Читать книгу The Nether Millstone - Fred M. White - Страница 10

A sense of blinding, unreasonable anger held Ralph for the moment. He was doing nothing wrong. He was acting entirely for the best, and here he was taken under the most shameful conditions--a miserable, degraded thief in the night. From the coldness of Mary's voice, from the scorn in her eyes, he could read the reflection of her thoughts. And yet he was acting from the highest and most honourable motives. Surely no man was ever impelled by a loftier idea of self-sacrifice.

"I ask what you are doing," Mary repeated. "Do not tax my patience too far."

There was no mistaking the menace in those clear-cut tones. Thus would the daughter of the house of Dashwood address a burglar or other midnight intruder. Ralph felt that she would have been not in the least afraid to face a felon of that type; his face tingled as he felt himself set down in the same category. He cudgelled his brains for some plausible explanation which should be anything but the right one. The edge of the failing moon still left a shaft of pallid light shining through the great stained glass window; it flung into high relief the arms and motto of the family of Dashwood. And those arms and that motto belonged to the man who stood there with the shamefaced air of a boy caught in a fault.

"I am still waiting for you to speak," Mary went on. "It is possible that there may be some explanation of this amazing conduct of yours."

The cold, proud voice seemed to doubt it all the same. And yet one word would have swept all the clouds of suspicion away. Ralph knew that it lay in his power to bring that white, haughty figure to her knees; one inkling of the truth and the whole situation was changed. For all this belonged to Ralph; Mary was no more than an honoured guest in the house. Yes, it all belonged to him, the grand old house, the matchless pictures, the furniture from the time of Elizabeth, the great sweeps of upland country, and the farms lying snug under their red roofs.

A few words spoken, and what a difference there would be! Those words meant that Ralph would have held out his hands and asked Mary to come and help him to reign here. Ay, and she would have come, too. Her point of view would be entirely changed. And she must love him. Indeed, he had more than a feeling that she loved him now, without being aware of the state of her affections. Her heart would go out to him, and there would be peace and happiness for evermore.

The temptation was great, so great that the beads of perspiration stood out on Ralph's forehead. But he crushed the temptation down; his pride came to his assistance. No, when Mary came to love, she should love the man for his own sake, she should tell him so, and Dashwood should be as nothing in comparison.

"I came here to look for something," Ralph said at length.

"Indeed! Judging by what you hold in your hand I should say that you have found it. How did you manage to obtain entrance to the house?"

"Quite a simple matter," Ralph replied. "I climbed on to the leads outside the big window. By pressing a knob outside, the window can be made to open."

"Really! I have lived here practically all my life, and I was not aware of that fact. For an absolute stranger, your knowledge of the house is exceedingly comprehensive. May I ask if you have found what you were looking for?"

"I have," Ralph said huskily. "Permit me to replace it in the old chest. Tomorrow, if your father is well enough, I will see him and explain. I beg to assure you that I have what criminal lawyers call a perfect answer to the charge."

"And you ask me to believe this?" Mary burst out passionately. "How do I know that you are not one of those who are in league against us? How do I know that your indignation against Horace Mayfield is not all assumed?"

"How do you know that I am a gentleman?" Ralph retorted. "You cannot explain why."

"Indeed I cannot," Mary said bitterly. "I trusted you, I regarded you as a friend. I asked for your assistance and you promised it to me. In my heart I thanked God that I had a friend that I could rely upon. Actually, you caused me to forget the difference between our stations in life. And now!"

The girl paused, with something like tears in her voice. She looked very sweet and womanly at that moment, Ralph thought. He could afford to ignore the suggestion of the social gulf between them. The temptation to tell the truth came over him again, but once more he fought the impulse and conquered it.

"In spite of your distressful pride, you are a very woman," he said. "I am your friend and more than your friend. For your sake, there is nothing that I would not do. It is for your sake that I am here tonight, strange as it may seem. A little time ago, fate placed me in possession of certain information closely touching on the fortunes of your house. Please do not ask me to explain, for I cannot do so without spoiling everything. Call me a sentimentalist, if you like--perhaps the air of the grand old place has affected me. Anyway, there it is. I came here tonight to place you in possession of certain information that would for ever have rid you of the hateful presence of the man who calls himself Horace Mayfield. I did not want to place you under any kind of obligation, so I chose this method----"

"But why?" Mary exclaimed. "Why? Have you not saved my life twice? Could a million obligations like this increase the burden of my debt of gratitude to you?"

"That is right," Ralph admitted. "Call me a Quixote if you like. I am. The day will come when your eyes will be no longer blind, when love will come before everything. I have my own way of getting my ends, and am too proud to rely upon anything but myself. I am going to make you happy, and you are going to be the mainspring of that happiness."

Ralph spoke almost with the spirit of prophecy upon him. It would all come right some day, but he little dreamed of the trouble and tribulation that were near at hand. All he could see now was that Mary's eyes were growing dim and softer.

"My knowledge is going to save you," Ralph went on. "But I did not wish you to know that I had any hand in the business. As I said before, you must not ask me to explain. I want you to give me your hand, and to say that you regard me as being still beyond suspicion. Oh, I know that it is a deal to ask. But a long pedigree and the possession of a grand old house are not necessary to the honour of a man. I admit that I crept here like a thief in the night. If you charged me, I should have nothing to say, my character would be forever ruined. If you----"

Ralph paused, and his face flushed with annoyance. A petulant voice calling for Mary broke the silence--shuffling feet came along the corridor. Dishevelled and dazed, Sir George Dashwood stood there, candle in hand, looking from the glorious white figure with the rippling golden hair to the faint outline of Darnley. The old man was haggard and trembling, yet a certain dignity sustained him.

"I have called you three times," he said. "I needed you, my child. I woke up with my head better and a raging thirst upon me. Then I thought that I heard voices here and I came out. The situation, Mr. Darnley, is singular. Permit me to remind you that it is not the usual thing----"

The speaker paused. He seemed to be struggling for words to express his feelings.

"Quite so, Sir George," Ralph said eagerly. "I--came back for something. I helped you into the house after your illness overcame you. Forgive me if I seem to have stayed a little too long in my anxiety to be of assistance. If you will take my advice you will go back to your room without delay."

Sir George muttered something to the effect that he was very tired. He babbled about cool springs in the woods, he accepted Mary's arm as a weary child might do. It seemed almost impossible to believe that this was the sprightly, gallant figure that Ralph had known in Paris so short a time ago. But when Ralph had gone by the way in which he had come, and once more Sir George was in his bedroom, a change came over him. He eagerly drank the soda-water that Mary had procured for him.

"No, no," he cried, "tired as I am, I cannot sleep yet. I was half asleep, I was between waking and dreaming, and I was dying of thirst. I came out into the corridor and saw you standing there with Ralph Darnley. There were certain words that seemed to be burned into my brain with letters of fire. You were angry with him, and yet he was going to be a friend to us. That was no common thief in the night, Mary. What was it he found? What was it that was going to rid us of the hateful presence of Horace Mayfield? Don't tell me that I was dreaming, don't say that it was all a cruel delusion on my part. The secret, the secret, girl."

The words came like a torrent. Out of his white and haggard face, Dashwood's eyes gleamed like restless stars on a windy night. The clutch on the girl's arm was almost painful in its intensity. Mary wondered why she was trembling so.

"Hush," she said. "You must sleep now, or you will be really ill again. Leave it till the morning, when you will be better able to understand. I cannot tell you now; indeed, I know no more than you do yourself. But now you must go to sleep!"