CHAPTER XXIX

EVENTS OF TUESDAY: THE TOILS CLOSING

This day began with a surprise. I found a letter on my breakfast-table

addressed to Edward Ducie, Esquire; and at first I was startled beyond

measure. "Conscience doth make cowards of us all!" When I had opened it,

it proved to be only a note from the lawyer, enclosing a card for the

Assembly Ball on Thursday evening. Shortly after, as I was composing my

mind with a segar at one of the windows of the sitting-room, and Rowley,

having finished the light share of work that fell to him, sat not far

off tootling with great spirit, and a marked preference for the upper

octave, Ronald was suddenly shown in. I got him a segar, drew in a chair

to the side of the fire, and installed him there--I was going to say, at

his ease, but no expression could be farther from the truth. He was

plainly on pins and needles, did not know whether to take or to refuse

the segar, and, after he had taken it, did not know whether to light or

to return it. I saw he had something to say; I did not think it was his

own something; and I was ready to offer a large bet it was really

something of Major Chevenix's.

"Well, and so here you are!" I observed, with pointless cordiality, for

I was bound I should do nothing to help him out. If he were, indeed,

here running errands for my rival, he might have a fair field, but

certainly no favour.

"The fact is," he began, "I would rather see you alone."

"Why, certainly," I replied. "Rowley, you can step into the bedroom. My

dear fellow," I continued, "this sounds serious. Nothing wrong, I

trust."

"Well, I'll be quite honest," said he. "I _am_ a good deal bothered."

"And I bet I know why!" I exclaimed. "And I bet I can put you to rights,

too!"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You must be hard up," said I, "and all I can say is, you've come to the

right place. If you have the least use for a hundred pounds, or any such

trifling sum as that, please mention it. It's here, quite at your

service."

"I am sure it is most kind of you," said Ronald, "and the truth is,

though I can't think how you guessed it, that I really _am_ a little

behind board. But I haven't come to talk about that."

"No, I dare say!" cried I. "Not worth talking about! But remember,

Ronald, you and I are on different sides of the business. Remember that

you did me one of those services that make men friends for ever. And

since I have had the fortune to come into a fair share of money, just

oblige me, and consider so much of it as your own."

"No," he said, "I couldn't take it; I couldn't, really. Besides, the

fact is, I've come on a very different matter. It's about my sister, St.

Ives," and he shook his head menacingly at me.

"You're quite sure?" I persisted. "It's here, at your service--up to

five hundred pounds, if you like. Well, all right; only remember where

it is when you do want it."

"O, please let me alone!" cried Ronald: "I've come to say something

unpleasant; and how on earth can I do it, if you don't give a fellow a

chance? It's about my sister, as I said. You can see for yourself that

it can't be allowed to go on. It's compromising; it don't lead to

anything; and you're not the kind of man (you must feel it yourself)

that I can allow my female relatives to have anything to do with. I hate

saying this, St. Ives; it looks like hitting a man when he's down, you

know; and I told the Major I very much disliked it from the first.

However, it had to be said; and now it has been, and, between gentlemen,

it shouldn't be necessary to refer to it again."

"It's compromising; it doesn't lead to anything; not the kind of man," I

repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe I understand, and shall make

haste to put myself _en regle_." I stood up and laid my segar down. "Mr.

Gilchrist," said I, with a bow, "in answer to your very natural

observations, I beg to offer myself as a suitor for your sister's hand.

I am a man of title, of which we think lightly in France, but of ancient

lineage, which is everywhere prized. I can display thirty-two

quarterings without a blot. My expectations are certainly above the

average: I believe my uncle's income averages about thirty thousand

pounds, though I admit I was not careful to inform myself. Put it

anywhere between fifteen and fifty thousand; it is certainly not less."

"All this is very easy to say," said Ronald, with a pitying smile.

"Unfortunately, these things are in the air."

"Pardon me--in Buckinghamshire," said I, smiling.

