A Gilded Serpent E-Book

Dick Donovan

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Before Sherlock Holmes there was Dick Donovan. The name struck terror into the hearts of thieves, murderers, fences, swindlers and criminals of every class, and his exploits gave delight to millions worldwide from 1888 onwards. This second volume of the Dick Donovan adventures collects three novels and a short story, written by British journalist and author of mystery and horror fiction J. E. Preston Muddock. For a time his detective stories were as popular as those of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Leseprobe

Contents

I. THE SECRET TRYST

II. THE RIVALSTHE RIVALS

III. IN THE SHADOWS

IV. AT THE "HALF MOON" INN

V. THE TANGLED SKEIN

VI. TOWARDS THE BRINK

VII. BETWEEN TWO FIRES

VIII. TRAGEDY

IX. THE CRIME

X. OUT INTO THE DARKNESS

XI. CHECKMATED

XII. STARTLING NEWS

XIII. A MATTER OF OPINION

XIV. INTRODUCES MISS MARTHA JOPLING

XV. MARTHA SPRINGS A MINE

XVI. "BOB FROM LONDON"

XVII. THE NET IS TIGHTENED

XVIII. PYM SEEKS ADVICE

XIX. TRYING THE SPRINGE

XX. SEEKING THE CLUE

XXI. DESPAIR'S VICTIM

XXII. THE LURE-BIRD

XXIII. A LITTLE SURPRISE

XXIV. STILL FLUTTERING ROUND THE CANDLE

XXV. THE CLUE IN THE ADDER'S NEST

XXVI. THE COMPACT

XXVII. THE PROUD FATHER

XXVIII. THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM

XXIX. BARONET AND WOODMAN

XXX. EXCITING MOMENTS

XXXI. THE SHADOWS DEEPEN

XXXII. THE RECOIL

XXXIII. DOUBLE-CHECK

XXXIV. THE END CROWNS THE WORK

I. THE SECRET TRYST

SOON after leaving the pleasantly situated country town of Ministerfield, by the high road running North, the traveller used to catch sight of the tower and turrets and upper windows of Runnell Hall, a fine old mansion, a portion of it dating back to Henry VIII’s time. It was conspicuously perched on a wooded eminence, and formed a very picturesque object in the landscape. At the present day it is no longer noticeable, as some years ago it was almost entirely destroyed by fire, and seems to have been rebuilt with little regard for taste, and none for picturesqueness. The place could be reached from the high road by a narrow field path, at right angles to the road itself. This field path still exists, and skirts and runs parallel to a famous wood covering something like fifty acres, and known as Black Lake Copse. It takes its name from a large, dark, romantic pool, nearly in the centre of the wood, the home of a great variety of water fowl. The wood is separated from the field path by a ditch and hedge bank; and the field, wood, and the land almost as far as the eye can reach was at the period of this story the property of Mr. Roland Lacey who resided at Runnell Hall, and of whom the reader will hear much as this narrative unfolds itself.

Half way between the high road and where the field path ends, there was an oak, five-barred gate, which gave access to the wood from that side. As the wood was a renowned game preserve, it was strictly guarded, and the gate in question was always kept padlocked. But now on a summer afternoon, as the shadows are lengthening over the land, and the westering sunlight turns the windows of Runnell Hall into plates of shining gold, a young and attractive woman stands at the gate which is swung half open. She is plainly attired in a grey canvas gown. A small jewelled brooch fastens a red ribbon at her throat, and a broad-brimmed bonnet, decorated with a few imitation cornstalks and poppies, covered her shapely head. She made a picture, did this simply attired girl, with her fair, fresh face, and deep-set, wistful brown eyes, and wealth of hair of a rich mahogany hue, the hue beloved of painters of old. She strained her eyes anxiously in the direction of the high road, occasionally turning and glancing nervously, as it seemed, towards the Hall. Her face was filled with an unmistakable expression of eager expectancy, while her movements indicated some restlessness and impatience and a certain suppressed nervous excitement. The girl was waiting for, and expecting to meet, a lover; a man against whom her people had set their faces. This sort of thing is common enough in human history, and history was repeating itself there as it did yesterday, as it will do to-morrow. She had come there clandestinely, and dreaded detection. She was the daughter, the only daughter, of the owner of the wood, Mr. Roland Lacey, of Runnell Hall. The absence of her father for a few days had facilitated her plans on this particular day, which was to be a red-letter one in the calendar of her life.

