Page:Once a Week Dec 1860 to June 61.pdf/72

. 12, 1861.] about the neighbourhood being unwholesome, or an epidemic being about,—what was it you wrote?”

“No, there was a word in the note that put the idea into my head. I cannot positively say that there was anything to lead to a definite impression on the subject.”

“It was only a wild guess of yours, then? But, papa, you must really have that note found, or I shall have to ask Charles to come over and convince you that he must have it. In Arthur’s absence Charles is bound to see after his interests.”

“I shall be very happy to see Hawkesley, my dear, and to argue with him on that or any other subject. In the meantime you must allow me to take my own view of what is right. If there is anything of truth in the letter, why not act upon the information, in any way that circumstances may dictate, without reference to the writer herself.”

“You are actually defending the wretch, and making yourself a party to her accusation.”

“No, my dear, I am only refusing to permit my natural feelings as a father to predominate over my sense of justice to a fellow-creature.”

“Well, papa, you will hear what Charles thinks about it; but it is very unkind of you to place me in such a position. I have to go back to my husband, and tell him that my father takes side with a cowardly, anonymous letter-writer, and has more regard for this skulking creature than for the feelings of his own children.”

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and the heart of the father began rapidly to soften. His theories seldom stood long in presence of the sorrow of those whom he loved.

“Nay, Beatrice, my dear, you are quite wrong, and you do me much injustice. I do not think you ought to avail yourself of my affection to induce me to act unfairly.”

“It is not unfairly,” said his daughter, seeing her advantage, and taking his hand. “And I am sure you would not make us all unhappy for the sake of a malicious stranger. Get me the letter, papa dear,” she added, giving him a kiss.

“You are going to be so angry with me,” said Mr. Vernon.

“Angry, papa dear? You know I am hasty and apt to say anything that comes to my tongue, but I never mean to be unkind. Forgive me if I spoke rudely, as I know I did.” And she gave him another kiss.

It completed her victory, but the victory was not a very profitable one. Mr. Vernon began to look rather foolish, and he said in a sort of whisper,

“What if I cannot give it you?”

“I know you can,—I know you can find it if you like, dear.”

“Well,” said Mr. Vernon, “if I had it, I would give it you with all my heart; but the fact is, Beatrice, I knew that though my views were right, yours would conquer, and in the fear of that I—I burned the letter.”

And he had done so. But may it be supposed that our readers have some idea whence the letter came?

Not until Mrs. Hawkesley had signified an affectionate forgiveness of his act was she allowed to depart, and though she could not help giving him what she described as a good scolding, the father is not unhappy who, in these days of liberty and equality, has never heard more unkind language from his child.

did Ernest Adair and the girl Henderson meet in the little room at the inn at Versailles. But this time the manner of the master was entirely altered. He neither threw himself upon a chair, nor had he recourse to his favourite cigarette, but the moment that Henderson entered the room, he signed to her to close the door; and, then, approaching her hastily, he addressed her almost with sternness.

“Now, say at once what you have to say. My time is precious.” The girl’s manner was as much changed as his own. Instead of employing the petulant, half-defiant tone in which she had resisted or resented his questions on the former occasions, Mary Henderson was as submissive and respectful as if he had been her lawful master, demanding from his own servant an account of her doings.

“Will you ask me anything, or shall I speak without?” she said, almost humbly.

“Both. Tell me your own story first, and then answer what I ask.”

“I managed to hear a conversation between Madame and her sister.”

“Only one?”

“It was impossible for me to hear more, and I do not think that they have had any more.”

“Don’t talk to me about impossibilities. The other thing is more to the purpose, and what makes you say that they have had one talk only?”

“Because Mrs. Lygon did not see her sister again until bed-time, and then Madame was not in the bed-room with her for more than two or three minutes.”

“What! Not see her at dinner?”

“There were visitors at dinner, and Mrs. Lygon had a tray sent to her own room.”

“Was she ill, or only anxious to avoid strangers?”

“I did not hear anything about her being ill. She ate her dinner, I know.”

“Very right to notice that. I shall make you valuable in time. Mrs. Lygon evidently wishes not to be seen here. Well, now, go on. What was their conversation?”

“It was partly about yourself, Mr. Adair.”

“Not improbable. Well. They spoke bitterly of me, abused me, called me fiend, as you did? Tell me. I can bear it.”

“They said that you wereadwere a bad [sic] man.”

“Quite right. Go on.”

“When they dropped into whispers I could not very well hear, because I was a good way off; but I had no difficulty in understanding that you have been making Madame give you a great deal of money, and that you want more.”

“Come, I see that you are telling me the truth,” said Adair. “That is an accurate report of an accurate statement.”