect silence. Don't discuss the thing with each other lest you should be overheard : bury the tlung. I am going to make some inquiries.' The first thing was to find out what steps had been taken, if any, with insurance companies. For Iris's saico l»is inquiry had to be conducted quite openly. His object must stem none other than the discovery of Lady IJarry Norlands present address. When bankers, insurance companies, and solicitors altogether have to conduct a piece of business it is not difficult to ascertain such a .simi)le matter. He found out the name of the family solicitor. He went to the office, sent in his card, and stated his object. As a very old friend of Tiady Harry's, he wanted to learn her address. He had just come up from Scotland, where ho had been ill, and had only just learned her terrible bereavement. The lawyer made no difficulty at all. There was no reason why he should. Lady Harry had been in London ; she was kept in town for nearly two months by business connected with the unfor- tunate event; but she had now gone — sliewas travelling in Switzer- land or elsewhere. As for her address, a letter addressed to his care should be forwarded on hearing from her ladyship. ' Her business, I take it, was the proving of the will and the ar- rangement of the property.' ' That was the business which kept her in town.' ' Lady Harry,' Mr. Mountjoy went on, ' had a little property of her own apart from what she may ultimately get from her father. About five thousand pounds — not more.' ' Indeed ? She did not ask my assistance in respect of her own property.' ' I suppose it is invested and in the hands of trustees. But, in- deed, I do not know. Lord Harry himself, I have heard, was gene- rally in a penniless condition. Were there any insurances ? ' ' Yes ; happily there was insurance paid for him by the family. Otherwise there would have been nothing for the widow.' ' And this has been paid up, I suppose ? ' • Yes ; it has been paid into her private account.' ' Thank you,' said Mr. Mountjoy. ' With your pennission, I will address a letter to Lady Harry here. Will you kindly order it to be forwarded at the very earliest opportunity ? ' * Iris,' he said, ' will not come to London any more. She has been persuaded by her husband to join in the plot. Good heavens! She has become a swindler— a conspirator — a fraudulent woman I Iris I — it is incredible — it is horrible I What shall we do ? ' He first wrote a letter, to the care of the lawyers. He informed her that he had made a discovery of the highest imiHirtauce to herself — he refrained from anything that might gi\e rise to sus- i 284 HI INP 1.0 VE picion ; ho inijilored her to >,'ivo him lui iiiicrvipw anywhere, in any jmrt of tho worlil aloiio. Tl(> tohl hci- that the (•(«iso(jnenoe8 of refuKul ini<,'lit bo fatal -nhHohitoly fntal to her futuro liappiness : lio conjured her to hcHt'v*' that he was anxiotis for nothing but lior ha))pinosB : tliat lie was still, as ahvayw, her most faithful friend. W(>11 ; he could do no nu)ro. He had not the least exin-ctation that his letter wotdd do any f?ood ; ho did not even holieve that it would reach IriB. The mon<\v was received and paid over to her own accoimt. There was really no reason at all why flho should place herself aj»ain in cor.iinmication with these lawyers. Wluit would she do, then? One thinj,' only r4'mained. With her guilty husband, this guilty woman nnist remain in concealment for tho rest of their days, or until death released her of the min who was pretending to be dead. At t!io best, they might find some place where there would bo no chance of anybody ever finding them who knew either of them before this wicked thing was done. But coidd she know of the murder ? He remembered th.e instruction given to Fanny. She was to write to IJrussels. Let her therefore write at once. Ho would arrange what she was to say. Under his dictation, therefore, Fanny wrote as follows : — ' My Tiady, — I have received your ladyship's letter, and your kind gift of ten pounds. I note your directions to write to you at Brussels, and I obey them. ' Mr. Mountjoy, who has been ill and in Scotland, has come back to London. Ho begs me to tell you that ho has had an inter- view with your lawyers, and has learned that you liave been in town on husiness, tho nature of which he has also learned. He has left an important letter for you at their ollice. They will for- ward it as soon us they learn your address. ' Since I came back fnmi I'assy I have thought it prudent to set down in writing an exact account of ever^\ „hing that happened there under my ov/n observation. Mr. Mountjoy has read my story, and thinks that I ought without delay to send a copy of it to you. I therefore send you one, in which I have left out al' the names, and put in A, B, and C instead, by his directions. He says that you will have no dilTiculty in filling up the names. ' I remain, my dear Lady, • Your ladyship's most obedient and hui'ible servant, 'Fanny Mere.' This lei tor, with the document, was dispatched to Brussels that night. And this is the trouble which Iris brought upon herself by answerinn; I'anny's advertisement. flUXD r.OVE a85 CIIAPTIOR LX ON TlIK K.VK ()K A CHANOB RTS returned to TiOiivniii liy way <»t' Piiris. She had to settle up with tho doclor. Ho obeyed her sumnions and called upon her at the hotel. ' Well, my lady,' ho bo<,'an in his {?rosH voice, rubbing his hands and lau^'hinj,', ' it has come otf, after all ; hasn't it ? ' ' I do not desire, Dr. Vinip.my, to discuss anything with you. We will proceed to settle what business wo have together.' ' To think that your ladyship should actually lall in 1 ' he replied. • N»)W I confess that this was to uie the really dillicult i)art of the job. It is quite easy to pret( nd that a man is dead, but not so easy to touch his money. 1 really do not see how we could have innnuged at all without your co-operation. AVell, you've had no ditticulty, of course ? ' ' None at all.' ' I am to have half.' ' I am instructed to give yoii two thousand pounds. I have tho money here for you.' ' I hope you consider that I deserve this share ? ' * I think, Dr. Vinipany, that whatever you get in the future or the present yoii will richly deserve. You have dragged a man down to your own level ' * And a woman too.' * A woman too. Your reward will come, I doubt not.' ' If it always takes the form of bank-notes I care not how great the reward may be. You will doubtless, as a good Christian, expect your own reward — for him and for you ? ' ' I have mine already,' she replied sadly. ' Now, Dr. Vimpany, let me pay you, and get rid of your company.' He counted the money carefully and put it in the banker's bag in his coat-pocket. ' Thank you, my lady. We have exchanged compliments enough over this job.' ' I hope — I pray — that we may never set eyes on you again.' ' I cannot say. People run up against each other in the strangest manner, especially people who've done shady things and have got to keep in the background.' ' Enough ! — enough 1 ' ' The background of the world is a vei*y odd place, I assure you. 28r, BLIND LOVE It is full of interesting people. Tlie society has a piquancy which you will find, I lu-pc, quite charming. You will he known by another name, of coiu'so ? ' • 1 shall not tell you by what name ' ' Tut — tut 1 I shall soon find out. The background gets narrower when j'ou fall into miserj'.' ' What do you mean ? ' ' I mean, Lady