[CHAPTER XXII.]
I do not think I have at any time held up Lord Blair Leyton as an example to youth, and I am less likely than ever to do so now, now that he has reached an epoch in his life when, like a vessel without a rudder, he drifts to and fro on life's troubled sea, heedless of his course, and perilously near the rocks of utter ruin and destruction. But at any rate, I can claim one quality for our hero—he was thorough.
A wilder man than Blair, before he fell in love with Margaret, it would be difficult to imagine; it would be harder to find a better one, or one with better intentions, than he was during his short married life; and, alas, no wilder and more reckless being existed than poor Blair, after Margaret's supposed death.
He was quiet enough while he was ill, for he was too weak to do anything but sit still all day and brood.
He would sit for hours staring moodily at the dim line where sea and sky meet, without uttering a word—all his thoughts fixed upon his great loss, the sweet, lovable, lovely girl whom he had called wife for a few short weeks.
He never mentioned Margaret's name, and Austin Ambrose was too wise to disobey his injunction as regards silence. He made no further inquiries, and even if he had been desirous of doing so, there was no one of whom to make inquiries, for the Days had left Appleford, and no one knew anything more of Margaret than the common record, that she had been seen on the rock, and then—not seen!
Emaciated and haggard, Lord Blair sat day after day waiting for the renewal of strength, his sole employment that bitterest of all bitter amusements—recalling the past!
Austin Ambrose was his only companion, Austin leaving him only for short intervals, which he spent in town.
Vigilant as a lynx, untiring as a sleuthhound, Austin Ambrose kept continual watch and guard. By a series of accidents, Fate had assisted his schemes, and he felt himself the winner almost already. A few turns more of the wheel, and he would have Violet Graham at his feet.