Vane Charteris was astonished beyond words when she found that the assertion she had made regarding Margery’s voyage to Australia in company with Robert Bright and her so-called father was absolutely confirmed by fact. Nothing could have been more opportune, no more satisfactory dénouement to the whole affair could have taken place had she arranged it herself. It had needed only jealousy to finish what she had begun; and its poison now rankled in Stuart Crosbie’s heart. He was stunned, almost overwhelmed by Margery’s apparent treachery and heartlessness. He did not know, he had never fathomed till now, how greatly he had loved, what a flood of passion had overtaken him. Margery had been the sun of his existence, and she was gone—worse than gone—she was faithless!
Vaguely he repeated the words over and over again, as he sat listlessly in a chair looking out over the fair landscape, but seeing it not. Faithless! The girl who had kindled the glow of all earthly bliss, the girl who had seemed a very angel of purity and beauty, was false! While he held her clasped in his arms and breathed his earnest, sacred vows of love, she was false! As she smiled in radiant tenderness and whispered back her own, she was false! Through it all she had been false! It was inconceivable; it was maddening!
A fortnight wore away, but Stuart’s mood did not alter; he sat silent and morbid, trying to understand it all, to get at the truth. Vane grew a little troubled at his manner—she had not imagined the wound would have been so deep. Her own shallow nature could not comprehend the depths, the intensity, the passion of love. To her it had appeared that Stuart would of course be angry. As a proud man, that was but natural, and she had expected to see him defiant, hard, reckless. This strange silence, this quiet misery amazed and annoyed her. But she was outwardly at her best all this time. She never spoke to her cousin respecting their former confidences. She made him feel rather than know the depths of her womanly sympathy, thus making her worldly tact appear as innate refinement and tender delicacy. She moved about as in harmony with his gloomy thoughts; her laughter never jarred; her voice often soothed him; and last, but not least, she warded off any attacks from Mrs. Crosbie, whose brow contracted in many an ominous frown because of what she termed her son’s folly and want of dignity.
It was tedious work sometimes, and Vane often grew vexed and weary; but this gloom could not last, she told herself; there would come a day when Stuart would rouse himself and cast aside all thought of his dead love, trampling on the memories of it as on a vile and worthless thing. She must not fail now, seeing that she had succeeded so well hitherto. But a little patience, and she would win—she must win, not only for her love’s sake, but for her ambition. News had reached her of the marriage of one of her most detested rivals, a girl younger than herself. She could not face the world again without some weapon in her hand to crush the woman she hated and bring back her lost power. It was as Stuart Crosbie’s wife that she determined her triumph should come. He bore no title; but his name was as prominent as any in the land, his wealth would be untold, and, as chatelaine of Crosbie Castle and Beecham Park, her social position would be undeniable. Even Mrs. Crosbie did not guess the fire that burned beneath Vane’s calm exterior; but her desire for the marriage was certainly as great in one way as her niece’s. Lady Charteris, who had by this time recovered from her surprise at her daughter’s strange freak in staying so long at the castle, saw nothing, but chattered and slumbered away her days placidly enough, content to know that Vane was happy.
Sir Douglas Gerant had disappeared as strangely and as suddenly as he had arrived. Two days after the eventful drive to Chesterham he took his departure, greatly to Miss Charteris’ and Mrs. Crosbie’s satisfaction. There was something in his dry, cynical manner which made them singularly uncomfortable, and their strict ideas of etiquette were greatly disturbed by his many unorthodox acts. Stuart, at any other time, would have regretted his cousin’s departure; but now it made but little impression on him, and, while he exerted himself to bid him farewell, his mind was with his trouble, and as Sir Douglas walked away, he gave himself up again to his unhappy thoughts.
A fortnight passed uneventfully, and then Sir Douglas reappeared as suddenly as he had left. Mrs. Crosbie met him with profuse but insincere words of welcome. She was just enough to recognize how much he had done for Stuart. Sir Douglas put aside all her gracious speeches.
“It is only a flying visit,” he said, tersely. “I want to have a few words with Stuart.”
“Oh, I am so sorry you will not stay,” Mrs. Crosbie responded. “I had hoped you had come for the shooting; Sholto expects a few guns down. We should have had a party for the twelfth of August but for Stuart’s accident. Can I not persuade you?”
“I should yield to your persuasion, cousin,” answered Sir Douglas, with an old-fashioned bow and a gleam of merriment in his keen gray eyes—he knew right well he was no favorite with madam—“but that unfortunately time and tide wait for no man, and I sail for the antipodes at the end of the week.”
“The antipodes!” cried Mrs. Crosbie; and she would have questioned him further but that he ended the interview by walking away in search of Stuart.