CHAPTER XVI
THE END OF ONE TOUR: THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER
Cynthia found him lying in a darkened room. The nurse had just raised
some of the blinds; a dismal day was drawing to its close, and more
light was needed ere she could distinguish marked bottles, and doses,
and the rest of the appurtenances of dangerous illness.
An English nurse would have forbidden the presence of a stranger; this
French one acted with more discretion if less of strict science.
"Madam is his sister, perhaps?" she whispered.
"No."
"A relative, then?"
"No; a woman who loves him."
That heartbroken admission told the whole tale to the quick-witted
Frenchwoman. There had been a duel; one man was seriously injured; the
other, she had heard, was also receiving medical attention in another
hotel--the _temoins_, wistful to avoid the interrogation of the law,
had so arranged--and here was the woman who had caused the quarrel.
Well, such was the will of Providence! These things had been since man
and woman were expelled from Paradise--for the nurse, though a devout
Catholic, suspected that Genesis had suppressed certain details of the
first fratricide--and would continue, she supposed, until the
Millennium.
She nodded cheerfully.
"There is every reason to hope, but he must not be disturbed--not
excited, that is," she added, seeing the wan agony in Cynthia's face.
The girl tiptoed to the side of the bed. Medenham's eyes were closed,
but he was muttering something. She bent and kissed his forehead, and
a strange smile broke through the tense lines of pain. Even in his
semi-conscious state he felt the touch of those exquisite lips.
"My Lady Alice!" he said.
She choked back a sob. He was dreaming of "Comus"--standing with her
in the ruined banqueting hall of Ludlow Castle.
"Yes, your Lady Alice," she breathed.
A slight quiver shook him.
"Don't tell Cynthia," he said brokenly. "She must never know.... Ah,
if I hadn't slipped, I would have quieted his viperish tongue.... But
Cynthia must not know!"
"Oh, my dear, my dear, Cynthia does know! It is you who know not. Kind
Heaven, let him live! Grant that I may tell him all that I know!"
She could not help it; the words welled forth of their own accord; but
the nurse touched her arm gently.
"It is a little fever," she whispered with ready sympathy. "Soon it
will pass. He will sleep, and, when he awakes, it is perhaps
permissible that you should speak to him."
* * * * *
Well, it was permissible. The age of miracles had not passed for those
two. Even the experienced doctor marveled at the strength of a man who
at four o'clock in the morning could have a sword driven through the
tissues in perilous proximity to the right lung, and yet, at nine
o'clock on that same night, was able to announce an unalterable
resolution to get up and dress for breakfast next day. That, of
course, was a pleasing fiction intended for Cynthia's benefit. It
served its purpose admirably. The kindly nurse displayed an unexpected
firmness in leading her to her own room, there to eat and sleep.
For Cynthia had an ordeal to face. Many things had been said in the
car during that mad rush to Folkestone, and on board the steamer which
ferried Dale and herself to Boulogne she had wrung from the taciturn
chauffeur a full, true, and particular account of Medenham, his
family, and his doings throughout as much of his life as Dale either
knew or guessed. By the time they reached Boulogne she had made up her
mind with a characteristic decision. One long telegram to her father,
another to Lord Fairholme, caused heart-burning and dismay not alone
in certain apartments of the Savoy Hotel, but in the aristocratic
aloofness of Cavendish Square and Curzon Street. As a result, two
elderly men, a younger one, in the person of the Marquis of Scarland,
and two tearful women--Lady St. Maur and Mrs. Leland--met at Charing
Cross about one o'clock in the morning to travel by special train and
steamer. Another woman telegraphed from Shropshire saying that baby
was better, and that she would follow by the first steamer on Sunday.
Mrs. Devar did not await developments. She fled, dinnerless, to some
burrow in Bayswater.
These alarums and excursions were accompanied by the ringing of
telephones and the flight of carriages back and forth through muddy
London, and Cynthia was called on to deal with a whole sheaf of
telegrams which demanded replies either to Dover or to Scarland Towers
in Shropshire.
With a man like Vanrenen at one end, however, and a woman like his
daughter at the other, it might be fairly assumed that even the most
complex skein of circumstances might be resolved from its tangle.
As a matter of curious coincidence, the vessel which carried Marigny
to England passed in mid-Channel its sister ship conveying the
grief-stricken party of relatives to France. It happened, too, that
the clouds from the Atlantic elected to hover over Britain rather
than France, and when Cynthia stood on the quay to meet the incoming
steamer, a burst of sunshine from the east gave promise of a fine if
somewhat blustery day.
Five pairs of eyes sought her face anxiously while the vessel was
warping to the quay opposite the Gare Maritime. They looked there for
tidings, and they were not disappointed.
"That's all right," said Vanrenen with an unwonted huskiness in his
voice. "Cynthia wouldn't smile if she hadn't good news."
"Thank God for that!" muttered the Earl, bending his head to examine a
landing ticket, the clear type of which he was utterly unable to read.
"I never thought for a minute that any Frenchman could kill George,"
cried Scarland cheerfully.
But the two women said nothing, could see nothing, and the white-faced
but smiling Cynthia standing near the shoreward end of the gangway had
vanished in a sudden mist.