Harry, that your husl)and has no idea whatever as to the value of money. The two thousand that you are taking him will vanish in a year or two. What will you do tlien ? As for myself, I know the value of money so well that I an*, always buying the most precious and delightful things with it. I enjoy them im- mensely. Never any man enjoyed good things so much as I do. But the delightful things cost monej'. Let us be under no illusions. Your ladyship and your noble husband and I all belong to the back- gi'ouud ; and in a year or two we shall belong to the needy back- ground. I daresay that very soon after that the world will learn that we all belong to the criminal background. I wish your lady- ship a joyful reunion with your husband 1 ' He withdrew, aud Iris set eyes on him no more. But the prophecy with which he departed remained with her, and it was with a heart foreboding fresh sorrrows that she left Paris and started for Louvain. Here began the new life — that of concealment and false pretence. Iris put off her weeds, but she never ventured abroad without a thick veil. Her husband, discovering that English visitors some- times ran over from Brussels to see the Hotel ("le Ville, never ven- tured out at all till evening. They had no friends and no society of any kind. The house, which stood secluded behind a high wall in its garden, was in the quietest part of this quiet old city ; no sound of life and work reached it ; the puir who lived there seldom spoke to each other. Except at the midday breakfast and the dinner they did not meet. Iris sat in her own room, silent ; Lord Harry sat in his, or paced the garden walks for hours. Thus the days went on monotonously. The clock ticked ; the hours struck ; they took meals ; they slept ; they rose and dressed ; the}- took meals again — this was all their life. This was all that they could expect for the future. The weeks went on. For three months Iris endured this life. No news came to her from the outer world ; her husband had even forgotten the first necessary of modern life — tb« newspaper. It was not the ideal life of love, apart from the world, where the two make for themselves a Garden of Eden ; it was a prison, in which two were confined together who were kept apart by their guilty secret. They ceased altogether to speak ; their very meals were taken in silence. The husband saw continual reproach in his wife's eyes; BLIND LOVE 2S7 her sad and heavy look spoke more plainly than any words, ' It ie to this that you have brought me.' One morning Iris was idly turning over the papers in her desk. There were old letters, old photographs, all kinds of trifling treasm-es thet reminded her of the past — a woman keeps every- thing ; the little mementoes of her childhood, her first governess, her first school, her school friendships -everything. As Iris turned over these things her mind wandered back to the old days. She became again a yoimg girl -innocent, fancy free ; she grew \ip — she was a woman innocent still. Then her mind jumped at one leap to the present, and she saw herself as she was — innocent no longer, degraded and guilty, the vile accomplice of a vile conspiracy. Then, as one who has been wearing colour d glasses puts them off and sees things in their own true colours, she saw how she had been pulled down by a blind infatuai on to the level of the uaan who had held her in his fascination; she saw him. as he was — reckless, unstable, careless of name and honour. Th will travel by a night train from Brussels to Calais. We will tal j the cross-country line from Amiens to Havre ; there we wiU tal boat for, New York — no English people ever travel by the Havre line. Once in America we will push up country — to Kentucky or somewhere — and find that quiet country place : alter BLIND LOVE 289 t that I ask no more. I will settle down for the rest of my life, and have no more adventures. Do you agree, Iris ? ' * I wiU do anything that you wish,' she replied coldly. * Very well. Let us lose no time. I feel choked here. Will yon go into Brussels and buy a Continental Bradshaw or a Baedeker, or something that will tell us the times of sailing, the cost of pas- sage, and all the rest of it ? We will take with us money to start us with : you will have to write to your bankers. We can easily arrange to have the money sent to New York, and it can be invested there — except your own fortime — in my new name. We shall want no outfit for a fortnight at sea. I have arranged it all beautifully. Child, look like your old self.' He took an unresisting hand. * I want to see you smile and look happy again.' ' You never will.' ' Yes — when we have got ourselves out of this damnable, un- wholesome way of life ; when we are with our fellow- creatures again. You will forget this — this little business — which was, you know, after all, an unhappy necessitj-.' ' Oh i how can I ever forget ? ' ' New interests will arise ; new friendships will be formed ' ' Harry, it is myself that I cannot forgive. Teach me to for- give myself, and I will forget everything.' He pressed her no longer. ' Well, then,' he said, ' go to Brussels and get this information. If you will not try to conquer this absurd moral sensitiveness — which comes too late — you wUl at least enable me to place you in a healthier atmosphere.' ' I will go at once,' she said, ' I will go by the next traiiK' * There is a train at a quarter to two. You can do all you have to do and catch the train at five. Iris ' — the chance of a change made him impatient — ' let us go to-morrow. Let us go by the night express. There will be English travellers, but they shall not recognise me. We shall be in Calais -at one in the morning. We will go on by an early train before the English steamer comes in. Will you be ready ? ' ' Yes ; there is nothing to delay me. I suppose we can leave the house by paying the rent ? I will go and do what you want.' ' Let us go this very night.' ' If you please ; I am "hvays ready.' ' No : there will be no time ; it will look like running away. We will go to-morrow night. IBesides, you would be too tired after going to Brussels and back. Iris, we are going to be h^ppy again — I am sure v^e are.' He, for one, looked as if there was nothing to prevent a return of happii:iess. He laughed and waved his hands. 'A new skj — new scenes — new work — you will be happy again, Iris. You shall go, dear. Get me the things I want.' She put on her thick veil and started on her short journey. The husband's sudden return to his former good spirits gave her a gleam of hope. The change would be welcome indeed if it per- ago BLIND LOVE mitted him to go about among other men, and to her if it gave her occupation. As to forgetting — how could she forget the past, so long as they were reaping the fruit of their wickedness in the shape of soHd dividends? She easily found what she wanted. The steamer of the Couipagnie Generale Transatlantique left Havre every eighth day. They would go by that line. The more she considered the plan the more it commended itself. They would at any rate go out of prison. There would be a change in their life. Miserable condition ! To have no other choice of life but that of banishment and concealment : no other prospect than that of continual fraud renewed bj' every post that brought them monej'. When she had got all the information that was wanted she had still an hour or two before her. She thought she would spend the time