CHAPTER XXII.
ARCH-TRAITOR WITHIN, ARCH-PLOTTER WITHOUT.
The guests at Hallgrove Rectory this Christmas-time were Douglas Dale, Sir Reginald Eversleigh, a lady and gentleman called Mordaunt, and their two pretty, fair-faced daughters, and two other old friends of the rector's, one of whom is very familiar to us.
Those two were Gordon Graham and his sister Lydia—the woman whose envious hatred had aided in that vile scheme by which Sir Oswald Eversleigh's happiness had been suddenly blighted. The Dales and Gordon Graham had been intimate from boyhood, when they had been school-fellows at Eton. Since Sir Oswald's death had enriched the two brothers, Gordon Graham had taken care that his acquaintance with them should not be allowed to lapse, but should rather be strengthened. It was by means of his manoeuvring that the invitation for Christmas had been given, and that he and his sister were comfortable domiciled for the winter season beneath the rector's hospitably roof.
Gordon Graham had been very anxious to secure this invitation. Every day that passed made him more and more anxious that his sister should make a good marriage. Her thirtieth birthday was alarmingly near at hand. Careful as she was of her good looks, the day must soon come when her beauty would fade, and she would find herself among the ranks of confirmed old maids.
If Gordon Graham found her a burden now, how much greater burden would she be to him then! As the cruel years stole by, and brought her no triumph, no success, her temper grew more imperious, while the quarrels which marred the harmony of the brother and sister's affection became more frequent and more violent.
Beyond this one all-sufficient reason, Gordon Graham had his own selfish motives for seeking to secure his sister a rich husband. The purse of a wealthy brother-in-law must, of course, be always more or less open to himself; and he was not the man to refrain from obtaining all he could from such a source.
In Lionel Dale he saw a man who would be the easy victim of a woman's fascinations, the generous dupe of an adventurer. Lionel Dale was, therefore, the prize which Lydia should try to win.
The brother and sister were in the habit of talking to each other very plainly.
"Now, Lydia," said the captain, after he had read Lionel Dale's letter for the young lady's benefit, "it will be your fault if you do not come back from Hallgrove the affianced wife of this man. There was a time when you might have tried for heavier stakes; but at thirty, a husband with five thousand a year is not to be sneezed at."