Chapter Forty Three.
A Scene.
I have often thought since upon the magnanimity of Hallett’s character. Loving Miss Carr, as he did, with a passionate, hopeless love, he knew her to be engaged to John Lister, and feeling bound in honour to be just to the man he served, he crushed down his passion, and hid it in his breast. Hopeless he knew it was, from his position; but, however hopeless, it must have been agony to him to hear of his rival’s success. How much greater, then, must his sufferings have been when he found that the man to whom the woman he adored had promised to give her hand was a scoundrel of the basest kind!
He loved her so well that her future happiness must have been his constant thought, and now he learned that she was bound to the man who cared so little for the treasure of her love that he was ready to engage in any intrigue; while the very fact that the object chosen for this cruel intrigue was Hallett’s own sister must have been maddening.
He must have felt fettered by his position, for he could not accuse John Lister to the woman he loved. He felt that he was too full of self-interest, and besides, how could he speak words that would inflict such a sorrow upon the peaceful life of Miriam Carr?
No: he felt bound in honour to be silent, and, crushing down his love and his honest indignation against John Lister, he sought employment elsewhere, and spent his leisure in keeping watch over his home.
He took one step, though, that I did not know of till long afterwards; he wrote to John Lister, telling him that his perfidy was known, and uttering so fierce a warning against him if he pursued Linny, or even wrote to her again, that the careful watch and ward kept over the house in Great Ormond Street proved to be unnecessary, for the sensual tiger, foiled in his spring, had slunk away.
On the day after my talk with Hallett, and Revitts’ visit to the house, I made my way after office-hours to Miss Carr’s, to find my welcome warmer than ever; for she flushed with pleasure, and sat for some time talking to me of her sister, who had written to her from abroad.
“Now, Antony,” she exclaimed, “you and I will dine together, and after that you shall be my escort to a concert at Saint James’s Hall.”
“A concert!” I exclaimed eagerly.
“Yes; I was about to send the tickets away, but you have come in most opportunely.”
I was delighted; for I had never heard any of our best singers, and we chatted through dinner of the music we were to hear, after which I was left in the drawing-room, to amuse myself, while Miss Carr went up to dress.
I took up a book, and began to read; but the thoughts of Linny Hallett and Mr Lister kept coming into my head, and I asked myself whether I ought not to tell Miss Carr.
No; I felt that I could not, and then I began wondering whether the engagement that had been extended might not after all come to nothing, as I hoped it would. It was horrible to me now, that John Lister should be allowed to keep up ties with my patroness, knowing what I did of his character; and yet I felt could not, I dared not, tell. At last, in the midst of my contending thoughts, some of which were for telling, some against, I forced myself into reading the book I had taken up, striving so hard to obtain the mastery over self that I succeeded—so well that I did not hear a cab stop, nor the quick step of him who had occupied so large a share of my thoughts.
“Ah, Grace,” said John Lister cavalierly, as he entered the room unannounced, completely taking me by surprise as I started up from the book. “You here again! Well, how’s engineering? Like it as well as printing, eh? Why, you are growing quite the gentleman, you lucky dog! I suppose we must shake hands now.”
I felt as if all the blood in my body had rushed to my face, and a strange sensation of rage half choked me as I drew back.
“Why, what’s the matter with you, boy?” he exclaimed. “Hold out your hand.”
“I’ll not,” I exclaimed indignantly; “how dare you ask me!”
“Dare I ask you—puppy!” he exclaimed, with an insolent laugh. “Why, what do you mean?”
“How dare you come here?” I cried, my indignation getting the mastery of me.
“Dare I come here!” he exclaimed, frowning. “Why, you insolent young upstart, what do you mean?”
“I mean that you ought to be ashamed to show your face here again after your behaviour to Mr Hallett’s sister.”
“Hush!”
As he uttered that word he caught me by the throat, thrust his face close to mine, and I saw that he was deadly pale.
“You dog!” he whispered; “if you dare to utter another word, I’ll—”
He did not finish, but gave me a vindictive look that was full of threatenings of ill.
But unfortunately for him, he had hurt me severely as he caught me by the throat, and the pain, instead of cowing me, filled me full of rage. With one quick wrest I was free, and turning upon him fiercely, I exclaimed:
“I will speak in spite of what you say. You are a coward, and treacherous, and no gentleman!”
“Silence, dog!” he cried, in a hoarse whisper. “Have you dared to tell Miss Carr lies about me?”
“I’m not a tell-tale,” I cried scornfully, “and I’m not afraid of you, Mr Lister. I would not tell Miss Carr, but I dare tell you that you are a coward and a scoundrel!”
He raised his fist, and I believe that he would have struck me, but just then his hand fell to his side, and his lips seemed to turn blue as he stared straight over my shoulder, and turning hastily, I saw Miriam Carr standing white and stern in the doorway, dressed ready for the concert.