"Well, what I mean is, my dear St. Ives, that you _can't prove_ them,"

he continued. "They might just as well not be: do you follow me? You

can't bring us any third party to back you up."

"O, come!" cried I, springing up and hurrying to the table. "You must

excuse me!" I wrote Romaine's address. "There is my reference, Mr.

Gilchrist. Until you have written to him, and received his negative

answer, I have a right to be treated, and I shall see that you treat me,

as a gentleman."

He was brought up with a round turn at that. "I beg your pardon, St.

Ives," said he. "Believe me, I had no wish to be offensive. But there's

the difficulty of this affair; I can't make any of my points without

offence! You must excuse me, it's not my fault. But, at any rate, you

must see for yourself this proposal of marriage is--is merely

impossible, my dear fellow. It's nonsense! Our countries are at war; you

are a prisoner."

"My ancestor of the time of the Ligue," I replied, "married a Huguenot

lady out of the Saintonge, riding two hundred miles through an enemy's

country to bring off his bride; and it was a happy marriage."

"Well," he began; and then looked down into the fire and became silent.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, there's this business of--Goguelat," said he, still looking at

the coals in the grate.

"What!" I exclaimed, starting in my chair. "What's that you say?"

"This business about Goguelat," he repeated.

"Ronald," said I, "this is not your doing. These are not your own words.

I know where they came from: a coward put them in your mouth."

"St. Ives!" he cried, "why do you make it so hard for me? and where's

the use of insulting other people? The plain English is, that I can't

hear of any proposal of marriage from a man under a charge like that.

You must see it for yourself, man! It's the most absurd thing I ever

heard of! And you go on forcing me to argue with you, too!"

"Because I have had an affair of honour which terminated unhappily,

you--a young soldier, or next-door to it--refuse my offer? Do I

understand you aright?" said I.

"My dear fellow!" he wailed, "of course you can twist my words, if you

like. You _say_ it was an affair of honour. Well, I can't, of course,

tell you that--I can't--I mean, you must see that that's just the point!

Was it? I don't know."

"I have the honour to inform you," said I.

"Well, other people say the reverse, you see!"

"They lie, Ronald, and I will prove it in time."

"The short and the long of it is, that any man who is so unfortunate as

to have such things said about him is not the man to be my

brother-in-law!" he cried.

"Do you know who will be my first witness at the court? Arthur

Chevenix!" said I.

"I don't care!" he cried, rising from his chair and beginning to pace

outrageously about the room. "What do you mean, St. Ives? What is this

about? It's like a dream, I declare! You made an offer, and I have

refused it. I don't like it, I don't want it; and whatever I did, or

didn't, wouldn't matter--my aunt wouldn't hear of it anyway! Can't you

take your answer, man?"

"You must remember, Ronald, that we are playing with edged tools," said

I. "An offer of marriage is a delicate subject to handle. You have

refused, and you have justified your refusal by several statements:

first, that I was an impostor; second, that our countries were at war;

and third--No, I will speak," said I; "you can answer when I have

done,--and third, that I had dishonourably killed--or was said to have

done so--the man Goguelat. Now, my dear fellow, these are very awkward

grounds to be taking. From any one else's lips I need scarce tell you

how I should resent them; but my hands are tied. I have so much

gratitude to you, without talking of the love I bear your sister, that

you insult me, when you do so, under the cover of a complete impunity. I

must feel the pain--and I do feel it acutely--I can do nothing to

protect myself."

He had been anxious enough to interrupt me in the beginning; but now,

and after I had ceased, he stood a long while silent.

"St. Ives," he said at last, "I think I had better go away. This has

been very irritating. I never at all meant to say anything of the kind,

and I apologise to you. I have all the esteem for you that one gentleman

should have for another. I only meant to tell you--to show you what had

influenced my mind; and that, in short, the thing was impossible. One

thing you may be sure of: _I_ shall do nothing against you. Will you

shake hands before I go away?" he blurted out.

"Yes," said I, "I agree with you--the interview has been irritating. Let

bygones be bygones. Good-bye, Ronald."