wandering about the streets of Brussels. The animation and life of the cheerful city — where all the people except the market women are young — pleased her. It was long since she had seen any of the cheerfulness that belongs to a biisy street. She walked slowly .along, lip oae street and down another, looking into the shops. She made two or three little purchases. She looked into a place filled with Tauchnitz Editions, and bought two or three books. She was beginning to think that she was tired and had better make her way back to the station, when suddenly she remembered the post-office and her instructions to Fanny Mere. ' I wonder,' she said, • if Fanny has written to me.' She asked the way to the post-office. There was time if she walked quickly. At the Poste Restante there was a letter for her — more than a letter, a parcel, apparently a book. She received it and hun-ied back to the station. In the train she amused herself with looking through the leaves of her new books. Fanny Mere's letter she would read after dinner. At dinner they actually talked. Lord Harry was excitad with the prospect of going back to the world. He had enjoyed his her- mitage, he said, quite long enough. Give him the society of his fellow-creatures. ' Put me among cannibals,' he said, ' and I should make friends with them. But to live alone — it ^s the devil I To-morrow we begin our new flight.' After dinner he lit his cigar, and went on chattering ?bout the future. Iris remembered the packet she had got at the post office, and opened it. It contained a small manuscript book filled with writing and a brief letter. She read the letter, laid it down, and opened the book. BUND LOVE agi CHAPTER T.XI THE LAST DISCO VKKY SHALL like to turn farmer,' Lord Harry went on talking while Iris opened and began to read Fanny's manu- script. ' After all mj' adventures, to settle down in a quiet place and cultivate the soil. On market-day we will drive into town together' — he talked as if Kentucky wore Warwickshire — ' side by side in a spring cart. I shall have samples of grain in bags, and you will have a basket of butter and cream. It will be an ideal life. We shall dine at the ordinary, and, after dinner, over a pipe and a glass of grog, I shall discuss the weather and the crops. And while we live in this retreat of ours, over here the very name of Harry Norland will have been forgotten. Queer, that ! We shall go on living long after we are dead and buried and forgotten. In the novels the man turns up after he is supposed to be cast away — wrecked — drowned — dead long ago. But he never turns up when he is forgotten — unless he is Kip Van Winkle. By Gad, Iris ! when we are old people we will go home and see the old places together. It will be something to look forward to — some- thing to live for — eh ? ' • I feel quite happy this evening. Iris ; happier than I have been for months. The fact is, this infernal place has hipped us both con- foundedly. I didn't like to grumble, but I've felt the monotony more than a bit. And so have you. It's made you brood over things. Now, for mj' part, I like to look at the bright side. Here we arr comfortably cut off from the past. That's all done with. Nothing in the world can revive the memory of the agreeable things if we .\re only true to ourselves and agree to forget them. What has bem done can never be discovered. Not a soul knows except the doctor, and between him and ourselves we are going to put a few thousand What's the matter, Ir s ? What the devil is the matter ? ' For Iris, who had been steadily reading while her husband chattered on, suddenly dropped the book, and turned upon him a white face and eyes struck with horror. ' What is it ? ' Lord Harry repeated. ' Oh I Is this true ? ' ' What ? ' * I cannot say it. Oh, my God I can this be true ? ' ' What ? Speak, Iris.' He sprang to his feet. ' Is it — is it discovered ? * U2 i M; 'k. 292 BUNO LOVE -all — is discovered I ' the thing, Iris. Quick ! Who You looked on con- ' Discovered ? Yes, all — all- ' Where ? How ? Give me knows ? What in known ? ' He snatched the book from her hands. She shrank from his touch, and pushed back her chair, standing in an attitude of self- defence — watching him as one would watch a dangerous creature. He swiftly req,d jjage after page, eager to know the worst. Then he threw the book rpon the table. ' Well ? ' he said, not lifting liis eyes. ' The man was murdered — murdered 1 ' she whispered. He made no reply. ' Vou looked on while he was murdered ! Banting ! You are a nmrdercr ! ' * 1 had no share or part in it. I did not know he was being poisoned.' ' Y'^ou knew when I was with you. Oh ! the dead man — the murdered man — was in the house at the very moment ! Your hands were red with blood when you took me away — to get me out of the way — so that I should not know ' She stopped, she could not go on. ' I did not know, Iris — not with certainty. I thought he was dying when he came into the house. He did not die ; he began to recover. When the doctor gave him his medicine — after that woman went away — I suspected. W^hen he died, my suspicions were stronger. I challenged him. He did not deny it. Believe me, Iris, I neither counselled it nor knew of it.' ' You acquiesced in it. Y'^ou consented. You should have warned the — the other murderer that you woidd denounce him if the man died. Y'^ou took advantage of it. His death enabled you to carry out your fraud with me as your accomplice. With me ! I am an accomplice in a murder ! ' ' No, no. Iris ; you knew nothing of it. No one can ever accuse you ' ' You do not understand. It is part of the accusation which I make against myself.' 'As for \vhat this woman writes,' her husband went on, 'it is true. I suppose it is useless to deny a single word of it. She was hidden behind the curtain, then ! She heard and saw all 1 If Vimpany had found her ! He was right. No one so dangerous as a woman. Yes ; she has told you exactly what happened. She suspected all along. We should have sent her away and changed our plans. This comes of being too clever. Nothing would do for the doctor but the man's death. I hoped — we both hoped — that he would die a natural death. He did not. Without a dead man we were powerless. We had to get a dead man. Iris, I will hide nothing more from you, whatever happens. I confess everything. I knew that he was going to die. When he began to get well I was I'illed with forebodmgs, because I knew that he would never be allowed to go away. How else could we find a dead body ? You BLIND LOVE 393 se le d Le le Is le can't steal a body ; you can't make one up. You must have one for proof of death. I say' — his voice was liarsh and hoarse--'! say that I know he must die. I saw his death in the doctor's face. And there was no more money left for a new oxperinient if Oxbye should <,'et well and f?o away. Wlien it came to the point 1 was seized with mortal terror. I would have ;,'ivon up overythinfj — • flverything — to see tlie man f?et up from his bod and go away. But it was too late. I saw the doctor prepare the final doso, and when he liad it to his lips I saw by his eyes that it was the drink of death. I have told you all,' he concluded. ' You have told me all,' she repeated. ' All 1 Good Heavens I Alll ' ' I have hidden nothing from you. Now there is nothing more to tell.' Blie stood perfectly still — her hands clasppd, her eyes set, her face white and stern. ' What I have to do