THE COMING WEDDING.
Quite unconscious of the Nemesis which was already on his track, the captain was rapidly bringing his scheme to a climax.
The world was, of course, very much astonished to hear that Mr. Howard Murpoint was the man Miss Mildmay was to marry, and many blamed her for her fickleness.
But Violet was perfectly indifferent to praise or blame; she pursued the even tenor of her way, calm, serene as usual, with the peaceful and almost sad smile on her face and her usual gentle manner to all.
Mrs. Mildmay had been very much surprised to hear that Violet had, so to speak, changed her mind. But Mrs. Mildmay thought it was a very good change, for she believed the captain to be the best and cleverest man in the world, and perhaps considered him the handsomest.
When Violet went to old Mrs. Dodson, the mother of the man she had loved and whose memory she cherished, she was fearful that the old lady would be grieved.
Perhaps Mrs. Dodson was, but all she said was:
"Violet, my dear, you will do what is right, I know, and—and if this seems to you right, do it. But do you love him?"
"I cannot do that," said Violet, kissing the old lady's hand with a loving tenderness. "You know where my heart is—it will never leave Leicester, never! But Mr. Murpoint does not ask me for love, but for respect and esteem."
"And you give him these?" asked Mrs. Dodson, with a slight shade on her brow.
Violet's face shadowed and reflected that shade of distrust, but almost instantly she replied:
"I cannot conceal anything from you who have been a mother to me, dear. One time I neither esteemed nor trusted Mr. Murpoint—indeed, I disliked him. But all that feeling has gone," she continued, hurriedly. "He has been a true, a kind friend to me—he was my father's friend, and how dare I distrust the man he loved and trusted. No, when the feeling I have spoken of has come over me I have cast it off as unworthy and unjust. Lately"—and she sighed—"it has not come. Mother, I seem to have no feeling, no emotion. Life is but a dream and a sleep to me sometimes, and I think that I shall wake perhaps, and—but there!" she broke off, springing to her feet and putting up her hand as if to ward off the feeling of unhappiness which was creeping upon her. "I will not give way to it. I will trust my father's best friend, and I will try with all my heart to be a good wife to him."
"Heaven bless you!" said Mrs. Dodson, sobbing. "Would that I could have been a mother indeed to you. But it was not to be. My boy was taken from your side, and it is not right that you should remain alone in the world, wedded to a shadow. Violet, you will not change to me? You will love me still?"
For answer the gentle girl threw her arms round the old lady's neck and burst into tears.
"You will always be my mother!" she said, "for are you not Leicester's?"
So the pure, just-minded girl strove to trust and love the man whom she had consented to take as a husband.
He, meanwhile, was all smiles and honeyed words, looking handsomer and more confident than ever.
The world declared that there was no end to his successes and that he was the most wonderful man of the times.
Soon it was rumored that the marriage between him and the wealthy Miss Mildmay was to take place almost immediately, and that when it did Howard Murpoint, M. P., would be made a baronet.
No wonder the great man looked happy as he rode his magnificent hunter in the park or appeared in the salons of the élite with his beautiful betrothed on his arm.
But was he happy?
Who could see him when he was alone—at night when he sat crouched within his easy-chair in his own room, or pacing up and down with the sleek restlessness of a tiger caged and ferocious, well fed but distrustful?
None saw him but his bad angel and himself as he looked into the mirror which reflected his dark, working face.
The world knew nothing of the twenty thousand pounds which Mr. Wilhelm Smythe had extorted from him.
The world knew nothing of the scar on his leg which the convict gang-chain had left there; of the perjury which his brain had plotted, or the vile murder his hands had wrought.
These and other crimes the world knew nothing of, but he knew, and though he strove to forget he could not. In the dead of the night, or perhaps in the gray dawn when he had thrown himself upon the bed to woo sleep after a day of willful pleasure or a night of dancing and fashion, sleep would come, but bring bad dreams with it.
He dreamed he was in the prison cell; toiling in the hot sun under the Portland cliff, with the horrid chain galling at his leg. Then visions of the haunted chapel at Penruddie crowded his brain; and one night he started up, cold with horror, from a vision of Jem, mangled and ghastly, standing beside his bed pointing to a red, gaping wound. Then, too, in those dreadful waking hours, when sleep would not come, fear took its place, and he moved in an agony of dread, fancying that his secret was known, that the detectives were on his track and that the gallows was looming before him.