Of course, Marigny was right when he foresaw that Vanrenen could not
meet either Medenham or any of his relatives for five minutes without
his "poor little cobweb of intrigue" being dissipated once and
forever.
With the marvelous insight that every woman possesses when dealing
with the affairs of the man she loves, Cynthia combined the eloquence
of an orator with the practiced skill of a clever lawyer in revealing
each turn and twist of the toils which had enveloped her since that
day in Paris when her father happened to suggest in Marigny's hearing
that she might utilize his hired car for a tour in England, while he
concluded the business that was detaining him in the French Capital.
Nothing escaped her; she unraveled every knot; Medenham's few broken
words, supplemented by the letter to his brother-in-law which he told
her to obtain from Dale, threw light on all the dark places.
But the gloom had fled. It was a keenly interested, almost
light-hearted, little party that walked through the sunshine to the
Hotel de la Plage.
* * * * *
Dale, abashed, sheepish, yet oddly confident that all was for the best
in a queer world, met the Earl of Fairholme later in the day; his
lordship, who had been pining for someone to pitch into, addressed him
sternly.
"This is a nice game you've been playing," he said. "I always thought
you were a man of steady habits, a little given to horse-racing
perhaps, but otherwise a decent member of the community."
"So I was before I met Viscount Medenham, my lord," was the daring
answer. For Dale was no fool, and he had long since seen how certain
apparently hostile forces had adapted themselves to new conditions.
"Before you left him, you mean," growled the Earl. "What sort of sense
was there in letting him fight a duel?--it could have been stopped in
fifty different ways."
"Yes, my lord, but I never suspicioned a word of it till he went off
in the cab with them----"
The Earl held up a warning finger.
"Hush," he said, "this is France, remember, and _you_ are the
foreigner here. Where is my son's car?"
"In the garage at Folkestone, my lord."
"Well, you had better cross by an early boat to-morrow and bring it
here. You understand all the preliminaries, I suppose? Find out from
the Customs people what deposit is necessary, and come to me for the
money."
So it happened that when Medenham was able to take his first drive in
the open air, the Mercury awaited him and Cynthia at the door of the
hotel. It positively sparkled in the sunlight; never was car more
spick and span. The brasswork scintillated, each cylinder was
rhythmical, and a microscope would not have revealed one speck of dust
on body or upholstery.
* * * * *
On a day in July--for everybody agreed that not even a marriage should
be allowed to interfere with the Scottish festival of St. Grouse--that
same shining Mercury with the tonneau decorously cased in glass for
the hour, drew up at the edge of a red carpet laid down from curb
to stately porch of St. George's, Hanover Square, and Dale turned a
grinning face to the doorway when Viscount Medenham led his bride down
the steps through a shower of rice and good wishes.
Wedding breakfasts and receptions are all "much of a muchness," as the
Mad Hatter said to another Alice, and it was not until the Mercury was
speeding north by west to Scarland Towers, "lent to the happy pair
for the honeymoon" while Betty took the children to recuperate at the
seaside, that Cynthia felt she was really married.
"I have a bit of news for you," said her husband, taking a letter from
his pocket. "I received a letter by this morning's post. A heap of
others remain unopened till you and I have time to go through them;
but this one caught my attention, and I read it while I was dressing."
He had an excellent excuse for putting his arm round her waist while
he held the open sheet so that both might peruse it at the same time.
It ran:
MY DEAR VISCOUNT--Of course I meant to kill you, but fate
decided otherwise. Indeed, with my usual candor, which by
this time you may have learned to admire, I may add that
only the special kind of dog's luck which attaches itself to
members of my family, saved me from being killed by you. But
that is ancient history now.
I am glad to hear that your wound was not really serious.
There was no sense in merely crippling you--my only chance
lay in procuring your untimely demise. Having failed,
however, I want to tell you, with the utmost sincerity, that
I never had the slightest intention of carrying out my
abominable threat in regard to the fair lady who is now
Viscountess Medenham. Were you other than a heavy-witted and
thick-skinned Briton, you would have known that I was
goading you into issuing a challenge.
This piece of information is my wedding present; it is all I
can give, because, metaphorically speaking, I haven't a sou!
I am, as you see, domiciled in Brussels, where my car is
attached by an unsympathetic hotel proprietor. Still, I
am devoid of rancor, and mean to keep a sharp eye for a
well-favored and well-dowered wife; such a one, in fact, as
you managed to snap up under my very nose.
With a thousand compliments, I am,
Yours very sincerely,
EDOUARD MARIGNY.
P.S.--Devar went "steerage" to the United States when he
heard of our affair. He thought it was all up with you, and
with him.
"The wretch!" murmured Cynthia. "Can he really believe even yet that I
would have married him?"
"I don't care tuppence what he believes," said Medenham, giving her a
reassuring hug. "Indeed, I have a mind to write and ask him how much
he owes in that hotel. Don't you see, my dear, that if it hadn't been
for Marigny there was a chance that I might have left you at Bristol."
"Never!" cooed Cynthia.