now,' she said, ' lies plain before me.' ' Iris ! I implore yoxi, make no change in our plans. Let us go away as we proposed. Let the past be forgotten. Come with me ' * Go with you ? With you ? With you ? Oh ! ' she shuddered. • Iris 1 I have told you all. Let us go on as if you had heard nothing. We cannot be more separated than we have been for the last three months. Let us remain as we are until the time when you will be able to feel for me — to pity my weakness— and to forgive me.' ' Y'^ou do not understand. Forgive you ? It is no longer a question of forgiveness. Who am I that my forgiveness should be of the least value to you — or to any ? ' ' What is the question, then ? ' ' I don't know. A horrible crime has been committed — a horrible, ghastl}', dreadful crime —such a thing as one reads of in the papers and wonders, reading it, what manner of wild beasts must be those who do such things. Perhaps one wonders, besides, what manner of women must be those who associate with those wild beasts. My husband is one of those wild beasts ! — my huijband 1 — my husband ! — and — I — I am one of the women who are the fit corapanionB of these wild creatures.' ' You can say what you please, Iris ; wliat you please.' ' I have known — only since I came here have I really known and understood — that I have wrecked i ny life in a blind passion. I have loved you, Harry; it has been i ly curse. I followed you against the warnings of everybody : I have been rewarded — by this. We are in hiding. If we are found we shall be sent to a convict prison for conspiracy. We shall be lucky if we are not tried for murder and hanged by the neck until we are dead. This is my reward I • ' I have never played the hypocrite with you. Iris. I have neve ■ pretended to virtues which I do not possess. So far * 294 nr.IND LOVE ' Hush ! Do not Bpoak to me. I have Boiuething more to Hay, and then I shall never speak to you any more. Hush I Let m« collect my thou;:flits. I cannot tincl the words. I cannot . . . "Wait— wait! Oh!' She sat down and burst into sobbings and moaninge. But only for a minute. Then she sprang to her feet again and dashed back the tears. * Time for crying,' she said, 'when all is done. Harry, listen carefully ; these are my last words. You will never hear from me any more. You must manage your own life in your own way, to save it or to spoil it; I will never more bear any part in it. I am gonig back to England — alone. I shall give up your name, and I shall take my maiden name again — or some other. I shall live somewhere quietly where you will not discover me. But perhaps you will not look for me ? ' ' I will not,' he said. * I owe you so much. I will not look for you.' ' As regards this money which I have obtained for you under false pretences, out of the fifteen thousand pounds for which you were insured, five thousand have been paid to my private account. I shall restore to the Company all that money.' ' Good Heavens 1 Iris, you will be prosecuted on a criminal charge.' ' Shall I ? That will matter little, provided I make reparation. Alas! who shall make reparation— who shall atone — for the blood- spilling ? For all things else in this world we may make what we call atonement ; but not for the spilling of blood.' ' You mean this ? You will deliberately do this " * • I mean every word. I will do nothing and say nothing that will betray you. But the money that I can restore, I will restore. So HELP ME, God 1 ' With streaming eyes she raised her hand and pointed upwards. Her husband bowed his head. * You have said all you wished to say ? ' he asked humbly. ' I have said all.' ♦Let me look in your face once more— so — full — with the ligbt upon it. Yes ; I have loved you, Iris — I have always loved you. Better, far better, for you had you fallen dead at my feet on the day when you became my wife. Tlien I should have been spared — I should have been spared a great deal. You are right. Iris. Your duty lies plainly before you. As for me, I must think of mine. Farewell ! The lips of a murderer are not fit to touch even the hem of your garments. Farewell I ' He left her. She heard the hall door open and shut. She would Bee her husband no more. She went to her own room and packed a single box with necessary things. Then she called the housemaid and informed her that she had been summoned to return suddenly to England ; she must reach Brussels at least that evening. The woman brought a porter who carried her box to the station; and Iris left Louvain — and her husband for ever. BUND LOVE 39$ CHAPTER LXn THE BOARD OF EIRECT0R9 i'.T a Board Meeting of the Eoyal 13 nicorn Life Insurance Company, specially t nvened, the Chairman had to make a communication of a very remarkable character. ' Gentlemen,' he said, ' I call upon the Secretary, without further introduction, to read a letter, to consider which you are called together this day.' ' The letter,' the Secretary began, * is simply headed " Paris," dated two days ago.' ' Only two days ago,' said the Chairman, mysteriously. ' But, of course, that means nothing. There has been plenty of time for him to change his residence. I dare say he may be in London at our very elbow. Go on, if you please.' * Gentlemen ' — the Secretary proceeded to road tho letter. ' It is now three months since a claim was sent in to you by the firm of Erskine, Mansfield, Denham & Co., solicitors of Lincoln's Inn Fields, for the sum of 15,000Z. due to the heirs of Lord Harry Nor- land in respect of an insurance effected upon his life.' ' The claim, gentlemen,' said the Chairman, ' was duly acknow- ledged and paid some weeks later. It was a heavy loss ; but these things will occur, and there scorned no reason to doubt the facts alleged, or to dispute the claim.' ' I write this letter,' the Secretary continued reading, ' in order to inform you that the claim was iVaudulent, inasmuch as Lord Harry Norland was at the time, and is still, actually living.' Fraudulent I The man still living 1 At tliis point there was a sudden awakening. Everybod}' sat up and listened with all their ears. ' I may tell you, gentlemen,' the Chairman explained, ' that the writer of this remarkable letter is none other than Lord Harry Norland himself. We will now proceed without further inter- ruption.' * In conjunction with another person, I devised and carried out successfully a plan by which I was enabled to touch at once, and without the disagreeable necessity of previously expiring and bemg buried, the whole of the money for which I was insured. Other people have attempted the same design, I believe, but the thing has hitherto been managed cliunsily. In my own case, it has been managed with greati dexterity and artistic skiU. As you will naiu- m If: iili', m 99^ BUND I.OVE rally bo curiouH on a sul»ject which intcrosts you bo closely I have no objt'ction to rrvoal tlie method. It is not ononf,']i to write to your oflice and stuto lliat a certain peiBon is dead, one must be prepared with pvootH of the death should any doubt arise. No proof of death is (piite satisfactory without evidence us to the disposal of the dead body. With that o})ject, we procured from the Hotel Pieu a patient in an ailvanced state of consumption. My accom' plice, b(Mn<,' a medicnl man, hi;^'hly recomniench'd, was able to do this without susjjicion. AVe nursed him ostentatiously. During the latter part of tlie illness he was nursed luxier the name of ]jord Harry Norland. "NVhcn ho