As she stands and gazes wistfully, eagerly, yearningly, towards the high road, from which she evidently expects her lover to appear, she is suddenly startled by the crackling of sticks, the rustling of leaves, which came from the wood. She turns with a half-frightened look on her pretty face, and then a little cry escapes her as she sees her lover approaching rapidly along the grass-grown path that runs through the wood. Like one fleeing towards a refuge from some threatening danger, she literally ran to him, with an exclamation–

“Oh, Jim, how you startled me!”

The next moment she was held fast in his arms and he was kissing her upturned face, dyed now to a vivid scarlet, after the manner of one who had been long separated.

He was a lusty-looking lad was Jim, with dark eyes and almost black hair. He had evidently been in some sun-land for his face was bronzed, until he could almost have passed for an Arab. A well-kept, dark moustache hid the curves of his mouth, but there was character in his face. It was not a face that, so to speak, gave itself away all at once. It was the face of a man of resolution, of one not lacking in courage; of one who might prove a very dangerous enemy, who certainly could be a staunch fiend, for there was honesty in those eyes; a frankness and fearlessness of expression that betokened an outspoken mind.

Norah Lacey was breathless with excitement; he held her and kissed her, and she remained passive.

“Why did you come through the wood, Jim? I expected you would have come by the field,” she said when she had somewhat recovered herself.

“I thought it safer to come by the wood, darling, and knowing every inch of it as I do, I felt I could dodge the keepers. Anyway, here I am, after two years’ separation from you. Two years! Good Lord, how have I existed? What a time it has been for me. How I have thought of you, longed for you, dreamed of you. And now at last after weary waiting I hold you in my arms.”

She released herself. She put her bonnet straight, smoothed back her disarranged hair, and, still panting, said–

“Jim, I am awfully wicked in disobeying my father, but what could I do, what could I do? When you wrote to me and told me you were back in England I could not resist your appeal. But, Jim dear, what is the use of it all? You know the difficulties that lie in the way of my becoming your wife. Oh, Jim, isn’t it awful? My father seems to be dead set against you; and I am afraid we shall have to say farewell.”

“And yet you love me,” he remarked with a touch of sternness.

“Yes, dear, I love you, love you, ah, so much. But you know my father’s wishes; you know how bitterly my people are opposed to you. I am an only daughter. I cannot break my father’s heart, and set myself in antagonism to the whole of my family. After all, a girl should not forget what she owes to her parents.”

“Yes, I admit that,” replied Jim thoughtfully. “But if you and I love each other, and you consider me essential to your happiness, then I maintain that parental objections ought to be waived unless they are fully justified. In this case they are not.”

Norah Lacey was evidently troubled; her face clearly indicated that. Probably she had some vague notion of being inconsistent, for while confessing her love for this man, she asserted that he and she could never hope for union. In tones of marked agitation she said–

“It’s awfully curious, Jim, that we should be here again in the old wood after two years’ separation. Tell me, dear, all that you have been doing since you went to Jamaica? Have you thought of me much? Do tell me everything. I’m just dying to know. Oh, Jim, I do wish my father would be more reasonable.”

“To tell you of my ups and downs, my hopes and struggles since I saw you last, is a long story. What I am chiefly concerned about now is to know your mind. You ask me if I have thought of you much. I wonder if I have ever forgotten you. I have yearned for you, dreamed of you, prayed for you. The separation has become unbearable, and I came back to England to know if you still loved me, if I might still hope, If not, then my fate is decided.”

“Oh, Jim!” she exclaimed with a catch in her breath, and laying her hand on his arm. “Oh, Jim, what do you mean?”

He drew her arm through his, and they walked towards the lovely and romantic lake, looking sombre and weird now in the evening light.

“I scarcely know what I mean,” he answered, still in thoughtful mood. “But if you believe that I love you, and you can’t help but believe it, imagine what I am likely to become if there is no hope of my obtaining you. A man who fails to get the woman to whom he has given his heart, and upon whom he has set his hopes, is never the same again. It breaks him, sours him, makes him reckless, and unless he has a tremendous amount of self-control, he’s apt to go to the devil.”

