Early the following morning his friend came to the villa. He had called upon Burton, who essayed with white lips to deny any participation in the affair, from first to last. The evidence of the persons whom Tremenhere had seen in Brighton, he treated with perfect contempt, as inventions to screen some other person; and finally refused most positively to meet his cousin. He had a prejudice against duelling, he said, especially with one whom he had known from boyhood; he sincerely pitied him for his turbulent, ungovernable temper, and great hatred towards himself. In short, he summed up all by hypocritically drawling forth, that could he serve him in any way, he too gladly would do so; and assuredly, to injure him, was farthest from his thoughts; and concluded with much deceitful, mawkish sentiment.
When his friend related this, Tremenhere paced the room, at first in indignant, contemptuous rage; then an unwonted calm came over him, and he smiled as he said, stepping before his visiter—"This man has taught me a talent I never might have possessed without him: that of watching, unseen, the movements of others. I will return to town with you; I have paved the way for doing so without exciting suspicion. I must act decidedly and secretly, for that coward else, will seek the protection of the law, and defeat my object. Let us be off."
And, quitting the studio where they were, he entered the drawing-room where sat Minnie and Skaife, she looking so much happier than of late had been the case. Tremenhere, too, seemed light at heart. He was a man so generous by nature, that the greater the sacrifice he made for a person, the better he loved them. He was ready to offer up his life for Minnie, for in his moments of energetic feeling he knew her innocent. 'Twas only when the muscular power relaxed with thought and care, that he doubted her; it had removed a load of suspicion from his heart, the knowing who really, beyond mistake, was his enemy, he knew so well all he was capable of. As he took his hat to quit the room, his full, deep glance fell on his wife, who was looking timidly at him. Skaife saw the look. It spoke so much wretchedness, that his heart ached bitterly for her. Coming towards her, Miles stooped, and, unheeding the presence of the other two, warmly embraced her. "Be a good girl, Minnie," he said cheerfully, "and amuse our good friend, Skaife, and I'll bring you—a fairing," he added laughing, "from town." His glance crossed his friend's as he spoke.
"Bring yourself soon," she said, smiling in his face; "'twill be my best present."
He pressed her hand warmly in reply. There was so much renewal of love, that she felt her heart full of hope—long foreign to it.
Tremenhere and his friend drove quickly to town; the former's object was, to watch Burton to his club, whither he went about twelve every day—and his, was Miles's. It is probable, that had this latter been in the habit of going himself every day, Burton would have quitted the field; as it was, Tremenhere had, by his absence, left him master of it; and here, as Tremenhere had ascertained, was the spot where he circulated his scandals freely to his own set. The two friends drove to the top of the street where Burton's hotel was, and stopping the cab where it would not attract notice, they resolved to watch for awhile, before inquiring for him of the hall porter. Fortune favoured them this time, for in less than half an hour, Burton came forth on foot; and glancing carelessly up the street, walked on, and the cab followed. As they hoped, he proceeded to his club, within a few doors of which the others alighted, and walked quickly towards it. Burton entered the reading-room, where sat some dozen or more men, poring over their papers; thence he stepped into another, nor noticed his cousin, who followed at a distance, keeping him in view.
Tremenhere's aim was attained: in the reading-room he met several friends,—acquaintances were better said; hastily addressing each, without appearing to notice the chilling looks of some, he said, calling each by name, "Leave your papers awhile, and follow me; I will give you something better worth seeing than aught you may meet with there."
And most did so, for curiosity is a spirit fluttering over the heads of the many, few indeed are those eschewing her worship. On walked Tremenhere, accompanied by his friend, and in his wake came the others. At last he stood silently, surveying all in the room, where dozens were collected, some in knots talking, others at breakfast, others reading. In a glance Tremenhere took in all this, and the faces of friend and foe. He advanced a step. Burton stood with his back towards him, conversing with two or three persons. Was it instinct which made him suddenly turn, and grow white as the snowiest cloth on those tables, when he saw Tremenhere erect, smiling, and towering in height and manly beauty, as lie gave him a glance of scorn? He stopped suddenly in what he was uttering, and made a movement to quit the room by a side-door. There is a power, an irresistible spell, in dignity and right combined, (indeed the former cannot exist without the latter,) which make the meaner mind bow down before them.
"Stop, Marmaduke Burton!" cried Tremenhere with his full, rich voice of command. Burton made an involuntary pause, and then, with a quick shuffling gait, attempted to seem dignified as he moved towards the door. "Stop him!" cried Tremenhere again, calmly waving his hand, "that he may at least have the satisfaction of hearing me, face to face, proclaim him slanderer, liar, and coward!"
Burton was forced to turn. At these words a movement passed over the whole room—no one, however, spoke.