died, his name wiis entered in the ofticial register as Lord Harry Norland. He was buried in the cemetery at Auteuil, near Paris, as Lord Harry Norland. A headstone marks his grave, which is piu'chased in perpetuity. The doctor certified the cause of his death, and communicated the fact to the deceased's brother, Lord Malven, and to the deceased's solicitors. The death was also announced to the papers. The difficulties attendant on the successful conduct of the business are so great that you need not fear a repetition. Nobody, in order to assist a fraud, will con- sent to die and lend his own body. It is seldom, indeed, that a sick man can be found — a foreigner and friendless — whose death will cause no curiosity and raise no (luestions. Add to this, it is extremely diflicult, as I have now experienced, to find the necessary assistance without encountering the objections of conscience.' ' Upon my word ! ' cried one of the Directors, ' this is a most wonderful letter. I beg your pardon. Pray go on.' ' We began very well. We buried our man under the name of Lord Harry Norland, as I have said. The difficulty then arose as to the presentation of the claim. It was most desirable that the claim should be made by the person who would most naturally be the deceased's heir and after proving his will and by his own solicitor. ' I am mamed. I have no children. I have not lived on good terms with my family. It was, therefore, quite reasonable to expect that I should leave my wife sole heir and executrix. It was also natural that she should go to my solicitors — the family solicitors — and ask them to manage her affairs. ' With this object I confessed to my wife as much of the con- spiracy as was necessary. Like many women, she possesses, in addition to every virtue, a blessed devotion to her husband. Where he is concerned she is easily led even from the paths of honour. I practised on that devotion ; I used all the argimients and persuasions based on that devotion necessary to convert a woman of honour into the accomplice of a conspiracy. In brief, I made my wife join in the fraud. She consented to act for me, persuaded that if she did not the conspiracy would be discovered. The business has, therefore been carried through with the greatest success. You have paid the claim in full without question. For me there was left the very comfortflble provision of 15,000Z., with the consciousness of a daring BLINH LOVE 897 and Buccesflfiil Bwinrlle. Unfortunately, uiy wife has now dibcovereci that her conscience will give her no peace or rest until full restitu* tion o^ the money has been made. She has informed nie of her intention to send back without delay that part of it which lies at her bank in her own name — that is to say, five thousand ^jounds. ' I do not suppose that, as gentlemen, you would be disposed to subject a woman who thus desires to repair a wrong to the degra- dation of a public prosecution. No useful end, in fact, will be served in so doing. It is, in fact, in the conviction that you will take no proceedings that I write this letter. * Further, as I wish my wife's scruples of conscience to be com- pletely set at rest, I am prepared, on an assurance that the muttor will be allowed to drop, to forward to you the remainder of the money, less tv.\> thousand pounds, whicli I have reason to believe will be sent to yon in course of time. I am also prepared to instruct my wife, as my heir, in the event of my death to make no claim on the Company ; and I lia-, e requested my solicitor to cease i)aying the annual premium. The Company will, therefore, be the gainers of the whole premiums which have been paid — namely, 300/. a year for ten years : that is to say, 3,000/. ' As for myself, I will take the necessary steps as soon as you have given me that letter of assurance. As regards the other prin- cipal in the conspiracy, it is hardly worth your while to search after him. I shall be obliged if you will be so good as to acknowledge this letter without delay, with any assurance which you may be able to make as regards the person whom 1 have dragged into the aiiair. I send you an address where ? letter will find me. You may wish to vi itch the house. I assure jou beforehand that it is useless. I shall not go there. — I remain, Gentlemen, * Your obedient servant, 'Harry Norland.' ' Perhaps,' said the Secretary, ' it is in connection with this letter that I have this day received a packet of bank-notes amounting in all to the sum of five thousand pounds. The packet is endorsed " Restitution money." ' ' Bank-notes, gentlemen,' said the Chairman significantly, 'may be traced if necessary.' The Directors looked at each other. This was, indeed, a very remarkable story, and one never before brought to the notice of any Board. 'Gentlemen,' sail the Chairman, 'you have heard the letter; you now have the (jase before you. I should like to hear your views.' ' We are likely to get most of our money back,' said one of the Directors, ' it seems to me, by holding our tongues. That is the main thing.' ' If we could get Lord Harry himself,' said another, ' I should Bay> go for him, but not for his wife. I wonder we ever took his 398 BLIND LOVE life at all. If all ntories are true about him he is as bad as thej make 'om. Ho ran away when he was a boy, and went to sea : he was a strolling actor after that : ho went out to the States and was reported to have been soen in the West : he has been a ship's steward : he has been on the turf. What has he not been ? ' ' We have got the monc}',' said another ; * that is the groat thing. Wo niuHt remember that we should never have found out the thing unions ' ' Tho Company must not compound a felony,' said the Chair- man. ' Certainly not. By no moans. At the same time, would any good purpose bo served by public scandal in connection with a noble H0UF.fi ? ' ' The noble House,' said another Director, who was a Radical, • may very well take care of itself. Question is. Would it do any good to anybody if we ran in the wife ? ' • Who is she ? ' ' You would expect a ruffian like Lord Harry to marry a woman like himself. Not at all. Pie married a most charming creature named Henley — Iris Henley— father very well known in tho City. I heard of it at the time. She would have him — infatuated about him — s .d business. Mr. Chairman, I submit that it is quite im- possible for us to take proceedings against this unfortunate lady, who is doing her utmost to make restitution.' • The Company must not compound a felony,' the Chairman repeated. ' If we do not get back that two thousand pounds,' said the Secretary, ' the Company loses very little. The surrender value must be considered.' Then another of the Directors spoke. ' We do not know where this lady is to be found. She is probably passing under another name. It is not our business to hunt her down.' • And if we found her we should have to prove the case, and her guilty knowledge of the conspiracy,' said another. * How would this precious letter be taken as evidence ? Why, we do not even know that it is true. We might exhume the body : what would that prove after three months ? We might open up the case, and spend a heap of money, and create a great scandal, and be none the better for it afterwards. My advice is, let the thing drop.' 