The girl’s distress was pitiable. In agreeing to meet him clandestinely she had yielded to an absolutely irresistible impulse. She had known Jim Spedwick nearly all her life. But unhappily differences had arisen between her family and his family, and he himself had fallen into disgrace through an incident which will be explained later on. This had made it desirable that he should leave the country, and his father had sent him to the West Indies, where for some time he had been with an uncle on a coffee plantation in Jamaica. Unknown to any one but his near relatives Jim had stolen back to England for a brief spell, and had written to Norah craving an interview. Hence the clandestine meeting this summer evening in the Black Lake Copse. Norah loved the man; she could not deceive herself on that point. But her father not only desired, but insisted that she should become the wife of one Randolph Pym, youngest son of Sir Yardley Pym, baronet, ex-M.P. and large land-owner, whose estates adjoined Mr. Lacey’s.

The situation, as we have admitted, was not a novel one, for human affairs must necessarily run very much in a groove, but it was none the less painful and distressing, for this young girl, as yet an infant in the eyes of the law, had to choose between this man whom she loved and her family. She was far too intelligent not to understand the issues at stake. Her own father and Jim’s father were at deadly enmity, and she knew that, as far as Mr. Lacey was concerned, reconciliation was out of the question; over and over again he had declared that he would “rather follow her to her grave than see her the wife of that young blackguard, Jim Spedwick.”

The hopelessness, difficulties and painfulness of the situation were only too apparent to the girl as, distressed and agitated she stood leaning on Jim’s arm and gazing abstractedly at the dark waters of the lake, as if she hoped to find some solution of the problem there.

A more lonely or romantic spot for a lover’s meeting could hardly have been imagined. Here in the tall rushes that fringed the pool the coots–shyest of all water birds–built their nests in security, while wild ducks and teal made the secluded spot their home. It was a strip of primitive nature in the heart of a rural county. The Copse being Mr. Lacey’s property, and private, Norah frequently visited the pool in the summer time, for she was fond of painting and working there, it was so quiet and peaceful, so romantic and dreamy that it appealed to her. But now her heart was heavy, and her brain was tortured with many conflicting thoughts. In yielding to the request of her lover to see him once more, she was conscious of having committed a grave error, for all her love for him was revived, but how could she hope to break don the barriers that had been reared between him and her.

“I know you love me, Jim,” she said in low, tender and plaintive tones, “and I love you, God knows I do. But, dear one, what am I to do? Think of what it means for me to go against all my family. My father would curse me, I am sure. You know how stern and determined he can be. Do you suppose he would ever forgive me if I went against his wishes? He has strictly forbidden me to hold any communication with you, and yet here I am now. Whatever would he say if he could see us?”

Jim was quite as distressed as she was; for he was neither lightheaded nor frivolous enough to be indifferent to the intricacies of the situation; nor did he underestimate the heaviness of his own responsibility. His position was precarious. His father was a ruined man, having lost a fortune through unwise speculation; and he was practically dependent on his uncle in Jamaica: an old and wealthy West Indian planter, a bachelor but crotchety and irrascible, and subject to ever-changing moods, whims and fancies. Jim hoped that the old man would leave him some, if not all his money; but he mentally asked himself whether on this slender chance he was justified in persuading Norah to give up the peace and luxury of her home; to sacrifice the love of her people and all her brilliant prospects to share with him the uncertain future? And yet he loved her and she loved him, and such a love is a mighty factor in the sum of human affairs.

“It seems to me, Norah,” he answered sadly, “that there is nothing for it but to part, and part for ever.”

“For ever?” she echoed with a start, and as though she hadn’t viewed the situation from that aspect before.

“Yes. The world will be nothing to me without you, and in the delirium of a reckless life I shall try to find forgetfulness, and a speedy ending. Why should I live; why should I desire to live? You are my life, my world, my all.”

The girl shuddered, drew a little closer to him and tightened her clasp upon his arm; while unperceived by either of them, two men, each armed with a gun, suddenly appeared behind some bushes at the end of the lake, but quickly withdrew again on perceiving the young couple.