"Well, now I have got you, I am beginning to imagine all sorts of
terrible possibilities which might have parted us. I remember
thinking, when my foot slipped...."
"Oh, don't!" she murmured. "I can't bear to hear of that. Sometimes,
in Calais, I awoke screaming, and then I knew I had seen it in my
dreams.... There, you have disarranged my hat!... But I don't think
much of _your_ budget, anyhow; mine is a great deal more to the point.
My father told me this morning that he is sure he will feel very
lonely now. He never meant, he said, to put anyone in my dear
mother's place, but he will miss me so greatly--that, perhaps, Mrs.
Leland----"
"By Jove," cried Medenham, "that will be splendid! I like Mrs.
Leland. At one time, do you know, I rather fancied she might
become my step-mother, now it seems I shall have to greet her as
a mother-in-law. She was bound to come into the family one way or
another. When is it to be?"
Cynthia laughed delightedly.
"Father looked _so_ confused when I asked him. Say, wouldn't it be a
joke if Simmonds brought them to Scarland Towers one day, and they
were announced by some solemn footman as 'Mr. and Mrs. Vanrenen'?"
"Cynthia, you _know_," he teased her.
"I don't know, but I am a good guesser," she said.
And she was.
THE END
A FEW
OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
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THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton
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THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller.
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SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller. Illustrated by Andre Castaigne.
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WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. Illustrated by Harrison
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A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of "Seven Days."
THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips.
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A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in political
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"DOC." GORDON. By Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman. Illustrated by Frank T.
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Against the familiar background of American town life, the author
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HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli.
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KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece.
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THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell. Illustrated by T. de
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A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi, a
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SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Illustrated by C. W. Relyea.
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HAPPY HAWKINS. By Robert Alexander Wason. Illustrated by Howard Giles.
A ranch and cowboy novel. Happy Hawkins tells his own story with such
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COMRADES. By Thomas Dixon, Jr. Illustrated by C. D. Williams.
The locale of this story is in California, where a few socialists
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The author leads the little band along the path of disillusionment,
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TONO-BUNGAY. By Herbert George Wells.
The hero of this novel is a young man who, through hard work, earns a
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Written with a frankness verging on Rousseau's, Mr. Wells still uses
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An entertaining book with both a story and a moral, and without a dull
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A HUSBAND BY PROXY. By Jack Steele.
A young criminologist, but recently arrived in New York city, is drawn
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LIKE ANOTHER HELEN. By George Horton. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
Mr. Horton's powerful romance stands in a new field and brings an
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THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde. Illustrated by T. de
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A novel tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle in the
two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two
gentlemen who loved one and the same lady.
A strong, masculine and persuasive story.
A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed some years
ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the maternal love and
splendid courage of a woman.
THE NOVELS OF GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
GRAUSTARK.
A story of love behind a throne, telling how a young American met a
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BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK.
Beverly is a bewitching American girl who has gone to that stirring
little principality--Graustark--to visit her friend the princess, and
there has a romantic affair of her own.
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS.
A young man is required to spend _one_ million dollars in one year in
order to inherit _seven_. How he does it forms the basis of a lively
story.
CASTLE CRANEYCROW.
The story revolves round the abduction of a young American woman, her
imprisonment in an old castle and the adventures created through her
rescue.
COWARDICE COURT.
An amusing social feud in the Adirondacks in which an English girl is
tempted into being a traitor by a romantic young American, forms the
plot.
THE DAUGHTER OF ANDERSON CROW.
The story centers about the adopted daughter of the town marshal in a
western village. Her parentage is shrouded in mystery, and the story
concerns the secret that deviously works to the surface.
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S.
The hero meets a princess in a far-away island among fanatically
hostile Musselmen. Romantic love making amid amusing situations and
exciting adventures.
NEDRA.
A young couple elope from Chicago to go to London traveling as brother
and sister. They are shipwrecked and a strange mix-up occurs on
account of it.
THE SHERRODS.
The scene is the Middle West and centers around a man who leads a
double life. A most enthralling novel.
TRUXTON KING.
A handsome good natured young fellow ranges on the earth looking for
romantic adventures and is finally enmeshed in most complicated
intrigues in Graustark.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN'S STORIES OF PURE DELIGHT
Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer
=THE OLD PEABODY PEW.= Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in
two colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens.
One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's
pen is made to bloom on Christmas Eve in the sweet freshness of an old
New England meeting house.
=PENELOPE'S PROGRESS.= Attractive cover design in colors.
Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever
and original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves
to the Scot and his land are full of humor.
=PENELOPE'S IRISH EXPERIENCES.= Uniform in style with ="Penelope's
Progress"=.
The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to
the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new
conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.
=REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM.=
One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic,
unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of
austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal
dramatic record.
=NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA.= With illustrations by F. C. Yohn.
Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through
various stages to her eighteenth birthday.
=ROSE O' THE RIVER.= With illustrations by George Wright.
The simple story of Rose, a country girl and Stephen a sturdy young
farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and
merges the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the
events with rapt attention.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
words and intent.
2. In the advertising pages, book titles that were underlined have
been indicated by an equal sign (=) preceding and following the
underlined text.