By and by, Eustace came in to tell them the good news. He said nothing about Tyrrel, at least by name, lest he should hurt Trevennack; he merely mentioned that a friend of his had seen Erasmus Walker that day, and that Walker had held out great hopes of success for him in this Wharfedale Viaduct business. Trevennack listened with a strange mixture of interest and contempt. He was glad the young man was likely to get on in his chosen profession—for Cleer’s sake, if it would enable them to marry. But, oh, what a fuss it seemed to him to make about such a trifle as a mere bit of a valley that one could fly across in a second—to him who could become
“... to his proper shape returned
A seraph winged: six wings he wore, to shade
His lineaments divine; the pair that clad
Each shoulder broad, came mantling o’er his breast
With regal ornament; the middle pair
Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round
Skirted his loins and thighs, the third his feet
Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail.”
And then they talked to HIM about the difficulties of building a few hundred yards of iron bridge across a miserable valley! Why, was it not he and his kind of whom it was written that they came
“Gliding through the even
On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star
In autumn thwarts the night?”
A viaduct indeed! a paltry human viaduct! What need, with such as him, to talk of bridges or viaducts?
As Eustace left that evening, Mrs. Trevennack followed him out, and beckoned him mysteriously into the dining-room at the side for a minute’s conversation. The young man followed her, much wondering what this strange move could mean. Mrs. Trevennack fell back, half faint, into a chair, and gazed at him with a frightened look very rare on that brave face of hers. “Oh, Eustace,” she said, hurriedly, “do you know what’s happened? Mr. Tyrrel’s in town. Michael saw him to-day. He was driving near Paddington. Now do you think... you could do anything to keep him out of Michael’s way? I dread their meeting. I don’t know whether you know it, but Michael has some grudge against him. For Cleer’s sake and for yours, do keep them apart, I beg of you. If they meet, I can’t answer for what harm may come of it.”
Eustace was taken aback at her unexpected words. Not even to Cleer had he ever hinted in any way at the strange disclosure Walter Tyrrel made to him that first day at Penmorgan. He hesitated how to answer her without betraying his friend’s secret. At last he said, as calmly as he could, “I guessed, to tell you the truth, there was some cause of quarrel. I’ll do my very best to keep Tyrrel out of the way, Mrs. Trevennack, as you wish it. But I’m afraid he won’t be going down from town for some time to come, for he told me only to-day he had business at his lawyer’s, in Victoria Street, Westminster, which might keep him here a fortnight. Indeed, I rather doubt whether he’ll care to go down again until he knows for certain, one way or the other, about the Wharfedale Viaduct.”
Mrs. Trevennack sank back in her chair, very pale and wan. “Oh, what shall we do if they meet?” she cried, wringing her hands in despair. “What shall we do if they meet? This is more than I can endure. Eustace, Eustace, I shall break down. My burden’s too heavy for me!”
The young man leant over her like a son. “Mrs. Trevennack,” he said, gently, smoothing her silvery white hair with sympathetic fingers, “I think I can keep them apart. I’ll speak seriously to Tyrrel about it. He’s a very good fellow, and he’ll do anything I ask of him. I’m sure he’ll try to avoid falling in with your husband. He’s my kindest of friends; and he’d cut off his hand to serve me.”
One word of sympathy brought tears into Mrs. Trevennack’s eyes. She looked up through them, and took the young man’s hand in hers. “It was HE who spoke to Erasmus Walker, I suppose,” she murmured, slowly.