“Jim,” said Norah with a decisiveness in her intonation, “I won’t give you up without a struggle; but my only hope is in my mother, and I am by no means sure that she will take my part. But come back with me now and see her; father is away from home, as I told you in my letter, and it is now or never. If we can win her to our side all may be well. At any rate it is worth trying.”

Jim’s face brightened.

“It is worth trying,” he said, and he manifested his feeling by taking her to his breast and warmly embracing her. Then arm in arm they moved off towards the gate, and from behind the bushes one of the two armed men stole forth and stealthily followed them. But the young couple were unconscious of this: they were absorbed in themselves, they were thinking of their own affairs, which to them at that crisis of their fate were of graver importance than aught else in the world. They were young, and had not yet come to full understanding of the responsibilities of life. They had looked into each other’s eyes and saw their world there. But they had already verified the proverb that the course of true love never did run smooth; and they were full of anxiety about the future. Norah’s father was a determined, self-willed egotistical man, and had sternly set his face against his daughter’s union with Spedwick. But youth is sanguine, and in their distress the young people hoped that though the father was adamant, the mother would prove to be more sympathetic. Circumstances seemed to be in their favour, for Mr. Lacey’s absence from home rendered it comparatively easy to approach Mrs. Lacey, and if she could be won over it might be well. The “if,” however, was an all-important factor in the calculation, and a surprise awaited them, upon which they had not counted.

II. THE RIVALSTHE RIVALS

RUNNELL HALL was certainly an imposing pile of buildings at that time, and was a conspicuous landmark for miles around, while its windows commanded a panorama that for variety and extent could scarcely be excelled. The rocky and undulating grounds, which culminated in a hillock on which the house was built, were tastefully and artistically kept. A noble carriage drive swept up from the lower entrance gate to the main porch, where a broad flight of marble steps gave access to the entrance hall, built in the style peculiar to noble houses in the days of Henry VIII. A minstrels’ gallery was a conspicuous feature of the hall, and on one side an enormous fireplace, with a massive carved oak front and mantelpiece, spoke of the time when yule- logs were burned. Over the fireplace was a large frame bearing a full-length portrait of a stern warrior in armour; and on the oak panelling all round were many shields, swords, and other weapons of warfare, lending a martial air to the place. A very fine stained glass window, depicting scenes in the life of Robin Hood, afforded light in the daytime, and at night illumination was obtained by enormous candles fitting in hollow cases to imitate torches.

The whole house bore evidence of wealth and comfort, and here Norah Lacey had been born and brought up. The only shadow that had ever fallen across her path of happiness was the rupture between her people and the Spedwicks. The Spedwicks were an old county family, and had had their home in Ministerfield for many generations. Jim’s father, James Oliver Spedwick, had always been opposed to Mr. Lacey in matters of religion and politics, as well as socially. Spedwick had Bohemian proclivities, and things had not gone well with him. Mr. Lacey was in a sense a nouveau riche. It is true he had inherited a little money from his father, but his wealth had come to him by judicious purchases of land and other property. He was an ambitious, purse-proud man, and had looked down upon, and to some extent had treated his neighbour with contempt. But not always, for when, as a young married man, he acquired the magnificent property of Runnell Hall by purchase, he cultivated a friendship with Mr. Spedwick which continued for a good many years, and Jim and Norah, an only son and only daughter, though Mr. Lacey had two sons, both of them very considerably Norah’s juniors, and at the time when this history commences they were at school, were thrown much together in their younger days. But the time came when a shadow fell between the two parties. The split began by divergences of opinion regarding church matters. Then Mr. Lacey was desirous of entering Parliament, but Mr. Spedwick supported the opposition with such zeal and vigour that Lacey was nowhere, and the rival candidate, thanks to Mr. Spedwick, won hands down. Necessarily that increased the bitterness, and when at last Jim, who was then at a public school, got into disgrace, Mr. Lacey’s pent-up feelings were let loose like a flood; he denounced the Spedwicks in unmeasured terns of opprobrium, and forbade Jim, under all sorts of pains and penalties, to hold further communication with Norah. The young people had grown to be very fond of each other, and the stern parental edict was a great blow to both.

