The Nether Millstone

by Fred M. White

The speaker's tones rang out with passionate vehemence. He stumbled down the steps, into the garden, and repeated his accusation loudly. It all seemed strangely out of place there, Ralph thought; it was no spot for sordid emotions, and angry passions. The words rang clear and loud to the startled vault of heaven; a blackbird started from her nest and flew across the lawn with nervous twitter. Then another figure came from the drawing-room, the trim, immaculate figure of Horace Mayfield.

"For goodness' sake, control yourself Dashwood," he said curtly. "There is nothing in the world to make all this ridiculous fuss about. It is all the fortune of war. We tried to get the best of these fellows, and they looted us instead. It was no fault of mine that these cablegrams miscarried. My manager has sold me--a thing that sometimes happens in the City. All we have to do is to pay and look pleasant."

"But I can't pay, and you know it. Nobody understands the tenure on which I hold the property better than you do. If I wait for the money, what happens?"

"I am afraid it will be very awkward," Mayfield said. "People will refuse to believe that you have been a victim of a fraud. They will actually regard the fraud as your own. Whereas, if you pay up cheerfully, nothing can be said. Personally, I am all right. I kept my name out of the business so that you could have all the credit. Unfortunately, you will get all the blame as well. There may not be a prosecution; of course, it is not an easy matter to get the Public Prosecutor to interfere in these cases. The only thing for it is to take the bull by the horns and get out of all by paying."

Sir George laughed in a bitter kind of way. He stood with his back to the house, facing the man who had brought all this about. He seemed to be almost beside himself with fury. The whole man was transformed.

"I have no money," he said, "and you know it. You have deliberately brought me to this pass for purposes of your own. You have traded upon my love of gambling to get me into your hands. And I might have been happy and comfortable here. I was getting rid of my millstone of debt so nicely when you came along once more. But for you, I should not stand here now outside my own home, an honoured house for three centuries, a ruined and desperate man with a vision of a prisoner's dock before me. You are a rich man----"

"Possibly, Dashwood. At any rate, I am in a position to find money. But there is no kind of friendship or sentiment when one comes to business. You are not a child that you can accuse me of luring you to your ruin. Still, I am not disposed to take offence. I will undertake to settle the matter for you in time. But you must have a joint guarantee and I want another person to become security for you. You understand what I mean. If Miss Mary will be so good as to give me her word----"

A sudden cry of passion broke from the older man. He seemed to lose all control of himself. He dashed forward and smote Mayfield with fury on the mouth. The latter staggered back a thin streak of blood trickling from his under lip.

There was no outbreak, no display of passion, on the part of Mayfield. He was surprised and shaken by the impetuosity of the attack, but he stood there calmly, as he wiped the blood from his face. His features might have been carved out of solid marble, and the full light of the moon heightened the effect. In spite of his knowledge of the man, Ralph could not but admire him at that moment. One who could keep his feelings under such control would prove a dangerous foe.

It was a strange, weird scene altogether, terrible and repulsive by very force of contrast. The environment was so quiet and peaceful, so exalted and refined. Ralph stood as if rooted to the spot. He saw Sir George advance again, he saw the hand upraised once more. All the pride of rank and place had fallen from the man; he was transformed for the moment to a savage. Then Mayfield caught the uplifted arm and held it in a grip like a vice.