"Good-bye, St. Ives!" he returned. "I'm heartily sorry."

And with that he was gone.

The windows of my own sitting-room looked towards the north; but the

entrance passage drew its light from the direction of the square. Hence

I was able to observe Ronald's departure, his very disheartened gait,

and the fact that he was joined, about half-way, by no less a man than

Major Chevenix. At this, I could scarce keep from smiling; so

unpalatable an interview must be before the pair of them, and I could

hear their voices, clashing like crossed swords, in that eternal

antiphony of "I told you," and "I told you not." Without doubt, they had

gained very little by their visit; but then I had gained less than

nothing, and had been bitterly dispirited into the bargain. Ronald had

stuck to his guns and refused me to the last. It was no news; but, on

the other hand, it could not be contorted into good news. I was now

certain that during my temporary absence in France, all irons would be

put into the fire, and the world turned upside down, to make Flora

disown the obtrusive Frenchman and accept Chevenix. Without doubt she

would resist these instances: but the thought of them did not please me,

and I felt she should be warned and prepared for the battle.

It was no use to try and see her now, but I promised myself early that

evening to return to Swanston. In the meantime I had to make all my

preparations, and look the coming journey in the face. Here in Edinburgh

I was within four miles of the sea, yet the business of approaching

random fishermen with my hat in the one hand and a knife in the other,

appeared so desperate, that I saw nothing for it but to retrace my steps

over the northern counties, and knock a second time at the doors of

Burchell Fenn. To do this, money would be necessary; and after leaving

my paper in the hands of Flora I had still a balance of about fifteen

hundred pounds. Or rather I may say I had them and I had them not; for

after my luncheon with Mr. Robbie I had placed the amount, all but

thirty pounds of change, in a bank in George Street, on a deposit

receipt in the name of Mr. Rowley. This I had designed to be my gift to

him, in case I must suddenly depart. But now, thinking better of the

arrangement, I despatched my little man, cockade and all, to lift the

fifteen hundred.

He was not long gone, and returned with a flushed face, and the deposit

receipt still in his hand.

"No go, Mr. Anne," says he.

"How's that?" I inquired.

"Well, sir, I found the place all right, and no mistake," said he. "But

I tell you what gave me a blue fright! There was a customer standing by

the door, and I reckonised him! Who do you think it was, Mr. Anne? W'y,

that same Red-Breast--him I had breakfast with near Aylesbury."

"You are sure you are not mistaken?" I asked.

"Certain sure," he replied. "Not Mr. Lavender, I don't mean, sir; I mean

the other party. 'Wot's he doing here?' says I. 'It don't look right.'"

"Not by any means," I agreed.

I walked to and fro in the apartment reflecting. This particular Bow

Street runner might be here by accident; but it was to imagine a

singular play of coincidence that he, who had met Rowley and spoken with

him in the "Green Dragon," hard by Aylesbury, should be now in Scotland,

where he could have no legitimate business, and by the doors of the bank

where Rowley kept his account.

"Rowley," said I, "he didn't see you, did he?"

"Never a fear," quoth Rowley. "W'y, Mr. Anne, sir, if he 'ad, you

wouldn't have seen _me_ any more! I ain't a hass, sir!"

"Well, my boy, you can put that receipt in your pocket. You'll have no

more use for it till you're quite clear of me. Don't lose it, though;

it's your share of the Christmas-box: fifteen hundred pounds all for

yourself."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Anne, sir, but wot for?" said Rowley.

"To set up a public-house upon," said I.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I ain't got any call to set up a

public-house, sir," he replied stoutly. "And I tell you wot, sir, it

seems to me I'm reether young for the billet. I'm your body-servant, Mr.

Anne, or else I'm nothink."

"Well, Rowley," I said, "I'll tell you what it's for. It's for the good

service you have done me, of which I don't care--and don't dare--to

speak. It's for your loyalty and cheerfulness, my dear boy. I had meant

it for you; but to tell you the truth, it's past mending now--it has to

be yours. Since that man is waiting by the bank, the money can't be

touched until I'm gone."