Jim’s trouble was this. On one occasion, being home for his holidays, when he was about seventeen, he set off one night with some companions, to raid the game preserves of Lord Winlands, a profligate young nobleman, who had but recently succeeded to the title and estates, and was far from popular. Jim and his companions, six of them altogether, were actuated by a spirit of devilment, and their folly was merely a youthful escapade. Unfortunately they were disturbed in their depredations by two of his lordship’s gamekeepers. A struggle ensued, during which one of them, as he alleged, was struck over the head by a heavy stick, and his brain injured. The young men were subsequently arrested, and the affair caused an immense sensation in the neighbourhood. The defence was that the keeper had received his injury by slipping and striking his head against a tree. The end of it was, after a great deal of ill-feeling and heat had been imparted into the affair, the evidence given as to how the injury had been received led to the young delinquents being fined in various sums, and Jim Spedwick, who was regarded as the ringleader, was fined very heavily, and until his friends could get the money together he was kept for some days in durance vile. Unhappily the keeper died soon afterwards from softening of the brain caused by the injury, and this caused a recrudescence of ill-feeling against the young men. Jim’s father packed him off to Jamaica, where an uncle, a wealthy and somewhat eccentric planter, had lived nearly all his life.

As may be supposed Norah and Jim were very greatly affected, and both vowed eternal faithfulness; Norah particularly was cast down, for she never expected to see her lover again. However, after a separation of two years, he had come back for a brief visit, and had managed to communicate with Norah, the result being the tryst in the wood as we have seen.

It was perhaps a daring and desperate step for him to accompany Norah back to her home; but time had been when Mrs. Lacey had shown a good deal of partiality towards him, for he was a fine, open-minded young fellow, with a manly bearing, and a certain rugged independence that promised well for the future.

When the young people reached the Hall the whole landscape was bathed in the mellow, golden light of the dying day, and a more peaceful and beautiful scene it would have been difficult to imagine. Nature was calm and restful, but the hearts of Norah and her lover were agitated with hopes and fears.

Jim was ushered into the elegantly furnished drawing-room, while Norah went to prepare her mother for the interview. Jim spent a dismal and anxious half hour alone. A footman came in and lit the candles, and a few minutes later Mrs. Lacey, followed by the trembling Norah, made her appearance. The lady, who had had a humble origin, her father having been a naval carpenter, was pompous and purse-proud, for her husband had exercised great influence over her, acknowledged Jim’s greeting in a cold and stately way.

“It seems to me, young man, that you have been guilty not only of an indiscretion, but an impertinence in coming here,” she began.

Jim’s hope sank, but his pride rose. His youthful follies were common ones; but he was a member of an old family who had distinguished themselves in many ways, and he did not feel that he had anything to be ashamed of.

“I am sorry that you should think so, Mrs. Lacey,” was his answer. “It strikes me that impertinence is too strong a term to use–”

“I am tempted to use a stronger one than that,” interrupted the lady.

“You seem to forget that I have known Norah all my life,” continued Jim, without noticing the interruption.

“I forget nothing,” replied the lady sternly, “and certainly not your disgraceful conduct that led to the death of an unhappy man. That in my mind is a crime.”

“Oh, mother, don’t be cruel,” pleaded Norah in tearful voice.

Jim’s face coloured, and pride of race rose strong within him. He was tempted to answer sharply but restrained himself. Norah’s troubled face touched him to the depths.

“The man’s death was the result of an accident,” he said with firmness and dignity. “But for that accident my folly would have been regarded as nothing worse than a trespass; it’s unfair to speak of a boyish escapade as a crime, and I solemnly declare that I never struck the man. His injury was the result of a fall.”

“Well, we won’t dispute about terms,” replied the lady, drawing herself up with dignity. “The question is, what have you come here for? When Norah confessed to me that she had secretly met you in the Black Lake Wood I was thunderstruck. But when I heard that you were actually under my roof I could scarcely believe my own ears. It is audacity, unpardonable audacity.”

“If I had thought that this was to be my reception,” said Jim, “I should have given Dingle Hall a very wide berth; but since I am here there need be no beating about the bush. I love your daughter. She loves me. And I am here to plead to you not to turn a deaf ear to my entreaties to be allowed to pay my addresses to her.”