'Well, but,' objected another, ' suppo^^^ we admit that the man is still living. He may die, and then there would be another claim upon us.' ' Of that,' said the Chairman, * I think there need be no appre- hension whatever. You have heard his letter. But, I repeat, we must not compound a felony ! ' • I submit, Mr. Chairman,' said one who had not spoken — and he was a barrister — ' that the Company knows nothing at all about Lady Harry Norland. We have had to deal with the firm of Erskine, Mansfield, Denham & Co., of Lincoln's Inn Fields : and a most ULIND LOVE 299 respectable firm too. On their representatiotiH wo paid the money. If It can be ascertained that wo have beoii defrauded we must look to them. If we have to prosecute anybody it must be that re- spectable firm.' ' Good/ said the Chairman. ' I propose, therefore, that the Secretary write to Lord Harry Norland, informing; him that the Company have tiad nothing at all to do with his wife, and do not reco^^'nise her action in any way. We shall then see what happens, and can proceed in accordance.' At this moment a card was brou^'ht in. It was that of Mr. Erskino himself, senior partner in the very firm. He came in, old, eminently respectable, but shaken. He was greatly shaken. • Gentlemen,' he said nervously, * I hasten to bring you a communication, a most extraordinary coninnmication, which 1 have just received. It is nothing less than a confession — a full confession — from a person whom I had every reason to believe was dead. It is from Lord Harry Norland.' ♦ We know already,' said the Chairnuin, superior, ' the main facts which you are going tv> lay before us. We are met to-day in order to discuss our action in view of these facts. There has been a conspiracy of a very artful and ingenious character. It has been successful so far through the action of a woman. By the action of the same woman it is sought to make restitution. The hand of justice, however ' ' Perhaps,' said the lawyer, ' you will oblige me by allowing me to read the letter.' ' Pray read it ' — the Chairman bowed — ' though I do not suppose it will add to the information we already possess.' 'Gentlemen' — the lawyer read — 'You will be surprised and pained to learn that I am not— as you were given to understand — dead ; but on the other hand, living and in the enjoyment of rude health. I see no reason why my life should not be prolonged to threescore years and ten. ' The claim, therefore, which you sent in to the Royal Unicorn Life Insurance Company was fraudulent. It was the result of a deep-laid conspiracy. You have been made the innocent accomplice of a great crime. ' My wife, who now knows the whole truth, is most anxious for restitution to be made. She is about to restore that portion of the money which lies m her name. The rest will be sent back by my- self, on certain conditions. ' In communicating the fact of my being still alive to the head of my family you will please also to inform him that I authorise the discontinuance of the premium. This will save the family 300Z. a year. This will be a solatium to him for the fact that his brother still lives to disgrace the name. If I should die before the next premium is due I order my heirs not to claim the money. — I remain, Gentlemen, your obedient servant, •Harry Norland.' it 'm m ■ iii'"' 300 RUND LOVE 'The premium which should have been jmid under ordinary circumstances,' said the Secretary, ' was due six weeks afjo. The policy has therefore expii-ed.' ' It is a chiinicteristic letter,' said the lawyer. ' Lord Harry was born to be a trouble to his family. There has never been a time, so far as I remember, when he was not a trouble and a dis;;race. Hitherto, however, he has avoided actual crime —at least, actual detection. N.^w, I suppose, the game is. up. Yet, gentlemen, the letter is not that of an utter villain.' * He will not be caught,' observed the Chairman. ' The letter is fi'om too cool a hand. He has prepared a retreat. I dare say by this time he is in some safe and convenient disguise. We are only concerned are we not? — for the moment with the lady. She has received the money from you. We paid it to you on your represen- tations.' ' Observe,' said the lawyer, ' that the moment she learns the truth she hastens to make restitution.' ' Humph ! ' said the Director, turning over Lord Harry's letter so that the lawyer should not be able to read the contents. ' Have you seen her ? ' ' I have not. I expect to do so before long. She will certainly call upon me.' ' She will be ill-advised,' said the Chairman, * if she calls upon anybody just at present. Well, sir, I confess that I am sorry — every member of this Board would be sorry — to see that lady placed in the dock beside her husband.' 'In the interests of the noble family concerned I hope that neither of them will be placed in the dock.' ' Do you know who is the other man — the second principal? ' ' I can guess. I do not know, however, where he is. All I know is what I have communicated to you — the contents of this letter.' ' One woiild like to get hold of the other man,' said the Chair- man. ' Presumably he does not belong to a noble family. Well, sir, I don't know what may be done ; but this Company cannot, I repeat, compound a felony.' 'Certainly not. Most certainly not. At present, however, you have got very little to go upon. And unless evidence is forth- coming ' ' We will not discuss that part of the business,' said the Chair- man. ' A conspiracy has been undoubtedly entered into. W^e may be compelled to bring an action of some kind against your firm, Mr. Erskine. As regards the lady, if she is guilty ' ' No— no,' said the lawyer, ' upon my life 1 Sinned against — not guilty.' The Chairman folded up Lord Harry's letter and gave it to the Secretary. ' We are much obliged to you, sir, for your prompt action. It is, of course, only what we should have expected of your firm. BUND LOVE 301 Meantime, remember that the claim was made by you, that you received the money, and — but wo will communicate with you in a few days.' The Secretary wrote such a letter as rt-aa supgested. By return of post a clie(juo was sent, signed by one William Lmville, fur \X\c sum of eight thousand pounds. Tlio C<)nii>any h.-id, therefore, re- covered thirteen out of Hftocn thousand j)ounds. The Secretary had another interview with ]\Ir. Erskine, tho result of wliich was that the Coni[)any recovered the remaining two thousand pounds. Every Ihin of solicitors contains its own secrets and keeps them. Therefore, we need not inquire whether it was intended that this numey should be paid by tlie firm or by the noble family to which Lord Harry Norland bclongMid. It is, however, certain that a few days afterwards Mr. Hugh Mountjoy cailcd at the ollice and had a long conversatioia with the senior partner, and that he left behind him a very big checpie. The subject has never been brought before the Directors again. It was, indeed, privately discussed, and that frecjuently. Perhaps the story was whispered about outside the Board-room. These things do get about. There has been, however, a feeling that the thing, which would have been perfectly successful but for the con- science of a woman concerned, may be repeated with less tender consciences, and so the Companies be defrauded. Now the wicked- ness of the world is already so great that it needs no more teaching to make it worse. On the whole, the less said the better. Besides, the tragic event which happened a day or two later effectively prevented any further step. That in itself was sufficient to wipe out the whole