Читать книгу A Miner's Million - John Monk Foster - Страница 8

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A day or two after the episode related in the last chapter, Walter Gray returned to Olsham Hall. Lady Ruth was still there, as were most of the other guests, and a few new ones had arrived.

When the rescue party and the rescued lady reached the pit bank Sir Wilton Haigh and other friends were found there anxiously awaiting tidings, and fervent words and hearty handshakings greeted the appearance of Walter Gray and Lady Ruth. The baronet pressed Walter to return to the Hall immediately with the others, but although it would have been very pleasant to do so, Gray declined. So he bade Sir Wilton and Ruth Gordan good night, promising to get back to the Hall as soon as possible, and then Haigh and his guests drove away.

When Walter and Ruth said good night to each other and shook hands there was a tenderness in their tones, and their hands met with a warm, clinging clasp, and unlocked themselves reluctantly.

Walter Gray declined to return to the Hall at once, because he had his own affairs to attend to. Though the explosion had not been as destructive as at first thought, still it had done a great amount of damage, and it would be a week or so before the exploded mine would be ready for the miners.

For a few days following the explosion Walter was down the pit often, helping his men with his coolness and courage, and quick, practical knowledge. The pitmen who had constituted the rescue party had received the reward promised them, and, of course, this liberality had enhanced Walter's popularity.

With Jack Mathas—the young pitman already mentioned—Walter was especially pleased, and he marked him out for some official capacity when opportunity offered.

When matters at the collieries resumed their ordinary course, Walter returned to Olsham Hall, eager to renew his acquaintance with Ruth Gordan. The visit to the mine, and the events arising therefrom, had given an impetus to Walter's passion for Lady Ruth. He was almost glad the explosion had occurred, for it had given him a glimpse of her ladyship's heart. The words she had uttered on finding herself safe in Walter's arms had been carefully preserved in his memory. The keen hearing of the lover detected more than the mere delight of being saved in Ruth Gordan's spontaneous cry on awakening from the slumber into which she had sunk after swooning.

Walter's appearance at the Hall was welcomed by Sir Wilton and his guests. The male visitors dubbed him a "decent fellow," and the ladies said he was nice. And "nice" is a very comprehensive term when used by a fair woman.

Lady Ruth was out driving in company with her hostess when Walter arrived at the Hall. But he found Sir Wilton Haigh lounging in the billiard-room, watching Dick Bandon and Professor Ruxton play.

"Hello, Gray, is that you?" cried Bandon, in his hearty off-hand fashion; "glad to see you again, and for more reasons than one. Every one of Haigh's fair guests has been pestering me for the last day or two for details of our adventure in your mine. And, of course, I could only tell them half the tale. Lady Ruth might have helped me out, but she wouldn't—couldn't get her to say a word about it, and that's strange, for I quite expected her to make much of her adventure—that's nine I've made Ruxton, two pots and in off the red."

Walter shook hands with his friends, and made some reply to Bandon's rattle. Professor Ruxton cannoned and inadvertently potted his opponent; then, giving a miss in baulk, he enquired:—

"I suppose the fossil was shattered by the explosion, Gray?"

"Oh, no! 'Twas not injured at all. I had it brought out of the pit yesterday morning, and it lies on the bank now in as perfect a condition as when you saw it. It has caused quite a sensation amongst the Torleigh folks, many hundreds of them having come to look at it; and the theories invented by the sightseers to account for its origin would amuse, if they did not instruct, men of science. Many regard the fossil as an accidental formation, but old Dog Dick—one of my workmen—stoutly asserts that it was washed down a big crack in the earth at the time of the Noachian deluge. And the shrewd fellow supports his theory by pointing out that a fault or break in the strata occurs close to where the saurian was discovered."

"And may I ask?" said the scientist, balancing his cue for a delicate stroke, "what you intend doing with it?"

"Certainly. I intend to offer it to the Curator of the Derby Museum."

"In Liverpool?"

"Yes."

"But there is a very good specimen of the saurian type there already."

"In that case I'll offer it elsewhere."

"If you don't think of keeping it yourself," said Ruxton, "I should like it very much."

"I shall be very much pleased if you will accept it," Walter replied at once.