Norah did not speak, but her eyes met his and her face betrayed the agitation from which she was suffering. It was a painful situation. Each felt it to be so; and each knew, or at least believed, that on the result of this interview depended his and her future happiness.

“There is one thing to be said, you are not lacking in assurance,” answered Mrs. Lacey scornfully. “You were guilty of wickedness and deceit when you wrote to my child and asked her to meet you, knowing as you do that you will never be tolerated by any member of my family.”

Norah spoke now. With desperate courage she plunged into the fray.

“I tolerate him, mother,” she exclaimed, in high ringing tones that indicated spirit and will. “I tolerate him, and I have a right to have a voice in a matter that so closely concerns my own happiness.”

“You will remain silent. You will be obedient, and you will do as your father and mother intend you to do,” commanded the lady austerely. “As for you, sir, you had better put an end to this painful scene by leaving at once.” She crossed the room and pulled the bell-rope violently. “I shall tell the footman to show you to the door, and once you have left my house you must never darken the portals again.”

Norah made a movement to get nearer to Jim. She was evidently labouring under great distress of mind. She seemed struggling to find words, but at tha t moment the door opened, and a liveried flunky appeared in response to the ringing of the bell.

“John, show–” began Mrs. Lacey peremptorily, but checked herself suddenly for John announced–

“The Hon. Randolph Pym.”

A gentleman entered attired in shooting costume, a velveteen coat, leather gaiters, and heavy boots. He was a young man, of fair complexion, with a light moustache, and a mass of curling hair. The lady hurried forward and extended her hand. Norah started; her face was very red, and she seemed overwhelmed with confusion.

“You will pray pardon my intrusion upon you in such a costume as this,” said Mr. Randolph Pym apologetically, and glancing rapidly from Norah to Jim with a look full of inquiry. He was evidently confused as well as surprised. “The fact is,” he stammered, “I–I–have hastened here. I–I–really it’s a painful position for me to be placed in; but–I–I have been shooting in the Black Lake Wood, and near the lake I witnessed to my astonishment Norah in the arms of this gen–this fellow. I came here to question Norah, and warn you, as well as demand from this young man an explanation.”

The unexpected appearance of the Hon. Randolph Pym not only complicated matters, but added greatly to the dramatic intensity of the scene.

A old, almost sardonic smile showed itself in the lines of Mrs. Lacey’s face, as turning haughtily to Jim it said in measured tones of studied insult–

“Jim Spedwick, this gentleman is the Hon. Randolph Pym, youngest son of our neighbour and close friend Sir Yardley Pym, Baronet, and formerly M.P. for this county. My daughter Norah there is pledged and engaged to Mr. Pym, with the full consent of myself and her father, to become his wife. You will, therefore, have the good sense, I hope, to realize at once that you are out of place here. You are intruding, and after the information I have now given you it would be impertinence for you to continue to force yourself on Norah.”

The two men exchanged glances, angry glances. They knew they were rivals, and between men so situated hatred is human and inevitable. But here in the presence of the ladies they were necessarily restrained. Jim was at a disadvantage; he was at a loss how to act, what to say. He looked into Norah’s eyes for encouragement, inspiration. She was overwhelmed by this unexpected development. Her distress was pitiable. Her breast rose and fell rapidly with emotion. Her face was flushed, her eyes misty with tears. She felt to the full the responsibility that rested upon her. Here were two young men appealing to her woman’s heart. One was of her own choosing, the other the choice of her father.

It was a cruel and painful position for a young girl to be placed in. It was a solemn moment too, for it was big with her own fate, and probably the fate of those, around her. It was true she was pledged to young Randolph Pym. He was the son of a wealthy man, and his father’s estates adjoined those of Mr. Lacey’s. By both parties it was considered that a union of the families by marriage was very desirable in every way, and Norah’s parents had been at great pains to impress upon her that it was her solemn duty to do exactly as they wanted her to do, without any reference to her own personal feelings. In a spirit of dutiful obedience she had complied with their wishes. She had accepted the “Hon.” Randolph Pym’s addresses, had acknowledged him as her affianced husband, and the respective fathers had been busy discussing the marriage settlement. Randolph being the youngest son was entirely dependent upon his father, but he felt that in marrying Norah Lacey his future would be secure. Although he had ni legitimate right to the prefix of “.Hon.” before his name, the Ministerfield people had so dubbed him, and he was always so addressed.

