Burgo's Romance

by T. W. Speight

Surely so polite a note necessitated an answer similar in kind. He had still the pen and ink which had been brought him the first day, and in his portmanteau were paper and envelopes. Getting together his materials without another moment's delay, he cleared a space on the table and wrote as under:

"Mr. Brabazon presents his compliments to Miss Roylance, and in reply to her note just received begs to assure Miss Roylance that it will afford him infinite pleasure to be waited upon by her at whatever hour may best suit her convenience."

Then he put the note into an envelope, fastened it up, addressed it, and gave it to Mrs. Sprowle, who took it with a nod as one who knew.

It is almost needless to say that to Burgo the afternoon seemed to drag its wearisome length along even more slowly than usual. He waited the coming of evening with impatience, asking himself meanwhile a hundred questions, although fully aware of the futility of doing so, seeing that to none of them was any answer forthcoming. By-and-by the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, and then a great bank of cloud crept down from the middle sky, and shut out as with a curtain the flaming splendours of the western heavens. And therewith twilight came at a bound.

Then Burgo lighted his lamp, and sat down resolutely to read--and wait. But for once Shakespeare's magic proved of no avail. He read a page and turned over to the next, but, although his eyes mechanically took in the words, his mind remained a blank as far as their meaning was concerned. At length he flung the volume aside, and began to pace the room as he had paced it hundreds of times before, glancing every few minutes at his watch, while sneering cynically at himself for being so weak-minded. "I might be a big school-girl waiting for her first ball-dress to be brought home," he muttered contemptuously; and then he looked at his watch again.

Mother Sprowle had brought him his supper--which he did not touch--and had gone again, and night had settled down in earnest, before Burgo's alert ear heard the key turned in the lock belowstairs. He drew himself up, his eyes brightened, and a dark flush mounted to his cheeks. What was he about to see? Some "vision beatific," or some ordinary "young person," the bearer it might be, of some message from Lady Clinton? That Miss Roylance should dare to visit him of her own initiative, and without the consent or sanction of her ladyship, was too much to expect. Still, youth sometimes abounds with sweet audacities.

He listened without moving to the sound of nearing footsteps as they climbed the stairs one by one. These were certainly not the flying footsteps of a young girl. They were slow and somewhat laboured, with a peculiar tapping accompaniment which at once brought to Burgo's mind that morning in his uncle's house, when he had been puzzled by a somewhat similar sound, which proved to be the tap-tap of the crippled caretaker's stick on the oaken stairs as he ascended from the regions below. Burgo had pushed back the slide some time ago. Drawing nearer to it he now stood with his eyes fixed intently on the black square in the door. The tapping became more audible, and then the darkness outside the door was illumined by a faint light, which began to creep up the whitewashed wall of the landing, and a second or two later there appeared a white hand holding aloft a small shaded lamp--involuntarily Burgo drew a step or two nearer--and then a face came into view, and so, by degrees, the figure to which it pertained. Then, with a thrill, Burgo saw that this dark-robed young woman, who had thus strangely elected to visit him, was supported under her left arm by a slender crutch, as also that she was slightly humpbacked, and that one shoulder had the appearance of being somewhat higher than the other. A great wave of pity swept over him as these things forced themselves, as it were, on his notice.

Miss Roylance's face broke into a smile, then the smile merged into a musical laugh as her eyes met those of Burgo fixed so intently on her. "Confess, now, Mr. Brabazon, that my note took you considerably by surprise, and that my audacity in coming, under such circumstances, to see a young man who is an utter stranger to me, has surprised you still more. But, to be sure, there is a locked door between us." Her voice was a low rich contralto.

"In any case, the surprise is a charming one," responded Burgo, reciprocating her smile. "I have been here so long without a soul to speak to, that I intended to begin spouting Shakespeare aloud to-morrow, so as to keep my tongue from getting rusty."

"I am glad you did not try to make me believe that you were not surprised, because that shows a quite uncommon degree of candour on the part of so young a man, and I like candour, even although I may not always be able to practise it myself. In any case, Mr. Brabazon, you can't be nearly as much surprised at me as I am at myself. 'And yet she is here!' you are saying to yourself. I feel sure of it."