Just then Gray glanced through the window of the billiard-room, and he saw an open carriage rolling up the drive. In it were seated his hostess and Lady Ruth Gordan. He muttered some excuse, and left the room rather hastily.

Walter was just in time to hand the ladies from the carriage. Lady Haigh spoke a few warm words of welcome, and then swept into the house, leaving Walter and Ruth alone.

"How shall I thank you for saving me the other day?" Lady Ruth said, when the other women had disappeared. "I cannot express the great debt of thanks I owe you. But I know you will understand me."

There was a something in the beautiful woman's tones that went right to Walter's heart, and the glad, shy look in Ruth Gordan's eyes was even more potent than her words.

"Not another word of thanks," he blurted out. "You repaid me amply when you mentioned my name."

"When I?" she began questioningly.

"When I found you after the explosion," he explained.

She remembered and blushed fiercely at the recollection of her unguarded utterance. He noted her confusion with keen delight, and he covertly suggested a stroll by remarking—-"How well the old garden looks, doesn't it?"

"Yes," she replied, and they walked slowly in the direction of the place he had named.

Olsham Hall possessed the usual number of glasshouses, in which were preserved plenty of foreign fruit-trees and rare flowering-plants. It had also a modern garden cut up in geometric patterns, each ablaze at the proper season with flowers, but besides these it had an extensive orchard, or old garden, as it was called, and it was a delightful place to stroll, lounge, read, dream, or smoke in, and Sir Wilton's guests did all these things there each according to his or her humour.

The old garden was all the prettier on account of nature having nearly all her own way there. A tall hawthorn hedge surrounded it, and under this hedge and about the foot of the trees long rank grass and delicate green ferns luxuriated. Here and there were to be seen rose-trees covered with cream-coloured and sweet moss-roses. Old-fashioned flowers, such as violets, sweet-williams, and marigolds brightened the sward and scented the air.

Here it was that Walter Gray and Ruth Gordan walked, one burning with love, and eager to declare it, the other in a mood for listening to such a declaration. Lady Ruth was in love, or nearer it than she had ever been before. Her pulse quickened when his hand touched her own, and when her eyes met his; and his low clear tones stirred her as no other man's voice did.

Walter pulled a late rosebud, broke off the top of a fern and offered the little bouquet to Ruth. She took it with lowly spoken thanks, their hands and eyes met, and Walter was on the verge of a proposal, when his matrimonial intentions were suddenly driven away by the appearance of several ladies and a gentleman who were lounging, some on garden seats, others on the grass.

Walter and her ladyship walked into this group ere they were aware of it, and it was no easy matter to get away again. So they made themselves comfortable on the grass, and Walter was introduced to a gentleman—one of Sir Wilton's latest visitors.

"Lord Arrodale, this is Mr. Gray, of whom we were talking yesterday—Mr. Gray, the Earl of Arrodale."

Walter bowed to his lordship, and wondered where he had heard the name before. He had heard the name before and often, it even sounded familiar in his ears. Of that he felt sure, but he failed to remember where and when.

Lord Arrodale was a little man of forty-five or fifty. There was nothing whatever distinguished about him save his flow of speech, and that was remarkable enough. He had a soft, fluent tongue; and a large and very varied experience supplied him with materials for speechifying. His lordship was a benedict, having ennobled a parvenu's daughter half a dozen years ago, and since his marriage his life had been easier than before. He was a noted raconteur, and he told one or two of his best stories to Walter, to whom he made himself very pleasant.

Presently the ladies made their excuses and disappeared. Lord Arrodale gave Walter an excellent cigar, lit one of his own, and said point blank:—

"So you are old Jacob Gray's nephew and heir?"

Walter was busy lighting his cigar, but he paused in the operation and stared at his questioner. But his lordship of Arrodale seemed to be communing with himself. Then Gray said:—

"Yes; I am old Jacob Gray's nephew and heir. Did you know my uncle?"

"Yes, and his son also. I wonder what became of poor old Wilson Gray. What sprees we have had together."

Walter remembered now. This then was one of his cousin's wild companions—the bosom friend of whom he had heard his uncle speak often and bitterly, for Jacob Gray always believed in his heart that his lad had been led astray by his aristocratic friends.