During all the time that Jim Spedwick had been away, Norah had not ceased to think of him, while the love-letters he had written to her before he fell into disgrace were among her most treasured possessions; she had, however, gradually come to regard Jim as a lost ideal, and had settled down to the prospect of becoming Pym’s wife. But Jim’s sudden return had revived within her all the old feeling, and convinced her that her love for him was as real and strong as ever, and she felt now, in the extraordinary situation created by the presence of the two men under her father’s roof, she must speak her mind or for ever hold her peace.

This it was that with trembling voice and yet with resolute determined air, and to the amazement of her mother and Randolph, she said–

“I have given my heart to Jim Spedwick, whom I have known all my life, and if I am not to be his wife I will be wife to no one.”

III. IN THE SHADOWS

IF Norah had dropped a bombshell on the floor of the room, she could scarcely have caused more consternation to show itself in the faces of Mr. Pym and her mother than did her announcement that she would be wife to Jim or no man. Perhaps Jim himself was scarcely less surprised than they were. He was quite conscious of the fact that he was placed in a delicate as well as an awkward position. He was poor and in a sense friendless, while arrayed against him was a combination of wealth and power. Nevertheless, if Norah declared for him, he was prepared to fight his way through sea and land, and face his foes with a front of brass for her sake. That was his feeling at that moment.

Mrs. Lacey was the first to speak. Opening her eyes, and elevating her brows to their fullest possible extent as indicating the supreme surprise she felt, she exclaimed–

“Well–that–I–should–have–lived–to witness–such a scene as this.” Then turning to Jim she said with a fine, acid scorn, “Your disgraceful career does not encourage me to hope that you will recognize your duty in this crisis and tell that silly girl not to disgrace herself and the proud name she bears. Yet it is your duty to do so.”

Jim’s blood stirred within him, and his indignation was strong as, meeting the lady’s burning looks steadfastly, he answered–

“Whatever your hopes may be, Mrs. Lacey, my duty to myself is plain. Your reference to my disgraceful career as you are pleased to term it is unpardonable. My career has not been disgraceful. But anyway as Norah is true to me I shall cling to her and claim her in spite of all you may say or do.”

Randolph Pym’s face darkened at these defiant words, and an involuntary cry of horror escaped from Mrs. Lacey’s lips. She almost rushed to the bell rope, pulled it violently once more, and when the flunky appeared she commanded him to–

“Remove that fellow; show him to the door,” that fellowbeing Jim Spedwick, at whom she pointed a finger of scorn.

She was a foolish woman to betray her anger and want of self- control before the servant, but she had allowed her feelings to entirely carry her away and she was lost to reason.

Jim Spedwick did not hesitate on the course to pursue. He must act promptly for Norah’s sake; she was evidently suffering keenly, and she cast an appealing look at him, a look that plainly said, “Please go.”

“Pray don’t concern yourself, Mrs. Lacey,” said Jim with a courtly bow. “I don’t want showing to the door. I know where it is, and I have the honour to wish you good-night.”

With a quick, hurried glance at Norah and without deigning to notice Pym, he walked out of the room in a most dignified way and left the house. It was a beautiful calm summer night, and the stars were shining brightly. There was a deep peace in the night stillness. Nature was at rest, and the world was beautiful; the starry heavens spoke of the greatness and immensity of the universe; of limitless expanses and vast aeons of time, but Spedwick was in no mood to note these things. His heart was hot and restless, and his brain vexed with the complex problem that the events of that day had shaped themselves into. Man’s life is a little span but it leads through tortuous ways and eidolons of things that seem but are not, mock him, and often lure him to suffering and destruction. But of all the forces that act upon human nature for good and ill the greatest is love. It is capable of making a man desperate and terrible, and of taking his reason prisoner.