business. ^1 he lit In. 302 BLIXD LOVE CHAPTER LXIII A REFUGE HT was all over. Iris had sent in her money. She was in a small lodging found for her by Fanny Mere, who called her cousin. She stayed indoors all day long, afraid of stirring abroad ; afraid to read the papers ; afraid that her husband was arrested on the charge of conspiracy and fraud ; afraid that some kind of hue and cry might be out after her. Therefore, when she heard a manly step on the stair, she started and turned pale, expecting nothing short of an armed messenger of the law. She never was in this danger for a single minute, but conscience made a coward of her. The step was that of Hugh Mountjoy. ' I found you out,' he said, ' by means of Fanny. The girl knew that she was safe in letting me know your secret. Why are you in concealment ? ' ' You cannot know all, or you would not ask me that.' ' J. do know all ; and again I ask, wh,y are you in concealment ? ' * Because Oh, Hugh —spare me ! ' ' I know all, which is the reason why I cannot choose but come to see you. Conii nt of this poor place ; resume your own name. Thei'e is uo reason why you should not. You were not present at Passy when this conspiracy was hatched ; you got there after the funeral. You, naturally, went to see the family solicitors. Iris, what has the conspn-acy to do with you ? ' It will be observed that Hugh had not read the letter written to the Directors of the Company. ' Do you know about the money ? ' ' Certainly. You sent back all that you could — five thousand pounds. That showed your own innocence ' ' Hugh, you know that I am guilty.' ' The world will think that you are innocent. At any rate, you can come out and go about without fear. Tell me, what are your plans ? ' * I have no plans. I only want to hide my head — somewhere.' ' Yes ; we will talk about that presently. Meantime, I have some news for you.' ' News ? What news ? ' ' Really good news. I have to tell you a thing which will sur- prise you.' * Good news ? What good news is there for me ? ' BLIND LOVE 303 k^gh md lour le.' lave bur- * Your husband has sent back the whole of the money.' * Sent back ? To the Insurance Office ? ' 'AH has been sent back. He wrote two letters — one to the soli- citors and the other to the Insurance Company. It is not likelj now that anything can be sai I, because the Directors have accepted the money. Moreover, it a^ pears that they might have proceeded against the lawyers for the recovery of the money, but that they have nothing to do either with you or with Lord Harry Norland. That is a difficult point, however. Somebody, it seems, has com- pounded — or is going to compound — a felony. I do not understand exactly what this means, or what tircadful conspquences might follow ; but I am assured . by the lawyers that we need apprehend nothing more. All is over.' Iris heaved a profound sigh. * Then he is safe ? ' she said. * You think of him first,' said Hugh, jealously. * Yes : he is safe ; and, I do hope, gone away, out of the country, never to come back any more. The more important thing is that you should be safe from him. As for the doctor— biit I cannot speak of the doctor with common patience. Let him be left to the end which always awaits such men. It is to be hoped that he will never, wherever he goes, feel himself in safety.' ' I am safe,' said Iris, ' not only from my husband, but from what else beside ? You know what I mean. You mean that I, as well as my husband, am safe from that. Oh ! the fear of it has never left me — never for one moment. Y'^ou tell me that I am safe from public disgrace, and I rejoice — when I ought to sink into the earth with shame 1 ' She covered her face with her hands. ' Iris, we know what you have done. We also know why you did it. What need we say more? The thing is finished and done with. Let us never again alluile to it. The question now is — what will you do next ? Where will you live ? ' * I do not know. I have got Fanny Mere with me. Mrs. Vim- pany is also anxious to live with me. I am rich, indeed, since I have two faithful deper lants and one friend.' ' In such wealth, Iris, you will always be rich. Now listen seriously. I have a villa in the country. It is far away from London, in the Scottish Lowlands -quite out of the way — remote even from tourists and travellers. It is a very lonely place, but a pretty house, with a great gai'den behind and a stretch of sand and seasliore in front. There one may live completely isolated. I offer you that villa for your residence. Take it ; live in it as long as you please.' ' No, no. I must not accept such a gift.' ' You must. Iris — you shall. I ask it of you as a proof of friend- ship, and nothing more. Only, I fear that you will get tired of the loneliness.' ' No— no,' she said. ' I cannot get tu'ed of loneliness : it is all I want.' 304 PUND LOVE * Thore is uo society at all.' ' Society ? Society for me ? ' • I go to the neighbourhood sometimes for fishing. You will let me call upon you ? ' ' Who else has such a right ? ' ♦ Then you will accept my offer ? * • I feel that I must. Yes, Hugh ; yes, with deepest gratitude.' ^i7-.i , °®''* .?' ^^^ ^®"*^ ^^'^wn by the niglit-mail to Scotland. With her travelled Mrs. Vimpany and Fanny Mere. II BLIND LOVE. 305 CHAPTER LXIV THE INVINCIBLES HE proceedings of Lord Harry alter he had sent ofif that che(|ue were most remarkable. If he had invited — actu- ally courted — what followed — he could not have acted differently. He left London and crossed over to Dublin. Arrived there, he went to a small hotel entirely frequented by Irish Americans and their friends. It was suspected of being the principal place of resort of the Invincibles. It was known to be a house entirely given up to the Nationalists. He made no attempt to conceal his name. He entered the hotel, greeted the landlord cheerfully, saluted the head waiter, ordered his dinner, and took no notice of the sullen looks with which he was received or the scowls which followed hmi about the coffee-room where half a dozen men were sitting and talking, for the most part in whispers. He slept there that night. The next daj', still openly and as if there was nothing to feor, either from England or from Ireland, he walked to the station and took his ticket, paying no attention to what all the world might have seen and understood— that he was watched. When he had taken his ticket two men immediately afterwards took tickets to the same place. The place where he was going was that part of Kerry where the Invincibles had formerly assassinated Arthur Mountjoy. The two men who followed him — who took their tickets for the same place — who got into the same carriage with him — were two members of that same fraternity. It is well known that he who joins that body and afterwards leaves it, or disobeys Its order, or is supposed to betray its secrets, incurs the penalty of death. On the unexpected arrival of Lord Harry at this hotel, there had been huiriedly called together a meetmg of those members then in Dublin. It was resolved that the traitor must be removed. Lots were cast, and the lot fell upon one who remembered past acts of kindness done by Lord Harry to his own people. He would fain have been spared this business, but the rules of the society are imperative. He must obey. It is the practice of the society when a murder has been resolved upon to appoint a second man, whose duty it is to accompany the murderer and to see that he