"I cannot tell you what became of Wilson," said Walter, "but I Imagine that he went away to some foreign country and died there."

"You think he is dead, then?"

"I cannot believe otherwise. When my uncle died some five or six years ago I advertised for my cousin in all the leading newspapers, and I think he would have seen or heard of the advertisement had he been alive."

"A fellow may ramble out of the reach of such things, and may perhaps ignore them if they come to his knowledge," said his lordship, reflectively. "When you advertise for a man his coming to order depends on what you want him for. And," continued Lord Arrodale in an apologetic tone, "you will pardon my saying that there was little to bring Wilson Gray back to England had he been alive, and aware that you wanted him."

"You are mistaken, Lord Arrodale, for there was much to induce my cousin to return," Walter replied curtly.

"Perhaps there was," the other retorted drily, "but I don't quite see it."

"You read the advertisement, I suppose?"

"Can't say that I did—wasn't in England five years ago."

"In that case your lack of perception is understandable. The advertisement stated that my uncle Jacob Gray was dead, and that his son was wanted as the heir of all his father's wealth."

"But I thought you were the sole heir?"

"Jacob Gray left his riches to his son provided he claimed them within five years of his father's death. After that I became the heir, or, rather, the possessor."

"Then poor old Wilson must be dead, sure enough, or nothing would have kept him away from his pater's million. What an unlucky devil he was to die and miss such a fortune. How we could have enjoyed life together had he only turned up. Wilson wasn't a bad fellow, I assure you. Many a hole he pulled me out of, and I never had the chance to repay him."

"You and Wilson were very intimate, I suppose?" Walter remarked to his lordship, who had fallen into a fit of reflection.

"Intimate! I should think we were. We lived in common nearly for several years. We shared the same school, the same college, often the same bed, and always the same purse; but I must admit that I dipped into Wilson's coffer more often than he did in mine. There wasn't an atom of selfishness in him, blow me if there was! And the handsomest fellow that ever stept in the bargain."

"You would hear of his sudden disappearance?"

"Yes, and I was aware of the cause. He dropped me a word before he went. He mentioned the great mistake he had made, and he regretted the act as soon as he committed it."

"Did he not write to you again to say where he was?"

"Never a word reached me, and I never learned where he had gone to—hillo! here's our host and a light of the scientific firmament. Try a cigar, you, too"—offering his open case with a graceful ease, the result of a quarter of a century of practice, "these of mine beat even your choice Regalias, Haigh."

The conversation became general when the baronet and Professor Ruxton joined them. Walter learned nothing more of his cousin, nor had his lordship anything more to tell him.

The mellow autumn days slipped away and time only increased Walter's passion for Ruth Gordan. To such a pitch had his love grown that he only waited for a suitable opportunity to reveal it, and his chance at last came.

One morning Lady Ruth strolled out alone in the old garden. She had with her Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, and selecting a comfortable seat on a clump of fern at the foot of a big shady chesnut, she opened her book and commenced to read. Lady Ruth added to her accomplishments a taste for, almost a love of poetry. She admired Swinburne for his warm, sensuous, and sweetly swelling lines, having read almost every line he had written. She did not concern herself at all with his philosophy; she cared only for the music he had created.

'Twas a splendid morning. The soft autumn sunshine poured through the foliage above Ruth, making a beautiful network of sheen and shadow about the bewitching gipsy who sat, or rather reclined, at the foot of the tree, apparently entirely oblivious of the pretty picture she made. She was nearer to Love's magical temple than ever, and she had sought and found amatorial verse. She was absorbing the mingled beauty and sweetness of "The Triumph of Time," and her beauteous face was eloquent with emotion and absolutely fascinating.

Sir Wilton Haigh's male guests were all supposed to be making havoc amongst his partridges; but one of them at least had taken mercy on the birds, for Walter Gray was strolling towards Ruth Gordan, his fowling-piece slung carelessly over his shoulder.

Walter stepped quietly along, the thick grass deadening the sound of his feet, and he reached the side of the woman he loved without arousing her attention. Enthralled by the poem Ruth read on, her full red lips quivering now and again as the passion of the verse moved her.