As Jim Spedwick pursued his way through the night and over the silent fields to his home in the old-world town of Ministerfield, he was perfectly conscious that the threads of his life were ravelled, and his future dark and uncertain. What hope was there that even if Norah should remain true to him, he would ever be able to consummate his desires by making her his wife? Her people were powerful in that part, and she was pledged by them to a man who was not likely to yield his prize without a desperate struggle. What chance had Jim against such forces? He was poor and without influence; what was there to look forward to? His crotchety uncle in Jamaica might not do something for him, but it was all uncertain. The lad was by no means lacking in ability and force of character, but somehow he had warped his life so far, and he could not cheat himself into a belief that he was anything but a dependant. The current of his career had been swept by the force of circumstances into a rocky channel, and it seemed to him that it would never flow smoothly again. The idea of abandoning the struggle for the hand of Norah was maddening; but would he be justified in persuading her to give up luxury and wealth, the love and honour of friends and relatives, to wreck the peace of her home in order to share with him poverty and perhaps disgrace? It was too great a sacrifice to ask even love to make. That the girl loved him now was indubitable, but would even her love stand the test that she would be called upon to endure?

He came to the conclusion that it would not. He had made a mistake in returning to England, or at any rate in seeing her. He was disturbing her peace of mind, doing her an injustice, and he must hasten to repair the mischief he had already done. He would give her up; he would go away, never to return until the possibility of Norah becoming his wife no longer existed.

In this varying mood, and oppressed with doubts and fears, he reached his home in Ministerfield. His father was a quiet man, not averse to occasional conviviality, but fond of books, and though poor, proud; He was much embittered against Mr. Lacey, whom he regarded as an upstart, but he had always shown a great liking for Norah. He could not fail to notice his son’s moodiness when he returned on that eventful night, and he questioned him as to the cause. Jim frankly told him, and Mr. Spedwick made no attempt to conceal his annoyance.

“I am surprised,” he said, “that you should have so little respect for yourself, for me and for the name you bear, as to place yourself in the power of these Laceys. Wean yourself from your infatuation for Norah. There are plenty of other young women in the world, and you’ve got life before you. Why make troubles for yourself in striving after the impossible? The Laceys have come out of the gutter. You have an ancestry to boast of. Why then should you crawl on your knees for the sake of Norah? There are thousands of young women in the world, any one of which would jump at you. Mind you, I am not saying a word in disparagement of Norah. The girl is to be pitied; but you haven’t a penny to bless yourself with, I have no money to leave you. You are not justified, therefore, in encouraging the girl to stick to you. Of course if your Uncle Dick in Jamaica would leave you his money, your position would be different. But he’s a curious mortal, and has been away so long that he is out of touch and out of sympathy with his family; and though he is my own brother he has never treated me kindly. For myself I wouldn’t ask him for a shilling. I have never injured him, but he has said hard things about me. He blames me for my poverty–an easy thing to do. However, you have got to look after yourself; your future is in your own hands; don’t mess your life about. Go back at once to your uncle. Stick to him; bow down to him; let him walk over you if it pleases him; let him walk over you if it pleases him, so long as he leaves his wealth to you. Remember he is an old man, and his span is nearly complete. Don’t throw that chance away. In this strangely constituted world you can do nothing without money. Money is everything. ‘Men make it a golden idol and bow down and worship it. If you have money, though your sins be as scarlet, people will fawn upon you. With money you can buy human souls.”

Mrs. Spedwick, a subdued, careworn woman, whose life had been a disappointment, supported her husband in his argument, which was sound enough. She loved her boy, and it lacerated her heart that he should have to go from her; but it was for his own good, and she subordinated her own feelings, sacrificed herself for his sake. Jim’s distress was very great, though he could not be indifferent to the advice of his parents. He fully recognized his own helplessness. He could not, dare not ask Norah to defy her people and share his poverty with him. So he went to his bed with a mental resolution. He would give Norah up, and on the morrow write to her to that effect. He would cut short his holiday; take the coach to Liverpool in a few days, and thence get ship back to Jamaica. He felt desperate, reckless and miserable, but it was no use fighting against the stars. Norah was lost to him, and it was worse than folly trying to blink the fact.

Such was his frame of mind as he fell into an uneasy sleep, and such was his frame of mind when he rose in the morning weary and unrefreshed. But as the day wore on there was placed in his hands by an under-gardener, employed at Runnell Hall, a letter, and that letter was from Norah.