But in the morning these disquieting visions always fled and breakfast time found the great man serene, placid, watchful and smiling, ready to do battle with the world and conquer it.
Preparations for the wedding were proceeding, hastened by the great man's commands and purse.
It was to be a grand wedding, much against Violet's wish, and the fashionable world was on tiptoe of expectation. For it was known that Mr. Murpoint was to be made a baronet and that he would take one of the largest mansions in Belgravia and commence a series of entertainments immediately after the happy couple returned from the wedding tour.
Violet's dress was ordered, the bridesmaids chosen, and the tour arranged before Fitz had returned to town from the execution of his little plot with Bertie and Ethel. He called for his letters at his club, and thrust them in his pocket unread; he noticed that men looked rather strangely and almost commiseratingly at him, and wondered what was the matter. Without much loss of time he called at Mrs. Mildmay's and asked for Violet.
Violet was upstairs in her own room, alone and musing, when the maid came to tell her that Lord Boisdale was in the drawing-room.
"Lord Boisdale!" repeated poor Violet, turning pale. "Did he ask for me?"
"Yes, miss," said the maid. "Particularly for you."
"Well," said Violet, sadly. "I will see him."
She was surprised that Fitz should ask to see her after the letter she had written to him, for it was a letter full of true womanly gratitude and kindness, explaining everything, and begging him, if he loved and respected her, not to see her before the wedding.
Now, Fitz had called, she thought, to harass her with reproaches, perhaps to accuse her of cruel insincerity. She determined to be brave and see him, so she went with rather faltering feet into the drawing-room.
Fitz rose at once and came toward her with suppressed eagerness.
"My dear Miss Mildmay—Violet!" he exclaimed, "I have come back, and left Ethel and Bertie the happiest couple in the world! You have heard the news, of course, and you think I have done right? Ah, if you could have seen them when the parson had made them one both turn to me and bless me! Bertie shaking my hand off, with tears in his eyes, and Eth, dear gentle Eth, clinging round my neck and declaring I had saved her! Well, well," and Fitz broke off to wipe with a hasty hand a suspicious moisture in his own eyes. "They are off to Italy, and I left them on the packet looking as happy as a couple of children, and I don't care what the world says and what the earl and countess say; I know I've done the proper thing and those two were made for one another!"
So he rattled on in his eager, simple way, utterly unconscious of the pallor of her face, with its look of astonishment and dread.
For Violet knew by his manner that he had not received her letter, and that she should have to tell him that she had refused him and accepted Howard Murpoint.
"Well," said Fitz, "they sent all sorts of messages to you, and Ethel implored me with tears in her eyes to assure you of her affection and love. Poor Eth, all her troubles are over now, and she's happy. Violet, dare I hope that you forgive me and think I have done right? And will you make me happy, too, Violet?" and, with an imploring look, he tried to take her hand.
Violet drew it from him and sank on to the sofa. Fitz looked perplexed, and stared.
"You don't speak! You haven't said a word!" he said. "What is the matter?"
"Have you not received my letter?" she breathed.
"No," said Fitz, thrusting his hands into his pocket. "Perhaps it is here; I haven't opened them yet. Oh, Violet, you have not refused me; you don't mean to make me miserable for life! Don't say it, don't say it!"
"I have written it," said Violet, paler and paler each moment. "I have written a full explanation. It cannot be; it is forever impossible. Lord Boisdale—Fitz, I am to marry Mr. Murpoint."
"What?" exclaimed Fitz, "am I dreaming—am I mad? Violet, you are to marry the captain!"
Violet rose.
"Let me leave you, my lord! I am so sorry that my letter"—then she turned and tried to leave the room.
But Fitz strode after her and seized her arm.
"Violet," he said, "one word more. I see I am not dreaming, that it's truth you are telling me. But if it is true there is villainy somewhere! You are right to reprove me. Heaven knows I am not worthy of you—but the captain!
"Violet, if Leicester could come to life again, I would have yielded to him quietly, without a word, for I know you were his. But not to the captain! You never did and you never can care for him, and if you marry him it will be against your will. Violet, listen to me, I implore you. I believe—I am sure within my own heart that the captain, Howard Murpoint, is a rogue and a villain."
"Silence!" said Violet, sadly, yet indignantly. "You forget yourself, my lord! You have no right to say such cruel things, to attack an absent man. Mr. Murpoint will be my husband, and I will not—I dare not listen to such a groundless accusation. Enough! Not a word more. Leave me, I beg, my lord!"