In silence he gazed upon her for a few moments, scarcely able to resist an impulse to take her in his arms and press his lips to hers. Then he spoke, and his feelings found expression in familiar and beautiful words. He quoted the words with which Adonais opens his master song—

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

It's loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into—"

"Well, I declare! How long have you been here, Mr. Gray?" and Ruth stared at him with the prettiest expression of surprise in her big brown eyes.

"Well, perhaps half a minute."

"No longer?"

"Hardly so long; and I am sorry now that I disturbed you."

"Why?"

"Because you looked so—so——" and he stammered woefully.

"So what?" she asked in a charmingly naive manner.

"So bewitchingly beautiful," he exclaimed very warmly.

"Mr. Gray!" she said, with a deprecatory shrug of her pretty shoulders.

"It's true," he rejoined, still more warmly, taking a step towards her.

"I know that," she replied frankly; "still, you ought not to have told me."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Really, Mr. Gray, your ignorance of womankind amuses me. Have you yet to learn that only plain women care for flattery? The strong hardly care to be told of their strength, and a really beautiful woman secure in the possession of rare personal attractions is indifferent to flattery."

"But I know more than one pretty woman who has no distaste for praise."

"No doubt pretty women may care for it, for almost all pretty women are vain, and often intolerably so. But you will remember that I spoke only of beautiful women, Mr. Gray."

"You are a witch, Lady Ruth!" he cried, devouring her with his admiring eyes.

"Is that your honest opinion?" she asked, playing with the tapering frond of a fern.

"It is; and you are the most dangerous member of all your sisterhood."

"Then I trust you will not turn witch-finder, and have me consumed at the stake, as my kinswomen were in the good old days."

"No fear of that, for modern witches have reversed the ancient process."

"Indeed! Do tell me all about it, Mr. Gray. You have quite interested me. Will you not explain the transition. I feel great interest in everything pertaining to my tribe."

"Well, in olden times the men set fire to the witches—to-day the witches set the men on fire. Is it not so?"

"Very clever, Mr. Gray; very clever, indeed," and she rippled forth a sweet, silvery laugh. "I had no idea that you possessed such a turn for epigram. Poor fellows, they will feel very uncomfortable in a blaze, won't they?" and again she trilled a low sweet laugh.

Walter Gray's blood was dancing furiously through his veins. This woman's presence; her incomparable face, and frank, audacious naivete, filled his heart and brain with passion, and he longed to crush her fiercely to his breast, and cover her beautiful face with hot kisses.

"Why have you deserted Sir Wilton Haigh and your fellow sportsmen, Mr. Gray?" she queried, for he was silently contemplating her as though he were meditating something of importance.

"Shall I manufacture an evasive answer to cover my real motive, or do you prefer to hear the plain and honest truth?"

"Of course, I'll have the honest truth."

"Then I'll give it to you. I deserted my fellows and the partridges to look for you."

The fascinating gipsy knew well why Walter had stolen away from the shooting party, but it did not suit her purpose to make this fact known to him, so she lifted a pair of big brown eyes, in which showed a pretty mixture of surprise and simplicity, saying:—

"You left them to look for me?"

"Yes."

"Well, you have found me!"

"Ruth!" he cried, seizing her hands, "do you not know how madly I love you?"

"Yes, I do," she answered, looking him full in the face when he had expected her to hide her face and blushes.

"And, you love me too, don't you?" he asked earnestly, playing with the soft, white fingers that lay passively in his hands.

"I am not quite sure yet, Walter. Oh, don't."

He had circled her soft yielding form with his arms and crushed her hungrily to him, and he was kissing her madly, as women love to be kissed.

Silence. Neither uttered a word to break the spell. Walter felt her heart beating against his own; her peerless face lay on his shoulder, and in the delirium of his passionate love he hissed her soft, full red lips with all a fond lover's keen delight.

A pause, and then he said:—

"You will be my wife, soon, Ruth, won't you, darling?"

"I will not."

"Why? darling, why?"

"Because you haven't a decent house to live in. Lady Haigh tells me that your house at Torleigh is little better than an old barn; fit for a Town Councillor, or an Alderman with small means, but hardly suited to the richest coalowner in Lancashire."

"You only object to the house, then?"

