CHAPTER IV.
Granville Gray was sitting in the library of Lord Mayne’s town house. He was very busy, for though it was the recess, and his lordship was away shooting in Scotland, and all the political and fashionable world was dispersed in different directions, this was just the time that he could devote to his own pursuits, and to certain important investigations regarding the industrial life of the country by which he hoped some day to make his name. But his attention was not as undivided as usual. He would suddenly interrupt his work to walk up and down the room, or to gaze absently out of the window at the dusty lime trees that shaded the iron railing. For his work at the present moment was not an aim, but a distraction. Catherine’s sudden flight and the simultaneous appearance of Lady Blanche had made him realise how strong and genuine was his passion for the former. How precise, and commonplace, and conventional did the heiress appear beside the glorified recollection of the girl he loved, as she had stood trembling and clinging to him on the hillside. So when he read her little note, with its tender farewell, which convinced him of her affection for him at the same time as he became fully conscious of his own devotion, he resolved that no other woman should be his wife, and determined to set out in search of her at once. In spite, therefore, of Margaret’s remonstrances, he excused himself to Lady Blanche on the plea of urgent business, but he did not attempt to conceal the real state of the case from his sister. Margaret was really very much disappointed, and blamed herself exceedingly. She knew her brother well enough to realise that when he had once made up his mind, persuasion was useless; she was obliged to acquiesce, and to console herself with the thought that if she had been unwise in bringing her brother and friend together, Catherine was a very charming girl who could do him no possible discredit.
So leaving the two women at the hotel, Granville had set out for the address given on Catherine’s card. He hardly hoped to find her in so obvious a retreat, yet supposed that he would at least be able to learn something about her movements there. Great was his disappointment, therefore, when he discovered that though the object of his pursuit had been there only two days before, nothing was known of her present address. The landlady, who scented a romance the moment this interesting-looking gentleman inquired for Miss West, advised him to write to the head-mistress of the High School. Granville had at once acted on this, but as this lady was abroad, and her exact address was doubtful, he was not surprised that he had not yet received an answer. Three weeks had passed away in suspense and fruitless inquiry. He had traced Catherine to Euston, where she had changed for Victoria, on her way to St. John’s, but all further effort had been useless. Even now, he thought, she might be within a few miles of him, somewhere in this vast city; for what better hiding-place than London could anyone want?
His musings were interrupted by a sudden sound of wheels, and the shrill ringing of the electric bell. Presently the door opened, and a man brought in a card.
“A lady to see you, sir. She asked for his lordship’s address, but when she heard you were in, she said she would like to see you.”
Granville was annoyed; he did not feel in the least inclined for an interview with an unknown lady. Why should the man be so officious? Then as he looked at the card his heart gave a sudden bound. Had Catherine sought him out? But what an unlikely idea; West is not an uncommon name. Nevertheless, it was with a quickened step that he crossed the hall to the room where the visitor was waiting.
His heart sank when the little old lady, almost old enough to be his grandmother, rose to meet him.
“I must explain my business,” she said, looking at him with a keen scrutiny that would have confused a less self-possessed person. “I asked for Lord Mayne, but I have come on a matter connected with yourself.”
“With me? I am afraid——”
“Of course, you do not know me. Now will you tell me why I have had the good fortune to find you in London at this unseasonable time?”
Granville felt more and more astonished, and began to think that his visitor was mad, and must be humoured.
“I have come here on urgent private business,” he answered. “But you wished to see Lord Mayne; is it on any matter that I can answer?”
“As I said before, you can probably satisfy me better than anyone else. But before I put any more questions, let me tell you a story.”
And forthwith she poured out to him all the history of her quarrel with Catherine’s father, and of her reconciliation with his daughter, carefully avoiding the mention of the latter’s name. But Granville, listening attentively, soon solved the enigma. He could hardly wait with patience till she concluded, saying—
“I am naturally anxious about my niece’s future. She will inherit a larger fortune than she has any idea of. I may die at any moment, and she will be left alone in the world, a prey to fortune-hunters, and quite unprepared to grapple with such difficulties as are sure to meet her.”
“But why have you told me this?” he asked. “I cannot pretend not to understand to whom you refer. But has Miss West——”
“Catherine, who, as you have guessed, is my niece, has told me very little. But, apparently, you are almost the only man she knows. I believe that I can trust you, for in a long life my powers of intuition have seldom played me false. What I want to know is whether you would be prepared to be one of the executors of my will, and to look after her interests when I am gone?”
“You place me in a very difficult position,” answered he. “Whatever may be Miss West’s feeling towards me, I tell you plainly that no other woman shall ever be my wife. But though I am glad for her sake that she has found you, your news is a personal disappointment to me. I have spent the last three weeks in a ceaseless search for her. I had hoped in a few days to go to her and offer all I have—which, if not much, would at least have been something. How can I do so now? And if I accept the executorship I shall be placed in the painful position of seeing her continually without feeling at liberty to declare my affection.”
“But why should you not declare it? Catherine may return your affection, and she is quite without fortune at present. If you honestly care for her now, why not follow up your acquaintance. Come and see her as my visitor, and win her by a gradual courtship?”
“I cannot do it,” he said. “Simply because I love her, I will not owe anything to her. I will not expose myself to the imputation of interested motives, nor her to the humiliating suspicion of having been sought for her money.”
“Really! Were ever two people more contrary?” exclaimed Aunt Cicely. “But suppose she already——”
“Stop, I beg of you,” he interrupted. “You have no right to betray your niece’s confidences.”
“Well,” said his visitor, standing up, “I see that you are unmanageable. I will give you a week to think it over. You say you love her, and you have the opportunity of doing her a great service. Will you not sink these quixotic ideas in the desire to help her?”
And with these words she departed, congratulating herself on having discovered the state of Granville’s mind without hopelessly compromising Catherine, or doing anything at the discovery of which her niece need blush. She drove off in high spirits to her lawyer, planning a scheme which would inevitably bring the two lovers together without sacrificing the pride of either. And after spending some time with her solicitor, she took the last train home, feeling very tired, but with the pleasant consciousness of having performed a good day’s work.
Meanwhile Catherine had spent a miserable day. She had lain awake most of the previous night, planning a reconciliation with her aunt; but towards morning she had fallen asleep, and did not wake till the maid entered her room at nine o’clock. Her aunt had gone, had taken the 7.30 train to London, they said. At first Catherine had wild thoughts of following her thither; she was not in a fit state of health to travel alone, but ignorance of her destination was a hopeless obstacle. So after spending the morning in vain attempts to read and practise, the girl set out for the station, where she met every down train that afternoon. Her patience was at length rewarded by the appearance of her aunt, looking so pale and tired that Catherine was seized with sudden alarm. She saw that Miss West was almost too much exhausted to speak, so, hurrying her into the carriage, she drove quickly home, and persuaded her to go to bed at once. Little was said on either side, but the kisses that were exchanged as her niece left her for the night satisfied Catherine that she was forgiven.
But the exertion and excitement had been too much for Aunt Cicely. There was a sudden alarm in the night, the sound of hushed and hasty footsteps on the stairs, a hurried consultation between Catherine and the housekeeper. The former stood by the bedside, holding her aunt’s hand, and feeling as if her last earthly support were slipping from her. Then came the doctor, only to pronounce that the sufferer was past his skill; even if he had come earlier he could not have helped her. The grey September dawn found Catherine once more alone in the world, and feeling more desolate than ever.