"Yet one word more, I implore," said Fitz. "I will leave you and I will not see you again; but, mark me, I will not let the matter rest, and if you care for Howard Murpoint, as you would have me believe you do, warn him that there is one on his track who will search him to the heart, and who will, cost him what it may, find whether he is an honest man or the rogue he thinks him. Violet, Ethel has escaped his clutches, and you have fallen into them. Escape while there is time, I implore of you! See, I beg you on my knees to take time, to do nothing rashly, to break off this hateful, this horrible engagement!"
"If there had been one thing wanting to confirm me in the path I have taken, Lord Boisdale, your words have supplied it. I will do my duty by an innocent man maligned, and be true to him. I will be true to the man I have promised to marry, though all the world rose to slander him."
"Violet, you do not love him!" groaned Fitz.
"No," said Violet. "But, though I have lost the power to love, I can still act with honor."
And, with a sad smile, she left the room.
Fitz rose, stunned and dazed.
He took up his hat and, leaving the house, walked in a daze to Lackland House.
As he was about to enter a footman came up to him.
"My lord, the earl is desirous of seeing you."
"Eh?" said Fitz, who was scarcely conscious of what he was about.
"Upstairs, my lord, in the earl's study."
"All right," said Fitz, and he ascended the stairs with a heavy gait.
Knocking at the study door, he received a cold, stern "Come in," and, entering, found Lord Lackland seated in the same chair at the same table in the same room in which he had sat that morning when he informed Fitz that the Lackland estates were mortgaged and that the Lackland purse was empty.
"Good-morning," said Fitz.
The earl bowed with cold politeness.
"You have arrived this morning?"
"This morning," said Fitz. "I haven't been in town three hours."
"I am glad of it," said the earl, "as I wished to see you immediately you arrived."
"I left Ethel——"
"Thank you," said the earl, interrupting him with stately politeness. "I do not wish to know anything of your disobedient and undutiful sister. If I should at any time, I will come to you, who, it seems, is a partner and chief abettor in her misconduct. Be good enough not to mention her name to me."
"But, my lord," said Fitz, who was nearly out of his mind, "surely you do not mean to say that you intend to be hard upon Ethel for marrying where she liked? She has not married a chimney-sweep, or run away with one of the coachmen. Bertie is the best, the most famous man in London——"
"Thank you for the information," said the earl. "I know nothing of Mr. Fairfax, and I do not wish to add to my knowledge. Be kind enough to leave the subject where it is; it is one that is extremely distasteful to me. I wished to see you on business. Here are a number of bills—they have all been contracted by you—I pass them to you for payment."
Fitz stared at them.
"My lord," he said, "I cannot pay these! You know that it is impossible!"
The earl shrugged his shoulders.
"I have nothing to do with that," he said, coldly. "You are over age, you were twenty-two last month; you are liable, I believe."
"I am liable, I know," said Fitz, in despair, "but, of course, sir, I have always looked to you."
"And, I believe some time back, in this very room, I warned you that you could no longer do so. I have my own bills to pay, and I cannot concern myself with any others. Be good enough to take them away; they litter my table."
"But," said Fitz, "I cannot pay them, and you know that I cannot. What is to be done?"
"I regret that I cannot inform you. I should advise you to pay them, or in all probability the creditors will endeavor to compel you."
"In other words they will put me in prison."
The earl shrugged his shoulders.
"I cannot say; I know nothing about it. May I remind you again of the conversation which I before mentioned as taking place between us in this room? I ventured to advise you; my advice was not taken; you cannot be surprised at my reluctance to repeat that advice."
"Is it my fault that Violet Mildmay very properly refuses to enrich a ruined house by marrying the poverty-stricken eldest son and heir, who, love her as he does, is utterly unworthy of her?"
"Your fault!" retorted the earl, with icy scorn. "I know nothing of your affairs, but unless I am grossly misinformed it is your fault that Ethel has married a boy and refused a millionaire; that is enough for me. Go on in the course you have before you, Lord Boisdale. Go in the path you are treading, and find yourself a penniless debtor, rotting in jail; it is perfectly indifferent to me. I have pointed out to you the secret of success—you have scorned it or failed to get it by rank foolery. I have done with you! Lackland Hall and money will last my lifetime; afterward it can go to the dogs, which I can see already at your heels. I am busy, and therefore compelled to wish you good-morning."
So saying, the earl pointed to the pile of bills, and then to the door.
Lord Fitz took up the bills and quietly left the room, dazed still, and more like a man walking in his sleep.