executes his task. In the afternoon, about an hour before sunset, the train arrived 3o6 BLIND LOVE at the station whore Lord Harry wns to jjot down. The station- master reco{»nised him, and touched his hnt. Then he saw the two other men get down after him, and he turned pale. •I will leave my portmanteau,' said Lord Harry, * in the cloak- room. It will be called for.' Afterwards the station-master remembered those words. Lord Harry did not say * I will call for it,' but ' It will be called for.' Ominous words. The weather was cold; a drizzling rain fell; the day was drawing in. lord Harry left the station, and started with quick step along the road, which stretched across a dreary desolate piece of country. The two men walked after him. One presently quickened his step, leaving the second man twenty yards behind. The station-master looked after them till he could see them no longer. Then he shook his head and returned to his office. Lord Harry walking along the road knew that the two men were following him. Presently he became aware that one of them was quickening his pace. He walked on. Perhaps his cheeks paled and his lips were set close, because he knew that he Vv'as walking to his death. The steps behind him approached faster— faster. Lord Harry never even turned his head. The man was close behind him. The man was beside him. * Mickey O'Flynu it is,' said Lord Harry. ' 'Tis a traitor, you are,' said the man. ' Your friends the Invincibles told you that, Mickey. Why, do you think I don't know, man, what are you here for ? Well ? ' he stopped. ' I ^m unarmed. You have got a revolver in your hand — the hand behind your back. What are you stopping for ? ' *I cannot,' said the man. 'You mus', Mickey O'Flynn — you must; or it's murdered you'll be yourself,' said Lord Harry, coolly. ' Why, man, 'tis but to lift your hand. And then you'll be a murderer for life. I am another — we shall both be murderers then. Why don't you fire, man.' ' By I cannot ! ' said Mickey. He held the revolver behind him, but he did not lift his arm. His eyes stax'ted : his mouth was open ; the horror of \\\^ n^urderer was upon him before the murder was committed. Then he started. • Look ! ' he cried. ' Look behind you, my lord ! ' Lord Harry turned. The second man was upon him. He bent fprward and peered in his face. * Arthur Mountjoy's murderer ! ' he cried, and sprang at his throat. One, two, three shots rang out in the evening air. Those who heard them in the roadside cabin, at the railway-station on the road, shuddbicd. They knew the meaning of those shots. One more murder to load the soul of Ireland. But Lord Harry lay dead in the middle of the road. The second man got up and felt at his throat. a \ n cl hi W] thl wr at mc Pe: kil wit })at she whi wai for BUND LOVE yfi hind was irder jook Ibent his ' Faith ! ' he said, ' I thought 1 was murdered outright. Com«, Mick, let us drag him to the roadside.' They did so, and then with bent heads and slouched hats, they made their way across country to another station where they would not be recognised as the two who had followed Lord Harry down the road. Two mounted men of the Constabulary rode along an hour later and found the body lyiug where it had been left. They searched the pockets. They found a purse with a few sovereigns ; the portrait of a lady — the murdered man's wife — a sealed envelope addressed to Hugh Mountjoy, Esq , care of his London hotel ; and a card-case : nothmg of any importance. ' It is Lord Harry Norland,' said one. ' The wild lord — he has met his end at last.* The letter to Iris was brief. It said : ' Farewell 1 I am going to meet the death of one who is called a Traitor to the Cause. I am the Traitor of a Cause far higher. May the end that is alreo.dy plotted for me be accepted as an atone- ment ! Forgive me, Iris ! Think of me as kindly as you can. But I charge you — it is my latest word — mourn not for one who has done his best to poison your life and to ruin your soul.' In the other letter he said : * I know the affection you have always entertained for Iris. She will tell you what slie pleases about the past. If she tells you no- thing about her late husband, think the worst and you will not be wrong. Remeinber that whatever she has done was done for me and at my instigation. She ought to have married you instead of me. ' I am in the presence of Death. The lu^n who are going to kill me are under this very roof. They will kill me, perhaps to-night. Perhaps they will wait for a quieter and a safer j lice. But they will kill me. ' In the presence of Death, I rise superior to the pitiful jealousy with which I have always regarded you. I despise it. I ask your pardon for it. Help Iris to forget the action of her life of which she has most reason to be ashamed. Show that you forgive me — when you have forgiven her — and when you have helped her in the warmth and strength of your love to drive me out of your thoughts for ever. •H. N/ I who )ad, xore 3o8 BLIND LOVE EPILOGUE T is two years after the murder of Lord Harry Norland, the last event connected with this history. Iris, when she acce^ited Hugh Mountjoy's offer of his Scotch villa, went there resolved to hide herself from the world. Too many people, she thought, knew her history, and what she had done. It was not likely that the Directors of the Insurance Company would all hold their tongues about a scandal so very un- usual. Even if they did not charge her with complicity, as they could, they would certainly tell the story — all the more readily since Lord Harry's murder —of the conspiracy and its success. She could never again, she told herself, be seen in the world. She was accompanied by her friend and maid— the woi. n whose fidelity to her had been so abundantly proved — and by Mrs. Vimpany, who acted as housekeeper. Alter a decent interval, Hugh Mountjoy joined her. She was now a widow. She understood very well what he wished to say, and she anticipated him. k^ho informed him that nothing would ever induce her to become the wife of any other man after her de- gradation. Hugh received this intimation without a remark. He remained in the neighbourhood, however, calling upon her fre- quently and offering no word of love. But he became necessary to her. The frequent visits became daily ; the afternoon visits were paid in the morning : the visitor stayed all day. When the time came for Iris to yield, and he left the house no more, there seemed to be no change. But still they continued their retired life, and now I do not think they will ever change it again. Their villa was situated on the north shore of the Sol way Firth, close to the outfall of the Annan Eiver, but on the west bank, oppo- site to the little town of Annan. At the back was a large garden, the front looked out upon the stretch of sand at low tide and the water at high tide. The house was provided with a good library. Iris attended to her garden, walked on the sands, read, or worked. They were a quiet household. Husband and wife talked little. They walked about in the garden, his arm about her waist, or hand in hand. The past, if not forgotten, was ceasing to trouble them ; it seemed a dreadful, terrible dream. It left its mark in a gentle melanchol}^ which had never belonged to Iris in the old days. And then happened the last event which the chronicler of this history has to relate. BLIND LOVE 309 'Oiiid de- He fre- •y to 'ere Itime trued and this It began in the mornin