“Ah, Miriam,” he exclaimed, recovering himself; and he forced a smile to his lips; “Grace and I were engaged in a dispute.”
She did not answer him, but turned to me. “Antony,” she said sternly, “repeat those words you just said.”
“No, no; mere nonsense,” exclaimed John Lister playfully. “It was nothing—nothing at all.”
“Repeat those words, Antony Grace,” cried Miss Carr, without seeming to heed him: and she came towards where I stood, while I felt as if I would gladly have sunk through the floor.
For a few moments I hesitated, then a feeling of strength seemed to come to me, and I looked up at her firmly as I said:
“Don’t ask me, Miss Carr! I cannot tell.”
“Antony!” she exclaimed.
“My dear Miriam—” began John Lister; but she turned from him.
“Antony,” she cried imperiously, and her handsome eyes flashed as she stamped her foot; “I insist upon knowing the meaning of those words.”
I was silent.
“It was nothing, my dear Miriam,” exclaimed John Lister. Then in a low voice to me, “Go: I’ll cover your retreat.”
Go, and run off like a coward? No; that I felt I could not do, and I looked indignantly at him.
“If you value my friendship, Antony,” cried Miss Carr, “tell me, I insist, what you meant by that accusation of Mr Lister.”
“I do—I do value your friendship, Miss Carr,” I cried passionately, “but don’t, pray don’t ask me. I cannot—I will not tell.”
“I command you to tell me,” she cried: and to my young eyes she looked queen-like in her beauty, as she seemed to compel me to obey.
Mature thought tells me that she must indeed have seemed even majestic in her bearing, for John Lister looked pale and haggard, and I saw him again and again moisten his dry lips and essay to speak.
“I cannot tell you,” I said; “Miss Carr, pray do not ask me!” I cried piteously.
“Tell me this instant, or leave my house, ungrateful boy!” she exclaimed passionately; and, casting an imploring look at her, I saw that she was pointing towards the door.
I would have given the world to have obeyed her; but there seemed to be something so cowardly, so mean and despicable, in standing there and accusing John Lister before the face of his affianced wife, that, with a piteous look, I slowly turned towards the door.
It was terrible to me to be driven away like that, and I felt my heart swell with bitterness; but I could not speak, and as I once more looked in her pitiless eyes, she was still pointing at the door.
The handle was already in my hand, and, giddy and despairing, I should have gone, had not Miriam Carr’s clear voice rang out loudly:
“Stop!”
Then, as I turned:
“Come here, Antony!” and the pointing finger was there no longer, but two extended hands, which I ran across the room and seized, struggling hard to keep back the emotion that was striving for exit, for I was but a boy.
“My dear Miriam—” began John Lister once more.
“Mr Lister,” she said, and her voice was very low and stern, as she placed one arm round my waist and laid her right hand upon my shoulder, “will you have the goodness to leave my house?”
“My dear Miriam, pray be reasonable!” he exclaimed. “That foolish boy has got some crotchet into his head. It is all a silly blunder, which I can explain in a few words. I assure you it is all a mistake.”
“If it is a mistake, Mr Lister, you have nothing to mind; I now wish to be alone.”
“But, Miriam, dearest Miriam, grant me a few minutes’ conversation. I assure you I can set myself right in your eyes.”
“If it is all a mistake, Mr Lister, why did you threaten Antony Grace, if he dared to tell me the words I heard?”
“Because I was angry with him for making such a blunder, and I feared that it would upset you. Let me speak to you alone. Miriam, dear Miriam, you force me to speak to you like this before Antony Grace. I tell you,” he cried, desperately trying to catch her hand, “I swear to you—what he said is a tissue of lies.”
“And I tell you,” she cried scornfully, “that Antony Grace never told an untruth in his life. Mr Lister, I am a woman, and unprotected. I ask you now to leave my house.”
“I cannot leave you with that boy, and no opportunity for defending myself. I must have a counsellor.”
“You shall have one, John Lister,” she said in a low, dull voice. “I will be your counsellor when he accuses you.”
“Heaven bless you?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Your loving heart will take my part.”
“My womanly duty, John Lister, and my plighted faith will join to defend you from this grave charge.”
“Let me stay and plead my own cause, dearest Miriam,” he cried, stretching out his hands and fixing his eyes upon hers; but her look was cold, stern, and pitiless, and for answer she pointed to the door.
He made another appeal, but she seemed to be absolute, to master him, and at last, trembling, white with passion and disappointment, he turned and left the room, shrinking from that stern, pointing finger, and half-staggering down the stairs. I heard him hurry across the hall, and the door closed so loudly that the house seemed to be filled with echoes, while his steps were perfectly audible as he strode along the street.