"Until you're gone, sir?" re-echoed Rowley. "You don't go anywheres

without me, I can tell you that, Mr. Anne, sir!"

"Yes, my boy," said I, "we are going to part very soon now; probably

to-morrow. And it's for my sake, Rowley! Depend upon it, if there was

any reason at all for that Bow Street man being at the bank, he was not

there to look out for _you_. How they could have found out about the

account so early is more than I can fathom; some strange coincidence

must have played me false! But there the fact is; and, Rowley, I'll not

only have to say farewell to you presently, I'll have to ask you to stay

indoors until I can say it. Remember, my boy, it's only so that you can

serve me now."

"W'y, sir, you say the word, and of course I'll do it!" he cried.

"'Nothink by 'alves,' is my motto! I'm your man, through thick and thin,

live or die, I am!"

In the meantime there was nothing to be done till towards sunset. My

only chance now was to come again as quickly as possible to speech of

Flora, who was my only practicable banker; and not before evening was it

worth while to think of that. I might compose myself as well as I was

able over the _Caledonian Mercury_, with its ill news of the campaign of

France and belated documents about the retreat from Russia; and, as I

sat there by the fire, I was sometimes all awake with anger and

mortification at what I was reading, and sometimes again I would be

three parts asleep as I dozed over the barren items of home

intelligence. "Lately arrived"--this is what I suddenly stumbled on--"at

Dumbreck's Hotel, the Viscount of Saint-Yves."

"Rowley," said I.

"If you please, Mr. Anne, sir," answered the obsequious, lowering his

pipe.

"Come and look at this, my boy," said I, holding out the paper.

"My crikey!" said he. "That's 'im, sir, sure enough!"

"Sure enough, Rowley," said I. "He's on the trail. He has fairly caught

up with us. He and this Bow Street man have come together, I would

swear. And now here is the whole field, quarry, hounds and hunters, all

together in this city of Edinburgh."

"And wot are you goin' to do now, sir? Tell you wot, let me take it in

'and, please! Gimme a minute, and I'll disguise myself, and go out to

this Dum--to this hotel, leastways, sir--and see wot he's up to. You put

your trust in me, Mr. Anne: I'm fly, don't you make no mistake about it.

I'm all a-growing and a-blowing, I am."

"Not one foot of you," said I. "You are a prisoner, Rowley, and make up

your mind to that. So am I, or next door to it. I showed it you for a

caution; if you go on the streets, it spells death to me, Rowley."

"If you please, sir," says Rowley.

"Come to think of it," I continued, "you must take a cold, or something.

No good of awakening Mrs. McRankine's suspicions."

"A cold?" he cried, recovering immediately from his depression. "I can

do it, Mr. Anne."

And he proceeded to sneeze and cough and blow his nose, till I could not

restrain myself from smiling.

"O, I tell you, I know a lot of them dodges," he observed proudly.

"Well, they come in very handy," said I.

"I'd better go at once and show it to the old gal, 'adn't I?" he asked.

I told him, by all means; and he was gone upon the instant, gleeful as

though to a game of football.

I took up the paper and read carelessly on, my thoughts engaged with my

immediate danger, till I struck on the next paragraph:--

"In connection with the recent horrid murder in the Castle, we are

desired to make public the following intelligence. The soldier,

Champdivers, is supposed to be in the neighbourhood of this city. He is

about the middle height, or rather under, of a pleasing appearance and

highly genteel address. When last heard of he wore a fashionable suit of

pearl-grey, and boots with fawn-coloured tops. He is accompanied by a

servant about sixteen years of age, speaks English without any accent,

and passed under the _alias_ of Ramornie. A reward is offered for his

apprehension."

In a moment I was in the next room, stripping from me the pearl-coloured

suit!

I confess I was now a good deal agitated. It is difficult to watch the

toils closing slowly and surely about you, and to retain your composure;

and I was glad that Rowley was not present to spy on my confusion. I was

flushed, my breath came thick; I cannot remember a time when I was more

put out.

