‘Have I not said so? De Courcelles seemed quite ready to accede to my proposal, and I gave him a week to settle it in. Before a couple of days were over our heads, however, he came to tell me that it was of no use, and Miss Fellows had refused to have anything to do with him. I told him I couldn’t go back from my word, and that (under the circumstances) I refused to retain him on the plantation as an unmarried man, so I would pay him a quarter’s salary, and he must clear out in a week. But before I did so, I walked down to Lizzie’s bungalow, and had a very plain conversation with her on the subject.’
Mrs Courtney’s complexion faded to a dull yellow.
‘About the nurse-child? Does she still deny that it is hers?’
‘Emphatically, and with such undeniable sincerity, that I quite believe her. I would stake my life that she has nothing to do with that child except to take care of it. She is a most injured woman, in my opinion, and I urged her, for her own sake as well as ours, to do as her father (were he living) would command her, and reveal the name of the mother of the infant.’
‘Oh, Mr Courtney, how very wrong of you to try and make Lizzie break her oath! Why, it would be perjury!’ cried Mrs Courtney, virtuously indignant, and trembling with anxiety, ‘and I would rather think she had fallen, than commit such a crime. Surely she was not so weak as to be persuaded to do such a thing?’
‘No; she is adamant, and her lips are closed like a vice. She refuses to say anything upon the subject, excepting to reiterate her former assertion that the child is not hers. And she told me the reason she had rejected Monsieur de Courcelles’ proposal is because he has said the same thing of her as other people.’
‘Well, of course. What can she expect?’ said his wife, looking infinitely relieved. ‘It is very hard on the poor girl, but she is bound to keep her oath; and people will talk. I have heard the coolies speaking of it in the most confident manner, as if they had not the slightest doubt that she is the baby’s mother.’
‘I’d like to hear a coolie talking of her affairs in my presence!’ returned Mr Courtney, clenching his fist. ‘He wouldn’t talk again in a hurry. If I can’t do anything else for the daughter of my poor dead friend, I will protect her. But there was something Lizzie said that somewhat puzzled me, Nita. In speaking of De Courcelles, she used these terms,—“He, who of all others should have died before he accused me of a crime of which he knew I was guiltless.” She emphasised the word “knew” so deeply that it attracted my attention, and I asked her how De Courcelles should know of her innocence above other people. But I could get nothing further out of her. She blushed to her eyes, poor girl, and was silent; but I was sure she felt she had gone too far. What can De Courcelles know for certain, Nita? Is it possible he can have anything to do with this mysterious little stranger at the bungalow?’
‘Dear me, Mr Courtney, how can I answer the question?’ exclaimed his wife pettishly. ‘I don’t see anything peculiar in Lizzie’s words. She meant, doubtless, that being her betrothed husband, he should have had more faith in her virtue; and so he should. But men judge women by themselves, and so we seldom come off scot-free. But are you going to get another overseer? That is the most important thing to me. I can’t think of that De Courcelles’ presumption with any patience.’
‘Yes, yes, my dear! it is all settled, and he leaves us next week. I have already engaged his successor—Mr Campbell, who used to manage the Glendinning estates before old Mr Houston died. He bears an excellent character, and, I trust, may prove all we require. He is noted for his kindness to his coolies; and I am afraid De Courcelles has not raised the character of Beauregard in that respect.’