"And the shire. I am an exotic, and should fade away soon if permanently fixed in Lancashire soil. And surely you don't mean to bury yourself all your life in this dull, out-of-the-world place? You are ambitious, I know, and seem intended for a legislator. Why shouldn't you sit in the next Parliament as Sir Wilton Haigh's colleague, instead of the boorish ex-grocer who now degrades the seat?"

"If you will only promise to be my wife I will either buy or build you a palace in some of the southern shires, if half a million will do it. I have been very busy at Torleigh lately sinking new shafts and building schools for my workmen's children. But I have no intention of making Torleigh my home. My uncle was content to live in the town where he had built his fortune, and he never dreamt of investing his money in land. But I intend to do so for various reasons. There are several fine estates in the market, and I had already fixed on one of them. If it suits you I will purchase it at once. I saw it advertised in yesterday's Manchester Examiner. Here is the advertisement. I will read it for you. I tore it from the paper."

He read the following newspaper notice to Lady Ruth, who listened most attentively to it from beginning to end:—

"Messrs. Streetam & Newbon are honoured with instructions to sell by auction at the Mart, London, on November 24, at 2 p.m. (unless previously sold) the mansion, park, and estate known as Aldayne Priory, in Yorkshire, for several centuries the family seat of the Adaigh family (Lord Adaigh, temp. Charles I., Earl of Lhandale, temp. George I.) This magnificent freehold landed estate, with its numerous lordships and manors, covers an area of about 5,400 acres, chiefly fine pastures and rich farm lands. It is situate in the parishes of Aldayne, Yaxby, and Norcombe, and Aldayne Railway Station is on the estate. The metropolis is within half a dozen hours' journey of the house. The estate is divided into seventeen large farms and several smaller enclosures, with good homesteads and necessary buildings. Situate within the noble park of about 900 acres, freely adorned with lofty timber, and diversified with woods and coverts, is the mansion-house of Aldayne, named The Priory, a substantial stone building, at once massive, ancient, spacious, and attractive in character, which cannot fail to command the attention of the archaeologist and men of taste. The stabling is extensive, the outbuildings plentiful, and there are three approaches, with lodges, the principal one to the main entrance leading past the village of Aldayne and the pretty old Church of Mary Magdalene, and then under an arched way of stone of almost a defensive character, and so into the quadrangular space in front of the Priory door, with the beautiful park opening out a view of great charm. To the south-west, a few hundred yards from the house, is a lake of four acres, fed by the Trenk, a tributary of the noble Zorne, which is only a couple of miles away. The former stream runs right through the estate, washing the western wall of the Priory.

"On an island in the lake is an heronry, one of the few remaining in the country; the wild birds, with the herd of deer in the park have been from time immemorial attached to Aldayne. The manor houses at Yaxby and Norcombe are fine old stone-built appanages of the estate. The rent-roll at the present time, without the mansion, the shootings, and other sources of income, is about £7,450 per annum."

"Why," cried Lady Ruth when Walter had concluded, "it's Colonel Villier's place. What's the matter with him, I wonder, that he is about to sell it?"

"Won't be the same place, Ruth. Aldayne Priory is the family seat of the Adaigh family, according to this advertisement. I once met a Colonel Villiers."

"It was the family seat of that family, but the Colonel bought the Priory about ten years ago. Have you seen the place? I was was there last autumn but one."

"Haven't seen the Priory, but thought of doing so in a day or two. What sort of a place is it?"

"One of the prettiest spots I ever saw. The Colonel neglected the place a little, I daresay, still it was charming. It has one great fault, however."

"What's that?"

"It's distance from London. If Aldayne Priory were situated in one of the southern shires—say, Devon or Dorset—'twould be simply perfect."

"If Yorkshire doesn't suit you I'll look elsewhere, darling," Walter said with all a lover's enthusiasm, "I daresay there are places to be bought in the shires you mentioned?"

"Oh, don't let me influence your selection," Lady Ruth said with pretty emphasis.

"But I only care to please you."

"Then purchase Aldayne Priory."

"I will. And when will you become its mistress?"

"As soon as you make the Priory habitable. There—will that satisfy you? I ought to have stood out for a year's engagement, but I—yes, I'll admit it now—I love you, and will let you have your way?"

He drew her to him again, and she hid her fair face against his breast. Walter was very happy at that moment, and proud of the beauty he had won.