And yet I must wait and do nothing, and partake of my meals, and

entertain the ever-garrulous Rowley, as though I were entirely my own

man. And if I did not require to entertain Mrs. McRankine also, that was

but another drop of bitterness in my cup! For what ailed my landlady,

that she should hold herself so severely aloof, that she should refuse

conversation, that her eyes should be reddened, that I should so

continually hear the voice of her private supplications sounding through

the house? I was much deceived, or she had read the insidious paragraph

and recognised the comminated pearl-grey suit. I remember now a certain

air with which she had laid the paper on my table, and a certain sniff,

between sympathy and defiance, with which she had announced it: "There's

your _Mercury_ for ye!"

In this direction, at least, I saw no pressing danger; her tragic

countenance betokened agitation; it was plain she was wrestling with her

conscience, and the battle still hung dubious. The question of what to

do troubled me extremely. I could not venture to touch such an intricate

and mysterious piece of machinery as my landlady's spiritual nature; it

might go off at a word, and in any direction, like a badly-made

firework. And while I praised myself extremely for my wisdom in the

past, that I had made so much a friend of her, I was all abroad as to my

conduct in the present. There seemed an equal danger in pressing and in

neglecting the accustomed marks of familiarity. The one extreme looked

like impudence, and might annoy; the other was a practical confession of

guilt. Altogether, it was a good hour for me when the dusk began to fall

in earnest on the streets of Edinburgh, and the voice of an early

watchman bade me set forth.

I reached the neighbourhood of the cottage before seven; and as I

breasted the steep ascent which leads to the garden wall, I was struck

with surprise to hear a dog. Dogs I had heard before, but only from the

hamlet on the hillside above. Now, this dog was in the garden itself,

where it roared aloud in the paroxysms of fury, and I could hear it

leaping and straining on the chain. I waited some while, until the

brute's fit of passion had roared itself out. Then, with the utmost

precaution, I drew near again, and finally approached the garden wall.

So soon as I had clapped my head above the level, however, the barking

broke forth again with redoubled energy. Almost at the same time, the

door of the cottage opened, and Ronald and the Major appeared upon the

threshold with a lantern. As they so stood, they were almost immediately

below me, strongly illuminated, and within easy earshot. The Major

pacified the dog, who took instead to low, uneasy growling intermingled

with occasional yelps.

"Good thing I brought Towzer!" said Chevenix.

"Damn him, I wonder where he is!" said Ronald; and he moved the lantern

up and down, and turned the night into a shifting puzzle-work of gleam

and shadow. "I think I'll make a sally."

"I don't think you will," replied Chevenix. "When I agreed to come out

here and do sentry-go, it was on one condition, Master Ronald: don't you

forget that! Military discipline, my boy! Our beat is this path close

about the house. Down, Towzer! good boy, good boy--gently, then!" he

went on, caressing his confounded monster.

"To think! The beggar may be hearing us this minute!" cried Ronald.

"Nothing more probable," said the Major. "You there, St. Ives?" he

added, in a distinct but guarded voice. "I only want to tell you, you

had better go home. Mr. Gilchrist and I take watch and watch."

The game was up. "_Beaucoup de plaisir!_" I replied, in the same tones.

"_Il fait un peu froid pour veiller; gardez-vous des engelures!_"

I suppose it was done in a moment of ungovernable rage; but in spite of

the excellent advice he had given to Ronald the moment before, Chevenix

slipped the chain, and the dog sprang, straight as an arrow, up the

bank. I stepped back, picked up a stone of about twelve pounds weight,

and stood ready. With a bound the beast landed on the cope-stone of the

wall; and, almost in the same instant, my missile caught him fair in the

face. He gave a stifled cry, went tumbling back where he had come from,

and I could hear the twelve-pounder accompany him in his fall. Chevenix,

at the same moment, broke out in a roaring voice: "The hell-hound! If

he's killed my dog!" and I judged, upon all grounds, it was as well to

be off.